Chapter 2 — Cracks in the Facade

Claire

The morning light filtered through the gauzy curtains, casting soft golden streaks across the hardwood floor of the Aubrey kitchen. Claire stood at the counter, absently stirring cream into her coffee. The rhythmic ticking of the wall clock filled the silence, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator. The lavender cleaning spray she’d used earlier lingered in the air, a scent that once felt grounding but now seemed cloying.

The house was still—eerily so. Isabel and Ethan had already left for school, and Nathan had rushed out an hour earlier, muttering about an early client meeting. His kiss on her cheek was perfunctory, a brush of lips that barely grazed her skin. It held no warmth, only the hollow echo of routine.

Her gaze drifted to the tulips outside the window, their vibrant petals swaying gently in the breeze. She had planted them years ago, back when she believed her life was as bright and flawless as those blooms. But now, they seemed like a cruel reflection of the facade she had worked so hard to maintain. The text from last night echoed in her mind, the words branding themselves into her consciousness: *I can’t wait to see you tonight. Love you.*

The phone had buzzed innocuously on the kitchen counter, its screen lighting up with Nathan’s name. He’d been upstairs putting Ethan to bed. A strange pull—curiosity mixed with a gnawing unease—had made her glance down. It wasn’t until her eyes skimmed the message that her breath caught, her stomach knotting as though she’d been struck. The realization had come swiftly, chillingly: that message wasn’t meant for her.

Now, standing alone in the kitchen, Claire felt the hollowness settle deeper in her chest, an ache that pressed against her ribs with every breath. She took a slow sip of coffee, its warmth doing little to thaw the cold dread creeping through her. Last night had been a blur of restless thoughts, her mind replaying small moments now laden with meaning. Nathan’s late nights at the office. His sudden insistence on keeping his phone face down. The way he’d started wearing cologne again after years of indifference. She had dismissed them as quirks, the natural ebb and flow of a long marriage. But now, they felt like shards of a puzzle she’d been too blind to assemble.

She set the spoon down with care, the soft clink of metal against ceramic jarring in the quiet. Her hands trembled slightly, and she clenched her fingers into fists, willing the shaking to stop. She couldn’t let herself spiral—not yet. Clarity, not chaos, was what she needed.

The family photos lining the living room wall caught her eye as she walked slowly toward them. The hardwood floor was cool beneath her bare feet, grounding her in the moment. The photos, filled with smiling faces and laughter frozen in time, stared back at her like ghosts of a life she wasn’t sure was real anymore. One in particular drew her attention: a picture from their last family vacation. Nathan’s arm was draped around her shoulders, his grin wide and confident. The kids were sandwiched between them, giggling at some forgotten joke. She reached out, her fingertips brushing the glass, tracing the lines of his face. Her hand lingered before she pulled back, her chest tightening. The image felt like a taunt, a reminder of what had felt so real but now seemed like a carefully curated illusion.

A memory surfaced unbidden—Nathan surprising her with breakfast in bed on their tenth anniversary. She had thought, *This is the man who loves me.* But now, the memory felt tainted, its sweetness soured by the bitter edge of doubt.

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table, pulling her from her thoughts. Rachel’s name lit up the screen. Claire hesitated, her thumb hovering over the device. She could already hear Rachel’s voice in her head, fiery and full of righteous indignation. *Confront him. Demand answers, Claire.* But she wasn’t ready for that—not yet. She needed more. Proof. Answers. Something tangible to anchor her suspicions before she risked dismantling everything.

She silenced the call and sank onto the sofa, her hands gripping her knees. Her mind churned with conflicting emotions: anger, sadness, confusion. But beneath it all, a quiet, simmering determination. If there was one thing Claire had learned from her years of restoring damaged artwork, it was that even the most delicate fractures could reveal the truth of what lay beneath. All it took was patience and a steady hand.

The rumble of the garage door startled her, her breath catching in her throat. She stood quickly, her heart pounding as she strained to listen. The sound wasn’t coming from her house. A glance through the window confirmed it was the neighbor’s car backing out of their driveway. Claire exhaled slowly, her pulse still racing. The silence of the house felt heavier now, the familiar warmth of its walls replaced by an oppressive weight.

Moments later, the sound of Nathan’s car pulling into the driveway jolted her again. She stiffened, her gaze darting to the clock. He was home earlier than expected. She smoothed her sweater with trembling hands and walked toward the front door, forcing her expression into something neutral.

Nathan stepped inside, his tie slightly askew and his face flushed from the crisp autumn air. The faint scent of his cologne wafted past her as he brushed by. “Forgot my presentation folder,” he said breezily, his tone casual but rushed. “I swear, I’d lose my head if it wasn’t attached.”

Claire forced a small smile, though her fingers tightened slightly at her sides. “It’s on your desk, I think.”

He straightened, meeting her gaze for a fleeting moment. His eyes flickered—hesitation, perhaps—but he quickly looked away. “Thanks, hon.” The words were light, but they felt hollow, like an echo of the man she thought she knew.

She followed him at a distance as he headed toward his office. From the hallway, she watched as he rifled through papers, muttering under his breath. His phone lay on the desk, its screen dark and unassuming. Claire’s pulse quickened as an idea took root. If she could just get a moment alone with it… No. It was too risky. Not yet.

Nathan finally found the folder and tucked it under his arm. “Got it,” he said, flashing her a quick smile. “Don’t wait up for me tonight. Late meeting with the team.”

The words hit her like a weight. *Late meeting.* She nodded, her expression carefully neutral. “Drive safe,” she said softly.

He kissed her cheek—another fleeting, surface-level gesture—and then he was gone. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Claire in the silent hallway, her heart pounding. She pressed a hand to her chest, steadying her breathing.

She returned to the living room, her steps measured, her mind racing. The cracks in their life were too deep, too glaring to ignore. But she also knew she couldn’t confront him unprepared. Not yet. She had to approach this like she approached her restorations—with precision, patience, and care. She had to uncover every layer until the entire picture was clear.

Claire picked up her coffee mug from the kitchen counter and took a long sip, the warmth grounding her. Outside, the tulips swayed in the breeze, their vibrant petals a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside her. Setting the mug down, she straightened a slightly askew photo frame on the wall, her hazel eyes sharp and unyielding.

The cracks were there. And she would uncover them all.