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Chapter20
In the countless days Julian Lancaster spent silently watching over Charlotte Wynn from afar, he
often asked himself the same question:
Should I just take her away?
Keep her by my side, by force, if I have to?
Maybe she’d hate him.
Maybe she’d curse him.
But at least she would be his.
Especially in moments when he saw her smiling so radiantly at Logan Westwood, his possessiveness roared to life like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him.
But every time he recalled the helpless way she looked during a flare–up, Julian would stop himself, hands trembling as he put down the phone where he’d already typed out a desperate message.
No one knew better than he did how much Charlotte hated being seen in such a vulnerable state.
But she never seemed to mind Logan being near.
In fact, she leaned into his arms without hesitation, even found comfort there.
Whenever she was with Logan, her eyes sparkled, her smile was soft and free, with not even a
shadow of pain or burden.
Julian had no right to take that away from her.
He remembered clearly the first time he fell for her, it wasn’t because of some grand moment.
He simply wanted her to always smile that sweet, carefree smile.
That was all.
Now that she no longer loved him, now that he couldn’t give her happiness, the least he could do…
was not destroy the happiness she already had.
So be it.
He told himself that over and over.
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He would stay just long enough to see her wedding, see her walk into a new chapter of joy.
Then he would leave with whatever dignity he had left.
But on the actual day of the wedding, Julian finally understood what heart–wrenching truly meant.
If only he hadn’t lost his memory, Charlotte would’ve been his wife.
If only he had broken free from Bianca’s manipulation a little sooner, maybe she would’ve waited.
But no, if he had to blame someone, it could only be himself.
He clutched tightly the wooden figurines Logan had thrown away, his last token of her, and fled the wedding like a coward.
He didn’t go home after returning to Northbridge.
Instead, he went straight to the mountain monastery where he’d once fallen.
Kneeling before the abbot, he bowed deeply.
“If I dedicate the rest of my life to it, can I earn another chance to get into the paradise?”
The abbot looked at him with quiet compassion.
“Your suffering is your answer,” he said gently. “What you did would affect whether you end up in hell or paradise. If you want to go to paradise… how do you know you have done enough good deeds to get in paradise?”
Julian didn’t understand then.
Not until a night that seemed no different from any other.
He was scrolling through social media, lingering on a video Charlotte had posted of a new puppy. The warmth in his eyes remained, until a wave of drowsiness hit him out of nowhere.
And then he saw it.
Like an outsider watching a film, he witnessed another version of his life unfold.
In that version, Mr. and Mrs. Lancaster had dragged him home early.
He regained his memory quickly and married Charlotte without delay.
Not long after, she was diagnosed with ALS.
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But unlike this life, she didn’t see herself as a burden.
She smiled and said they would face it together.
He heard himself say,
“If we love each other enough, no hardship can break us. Even if suffering and illness lie ahead, I’ll walk through every one of them with you.‘
His voice was gentle and sincere.
But the Julian who was watching knew, those words were hollow.
Bianca had died in that timeline.
And his devotion to Charlotte… had never been love. Only duty.
He watched as his past self carried Charlotte on his back up toward the mountain. At every stone monument, they placed their hands on the engraved word “Life,” praying for her to live long and
well.
But what no one knew, what Charlotte never knew, was that after each climb, he would go to a hidden spot and write a prayer for Bianca’s soul.
Wishing she’d end up in paradise.
And after Charlotte passed, he burned every single prayer he’d ever written for Bianca.
In the blaze, a solemn voice rang out, ethereal, final:
“As you wished.”
The vision shifted.
Charlotte, reborn, calmly rejected the idea of finding a doctor to restore Julian’s memories.
Whoosh,
Julian jolted awake, gasping for breath.
The night pressed down around him like a shroud.
His limbs were numb, as if they’d been devoured by ants. His soul was still trembling.
His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing with deafening clarity.
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He pressed a hand against his chest, but the ache there had long gone numb.
Julian tried to smile, but the curve of his lips faltered halfway, frozen in place.
His eyes reddened.
“So it was me…”
“It was all me.”
He had been blind. Foolish.
Oblivious to his own feelings, lost in a maze of half–truths and borrowed emotions.
Everything he had suffered,
He had brought upon himself.
The next morning, Julian returned to the monastery and found the abbot once more.
“I’d like to take vows,” he said calmly. “Convert to Jesus.”
The abbot pressed his palms together.
“You may.”
For the rest of his days, he would live beneath the quiet glow of lamps, reciting prayers for her soul.
All he asked,
Was that in paradise, she would have no sickness, no sorrow.
That she would be safe, cherished, and meet someone who truly loved her.
That she would be happy, forever.
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