The Love He Erased Chapter 04

The Love He Erased Chapter 04

The next morning, I called Owen Hale.

He owned one of the first venues that had hired me when I started doing wedding flowers. Back then, I could turn a bare hall into something people saved in photographs for years. Owen used to say I knew where a room wanted to breathe.

“Elise?” he said. “I heard you closed the studio.”

“I did.”

“For good?”

I looked around the guest room. Grant had put fresh roses on the dresser. White again.

“No,” I said. “I don’t think so.”

There was a pause.

“What do you need?” Owen asked.

It took me a second to answer.

Not because the question was hard.

Because no one had asked it that way in a long time.

“I need a workspace,” I said. “Small. Temporary. I want to take a few private clients while I figure things

out.”

“I’ve got the carriage house behind the venue. It has water and light. It also has raccoon-sized dust balls,

but I can sweep.”

“I can sweep.”

“I know you can. I was trying to sound useful.”

A small laugh escaped me.

Grant heard it when he came in early.

He stopped in the kitchen doorway. “Who was that?”

“Owen Hale.”

“The venue guy?”

“Yes.”

His face changed. “Why are you calling him?”

“He has a workspace I can rent.”

“Rent? You live here.”

“I’m aware.”

“You just got out of Northlake.”

“I’m aware of that too.”

“You need stability.”

“I agree.”

“This house is stable.”

I looked around the kitchen.

The counter where I had packed Harper’s lunches.

The table where I had cried after the miscarriage until Grant told me Harper could hear me.

“No,” I said. “It isn’t.”

Grant came closer. “You barely know Owen anymore.”

“He offered a room.”

“He always liked you.”

“That’s not an accusation.”

“It is when you’re my wife.”

There it was again.

My wife.

A role. A claim. A reason I should stay where he could see me.

I picked up my keys.

A year ago, he could have stopped me with one tired sigh. I would have stayed and explained until he forgave me for having needs.

Now I put the keys in my bag.

His voice cracked. “Why aren’t you fighting with me?”

I looked at him.

“I don’t have the energy.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is.”

“At least fight. At least act like this matters.”

I was quiet for a moment.

Then I said, “Every time I cared, you called it control.”

He flinched.

“So I’m not doing it where you can watch anymore.”

The carriage house smelled like dust, wood, and old water buckets.

Owen had swept, despite what he said. Badly. A line of dirt still sat under the worktable.

He saw me notice it and lifted both hands. “I did say I was trying to sound useful.”

This time, I really smiled.

He handed me the key, then seemed to think better of placing it in my hand. He set it on the table instead.

“No pressure,” he said. “Use it for a week. If it feels wrong, give it back.”

I looked at the key.

Grant always started with an answer.

Owen started with a question.

“I want to try,” I said.

“Then try.”

My phone buzzed.

Grant: Harper wants to come home tonight.

I looked at the message. Then at the empty buckets stacked along the wall.

For the first time in months, the emptiness in front of me looked like space instead of loss.