THE LAST LETTER

CHAPTER 5

Clara sat in the back seat with her hands folded neatly on her lap, but her heart was still outside–still on that dusty street, still on the uneven school field where boys shouted and laughed like life was simple.

Her phone sat in her bag like it was alive.

Thomas Jensen.

His number.

His name on her screen.

It was such a small thing, yet it felt like she had crossed a line that could not be uncrossed.

When the taxi finally stopped in front of the Matthews’ compound, Clara’s stomach tightened. The gates opened slowly, as though even the entrance wanted to remind her that this house moved at its own pace.

Everything looked perfect.

Too perfect.

The moment she entered the house, the air felt colder than usual. A maid hurried to take her bag, but Clara barely noticed. Her eyes moved quickly across the living room.

Her mother was there.

Seated as always, her posture straight, her expression calm. She was flipping through a magazine, but Clara knew she wasn’t reading.

She was waiting.

Clara paused.

“Good evening, Mum,” she said softly.

Her mother didn’t look up immediately.

“Good evening,” she replied smoothly. “You’re back.”

Clara nodded. “Yes.”

Silence followed.

Then her mother finally lifted her gaze, and Clara’s heart sank–not because she saw anger, but because she saw something worse.

Suspicion.

“You went to the library?” her mother asked.

Clara blinked. “Yes, Mum.”

“You didn’t come back with any book.”

Clara swallowed. “I… I forgot. The librarian said it wasn’t available.”

Her mother’s eyes didn’t change. She only nodded slowly, as if she was filing the information away.

“Go upstairs and freshen up,” she said. “Dinner will be served soon.”

Clara forced a smile. “Okay, Mum.”

She turned to climb the stairs, but her mother’s voice stopped her again.

“Clara.”

Clara paused. “Yes, Mum?”

Her mother’s tone was gentle, almost casual.

“Who drove you home?”

Clara’s throat tightened. “A taxi.”

Her mother studied her for a moment.

“Next time, tell the driver to pick you. It’s safer.”

Clara nodded quickly. “Yes, Mum.”

She walked upstairs with her heart pounding. Her mother had never asked such questions before. Not with that quiet sharpness.

Inside her room, Clara locked the door and leaned back against it, breathing out slowly. She felt like she had escaped something.

Or maybe she hadn’t escaped at all.

Maybe she had only stepped deeper into it.

She walked to her mirror and stared at herself. She looked the same.

But her eyes didn’t.

Her eyes looked like they were hiding something.

She hated it.

Yet she couldn’t stop.

Because the thought of Thomas’s voice still sat in her chest like a warm ember.

Now you can reach me anytime.

Clara walked to her bed and pulled out her phone. Her fingers hovered over his name.

Thomas Jensen.

She stared at it for a long moment before typing.

Clara: I got home safely.

The message was delivered almost immediately. Clara held her breath.

A reply came barely a minute later.

Thomas: Good. I was worried.

Clara’s lips curved into a smile without permission. She typed again.

Clara: Thank you for walking me.

Another reply came.

Thomas: I would always do that.

Clara’s heart swelled.

And then she froze.

Because she heard footsteps outside her door.

Slow. Measured.

The kind of footsteps that belonged to her mother.

Clara quickly slipped her phone under her pillow and sat upright, forcing her face into calmness.

The knock came softly.

“Clara.”

Clara cleared her throat. “Yes, Mum?”

Her mother opened the door without waiting for permission. She stepped inside calmly, her perfume filling the room like an invisible warning.

Clara forced a smile. “Is dinner ready?”

Her mother didn’t answer. Instead, she walked around the room slowly, her eyes scanning the space the way a police officer scanned a crime scene.

Clara’s heartbeat began to race.

Then her mother stopped near Clara’s desk.

She picked up a ribbon.

Clara’s stomach dropped.

The same ribbon Clara had used to tie the notes she took to Thomas.

Her mother turned it between her fingers.

“This is pretty,” she said quietly. “Where did you get it?”

Clara swallowed. “I… I don’t know. It was in my drawer.”

Her mother looked at her.

Her gaze was calm.

But her smile was thin.

“You’ve been smiling a lot lately,” she said.

Clara blinked. “I have?”

Her mother nodded slowly. “Yes.”

She walked closer and sat on the edge of Clara’s bed, her voice gentle.

“You know, Clara… when a girl begins to smile too much, it usually means something is making her happy.”

Clara’s chest tightened.

Her mother reached out and adjusted a loose strand of Clara’s hair. It should have felt motherly.

But it didn’t.

It felt like control.

“Tell me,” her mother asked softly, “is there something you want to talk about?”

Clara’s throat felt dry. “No, Mum.”

Her mother stared at her for a long moment, then sighed.

“All right,” she said, standing up. “Get ready. Dinner is almost served.”

Clara nodded quickly. “Okay, Mum.”

Her mother walked out.

The door closed behind her with a quiet click.

Clara sat still, frozen. Her chest felt tight, like she couldn’t breathe properly.

And for the first time since meeting Thomas, fear slipped into her happiness like poison.

