Chapter 4 - The Coastal Clinic
Rockport, Maine, was a world of salt air, lobster traps, and grey granite rocks meeting a choppy, dark blue Atlantic. Daniel arrived just as the afternoon fog began rolling over the harbor, shrouding the village in a cool, misty silence.
He parked his car two blocks away from the St. Jude Community Health Center, a modest white clapboard building near the docks. He sat behind the wheel, staring at the front entrance, suddenly paralyzed by fear. What right did he have to show up after five years? She had likely moved on, buried her feelings, and built a peaceful life far away from the toxic influence of the Whitmore family.
Then the clinic doors opened.
A woman walked out wearing a dark wool pea coat over green scrubs, carrying a tote bag filled with medical files. Her dark hair was tied back in a low knot, just as it had always been, with a few loose strands catching the seaside breeze.
Claire.
Daniel’s breath caught in his throat. Time seemed to collapse. She looked slightly older, with faint lines of fatigue around her eyes, but her grace was unmistakable. She walked down the wooden steps, exchanging a warm smile with an elderly fisherman passing by on the sidewalk.
Daniel opened his car door and stepped onto the damp pavement. His expensive leather shoes clicked against the cobblestones, breaking the quiet rhythm of the harbor.
""Claire.""
The sound of his voice carried through the mist.
Claire froze. Her shoulders tightened beneath the heavy coat. For three full seconds, she did not turn around, as though she believed the wind was playing tricks on her mind.
Slowly, she turned.
Her hazel eyes widened, the color draining from her cheeks until she was as pale as the seafoam crashing against the pier. The tote bag slipped from her fingers, the files scattering across the damp wooden planks between them.
""Daniel?"" she breathed, the word barely audible over the cry of the gulls.
Daniel walked forward, stopping five feet from her, terrified that moving any closer would make her vanish into the fog. He looked at her, his throat burning with five years of unspoken grief and longing.
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""You waited,"" he said, his voice cracking. ""On the platform. You waited for the 8:20 train.""
Claire’s eyes dropped to the floor, her hands balling into trembling fists inside her coat pockets. ""Why are you here, Daniel?"" she whispered, her voice laced with an unbearable ache. ""Why now?""
