Chapter 6 - The Blue Ribbon Letters
The apartment in Pilsen was small, smelling faintly of radiator steam, floor cleaner, and pine. It was a stark contrast to Ethan’s sprawling penthouse on the Lakefront, but as he stepped across the threshold, he felt a strange, profound sense of reverence.
This was where Clara had spent her last days. This was where his daughter was growing up.
While Lily sat on the small kitchen rug, happily eating apple slices and showing Mr. Buttons her favorite picture book, Maria knelt in the back bedroom closet. She pulled away a stack of folded blankets and unlocked a small, heavy iron box set into the floorboards.
She lifted out a wooden chest made of polished mahogany, inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
Ethan sat at the small formica kitchen table, his hands trembling as Maria set the box before him.
Tied around the chest was a thick sash of faded sky-blue silk.
Ethan reached out, his long fingers brushing the fabric. He remembered the night he had given her that sash—their second anniversary, in a tiny Italian bistro on Rush Street. She had worn it in her hair.
With trembling hands, he untied the knot.
He lifted the wooden lid. Inside lay dozens of envelopes, organized neatly by date. Every single one was addressed to Ethan Harrington, Harrington Tower, Chicago IL. Every single one bore a red stamp from the United States Postal Service: RETURN TO SENDER - REJECTED BY ADDRESSEE.
"Victor had a private mail filter installed at your tower," Maria explained quietly, leaning against the doorframe. "Any mail originating from Indiana or bearing Clara’s maiden name was automatically intercepted and returned."
Ethan picked up the top envelope, dated four years ago. He carefully tore open the edge and pulled out the folded sheet of cream paper.
The handwriting was unmistakably Clara's—slanted, elegant, and filled with warmth.
Dearest Ethan,
If you are reading this, it means somehow the wall Victor built between us has fallen. I know you hate me. I know you believe I betrayed you and stole your company's future. But I swear on my life, Ethan, I never touched your accounts.
Victor showed me the forged wire transfers. He told me that if I didn't disappear, he would ensure you went to federal prison for corporate negligence. I left because I loved you too much to watch him destroy you before your dream could begin.
I am sick, Ethan. My heart isn't strong enough. But I am carrying a piece of you. Our baby is due in the spring. If I don't make it, Maria will raise her. Please know that every breath I take in this quiet room is still yours.
Forever your Clara.
A harsh, silent sob broke from Ethan’s throat. Tears rained down onto the paper, smudging the blue ink.
He opened another letter. Then another. Eleven years of devotion, eleven years of agony, eleven years of a woman suffering in silence while he sat forty floors above the city, hardening his heart into ice.
"I didn't know," Ethan wept, pressing the letters against his face. "Clara... I didn't know... I'm so sorry..."
A soft, warm hand touched his elbow.
Ethan looked up through his blurred vision. Lily had left her coloring book and walked over to the table. She looked at his tear-stained face, then pulled a small, crumpled tissue from her cardigan pocket and offered it to him.
"Don't cry, sky-man," she said softly. "Mommy says tears make the clouds heavy."
May you like
Ethan let out a wet, choked laugh. He pulled his three-year-old daughter into his arms, burying his face in her soft curls, holding her as if the world were ending.
"I’m not sad, sweetheart," Ethan whispered, his heart swelling with a fierce, burning light he hadn't felt in over a decade. "I’m finally waking up."
