The CEO's Regret: Darling, Don’t Leave Me novel Chapter 81

Chapter 50 waterung in the Sinclar House 7

Chapter 59: An Awakening in the Sinclair House–1

Ethan

I have an image engraved in my head. That moment when I saw her looking at the coffin, how her lips barely moved, as if she were saying something that no one else could hear. A private farewell. A final conversation.

There are pains that should not be invaded.

When it was all over, then she returned to the present.

The Sinclairs‘ house was full when we arrived. Distant relatives, partners of his father, friends of years. The main room smelled of fresh flowers and freshly brewed coffee. The voices were low, respectful. But there were too many people, too much movement, too many looks at Clara.

That’s why, before we even got to the cemetery, I had gone ahead of myself.

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I had spoken to the housekeeper, Mrs. Marta, who recognized me with a mixture of surprise and affection.

“Mr. Ethan… I am so sorry.”

“We need to organize everything,” I said. “Coffee, water, something light for people. That Mrs. Sinclair doesn’t have to worry about anything.”

She nodded without hesitation.

It was not the first time I was in that house. I used to do it as part of the family. Today I did it from another place, but with the same intention.

When Clara and her mother entered, everything was already ready. Organized seating, service on the move. People served… Mrs. Sinclair looked at me with her eyes still red and took my

hands.

“Thank you… son.”

r

The word fell heavily among us, she did not correct, she did not explain. And I didn’t say anything.

Clara looked at me too. Her eyes were exhausted, but there was something else there.

Recognition.

She knew she hadn’t had to take care of anything, and that, at the time, was a relief she couldn’t measure.

The hours passed between hugs and repeated phrases. I kept moving constantly. If someone needed something, I solved it. If there was a lack of coffee, I would ask for it. If anyone sought out Mrs. Sinclair, I would intervene before she was overwhelmed.

Alexander was present. Right. Respectful… But distant.

He did not intervene in the logistics, he did not offer to organize. He only accompanied.

4 Chapter 59 Art Awalo ang in the Shelan House

And when night fell and the house began to empty, I felt the fatigue hit me suddenly.

Only a few close relatives remained… Then they also left.

The house was silent, a heavy silence.

Clara was sitting next to her mother on the main sofa. They both seemed smaller in that huge space that had always been full of life.

I understood that it was time to leave. I approached cautiously.

“I think everything is in order now,” I said in a low voice. “If you need anything else, I’ll be on the lookout. I’m going to look for a hotel nearby.”

Mrs. Sinclair raised her head.

“A hotel?”

“Yes, I don’t want to bother you. It’s been a long few days.”

She stood up slowly, but firmly.

“You don’t go to any hotel.”

I shook my head gently.

“Really, it’s not necessary. I can…”

“Ethan,” she interrupted. “You can stay here. This is still your home.”

The words pierced me more than I expected.

I looked at Clara, she didn’t say anything. But she did not oppose it either.

She just held my gaze, tired, vulnerable.

Mrs. Sinclair continued,

“I have much to thank you for. For everything. Please… Agree to stay.”

A few feet behind me, Alexander was standing stili, listening. The invitation was not extended to him.

Not out of impoliteness, it just didn’t come up.

Alexander cleared his throat slightly.

“I’m going too,” he said formally. “I’ll look for a hotel.”

He approached Clara, hugged her carefully.

“Rest.”

She nodded. Then he said goodbye to Mrs. Sinclair. And he left.

I felt something strange in my chest. Not victory. Non–satisfaction… Only… reverse displacement.

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< Chapter 52–Awakato

The quest was now me, and at the same time I wasn’t.

I looked at Mrs. Sinclair.

“If you’re sure…”

“Absolutely.”

Mrs. Marta appeared almost immediately.

“I’ll have the room ready, Ethan.”

The room…

That room in the east wing, the one I used at Christmas, on anniversaries, in family summers. Where Clara would come in without knocking on the door and sit on the bed while we talked fate.

