The Moon and Mrs. Finch

I flush, embarrassed. “It’s nothing,” I say quickly. “Just scribblings, really. Thoughts and memories, mostly.”

Beatrice reaches across the table, laying her hand over mine once more. “I would love to read them, if you would let me,” she says, her voice gentle. “I’ve always admired your way with words.”

I look at her, surprised and touched by her interest. “Perhaps,” I say, noncommittal. “One day.”

Beatrice smiles, but she does not press me. Instead, she changes the subject, asking me about the garden, the sea, the little details of my life here in the cottage. I find myself opening up to her, sharing stories and memories I have not spoken of in years. She listens intently, her eyes never leaving my face, her expression warm and encouraging.

As the night deepens and the moon climbs higher in the sky, I feel a warmth spreading through me, a sense of companionship I have not felt in years. The grief that has been my constant companion for so long seems to recede, like the tide going out, leaving behind a space that is filled with something new, something precious. Something that feels, for all the world, like hope.

The moon has reached its zenith now, a bright, benevolent eye gazing down upon us from the vault of the heavens, and in its light, I feel a strange sort of courage steal over me, a boldness I have not known in years. The warmth of Beatrice’s presence, the gentle pressure of her hand on mine, the way her eyes seem to see right into the very heart of me—all of it combines to loosen my tongue, to unlock the secrets I have kept buried for so long.

“There is something I have wanted to say to you, Bea,” I begin, my voice low and hesitant, like the first trembling notes of a song. “Something I should have said a long time ago.”

Beatrice looks at me, her expression unreadable in the flickering firelight, but her hand remains on mine, a steady, comforting weight. “What is it, Ellie?” she asks, her voice as soft as the sea’s murmur beyond the cottage walls.

I take a deep breath, my gaze fixed on our joined hands, on the way her fingers intertwine with mine, so naturally, so easily. “I’ve been thinking,” I say slowly, feeling my way through the words like a traveler in an unknown land, “about the past. About the choices we made, the paths we didn’t take.”

Beatrice is silent for a long moment, and I risk a glance at her face. Her eyes are dark and fathomless, filled with a pain I recognize all too well. “I have thought of those things too,” she says at last, her voice barely above a whisper. “More often than I care to admit.”

I nod, my heart aching for her, for the both of us. “I never meant to hurt you, Bea,” I say, the words tumbling out of me now, like water over a dam. “When Arthur and I... when we fell in love, I never stopped to think about what it might mean for you. For us.”

Beatrice sighs, a sound like the wind through the eaves. “I know,” she says, her thumb stroking the back of my hand in a gentle, soothing rhythm. “I know you didn’t. And I never blamed you for it, Ellie. Not truly. Arthur was... he was a good man. A kind man. He loved you, and you loved him. I could never have stood in the way of that.”

“But you loved me too,” I say, the words hanging in the air between us like a challenge, like a confession. “Didn’t you?”

Beatrice looks away, her gaze drifting to the window, to the moonlit garden beyond. “Yes,” she says at last, her voice raw with emotion. “I did. I loved you from the moment we met, all those years ago. I loved you with a fierceness that scared me sometimes, with a depth I didn’t know I was capable of.”

I feel a pang of guilt, sharp and sudden, like a knife to the heart. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice breaking on the words. “I’m so sorry, Bea. I was so wrapped up in my own happiness, in the life I was building with Arthur, that I never stopped to think about what you might be feeling. What you might be giving up.”

Beatrice turns back to me, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Don’t be sorry, Ellie,” she says, her voice fierce and tender all at once. “You have nothing to apologize for. You followed your heart, as you should have. As I always wanted you to.”

I shake my head, unable to let myself off so easily. “But I hurt you,” I say, my voice thick with tears. “I see that now. I see the sacrifices you made, the pain you carried, all these years. And I can’t help but wonder... what if? What if I had chosen differently? What if I had been brave enough to follow my heart where it truly wanted to go?”

Beatrice reaches up with her free hand, brushing a tear from my cheek with the pad of her thumb. “We can’t live in the past, Ellie,” she says, her voice gentle but firm. “We can’t change the choices we made, the paths we took. All we can do is honor the love we had, the love we still have, and move forward from here.”

I nod, leaning into her touch like a flower to the sun. “I know,” I say, my voice hoarse with emotion. “I know you’re right. But I can’t help but feel like I’ve wasted so much time. So many years spent hiding from the truth, from the way I truly felt.”

Beatrice smiles then, a small, sad thing that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “We both did,” she says softly. “We both hid, in our own ways. But we’re here now, aren’t we? Together, in this moment, with the moon as our witness. Perhaps it’s not too late for us, after all.”

I look at her, really look at her, and I see the years we’ve spent apart written in the lines of her face, in the silver of her hair. I see the girl I once knew, the girl I once loved, and I see the woman she’s become—strong, resilient, beautiful in her own right. And I know, with a certainty that settles deep in my bones, that I love her still. That I have always loved her, and that I always will.

“I love you, Bea,” I say, the words falling from my lips like a prayer, like a promise. “I love you, and I’m so sorry for all the years I let pass without telling you. Without showing you.”

Beatrice’s eyes widen, her lips parting in surprise. For a long moment, she says nothing, and I fear I’ve overstepped, that I’ve ruined everything with my clumsy words, my belated confession. But then she smiles, really smiles, and it’s like the sun coming out after a long, hard winter.

“Oh, Ellie,” she breathes, her voice trembling with emotion. “I love you too. I’ve always loved you. And I’m sorry too—for not being braver, for not fighting for what I wanted. For what we could have had.”

And then, before I can say another word, she leans forward and kisses me, her lips soft and warm against mine. It’s a gentle kiss, almost chaste, but it sets my heart alight like a torch in the darkness. I kiss her back, my hands coming up to tangle in her hair, to pull her closer, and for a moment, there is nothing but the two of us, and the moonlight, and the endless, murmuring sea.

The kiss ends as softly as it began, our foreheads touching, our breath mingling in the space between us. I can feel the thrum of Beatrice’s heartbeat against my own, a steady, comforting rhythm that seems to echo the pulse of the sea outside. For a long moment, we simply sit there, wrapped in each other’s arms, basking in the warmth of our shared confession, our shared love.

“It’s been so long,” Beatrice murmurs at last, her voice rough with emotion. “So many years I’ve dreamed of this moment, of holding you like this.”

I nod, my throat tight with tears. “I know,” I whisper, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. “I’ve dreamed of it too, even when I didn’t want to admit it to myself.”

Beatrice pulls back slightly, her hands coming up to cup my face, her thumbs stroking the apples of my cheeks. Her eyes are dark and tender in the firelight, filled with a love so profound, it takes my breath away. “We’ve wasted so much time, Ellie,” she says, her voice soft but urgent. “I don’t want to waste another moment.”