Chapter Twenty-Three: A Ghost From The Past
1751 Words
Thank you.
Not that sounds nice. Not I’m looking forward to it. Just thank you.
Ethan waited until she disappeared into the bedroom before letting his shoulders slump.
Three months, he thought. Three months of marriage, and this was where they were. Orbiting the same space without touching.
He stirred the sauce even though it didn’t need stirring, just to give his hands something to do. He replayed the scene in his head like he always did, wondering if he’d missed a chance to say something different. Something better.
He hadn’t.
They ate dinner at the small table near the window. The city lights were just starting to come on, soft and distant.
“This is good,” Clara said after a few bites.
“Yeah?” He tried not to sound too hopeful. “I mean—good.”
She smiled a little. “You’re getting better.”
“I’ll take that as high praise.”
She laughed, a real one this time, and it felt like a small win.
They talked about safe things. The foundation. A new exhibit proposal. A donor who wanted more recognition than he deserved.
“You don’t have to take on everything yourself,” Ethan said. “They have a board and staff... You know, people that can help you."
“I know,” she said. “But it’s different now.”
“Because of the funding?”
She hesitated. “Because of where the funding comes from.”
He put his fork down. “Clara—”
“I’m grateful,” she said quickly. “I am. Please don’t think I’m not. The foundation was struggling. I was running out of options. And then… this happened.”
“This,” he repeated gently. “Us.”
She met his eyes. “Yes.”
“I never wanted you to feel like you owed me anything.”
“I know,” she said. And he believed that she did. “But knowing and feeling aren’t always the same.”
Silence settled between them, not heavy, but not easy either.
After dinner, Ethan washed the dishes. Clara dried them. Their hands brushed once when they reached for the same plate. She pulled back immediately, not sharply, just… instinctively.
“Sorry,” she said.
“It’s okay,” he said, too quickly.
He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince.
Later, she sat on the couch with her laptop, reviewing notes. Ethan sat in the armchair across from her, pretending to watch the news. Every few minutes, he glanced up at her.
He watched the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she concentrated. The way her brow furrowed when she read something she didn’t like. He watched her like someone studying a language he almost understood.
He thought about the version of marriage he’d imagined. He wasn't expecting a perfect nor a dramatic marriage. He just wanted--- warmth, like sharing mornings with lazy touches, feeling the quiet comfort of knowing you could reach out and meet halfway.
Instead, he felt like he was standing on the other side of a glass wall.
“Do you want some tea?” he asked.
She looked up. “Sure. That would be nice.”
He made chamomile, the one she always drank before bed. He handed her the mug carefully, like it might break.
“Thank you,” she said again.
They sat there, the soft hum of the city filling the room.
“Ethan,” she said suddenly.
He looked up. “Yeah?”
“You don’t have to stay up with me. If you’re tired.”
“I’m not,” he said. “I can wait.”
“For what?”
He hesitated. Then decided to be honest, at least a little. “For you to be done.”
She studied him. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know. I want to.”
She looked away. “You’re very patient.”
He gave a small smile. “I’m trying to be.”
That wasn’t the whole truth. The truth was, he was afraid. Afraid that if he moved too fast, he’d lose what little closeness they had. Afraid that if he pushed, she’d shut down completely.
So he waited. He watched. He hoped.
When she finally closed her laptop, it was late. She stretched, rubbing her neck.
“Long day,” she said.
“Yeah.”
They stood at the same time, then paused, unsure of who should move first. Clara gestured toward the hallway.
“I’ll… get ready for bed."
“Okay,” he said.
He waited until she disappeared before following, giving her space even when every instinct told him to do the opposite.
They brushed their teeth side by side in silence. She finished first, wished him goodnight, and slipped into the bedroom.
Ethan lingered a moment, staring at his reflection. He looked tired. Older than he felt.
When he finally went in, Clara was already in bed, turned slightly away, reading on her phone.
He slid in on his side, careful not to jostle her. The space between them felt wider than the mattress allowed.
“Goodnight,” he said.
“Goodnight,” she replied.
The lights went off.
