Lena was making tea when the letter arrived.
It had been an ordinary morning—soft light pouring through the windows, the hum of the kettle, Jace asleep upstairs with one leg kicked over the blankets. She almost didn't hear the post slip through the door. It was only the subtle clink of paper against wood that drew her to check.
At first, she thought it was junk mail. Then she saw the handwriting.
Clara's.
Her heart did something strange—jumped and sank at the same time.
She stood for a moment, the envelope in her hands, the world around her still and quiet. Then, slowly, she opened it.
The letter was long. Thoughtful. Raw in the way only Clara could be—honest, messy, beautiful. As Lena read, her eyes began to blur, the words bending and breaking into each other. She pressed her fingers to her mouth, holding in the ache that swelled in her chest.
> I miss you. But more than that, I think I'm finally ready to see you again—not as who we were, but as who we are now. I don't expect anything to be easy. I just want us to try.
When she reached the final lines, she sat down slowly at the kitchen table, the paper trembling in her hands.
Jace came down ten minutes later, rubbing his eyes. "Morning," he mumbled, then paused when he saw her expression. "Everything okay?"
Lena looked up at him, her eyes rimmed red. "Clara wrote."
He froze for a beat, then crossed the kitchen and crouched beside her, concern etched across his features. "And?"
"She's coming back," Lena whispered. "She's ready."
Jace exhaled slowly, relief softening his expression. "That's good, right?"
Lena nodded, her voice catching. "Yeah. It's just… I didn't realize how much I missed her until I read her words."
He reached for her hand, squeezing gently. "I think we all did."
The next few days passed in a quiet kind of preparation—not of the house, but of themselves. Lena kept the letter folded in her pocket like a talisman, reading it when she needed reassurance that this wasn't a dream. She thought about all the things she wanted to say when Clara arrived, and all the things she probably wouldn't need to. Some truths lived between the lines.
Jace was steady, calm. He didn't try to fix anything, just stood beside her, reminding her that love didn't always need words.
On the day Clara was set to return, Lena found herself pacing the hallway near the front door. Her palms were clammy. Her heart beat like a drum.
When the knock finally came, it was so soft she almost didn't hear it.
She opened the door slowly.
And there Clara stood.
A little thinner, a little tanner. Her hair was longer, her eyes quieter. But she was Clara. Her sister. Her best friend. Her beginning.
Neither of them spoke.
Then Clara stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Lena without hesitation.
Lena held her tightly, her throat aching, her heart splintering open. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, the words trembling with everything she couldn't say.
"I know," Clara murmured. "Me too."
They stood like that for a long time, swaying slightly, as if the world had finally stopped spinning just enough for them to catch their breath.
Jace appeared in the doorway, hesitant.
Clara looked up at him.
They shared a quiet, loaded glance.
Then Clara offered the smallest, almost shy smile. "Hey, Jace."
He nodded once. "Hey."
It wasn't absolution. But it was something like peace.
They stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind them.
The house didn't feel haunted anymore.
It felt whole.
---