Chapter 5 - The Letter Claire Never Sent
Claire did not sleep.
Neither did Damian.
Emma eventually did, curled beneath a yellow blanket with Mr. Buttons pressed against her cheek.
Damian remained downstairs.
Claire had told herself it was because she wanted someone watching the door.
That was only partly true.
At three in the morning, she walked into the café and found him sitting alone at the table Emma always chose.
No phone.
No laptop.
Just Damian and the white shell Emma had given him.
“You kept it.”
He looked up.
“She told me not to lose it.”
Claire poured herself coffee.
“That stuff has been sitting there since yesterday.”
“I’ve consumed worse.”
She sat across from him.
For a while they listened to the wind.
Finally Damian said, “Tell me about when she was born.”
Claire’s hand stopped around the cup.
“You’re asking for four years in one night.”
“I know.”
“You can’t have them.”
“I know that too.”
Something in his voice made her look at him.
No entitlement.
Only grief.
“She was born during a snowstorm.”
His gaze lifted.
“February eighteenth?”
Claire stared.
“How did you—”
“I had Marcus obtain the birth record after the beach.”
Anger flashed.
“You investigated her?”
“I confirmed what I already knew.”
“Without asking.”
“Yes.”
“So much for boundaries.”
“You’re right.”
His immediate admission ruined her anger’s momentum.
“She was seven pounds, three ounces,” Claire said finally.
Damian went still.
“What?”
“You wanted to know.”
“Yes.”
“She had black hair. Lots of it. The nurse joked she looked offended to be born.”
A faint smile appeared.
“That sounds familiar.”
“She screamed constantly.”
“Also familiar.”
Claire almost smiled.
“She hated being swaddled.”
“So did I.”
“You remember infancy?”
“My mother complained about it until she died.”
Claire lowered her eyes.
Damian’s mother had died one year before their marriage.
“She would have loved Emma.”
“Yes.”
That simple answer hurt.
Claire continued.
“Emma’s first word was ‘light.’”
“Not Mom?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Claire raised an eyebrow.
“Good?”
“I missed it either way. At least I didn’t lose a competition to you.”
She laughed unexpectedly.
Then immediately hated that she had.
Damian didn’t push.
“First step?”
“Fourteen months.”
“Was she late?”
“No. Just stubborn. She could stand. She simply saw no reason to walk when crawling worked.”
“That definitely sounds familiar.”
“She got pneumonia at two.”
Damian’s expression changed.
“What?”
“Not severe. But enough that I slept beside her for three nights.”
“Were you alone?”
“Yes.”
His eyes closed.
“Claire.”
“Don’t.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I said don’t.”
“I need to say it.”
“And I spent years needing to hear it. You don’t automatically get access to the version of me who wanted it.”
He absorbed that.
“I understand.”
“No. I don’t think you do.”
Claire stood.
She walked behind the counter and opened a locked drawer.
Inside was a small tin box.
She carried it to the table.
Damian watched.
“What is that?”
“The reason I’m angrier than you realize.”
She opened it.
Letters.
Dozens.
Folded pages.
Envelopes without stamps.
Damian stared.
“What are these?”
“Things I didn’t send.”
His face lost color.
Claire picked up the first.
“The night after I left Chicago.”
She did not hand it over.
She summarized.
“I wrote that I hated you. That I was pregnant. That I hoped one day you understood what you had done.”
Another letter.
“This one was after her first ultrasound.”
Another.
“Her birth.”
Another.
“Her first birthday.”
Damian looked devastated.
“Why keep them?”
“Because writing was easier than calling.”
“You could have sent one.”
Claire’s eyes flashed.
“You told me never to contact you.”
“I was wrong.”
“I know that now.”
“You knew it then.”
“Yes.”
The honesty surprised him.
“I was also furious.”
She sat.
“For the first year, not telling you felt like power. You had taken every choice away from me that night. Leaving with the pregnancy secret was the only thing I controlled.”
Damian nodded slowly.
“That wasn’t fair to Emma.”
“No.”
Claire’s voice cracked.
“I know.”
For the first time, Damian saw her guilt clearly.
Not just anger.
Not just survival.
Regret.
“She eventually deserved the chance to know you,” Claire whispered. “But each year made telling you harder.”
“Because of my life?”
“Yes.”
“And because you hated me.”
“For a while.”
“Do you still?”
Claire looked at him.
“I wish I did.”
Neither moved.
