Chapter 6: Crossing Lines

I didn’t let the driver take us.

There was no way I was dragging Riley through more questions, more scrutiny. Instead, I slipped into the garage and grabbed the keys to Ethan’s old Range Rover—the one nobody ever used.

The leather seats smelled like cedar and aftershave. I tossed my purse in the back, glancing at Riley in the rearview mirror.

At first, Riley wouldn’t get in.

She hesitated, hovering by the door. Her pride was as fierce as ever, even soaked to the bone.

She asked, “Do you know where Ethan went?”

Her voice was wary, eyes searching my face for any sign of judgment.

After I married Ethan, she’d blocked him completely. My birthday was the last time they’d spoken, and even then, it was through Ethan’s assistant’s phone.

It was her way of drawing the line, refusing to be the other woman in anyone’s story. I respected her for it.

In some ways, she really was proud and tough.

I rolled down the window, my tone a little cold. “He can’t come back.”

I tried to keep my voice steady, not letting her see the jealousy or resentment I’d buried deep. I wanted to help, but on my terms.

“If you came to find him, it must be urgent. If he can do it, so can I. Get in, I’ll help you.”

I didn’t wait for her to answer, just reached over to unlock the passenger door. The rain was getting heavier, the wipers barely keeping up.

“If you don’t want to, that’s fine.”

I shrugged, but my grip on the steering wheel tightened. I hoped she’d choose to trust me, if only for tonight.

After I finished, Riley looked at me for a long moment, then got in the passenger seat.

She buckled her seatbelt in silence, staring straight ahead. I could feel her anxiety radiating off her, but she didn’t say a word.

She gave me the hospital address.

Her voice was quiet, almost apologetic. I punched it into the GPS, then hit the gas.

I didn’t hesitate and drove straight there.

The roads were slick, the city lights smeared by rain. We drove in silence, the only sound the thrum of the tires on wet pavement.

Once we arrived, I helped with the paperwork, paid the bills, and through a friend, found the best doctor in the hospital.

I was efficient—handing over insurance cards, signing forms, calling in a favor with Jessica’s cousin who worked in neurology. I watched Riley relax just a little, her hands unclenching as the crisis came under control.

When everything was done, I went to the operating room door and saw Ethan.

He’d gotten there just ahead of us, his tie loosened, hair damp from the rain. He looked older, wearier than I’d ever seen him.

Across the hallway, he looked exhausted, half-squatting, comforting the girl he loved.

He knelt beside Riley, his hand on her shoulder. He whispered something I couldn’t hear, but the tenderness was obvious.

He reached out to wipe away her tears, then took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

It was the kind of gesture that made time stand still—a silent promise to carry her burdens for as long as she’d let him.

He said, “I’m here for everything.”

His words were quiet but certain, the kind you believe because you have to. I watched Riley nod, her eyes shining with gratitude and heartbreak.

Riley nodded, eyes red. “Okay.”

She tucked herself into his side, shoulders shaking with relief. It was their moment, and I didn’t belong.

I thought, there’s no reason for me to be here anymore.

I slipped away before anyone noticed. The hospital corridors were empty, fluorescent lights humming overhead. I felt invisible—just another bystander in someone else’s story.

I left the hospital, opened Ethan’s chat, and briefly told him what happened.

I kept the message short: Riley’s mom is in surgery, everything’s under control. I’ll see you at home.

Then I went home, took a shower, and waited for his message.

The hot water washed away the chill, but not the ache. I sat on the edge of my bed, scrolling through old photos, waiting for the ping of my phone.

At one in the morning, he replied.

The screen lit up in the darkness, the blue glow illuminating the ceiling. I held my breath as I opened his message.

Just two sentences:

[Okay.]

[Thank you.]

No more, no less. I read them over and over, unsure if they meant everything or nothing at all.

It wasn’t until the next evening that I saw Ethan again.

The house was quiet, the city muffled by another gray drizzle. I padded down the stairs in an old pair of pajamas, clutching a mug of chamomile tea. The last thing I expected was to run into him at the bottom of the stairs, looking just as rumpled and tired as I felt.

The mug nearly slipped from my hand, and he reached out instinctively to steady me. For a moment, our eyes met, and the old familiarity flickered between us.

He stiffened, looked at me, and for a moment, seemed lost.

He ran a hand through his hair, searching for words. There was something raw in his expression, a vulnerability I’d never seen before.

I didn’t ask about Riley.

I sipped my tea, waiting for him to speak. I wanted to ask how she was, but I held back, afraid the answer would hurt more than the silence.

But this time, Ethan brought her up himself.

He cleared his throat, glancing at the floor. "Riley wanted me to tell you that on your birthday, it wasn’t on purpose. She didn’t know it was the Caldwell family."

He met my eyes, searching for forgiveness, or maybe just understanding. I saw the effort it took for him to bring it up—his way of trying to build a bridge over the gulf between us.

I was a little surprised, looking at Ethan.

The apology was unexpected, and it caught me off guard. My grip tightened on the mug, and I blinked back the sudden sting in my eyes.

After a moment, I nodded. “Okay, I get it.”

My words were quiet but sincere. I let the forgiveness settle between us, hoping it was enough to let us move forward, even if only a little.

After that day, thanks to Riley, we somehow became a little closer.

We found a new rhythm—still careful, still hesitant, but not quite as distant. Sometimes, over dinner, Ethan would ask about my day, and I’d find myself answering honestly. The wounds were still there, but maybe, just maybe, they were beginning to heal.

The next time I walked into the Caldwell house, I didn’t know if I’d find Ethan waiting for me—or if I’d finally have to choose which side of this story was mine.