Chapter 77 THE CONFRONTATION
Alex
“I have a question about Carter,” the person said.
The room shifted. Energy changing. People are leaning forward.
“You painted him as a villain in your book,” the person continued. “But he was sick. Mentally ill. Struggling. Don’t you think you were unfair to him?”
Alex’s mouth went dry. Beside him, Elias tensed.
Murmurs rippled through the crowd, some agreeing, some protesting.
“Carter was sick,” Alex said carefully. “We acknowledged that in the book.”
“But you still made him the villain.”
“We made him someone who hurt us. That’s different. He was sick and he harmed us. Both things can be true.”
“But you went public. You exposed him. You humiliated him.”
“We defended ourselves,” Elias said. His voice is firm. “After months of harassment. After stalking. After he tried to destroy Alex’s career, we had every right to tell our story.”
“By making him look like a monster?”
“By telling the truth,” Alex said. “He harassed us. That’s not my opinion. That’s a documented fact.”
The person’s face reddened. “But you drove him to suicide. Your article. Your public shaming. You killed him.”
Gasps from the audience. The moderator started to intervene.
“Carter didn’t die by suicide,” Elias said. Loud. Clear. “He had a congenital heart condition. He collapsed. It was medical. Not mental.”
“But he tried before. Because of you.”
“He tried because he was sick,” Alex said. “Because he needed help we couldn’t give him. We’re not therapists. We’re not responsible for his mental health.”
“Aren’t you? You went public. You exposed him.”
The moderator stepped in. “I think we need to remember that mental illness doesn’t excuse harmful behavior. Carter was sick. And he hurt people. Both statements are true.”
“Thank you,” Alex said quietly.
The angry person sat down. But the damage was done. The energy shifted. Uncomfortable. Tense.
More questions came. Gentler ones. But the Carter question hung over everything.
After, backstage, Alex’s hands were shaking.
“That was brutal,” he said.
“Yeah. It was.”
“They had a point though. We did paint him as the villain.”
“Because he was,” Elias said. “He hurt us. Repeatedly. That’s not painting. That’s describing what happened.”
“But he was also sick. Struggling. We could have been more sympathetic.”
“We were sympathetic. We acknowledged his illness. His pain. But we also told the truth about what he did. We’re allowed to do both.”
But Alex couldn’t shake it. The accusation. The guilt.
Over the next week, more interviews asked the same question.
“Do you regret how you portrayed Carter?”
“We regret that he’s dead,” Elias would say. “We regret that he suffered. But we don’t regret telling the truth about our experience.”
“Even if it hurt his family?”
“Even then. Victims have a right to speak. Even when it’s uncomfortable.”
Alex grew tired. Of defending. Of explaining. Of justifying their right to exist.
“I can’t do this anymore,” Alex told Elias after another tense interview.
“Then we stop. We cancel everything else.”
“We committed to these events.”
“We can uncommit. Our mental health matters more than publicity.”
They called Jennifer, explained they needed to step back.
“I understand,” she said. “The book is doing well. You’ve done enough. Take care of yourselves.”
September brought relief. No events. No questions. Just home.
“I forgot what quiet felt like,” Alex said.
“Me too.”
They spent the month recovering and not talking about the book and not checking sales. Just living.
“Do you regret it?” Elias asked one night. “Writing the book?”
“Parts of it. The Carter stuff. The judgment. But other parts feel good. Helping people.”
“We can’t control how people react.”
“I know. But I wish we could.”
October brought an email that changed everything.
From Carter’s mother.
Subject: Thank you.
Alex opened it with trembling hands.
Dear Alex and Elias,
I read your book. It was painful. Seeing my son through your eyes. Seeing the harm he caused.
But it was also necessary. I needed to understand what happened. Why does he struggle? Why couldn’t he let go?
Thank you for being honest. Even when it hurt. Even when it made my son look bad.
He was sick. And he hurt you. I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry for all of it.
I hope you find peace. I hope we all do.
Sincerely,
Mrs. Mitchell
Alex read it twice. Then showed Elias.
“She’s not angry,” Alex said. His voice breaking.
“She understands.”
“Should we respond?”
“If you want to.”
Alex wrote back. Simple. Honest.
Thank you for understanding. We never wanted to hurt anyone. Just wanted to tell our truth. We hope you find peace too.
That night, Alex slept better than he had in months. The guilt lifting. The weight easing.
November brought Thanksgiving, their house, both families, laughter and food..
“How’s the book doing?” Katie asked.
“Good. Still selling. But we’re done with publicity.”
“Smart. You both look better. Less stressed.”
December brought reflection. End of year. Looking back.
“Wild year,” Elias said on New Year’s Eve.
“The wildest. Got married. Published a book. Survived public scrutiny.”
“Think next year will be calmer?”
“God I hope so.”
“What do you want? For next year?”
“Boring. Normal. Just us. No drama.”
“That sounds perfect.”
They kissed at midnight. Starting a new year. Hopefully quieter.
But on January 2nd, an email arrived.
From a film studio.
Wanting to adapt their book into a movie.
With a budget in the millions.
And a director attached.
Alex read it. Looked at Elias.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.“