| FAULT LINES |


Her suitcase sits just inside the front door.

He's home an uncustomary two hours early today, unlike his standard three or four hours late that has been the norm for months now. They've been fighting more and more lately.

Last night, he'd caught a glimpse of the face of their daughter as she crouched in the shadows of the stairs during his and Zoe's most recent Battle Royale. He saw Emily's tiny features crumple and crease with fear and worry and things that shouldn't mar a child's face. When he heard her little pyjama-clad feet beat a hasty retreat back up the steps to the relative sanctuary of her bedroom, he purposed to do tomorrow differently.

To that end, he arranges for a sitter for Emily, makes dinner reservations, and leaves the office early. He makes an impromptu visit to a florist on his way home, as well. He is determined to surprise her.

The suitcase really throws him.

He stands there – flowers in hand, door ajar – and just stares at the suitcase, confused.

She rounds the corner, clearly not expecting him. Her eyes widen, mouth drops open a bit.

Succeeded in surprising her, comes the inane thought.

Surprise. Guilt. Hostility. Not a promising landscape.

"You're home early." Her tone is cold. Accusatory.

Cal finds his voice. "Last-minute business trip?" he asks hopefully yet already feeling the truth of the moment deep in his bones.

Zoe doesn't answer right away. She merely looks at him with a grim determination that is more answer than he can bear. He swallows thickly, bracing himself for the words he knows are next. The fault lines run deep and spread far. By the time Cal opted to react, the damage was already done. Their marriage had become a terminal case that kept taking medicine and pretending the end wasn't quite so near.

And then Zoe looks away and sighs.

"I'm done, Cal."