Choices

The dim lights in Norman's study cast a soft glow as he poured himself a glass of scotch, his mind racing. Claire's sudden reappearance was like a ghost emerging from his past, dragging with it a flurry of unresolved anger, confusion, and memories he had fought to bury. After two years of silence—two years of wondering, of guilt—she'd waltzed back in as if she'd never left, and without warning.

It was nearly midnight when he heard a knock on the study door. He turned to find Claire standing there, her arms folded, her eyes a mix of disdain and something darker, something he hadn't seen before.

"You couldn't even be bothered to come to me?" she said, her voice laced with venom.

Norman set his glass down slowly, his face unreadable. "After two years, Claire? You disappear without a word, and you expect me to just... He gestured with frustration, searching for the words. "You don't get to show up out of the blue and expect everything to be normal."

She narrowed her eyes, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. "I left because you left me no choice, Norman. You and your... your endless work, your indifference. And now I come back to find you've already moved on with some assistant."

Norman's expression darkened, his jaw tightening. "Rachel has nothing to do with this, Claire. She's my assistant and nothing more. Don't make her a scapegoat for whatever story you've conjured up in your head."

"Oh, don't act like I'm imagining things." She let out a bitter laugh, pacing the room with her arms crossed. "You're always with her. I saw the way you looked at her tonight at dinner, like she's something precious. Admit it, Norman—you've replaced me, haven't you?"

He was silent, his gaze steady, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of a reaction. Her accusations felt like slaps, each one tearing at his patience.

"You've been gone for two years, Claire," he said quietly. "You left without explanation, without even a call. I was shattered. You think I haven't spent every moment trying to figure out why? Trying to understand what I could have done to keep you from walking out."

Claire's expression faltered for a moment, her confidence wavering. She took a sharp breath, composing herself. "You were the one who pushed me away. All those business trips, your nights at the office, your coldness. I was your wife, Norman, and you abandoned me."

His anger flared, his hands clenched at his sides. "You're right—I was focused on work. And maybe I could have been a better husband. But I didn't abandon you, Claire. I stayed here, waiting. You were the one who walked out that door."

For a moment, silence filled the room, tension simmering between them. Then, Claire's voice softened, her eyes filling with unshed tears. "I left because I was broken, Norman. I couldn't keep pretending everything was fine. I loved you... so much it hurt, and you didn't even see me."

Norman's expression hardened; his heart caught between the raw vulnerability in her voice and the bitterness he'd held onto for so long. "Claire, you don't get to rewrite history. You chose to leave instead of working through it with me. And now, you're coming back with accusations, as if I'm the one who broke us."

Her face twisted with frustration, the tears spilling over as she crossed the room, gripping his arm. "Please, Norman. Don't act like you didn't replace me. Don't tell me you haven't been involved with that secretary of yours. Don't lie to me."

Norman shook his head, pulling away. "Rachel is just an employee. She's been here when I needed help, yes, but she is not—was never—anything more. You're deluding yourself, Claire."

But Claire's anger only deepened, her voice rising. "How could you betray me like this, Norman? I leave for two years, and you immediately find comfort with someone else."

At that moment, the door opened, and Isabella, Norman's mother, stepped in, her face pale and concerned. She'd heard enough; her usually warm expression now tinged with disappointment and sorrow.

"Claire," Isabella said softly, her voice carrying a hint of steel. "You don't have the right to come back here after all this time and put all the blame on my son. You left without a word, without any concern for the pain you caused. Norman's only crime was continuing with his life as best he could."

"Isabella," Claire began, her voice taking on a pleading tone. "Please... you know how much I loved him. I only left because he left me no choice."

Isabella's face tightened, her gaze unyielding. "No, Claire. You left because you chose to. Don't you dare come back here and emotionally blackmail my son with accusations that hold no truth. Rachel is an innocent bystander in this, and Norman has done nothing to betray you."

Tears streamed down Claire's face, her lips trembling as she took a shuddering breath. "You don't understand, Isabella. I was drowning, and he didn't care. I thought leaving would make him realize...

Isabella shook her head slowly, disappointment evident in her gaze. "What you did was selfish, Claire. And now, instead of taking responsibility, you're twisting the truth to suit your story. Norman waited for you. He tried to understand. But he deserves to live his life without guilt. You cannot manipulate your way back into his heart by shaming him."

Claire's face crumbled, her attempts to maintain composure faltering. She looked at Norman, her eyes pleading. "Norman… please… I'm here now. We can start again. We can be happy like we used to be.

Norman stared at her, the conflict in his eyes shifting to something resolute. "You think you can just reappear, accuse me of betrayal, and everything will fall into place? Claire, I spent two years searching for a reason, for a way to forgive you. But you abandoned us—abandoned me—when things got difficult. And now you expect me to forget all of that?"

His voice was strained, but there was a finality in it that even Claire couldn't ignore.

"Norman..." she whispered, broken, as if only now realizing the depth of what she'd done.

"Claire," he replied, his voice firm but pained, "you were my wife, and a part of me will always care for you. But you made your choice. You walked away from this family, from me. Don't come back expecting to erase what's happened."

Claire looked away, defeated, her shoulders slumped, her face etched with regret. Isabella stepped forward, her gaze softer now but resolute. "We wish you well, Claire, but it's time for you to leave."

In that quiet, tense moment, the weight of Claire's choices settled around them, and for the first time in years, Norman felt a sense of closure beginning to form. He had his life, his family, and maybe—just maybe—a chance to move forward, free from the shadows of the past.