Chapter 30 #2
Clementine takes the letter and studies me.
Waiting.
Giving me the chance to explain.
The fact that she let me inside has to be a positive sign.
I take a deep breath.
Then I start talking.
“I don’t know how to do this. Be in a relationship without turning it into a performance. My whole life, I’ve told stories. That’s how I understand the world. That’s how I protect myself. If I control the narrative, I control what happens. Or at least that’s what I thought.”
I pause.
Search for the right words.
“But you... you aren’t a story, Clementine.
You’re a person who scares me because I can’t put you into a neat little box.
I can’t plan you. You showed up here with your logic and your presence and turned my entire life upside down.
And instead of letting that happen, instead of simply...
living it, I did what I always do. I tried to control it.
I turned what was happening between us into a campaign.
Into content. Into a carefully packaged story. ”
My voice cracks.
“And I betrayed you.”
Clementine says nothing.
She just watches me.
“You’re right. My family is right. The village is right.
Everyone is right. What I did was unacceptable.
I took your trust and used it. I exposed you without asking.
I shared our intimacy as though it were a marketing strategy.
And the worst part is that I didn’t even realize it at first because in my head I was creating something beautiful. I was telling our story.”
I pull the sprig of thyme from my pocket.
“But it wasn’t our story. It was my version of our story. And I never once asked whether you wanted to share it.”
I place the thyme on the table beside the other four objects.
“The objects. The candlestick, the spoon, the key, the thyme... that was me. I had Courage, Ragnar, Rosita, and Hamish deliver them. Because I didn’t know how to communicate with words.
Because all my words sound fake now. Because I’ve spent so long hiding behind carefully chosen language that I don’t know how to tell the truth simply anymore. ”
I meet her eyes.
“But here’s the truth. I love you. And I ruined everything. And I don’t know if you can forgive me. I don’t even know if you should forgive me. Maybe you should go back to Paris, take that promotion, and forget me completely.”
My throat tightens.
“But if... if you’re willing to give me a chance. Just one chance. I promise I’ll never turn our life into content again. I promise our private life stays private. I promise I’ll learn how to live without turning everything into a story.”
I take a step toward her.
“I promise I’ll just... be with you. No storytelling. No marketing strategy. No perfectly calibrated pitch. Just you and me. Just life. No filters. No narrative. Nothing except what’s real.”
My voice drops almost to a whisper.
“I want to take care of you. I want you to stay. Not because it makes a good story. Not because it creates content or a campaign or anything else. Just because I love you. And because this life here, with you, is the only life I want.”
I stop.
I’ve said everything.
There’s nothing left.
Clementine still holds the unopened letter in her hand.
She looks at the five objects on the table.
The candlestick.
The spoon.
The key.
Hamish’s thyme.
The thyme I just placed beside it.
The silence stretches.
Every second feels endless.
“You can read the letter if you want,” I say, my voice rough. “Or not. Or burn it. It’s your choice. Everything is your choice now.”
And then I wait.
Because it’s the only thing left to do.
Wait for her to decide.
Wait for her to speak.
Wait to find out whether I still have a chance.
Or whether I’ve lost her forever.
Hamish lifts his head.
Looks at both of us.
Then gets up, crosses the room, and plants himself squarely between us.
Like a silent judge waiting for the verdict too.
Clementine lowers her gaze to the sheep.
Then to the objects on the table.
Then back to me.
She opens her mouth.
And I stop breathing.
Because nothing matters now except what she’s about to say.
Nothing matters except whether she can forgive me.
Nothing matters except whether we still have a story left to live together.
She looks at me, and I know she sees the man behind the marketer.
The man who just admitted he doesn’t know how to do this.
But wants to learn.
The man who stopped telling stories and finally told the truth.
“Cameron...”
Her voice is soft.
Tired.
Heavy with emotions I can’t decipher.
I wait.
My heart is beating so loudly I wonder if she can hear it.
The seconds stretch.
Each one contains an eternity.
I see tears gathering in her eyes.
I don’t know if that’s a good sign or a bad one.
I don’t know anything anymore.
All my marketing instincts, all my ability to analyze, anticipate, understand what people want...
None of it matters now.
I’m just a man standing in front of the woman he loves, waiting for a verdict that will determine the rest of his life.
Hamish lets out a soft bleat, as though reminding us he’s still here.
As though he’s saying something only we can understand.
Once again, Clementine looks at the sheep.
Then at the five objects on the table.
And finally at me.
And at last, she opens her mouth to answer.