Chapter 5
1465words
Claire returned from Stanford, no longer the young doctor whose judgment could be clouded by emotions.
Her academic refinement had made her more composed and confident, with a hint of worldly calm and determination in her expression. She politely declined high-paying offers from several private hospitals, choosing instead to return to her alma mater's affiliated hospital, where she established a specialized clinic focused on Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) research, gradually gaining recognition.
And Lucas?
He seemed like a changed man, still managing his business empire, but much of his hostility and coldness had dissipated.
He had learned to wait, learned to respect the boundaries Claire had drawn. He no longer appeared in her life with his former domineering manner, but rather in an almost awkward, cautious way, trying to re-enter her life.
He would have rare psychology books she needed delivered to her, with a card attached bearing only the words "For your reference," never saying more than necessary.
He would remember the traditional snacks she occasionally mentioned wanting to try in her social media posts, then quietly buy them and have them delivered to the front desk of her hospital, signing only with a simple "Reed."
He even began to seriously participate in the psychological aid charity projects funded by Reed Corporation, no longer just symbolically cutting ribbons, but sitting down and listening to professionals explain their work. Though still a man of few words, his eyes showed genuine interest.
Claire noticed all these changes. Like the most patient observer, she watched this "patient's" recovery process. Her heart wasn't unmoved, but the wound that had been so violently torn open had healed with a deep scar that made her afraid to get too close again.
On a sunny weekend afternoon, Claire invited Lucas to a quiet café in the city center, a place they used to frequent during their first few dates.
She chose the location deliberately, giving it a sense of ceremony, and also as a final test.
Lucas arrived early, wearing a simple white shirt, appearing less sharp than his usual self at work, and more refreshingly casual. When he saw Claire enter, he immediately stood up and pulled out a chair for her, his movements deliberately careful.
"Thank you." Claire sat down and ordered a soda water.
The atmosphere was somewhat awkwardly stagnant. After exchanging a few pleasantries about recent happenings, Claire held her glass, her fingertips pressing slightly, as she looked up with a calm gaze at the somewhat nervous man across from her.
"Lucas," her voice was soft, yet it was like a stone thrown into still water, "we should have a real closure between us."
Lucas's heart sank suddenly, his Adam's apple bobbed once as he anticipated what she was about to say.
Claire looked directly into his eyes and said clearly, word by word: "Over the past year, I've seen how you've changed. Thank you for everything you've done. But some wounds, once inflicted, cannot be undone. We... can't go back." She paused, as if gathering determination, and finally spoke the words she had rehearsed countless times: "The child... that child, I didn't keep it back then."
As her words fell, the air seemed to freeze.
The color drained from Lucas's face at a visible rate, turning deathly pale. His hand under the table suddenly clenched tight, fingernails digging deep into his palm, his body swaying almost imperceptibly. Those eyes that had learned to express gentleness instantly filled with immense pain and despair that threatened to drown him. He opened his mouth but couldn't produce any sound, like a fish gasping its last breath.
Claire's heart clenched tightly as she held her breath, observing his every subtle reaction. She saw his eyes quickly turn red, saw his shoulders trembling despite his desperate attempts to control himself. She was waiting—waiting for his anger, his accusations, or perhaps... his surrender.
After a long while, Lucas finally managed to find his voice with extreme difficulty, his words terribly hoarse: "I... I understand."
He lowered his head, covered his face with both hands, his shoulders violently shuddering once. When he looked up again, his eyes were filled with crimson defeat. He tried hard to force a smile, but it looked worse than crying:
"Claire, I'm sorry... truly sorry. I deserve this... losing the baby is the greatest punishment for me... I..." He took a deep breath, as if using all the strength in his body to continue: "I respect your decision. From now on... I wish you happiness. If... if Ethan Guthrie, or anyone else, can truly make you happy... I... I give you my blessing."
He finished speaking, as if all strength had been drained from him, collapsing back against the chair, his eyes hollow as he stared out the window. There was no anger, no clinging, only deep regret and a kind of... desperation that comes from finally learning to let go.
In this moment, the heartstrings Claire had been keeping taut suddenly loosened.
She saw it—saw his genuine growth, not deliberately performed gentleness, not utilitarian flattery, but after believing he had lost everything and experiencing heart-wrenching pain, he still chose to respect her wishes and offer her his blessing. This kind of love was no longer about possession, but about fulfillment.
She quietly looked at him for a few seconds, then slowly stood up.
Lucas thought she was about to leave, and the last glimmer of light in his eyes extinguished. He didn't even have the courage to look at her again.
However, Claire walked around the table and came to his side.
Lucas looked up in bewilderment.
Claire looked at his reddened eyes and the tear stains on his face, and the last bit of ice in her heart completely melted. She reached out her hand and gently took hold of his hand that was white-knuckled from gripping too tightly and slightly trembling.
Lucas froze, completely unsure of what she was about to do.
Claire's lips finally curved into a genuine, tender smile tinged with tears as she looked into his eyes that were wide with tremendous shock, and said softly:
"Lucas Reed, as your former therapist, my final diagnosis is—you have essentially recovered and learned what true love and respect really mean."
She paused, feeling the violent trembling of his hand beneath her palm, her voice growing increasingly gentle:
"And as a woman, I think that you, as you are now, having earnestly learned how to love, are a man worthy of my trust."
Time seemed to stand still in that moment.
Lucas froze completely, his mind going blank. He looked down in disbelief at where his hand was placed, feeling the clear rhythm of life. After a few seconds, an overwhelming, tremendous joy suddenly broke through all his defenses. This man who dominated the business world and had always maintained his composure, cried like a child, tears flowing abundantly. He suddenly stood up, disregarding the scattered glances from those around, and pulled Claire tightly, so tightly into his arms, as if trying to meld her into his very bones and blood, choking with emotion and barely able to speak coherently:
"Claire... Claire... thank you... thank you... I'm sorry... I... I love you... I only love you..."
Claire didn't push him away, but instead reached out and gently embraced his trembling body, tears silently sliding down her face. This time, the tears were warm, relieved, and full of hope.
Another spring day had come, with perfect sunshine.
Claire held a chubby, exquisitely beautiful baby in her arms, sunbathing on the lawn of their small courtyard. The baby cooed and waved tiny hands, with big grape-like eyes curiously observing the world.
The yard gate creaked open as Lucas walked out carrying cut fruit. He had shed his crisp suit for simple home clothes, his once stern demeanor long replaced by gentleness. He came over, naturally bending down to place a soft kiss on Claire's forehead, then crouched down and extended his index finger to touch the baby's tender cheek with extreme awkwardness yet infinite care.
"Were you well-behaved today? Did you give mommy any trouble?" His voice was unprecedentedly gentle, carrying the endearing silliness of a new father.
The baby giggled at his playfulness.
Claire gazed at the scene before her, a warm smile spreading across her lips. She knew that this time, what she possessed was no longer a love made of illusory shadows, but something real and tangible—a life that belonged to her and her child, one filled with respect and cherishment. The fierce storms of the past had subsided, leaving behind soil that was more solid and warm after the rain had cleared.
This, perhaps, is what they mean by peace and tranquility in life.
