52. Foundation Stabilization
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
FOUNDATION STABILIZATION
Ethan
Claire can have dinner with anyone she wants. I know that. The logic is sound, but it’s also completely useless. The image of Daniel Mercer smiling at my wife has lodged itself in my brain, replaying every time I try to think about something else.
By the time I pull into Dr. Rutledge’s parking lot, I’m grateful for something—anything—to interrupt the loop. The building is an unremarkable beige box tucked between a law office and a dental practice.
I need to get my head on straight before this appointment. I push open the heavy glass door. A receptionist greets me, but my eyes scan past her and land on Claire. Of course, she would beat me here.
I stand a few feet inside the door just looking at her. She sits in an upholstered chair, a glossy magazine resting unread in her lap. She’s wearing a white t-shirt that says, ‘Professional Problem Solver,’ and her hair is in a neat ponytail.
There’s a subtle shift in her posture when she notices me. No greeting. The woman who once told me everything now sits ten feet away, looking at me like I’m little more than an acquaintance.
“The slogan on your shirt is disturbingly accurate,” I tell her in an attempt to break the ice.
“Thanks,” she responds, but doesn’t look up from the magazine.
Fortunately, the receptionist’s voice cuts through the tension. “Mr. Bennett. Mrs. Bennett. Dr. Rutledge will see you now.”
Claire stands and follows the receptionist down the short hallway. I trail behind, catching the familiar scent of her perfume—warm sandalwood with a hint of citrus. Being this close to her, knowing I can’t reach for her, is its own kind of punishment.
His office is designed to put people at ease, but all I feel is cornered. After my first appointment here, I wanted to call Claire so we could analyze the decor, but then I remembered I no longer had that right.
A diffuser hums softly on the bookshelf, releasing lavender that somehow makes the room feel even more artificial.
He rises from his chair when we enter, and offers Claire his hand.
“Claire. Thank you for coming.”
She shakes it, before taking a seat in an armchair. “I’m not promising anything.”
A faint smile appears beneath his dark beard which softens the rugged lines of his face. “I would be worried if you were.”
To my surprise, the corner of her mouth twitches. It isn’t a smile, but close enough. As he settles into his chair, the worn leather groans beneath his weight.
“Claire, I’m sure you’re aware that Ethan has been coming here for a while now. I’ve been brought up to speed on the situation from his point of view.”
Silence.
“We can start simple. One of you tell me how your week is going so far?”
I let out a defeated puff of air. “Mine wasn’t great, if I’m being honest.”
“What happened?” he asks.
I consider offering a watered-down version of the truth. Then I remember where I am and with whom I’m sitting. “I ran into Claire having dinner with another man.”
He nods. “How did that make you feel?”
I laugh, a sharp bark of disbelief. I glance toward Claire, and her face is a carefully neutral mask. “Jealous.”
He nods again. “Why?”
“Because she was out with Daniel Mercer.”
“Who is Daniel Mercer?”
I rub a hand across my face, through the rough stubble of my unshaven jaw. “A wealthy, successful developer who is handsome and single, all right?”
Claire coughs into her hand suspiciously, I swear she’s fighting a laugh. The room’s temperature feels a degree or two warmer.
He remains unfazed. “Anything else?”
I focus on a shaft of sunlight peeking through the curtains. “He made her laugh, and until now, I hadn’t considered the possibility of her moving on. And—”
He leans forward, his posture one of intense focus. “We should have brought Claire in months ago.”
A crease forms between my eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“This is the quickest I’ve ever gotten you to be honest with yourself.”
Watching another man hold Claire’s attention, watching another man make her smile, was devastating. I’m such a bastard.
He studies me, and then turns to Claire. “Claire, do you have thoughts on what Ethan said?”
“Yes, it makes me angry.” Her voice rises. “I saw you fucking another woman, Ethan. You constantly lied to me for months about your relationship with her. You made me feel like I was going crazy when I asked questions. You didn’t just have a physical affair. You also had an emotional affair.”
