To Ruin a Blackwood

Summary

Seven years after my divorce from Ethan Blackwood, we met again in the drop-off line for a middle school summer camp.

He was there for his stepson. I was the teacher in charge of the trip.

I went through the checklist with him, my voice professional and clipped. He listened intently, playing the part of a competent parent. The only crack in the facade was a flicker of confusion in his eyes when I called him "Mr. Blackwood."

"Audrey," he said, his voice a low murmur. "You've... changed."