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Daniel’s brow furrowed. "Painting? No more than adult arts and crafts. Grow up." He scoffed, his tone dismissive. "Charlotte, when are you going to see that this place is not who you are? You're my wife, and I'm willing to admit between us that I allowed our marriage to grow stale. But you belong with me in New York. I have an image to uphold with the other partners—"
His words stung, slicing through the haze of uncertainty that clouded her thoughts. Charlotte felt a flare of anger, hot and fierce, rise within her. She had spent years suppressing her passions, smothering the vibrant colors of her soul beneath a blanket of indifference and conformity.
"Maybe this is who I am," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the sound of her own heartbeat. "Maybe I've just been too afraid to admit it." Her gaze locked on his. "I can't go back to who I was before."
For a moment, the air between them crackled with tension, as if charged with electricity. Then, Daniel sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat as he sat back.
"Fine," he muttered, his voice thick with disappointment. "But don't come crawling back to me when you realize what you've given up. And good luck with money from here on out."
With a deep breath, Charlotte squared her shoulders and looked Daniel dead in the eye. "If you won't sign the divorce papers willingly, then I'll file for a contested divorce," she said, her voice steady and unwavering. "And I'll sue you for alimony."
She wouldn’t—it was bluff, but he didn’t need to know that. She only wanted her freedom, a life without the weight of their dead past yoked around her. A path that he had chosen, only to now be seemingly saying that he had made a mistake.
Daniel stared at her, his eyes narrowing as if trying to discern whether her newfound spine was genuine. The muscles in his jaw clenched as he tried to maintain control over his emotions. "Do you really want to drag this out and make things more difficult for both of us?"
"Difficult?" Charlotte scoffed, feeling an unexpected surge of anger. "You have no idea what 'difficult' means, Daniel. You've never had to struggle to find your own voice, to discover who you truly are beneath the layers of expectation. This is so much bigger than just the two of us."
His face turned red. He stood, his eyes wide. Without a word, Daniel pushed back from the table and turned away from her, his footsteps echoing through the restaurant as he made his retreat, leaving Charlotte alone in the dimly lit room, surrounded by the remnants of her past. Her heart raced in her chest, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins after the confrontation with Daniel. She felt a sense of relief that she had stood up for herself, yet a lingering doubt tugged at her mind, whispering uncertainties about the path she had chosen.
As she gazed around the room, Charlotte felt alive. The weight of her failed marriage and the pressures of her old life seemed to dissipate, replaced by a fierce determination to forge ahead and make the most of this new beginning. She knew that there would be trials and tribulations, but she also knew that she had the strength within her to face them head-on.
"Goodbye, Daniel," she whispered once more, her voice laced with a sense of finality. "And hello, Chesham Cove."
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
The next morning, the first morning of her official freedom, Charlotte stepped into the chosen room, feeling a shiver run down her spine as she took in its current state. It was a blank canvas of sorts, with worn-out walls that bore silent witness to the passage of time, and outdated furniture that seemed to groan under the weight of countless stories. The room echoed with a sense of emptiness, as if it were waiting for someone to breathe life back into it.
The first room she would complete. It was all she needed—to start.
She closed her eyes, envisioning the room's potential. In her mind's eye, Charlotte saw a cozy retreat for future guests—a haven where they could escape the chaos of the world outside, if only for a little while. She imagined the gentle glow of lamplight casting warm shadows on freshly painted walls, soft fabrics draped over plush cushions, and the sound of laughter filling the air.
"Mother always said we have the power to make our dreams come true," Charlotte whispered to herself, a small smile flickering across her face. "Well, this is my dream now."
The room seemed to respond to her words, as if it too were eager to undergo the transformation she envisioned. Charlotte could almost feel the energy radiating from every corner, urging her to begin the work that would turn this neglected space into a sanctuary for weary souls. This was not just about creating a beautiful space; it was about reclaiming her identity and proving to herself that she had the power to shape her own destiny.
"Amelia will love this place," she mused, thinking of her daughter's fondness for all things cozy and inviting.
As Charlotte stood amidst the faded grandeur of the old room, she drew strength from the thought of bringing joy to others through her art—and interior design could definitely be art. This would be more than just a new chapter for The Old Crown Inn; it was the beginning of her own journey toward healing.
After coming home from dinner last night, Charlotte had been so exhausted that she had fallen into bed without calling Simon—the text she’d sent telling him she was okay and would catch up later she’d hoped was enough, for now. She wanted to lose herself in work today, think through what to do about her feelings where the handsome fisherman was concerned.
With determination in her eyes and hope in her heart, Charlotte steeled herself for the task ahead. It was time to breathe life into this forgotten room, and in doing so, find her way back to the woman she once was—strong, passionate, and capable of creating beauty from the ashes of her past.
The sunlight streamed in through the tall windows, casting a warm glow on the tired walls as Charlotte gathered her painting supplies. Her brushes and rollers lay before her, their bristles eager to transform the vacant canvas that surrounded them. Carefully, she lifted each container of paint, studying the hues with an artist's eye. The colors she had chosen were inspired by the very essence of Chesham Cove—soft blues, earthy greens, and calming neutrals that would envelop future guests in a sense of serenity.
"Goodbye, old friend," she whispered to the worn-out wallpaper, which had likely borne silent witness to countless memories etched within its peeling layers. "It's time for a new beginning."
With a determined exhale, Charlotte dipped her brush into a pot of seafoam green, the color reminding her of the waves crashing against the shore just beyond the inn's walls. She allowed the bristles to glide across the wall, leaving a trail of fresh paint in their wake. As she moved from one corner of the room to another, she thought of the many people who would find solace in this sanctuary.
"Let's see how you like this old room," she said, addressing the space as if it were a dear friend. "A touch of the ocean, a breath of the forest, and a bit of sky woven into your walls."
Charlotte couldn't help but think of Amelia as she painted, imagining her daughter's delight at discovering the cozy nook she was creating. And perhaps, deep down, there was a small part of her that still longed for Daniel to see the beauty that he had left behind.
"Maybe he'll understand someday," she mused, her thoughts drifting along with the rhythm of her brushstrokes. "But I'm doing this for me—for the person I am and the person I want to become."
As she continued painting, Charlotte found herself lost in the meditative dance of her brush against the wall. In that moment, she was not just an artist but a weaver of dreams.
"I've always loved how you can make anything beautiful," said Amelia's voice, though she wasn't there. But Charlotte could imagine her daughter's wide smile and sparkling eyes as she watched her mother work. In this moment of solitude, the memory filled her with warmth, and she smiled back at the empty space.
