Page 2 of Fault Lines
He stroked my back, slow and reassuring. “You’re everything I need. If I have you, that’s enough.”
I was almost afraid to ask the next part—the words barely left my mouth. “You’ll never leave me?”
He tipped my chin up so our eyes met. His were shining, green and steady. “I would never leave you. You’re my heart. With or without children. As long as you’re here, I am home.”
My voice shook with the last question. “Could you really be happy, if we never have a child?”
His answer was simple, fierce. “With you? I already am.”
Chapter One
One Year Later
Tonight, I wanted everything to be perfect. The quiet kitchen was a cathedral, sunlight slanting through my own nervousness, and then—a sharp yelp broke the hush as my hand caught the edge of the oven’s hot glass. Reflex saved me from a real burn, but my fingertip smarted, angry and red, pressed up to my lips. Sucking at it did nothing, but it made me feel like I was doing something, like I was fixing the mistake.
A soft hum escaped me, shaky, as I started pulling plates from the cabinet above the sink. Each one went down on the table like it was made of gold, every curve lined up, every glass glinting and flawless. Even the tiniest slant made my heart lurch. It had to be perfect. Especially tonight, of all nights.
Cam had been talking about the merger for weeks. Some huge company. World-changing, or at least it felt that way for him. Today was supposed to be the day—the day everything was official. This dinner was meant to be a celebration. Expansion, hundreds of new hires, a future full of “imagine the possibilities.” Only, it all sounded so big and far away, like every new success in his world just yanked him further out of reach, like the universe pulling loose from its own gravity.
Job hunting felt pointless now. My email was clogged with applications, all blending together in their bland, polite rejections. Thirty-one years old and nothing but a general degree and a few college coffee shop shifts. It made me feel small, invisible. Cam never pressed, never asked for details, just pictured a wife who was happy to stay home and play house, stuck in some dreamy old movie version of marriage.
And then there was the thing we didn’t talk about. Surrogacy. Adoption. Two words that had become a deep, echoing gap. We’d start to talk about adoption, and Cam’s phone would ring. “Work emergency.” Or suddenly, he’d steer the conversation off the edge of a cliff. More emergencies meant more late nights, more trips, more missing weekends. Seasons shifted, months fell off the calendar, and the reassurance I needed just never came.
It hadn’t always been like this. After that diagnosis, we held onto each other tight. There were midnight whispers, lazy hugs in the morning, little plans for getaways that never made it past the dreaming stage. One by one, work snuffed them out. Our time together shrank, like wax burning down to nothing. Each unanswered call left me a little more hollow.
Dinner was beautiful, at least. The roast was perfect, carrots and onions caramelized to gold, the mashed potatoes like clouds, asparagus crisp and green on the plate. Peach cobbler for dessert, sticky and sweet, filling the house with a promise. Cam’s favorites, all lined up. The clock was almost at six.
I poured the wine, checked my phone, glanced at the door. Waiting had its own ache. The phone flickered with battery checks and hope. Just one buzz, any sign he’d be home soon.
Instead, Rachel’s bubbly text:
We need a girl’s night, girl!
I winced. Honestly, I’d let our friendship rust. Worrying about Cam, about everything, had eaten up all my space for other relationships.
I sent back:This weekend?
Scrolling social media was a mistake. Every couple looked like a magazine ad: perfect smiles, perfect connection. Those memories with Cam felt faded, like they belonged to someone else’s life—not mine anymore. I sipped the wine and waited, and the clock crawled.
6:15. He was never late without a word. I refreshed my messages. Nothing. Not from Cam, anyway. Rachel again:Yes! We can go to that new club across town.
I wanted to laugh. I texted a quick “Alrighty,” but my head was still back at the table, still waiting for the click of Cam’s key in the door.
The roast smelled amazing, but my stomach was a knot. What if the merger had gone badly? What if something had happened? Social media was no comfort; every post just stung. I sipped again. Watched the sun bleed out, the dusk swallow the house. No headlights. No Cam.
Once more, I checked my phone. Still nothing. I tried not to panic, tried to play it cool. I texted: Are you on your way home yet? and set the phone down, my hand shaking just a little.
Minutes spun by in a hush. The wall clock kept ticking, but it sounded far away. When the phone buzzed, my heart jumped. Rachel again.
Yes! We can get dressed up and dance all night!
If only. Clubs felt like another world now. I typed a quick response, tried to picture stilettos and tight dresses, but that Olivia felt like someone I’d met once at a party and never seen again.
No car out front. No sign of Cam. The silence pressed in tighter.
I finally caved and called his cell. Three rings, then voicemail. The dread wasn’t small anymore. He’d seen it was me. Why not pick up? I left a message, my voice thin:
“Hey, baby. Didn’t say you’d be late, dinner’s ready. Call if you can—love you.”
