Chapter 11
David lowered his arm, his expression tensing for a fraction of a second before he relaxed. The defensive walls were gone, replaced by a weary openness. "Sarah," he said, offering a small, tired nod. "I didn't expect to see you."
"Clearly," Sarah replied, turning to face him with a gentle expression. "I was just checking in on you both. Bringing contraband carbohydrates. You look like you've been putting the lawnmower through a stress test."
David offered a self-deprecating half-smile, walking over to the sink to wash his hands. "It needed it. Everything outside was overgrown." He dried his hands on a towel and walked over to join Clara and Sarah by the counter. "Thank you for the leave, Sarah. I know it throws a wrench into the Henderson project timeline."
"The Henderson project can wait, David," Sarah said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Architecture is important, but it's not life and death. Take the time you need. Both of you." She paused, looking between them with a deep, affectionate concern. "If you need anything—groceries, someone to run errands, or just someone to sit with in silence—you call me. No spreadsheets required."
Clara reached out, wrapping her hand around David’s arm, pulling him gently closer. "Thank you, Sarah. That means a lot to us."
After Sarah left, the house settled back into its quiet rhythm. The afternoon stretched lazily before them, unburdened by schedules or administrative demands. For the first time in months, there was no place they needed to be, no crisis they needed to manage. They sat together on the back patio, watching the clouds drift lazily across the blue sky, letting the soothing rhythm of nature wash over them.
"Do you want to talk about them?" Clara asked softly after a long silence, turning her head to look at David.
May you like
David exhaled slowly, feeling a familiar tightness in his chest, but this time he didn't try to swallow it down. He turned to meet her gaze, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "Yeah," he said, his voice steadying. "I do. I want to talk about Leo and Maya."
And for the first time, sitting in the warm afternoon sun, they spoke their names out loud. They talked about the imaginary futures they had mapped out in their heads—first steps, scraped knees, awkward teenage years, and proud graduations. They didn't hide from the pain; they leaned into it, letting the spoken memories bridge the chasm that had threatened to tear their marriage apart.
