The Price of Truth

Chapter Five

The Price of Truth

Clara’s pulse hammered in her ears, the world around her spinning as Mae’s words hung heavy in the air. Some stories are not meant to be found. But you can try.

Clara opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat. Mae’s warning lingered, but Clara couldn’t walk away now—not when she had come this far, not when the truth was so close, just beyond her reach. The fear inside her was real, but the need to know was even more overwhelming. How could she go back to her life without the answers?

“I have to know,” Clara whispered, her voice barely audible.

Mae studied her for a long moment, her eyes flickering with something close to sadness. Then, slowly, she nodded.

“You’ll regret it,” Mae murmured, turning away from Clara and walking toward the back of the shop. The air seemed to shift with her movements, the quiet hum of the shop now tinged with something darker, like the calm before a storm.

Clara’s stomach twisted, but she couldn’t stop herself. She followed Mae to the back of the shop, where the shelves were cluttered with old photographs and trinkets, items that looked like they had been part of someone’s life for a long time. Mae reached up to a high shelf and pulled down a small wooden box, the edges worn and faded from age.

“This is all I have left of her,” Mae said softly, her fingers brushing over the box as though it were a relic from another time. “It’s the only thing I could save.”

Clara’s breath hitched. Mae was trembling, her hands unsteady as she placed the box on the counter between them. The moment was so fragile, like the turning of a page in a long-forgotten story.

Clara didn’t reach for it immediately. She could feel the weight of Mae’s words, the air thick with an unspoken history that Clara wasn’t sure she was prepared to understand. “Eve… she was important to Thomas, wasn’t she?”

Mae didn’t look up. She nodded, her voice low and pained. “She was his everything. And he was hers. But life… life had a way of taking things away. Eve wasn’t just some fleeting love. She was part of him. And when she was gone… so was he.”

Clara’s heart lurched. The idea of Thomas—her husband, her partner for so many years—having a love so deep, so secret, was a punch to the gut. “Why didn’t he tell me?” she asked, her voice shaking, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Why keep this from me?”

Mae’s gaze lifted to meet hers then, eyes raw with something Clara couldn’t name—guilt, sorrow, something that felt too painful to share. “He didn’t want to hurt you,” Mae said softly. “But the truth is… Thomas never stopped loving her. Not really. And no matter how much he loved you, there were parts of him that were hers—parts that you could never reach.”

Clara’s mind whirled. It felt like the ground beneath her was crumbling, leaving her adrift. But at the same time, she could feel something else, a flicker of understanding. Mae wasn’t trying to hurt her. She was simply telling the truth. The painful truth that Clara had never been privy to.

“I know you have questions,” Mae said quietly, breaking the silence. “And I’ll answer them. But be prepared. Some things are better left alone. Some doors, once opened, can never be closed again.”

Clara nodded, her throat tight. “I need to know. Everything.”

With a heavy sigh, Mae opened the wooden box. Inside, there was a stack of letters, faded and yellowed with age, along with a small silver locket. Mae slid the letters out, and Clara’s breath caught as she recognized the familiar handwriting—Thomas’s.

“Thomas never wanted to forget Eve,” Mae continued, her voice thick with emotion. “Even after she was gone, he couldn’t. And these letters… they were his way of keeping her alive.”

Clara reached for the letters, her hands trembling. But before she could take them, Mae stopped her. Her fingers tightened around the letters, her expression almost protective.

“Be careful with what you uncover,” Mae warned again, her voice low, almost a whisper. “Not everything should be remembered. Some stories are buried for a reason.”

Clara’s heart raced. “But I need to know. I need to understand.”

Mae hesitated, then finally handed Clara the letters, her fingers brushing Clara’s as she let go. The touch sent a shiver down Clara’s spine, as if Mae was passing her not just the letters, but the weight of the entire past, filled with longing, guilt, and things better left unsaid.

Clara felt her breath catch in her throat as she held the letters in her hands. The paper was worn, the ink faded. And yet, as her fingers traced the familiar scrawl of Thomas’s handwriting, she felt as though she were holding a secret too heavy to bear. Each letter was a piece of a life she never knew existed—one that Thomas had shared with someone else, someone who had taken a piece of him that Clara could never reach.

She opened the first letter slowly, the words on the page dancing before her eyes.

[Excerpt from Thomas’s Letter to Eve]

Eve,

I can still hear the sound of the ocean when I close my eyes. It reminds me of you—of the way you would laugh when the waves splashed your feet, the way you would tilt your head when you looked at me, like you were seeing me for the first time every time.

I don’t know what the future holds, but I do know that a part of me will always belong to you. Even if I can’t always be there, you will always be a part of me.

I miss you more than I can say, more than words can carry.

Clara’s hands shook as she read the letter, the pain of it reverberating through her like a distant memory. Thomas had loved Eve—truly, deeply. And now, Clara was left to pick up the pieces of a love that had never truly been hers.

She looked up at Mae, the rawness in her eyes betraying the storm inside her. “Why didn’t he tell me? Why did he keep this from me?”

Mae took a step closer, her face unreadable. “Because, sometimes, love isn’t just about the people we’re with—it’s about the people we can’t let go of. Thomas was trying to protect you. He never wanted to hurt you. But he never truly let go of Eve.”

Clara’s chest tightened. The truth was more painful than she had ever imagined.

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