Chapter 18
Two years later, Charlotte and Isaac returned to New York as their Peace Corps assignment came to an end. With the certainty of people who had found their perfect match, they became engaged almost immediately.
“I still can’t believe how lucky I am,” Isaac said, his fingers intertwined with Charlotte’s as they strolled through Central Park on a crisp autumn morning. The sunlight caught in her hair, making it shine like honey. “If I hadn’t followed you to Tanzania, I might never have found the world’s most amazing wife.”
Charlotte bumped his shoulder playfully. “We haven’t had the wedding yet, Mr. Wood. Who
said I’m your wife?”
Isaac just grinned, leaning close to whisper “my wife” against her ear over and over until she laughed and pushed him away, her cheeks flushed with happiness.
Their wedding was everything Charlotte had once dreamed of but never dared hope
for–not an ostentatious display of wealth, but a thoughtful celebration filled with personal
touches. Every detail reflected Charlotte’s tastes and preferences, from the wildflower
arrangements to the string quartet playing her favorite classical pieces. Even the
cake–lemon with raspberry filling–was her childhood favorite.
As they exchanged rings before friends and family, Charlotte couldn’t help but marvel at
how different this felt from what she had once imagined her future would be. There was no
anxiety, no fear of rejection–just pure, uncomplicated joy, Isaac’s hands were steady as he
slid the ring onto her finger, his eyes never leaving hers, as if she were the only person in
the universe.
When they kissed to seal their vows, the cheers from their guests seemed to affirm what
Charlotte already knew: this was exactly where she belonged. This was home.
At the reception, Isaac kept his arm protectively around her waist, his thumb tracing small circles against the silk of her dress. “Anyone who wants to toast can come find me,” he announced to their friends with a grin. “My wife has a sensitive stomach and can’t handle alcohol. I, however, am happy to drink on her behalf.”
In that moment, Charlotte felt a wave of profound contentment wash over her. After years
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Chapter 18
of one–sided devotion to someone who never truly saw her, she had found a man who
noticed everything about her–even the small details like her intolerance for champagne. A man who didn’t just love her, but cherished her.
That night, as they lay in bed talking about the day, Isaac traced her features with his
fingertips as if memorizing every curve and plane. “Finally,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re really mine.”
Charlotte’s eyes glistened with tears of happiness. “Thank God it was you,” she replied
softly, pressing her palm against his cheek. “Thank God I found you when I did.”
Their life together fell into a comfortable rhythm–demanding careers during the day
(Charlotte at a nonprofit legal clinic for immigrants, Isaac running his sustainable investment firm), cozy evenings at home together reading or watching old movies,
weekends spent exploring the city or hosting small dinner parties for their closest friends.
They adopted a plump white cat they named Marshmallow and created the kind of warm,
loving home Charlotte had always craved but never experienced.
“I never knew life could feel this… easy,” Charlotte admitted one Sunday morning as they
lingered over coffee and the crossword puzzle. “Like I can just be myself without constantly walking on eggshells.”
Isaac looked up from the newspaper, his expression softening. “That’s what real love should
feel like, Charlotte. Easy. Safe. Like coming home.”
Elias Delaney faded from her thoughts, becoming little more than a distant memory from
another lifetime–a painful chapter in a book she had long since closed.
Until one day, when she was reviewing case files at her legal clinic, a receptionist
announced unexpected visitors–Mr. and Mrs. Delaney.
The couple who entered her office bore little resemblance to the commanding figures she
remembered. They seemed to have aged decades in just a few years, their shoulders
stooped, their faces lined with grief. General Delaney, once ramrod straight with military
bearing, now leaned heavily on a cane, while Mrs. Delaney’s perfectly colored hair had
gone completely gray.
“Charlotte,” Mrs. Delaney began hesitantly, her once–authoritative voice now trembling, “we wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. Could you possibly visit Elias in the hospital? Just once?”
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It was only then that Charlotte learned what had happened–Elias had become a vegetative patient, permanently unable to move or communicate after Scarlett’s attack. The doctors had no hope for recovery.
Shock rippled through her. Despite everything, she had never wished such a fate on him.
After a moment’s consideration, she nodded. Whatever had passed between them, she had once been part of their family. She could grant them this small kindness.
During the drive to the hospital, the Delaneys filled in the gaps–Elias’s depression after
Tanzania, his withdrawal from work and society, his descent into alcoholism, and finally,
Scarlett’s return and violent attack.
“He was never the same after you left,” Mrs. Delaney said quietly. “It was like something
broke inside him.”
Charlotte sighed, struck by life’s strange, unpredictable turns. The man who had once seemed invincible, who had commanded respect and fear in equal measure, reduced to
complete helplessness.
When they reached his private room, Charlotte was unprepared for the sight that greeted her. Elias lay motionless in the hospital bed, his eyes open but vacant. Tubes and wires connected him to various machines that maintained his basic functions. His once–powerful frame had withered, his skin pale and waxy, his hair–always so meticulously groomed–now long and dull.
Charlotte stood frozen, unable to process the disconnect between the commanding officer she had known and this shell of a man before her.
To live like this, she thought, seemed worse than death itself. A fitting punishment, perhaps, for someone who had caused so much pain–yet she found no satisfaction in seeing him this
way.
Mrs. Delaney approached the bed with the gentle optimism of a mother who refused to give up hope. “Elias, look who’s here,” she said softly, stroking his limp hand. “It’s Charlotte.
Charlotte has come to see you.”
Following Mrs. Delaney’s lead, Charlotte moved to the bedside where Elias could see her. She met his vacant stare, her emotions a complex tangle of pity, closure, and the faint echo of feelings long since resolved.
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“Hello, Elias,” she said quietly. “It’s been a long time.”
The room fell silent, no one expecting any response from the unmoving patient. Yet as
Charlotte spoke, a single tear formed in Elias’s right eye and slowly tracked down his temple
into his hair.
Inside his imprisoned mind, Elias’s thoughts formed with perfect clarity:
Hello, Charlotte. You look happy. He’s taking good care of you.
I’m sorry I can no longer be part of your world.
Goodbye, Charlotte. I’m glad you found your way home.
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