Chapter 9 - The Invitation Returned
In early January, a formal letter arrived in our mailbox.
It was thick, cream-colored stationery bearing the embossed crest of the Greenwich estate—handwritten in Margaret’s familiar, sharp, uncompromising cursive.
I held it in my hand in the kitchen, feeling a brief flash of curiosity before tossing it unopened straight into the recycling bin beside the sink.
Claire walked in, holding a mug of coffee, and raised an eyebrow. “Was that from her?”
“Yeah,” I said, leaning against the counter.
“Aren't you going to read it? See what her lawyers or she had to say?”
I shook my head, wrapping my arms around Claire and pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“Doesn't matter,” I said softly. “Whatever is in that letter belongs to a chapter of my life that’s already closed. We aren't living in her book anymore, Claire. We’re writing our own.”
May you like
Claire smiled, a radiant, beautiful expression that chased away every remaining shadow of the past.
“Good,” she murmured, resting her head against my chest. “Because the writing style is much better now anyway.”
