Anastasia Fleming was the mute girl the Copeland family adopted from an orphanage, who later married her so-called brother Edward Copeland.

Everyone in Houston knew Edward adored Anastasia.

He defied his family, ignored the backlash, and gave her a lavish wedding.

People envied her luck. Envied how she'd gone from nothing to everything.

He loved her so much that she was willing to shield him from the knife when he was kidnapped.

In the end, her hands were ruined. She could never play the violin again.

But she didn't regret it. As long as he loved her, it was worth it.

One day, after a rehab session, she didn't see him waiting.

She searched the halls and finally spotted him.

Then she heard what he was saying to their son, Thomas Copeland, and froze.

"Relax. I told the kidnappers, like you asked. Just hurt Mommy's hands. It won't affect Priscilla's competition."

Those words made Anastasia's mind buzz. She froze, like lightning had struck her.

Priscilla Marlow was the girl he had loved at 18 and never gotten over.

She stood there, numb, while Edward kept talking. "Well, Anastasia's so good at the violin. If she had competed, Priscilla wouldn't have won. None of us wanted to see her upset."

Each word drained the color from Anastasia's face. By the end, she was shaking uncontrollably.

She wanted to scream, to ask him why he was doing this to her.

But all the pain, all the love, only turned into tears.

She had loved him with all her heart.

She had struggled through the years to raise her son.

And now, they were the ones who'd broken her dreams and ruined her life.

Anastasia didn't know how she walked out of the hospital or how she got into the car.

All she knew was that her chest tightened until she could barely breathe.

The woman driving recognized her, not noticing her gloom. She spoke with envy. "Mrs. Copeland, you know, every woman in Houston envies you. Your love story with Mr. Copeland could be a fairy tale."

Everyone knew Edward adored his wife.

But no one knew it was him who ruined her hands.

Years ago, twelve-year-old Edward had taken her from the orphanage.

She had clutched her washed-out dress and treated him as a brother.

He told her stories to put her to sleep, played hide-and-seek, ripped up boys' love letters, and chased off punks who mocked her for being mute.

Anastasia fell helplessly into his warmth, in love with her so-called brother.

But she was only the Copeland family's foster daughter. And she knew he had someone in his heart. So she buried her feelings, never told a soul.

Until that day, when Edward, drunk and red-eyed, pulled her into his arms. "Do you love me?" he asked.

He tilted her chin, forcing her to look at him, coaxing softly. "Anna, I know you've always cared for me. Truth is, I feel the same."

Before she could answer, Edward's smile deepened. He lowered his head and kissed her lips, tender and lingering.

After that, he treated her like she was his world. Like he'd pluck the stars for her.

But it all ended the day Priscilla returned.

She told Anastasia that when Edward had agreed to be with her, she had just rejected him.

She said all the love Edward had now was actually hers.

She said all the love Anastasia had from Edward was really meant for her.

At first, Anastasia laughed it off.

But now, she believed it. All of it.

She was nothing but Priscilla's stand-in, Edward's outlet.

Her eyes blurred with tears. She wanted to cry, but no sound came. Her heart felt like it was being crushed, leaving her gasping.

Just then, her doctor texted.

"Ms. Fleming, there's a research center abroad. They have advanced treatment for your congenital aphasia and nerve damage. Are you sure you don't want to try?"

This time, Anastasia didn't hesitate. She wiped her tears and replied. "Okay. I'll go. But don't tell anyone. Especially Edward."

The reply came almost instantly. "Got it. I'll send you the address now."

She booked a ticket for two weeks later. Staring out the window, tears streaming, she whispered to herself, "Edward, never again."

When Anastasia came back, Edward was already home.

Delicate and beautiful Priscilla was sitting on the floor, not caring about her image, playing toy cars with Thomas.

Laughter echoed now and then.

From a distance, they looked like a happy family of three.

Anastasia felt a pain in her heart. But the next second, she froze, instinctively covering her mouth and nose.

The huge living room was filled with flowers of every color. The pollen in the air almost suffocated her.

She was allergic to pollen.

Her face quickly flushed red from lack of air. But Edward still held her hand, not letting her go.

He didn't notice anything wrong. Instead, he spoke casually. "Anna, why did you leave without saying a word? I waited for you at the hospital for so long."

But she couldn't answer. Her face turned bluish-purple as she struggled for breath.

She tore her hand free and stumbled toward the bedroom.

The allergy medicine was inside.

But after just a few steps, she bumped too hard, knocking flowers from a vase to the floor. Her swinging hand even sent a trophy on the table crashing down.

The sound of shattering glass and Priscilla's scream came at the same time.

Thomas blocked her path, glaring. "Mommy, why did you break Priscilla's trophy on purpose?"

Anastasia shook her head desperately, tears streaming. She collapsed, too weak to stand.

Edward walked over. Seeing the mess, his eyes filled with disappointment. "Anna, I know your injured hand kept you from competing. I know you're sad. But that doesn't mean you can smash Cilla's hard-earned trophy."

He bent down, carefully picking up the broken pieces. He held them like treasure, not sparing her a glance.

By now, Anastasia's lungs burned for air. Her heart pounded wildly. Her will to survive drove her to crawl toward the bedroom.

Even then, Thomas wouldn't let her be.

He aimed his toy gun at her and pulled the trigger in anger.

Steel pellets hit her body, making her gasp from the pain. Red welts bloomed across her pale skin.

Seeing her own son treat her like this, the child she had carried for ten months, Anastasia wept bitterly, her heart breaking apart.

Her trembling hand finally reached the medicine. Swallowing it, she felt a shred of clarity return.

But before she could catch her breath, the scolding continued.

"Cilla only had that one trophy, and you smashed it. She even said she'd take you to the celebration gala tonight. When did you become so jealous?"

