Chapter 8 - The Silent Ledger
The local fire department saved the building; the damage was confined primarily to the rear storage room and structural joists. The deed I had secretly transferred gave Claire full insurance clearance to restore the historic property without going into debt.
I spent three days in the county hospital being treated for smoke inhalation and twelve stitches in my arm. Claire did not visit. I hadn't expected her to.
When I was discharged, I returned to the small cottage. I resolved to leave Galena. I had proven to myself that I could protect her without suffocating her, but continuing to hover on the periphery of her life was just another form of selfishness.
I packed my few belongings into my car. But before I hit the highway, I left one package on the doorstep of the shop early in the morning before she arrived.
Inside the package was not jewelry. It wasn't money.
It was the chipped ceramic mug from our honeymoon in Maine.
I had found it tucked behind the pantry in the penthouse after she left. Along with it, I included a small, weathered leather notebook I had kept during our first two years of marriage—a notebook where I had written down every small detail about her that I had loved before corporate ambitions consumed me: her favorite authors, how she took her tea with half a spoon of clover honey, her dream of preserving old family bibles so children could read their grandparents' handwriting.
Attached to the notebook was a brief note:
*Claire,*
*You once told me I didn't notice. You were right about the last five years. But I want you to remember that the man you fell in love with wasn't completely an illusion. He was real, even if I allowed him to starve to death.*
*You don't owe me forgiveness, an audience, or peace. The building is yours. The town is yours. I’m leaving today.*
*Live the life you fought so hard to save.*
May you like
*—Daniel*
***
