Chapter 11

I heard about Benjamin and Chloe again a year later.

After a business meeting, I saw Chloe flipping burgers at a street stall. A dark-skinned toddler was tethered nearby.

Turns out, Chloe had bought sperm to fake the pregnancy.

Cheaped out on the clinic.

The shady place gave her a random sample—from a Black donor.

The baby arrived. Chloe was kicked out immediately. Benjamin wanted a DNA test and refused responsibility outright.

To survive, she sold food on the street. The bridal boutique had fired her months ago, and her family disowned her after the scandal went viral.

I stood across the road, watching her flip burgers with one hand while bouncing the baby with the other.

Part of me wanted to feel vindicated.

Mostly, I just felt tired.

Not tired of Chloe. Tired of the entire chapter.

I walked over.

She recognized me instantly. Her spatula froze mid-flip.

"Elaine—I—"

"Relax. I'm not here to gloat."

She eyed me warily, clutching the baby closer.

"The child needs diapers," I said, noting the makeshift cloth wrapping. I pulled some cash from my wallet and set it on the counter.

"I don't want your pity."

"It's not pity. It's for the kid. The kid didn't choose any of this."

She stared at the money. Then at me. Tears rolled down her grease-spattered face.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I know it's too late and it means nothing. But I'm sorry."

"You're right. It means nothing."

I left.

As for Benjamin—Lisa updated me occasionally, though I never asked.

His business collapsed. His parents cut him off after the public humiliation proved permanent. Last anyone heard, he'd moved to a small town up north, working at a hardware store.

I didn't feel sad. I didn't feel satisfied.

I felt free.

Daniel proposed on a Tuesday. No fanfare, no banquet hall, no three-hundred-guest spectacle. Just the two of us on the couch, Mochi asleep between us, a simple ring, and a question asked with steady hands.

"Elaine, I can't promise you perfection. But I can promise you honesty. Every day. For the rest of our lives."

I looked at him—this quiet, kind, wonderfully boring man who had never once made me doubt where I stood.

"Yes."

No tears. No drama. Just certainty.

And eight years of Benjamin White finally, completely, let go of my heart.