I went upstairs with an unreal feeling.

The house smelled the same, the corridor creaked the same. But everything was different.

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Chapter 59: An Awakening in the Sinclair House 2

When I walked into the room, it was spotless. Clean sheets. Open curtains letting in the dim light of the garden.

I stood in the center of the room for a few seconds. It was not the first time I had slept there.

But it was the first since I officially stopped being part of that family.

I sat on the edge of the bed, listened to the silence of the house. Some door closes down.

Soft steps, then nothing.

I thought of Clara. In how she looked holding her father’s hand. In how she trusted me without questioning when she had to delegate. In how she looked at me in the cemetery

I slowly took off my jacket, resting my hands on my face.

I’m tired. But more than tired, I’m aware. Aware that this place was my home.

And that, although things have changed, today they have allowed me to once again occupy a space that I never felt completely alien.

I don’t know what tomorrow will mean, I don’t know what place I will occupy when the duel settles.

But tonight I’m here, at the Sinclair house.

Not as a husband, not as a stranger. But as someone who decided to stay when it would have been easier to leave.

I turned off the light. And for the first time all day, the silence didn’t feel unbearable.

It felt… necessary.

I don’t remember when I fell asleep. I only know that when I opened my eyes, the light was no longer dim,

it was full. I entered through the curtains with a clarity that forced me to squint my eyelids. It took me a few seconds to locate myself. The white roof. The classic molding. The old painting on the wall.

The usual room, then everything came back.

The hospital, the coffin… The earth falling.

I sat up slowly. My body was as heavy as if I had run a marathon. I had not slept since Mr. Sinclair’s death. Not really. Just small pauses between decisions, calls, signatures. And last night, when I finally went to bed, fatigue overcame me without me being able to resist.

I looked at the clock, too late. I felt a pang of immediate discomfort.

It wasn’t my house, I shouldn’t have been waking up there at that time.

I got up quickly, dressed up as best I could, and walked downstairs with a strange feeling, as if I was

walking in a place that belonged to me… but not anymore.

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The living room was quiet, the sun illuminating the windows. And sitting on the main sofa, with her back straight but her face tired, was Mrs. Sinclair.

Alone.

She looked smaller without all the people around, I stopped for a second before moving forward.

“Good morning,” I said softly.

She looked up, there was no surprise. Just a quiet sadness.

“Good morning, Ethan.”

Her voice was worn, but stable.

I approached with some awkwardness.

“I’m sorry I woke up so late. I didn’t want to… to make people uncomfortable.”

She slowly denied.

“Don’t bother you. This house has been too quiet this morning.”

That sentence left me unanswered for a moment.

I took a seat in front of her, keeping a certain respectful distance.

An employee appeared shortly after with a tray.

“Coffee, ma’am….Sir.”

I nodded gratefully as he put the cup down in front of me. The scent hit me with a mixture of habit and nostalgia. How many mornings had I had coffee in that same room, talking with Mr. Sinclair about business, about football, about anything trivial.

Now his place was empty.

Mrs. Sinclair held her cup in her hands, but did not drink immediately.

She stared at the dark liquid as if she could find answers there.

And then she spoke.

“I don’t know how I’m going to lead my life without my husband.”

It wasn’t dramatic, it wasn’t exaggerated. It was a naked confession.

I looked up at her.

“It’s been so many years,” she continued. “So many years waking up by his side. Listening to his voice. Arguing over small things. Laughing at silly things…” Her voice cracked slightly. “I find it hard to believe

that this is real.”

I didn’t interrupt her.

Chapter 59 A

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Some people need silence to sustairrthemselves.

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“Fifty–three years,” she whispered. “Do you see? More than half a century sharing life with someone. And now-” she took a deep breath, “now I have to learn to be alone.”

I felt a weight in my chest. I’had lost a father–in–law.

She had lost her life partner.