Chapter Seven: The Message That Shouldn’t Exist
1416 Words
Clara didn’t expect anything that night.
It was past ten. The office was quiet, her apartment dim except for the lamp by the couch. She had kicked off her shoes and was halfway through reheating leftover pasta when her phone buzzed on the counter.
She glanced at the screen without thinking. She saw an unfamiliar number flashing on her caller screen. She is quite sure that it was an International Number, but who is calling her?
Her first instinct was to ignore it. Most overseas numbers meant spam or wrong calls. She wiped her hands on a towel and picked up the phone anyway.
She frowned in curiosity while looking at a long text message...
Clara, I don’t know if you’ll even read this. I don’t know if I deserve a reply. But I’ve thought about you every day for five years. I left without explaining, and that was wrong. I was scared. I was overwhelmed. I told myself I would write when things settled. They never did. I’m in Copenhagen now. I don’t expect forgiveness. I just couldn’t carry this silence anymore...
Her chest suddenly tightens as soon as she read the sender's name.
It was none other than Daniel...
Her hand and her legs trembled. She feels so weak that she need to sit down at the nearby chair.
How dare him to send a text message just like that, out of the blue?! After those five agonizing years of waiting for him?!
He suddenly left her hanging, without any proper excuse, no proper goodbyes!
“You don’t get to do this,” she whispered to the empty room.
The pasta burned in the microwave, but she didn't give a damn about it.
Her phone buzzed again, and Daniel sent her another message.
I don’t know if we were ever really over. I don’t know what you became after I left. I just know I owe you honesty, even if it comes too late.
Clara stared at the screen.
“We were over,” she said softly. “You made sure of that when you left.”
She pressed her thumb against the screen, hovering over the keypad. Then she locked the phone and pushed it away.
Clara then walked into her bedroom and opened the drawer beneath her bed. Inside were old photo albums she hadn’t touched in years...
She sat on the floor and opened the first one.
Daniel stood in the first photo, younger, laughing, his arm around her shoulder. They were in front of a half-restored library in Oregon. Her hair was longer then. Her smile wider.
There was another photo of them, eating takeouts on the floor of her first office.
They shared so many happy times, they loved each other, they were very much in love... But why did he leave her? Did she do something wrong? Did he fall out of love?
She sank back against the bed, clutching the album. But she didn't cry. She felt like she already cried all the tears five years ago.... But now, her eyes are dry.
============================================
It was another day in the office...
The conference room was already half full when Clara arrived.
It was the same long table, the same framed photos on the wall—community centers reopened, murals restored, libraries brought back from decay. Images of victories that felt distant this morning.
She set her laptop down and greeted the board members with practiced calm.
“Good morning,” she said.
A few nodded. Some avoided her eyes.
That alone told her something was wrong.
Margaret Whitmore, the board chair, cleared her throat. “Let’s begin.”
Clara took her seat at the head of the table. Her assistant, Lena, sat beside her, tablet ready.
Margaret folded her hands. “We’ll skip the usual updates and go straight to the issue.
Clara’s chest tightened. “All right.”
“As of this quarter,” Margaret continued, “we are operating at a twenty-eight percent deficit.”
Clara blinked. “That can’t be right. We closed two new grants last month.”
“And lost three donors,” said Thomas Reed, treasurer. “Two corporate sponsors withdrew. One private donor passed away. The gap is widening.”
Clara leaned forward. “We can adjust. Delay one project. Reallocate funds.”
Margaret shook her head. “It’s more than that.”
Another board member, Elaine Carter, spoke gently. “We may have to shut down two regional programs.”
The words didn’t register at first.
“Shut down?” Clara repeated. “You mean pause?”
“No,” Elaine said. “End.”
Clara’s hands tightened around the edge of the table. “Those programs serve over three hundred communities.”
“And we don’t have the funding to sustain them,” Thomas replied. “If we continue, we risk collapsing the entire foundation.”
“That’s not an option,” Clara said.
Margaret met her gaze. “It may be the only responsible one.”
Silence fell.
“You’re asking me to abandon them,” Clara said quietly.
“We’re asking you to protect the whole,” Margaret replied.
Clara stood.
“With respect,” she said, “those programs are the whole. They are the reason this foundation exists.”
“Clara,” Margaret said, “this isn’t about ideals. It’s about survival.”
“It’s about people,” Clara shot back. “You’ve seen the reports. Schools using our spaces. Seniors relying on those centers. You can’t just erase them from a spreadsheet.”
Thomas sighed. “Emotion doesn’t change numbers.”
“And numbers don’t show impact,” Clara replied. “You taught me that.”
Elaine shifted. “We know how much this means to you. But donors are cautious. The economy is unstable. We need to be realistic.”
“Realistic,” Clara echoed. “You want me to tell communities they don’t matter anymore because they’re inconvenient?”
“No one is saying they don’t matter,” Margaret said. “We’re saying we can’t save everyone.”
Clara’s voice shook. “That’s exactly what you’re saying.”
Lena whispered, “Clara—”
She raised a hand.
“You want me to sign letters,” Clara said, “to tell them the doors are closing.”
Margaret nodded slowly. “Yes.”
Clara stared at the photos on the wall.
A boy standing in front of a restored theater. A woman holding keys to a reopened library.
“I built this foundation so that places like those wouldn’t be forgotten,” she said.
“And now you’re asking me to forget them.”
Margaret softened. “We’re asking you to lead.”
Clara turned back. “Leadership isn’t choosing who deserves hope.”
Thomas leaned forward. “It is choosing what can survive.”
Her voice dropped. “If this foundation survives by becoming smaller than its mission, then what exactly are we preserving?”
Silence suddenly fell the meeting room...
Elaine spoke again. “What alternative do you propose?"
Clara inhaled.
“We fight,” she said. “We restructure outreach. We engage new partners. We don’t retreat.”
“With what funds?” Thomas asked.
Clara hesitated, but after a few seconds, she spoke again.
Clara straightened. “I have potential leads.”
“Names?” Thomas pressed.
“Possibilities,” Clara replied.
Margaret exchanged a glance with the others.
“We can’t operate on hope,” Thomas said.
“And we can’t operate without it,” Clara answered.
Margaret raised a hand. “Enough. We will not make a final decision today. But we must prepare for the reality that cuts may be unavoidable.”
Clara’s throat tightened.
“Give me a month ,” she said.
“Clara—”
“Just a month, ” she insisted. “Let me prove that these programs are worth fighting for.”
Margaret studied her. “And if nothing changes?”
Clara swallowed. “Then I will do what I must.”
The meeting adjourned in quiet.
As the board members filed out, Lena stayed behind.
“You handled that well,” Lena said softly.
Clara sank into her chair. “They’re ready to erase people.”
Lena touched her arm. “You don’t have to carry this alone.”
Clara stared at the empty chairs.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “I do.”
But for the first time, the weight felt heavier than she could ignore...
- Writer
