Chapter 12 - The Fifteen-Year Secret
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Noah walked into his office just as I was tracing the edges of the old photograph. He stopped dead in his tracks, a rare flush of embarrassment rising on his neck.
“You kept this?” I asked softly, holding it up.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I... forgot it was in that drawer.”
“Noah, you labeled the envelope with the exact month and year. You didn't forget.”
He sighed, leaning heavily against the doorframe, knowing he was caught.
I looked at the young man in the photo, at the tender, protective way he was looking down at me while the rain soaked his clothes. A sudden realization slammed into me.
“Were you in love with me back then?” I asked.
Noah didn't look away. “Would the answer change anything about right now?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
“Then I won't burden you with it.”
“That is a cop-out, and you know it.”
He offered a sad, deeply affectionate smile. He walked over, gently taking the photo from my hands and placing it on the desk.
“Yes, Claire. I loved you. Completely. But then Grant Whitmore swept in with his private jets and his promises, and you married him. So, I did the only thing I could do. I moved three thousand miles away and learned to love you from a very respectful distance.”
My throat tightened so intensely it actually ached. Fifteen years. He had waited, quietly hoping for my happiness, while I had been systematically destroyed by a man who couldn't even stand up to his own mother.
“And now?” I whispered.
“Now, you are finally rebuilding the woman you were always meant to be. I am not going to turn your new freedom into another obligation. I’m just glad you’re here.”
He tried to step past me to grab his car keys, but I reached out, my fingers wrapping tightly around his wrist.
“Noah, I’m broken right now. I don’t know what I can give you.”
“Claire, look at me,” he said gently. “I didn't ask you for anything.”
“That makes it worse!” I said, a tear finally spilling over.
He reached up, using his thumb to catch the tear before it fell. “No. It makes it safe.”
By the spring, Bennett Spatial Design was thriving. We had secured three major clients, and I was working fourteen-hour days, pouring my pain into beautiful, functional spaces.
May you like
Then, an email arrived that threatened to pull me right back into the past.
It was from Madison.
