Ethan
Closing the door behind us feels… symbolic. It’s not just wood and metal separating us from the rest of the house. It’s as if everything we left behind—the mistakes, the doubts, the absences—remains on the other side. Here… it’s just Clara and me.
And when she takes another step into the room, her reaction confirms it. She stops. Her eyes scan the floor… the rose petals that trace a path to the bed. The warm light of the candles flickers softly, enveloping everything in an intimate, almost unreal atmosphere. The bottle of champagne sits on the table, the glasses are ready.
I see her turn toward me, surprised.
“Ethan…” she says softly. “I wasn’t expecting this…”
I smile slightly, feeling something I haven’t felt in a long time. Nerves… The good kind, the kind that matter.