Dinner was worse.

The Matthews’ dining room was large, lit by a chandelier that glittered like ice. The table was long enough to seat ten people, yet it held only three.

Clara sat between her parents, eating slowly, her appetite gone.

Her father spoke about business.

Her mother spoke about charity events.

Everything sounded normal.

Too normal.

But Clara could feel it.

They were both watching her.

Then her father placed his fork down.

The sound was soft, but it made Clara’s heart jump.

“Clara,” he said calmly.

“Yes, Dad?” she replied.

Her father wiped his mouth with a napkin, his voice slow and deliberate.

“I got a call from your principal yesterday.”

Clara’s fingers tightened around her spoon. “A call?”

Her father nodded. “He said you’ve been doing well in class.”

Clara exhaled slightly.

“That’s good,” her mother added.

Clara forced a smile. “Yes.”

Her father’s eyes remained steady.

“He also mentioned something else.”

Clara’s breath caught. “What?”

Her father leaned back in his chair.

“He said you have been spending more time with a boy.”

Clara froze.

Her mother continued eating as if the conversation was casual, but Clara noticed the stiffness in her jaw.

Her father spoke again.

“A boy named Thomas Jensen.”

The name landed like thunder.

Clara felt her entire body go cold. She couldn’t even hear her own breathing.

Her mother finally looked up.

“Thomas Jensen,” she repeated softly.

Clara forced herself to swallow. “Yes. He’s my classmate.”

Her father nodded slowly. “And you’ve been seen with him often.”

“He sits beside me in literature,” Clara said quickly. “We talk sometimes.”

Her mother smiled faintly.

“Talk,” she echoed.

Clara’s heartbeat pounded.

Her father’s voice remained even.

“Clara, you are not a child. You are seventeen. And you are our only daughter.”

Clara stared at her plate.

“You know what that means,” her father added.

Her mother placed her fork down gently.

“We raised you with standards,” she said.

Clara looked up slowly.

Her mother’s gaze was warm, but her words were sharp.

“Your future is different.”

Clara’s chest tightened.

Her mother’s voice became softer.

“Thomas Jensen is a scholarship student, isn’t he?”

Clara’s lips parted. “Yes.”

Her father’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“And his family?”

Clara didn’t answer.

She couldn’t.

Her father leaned forward. “Answer me.”

Clara’s voice came out weak. “I don’t know much about them.”

Her mother’s smile faded.

“You don’t know much,” she repeated. “But you know enough to visit him?”

Clara’s heart stopped.

Her head snapped up. “How…”

Her father interrupted calmly.

“The taxi driver told the gate man you went to Ojo Street.”

Clara felt like she had been slapped.

Her mother stared at her.

“You lied to me,” she said quietly.

Clara’s throat tightened. “I didn’t mean to…”

Her mother raised a hand, stopping her.

“Do you understand how dangerous that is?”

“It wasn’t dangerous,” Clara whispered. “I was fine.”

Her father’s voice hardened.

“You were not fine. You stepped into a place you have no business stepping into.”

Clara’s breath shook.

Her mother leaned closer.

“You want to ruin your name?” she asked.

Clara blinked. “My name?”

“The Matthews name,” her mother replied.

Clara’s stomach twisted.

Then her father spoke again, voice lower.

“We lost four children.”

Silence fell like a heavy cloth.

Clara’s chest tightened painfully.

Her father’s eyes stayed on her.

“You are the only one we have left,” he said. “Do you think we will watch you throw your life away for a boy who cannot even protect himself?”

Tears filled Clara’s eyes.

“You don’t understand,” she whispered.

Her mother’s voice was calm but final.

“No, Clara. You don’t understand.”

She leaned back.

“From today,” her mother said, “you will stop seeing him outside school.”

Clara’s breath caught. “What?”

Her father nodded.

“You will remain focused on your education,” he said. “And you will remember where you belong.”

Clara’s voice cracked. “He hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“That’s not the point,” her mother replied.

Her father stood up, his chair scraping the floor.

“You are dismissed.”

Clara sat frozen. Her food was untouched. Her throat burned.

She stood slowly and walked out, her legs weak.

She didn’t look back.

Because if she did, she knew she would cry.

In her room that night, Clara sat on her bed and stared at her phone.

Thomas had texted her earlier.

Thomas: How are you doing?

Clara hadn’t replied.

Now she stared at his message with tears in her eyes.

She typed slowly.

Clara: My parents know.

The reply came instantly.

Thomas: How?

Clara swallowed.

Clara: They asked me about you today.

A pause.

Thomas: What did they say?

Clara’s fingers trembled.

Clara: They don’t want me close to you.

Another pause.

Then the reply came.

Thomas: I expected it.

Clara’s chest tightened.

Clara: But I don’t care what they want.

The typing bubble appeared… disappeared… appeared again.

Finally, Thomas replied.

Thomas: Clara… don’t fight them because of me.

Clara’s tears fell.

She held the phone tightly, her body shaking.

Because suddenly, love didn’t feel like a sweet secret anymore.

It felt like a war.