Chapter 3 - The Burning Bridge
The cold November wind hit my face like a slap as I stepped out into the driveway, but it felt cleaner than anything inside that house. My hands were shaking violently as I unlocked my truck, threw myself into the driver’s seat, and slammed the door.
I sat there for five minutes, listening to the engine idle, waiting for someone to run out. A part of me—the pathetic, wounded inner child who still believed in blood ties—hoped Dad would come out and pull me into a bear hug. I hoped Paige would chase after me, crying, apologizing for being part of the trap.
Nobody came out. The front blinds twitched once, then fell back into place.
I put the truck in reverse, backed down the gravel driveway, and floored it toward the highway.
Within twenty minutes, my phone blew up on the dashboard. Buzz after buzz vibrated against the plastic cup holder.
*Mom: You humiliated me in front of my brother and Claire. You are being completely childish.*
*Paige: Ethan, answer your phone. Mom is crying. You ruined dinner.*
*Claire: Ethan, I'm so sorry. I told your mom it was a bad idea. Please talk to me.*
Then came a text from a number I had blocked three months ago, slipping through via an unknown group thread. It was Mark.
*Mark: Man up, dude. Stop taking your anger out on Claire. She went there in good faith.*
My stomach twisted into a knot of pure rage. Mark knew. Claire had been texting him from my parents' dining room table, updating him on the scene, while my family smiled and passed the mashed potatoes. They hadn't just invited my cheating ex-wife; they had allowed her to bring the shadow of the man who betrayed me into the room.
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I pulled over at a deserted gas station near the state border, grabbed my phone, and did what I should have done months ago. I blocked every single one of them. Mom. Paige. Uncle Ray. Leah.
I sat in the fluorescent glow of that gas station parking lot, eating a dry turkey sandwich from the convenience store rack, watching families drive by packed into minivans with luggage on their roof racks. For the first time in thirty-one years, I had no family. But looking at the silent screen of my phone, the terrifying emptiness felt strangely like freedom.
