When Love Becomes a Thing of the Past (Zoey) novel Chapter 12

Chapter 12 

Chapter 12 

My mind was in turmoil, reason and emotion waging war as the children silently watched our heated exchange. Despair filled their eyes. The youngest huddled together, tiny hands clasped tightly, as if awaiting fate’s final verdict. 

My heart melted at the sight. They had already fought so hard to escape hell–we couldn’t 

send them back. 

Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I spoke quietly: “I’ll help you. But I won’t just find someone to take them. I’m staying here until they’re all safely out.” 

Joseph froze, then shook his head vigorously. “No, it’s too dangerous!” 

I met his gaze, my voice firm. “And let you face this danger alone? If you don’t agree, I’ll walk out right now and tell them about the Huronai children you’re hiding.” 

He glared at me through gritted teeth. “…You! I never should have involved you!” 

“Too late.” I shrugged. “You’ve already pulled me into this.” 

Joseph turned away angrily, refusing to look at me. I sighed, stepped closer, and wrapped my arms around his neck, forcing him to meet my eyes. 

“At least in the worst case, we can die together.” 

He exploded. “Don’t say that! That’s not going to happen!” 

Through the clear visor of his protective suit, I touched his face gently. “Of course not. After all, you promised–we still have to visit my mother.” 

I had to admit, Joseph’s plan was nearly perfect. No one would dare touch bins containing Ebola–contaminated waste, let alone suspect they concealed people. We could smuggle out two children per trip. The truck would stop midway, where aid workers would transfer them to safety. 

When Love Becomes a Thing of the Past 

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Chapter 12 

After two weeks, only two remained–siblings named Ray and Mary. 

The day of their planned escape, Joseph was elated. He looked at me with sincere gratitude. 

“Thank you, Zoey.” 

I didn’t respond, just squeezed his hand tightly. 

Victory felt within reach. We even celebrated early. The children performed Igamara, a 

traditional Huronai dance, while Joseph prepared what could almost be called a feast. I 

captured everything on camera. 

As night fell, the siblings began donning their protective suits. Mary held out a marker, 

asking softly, “Could you write your names on them?” 

Joseph and I exchanged surprised glances but agreed. I thought for a moment before 

adding beneath my name: “Grow up strong and well.” 

Joseph wrote: “May you reunite with your family.” 

I added: “May peace come soon.” 

He followed with: “Until we meet again.” 

We covered their suits with blessings until everyone’s eyes brimmed with tears. The siblings 

embraced us, their voices muffled inside their suits: “We’ll remember you forever! Thank 

you! You’re our heroes!” 

Late that night, the transport truck arrived on schedule. As usual, we settled the children 

into the waste bins and loaded them aboard. 

Just as we finished, gunfire erupted from the center’s main hall. 

Joseph and I exchanged tense looks before rushing toward the commotion. Armed militants had stormed the center, claiming they had intelligence about hidden Huronai children. 

Joseph stepped forward calmly, maintaining his composure as he cooperated with their search. I followed close behind, watching them kick down doors and ransack rooms, my breath caught in 

my throat. 

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