**A Remarkable Case**
“Your Honour, I withdraw my financial claim against the defendant,” Thomas said quietly. A murmur of confusion rippled through the courtroom.
The judge, unshaken by most things, raised an eyebrow.
“Mr. Thompson, you understand this decision wont affect the verdict but will forfeit your right to compensation?”
“I do.”
Elizabeththough young, her colleagues addressed her formallycontinued typing without emotion. Five years in this job had stripped her of surprise at human folly. Her duty was to record, impassively, the endless parade of weakness. She saw herself as a train conductor, hauling carriages laden with other peoples tragedies.
The case against Laura W. was the sort the press adoreda con artist whod swindled “suitors” through dating sites. Four men, none of whom had met her, sent large sums to her account. One was told her family had been in an accident; another, that her ex-husband was taking everything; a third, a sick child needed treatment.
“Nothing new,” Elizabeth thought as she prepared the files. Four grown men, seemingly successful, had played the knight in shining armour, believing money could buy love. In reality, theyd been messaging a married mother of three.
Now, they sat in courtthe defendant and her victims. Three of them radiated bitterness, demanding repayment, their speeches laced with venom. They werent wrong. The law was on their side. Elizabeth mechanically noted familiar phrases: “emotional distress,” “fraudulent misrepresentation,” “financial exploitation.”
Thomas Thompson sat apart, his posture free of aggression or self-pity. When he renounced his claim, the room fell silent. One “suitor” spun around, incredulous.
“Have you lost your mind? She played you for a fool! That money probably bought her husband a new phone!”
Thomas met his gaze with quiet sorrow.
“I understand. But she has three children. Let the money go to them. I dont need it back.”
Elizabeth looked up, startled. Generosity was rare in these walls. She studied his handsa welders, rough but steadyand his eyes, sad but unclouded by spite. In a world where everyone fought for themselves, he simply let go.
After the hearing, a defence lawyer shook his head.
“That fourth ones a proper romantic. Naïve as a child.”
Elizabeth, usually silent, retorted, “Its not naivety. Its strength. The kind no money can buy.”
The room hushed. No one had ever heard “Iron Lizzie” speak so. She surprised even herself.
In the following sessions, she caught herself watching himhow he listened without interrupting, how his gaze lingered on the window as if searching the grey sky for answers only he sought.
On the final day, as the verdict was read and the crowd dispersed, Thomas lingered in the corridor, disoriented. Elizabeth stepped out.
“Which way are you headed?” she asked, voice neutral.
“Nowhere particular,” he smiled. “Just got turned around in these halls.”
“The exits that way.” She nodded.
“Thanks.”
He walked a few paces before she called after him.
“Thomas?”
He turned, surprised.
“You were right,” she said, her voice softer now. “About the children. It was decent of you.”
He studied her.
“You know, Elizabeth” He hesitated, unsure how to address her.
“Lizzie,” she offered.
“Lizzie. Kindness is rare anywhere, let alone here. Thank you for noticing.”
He left. She watched him go, feeling her long-dormant pulse quicken.
What came next? Rain. A downpour erupted just as Thomas stepped outside. He paused under the awning, debating whether to sprint for the bus stop.
A voice spoke behind him.
“Weve a ‘government-issue’ umbrellastrictly for documents. But I suppose it could rescue a decent man.”
It was Lizzie, holding a black umbrella, her expression uncharacteristically unsure.
“I dont want to keep you,” he said.
“My shifts over. Im walking to the park. If youre headed that way”
They shared the umbrella, careful not to brush shoulders. The silence was comfortable.
“Do you always defend victims like that?” Thomas finally asked.
“No. Never,” Lizzie admitted. “Youre the first who acted illogically. It struck me.”
“Perhaps it was foolish.”
“It was rare. And rarity has value.”
They reached the park. The rain had eased to a drizzle.
“Fancy a walk?” Thomas asked. “If youre not in a rush.”
Lizzie hesitated only a second. “*Protocol breached, Elizabeth,*” she thought, but nodded. Thomas gazed at the clearing sky. She waited, letting him gather his thoughts.
“This is new for me,” he said, clearly not speaking of the scam. “Most people dont understand. Think Im odd.”
“Because you didnt turn bitter,” Lizzie murmured. “These days, thats eccentricity.”
He studied her.
“And you? Do you think Im eccentric?”
“I think youre real. Thats priceless. In my line of work, real is scarce.”
He paused.
