###8
Chloe and I soon returned to the States. On the flight back, she told me everything.
She’d sensed something was off the first time she saw Julian at the airport, and her suspicions were confirmed during their next encounter. Chloe hadn’t known exactly what would happen, but she knew Eliza’s fate wouldn’t be good. That’s why she prepared the ticket.
As she shared her story, grinning with pride over how she’d helped, I laughed. Chloe’s heart was always pure.
We married soon after. Our wedding was simple but perfect–no disruptions, no lingering shadows from the past. Just love and well–wishes
from friends and family.
Eliza didn’t show up, and I never saw her again–until one day, while Chloe and I were shopping for clothes.
Julian Hart walked by, arm in arm with another woman, oblivious to anything but their shared affection.
In the shadow of an alley, a figure lurked.
Just as they passed, Eliza sprang forward, knocking Julian to the ground, a wild look in her eyes. She brandished a knife, voice shaking with
rage.
“It’s all because of you! You stole everything! My parents died because of you! You dragged me to Australia to sell me, and now you’re with someone else? Julian, I’ll kill you!”
She stabbed him in the neck, then kept going until he was a bloody mess by the time police arrived.
Eliza had reached her breaking point. After Julian’s death, she was declared insane and sent to Greenhill Psychiatric Center.
On a somber afternoon, Chloe and I attended the court hearing as observers. The atmosphere in the New York County Courthouse was thick with tension, heavy enough to suffocate.
Eliza entered, shackled and led by two officers. Her gaze was distant, her hair unkempt, her face devoid of any defiance. She muttered the
Madness and torment consumed her.
For a fleeting moment, I felt a strange, conflicted relief.
When the judge delivered the verdict, time seemed to freeze. Each word echoed through the courtroom like a hammer.
Eliza was found guilty, and just as the verdict settled in, she broke free, hurling herself against the wall with a force that made everyone gasp. Blood smeared her prison uniform, staining the collective gaze of the room.
I turned away, taking Chloe’s hand, and we left in silence.
Life slowly returned to normal. Our love, tempered by the chaos, grew stronger.
The following year, Chloe and I welcomed a baby girl, a beautiful little bundle of joy who filled our lives with light. Her laughter made any lingering shadows fade.
Work thrived, too. With Chloe’s encouragement, I founded the Carrington Children’s Foundation, dedicated to helping orphans like myself. We provided education, healthcare, and shelter, offering them a sense of belonging and hope.
Chloe played a hands–on role, nurturing each child with a kind heart that made them call her “Mom.”
As I stood at this new chapter of my life, looking back, I felt nothing but gratitude. The trials I had faced, the heartbreaks–all had forged the man I became.
Chloe’s unwavering love had pulled me from darkness into light.
With her by my side, I knew no path was too difficult. Surrounded by the laughter of children and the warmth of my family, one of them looked up at me and said, “Mr. Carrington, when I grow up, I want to be just like you!”
Am I great? Maybe not.
But one thing is certain–I am happier than I ever imagined.
