Chapter Eleven: The Only Path Left
991 Words
That evening, as she walked past one of the abandoned buildings under the foundation’s care, she stopped. The place looked fragile, like it could collapse at any time. Just like everything else. The old building stood quiet in front of her, its windows dark, its doors chained shut. A sign from the city hung crookedly on the fence: Pending Review. It had been there for months.
“This is what happens when you hesitate,” she murmured. “Everything waits. Then disappears.”
A familiar voice echoed in her head.
"You always carry the world on your shoulders, Clara. One day it’s going to break you..."
Daniel had said that once, after she canceled yet another weekend trip because of a funding crisis.
Back then, she had laughed it off.
After her visit at one of the abandoned building, she decided to visit her father as well. Clara found him sitting in his study, surrounded by old books and half-finished sketches. When he saw her, his face softened.
“Long day?” he asked.
“You could say that,” Clara replied, sitting across from him.
He studied her for a moment. “You look… troubled.”
She hesitated, then let out a breath. “Dad, have you ever been scared of making the wrong choice?”
He smiled faintly. “Every important choice I’ve ever made.”
She looked down at her hands. “What if one decision changes everything?”
“It usually does,” he said gently. “That’s why it matters.”
She swallowed. “What if you choose safety and lose yourself?”
He leaned back in his chair. “And what if you choose yourself and lose everything else?”
Clara looked at him.
He continued, “Life rarely gives us perfect answers. Only trade-offs.”
Clara suddenly thought of Ethan Cole, who is probably staring at balance sheets, thinking about saving empires.
And here she was, caught between who she had been and who she might become....
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Clara spread the folders across her dining table like pieces of a broken puzzle.
She stared at the Personal accounts, Family Holdings, and Company Stocks.
And last but not the least, the Monroe Cultural Foundation’s full financial report.
Every page carried numbers she already knew by heart. She had memorized them in the past weeks, waking up at night with figures in her head. Still, she read them again, as if repetition might soften the truth.
It didn’t.
Her checking account hovered dangerously low. The family trust—once stable—had thinned after years of quietly supporting unfinished projects and emergency grants.
Her father’s company, Monroe Heritage Builders, had lost two major contracts in the past year.
And the foundation…
She flipped to the last page.
Operating deficit: $4.2 million.
Projected insolvency: 9–11 months.
Clara closed her eyes.
“Just numbers,” she whispered. “They’re just numbers.”
But numbers were reality. Numbers decided which buildings lived and which crumbled. Which programs survived and which children lost their workshops, their scholarships, their safe spaces.
Her phone rang.
She jumped, then sighed when she saw the name.
"Lena.”
“Hey,” Clara answered.
“Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“No. Just… paperwork.”
Lena laughed softly. “You always say that when the world is ending.”
Clara looked at the documents. “You’re not wrong.”
A pause. “Did you go through everything?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Clara leaned back in her chair. “It’s worse than I thought.”
Lena didn’t rush to fill the silence.
“They’re not bluffing, are they?” May asked carefully. “The board.”
“No. They’re being realistic.” Clara swallowed. “We can’t survive another year like this.”
“Is there anything left to cut?”
“We already cut staff. Programs. Field work.” Clara’s voice tightened. “There’s nothing left that won’t damage the foundation’s core.”
“Then… Ethan’s offer?”
Clara closed her eyes.
“It’s not an offer,” she said quietly. “It’s a lifeline.”
“Clara,” Lena said gently, “you once told me this foundation is bigger than any one person. Even you.”
Clara’s throat tightened.
“I know.”
After they hung up, Clara remained seated, staring at the papers.
Her father knocked lightly and entered.
“You’ve turned the dining room into a battlefield,” he said.
She gave a tired smile. “It feels like one.”
He took a seat across from her and glanced at the documents. “So. What’s the verdict?”
She hesitated. “We’re drowning.”
He nodded slowly. “I suspected as much.”
“You knew?”
“I felt it,” he said. “In the way you’ve been carrying everything alone.”
Clara’s voice wavered. “I tried. I really tried to fix it without… outside control.”
“Control is an illusion,” her father said calmly. “We all borrow it from time to time.”
She looked up. “What if I have to give up my freedom to save what you built?”
He studied her. “Tell me what you mean.”
Clara decided not to tell her father about Ethan Cole's marriage-s***h-business proposal, as it was not the time to reveal anything yet.
"It's nothing, Dad... Just forget it. We'll, I've got to go back to my apartment, I've got an early start tomorrow at the office. Bye, Dad... Love you lots!" she decided to change the subject.
Her father waved at her, and once her car is out of the driveway, tears suddenly fell from her eyes...
“There is no other path.” she whispered.
If marrying Ethan Cole is the only path to save everything she loves, then she will accept her fate...
But of course, in her own terms.
- Writer
