Chapter 17
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After returning to New York, Elias couldn’t stop himself from monitoring Charlotte’s life from afar. Every report from his private investigators arrived with photos–and in every single one, Isaac was by her side. Here they were teaching children together, there they were at a local celebration, another showed them walking hand–in–hand along the
lakeshore at sunset.
Each image was a knife to his heart, twisting deeper with every glimpse of Charlotte’s smile–a smile he’d rarely seen when she was with him.
The transformation in Elias was stark and alarming. The once–immaculate officer who commanded respect with his mere presence now moved through his days like a ghost. His uniform hung loose on his frame, his once–sharp jawline now obscured by an unkempt beard. Dark circles permanently shadowed his eyes, which had lost their authoritative
intensity.
Whiskey became his constant companion–the expensive bottles that had once been reserved for special occasions now emptied with alarming frequency. In his alcohol–induced haze, he could sometimes conjure Charlotte’s presence, could almost feel her sitting beside him on the couch as she used to do.
“I should have seen it,” he would slur to the empty room. “Should have known what you
meant to me.”
The mansion staff exchanged worried glances as they watched their employer spiral downward. They’d find him passed out in Charlotte’s bedroom, clutching one of her old sweaters, or sitting in the dark staring at photographs of her from years ago.
In a desperate attempt to deny reality, he meticulously restored Charlotte’s bedroom to its original state before she left. He arranged her books exactly as she had kept them, placed fresh flowers on her nightstand every Monday–just as she used to do–and even sprayed a
hint of her perfume in the air each evening.
“If I make it perfect,” he mumbled to himself one night, “maybe she’ll come back.”
His behavior grew increasingly concerning. He began writing her daily letters–just as she had once written to him. The irony wasn’t lost on him; he had mocked her letters, had
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The Moment I Let Go My Uncle: Escaping the Forbidden Past
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Chapter 17
thrown them away without reading them, had even exposed them to humiliate her. Now he
poured his soul onto paper, writing until his hand cramped, desperate to express feelings he’d been too blind to recognize when it mattered.
“Charlotte would be touched if she saw how much I miss her,” he convinced himself, though deep down he knew the truth–she would never see these letters, and if she did, they would mean nothing to her now.
He deliberately injured himself once, refusing medical treatment for a deep cut on his
hand. “Charlotte would have worried,” he told his concerned housekeeper. “She would have bandaged it herself.” The desperate hope that somehow his pain might reach her across the
ocean, might awaken some remnant of her feelings for him, was pathetic even to his own
ears.
On his worst nights, when the longing became unbearable, he would create new phone
accounts just to call her number. When she answered with a cautious “Hello?“, he would
remain silent, savoring the sound of her voice until she hung up. Those brief moments became the highlight of his empty days.
His parents, alarmed by his deterioration, arranged introductions with eligible women from
prominent families–accomplished, beautiful women who would once have captivated his attention. Elias showed no interest, barely acknowledging their presence.
“None of them are Charlotte,” he muttered after one particularly awkward dinner. “They
never will be.”
Six months passed in this fog of existence until a concerned colleague finally convinced him
to see a doctor. The diagnosis was severe clinical depression.
“You need to start medication immediately,” the psychiatrist urged, writing out
prescriptions. “And I’m recommending twice–weekly therapy sessions.”
Elias nodded politely but never filled the prescriptions. What was the point? He knew exactly what would cure him, and it wasn’t pills. It was Charlotte–and she was gone forever.
Eventually, his commanding officer called him in for a difficult conversation. “Delaney, we think it’s best if you take an extended medical leave. Your performance evaluations have been concerning, and frankly, we’re worried about you.”
It was a gentle way of pushing him out–everyone knew he would never return.
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Chapter 17
Alone in the mansion, Elias withdrew completely. The curtains remained permanently
drawn, blocking out all natural light. He stopped answering calls, responding to messages,
or accepting visitors. The only people he saw were the delivery drivers bringing more
alcohol to his door.
One evening, as he stared at Charlotte’s high school graduation photo, a memory surfaced with particular clarity–Charlotte’s heartfelt letters that he had callously tossed into the
trash, dismissing them as “weird” and “embarrassing.” The realization of how deeply he
must have hurt her with that casual cruelty made him physically ill.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered to her image. “I’m so sorry.”
The self–flagellation became a ritual. He would deliberately recall each instance where he
had hurt her, each moment he had taken her for granted, each time he had chosen Scarlett over her. The pain was excruciating but somehow necessary–as if by suffering now, he could retroactively balance the scales of what he had done to her.
On a rare venture outside to purchase more whiskey, Elias felt a sharp pain in his abdomen. Looking down in shock, he saw a knife handle protruding from his stomach and Scarlett’s gaunt face staring up at him with triumphant hatred.
“You ruined me,” she hissed, twisting the blade before collapsing herself.
As he fell to the sidewalk, blood pooling beneath him, Elias felt an odd sense of justice. This was karma–the universe delivering the punishment he deserved for his treatment of Charlotte. There was almost relief in it./
Later, investigators would determine that Scarlett had smuggled herself back into the country after escaping the Amazon research station. Severely ill and knowing she was dying, she had made killing Elias her final mission.
She succeeded in a way–though the wound wasn’t immediately fatal, complications left Elias in a persistent vegetative state. The brilliant military strategist, the commanding officer, the Delaney heir was reduced to a body sustained by machines, his consciousness locked away.
In those final moments of awareness, as darkness closed in around him, Elias had only one coherent thought:
This is what I deserve. Charlotte, I hope you’re happy with him.
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