Chapter 6 - What Lies Beneath the Ink
That night, after Ben and Sam were fast asleep in their small twin beds, I sat at the kitchen table with a single lamp lit, staring at the black leather notebook.
The apartment was entirely quiet, save for the rhythmic tick of the wall clock and the distant rumble of night traffic.
My fingers hovered over the cracked leather cover for almost ten minutes before I finally mustered the courage to open it.
The first page was dated three days after I walked out of our Chicago penthouse.
September 14th Clara, I’m sitting on the edge of our bed. Your closet is half-empty. The scent of your vanilla perfume is still on the pillows, and I can barely breathe. I went to your mother's house today. She stood on the porch and told me that if I ever stepped foot on her lawn again, she would call the police. I wanted to tell her that I would willingly let them lock me away if it meant knowing you were safe. Where are you, Clara? Please, just send a text. One word. Just let me know you're alive.
I flipped through dozens of pages. The handwriting, usually sharp and precise like an executive’s, grew increasingly jagged, chaotic, and stained with dried water spots.
November 2nd I fired Chloe Bennett today. Her father pulled his twenty-million-dollar investment from the riverfront project. The board is calling an emergency session to vote on my removal. I don't care. Let them take the company. Let them take everything. None of it means anything without you here to share it.
January 19th It’s your birthday today. I bought the chocolate cake from that little French bakery you loved in Lincoln Park. I sat at the dining table alone and lit thirty candles. I blew them out for you. I prayed to a God I haven't talked to since I was a boy, begging Him to protect you wherever you are.
My breath hitched in my throat as tears began to blur my vision. I flipped toward the entries dated nine months after I left—the exact time Ben and Sam were born in that cold hospital in Albany.
June 12th I had a dream last night, Clara. A vivid, terrifying, beautiful dream. I dreamed you were holding a baby in your arms, standing in a field of sunflowers. I woke up reaching for you, but the bed was cold. I feel like a ghost haunting an empty house. If you ever read this... I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.
I slammed the notebook shut, burying my face in my hands as heavy, violent sobs finally wracked my body.
He hadn't been living it up. He hadn't moved on with Chloe Bennett or found another socialite wife to decorate his life. He had spent four years rotting in a self-made cage of regret, writing letters to a woman who had erased herself from his world.
A soft knock on my kitchen door interrupted my weeping.
I quickly wiped my eyes and walked to the front door, looking through the peephole.
Nathan was sitting on the top step of the outdoor wooden staircase, wrapped in his dark coat, his shoulders stooped against the chilling night wind. He wasn't knocking on the door; he was just sitting there, guarding us again.
I unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open a few inches.
Nathan turned his head, his face illuminated by the yellow porch light. His eyes were raw, filled with an anxious, desperate hope.
“You read it?” he asked softly.
“Some of it,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Why didn't you try harder to fight Chloe off that night, Nathan? Why did you let it get to that point?”
Nathan stood up slowly, stepping closer to the doorway, keeping his hands tucked deep into his coat pockets.
“Because I was arrogant,” he answered honestly, his grey eyes locked onto mine. “I thought I was untouchable. I thought I could manage toxic people and corporate politics without getting dirty. I prioritized my pride and my empire over your peace of mind. And I lost the only thing that actually mattered.”
May you like
He looked toward the hallway where our sons were sleeping.
“I know I don't deserve a second chance as your husband, Clara,” he said, a quiet dignity replacing his desperate panic. “I will never force myself into your life. But those boys deserve to know their father loved them before he even knew they existed. Please... just let me meet them. Not as a stranger in a hotel lobby. As their dad.”
