Who Breaks First Chapter 1

In the third year of my marriage to Audrey, my uncle came home. He was, and perhaps always had been, the one that got away.

I saw the current that still flowed between them, saw the way Audrey’s eyes clung to him when she thought no one was looking.

This time, I decided to let go.

The marriage between the Prescotts and her family was only ever on the table because my uncle, Grayson, didn't want it. It fell to me.

I packed my bags, erased my presence from our home, and chose a bright, clear day to leave.

Audrey called. "Ethan, once I'm done showing your uncle around, I'll be home to celebrate your birthday."

I watched the white contrail of a jet score the blue sky and said softly, "Don't worry about it. I'm not really celebrating this year."

* * *

The Prescott family has a standing dinner every month. My wife, Audrey, is a busy woman, and she rarely attended with me. When I showed up alone at the family estate, I was an easy target for their casual disdain. After years of the same remarks, you build a kind of immunity.

So when my Aunt Carol started in again about my lack of ambition, about my inability to hold Audrey’s interest, I simply let my mind drift, outlining the next chapter of my novel.

"Well, it’s one thing for you to be useless," she said, her voice cutting through my thoughts, "but thank God Grayson is back today. He and Audrey were always so close. From now on, we should just let him spend more time with her."

Let Grayson do what with Audrey? My focus snapped back to the dining room. I felt a surge of disbelief.

"Aunt Carol, Audrey is my wife. What are you trying to say?"

She set down her fork with an impatient clatter. "What do you think I mean? They were good together. If Grayson hadn't been so stubborn about going abroad for his doctorate, you never would have had the chance to pick up the scraps."

"Audrey is my wife," I repeated, my voice tight. "We've been married for three years."

I pushed myself up, gripping the edge of the heavy mahogany table. The sudden emotion brought on a wracking cough, a familiar betrayal by my own body.

Every eye at the table turned to me, their expressions dripping with contempt. I clenched my fists at my sides.

I've always been the invisible Prescott son. Frail and prone to illness since childhood, I spent more time in bed than out of it, easily overlooked. When my mother was alive, she watched over me, even from her own sickbed. But after she died, I became a ghost in my own home, trailing behind my cousins, taking whatever they didn't want. It wasn't until I started earning my own money as a writer that I found any semblance of peace.

Their scorn, their dismissal of me—I could live with that. But Audrey, my wife… that was the one thing I couldn't concede. I couldn't just play deaf and dumb while they plotted to push the woman I loved into another man's arms.

Why in God's name should my uncle be the one to "spend time" with my wife?

"I've lost my appetite. Please, enjoy the rest of your meal. Excuse me."

I turned to leave.

"You stop right there! Who taught you to speak to your elders that way? Have you no manners?" My father’s voice boomed, his palm slamming the table.

"It would make sense if I didn't," I said, turning back to face him, my gaze unflinching. "After all, you never taught me any."

The standoff was broken by a voice I hadn't heard in three years.

"Ethan, what's all the fuss? Don't ruin a perfectly good family dinner."

It was my uncle, Grayson. He sounded the same as ever—his words feigning concern while every syllable dripped with condescension, painting me as the petulant child. He hadn't been in the house for five minutes, knew nothing of the situation, and had already laid the blame at my feet.

I turned, an irritable retort on my lips, but it died when I saw who was standing beside him. A person who was supposed to be working late at her firm.

"Audrey? What are you doing here?"