Letting Go of the Past
The first month of marriage was a lesson in letting go.
Clara had expected the transition to be seamless — after all, she and Daniel had been living together for months, sharing meals, sharing a bed, sharing the weight of Margaret’s letters. But marriage changed things. It made the temporary permanent. It turned “for now” into “forever.”
Daniel struggled with the attic.
The Morrison house was still full of Sarah’s things — her paintings, her clothes, her half‑finished projects. Daniel had avoided the attic for years, but now, as a married man, he felt he owed it to Clara to clear the space.
“I need to do this,” he said one morning.
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“No. This is something I have to do alone.”
Clara kissed his cheek. “I’ll be here when you’re done.”
He was gone all day.
Clara worked in the bookshop, rearranging shelves, pricing new arrivals. She tried not to worry, but her mind kept drifting to Daniel in the attic, surrounded by ghosts.
He returned at dusk, his eyes red, his hands dusty.
“I did it,” he said.
“Did what?”
“I went through everything. Her paintings, her letters, her clothes. I kept a few things — the portrait she painted of me, her wedding ring, a box of photographs. The rest I donated.”
Clara took his hands. “That must have been hard.”
“It was impossible. But I did it.”
“You’re brave.”
“I’m tired.”
She led him to the couch, made him tea, and held him while he cried.
That night, they talked about Sarah.
Not the grief — they had talked about that endlessly — but the joy. Daniel told Clara about their first date, their wedding, the day Lily was born. He told her about the paintings, the laughter, the quiet mornings in the studio.
“She was my best friend,” he said.
“And now?”
“Now you’re my best friend. Sarah would have wanted that.”
Clara kissed him. “I hope so.”
“I know so.”
The next morning, Daniel hung Sarah’s portrait in the bookshop.
It was a small painting, no bigger than a sheet of paper, showing Sarah laughing, her hair blowing in the wind. Clara found a spot near the window, where the light would catch it.
“She’s beautiful,” Clara said.
“She was.”
“She still is. In here.”
She touched her heart.
Daniel put his arm around her. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For letting me keep her.”
“She’s part of you. I would never ask you to let her go.”
He kissed her forehead. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” time in her life, completely and utterly home.