Chapter 44
Claire
I was so angry I didn’t trust myself to think clearly.
The longer I drove, the more the conversation replayed in my head, each line sharper than the last. Ethan standing there in the kitchen, asking questions he had no right to ask. Acting like he had any authority over my choices. Over me.
The audacity of it was almost laughable.
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and forced myself to slow down as I turned onto Sophie’s street.
It was early evening, that in-between hour where the light hadn’t faded yet but dinner smells were starting to drift through open windows.
Kids rode bikes in uneven circles, chalk drawings bleeding into the cracks of the sidewalk.
A few parents called half-hearted warnings from porches.
I eased the car forward, scanning carefully. The last thing I needed was to hit someone.
Sophie’s house came into view near the end of the block, a small, cozy place. Pale siding, a low roof, flower boxes under the windows. The porch sagged slightly in the middle, boards worn smooth by the years.
I pulled into the driveway and immediately saw her husband’s car.
I hesitated.
Normally, I would’ve turned around. Sophie’s house had become my refuge over the years, but I tried not to intrude when things were clearly already full. Especially when he was home.
But tonight wasn’t normal.
If I didn’t let this out, if I didn’t say it out loud to someone who knew me, I felt like I might implode. Or say something unforgivable the next time Ethan crossed my path.
I shut off the engine and got out.
The front door was open just a crack, the sound of a child crying leaking out into the evening air. My anger stalled mid-step, redirected before I could stop it.
I knocked lightly.
Sophie opened the door almost immediately, like she’d been standing on the other side. Her hair was pulled back in a messy knot, strands escaping around her temples. She looked tired. Not just end-of-the-day tired but worn.
“Claire?” she said, surprised. “Hey, are you okay?”
I opened my mouth to answer and stopped.
Behind her, Owen sat on the couch, red-faced and hiccupping, tears streaking down his cheeks. Sophie’s husband stood near the hallway, arms crossed, jaw tight. The tension in the room was thick enough to feel from the doorway.
I forgot my own anger instantly.
“I—” I said, then corrected myself. “Are you okay?”
Sophie let out a short laugh that wasn’t amused. “Same old,” she said. Then, without looking back, she called, “Hey. Take Owen into the bedroom for a minute. We’ll talk later.”
Her husband’s mouth tightened. He looked irritated, like he had more to say. But after a moment, he scooped Owen up without argument and disappeared down the hall. The crying faded, muffled by distance and walls.
Sophie stepped aside. “Come in.”
The house smelled like coffee and something burned slightly on the stove. Toys were scattered across the living room floor, plastic dinosaurs, wooden blocks, a half-built tower abandoned mid-collapse. The couch cushions were slightly misshapen.
I’d always loved Sophie’s house. It wasn’t polished or curated. It looked lived in.
She closed the door behind me and leaned back against it for a second, rubbing her face.
“You sure you’re, okay?” she asked again, quieter this time.
I nodded, though I wasn’t sure it was true. “Yeah. I just needed to see you.”
She waved it off. “Don’t worry about whatever that was. Same drama, different day.”
I raised an eyebrow. She caught it and sighed.
“Truly,” she said. “Not tonight’s headline.”
She gestured toward the kitchen. “Sit. I’ll make coffee.”
I followed her, my anger slowly resurfacing now that the immediate crisis wasn’t there. The kitchen was small, counters crowded with jars and notes and mismatched mugs. Sophie moved through it like muscle memory, filling the kettle, grabbing my favorite chipped mug without asking.
We sat on the couch a moment later, coffee steaming between us. She waited, patient in that way she always was, letting me find the starting point myself.
And when I finally spoke, it all came spilling out.
I told her about Ethan. About the questions. About the way he’d looked at me like he knew better. About how absurd it felt to be judged by someone who had done worse, walked away and then come back acting like he was entitled to opinions on my life.
“He questioned my relationship,” I said, heat rising again. “As if he gets a say. As if he has any right.”
Sophie listened without interrupting, her expression steady. She didn’t offer any sympathy, just listened.
When I finally ran out of breath, she took a sip of her coffee and leaned back.
“That sounds like a boundary issue,” she said calmly. “And honestly? It doesn’t surprise me.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
She tilted her head, studying me. “Since he came back, he’s been stepping over lines left and right. You just first time called him on it.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but she wasn’t done.
“Can I ask you something?” she said.
I nodded cautiously.
“Why are you at the Walkers’ house so much?”
The question caught me off guard.
“I mean,” she continued quickly, holding up a hand, “I know you’re Lily’s godmother. I know Emma and Bill are basically family to you. But, Claire, you’re there every day.”
I felt my shoulders tense.
She went on gently, “It’s gotten so routine that the town stopped gossiping about it. Do you know how hard it is to bore this place into silence?”
That stung more than I expected.
“I’m helping,” I said defensively.
“I know,” Sophie said. “I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m saying that when people lose parents, or stability, they latch onto whoever feels safe. It’s human. You work with kids who do it all the time.”
I stayed quiet.
“And you love Emma and Bill,” she added. “That’s not a crime. But the fact that they’re Ethan’s parents? That part is weird, no matter how much you pretend it’s not.”
I looked down at my coffee, throat tight.
Sophie sighed and reached for my hand, squeezing it gently.
“I get it,” she said. “Truly. But if you’re crossing boundaries, without meaning to, it’s unrealistic to expect someone like Ethan not to do the same. Especially when he’s emotionally stunted and freshly back in a place that knows all his worst moments.”
I laughed weakly. “That’s one way to describe him.”
She pulled me into a brief hug. “If you’re going to keep the people you love this close, and with him in the picture,” she said quietly, “you’re going to need thicker armor.”
I pulled back, surprised.
“I don’t think Ethan’s going to change anytime soon,” she added. Then, almost as an afterthought, “And, by the way, I kind of agree with the dirtbag.”
I stared at her.
She immediately raised her hands. “I know, I know. Don’t kill me. You know I love you. But you’ve heard the same things about Brandon from your friends a hundred times.”
“That’s different,” I said.
She arched an eyebrow. “Is it?”
I stood to leave, my head spinning.
At the door, Sophie touched my arm. “You told me you forgave Ethan,” she said gently. “If you really had… his comment wouldn’t have hit this hard.”
I didn’t answer.
I just nodded once, stepped outside, and let the cool air hit my face.
The anger was still there.
But now it had company.