“I Love You”
The summer after the book was published was the warmest Port Orford had seen in years. The tourists came in droves, drawn by the lighthouse, the bookshop, and the story of Margaret and James. Clara signed copies every day, her hand cramped but her heart full. Daniel tended the garden, fixed the porch swing, and held her when she was tired.
They had settled into a rhythm — comfortable, predictable, safe. But Clara was restless again. Not with Daniel — never with Daniel — but with herself. She had spent so long running from her past that she didn’t know how to simply be still.
“You’re thinking too much,” Daniel said one evening.
“I’m a writer. Thinking is what I do.”
“You’re a wife. Being is what you do.”
She looked at him. “Since when did you get so philosophical?”
“Since I married a woman who writes about love and loss.”
She kissed him. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
The words came easily now, but Clara remembered a time when they hadn’t. When she had been afraid to say them, afraid to feel them, afraid of the vulnerability they required.
She thought about Margaret, writing letters to a ghost, never hearing “I love you” in return. She thought about Eleanor, keeping secrets, pushing people away. She thought about her own mother, who had never said the words at all.
“I’m not going to be like them,” Clara said.
“Like who?”
“Like the women in my family. I’m not going to hide. I’m not going to keep secrets. I’m going to say what I feel.”
Daniel took her hand. “You already do.”
“I want to do it more.”
“Then do it.”
That night, Clara wrote a letter to her mother.
Not to send — her mother was gone — but to say the things she had never said.
Dear Mom,
I forgive you. For not telling me about your past. For not saying “I love you” enough. For leaving before I was ready.
I understand now. You were scared. You were running. You were trying to protect me from a truth you couldn’t face.
But I found the truth anyway. I found Margaret and James and Eleanor. I found a family I never knew.
I hope you’re proud of me. I hope you’re at peace.
I love you.
Clara
She folded the letter and tucked it into her journal.
“Are you okay?” Daniel asked.
“I’m better than okay. I’m free.”