Chapter 41 Dispute
Claire
The tires crunched over the gravel as I pulled into the driveway. Before I could even kill the engine, Max was already striding toward me, shoulders tense, face set in that stubborn way he gets when he’s scared and angry at the same time.
I stepped out slowly, clutching my purse like a shield.
“Are you gonna start explaining now, Mom?” His voice came out sharp. “Where were you? Why didn't you pick up any of our calls?”
I shook my head, throat tight. “Let’s go inside first.”
“No, Mom.” He stepped closer, voice rising just enough to crack. “You have to say something. Right now.”
I spun on him, sharper than I meant to. “Where I was isn’t your business. And I’m sorry I didn’t pick up—I really am—but watch your tone.”
The words landed like a slap. I saw the hurt flash across his face, the way his jaw clenched and his eyes dropped. I hated myself for it instantly. He was just a boy who’d spent the whole night terrified for me. But I was exhausted—bone-deep, soul-tired—and the last thing I wanted was to stand in the driveway unraveling in front of the neighbors.
He exhaled hard, shoulders slumping. “I didn’t mean to sound rude.”
I softened, just a fraction. “Let’s just go in.”
I walked past him. He followed a step behind, silent.
The front door swung open and Riette flew at me before I could even set my bag down.
“Mom! Where were you? Do you know how worried we were?” His arms wrapped around me tight, face buried against my shoulder.
I hugged him back automatically, eyes lifting over his head. Ian stood at the top of the stairs, arms crossed, gaze locked on me like a spotlight. I looked away fast.
Isabella stepped up next, arms folded, voice small but accusing. “Yeah, Mom. You just… ran off. And didn’t answer any of us.”
I forced a smile. It felt thin, brittle, fake. “I know. I’m sorry.”
Ian cleared his throat—loud, deliberate—and started down the stairs, each step slow and measured.
“Yes, honey,” he said, the word dripping like acid. “Tell us where you’ve been.”
Honey. The pet name made my skin crawl, made my stomach turn. He stopped a few feet away, eyes boring into mine, daring me to lie.
I looked away from him. Looked at my children instead—one by one. Max, still hurt. Riette, clinging. Isabella, waiting. All of them watching me like I held the next piece of their world in my hands.
And something inside me just… broke.
I didn’t plan the words. They simply came.
“Your father and I are in a big dispute.”
The room went still. I watched the color drain from their faces, watched Ian’s eyes widen in shock.
“This one is bigger than any we’ve had before,” I continued, voice steady now, even though my hands were shaking. “To the point where I don’t want him in this house anymore. Being here… it suffocates me.”
I didn’t know where the confession was coming from. I hadn’t rehearsed it. Hadn’t even admitted it fully to myself until this second. But once the words were out, they felt true.
“So I’m going to my parents’ for a while. A holiday. If any of you want to come with me, that’s your choice.”
I didn’t wait for their reactions. Couldn’t bear to see the confusion, the fear, the questions bloom across their faces. I didn't look at Ian’s stunned face either.
I simply turned, walked through the middle of them, and headed for the stairs.
Behind me, the living room stayed quiet—too quiet.
I didn’t stop until I reached the bedroom door.
I shut it softly.
And only then did I let my forehead rest against the wood, breathing hard, wondering what the hell I’d just done.
And why, deep down, it felt like the first honest thing I’d said in months.
I didn’t waste time. I hurried straight to the closet, heart pounding, and started yanking clothes off hangers—anything comfortable, anything that would get me through the next few days. I’d have to call my parents soon. Tell them I was coming.
They’d be shocked. Worried. Probably ask a hundred questions I wasn’t ready to answer. But I’d deal with that when the time came. Right now, all I could focus on was getting out.
The bedroom door creaked open behind me.
I turned.
My three kids stood there in the doorway, clustered together like they were afraid the room might swallow them if they stepped too far in. Their eyes were wide, searching my face for something—reassurance, maybe. Or answers I still didn’t have.
I sighed. I really didn’t want to talk anymore. But they deserved at least this much.
Isabella spoke first, voice small. “Is it… that bad, Mom?”
I nodded without hesitation. “It is. And I’m so sorry you had to find out like this. I just… I needed to leave. Clear my head. Get some space.”
I swallowed hard, the words tasting like regret and relief at the same time.
Riette stepped forward, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m coming with you. I’ve missed Gramps anyway.”
My sweet boy. Always the one who tried to make things lighter. I gave him a soft smile in return, grateful.
Max snorted lightly, arms crossed. “Well, too bad Dad’s not coming.”
The others let out small, surprised chuckles—even me. It felt strange, that tiny burst of laughter in the middle of all this heaviness. Too bad for him, I guess.
Isabella’s eyes were still hopeful, though. She took a careful step closer. “But… are you sure you don’t want to stay? Try to resolve it with him?”
I shook my head slowly. Then, because I couldn’t bear to see the disappointment settle on her face, I added the lie I knew they needed to hear:
“Maybe when we get back.”
Her shoulders relaxed a little. She nodded, managing a small smile.
They were so young for this. All of it was new—watching their parents fracture right in front of them. I hated that I was the one holding the hammer.
I took a breath and straightened. “So… if any of you want to come with me, go get your things ready. Pack whatever you’ll need. We’ll leave soon.”
They looked at each other, then at me. One by one, they nodded—quiet, serious—and turned to leave the room.
The door clicked shut behind them.
Once the door clicked shut behind them, the room felt suddenly too quiet, too big. I grabbed my purse, and fished out my phone with hands that still wouldn’t quite stop shaking.
I scrolled to “Dad” and hit call, as I waited for him to answer his phone.
He picked up on the second ring.
“The sun must be shining extra bright this morning,” he teased, voice warm and familiar, the same way it had been since I was small.
I let out a small, genuine chuckle despite everything. “Yeah… I guess it is. Sorry I haven’t called as often as I should.”
The truth stung a little. It had been months—maybe longer. Life had a way of swallowing the small things.
“Um, Dad…” My voice came out softer than I meant it to. “Could you… use some visitors?”
A beat of silence stretched across the line. Not cold, just surprised. Then his tone shifted—still gentle, but careful now.
“When would that be?”
I took the deepest breath I could manage. “Like… today. Just me and the kids.”
Another pause. Longer this time. When he spoke again, the lightness was gone. His voice dropped low, hard, protective—the way it used to get when someone had hurt me back in the day.
“What did my son-in-law do to you?”
The question landed like a stone in still water. I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat refusing to budge.