Vincent wasn't sure what had driven Maria to suggest Clara in the first place. Perhaps it was her way of dealing with the growing distance between them, or maybe she genuinely thought it was for the best. But when Vincent met Clara for the first time, something inside him shifted a sense of duty to honour Maria's wishes and, at the same time, a recognition that he was no longer sure of what he wanted from life or from the women around him.
Clara was sweet, in an unassuming way. She had a quiet charm that didn't immediately grab Vincent's attention but instead slowly crept under his skin, like the hum of a distant melody. On the surface, she was everything—that Vincent's marriage wasn't peaceful, uncomplicated, and without the weight of years of secrets and emotional baggage. In her presence, the turmoil in his heart seemed to fade, if only for a moment.
They met for coffee at a small café downtown, the kind of place where time seemed to slow down. The moment Clara walked in, Vincent noticed her eyes first gentle, inquisitive, as though she were constantly absorbing the world around her. She was in her late twenties, about a decade younger than Vincent, with a soft smile that she used sparingly.
"Vincent," she said, extending a hand, her voice polite but not overly familiar. "It's nice to finally meet you."
"Likewise," he said, shaking her hand. It was firm, but not too tight—a soft introduction to a new, albeit strange, chapter of his life.
They sat down and started with small talk—about the weather, about work, about the books they were reading. Vincent found himself listening intently, curious about this woman who, for all intents and purposes, seemed to be the solution to an unsolvable problem: Maria's plea for him to move on.
Yet, as the conversation drifted, Vincent couldn't help but feel the void between them grow. Clara had a kind heart, and she seemed genuinely interested in getting to know him, but there was no spark, no electricity, no magnetic pull that had existed between him and Maria. He listened as she talked about her job at a non-profit organisation, her dreams of travelling the world, and her love for cooking. All things that should have piqued his interest, but he found himself distracted, his mind constantly drifting back to Maria.
Clara was easy to talk to, but there was no fire. She wasn't like Maria—no mystery, no intensity, no emotional depth. She seemed, well, safe.
As the days passed, Vincent continued to meet with Clara, but the relationship never took off. They shared more meals together, more conversations, and yet the connection he had hoped for simply wasn't there. He tried—he really did. He would tell himself that this was his chance to move on, to put the past behind him and build something new. But each time they parted ways, he felt more conflicted than ever.
Clara had a way of quietly wrapping herself around him, of offering him what Maria could no longer give him. She had a sense of security, a grounded presence that soothed his restlessness. But as they spent more time together, Vincent couldn't ignore the fact that there was no passion. There was no fire to ignite his soul.
When they kissed for the first time, it was gentle, almost tentative. There was nothing that sent a spark racing through him—no magnetic pull toward her. Instead, it felt like he was going through the motions, trying to recreate something that wasn't there. It felt wrong.
And yet, he kept seeing her. Clara seemed like the right choice—the practical choice. She had no hidden past, no emotional baggage, no dark secrets. She was a blank slate, the opposite of everything Maria was, and yet he couldn't shake the feeling that he was just pretending.
Maria's call came one night, when he was out with Clara for dinner at a quiet restaurant. Vincent's phone vibrated in his pocket, and he knew it was her without even checking the screen. There was no mistaking the pull of Maria's energy, even through a simple text message. He excused himself from the table and stepped outside, taking a deep breath as he stared at the bright city lights.
"Hey," he said when he answered.
"Vincent," Maria's voice was soft, but there was something in it that made his pulse quicken. "How's it going with Clara?"
He hesitated for a moment before answering. "It's fine. We've been spending some time together."
"I know," she said. "I can hear it in your voice. You're not into her."
Vincent exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting over the busy street. "I'm trying, Maria. But it's not the same. It's not you."
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Then Maria spoke, her voice laced with both sadness and resignation. "I told you it wouldn't work, Vincent."
"I didn't want to admit it," he replied. "But I'm starting to think you're right."
Maria's laugh was soft, almost bitter. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to cause you pain. I just thought you needed someone new. Someone who could give you what I can't."
"I know," Vincent said, the words heavy. "But it's not what I need. What I need is... I don't know what I need anymore, Maria."
The next day, Clara texted him, asking to meet up again. Vincent knew that he couldn't keep seeing her. He wasn't fair to her—he wasn't even sure of his own feelings, let alone hers. The thought of continuing the relationship felt more like a burden than a solution.
He called her and suggested they talk. Over the phone, he explained that he didn't think they were right for each other. Clara took the news with surprising grace, though he could tell that she was disappointed.
"I thought we had something," she said quietly. "But I get it. You're still holding on to something else."
"I'm sorry," Vincent said, feeling the weight of his failure settle in his chest.
"Don't apologise," Clara replied. "I'm glad you were honest with me."
Maria's words echoed in his mind. It was clear now that she had been right all along. He had tried to fill the hole in his heart with someone who couldn't possibly measure up. The connection between him and Clara was a faint shadow of the one he shared with Maria, and it was never meant to be more than a distraction.
But now, as he looked back on the failed attempt with Clara, he was left with the unsettling feeling that he was more deeply entangled in the web of his own desires than ever before. And the more he tried to cut the threads, the more they seemed to pull him back toward Maria—and the secrets they both shared.
The chapter ends with Vincent staring out his office window, contemplating what was next. He knew one thing for sure: the more he tried to escape Maria, the more he was drawn back into her orbit. The web of secrets was far from untangling, and with Clara now out of the picture, Vincent's heart seemed only more conflicted.
The consequences of his choices were beginning to take shape, and he wasn't sure if he was ready to face them.