“Want to know why? Why I fell for fairy tales?”
She nodded.
Thomas sighed, his gaze distant. Then he spokecalmly, as if recounting anothers story.
“It started and ended at school. Her name was Lucy. What I felt for her wasnt just love. She was everythinglight, beauty, the unattainable. We were *that* couple everyone admired. I carried her books; we danced at prom. I was certain it was forever. So certain, I convinced everyone else too. We were the golden pair.”
“Then she left. Went to a top university, married a classmate. Sent me a postcard. Just a city skyline and three words: *Sorry. Its better this way.*”
“Everything shattered. I didnt drink or rage. Just stopped feeling. Became a welderhid behind the mask and the noise. Built a fortress around my heart, but inside, that naive boy still believed in one love for life.”
“When I saw *her* photo onlinethe con artistsomething woke in me. She looked like Lucy. But it was the caption that got me: *Still believe in love.* Pathetic, right? I messaged her. And she replied with words Id waited years to hearforever love, loyalty, searching for something real. It was the key to my fortress. I wanted the fairy tale so badly, I ignored the red flags. I wasnt buying *her* lie. I was buying an echo of my own dream. I didnt need *her*. I needed proof that love like Lucys wasnt a delusion.”
“Funny thing? The trial didnt punish me. It freed me. At first, I was furious, then ashamed. But seeing that womanordinary, frightened, pitifulshattered the illusion. Lucys ghost finally left me. And the money? A fee for exorcism. Pricey, but effective.”
He fell silent, awaiting Lizzies verdicta condemnation of his naivety. Instead, she placed her hand over his. Hers was warm, steady.
“Thank you for telling me,” she said softly. “Now I understand. Youre not odd. Youre true to yourself.”
***
At work, no one called her “Lizzie.” She was always “Elizabeth”strict, reserved, consummately professional. No personal life, just the job. When colleagues spotted her with Thomaswaiting for her after hoursthey whispered.
Judge Margaret, a woman whose stare could halt criminals mid-step, broke the silence first.
“Well, colour me surprised. Thought Elizabeth had a filing cabinet where her heart should be. Yet here she is, romancing the courtrooms Don Quixote.”
Her younger colleague, Judge Ian, smirked.
“With his naivety, hes more like a defendant under excessive gullibility. Elizabeths reforming him, is she?”
“Ian, spare us the cynicism,” Margaret chided, though her lips twitched. “The mans a hard worker. And his choice was unorthodox. Principles over poundsrare in our line.”
In the break room, defence lawyer Steven shook his head.
“Never thought Id see a love story unfold in court. More drama than a telly series.”
Elizabeth changed. Not her professionalismbut she softened. A faint smile when checking her phone. A silver chain at her neck, new and delicate.
The office split into cynics and romantics.
The men predicted doom: “Prepare for wedding invites. Youll be witnessesYes, I saw the defendant steal the victims heart.”
The womenespecially the younger onesswooned: “Its beautiful! Elizabeths always so stern, untouchable. And hes wounded but kind. And handsome. Straight out of a novel!”
Accounts manager Valerie scowled.
“Oh, hush. Weve forgotten what real feeling looks like. A man with a good hearts rarer than hens teeth. Lizzies smart. Let her be happy.”
One morning, Ian couldnt resist.
“Elizabeth, how *is* your noble saviour? Filed any more claims out of the goodness of his heart?”
The room froze, awaiting her wrath.
Elizabeth sipped her tea, set it down, and met his gaze.
“Ian, if youre so interested in closed cases, I can grant you full archive access. Fancy revisiting Case No. 3-452/18? Or perhaps No. 2-187/19? Both featured *colourful* characters.”
Silence. Ian choked on his coffee. He knew: Elizabeth had processed his cases tooand remembered details hed rather forget.
“No, no! Just friendly concern.”
“How touching,” she said sweetly. “But my personal life isnt under judicial review. Yet.”
The teasing stopped. Replaced by wary respect. The final blow came when Thomas dropped her off in his modest but tidy carstepping out to adjust her coat collar. A small gesture, so tender it erased all doubts.
That day, Margaret pulled her aside.
“Lizzie hes good. It shows. Hold onto him.”
The only “ruling” Elizabeth accepted without protest. She simply nodded.
“Thank you, Margaret. I know.”
The gossip died. Colleagues understood: their unflappable secretary, keeper of order and paperwork, had issued herself a verdict*”Pardoned. To love. To be happy.”*
And it was final. No appeals.