In the dark, Ethan stared at the ceiling. He listened to her breathing, slow and steady. He wondered what she was thinking. If she ever lay awake like this, feeling the distance too.
He wanted to reach out. Just to touch her hand. Just to remind her he was there.
He didn’t.
Instead, he lay still, loving her quietly, from where he stood—always just a step away, unsure how to close the space without breaking what they had.
And he hoped that someday, she would turn toward him on her own.
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Clara was halfway through reviewing a grant proposal when her phone buzzed.
She glanced at the screen, expecting an email notification or a message from the foundation’s coordinator. Instead, she saw a name she hadn’t seen in months.
Lena.
She hesitated before answering. “Hi.”
“You’re sitting down, right?” Lena asked.
Clara frowned. “I am now. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong,” Lena said quickly. “It’s just… news.”
Clara leaned back in her chair. “Okay. Tell me.”
There was a pause on the line, just long enough for Clara’s chest to tighten.
“Daniel’s coming back,” Lena said. “To the States. Permanently, I think.”
Clara didn’t respond right away.
She stared at the wall across from her, at the framed photo of the Monroe Cultural Foundation’s opening gala from years ago. A different life. A different version of herself.
“When?” she asked finally.
“Next week, and he said he wanted to reconnect... Actually, he asked about you.”
Clara swallowed. “What did you say?”
“That you’re married,” Lena said. “Very much married.”
A short, humorless laugh escaped Clara. “Good.”
“You okay?” Lena asked gently.
“Yes,” Clara said too quickly. Then she corrected herself. “I mean—yes. I’m fine. His return doesn’t change anything.”
“If you say so.”
“I do say so,” Clara replied, firmer now. “Thank you for telling me.”
They said goodbye, but after the call ended, Clara stayed frozen in her chair, phone still in her hand.
Daniel is coming back.
She repeated the words silently, as if saying them enough times would drain them of meaning.
“It doesn’t change anything,” she said aloud to the empty room.
She closed her eyes, took a breath, and went back to the proposal. She read the same sentence three times without absorbing a word.
That evening, she arrived home earlier than usual. Ethan was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, chopping vegetables.
“You’re home early,” he said, smiling.
“Meeting got canceled,” she replied, setting her bag down.
“That’s rare.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts.”
He glanced at her, studying her face. “You okay?”
“Yes,” she said automatically.
He raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. “I’m making stir-fry. Hope that’s okay.”
“That’s fine.”
She poured herself a glass of water and leaned against the counter. The normalcy of the moment felt strange, almost fragile.
“Ethan,” she said suddenly.
“Yeah?”
“Do you ever feel like the past has bad timing?”
He paused, knife hovering over the cutting board. “That’s a very specific question.”
She gave a small smile. “I know.”
He considered her for a moment. “Sometimes... Why?”
“No reason,” she said. “Just… thinking.”
He nodded, accepting the half-answer. “Well, dinner will be ready in ten.”
She watched him move around the kitchen, comfortable in the space. He looked like he belonged there. Like he belonged with her, even if she was still figuring out what that meant.
They ate in silence at first.
“So,” Ethan said, breaking it. “Foundation news?”
“It’s doing well,” Clara said. “Better than I expected, honestly.”
“That’s good.”
“It is,” she agreed. “It also means more eyes on me. More expectations.”
“You’ve handled worse.”
She looked at him. “Have I?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “You’re stronger than you think.”
The sincerity in his voice caught her off guard. She looked away, focusing on her plate.
“Thank you.”
After dinner, she helped him clear the table. Her phone buzzed again. A message this time.
Daniel: Hey, Clara. I’m flying in next week, and I hope we can have time to talk face-to-face?
Her chest tightened.
Ethan noticed her stillness. “Is everything okay?”
She locked the phone and slipped it into her pocket. “Yes.”
He didn’t look convinced. “You sure?”
“Yes,” she repeated. Then, because she was tired of half-truths, she added, “An old acquaintance is coming back to town.”
“Ah,” he said. “Do I need to be concerned?”
“No,” she said immediately. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Okay,” he said calmly. “Then I’m not.”
She appreciated that. More than she could say.
- Writer
