Clara’s hand still lingered on my cheek, her thumb brushing lightly against my skin as if she wasn’t ready to break the connection. I wasn’t sure I was ready either.
Her eyes, wide and filled with emotions I couldn’t decipher, searched mine for something—reassurance, understanding, maybe even forgiveness.
“Bela…” Her voice was barely a whisper, her lips trembling as she spoke. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Why not?” I asked, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. “Why do you keep pulling back when you know this is real?”
Clara stepped back, her hand falling away from my face as if she’d been burned. “Because it’s wrong,” she said, her voice cracking. “Your mother trusted me to take care of you, not—” She stopped herself, running a hand through her hair, visibly shaken. “Not this.”
“She trusted you to love me,” I said, stepping closer to her. “And you do, Clara. It’s not wrong to love someone.”
Her gaze snapped to mine, and for a moment, I thought she might argue. Instead, she let out a shaky breath, her shoulders slumping as though the weight of the conversation was too much to bear.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted, her voice soft. “I don’t know how to be what you need without betraying her.”
“You already are what I need,” I said, the words spilling out before I could stop them. “And I think she knew this might happen. Why else would she trust you with me?”
Clara’s expression crumbled, her walls breaking down piece by piece. “Bela, you’re still grieving. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I know exactly what I’m saying,” I replied, my voice firm. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
Her silence felt heavier than words. She took another step back, wrapping her arms around herself as if trying to shield herself from the weight of what I was saying.
“This can’t happen,” she said finally, though her voice lacked conviction.
“But it already has,” I countered, my heart pounding in my chest. “And pretending it hasn’t won’t make it go away.”
Clara looked at me, her expression torn. “I need time to think,” she said, echoing the words she’d spoken before.
I wanted to push her, to make her see that time wouldn’t change anything, but the vulnerability in her eyes stopped me. “Take the time you need,” I said softly. “But don’t push me away, Clara. Not again.”
She nodded slowly, though her gaze didn’t meet mine. “I won’t.”
The days that followed felt like an eternity. Clara stayed in the house, but the tension between us was palpable. She avoided being alone with me, retreating to her office or disappearing into the garden whenever I was nearby.
I tried to give her space, but the distance between us felt unbearable. Every time our eyes met across a room, the memory of the kiss lingered in the air, unspoken but undeniable.
One evening, I found her in the garden, kneeling by the rose bushes with her hands buried in the soil. The sight of her, so focused and yet so far away, made my chest ache.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time out here,” I said, breaking the silence.
Clara glanced up at me, her hands stilling for a moment before she returned to her task. “It helps me think,” she said simply.
“Have you figured anything out?” I asked, stepping closer.
She hesitated, wiping her hands on her jeans before standing to face me. “I’ve been trying to make sense of this,” she admitted, her voice low. “Trying to figure out what your mother would think. What she would want.”
“And?” I asked, holding my breath.
Clara looked at me, her gaze soft but filled with uncertainty. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “I want to believe she’d understand, but I can’t shake the fear that I’m failing her.”
“You’re not failing her,” I said, taking her hands in mine. “She trusted you because she knew you’d put my happiness first. And being with you makes me happy, Clara. Don’t you see that?”
Her hands trembled in mine, and for a moment, I thought she might pull away. But then she squeezed them tightly, her gaze locked on mine.
“I see it,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But it doesn’t make this any less terrifying.”
“Sometimes the best things are,” I said, stepping closer. “But we don’t have to figure it all out right now. We just have to stop pretending it isn’t real.”
Clara’s breath hitched, her eyes searching mine. “I’m scared, Bela,” she admitted.
“So am I,” I said. “But I’m more scared of losing you.”
Her walls crumbled then, and she pulled me into her arms, holding me tightly as though I might disappear. “I don’t want to lose you either,” she whispered against my hair.
We stood there in the fading light, the weight of everything we’d been avoiding finally lifted. It wasn’t a perfect resolution, but it was a start.