Her voice cracks on the last word. Without thinking, I reach for the unopened box of tissues on the table and slide it toward her. I don’t tell her it’s going to be okay. I don’t ask if she’s all right. I just leave it within reach.
“Ethan, I can see the confusion on your face. How would you characterize your affair with Brooke?” he asks.
My brow pinches as I study him. “I don’t understand the question.”
He folds his hands in his lap. “People tend to think of affairs as a single category, but they’re not. Broadly speaking, there are two patterns we talk about most often: physical affairs and emotional affairs.”
“I managed to pick the worst one.”
“We’ll get to that,” he says gently. “Tell me what you think the difference is.”
“A physical affair is... sex. Crossing that line.”
“Yes,” he says. “A physical affair centers on sexual intimacy. It may or may not involve an emotional bond. Sometimes it’s impulsive. Sometimes it’s ongoing. But the defining characteristic is the physical relationship.”
I nod once.
“An emotional affair,” he continues, “is different. It develops when someone outside the relationship begins occupying the emotional space that once belonged to a partner. Secrets become easier to share with that person than with your spouse. You seek their comfort first. Their opinion starts carrying more weight. The emotional intimacy becomes exclusive.”
I stare at the carpet.
“You don’t have to be having sex for that kind of betrayal to be devastating,” he says. “Many couples tell me the emotional secrecy hurts even more.”
“So, if you’re texting someone all day... looking forward to seeing them... telling them things you haven’t told your wife...” Claire cuts in.
“Those are common warning signs.” He explains.
“And hiding it,” Claire says.
“Yes,” he replies.
I rubs a hand over my face.
“I kept telling myself we were just friends.”
“What made you believe that?” he asks.
“Because if I admitted it was becoming something else...” I look away. “Then I’d have to admit I was doing something wrong.”
He waits a beat before speaking.
“One type doesn’t excuse the other. In many cases, they overlap. An emotional affair can become physical, and a physical affair often develops emotional attachment over time.”
“I didn’t just sleep with someone else.” The words scrape their way out. “I complained about my marriage. I let someone else become the person I vented to. I started looking forward to seeing her.”
“What are you realizing as you say that?”
“That I betrayed Claire long before I ever kissed Brooke.”
Finally, Dr. Rutledge says, “That realization is painful, but it’s also important. Healing can’t begin until we’re honest about where the boundaries were crossed.”
“I convinced myself the affair started the night we slept together.”
“And now?”
“Now I know it started the first time I chose Brooke over my wife.”
I notice Claire tracing the edge of her mother’s pendant, an unconscious ritual that always gives her away.
He turns to her. “Okay, let’s switch gears. Claire, tell me about the dinner with Daniel Mercer.”
She looks surprised by the question, her tear-streaked face confused by the topic change. “It was productive.”
“Tell me more.”
As she speaks, her posture straightens, and she becomes animated. It hits me then, she isn’t excited about Daniel. She’s excited about this project he proposed. About a cause she loves.
He must notice my expression because when Claire finishes speaking, he turns to me. “What are you thinking?” he asks.
I work past the knot in my throat. “I think I was a crappy husband.”
Neither of them says anything, so I keep going. “When Claire started working again, I knew everything about Juniper House. The girls’ names, their stories. Who was struggling, who was succeeding.”
I pause, the memory sharp. “Then, somewhere along the way, I—stopped. I started feeling sorry for myself because I didn’t have all of her anymore.”
The admission feels worse hearing it spoken aloud.
“And you became resentful,” he says. It’s not a question.
“I kept score,” I admit. “Every late night, every crisis—it all became proof that I wasn’t important. That there wasn’t room for me. I used it as an excuse to be close to Brooke.”
He nods, his chair creaking. “And what did you do with that resentment?”
“I fed it.”
“How?”
“I convinced myself that I deserved my relationship with Brooke.”
Claire snorts.
“Why was it easier to start the affair than to tell Claire how you were feeling?” His voice is calm, but the question piercing.
“I kept telling myself that she’d chosen her work over me. The resentment was already there, coiled tight. I just needed a reason to let it strike.”