Chapter 2
Not a television.
Not a memory.
A woman.
Then Ethan laughed.
My husband.
Six hours after we lowered our son into the ground.
I climbed the stairs.
I do not remember deciding to.
The bedroom door was half open.
Vanessa stood beside my dresser wearing my ivory silk robe.
The one Owen had once ruined with chocolate fingerprints on Mother’s Day.
Ethan was pouring wine.
For one second, nobody spoke.
Vanessa looked embarrassed.
Ethan looked irritated.
That hurt more.
Not guilty.
Not terrified.
Irritated.
“What is she doing here?”
My voice barely came out.
“Claire.”
“Take off my robe.”
Vanessa folded her arms.
Ethan stepped between us.
“Claire, you’re emotional.”
I stared at him.
“Our child was buried today.”
“I know that.”
“Then why is she in my bedroom?”
He glanced at Vanessa.
It lasted perhaps half a second.
But I saw intimacy in that glance.
History.
Permission.
A life I had not been invited into.
My stomach turned.
“How long?”
Ethan rubbed both hands over his face.
“This is not the time.”
“How long?”
“Claire—”
“How long have you been sleeping with her?”
Vanessa answered.
“Almost two years.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
Something inside me stopped screaming.
It simply went silent.
Two years meant Christmas mornings.
Family photographs.
Owen’s first baseball game.
Our anniversary dinner last February when Ethan claimed an emergency patient had kept him at the hospital.
Two years meant Vanessa had been in my marriage while I was still decorating it.
I looked at my husband.
“Get out.”
“This house is partly mine.”
“Get out.”
“We need to discuss some things first.”
He walked to the nightstand and picked up a folder.
Legal papers.
Even before I touched them, I knew.
Divorce.
“The timing may seem cruel,” Ethan said, “but delaying won’t help either of us.”
I laughed.
A horrible, broken sound came out.
“The timing may seem cruel?”
Vanessa shifted uncomfortably.
Ethan continued as though he were discussing a mortgage.
“The cabin accident changed things. We’ve both been unhappy for a long time.”
“Our son drowned three days ago.”
“I’m aware.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Claire—”
“Stop talking like he was a scheduling conflict!”
I swept the wineglass from his hand.
It smashed against the wall.
Vanessa screamed.
Ethan grabbed my wrists.
Hard.
“Control yourself.”
I looked down at his fingers crushing my skin.
Something about the sight brought back another image.
Owen’s wrists.
Small.
Pale.
The medical examiner had said there were bruises on one arm.
Probably from Ethan trying to pull him from the water.
Probably.
I pulled away.
“You said you jumped in immediately.”
Ethan froze.
Only for a moment.
“What?”
“At the lake. You said you jumped in immediately.”
May you like
“I did.”
“Then how did he get so far from the dock?”