That answer was more dangerous than yes.
Damian looked toward the letters.
“May I read them?”
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
Then relaxed.
“All right.”
“You’re not angry?”
“I am.”
“At me?”
“At everything.”
He touched the edge of the tin.
“But they’re yours.”
Claire studied him.
Old Damian would have taken them.
Maybe not physically.
But eventually.
He would have argued until resistance felt pointless.
This man accepted no.
That frightened her in a different way.
“What changed you?”
“Losing you.”
“That’s too romantic.”
“It wasn’t romantic.”
Damian leaned back.
“It was ugly. I drank too much for a while. Worked constantly. Became worse at nearly everything that mattered and better at everything that didn’t.”
“Your empire.”
“Yes.”
“Still proud of it?”
“No.”
Claire had not expected that.
“Then why stay?”
“Because leaving something like that isn’t as simple as resigning from a bank.”
“And because you like power.”
He considered lying.
Didn’t.
“Yes.”
Claire nodded.
“That I believe.”
“But I’m beginning to dislike what it costs.”
His phone vibrated.
Marcus.
Damian read the message.
Claire immediately asked, “What?”
He appreciated that the agreement required transparency.
“Anthony’s financial records show payments to Evan Cole.”
“The photographer.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“We don’t know.”
Another message arrived.
Damian’s expression darkened.
“What?”
“Anthony booked another property in Maine six months ago.”
“Where?”
Damian looked at her.
“Grey Harbor.”
Claire’s stomach dropped.
“He knew I lived here before you arrived.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I’m finding out.”
At six, Emma woke.
She descended the stairs wearing pajamas and carrying Mr. Buttons.
She stopped when she saw Damian.
“You stayed!”
Claire immediately said, “He was helping.”
“With the monster?”
“There is no monster.”
Emma looked unconvinced.
Damian crouched.
“I was making sure everything was quiet.”
“Did you sleep?”
“No.”
Emma frowned.
“Mom says not sleeping makes people grumpy.”
“She’s right.”
“You should nap.”
“I’ll consider it.”
“No. You have to.”
Claire smiled into her coffee.
Damian obeyed.
At eight, he returned to the inn.
At eleven, Claire found him asleep on the café’s back-room couch.
She stared.
Nora appeared beside her.
“That’s Emma’s father?”
“Yes.”
“He looks less terrifying while unconscious.”
“Most men do.”
“Are you taking him back?”
Claire nearly dropped a tray.
“No.”
Nora nodded knowingly.
“That sounded convincing.”
“I’m serious.”
“Honey, I’m not saying you should.”
“Good.”
“I’m saying your face looks like a woman standing outside a house she swore she’d never enter again.”
Claire turned.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you’re wondering whether the furniture changed.”
Before Claire could respond, Marcus entered.
His face was grim.
Damian woke immediately.
“What?”
Marcus handed him a folder.
“We found how Anthony located Claire.”
Damian opened it.
Inside were copies of financial records.
Claire moved closer.
“What am I looking at?”
Marcus pointed.
“Three years ago, your café applied for a small-business renovation loan.”
“Yes.”
“The loan was sold twice. Eventually the debt portfolio was acquired by a Blackwood-affiliated investment company.”
Claire looked at Damian.
He looked equally stunned.
“You owned my loan?”
“I didn’t know.”
Marcus continued.
“Anthony did.”
Claire understood.
“He found me through paperwork.”
“Yes.”
“Three years ago?”
“Yes.”
Damian’s face changed.
“Anthony knew for three years.”
“And never told you,” Marcus said.
“Why?”
Marcus hesitated.
“Maybe because Claire alone wasn’t useful.”
Claire felt cold.
“But Emma is.”
Damian closed the folder.
He looked at Claire.
Then toward Emma coloring nearby.
“Anthony didn’t bring me here to reunite with my family.”
Marcus nodded.
“No.”
“He brought me here so I’d expose them.”
A knock sounded at the café door.
Everyone froze.
Nora looked toward the entrance.
A delivery man stood outside holding flowers.
Claire relaxed slightly.
“I didn’t order anything.”
Damian did not relax.
“Don’t open it.”
The man placed the arrangement beside the door and left.
Marcus retrieved it.
Inside the flowers was a card.
No signature.
Just one sentence.
Family makes powerful men predictable.
Claire stared at Damian.
Damian stared at the message.
And for the first time, Claire saw something she had never seen in him.
Not anger.
May you like
Fear.
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