Chapter 2 - The Weight of the Past
The walk to Fairport Elementary was usually Ethan's favorite part of the day. Grace trotted beside him, her purple backpack bouncing with every step, her missing front teeth fully on display as she pointed out a particularly fat caterpillar on the sidewalk.
"Daddy, do you think caterpillars know they're gonna fly?" she asked, her big brown eyes looking up at him with absolute seriousness.
"I think they have a feeling, sweetie," Ethan said, forcing a smile as he held her small hand. "They just have to do the hard work of crawling first."
"Like us?"
The question caught him off guard. He stopped, kneeling down to her eye level. "What do you mean, Gracie?"
"Well, we had to leave our big house with the yellow room because we were crawling, right? But we're gonna fly again soon?"
Ethan’s heart squeezed. He pulled her into a tight hug, burying his face in her sweet, strawberry-shampoo-scented hair. "Yes, baby. We are definitely going to fly again. I promise."
After dropping her off at the school gates, Ethan walked back to the Brierwood Apartments. The brick building looked exceptionally grim in the grey morning light. The parking lot was already pooling water from a broken drainage pipe he had been meaning to clear.
He spent the next four hours in the basement of Building B, wrestling with a rusted water heater. The physical labor was grueling, his muscles aching from the strain, but it was the mental exhaustion that truly weighed him down.
Claire Bennett.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face from ten months ago.
At Bennett Aerotech, Ethan had been a protector of lives. He had spent months analyzing the composite wing spars for the new commercial transport project, the BA-320. The wing spars were the backbone of the aircraft, designed to withstand immense aerodynamic loads. When Gary Holt, the COO, decided to accelerate production by reducing the pressure-cure times of the composite materials, Ethan’s simulations showed a terrifying 4% increase in micro-fracture probability over a five-year operational lifespan.
A 4% chance of structural failure at thirty thousand feet.
When Ethan refused to sign off on the safety certification, Gary had him framed. A flash drive containing proprietary military drone designs was found in Ethan’s desk drawer, and his digital fingerprint was forged on a secure server log.
Gary had presented the "evidence" with cold, calculated efficiency. And Claire, looking at a balance sheet that required the BA-320 to launch on schedule to satisfy shareholders, had signed the termination order. She hadn't asked questions. She hadn't looked at Ethan’s eleven-year record of flawless service. She had simply protected the company.
And now, she was sitting in her grandmother’s house.
At 5:30 PM, Ethan knocked on Camila’s door to pick up Grace. Camila, a fellow resident at Brierwood who ran an in-home daycare, handed Grace over with a warm smile.
"She was an angel today, Ethan," Camila said. "Though she did try to paint a mural on my hallway wall with finger paints."
"I'll pay for the soap," Ethan groaned, rubbing his temples.
"Don't worry about it. Go get some rest. You look like you've been run over by a truck."
"Worse," Ethan muttered. "I’m going to dinner."
He took Grace back to their apartment, helped her wash her face, and dressed her in her cleanest denim overall dress. He changed into a clean flannel shirt and dark jeans.
As they walked down Maple Street toward Nancy's house, Grace kept skipping ahead, excited for the pot roast. Ethan’s stomach, however, was tied in knots. He felt like he was walking into a trap. But as he looked at the warm yellow light spilling from Nancy's porch windows, he knew he couldn't let his past rob his daughter of the one place where she felt at home.
He reached out and rang the doorbell.
The door opened almost instantly. It wasn't Nancy.
It was Claire.
She had changed out of her professional suit into a soft, cream-colored knit sweater and dark trousers, but her expression was just as guarded as it had been that morning.
"Hello, Mr. Barnes," she said quietly.
"Hi," Ethan replied, his voice flat.
Grace looked up, her eyes wide as she took in the elegant stranger. "Are you Nancy's princess? She told me her granddaughter was a princess who lived in a castle in Cleveland."
A rare, genuine flush of color hit Claire’s cheeks. She looked down at Grace, her eyes softening in a way Ethan had never seen before.
"I'm Claire," she said, kneeling down so she was at eye level with the little girl. "And I don't live in a castle, Grace. Just a very loud apartment. It's very nice to meet you."
May you like
"I like your sweater," Grace decided immediately. "It looks like a cloud."
"Thank you," Claire smiled, a surprisingly warm, soft expression that completely transformed her face. "Come on inside. My grandmother has been commanding the kitchen like a general all afternoon."
