34. Evacuation Order
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
EVACUATION ORDER
Claire
I pull open another dresser drawer and stare at the handful of clothes Lucy lent me.
Nothing feels like mine.
I settle on an oversized sweatshirt that smells faintly of hay and laundry detergent, then glance around the apartment above the barn. The familiar mustiness lingers in the air, mixing with the scent of horses drifting in through the open window.
I can’t make myself go back to the house. Not today. Maybe not tomorrow, either.
I think back to my conversation with Lucy and Sloane yesterday.
“We’ll go while Ethan’s at work,” Lucy said gently. “We’ll pack whatever you and Ellie need.”
Lost in thought, I hear the distant thud of a car door closing.
I glance outside and see Reid getting out of his sports car at the main house, the afternoon sun reflecting off the chrome.
As he walks toward the steps, Jensen comes out onto the porch and points toward the barn.
Reid nods and starts down the path that leads to my door.
I set down my coffee, suddenly nervous.
A few minutes later, a sharp knock sounds at the apartment door, making me jump. I consider ignoring it. But after gathering my courage, I unlock the door and pull it open.
Reid looks at my swollen, red-rimmed eyes.
“Oh, Claire,” he says quietly as he steps inside and wraps me in a tight hug.
I bury my face in his shoulder. The rough fabric of his shirt is a small comfort as I begin to cry. When I finally pull myself together, I gesture for him to come inside.
My voice is hoarse when I finally speak. “I have nothing to offer you. I haven’t been to the store. Lucy and Jensen have been leaving food for me.”
“I’m fine, Claire. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“I guess Ethan called you?”
“He did. He’s worried about you, but I told him he lost that right. I told him last week he was going to lose the best thing that ever happened to him if he wasn’t careful.”
I pause, the implication of his words sinking in. “You knew?”
“I suspected, and then I figured it out after the conference.”
I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste copper. “Why didn’t you come to me? I thought we were friends, Reid. I’ve known you my whole life. I would have come to you if the situation were reversed.”
“I’m sorry, Claire. I kept telling myself I’d find the right time, but I never did. I thought if I said something, I’d lose you both—and I was too selfish to risk that. I chose the coward’s way out, and I let you get hurt.”
“I need you to leave.”
He offers that sympathetic look again. “Okay, I’ll go. But for what it’s worth, I am sorry. And I’m here for whatever you need.” He turns and walks out.
I sink onto the edge of the sofa and stare at the closed door. The apartment feels impossibly quiet. The adrenaline that carried me through the last two days is gone.
Ethans name glows on my screen while I search for the courage to press it. So many conversations sit behind that contact. Thousands of text messages. Hundreds of photographs. An entire marriage condensed into a few digital folders.
Instead of opening our messages, I tap the photo album.
The first picture is of seven-year-old Ellie standing proudly beside a sandcastle. Ethan kneels next to her, reinforcing the walls while she points out the inferiority of his engineering skills.
The next is Christmas morning, the glow of the tree reflected in our eyes. Then a family vacation. Then Ethan asleep in a lounge chair with toddler Ellie sprawled across his chest, one small hand wrapped around a lock of his hair.
I keep scrolling.
Our first house.
Our tenth anniversary.
The day we brought Ellie home from the hospital.
Birthdays. School events. Holidays. Ordinary afternoons.
The worst part is that none of it feels fake.
That is the one thing I cannot reconcile.
This would be easier if Ethan had been a terrible husband, if he’d spent years neglecting us or treating us poorly.
Then maybe I could understand what happened.
I could look back and find the warning signs I missed.
But that isn’t our story.
I remember him setting a cup of tea on my desk while I worked late on grant applications. The greasy paper bag he handed me in the middle of the night because I’d been craving a milkshake and fries while pregnant.
That man was real. Which means the man in that video is real, too.
I lower the phone into my lap.
We survived financial struggles when we were young. Sleepless nights with a newborn. Career changes. Family losses. All the countless challenges that come with building a life together.
I never questioned whether we’d make it because I assumed we already had. What did I miss? Where did the first lie begin?
My phone vibrates on the nightstand, startling me.
Lucy: Dad just dropped Ellie off. She’s helping Jensen feed horses and wants to stay for dinner. We’re keeping her overnight.
Relief washes over me. One more night before I have to explain why we’re living above a barn. One more night before I have to answer questions, I’m not prepared to answer.
My phone remains in my hand, my eyes drifting to the missed notifications from Ethan.
I haven’t listened to any of them. Every time his name appears, I set the phone down, finding it easier to ignore him than confront whatever waits in those messages.
Now, with nothing left to distract me, I realize I’ve run out of reasons not to listen.
My thumb pauses inches from the screen. The first voicemail is from Saturday around lunchtime. I close my eyes and listen until the message ends.
“Claire, it’s me. I don’t know what’s going on, but please call me when you get this.”
The second begins.
“Claire, I’ve been trying to reach you. Your dad said Ellie is fine, but nobody seems to know where you are. Please… just call me.”
I swallow hard and let the next one play.
“Claire, you’re scaring me. If you’re angry about something, let’s talk about it. Just tell me where you are. Please.”
I press my hands against my face and try to steady my breathing. He sounds like my husband. The man who worries when I’m late. The man who calls from the grocery store because he can’t remember which coffee creamer we buy. The person I’ve loved for more than half my life.
Tears stream down my face and I stop trying to hold them back. I grieve not only my marriage, but the future I had already begun living in my mind—retirement trips, grandchildren, growing old together.
The floorboards outside the apartment creak followed by a soft knock.
I pull the blanket tighter around myself, but Lucy lets herself in anyway, two mugs in hand, steam curling into the air.
She hands me a mug, sets hers down with a quiet clink, and sits beside me.
No questions. Just the warmth of her shoulder against mine and two mugs of tea slowly growing cold.
I wrap both hands around the mug and stare into the tea. “How do I tell Ellie?”
“I don’t know.”
Her honesty is strangely comforting.
“She’s only thirteen. How am I supposed to tell her that our family won’t be the same anymore? What if she blames herself?”
She gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “She won’t.”
“What if she hates him?”
“I think that’s something she’ll have to figure out for herself. She’s more mature than you give her credit for.”
“Nobody warned me it would feel like this.”
A sad smile touches Lucy’s face. “No.”
I lean back against the couch and watch the last light disappear. “I keep thinking I’m going to wake up tomorrow and discover none of this happened. I keep waiting for someone to explain it in a way that makes sense.
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she slips an arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer.
“You have people here who love you. We’re going to help you get through this.”
After a long while, she speaks again. “I didn’t tell Dad what’s going on, but he’s worried. You should talk to him when you’re ready.”
I nod. “Can you—can you stay with me for a while? I don’t want to be alone.”
“Of course.”
Eventually, I rest my head against her shoulder and close my eyes.