Chapter 4 - Seven Years of Silence
Ethan arrived home at seven.
I was waiting in the kitchen.
“Did you see Victoria?”
He stopped.
“Yes.”
That one word felt like falling through ice.
“When?”
“Today.”
“Why?”
“She asked to meet.”
“And you went.”
“Yes.”
I laughed shakily.
“Of course you did.”
“Claire, listen to me.”
“What did she want?”
“To tell me leaving me was a mistake.”
My chest tightened.
“And?”
“I told her my marriage was not available for discussion.”
I stared at him.
“That’s all?”
“No.”
He walked closer but kept distance between us.
“I also told her never to contact you again.”
My anger faltered.
“She said you went to her because of the diary.”
“I went because she implied she had something to tell me about you.”
“And you believed her?”
“I believed she might try to hurt you.”
He exhaled.
“I should have told you immediately. That was my mistake.”
I sat down.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Ethan took something from his jacket.
My diary.
Not the old one.
The current one I had left beside our bed.
My head snapped up.
“I didn’t read it,” he said.
He placed it on the counter.
“I won’t ever read something you haven’t chosen to show me again.”
My throat tightened.
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
Then, quietly, “But I need to tell you something.”
I looked at him.
“I am glad I read the old one.”
I flinched.
He continued before I could respond.
“Not because I had the right. I didn’t. I’m glad because I finally understood how much of your heart you gave away without asking anything in return.”
He swallowed.
“I have been loved by people who wanted my name, my access, my money, my usefulness. Even my father measured affection in performance.”
His voice roughened.
“You loved me when I had nothing to give you because I didn’t even know you were waiting.”
“I wasn’t waiting.”
“No?”
“I lived my life.”
He nodded.
“You did. That matters.”
Then he sank to his knees in front of me.
“Ethan.”
“Let me say this.”
His hands closed gently around mine.
“I can never repay seven years of silence.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
His eyes held mine.
“But I can give you every year after.”
I stopped breathing.
“I love you, Claire.”
I had imagined those words at sixteen.
At twenty.
At twenty-seven.
In every fantasy, they had felt like fireworks.
In reality, they felt like coming home.
He lifted my hand to his mouth.
“I love you today. I’ll love you tomorrow. I’ll keep choosing you for as long as you’ll let me.”
My tears fell.
“I loved you first.”
A faint smile touched his mouth.
“Then let me love you last.”
The next night, we attended the Ashford gala together.
Victoria waited until Ethan stepped away to speak with a client.
“You stayed,” she said.
“Yes.”
She studied me.
“Do you really think you can keep him?”
I looked at her for a long moment.
Then something inside me became very calm.
“I’m not keeping anyone.”
Her smile faltered.
“Ethan is not a dog. He isn’t property. If he wants to leave, there’s the door.”
“You say that because you know he won’t.”
“No. I say it because love that requires a locked door isn’t love.”
Victoria’s face hardened.
“He loved me.”
“I know.”
“He proposed to me.”
“I know.”
“He imagined children with me.”
That one hurt.
I let it.
Then I said, “And you left.”
Her eyes flashed.
“I made a mistake.”
“Maybe.”
“I could have him back.”
“Then ask him.”
She blinked.
“Go ahead. Ask.”
Ethan had returned.
He stopped beside me.
Victoria’s gaze moved between us.
“Ethan,” she said softly, “if there were no marriage, no scandal, no consequences… would you choose differently?”
His answer came without hesitation.
“No.”
Color drained from her face.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
“You loved me once.”
“I loved the woman I thought you were.”
“You’re cruel.”
“No. I’m finished lying to make you comfortable.”
He took my hand.
“I have a wife whom I love. You know that now. Whatever existed between us is over.”
Victoria looked at me.
I expected hatred.
Instead I saw something sadder.
Disbelief.
She had built her entire return around the assumption that a door remained open.
Ethan had just closed it.
Not for me.
For himself.
That distinction mattered.
We left before dessert.
Outside, I leaned against him.
“You didn’t have to humiliate her.”
“I didn’t.”
“You were slightly terrifying.”
“Good.”
I laughed.
He looked down at me.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Claire.”
“You’re obsessed with getting answers.”
“I married a woman who spent seven years withholding relevant information.”
I punched his arm.
He caught my hand.
Then his expression softened.
“Come home.”
“Why?”
“I have seven years to make up for.”
“Ethan.”
May you like
“Fine. Six.”
I laughed all the way to the car.
