chapter 2

### Chapter 2: The Garden

The morning light filtered through the lace curtains in the kitchen, casting delicate shadows on the worn wooden floor. Claire sat at the table, her hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling that had settled in her chest since her encounter with Ethan the day before. She had spent the rest of the evening unpacking her bags, wandering through the house, trying to avoid the flood of memories that threatened to overwhelm her.

But Ethan’s sudden reappearance in her life had stirred something deep within her, something she had buried long ago. She couldn’t stop thinking about the way he had looked at her, the way his smile had faltered when he saw her, as if he had been as unprepared for their meeting as she had.

She took a sip of her coffee, the warmth spreading through her, grounding her in the present moment. She needed to focus on the task at hand—sorting through her grandmother’s things, deciding what to keep and what to let go. She had a life waiting for her back in the city, a life that didn’t include old loves or forgotten memories.

But even as she tried to focus, her mind kept drifting back to Ethan. She wondered what he had been doing all these years, whether he had stayed in Seabreeze the whole time, or if he had ever tried to leave. She wondered if he was still angry with her for leaving without a word, for cutting him out of her life so completely.

With a sigh, Claire pushed herself up from the table and made her way to the back door. The garden had always been her grandmother’s pride and joy, a riot of colors and scents that changed with the seasons. Claire hadn’t had the heart to go out there yesterday, but now she felt a strange pull toward it, as if the garden might hold some answers she had been searching for.

She stepped outside, the morning air cool and crisp against her skin. The garden was overgrown, the flowers and shrubs wild and untamed, but still beautiful in their own way. She could see where Ethan had been working, the patches of freshly turned soil, the neat rows of flowers that stood out against the tangled mess of the rest of the garden.

As she walked down the stone path that led to the center of the garden, she noticed something strange—a wooden box, half-buried under a sprawling rose bush. It looked old, the wood weathered and worn, the edges softened by time. Curiosity piqued, she knelt down and began to clear away the dirt and leaves that covered the box.

It wasn’t very large, just big enough to hold a few small items, but it was surprisingly heavy. She lifted it carefully, brushing off the remaining dirt, and carried it over to a stone bench at the edge of the garden. Her heart was racing now, a mix of excitement and trepidation. What could be inside? Something her grandmother had hidden away? Or maybe something from an even older time, a relic of the past buried and forgotten?

With trembling hands, she opened the box.

Inside, she found a stack of letters, tied together with a faded ribbon, and a small, leather-bound journal. The letters were yellowed with age, the ink smudged in places, but still legible. She hesitated for a moment, a sense of unease creeping over her. These were clearly personal, meant for someone else’s eyes. But the temptation was too strong, the pull of the past too powerful to resist.

She untied the ribbon and unfolded the first letter, her eyes scanning the familiar handwriting. It was her grandmother’s, unmistakably so, though the tone was different—softer, more intimate. The letter was addressed to someone named Henry, someone Claire had never heard of.

As she read, a story began to unfold before her, a story of a love that had been kept secret, hidden away from the world. Her grandmother had been in love with a man named Henry, a love that had lasted through the years, through war and separation, through the ups and downs of life. The letters were filled with longing, with dreams of a future together, a future that, from the looks of it, had never come to pass.

Claire’s heart ached as she read, the weight of her grandmother’s hidden sorrow pressing down on her. How could she have never known? How could this love have been kept a secret, even from her own family?

She placed the letter down gently, her fingers brushing over the worn paper. The journal was next, the leather cover smooth and cool under her touch. She opened it, the pages filled with neat, precise handwriting, detailing her grandmother’s life in a way that Claire had never known.

But as she read, something else began to emerge from the pages—another secret, buried even deeper than the letters. There were entries about Claire, about her summers spent in Seabreeze, about the day she had met Ethan. Her grandmother had known about their relationship, had watched it grow from a childhood friendship into something more.

And then, in one of the later entries, Claire found something that made her blood run cold.

“I fear that Claire is repeating my mistakes,” her grandmother had written. “She is in love with a boy who will only break her heart, just as Henry broke mine. I tried to warn her, but she is as stubborn as I was. I can only hope that she will find the strength to walk away before it’s too late.”

Claire’s hands began to shake, the journal slipping from her fingers and falling to the ground with a dull thud. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of what she had just read. Her grandmother had never approved of her relationship with Ethan? Had she known something that Claire hadn’t? Had she seen something in Ethan that Claire had been too blind to see?

The sound of footsteps on the stone path made her look up. Ethan was standing at the edge of the garden, watching her with a curious expression. She hadn’t heard him approach, hadn’t expected to see him again so soon. But there he was, as if summoned by her thoughts, by the very secrets she had just uncovered.

“Claire,” he said, his voice breaking the silence. “What’s going on? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

She blinked, trying to pull herself back to the present, but the shock of the journal’s revelation still clung to her like a dark cloud. “I… I found something,” she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper. “Something I wasn’t supposed to find.”

Ethan’s brow furrowed as he took a step closer. “What do you mean? What did you find?”

She hesitated, the words caught in her throat. How could she explain this to him? How could she tell him that her grandmother had seen their relationship as doomed from the start? That she had been afraid Ethan would break her heart, just as Henry had broken hers?

Instead, she gestured toward the box, the letters, the journal. “It’s all here,” she said softly. “Letters… and a journal. My grandmother… she had a whole other life I didn’t know about. And she… she wrote about us, about you and me.”

Ethan looked at the box, then back at her, his expression unreadable. “What did she say?” he asked, his voice tense.

Claire shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “She didn’t think it would work out between us,” she whispered. “She thought you would break my heart.”

A heavy silence fell between them, the weight of her words hanging in the air. Ethan’s face hardened, a flash of something dark and painful passing through his eyes. “Is that why you left?” he asked, his voice low and rough. “Did she tell you to leave me?”

Claire shook her head again, her tears spilling over. “No, she never said anything like that to me. I didn’t know… I didn’t know she felt this way. But maybe… maybe she was right. Maybe she saw something I didn’t.”

Ethan took another step closer, his jaw clenched, his eyes burning with intensity. “And what do you see now, Claire? Do you still think I’m going to break your heart? Or are you just looking for an excuse to run away again?”

His words cut through her like a knife, the raw emotion in his voice shaking her to her core. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came. She was too overwhelmed, too confused by the flood of emotions and memories that had come rushing back with his arrival.

He reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her closer, his grip firm but not unkind. “You’re not the only one who’s been carrying around old wounds, Claire,” he said, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “I’ve had ten years to think about what happened, ten years to wonder why you left without a word. And now you’re back, and I need to know—are you here to finally finish what we started? Or are you just here to dig up old graves?”

The intensity of his words, the nearness of him, made Claire’s breath catch in her throat. She had come back to Seabreeze to settle her grandmother’s affairs, to close the door on her past and move on with her life. But now, standing here in the garden with Ethan, she realized that the past wasn’t as easily buried as she had thought.

She looked up at him, her heart pounding in her chest, and for a moment, she saw a flicker of the boy she had fallen in love with.