The Brother's Wife Chapter 9

I packed before dawn, moving silently through the house I'd called home for a decade.

James had given me a check—hush money, essentially. Enough to start over somewhere far from Boston.

I'd booked a flight to Paris. One-way. No forwarding address.

The taxi was waiting downstairs when I heard the bedroom door open.

"Ryan?"

Claire stood in the doorway in her pajamas, her hair messy from sleep, her eyes wide with confusion as she took in my suitcase.

"Go back to bed," I said quietly.

"Where are you going?"

"Away."

"Why?"

"Because it's time." I couldn't look at her. "You'll understand soon enough."

I made it to the elevator before she caught up, barefoot in the hallway.

"Ryan, please. Whatever's wrong, we can fix it. Just talk to me."

"We can't fix this, Claire. Some things are just... broken from the start."

The elevator doors closed on her stricken face.

The taxi driver loaded my suitcase while I climbed into the back seat. I gave him the address for Logan Airport and closed my eyes, trying not to think about the family I was leaving behind.

We'd barely made it five blocks when another car pulled alongside us.

A black Mercedes. Claire's car.

Her voice came through my phone, connected to the taxi's speakers. "Ryan, pull over. We need to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Please. Just give me five minutes. If you still want to leave after that, I won't stop you. I promise."

I should have said no. Should have told the driver to speed up, to lose her.

Instead, I heard myself say, "Fine. Five minutes."

We pulled into an empty parking garage. Claire parked next to us and climbed into the back seat of my taxi before I could protest.

She looked at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable.

Then she said, "You really think I didn't know?"