Cathryn. Shannon Waverly

his usual greeting as he tramped into the kitchen. “We’re home!”

      Out of sight in the living room, Cathryn’s heart ached with love and terror. She pressed her palms to her cheeks, trying to sculpt a smile, then stepped into the kitchen. “Hi. How was school?”

      Her question was met with various blithe answers of “good,” “okay” and “highly forgettable.” The children were too intent on rummaging for snacks.

      “Hey, don’t I rate a hug?” she said, hoping her flippancy disguised how desperately she wanted to hold them.

      One by one, the kids obliged. Justin, with his flannel shirt unbuttoned and hanging outside his jeans—not how her mother had sent him to school, Cathryn was sure. Beth, her soft curls tickling Cathryn’s neck, her pink Barbie sweater smelling of peanut butter. Cory, tripping forward on an undone shoelace.

      “Are you okay, Mom?” Cory studied her through his round, wire-framed glasses, too observant for his own good.

      Cathryn smiled and combed her fingers through his hat-swirled hair. “Of course.”

      “You look different.”

      “I put on a little makeup, that’s all.”

      “Oh.” Her eight-year-old dismissed his concern with the alacrity of a child raised in a home where serious trouble is simply unthinkable.

      The door opened again and in walked Dylan, wearing the same clothes he’d had on yesterday. He’d forgotten to pack a change. Still, he looked as if he’d just stepped out of a casual men’s wear catalogue. That was Cathryn’s doing. She loved buying clothes for him.

      Because his hours were so irregular, the kids weren’t at all surprised to see him at midafternoon. They barely looked up from pouring milk and reaching into the cookie jar as they said hi.

      His gaze met Cathryn’s guiltily, then veered away. For the first time since he’d admitted to his affair, she felt a hot lick of anger. In avoiding her, he was only hurting the kids.

      “Would you like some coffee?” she asked, challenge in her tone.

      He slipped off his parka and hung it on its peg. “That’d be great. Thank you,” he replied, polite as a guest.

      Seated at the table, Justin stopped munching and looked from one parent to the other. “How was last night?” he asked with a touch of suspicion.

      Cathryn glared at Dylan. Ready or not, the moment was upon them, and now what were they supposed to do?

      With a heavy sigh, Dylan lifted his coffee mug, the one that said World’s Greatest Dad, and sat beside his firstborn, the son who looked so much like him. Cathryn pulled out a chair next to Beth, who was cheerily emptying her backpack of the day’s papers and arranging them in front of her. Cory, already immersed in a library book, sat at one end of the table.

      “What’s up?” Justin asked, aware that his first question still hadn’t been answered. Cory lifted his gaze, sensing something peculiar in his brother’s voice.

      “We have something to discuss with all of you,” Dylan began. He looked tired, distraught under his surface calm, and Cathryn’s anger ebbed somewhat.

      “Something important?” Cory asked.

      “Yes, important and difficult, and I’d give anything if I didn’t have to say it.”

      Then don’t, Cathryn silently implored, desperate to shield her babies.

      “What’s wrong, Dad?” Cory and Justin asked simultaneously.

      Dylan glanced briefly across the table at Cathryn, then down at his coffee mug. “Kids, your mother and I—”

      Cathryn feared he was about to blurt everything and send the children into shell shock. “Before we go any further,” she interrupted, “we want you to understand something. And this is the most important thing of all, so listen up.” Her gaze circled the table. “Beth?” she said to get her daughter’s attention. With everyone listening, she continued, “Your father and I love you. We love you more than anything in the world. And we will always love you, and be here for you.”

      Justin paled. “Oh, no,” he murmured, two jumps ahead of his younger siblings.

      “What?” Beth asked, head swiveling, curls flying out. “What’s happening, guys?”

      Cathryn had more to say, more words of assurance and comfort to impart, but Dylan, perhaps thinking she was done, picked up the ball with, “Your mother and I have hit a rough patch in our marriage.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple working over the ribbing of his crewneck sweater. “And we’ve decided it might be best if I…if I moved out for a while.”

      There. It was said. Dylan didn’t breathe, waiting for the children’s reaction. Neither did Cathryn. She couldn’t for the pain encasing her.

      “What?” Justin shot to his feet. His lean face, which lately seemed so grown-up to her, became a child’s again, soft and vulnerable.

      Cathryn glanced around the table, from Justin to Cory to Beth, watching Dylan’s words sink in. It was like watching her children being lined up and executed. This was abuse. This was consciously inflicting harm on them. And it shouldn’t be happening.

      “Sit down, Justin,” Dylan said gently.

      Justin sat with caution, as if the chair might not be there anymore. “What kind of rough patch?” he asked. “What do you mean? Did you and Mom have a fight?”

      “Sort of. I can’t really get into that right now. It’s between me and her.”

      “You’ve had fights before,” Justin argued.

      “Yes, but this one was a little different.” Dylan dipped his head to his coffee mug as if he were diving for cover. Cathryn noticed her two youngest had grown unnaturally alert and tense. They seemed to be absorbing the scene with the very cells of their skin.

      “How?” Justin persisted. “How was it different?”

      “More serious.”

      Cathryn could almost hear the gears of Justin’s mind whirring, processing all the adult troubles he’d ever heard about. No! Please let’s not go there.

      Fortunately—or unfortunately—everyone was distracted by a hiccupping sound at the end of the table, and turned their attention on Cory, who was struggling not to cry. Embarrassed, he buried his face in the crook of his arm, but his sobs were audible anyway. Although Beth still didn’t seem to fully comprehend what was happening, she sensed calamity and burst into tears, too.

      Cathryn considered comforting them with words, but nothing she thought of was true. No, the situation was not all right. There was reason to cry. The only comfort she felt she could give with any honesty was physical—a hug, holding a hand or stroking a head.

      “But where are you going, Daddy?” Bethany asked through her jerky whimpers.

      Yes, where? Cathryn wondered.

      “To Gram and Grandpa McGrath’s farm. I’ll stay in my old room.”

      With a fresh stab of pain, Cathryn thought of her in-laws, good, hardworking people both. She loved them, got along well with them, and considered them an inextricable part of her life. Now what? How would they relate to one another after this?

      “When are you coming back?” Justin asked his father.

      A heavy pause hung over the table. “I’m not sure, Jus,” Dylan replied, staring at his tightly folded, white-knuckled hands. “There’s no timetable to this.”

      “But why do you have to leave at all?”

      “We…need some time apart.”

      Cory lifted his head off his arms, sniffing back tears. His face was mottled and stricken. “From us?”

      “No!