chapter 3

Unspoken Words

Claire stared up at Ethan, her heart a wild drumbeat in her chest. The past few days felt like a fever dream—too much had happened too quickly. Her grandmother’s death, returning to Seabreeze, finding Ethan, and now, these letters and the journal that had turned everything she thought she knew upside down. Everything was too much and not enough at the same time. But the one thing she couldn’t deny was the way her heart leaped when Ethan was near, a reminder of the love they’d once shared—a love that felt both distant and alarmingly present.

She finally found her voice, though it was barely more than a whisper. “I didn’t come back to dig up old graves, Ethan. I came back to bury them.”

Ethan’s hand loosened on her arm, but he didn’t step back. “And yet, here we are,” he said, his voice a mix of frustration and something softer—regret, maybe. “You can’t just bury the past, Claire. You have to face it.”

The truth of his words hit her harder than she wanted to admit. She had been running for so long, running from him, from this place, from the pain of their unfinished story. But now, here in the garden where her grandmother’s secrets had come to light, it felt as though there was no more room left to run.

She stepped back, breaking the physical connection between them, needing space to think, to breathe. “I don’t know how to do that,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “I don’t know how to face everything I left behind.”

Ethan let out a slow breath, his shoulders slumping slightly as if the weight of their past had finally settled on him, too. “Maybe we can figure it out together,” he said, his tone gentle now, almost pleading. “But you have to let me in, Claire. You have to stop shutting me out.”

His words hung between them, an invitation and a challenge all at once. Claire’s mind raced, trying to process everything—her grandmother’s hidden love, the fear that maybe she had inherited that same tragic tendency to love someone who could never truly be hers. But as she looked into Ethan’s eyes, so full of hope and pain and all the emotions he was too proud to say out loud, she realized she had a choice.

She could continue running, continue burying everything deep inside, or she could take a step toward something real, something that might hurt but could also heal.

Before she could respond, the creak of the garden gate interrupted the moment. They both turned to see an older woman approaching, her gray hair pulled back in a neat bun, her expression a mix of concern and determination. Claire recognized her immediately—Mrs. Henderson, her grandmother’s closest friend and the town’s unofficial historian.

“Claire, dear,” Mrs. Henderson said as she reached them, her eyes darting between Claire and Ethan. “I didn’t expect to find you out here. I came by to see how you were settling in.”

Claire forced a smile, though she knew it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m managing, Mrs. Henderson. It’s… a lot to take in.”

The older woman nodded, her gaze softening as she looked at Claire. “I can only imagine. Your grandmother was a wonderful woman, and I know this house holds so many memories for you.”

Claire nodded, the weight of those memories pressing down on her. “I found some letters,” she said, glancing at the box on the bench. “Letters from someone named Henry. And a journal… she wrote about him. About Ethan and me, too.”

Mrs. Henderson’s expression shifted, a shadow of something passing over her features—guilt, perhaps, or maybe sorrow. “I see,” she said quietly. “I had hoped you wouldn’t find those just yet.”

Claire frowned, confused by her words. “What do you mean?”

Mrs. Henderson sighed, looking down at her hands as she spoke. “Your grandmother confided in me many times over the years, especially about Henry. He was her first love, but it wasn’t meant to be. He was from a different world, you see—a world that didn’t accept their love. She carried that heartbreak with her for the rest of her life, but she never let it define her. She wanted more for you, Claire. She wanted you to find a love that wasn’t shadowed by regret.”

Claire’s heart twisted painfully. “But she didn’t think Ethan was that love,” she whispered. “She wrote that she was afraid I was making the same mistake.”

Mrs. Henderson reached out and took Claire’s hand, her grip surprisingly strong for someone her age. “She worried, yes. But not because she didn’t think Ethan was good enough for you. She worried because she saw how much you loved him, and how much it would hurt if it didn’t work out. She was afraid you would close yourself off, the way she did after Henry.”

Claire’s breath caught in her throat. “She wanted me to stay, though. She never said anything, but I could tell…”

“She wanted you to follow your heart,” Mrs. Henderson said softly. “Even if that meant leaving. But she didn’t want you to leave unfinished business behind.”

Ethan, who had been standing silently beside them, finally spoke. “Claire,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “We’ve both been carrying a lot of unfinished business, haven’t we?”

She looked up at him, her heart aching with the truth of his words. “Yes,” she said, her voice barely audible. “We have.”

Mrs. Henderson squeezed Claire’s hand one last time before letting go. “Your grandmother left something for you,” she said, her tone shifting to something more purposeful. “She asked me to give it to you when the time was right. I think that time is now.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a small, velvet pouch, handing it to Claire with a solemn expression. Claire took it, feeling the weight of it in her palm. She hesitated for a moment, then carefully opened the pouch and pulled out a delicate silver locket, intricately engraved with a design of roses and ivy.

“She wore that every day,” Mrs. Henderson said, her voice full of memories. “But she never opened it. Not once, since the day she put it on.”

Claire ran her fingers over the locket, feeling the cool metal under her touch. “Why didn’t she open it?”

Mrs. Henderson shook her head. “I don’t know. But she told me that when you opened it, you would find what you needed to move forward.”

Claire’s hands trembled as she gently pried open the locket. Inside, she found a tiny, faded photograph of a young man in uniform—Henry, she realized, from the letters. On the other side, there was a small, folded piece of paper. Claire carefully removed the paper and unfolded it, revealing her grandmother’s familiar handwriting.

The note was brief, but it held a world of meaning.

*“To love is to risk, my dear. But the greatest risk is never to love at all. Don’t make my mistake. Live. Love. Forgive.”*

Tears welled up in Claire’s eyes as she read the words, the message hitting her like a wave. Her grandmother had carried her own heartbreak for so long, but she hadn’t wanted that for Claire. She had wanted her to take the risk, to love fully, even if it meant facing the possibility of pain.

Ethan stepped closer, his hand brushing against hers as he reached for the locket. He looked at the photograph, then at Claire, his eyes softening. “She wanted you to have a chance at happiness,” he said quietly. “A real chance.”

Claire nodded, the tears spilling over as she let out a shaky breath. “I’ve been so afraid,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “Afraid of making the wrong choice, of getting hurt again. But maybe… maybe I’ve been running from the wrong thing.”

Ethan took her hand, holding it tightly. “We don’t have to figure everything out right now,” he said gently. “But we can start by not running anymore. By facing this—together.”

Claire looked up at him, her heart swelling with a mixture of hope and fear. She had been running for so long, but maybe, just maybe, it was time to stop. To take the risk her grandmother had spoken of, to live, to love, and to forgive.

“I don’t want to run anymore,” she said softly, her voice full of resolve. “I want to stay.”

Ethan’s grip on her hand tightened, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Then stay,” he said. “And we’ll figure the rest out as we go.”

Mrs. Henderson smiled, a look of quiet satisfaction on her face. “Your grandmother would be proud of you, Claire,” she said. “She always believed in you.”

Claire smiled through her tears, feeling a sense of peace settle over her for the first time in years. “Thank you,” she said, her voice full of gratitude.

As Mrs. Henderson turned to leave, giving them a moment alone, Claire looked back at Ethan, her heart full of unspoken words. There was still so much to say, so much to work through, but for the first time, she felt like they were on the right path.

Together, they stood in the garden.