**A Remarkable Case**
“Your Honour, I withdraw my financial claim against the defendant,” said Thomas quietly. A murmur of confusion rippled through the courtroom.
The judge, accustomed to all manner of surprises, arched an eyebrow.
“Mr. Harper, you do realise this wont affect the verdict but will forfeit your right to compensation?”
“I understand.”
Emily Wilsondespite her youth, her colleagues addressed her formallycontinued typing without emotion. Five years in this job had hardened her to human weakness. She saw herself as a train conductor, shuttling carriages full of other peoples tragedies.
The case against Lucy M. was the kind the press loved. Another scam artist, this one tricking men on dating sites. Four victims had sent her large sums without ever meeting her. One believed her story about a family car crash, another about a divorce leaving her destitute, a third about a sick child
*Nothing new here,* Emily thought as she prepared the documents. Four grown men, playing the knight in shining armour, convinced money could buy love. In reality, theyd been messaging a married mother of three.
Now they were all herethe defendant, the victims. Three of them sat rigid with bitterness, demanding repayment, their words laced with venom. They werent wrong. The law was on their side. Emily mechanically noted phrases like “emotional distress,” “deception,” and “fraudulent intent.”
But Thomas Harper sat apart. No anger, no pity. When he waived his claim, the room fell silent. One man snapped, “Have you lost your mind? She played you for a fool! That money probably bought her husband a new phone!”
Thomas looked at him with quiet sadness. “She has three children. Let them keep it. I dont need it back.”
Emily glanced up, startled. Generosity was rare in these halls. His handsa welders handsrested calmly on his knees. His eyes held no bitterness. In a world where everyone fought for scraps, he simply let go.
After the hearing, a defence lawyer shook his head. “That fourth ones a proper romantic. Naïve as a child.”
Emily, usually silent, retorted, “Thats not naivety. Thats strength. The kind money cant buy.”
Everyone stared. The “iron-clad” Emily never spoke out of turn. Even she was surprised.
In the following days, she caught herself watching himhow he listened intently, how his gaze lingered on the courtroom window as if searching the grey sky for answers only he cared about.
On the final day, after sentencing, Thomas lingered in the corridor, disoriented. Emily stepped out.
“Need directions?” she asked, her tone clipped.
“Just got turned around in these hallways.”
“Exits that way,” she nodded.
He took a few steps before she called after him. “Thomas?”
He turned, puzzled.
“You were right,” she said, her voice wavering. “About the children. It was decent of you.”
He studied her. “Emily” He hesitated, unsure how to address her.
“Em,” she offered.
“Em. Kindness is rareinside these walls and out. Thank you for noticing.”
He left. She watched him go, feeling her long-dormant heart quicken.
Then came the rain. A downpour as Thomas stepped outside. He paused under the awning, debating whether to sprint for the bus stop.
A voice behind him: “Weve got a government-issue umbrella. Meant for documents, but I suppose itll do for a decent man.”
It was Emily, holding a black umbrella. Her eyes flickered with uncertainty, as if she couldnt believe her own actions.
“I dont want to keep you,” Thomas said.
“My shifts over. Im heading to the park. If youre going that way”
They walked side by side, careful not to touch. The silence was comfortable.
“You always defend victims like that?” Thomas finally asked.
“Never,” she admitted. “Youre the first who didnt act out of logic. It struck me.”
“Maybe thats foolish.”
“Its rare. And rarity has value.”
They reached the park. The rain had softened to a drizzle.
“Fancy a walk?” Thomas asked. “Unless youre in a hurry.”
Emily hesitated only a second. *Protocol breached, Miss Wilson,* she thought, but nodded. Thomas gazed at the clearing sky. She gave him space.
“This is a first for me,” he said abruptlynot about the scam. “People usually think Im odd.”
“Because you didnt turn bitter,” she murmured. “These days, thats practically eccentric.”
He met her eyes. “And you? Do you think Im odd?”
