Mr.Brightside

Chapter 69

 Jack's Resolve

The house felt empty without Clara. I had known it would. I had told myself that six months would pass in the blink of an eye, that we'd figure it out. And I believed that. But believing it didn't make her absence any easier. The apartment was quieter, the small routines we'd shared were now just echoes of what used to be. I'd catch myself looking at the empty chair where she used to sit during breakfast, or the way her shoes used to pile up near the door, and there'd be this ache in my chest.

But this wasn't about missing her. This was about supporting her, about making sure she knew I was here, even when she was miles away.

I spent more time in the workshop after she left. The cabinet I'd made for Clara felt like the start of something, and I found myself pouring my energy into new projects. There was something about shaping wood, creating something tangible, that grounded me. It gave me purpose, kept my hands busy when my mind wanted to wander.

As the days passed, we settled into a new rhythm. Phone calls, video chats, late-night messages when her workday ended and I was already halfway to sleep. It wasn't the same, but it was enough. I could see how much New York was changing her—how it was pushing her, challenging her. She talked about her residency with excitement, about the people she was meeting and the new ideas that were shaping her work. Every time she called, she sounded a little more like the woman I'd first fallen in love with—driven, passionate, unafraid.

I was proud of her. Proud that she was chasing her dreams. But there was a part of me, a small, selfish part, that wondered where that left us. What would happen when she came back? Would she still want this life we were building? Or would New York, with all its possibilities, pull her away?

I didn't voice those fears. I didn't want to burden her with my insecurities, not when she was thriving. Instead, I focused on what I could control—my work, my plans, the future I wanted to build with her.

The Workshop's New Project

One afternoon, while working in the shop, an idea hit me. I had been working on smaller commissions, pieces for clients who appreciated handmade furniture, but nothing that had felt as meaningful as Clara's cabinet. I wanted to create something more. Something bigger. Something that would symbolize not just our relationship, but everything I had learned about myself over the past few months.

I sketched out the rough design on a scrap of paper. It was going to be a series of cabinets, each one representing a different season, a different phase of life. Spring, summer, autumn, and winter. The idea was to show the cycle of growth and change, how things evolved but also remained rooted in something deeper. I wanted it to be more than just furniture. I wanted it to be a story.

I sent Clara a picture of the sketch that evening. She called me almost immediately after.

"Jack, this is incredible," she said, her voice filled with excitement. "You're really doing this?"

"I think so," I replied, a smile creeping onto my face. "It feels like the right time. Something that's been on my mind for a while."

"I love it," she said. "I love how it's all connected. The seasons, the phases of life... it's beautiful."

Her enthusiasm only fueled my determination. This project wasn't just about the work—it was about us, about the changes we were going through, and how we were navigating them together. I wanted to show Clara that I wasn't just waiting for her to come back. I was building something too, just as she was. And when she returned, we would share it all.

Finding Balance

Weeks turned into months, and slowly, I found a balance between missing Clara and staying focused on my work. We visited each other a few times—her flying back to spend a weekend here, me taking the time to visit her in New York. Each visit felt like a breath of fresh air, a reminder of the life we were still building. But there were moments, quiet moments, when I wondered if she was beginning to feel more at home in New York than here with me.

She never said as much. In fact, every time we talked, she reassured me that she missed our life together, that she couldn't wait to come home. But I could see the way her eyes lit up when she talked about her residency, about the new opportunities that were coming her way. It was a different kind of excitement, one I wasn't sure how to compete with.

But maybe that was the point. Maybe I didn't have to compete. Maybe we were building something separate but still connected, something that allowed both of us to grow in different directions without pulling away from each other.

The project in the workshop became my own way of processing that. As I worked on each cabinet, I thought about the seasons and what they represented. Spring, with its new beginnings. Summer, full of life and growth. Autumn, a time of change and reflection. And winter, quiet and still, but no less important.

Clara was in her summer season now—growing, thriving. And I was okay with that. My own growth was happening too, just in a different way.

The Final Piece

As the six months drew to a close, I finished the last of the cabinets. Each one was unique, but they all tied together, telling a story of change and continuity. I had kept the design simple, focusing on the natural beauty of the wood, letting the grain and texture tell the story.

When Clara called me one evening, her voice buzzing with excitement, I knew she had big news.

"I got offered an extension," she said, almost breathless. "They want me to stay for another three months."

My heart sank for a moment, but I pushed the feeling aside. This was what she had worked for. This was what she wanted. "That's amazing," I said, meaning it. "You deserve it, Clara. You really do."

She hesitated, and I could hear the uncertainty in her voice. "But... I don't know if I want to take it."

I frowned. "Why not?"

"Because it means more time apart. And I miss you, Jack. I miss our life together. I don't want to lose that."

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my thoughts. "You're not going to lose me," I said, my voice firm. "We'll figure it out, like we always do. If this is what you want, I'll support you. But you have to make the decision for yourself."

There was a long pause on the other end, and then she sighed. "I don't know what I want," she admitted. "But I know I don't want to lose us."

"You won't," I promised. "Whatever you decide, we'll be okay. I'm not going anywhere."

As we said our goodbyes, I couldn't help but feel a sense of peace. We were in this together, no matter what. And whether Clara stayed in New York for another three months or came home tomorrow, I knew we'd find our way through it. Because that's what we did.

We grew. We changed. But we stayed rooted in something deeper, something stronger than any distance.

Just like the trees I carved into each cabinet, we'd continue to reach for the sky—together.

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