Chapter 17 - A Quiet Evening
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The grief of losing Arthur settled into a quiet, manageable ache.
Life moved forward.
It was a rainy Friday evening.
Clara and Daniel were in their kitchen, cooking dinner together.
It was a messy, collaborative effort involving entirely too much garlic and laughter.
“You are supposed to chop the onions, not pulverize them,” Clara teased, hip-bumping him away from the cutting board.
“I am an architect,” Daniel defended himself, holding up his hands. “I deal in structural demolition.”
“You are a menace to this recipe.”
Daniel wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder.
“How was your day, Madame Chairwoman?”
“Productive,” Clara sighed, leaning back into his embrace. “We finalized the oversight committee protocols.”
“The board survived?”
“Barely. But they will adapt.”
Daniel kissed her cheek.
“I have a question for you.”
“Shoot.”
“Do you want to have a child?”
The question hung in the air, sudden and profound.
Clara stopped chopping.
She set the knife down and turned to face him.
For years, the idea of having a child with Julian had terrified her. She hadn't wanted to bring a life into a home built on performance and hidden cruelty.
But looking at Daniel—his kind eyes, his steady presence, his absolute refusal to play games—the terror was entirely absent.
“Yes,” Clara whispered, the truth ringing clear in her heart. “I do.”
Daniel’s face broke into a brilliant, relieved smile.
“Good.”
He kissed her softly.
“Because I think we’d be pretty good at building a family.”
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“As long as you don't pulverize the baby food,” Clara laughed, tears welling in her eyes.
“I make no promises.”
