Chapter 11 The Words That Change Everything
Clara recognized the sound of the support group door before she saw it.
It always closed with the same soft resistance, like it didn’t want to shut completely, as if even the room itself understood that everyone inside needed a little more time. She stepped out slowly, her bag slung over one shoulder, lungs tight but manageable. The late afternoon air brushed against her face, cool and grounding.
That was when she saw him.
Peter stood a few feet away, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, weight shifting from one foot to the other. He wasn’t looking at his phone. He wasn’t talking. He was just… waiting.
Her chest fluttered at the sight of him.
“Hey,” she said, her voice lighter than she felt.
He looked up immediately, eyes finding hers like they always did. Something unreadable flickered across his face, nervousness, maybe. Or resolve.
“Hey,” he replied. “You okay?”
She nodded. “Yeah. Same old. Same jokes, same awkward silence, same ‘you’re so strong’ speeches.”
That earned a small smile from him, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
They started walking without deciding to. Side by side. Comfortable silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t empty. Clara felt it humming charged, expectant. Like something was sitting just beneath the surface, waiting to be spoken.
She was the first to break it.
“So,” she said carefully, “you’ve been weird.”
Peter laughed under his breath. “Wow. Straight to the point.”
“I mean it,” she insisted, glancing at him. “You’ve been quiet. Distracted. You even paused mid-sentence yesterday. You never pause.”
He stopped walking.
Clara stopped too, turning to face him.
“Okay,” he said slowly. “Yeah. You’re right.”
Her stomach tightened.
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling like he was steadying himself. “I was trying to figure out how to say this without… I don’t know. Without messing it up.”
“Say what?” she asked.
For a moment, he just looked at her. Really looked. Like he was memorizing her face, the way her brows drew together when she was worried, the way her lips parted slightly when she waited for an answer.
Then he said it.
“I know you told me about the email. About Amsterdam. About how it not being possible.”
Her heart skipped.
She hadn’t expected this. Not now. Not like this.
“I didn’t want to push,” he continued quickly. “I know it’s complicated. Money, health, everything. And I know how much it means to you, which is why…”
“Peter,” she interrupted softly. “What are you saying?”
He swallowed.
“I did something.”
Her breath caught. “What have you done?”
He hesitated just long enough for fear to creep in. Clara felt it bloom in her chest..hope’s cruel twin.
“I talked to my parents,” he said.
The world seemed to tilt.
“You… what?”
“I told them everything,” he went on, words spilling faster now. “About you. About the book. About the author. About how much it matters. And about how unfair it feels that answers are always just out of reach for you.”
Clara shook her head slowly. “Peter, you didn’t have to…”
“I wanted to,” he said firmly. “I still want to.”
She stared at him, heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it.
“And?” she asked.
He took a breath.
“They said they’d help.”
The words didn’t register at first.
“Help how?” she whispered.
“With the trip,” he said. “Amsterdam.”
Her world stopped.
“No,” she breathed. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
“That’s not funny,” she said, panic and disbelief tangling together. “Peter?”
“I’m serious, Clara.”
Her vision blurred.
“But… but my parents…?”
“I know,” he said gently. “And we’d talk to them. Together. No pressure. No forcing anything. I just… I couldn’t not try.”
Something inside her cracked.
Tears welled up, uninvited, unstoppable. She pressed a hand to her mouth, shaking her head as if doing so could ground her, could make this less overwhelming.
“You can’t just do this,” she whispered. “You can’t just give someone hope like that.”
“I know,” he said softly. “That’s why I didn’t text you. I wanted to tell you in person. I wanted you to see that I mean it.”
She looked at him then, really looked. At the sincerity etched into his face. At the fear beneath the bravery. On the way he stood there, vulnerable and unwavering.
“Peter…” her voice broke. “Are you serious?”
He nodded.
“I’ve never been more serious about anything.”
The silence that followed was thick, heavy with everything unspoken.
Clara’s heart raced, not just with excitement, but with fear. Because hope was dangerous. Because wanting something this badly meant it could hurt this badly too.
And yet… she felt it.
That small, glowing thing in her chest.
Hope.
She took a shaky breath.
“I don’t know what to say,” she admitted.
“That’s okay,” he said. “You don’t have to say anything right now.”
She stepped closer without realizing she was moving. He didn’t retreat.
Their hands br
ushed.
Neither of them pulled away.
The world seemed to hold its breath.