“I think youre real. Thats priceless. In my line of work, real is in short supply.”
He was silent a moment. “Want to know why Im like this? Why I fell for her lies?”
She nodded.
Thomas sighed. “It startedand endedin school. Her name was Lily. What I felt wasnt just love. She was everything bright and untouchable. We were *that* couplethe one people whispered about. I carried her books, we danced at prom I was certain it was forever. So sure, I think I convinced everyone else too.”
His voice grew distant. “Then she left. No letter, no call. Just a postcard from London. Three words: *Sorry. This is better.*”
The world lost meaning. He didnt drink or ragejust numbed himself. Welding became his refuge, the mask and noise drowning out thought. He built walls, but inside, that hopeful boy still believed in one true love.
“Then I saw *her* photo onlinethe scammer. She looked like Lily. But it was the caption that got me: *Still believe in love.*” He laughed bitterly. “I messaged her. And she wrote back all the things Id waited years to hear. About forever, about loyalty. I wasnt buying *her* lies. I was buying the echo of my own dream.”
The trial freed him. Seeing the defendantordinary, frightenedshattered the illusion. “That money? Payment for an exorcism. Expensive, but effective.”
He fell silent, awaiting her verdicta condemnation of his naivety. Instead, Emily covered his hand with hers. Warm. Steady.
“Thank you for telling me,” she whispered. “Youre not odd. Youre just true to yourself.”
***
Emily had earned her formal title at work. Stern, reserved, ruthlessly efficient. No personal life. So when colleagues spotted her with Thomaswaiting for her after hoursthey were stunned.
Judge Margaret Holloway, a woman whose stare could silence a courtroom, broke the silence first.
“Well, colour me surprised. Thought Miss Wilson had a filing cabinet for a heart. Now shes got a romance with the noble victim.”
Her colleague, Judge Ian Carter, smirked. “With his level of gullibility, hes more defendant material. Reckon Emilys rehabilitating him?”
“Enough, Ian,” Margaret chided, though her lips twitched. “Mans a hard worker. And what he did that took principle. Rare in our line.”
In the break room, defence solicitor Stan spread his hands. “Didnt see *that* twist coming. Courtroom drama turned love story.”
Emily hadnt softened professionallybut she *had* softened. A hint of a smile when texting. A silver chain around her neck that hadnt been there before.
Behind her back, the office split into cynics and romantics.
The men joked darkly: “Place your betswhens the wedding? Well be witnesses. Yes, Your Honour, I saw the defendant steal the secretarys heart.”
The younger women sighed. “Its *beautiful*. Emilys always so stern, and hes wounded but kind. And handsome. Straight out of a novel!”
Accounts manager Val huffed. “Give it a rest. Half of youve forgotten what real feeling looks like. A good-hearted mans rarer than hens teeth. Good for her.”
One morning, Ian couldnt resist. “Miss Wilson, hows your ah chivalrous saviour? Filed any more claims out of the goodness of his heart?”
The room held its breath.
Emily sipped her tea, set it down, and fixed him with a level gaze. “Judge Carter, if youre *that* interested in closed cases, I can grant you full archive access. Fancy revisiting Case No. 3-452/18? Or perhaps 2-187/19? Some *very* colourful characters there.”
Dead silence. Ian choked on his coffee. He knew exactly what she meantEmily had processed his cases too.
“No, no, Emily! Just friendly concern.”
“How touching,” she said sweetly. “But my personal life isnt up for judicial review. Yet.”
The open mockery stopped. Respectful curiosity took its place. The clincher came the morning Thomas dropped her off in his modest but tidy car. He stepped out to adjust her coat collara small, tender gesture that silenced all doubts.
That day, Margaret pulled her aside. “Hes a good one, Emily. Keep hold of him.”
Emily simply nodded. “I know, Margaret.”
The gossip faded. Colleagues understood: their unflappable secretary, keeper of order and protocol, had passed her own verdict*Pardoned. To love. To be happy.* And it was final.
