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Charlotte was acutely aware of the air around them, charged with uncertainty and unspoken words. Her thoughts swirled like the hues on her palette, blending together but never fully forming the picture she desired. Silence hung heavy between them, a tangible reminder of all that had been shattered.
"Please, sit," she offered, her voice barely above a whisper. Daniel took his place on the worn sofa, its cushions sagging. She perched on the edge of an armchair, the fabric rough against her palms as she hesitated to meet his gaze.
"Charlotte," Daniel began, clearing his throat and casting her a hesitant glance. "I... I'm sorry. For everything."
His words hung in the air, their implications echoing in the hollow spaces of Charlotte's heart. But even as she longed for closure, for a chance at healing, she couldn't help but wonder: were his intentions genuine? Or was this just another ruse, another attempt to control the narrative they'd woven together?
"Thank you," she murmured, her emotions caught in the undertow of their stormy past. "But we need more than apologies and well-wishes, don't we? What’s the real reason you’re here?"
"I... I came to see you." Daniel shifted awkwardly, his gaze darting to the picturesque view of Chesham Cove that had captivated Charlotte only moments earlier.
"Me?" Charlotte's hand fluttered to her chest, her heart thundering beneath her fingertips. She took a deep breath, torn between the desire to cut him off right there, kick him out, and shut the door on their past, and the need to confront the questions that lingered between them like ghosts.
Didn’t she deserve an explanation for his complete one-eighty on their marriage?
“I guess I’ve got a little time,” she finally said.
Charlotte couldn't help but notice the way Daniel's shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. It was a small detail, one she might have once found endearing—and reveled in her ability to read him so well. Now, it only served to remind her of the distance that had grown between them since their separation. She found her thoughts a little stronger now than in the past, when they had been in previous disagreements.
If he’s nervous, it’s his own responsibility.
"Would you like some tea?" Charlotte asked tentatively, gesturing toward the steaming pot on a side table. Daniel nodded, his fingers drumming an anxious rhythm on his leg.
"Thank you," he murmured, his eyes flitting around the room, taking in the warm, comforting space that Charlotte had created in her new life. Their gazes locked for a brief moment, and Charlotte could see the unsaid words and uncharted emotions swirling in the depths of his eyes.
The ticking of the grandfather clock seemed to echo through the room, amplifying the tension between them. The knot in her stomach grew tighter as she wondered what had brought him here, to this quiet corner of England, so far from the bustling life they had once shared in New York—he had no reason to be here, in person.
She waited. Just like his nervousness, it was on him to come out with his real purpose here. She wouldn’t beg him to tell her.
"Charlotte," Daniel said, breaking the silence that had settled over them like a heavy fog. "I... I don't even know where to start."
"Neither do I," she admitted, her fingers twisting the hem of her skirt. Daniel seemed to notice her discomfort, for he reached out and placed a gentle hand on her arm, his touch warm and grounding.
"We can't keep avoiding this forever. We need to talk."
"Okay," Charlotte agreed, taking a deep breath and steeling herself for the conversation that would follow. Their words would either rekindle the embers of their once blazing love or douse them in the cold waters of finality. “So talk.”
CHAPTER NINE
The sunlight streaming through the windows cast a halo around Daniel’s dark hair, but Charlotte could no longer see the angel she once believed him to be. He appeared more like a specter from her past, one she had hoped to leave behind in New York.
"Talk, Daniel. What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper as she struggled to regain her composure.
He shifted his weight, discomfort evident in his posture. It was a small victory for Charlotte, knowing that he, too, felt the awkwardness of their unexpected reunion. "I'm in town for work," he replied, his gaze flickering to the half-finished painting on her easel. "I didn't expect to find you here."
"Neither did I," she muttered under her breath, unable to tear her eyes away from the man who had once been her world—the father of her child, her partner in life, and now, her soon-to-be ex-husband.
"Are you staying long?" she asked, fighting the urge to demand why he hadn't warned her of his impending arrival. But then again, she thought bitterly, when had Daniel ever truly shared himself with her?
"Only a few days," he said, eyes glued to the floor now, as if the intricate patterns of the old wooden planks held some hidden meaning. "I have a conference in London, and I thought I'd stop by Chesham Cove beforehand."
Charlotte's heart raced as she studied him, searching for any sign that he was withholding more information.
"Is there...another reason you're here?" she asked, her voice wavering with uncertainty.
Daniel met her gaze, his blue eyes holding a depth of emotion she had once found mesmerizing. "No, Charlotte," he said quietly, shaking his head. "It's just work."
Why did he look so sad, as though he wanted to say one thing, but the words he spoke meant something entirely different? So he wouldn’t say what was on his mind. She wanted to believe him—to trust that their lives could remain separate, even as they continued to orbit one another. But if he wasn’t willing to open up—as he hadn’t been all the years they had been together—she couldn’t change that.
