Chapter 8
Then, with unsettling gentleness, he pressed my hand against his cheek. His face was ghostly pale, his eyes feverish with devotion.
“Claire Shaw, I’ll have them send the surgical footage later. Once you’ve seen it… could you find it in your heart to forgive me? Even just a
little?”
I yanked my hand back, disgusted. Watching his face crumple, I replied flatly:
“This hospital has an excellent psychiatric ward. You should check in immediately.”
Ethan gave me a frail, obedient smile.
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“Of course. Anything you say.”
In that moment, he realized–over nine years, he’d failed me in countless ways.
But it didn’t matter. He would spend the rest of his life atoning.
Or so he thought.
Three days later, Logan Hayes and I held a lavish
wedding.
By the time Ethan caught wind of it and raced to the venue like a madman, the white–haired officiant had already reached the vows.
He arrived just in time to hear me–radiant in white silk–smile at Logan and say:
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“I do.”
“NO! Claire Shaw–you can’t marry him!”
His heart imploded. His legs gave way. The usually unshakable Mr. Brooks collapsed to his knees on the scarlet aisle, his voice breaking like a drowning man’s.
“Please, my love… we’re still married. I never
agreed to divorce you. Don’t–don’t give yourself to another man…”
I looked down at him, my gaze dripping with
revulsion.
“Ethan Brooks, out of respect for old Mr. Brooks -who sent me a congratulatory gift–I’ll
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overlook your interruption.”
“But you are not welcome here. Get out.”
Ethan’s tears fell unchecked, his voice raw with desperation.
“Claire, I know how badly I’ve failed you–just give me one last chance, I swear I’ll change-” His hands trembled as they reached for me. “I can’t breathe without you. Every night I dream of your smile, of all the ways you loved me when I didn’t deserve it. Claire, I love you–more than anyone ever could!”
The raw confession tore from Ethan’s throat, a desperate declaration made without regard for their audience.
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S POPES
Veins bulged at his temples as emotion
overwhelmed him.
With a violent jerk, he tore open his shirt, revealing the still–bleeding lunar tattoo. “You’re my moon. Name anything–anything at all—just
don’t throw me away like this!”
The guttural plea hung in the air until my quiet laughter shattered it.
Ethan froze, his hope crumbling as I met his devastated gaze with serene detachment. “I’ve found real love with Logan Hayes–my husband.” My fingers laced with Logan’s as I delivered the final blow: “Even if you were the last man on earth, Ethan Brooks, I’d still choose
him.”
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The diamond’s brilliance flashed as Logan
slid the ring onto my finger, its weight sealing
Ethan’s fate.
My fingers intertwined with Logan’s as we swept past Ethan without a glance.
Bathed in newlywed bliss, I let Logan carry me bridal–style toward our waiting getaway car- until a collective gasp made me turn.
Ethan, the man I’d left broken in our wake, had
done the unthinkable.
The silver cake knife flashed in his grip. Tears of blood streaked his ravaged face as he screamed
after me:
“You’re just afraid to get hurt again? Then let me
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show you my heart–RIGHT NOW!”
Ethan drove the blade between his ribs with a sickening crunch, crimson blooming across his ruined shirt. “See how it beats only for you-!”
“Look, Claire–my heart, my very heart-”
“Claire… I’m begging you… just turn around…
see the truth of me one last time-!”
Logan’s arms tightened around me as I buried my face in his neck. “Darling,” Imurmured against his skin, “the madman’s scaring me. Take me away from here.”
With Ethan’s bloody confession still ringing in the air, Logan carried me past the gasping crowd. His lips brushed my temple as he
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buckled me into the convertible. “Let’s elope,
love.”
The engine roared to life beneath us.
As we sped toward the horizon, I didn’t glance back–not at the chaos, not at the man bleeding out on the chapel floor, not at the ruins of the life I’d outgrown, but racing toward the happiness I’d fought so hard to claim.
The wind carried away my whispered reply:
“Anywhere with you.”
The End.
Book 2: Separated by Life and Death
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At twenty–three, I died on the operating table while donating a kidney to Kevin’s new favorite.
Before my death, the man was still mocking me sarcastically.
“You knew you would die if you gave away both kidneys, yet you still chose to do it. You brought this on yourself.”
I let out a bitter laugh, a tear sliding down the corner of my eye.
“But Kevin, my other kidney was given to you.”
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