Thomas chimed in. "Mommy, you're a bad mommy. You can't stand anyone being happy. You're crippled but won't let others live well. I don't like you, Mommy."

The accusations came one after another. Anastasia could no longer hold back. She covered her face and broke down, sobbing.

Her eyes were red as she signed with trembling hands, shaken by anger and grief.

"I didn't mean it. Did you all forget I'm allergic to pollen?"

Seeing Edward freeze, Anastasia suddenly thought of the past.

Noticing her trembling body, Edward seemed to finally remember. Guilt flashed in his eyes. "Anna... I'm sorry. I forgot. I'll have the flowers removed right now."

He moved quickly. Soon, the flowers were gone.

He pulled her into his arms, coaxing softly. "Honey, I didn't mean it. You know that. I've just been too busy, and it slipped my mind."

Thomas pouted, reluctantly muttering, "Sorry, Mommy. I was wrong."

Priscilla, who had been watching quietly, suddenly spoke. "Don't be mad, Anna. I heard you love food. Tonight's my celebration gala. I've booked the rooftop. Let's not waste time."

At eight, the fireworks lit up the city center.

Brilliant colors burst across the sky, then faded into drifting sparks.

As the last sparks faded, Edward suddenly took out a necklace and fastened it around her neck.

"Honey, tonight is Cilla's celebration, but it's also our wedding anniversary. I hope from now on, the one by my side will always be you."

She had seen that necklace at an auction. It was called "The Only Love." It meant one love for a lifetime.

But Edward—how could he deserve that?

She gave a mocking smile, meeting his gaze full of deep affection.

In his eyes, there was only her.

Priscilla teased from the side. "Why does my celebration feel like it turned into your anniversary?"

Edward only patted Anastasia's head with a gentle smile. "As long as Anna likes it, that's all that matters."

More fireworks bloomed. Edward asked her to close her eyes and make a wish.

She did.

But as the fireworks burst, she opened her eyes.

And saw Edward and Priscilla, locked in a passionate kiss.

On their wedding anniversary, the man she loved was kissing another woman.

Anastasia's lashes trembled. She pressed her hands together.

Despair hit her like a tidal wave, dragging her under.

She couldn't do it. She couldn't pretend not to see the man she had loved since childhood.

Even though she had prepared herself to let him go, watching them kiss right in front of her still left her gasping with pain.

It takes years to fall in love. But only a moment to let go.

And in that moment, Anastasia decided she would stop loving Edward.

For the next few days, Anastasia didn't go anywhere. Edward stayed with her at home, keeping her company.

Just like before—taking her shopping, waiting while she did her nails, and even patiently watching her try on dress after dress.

The shop assistants looked at the handsome man in front of them and sighed. "Mr. Copeland is amazing. What man would do this much for his wife? I'm so jealous of Anastasia."

Anastasia heard every word.

In the past, hearing that would make her blush and hide in Edward's arms.

Now, she only gave a polite smile.

Edward frowned at her cold, distant expression.

He pulled her into his arms, tapped her nose gently, and asked with concern, "What's wrong, Honey? You've been gloomy lately. Is something bothering you?"

She looked up at him, forcing a smile as she signed, "I'm fine. It's just my period. That's why I'm upset."

His frown deepened.

To cheer her up, boxes of the newest designer dresses were delivered to the Copeland's residence. He bought piles of jewelry too.

But Anastasia still didn't smile.

Then came the notice from the kindergarten. A parent meeting. Parents would also join in a parent-child game.

Every year, Anastasia had gone. This time was no different.

But when she reached the school gate, she saw Thomas run straight into Priscilla's arms, his face lit with a smile she had never seen before.

Her heart sank. She took a few steps forward.

Thomas spotted her. His smile vanished, replaced with the usual snarl. "Go away! I don't want you here! I don't want a mute mommy at the parent meeting! I want pretty, gentle Priscilla!"

She had heard people call her mute countless times. But hearing it from Thomas's own mouth still cut deep.

He had always despised her for not speaking, for making him lose face in front of others.

Yet Anastasia never loved him less. She even blamed herself, spoiling him in every way she could.

Priscilla saw it all, a glint of pride flashing in her eyes. "Sorry, Anna. Thomas is so clingy. He insisted on calling me yesterday. I really couldn't say no."

Anastasia's face was blank. She ignored her and stood off to the side, waiting for it all to end.

When the crowd had mostly dispersed, she finally walked over.

She glanced around but didn't see Thomas anywhere.

Instead, Priscilla came up, her face dark as she stared at her. "Didn't you say you don't believe Eddie loves me? Let me show you whether he believes you or me."

In the next second, she grabbed a handful of wooden sticks used for crafts and stabbed her own palm fast and hard.

Blood dripped onto Anastasia's skirt. Priscilla cried out, "Anna, how could you? Just because you hurt your hand and can't play violin anymore, you want to make me the same as you?"

Edward and Thomas appeared at the same time.

The moment Thomas saw his beloved Priscilla hurt, he flew into a rage. He grabbed wooden sticks and threw them at Anastasia.

"Bad mommy! Bad mommy! You hurt Priscilla! You're a bad mommy!"

Edward's face darkened too. He frowned, as if he couldn't believe gentle Anastasia would ever do such a thing.

Anastasia clutched her skirt, shaking her head wildly. She frantically signed, her hands trembling.

"It wasn't me. There's a camera. Check the footage!"

Edward followed her gaze. Sure enough, a surveillance camera hung above them.

He was about to check it when Priscilla suddenly collapsed into his arms.

Tears streamed down her pale face, her body trembling as if deeply wronged. "Why check? You think I'd stab my own hand with a stick? I'm not that stupid."

Thomas echoed quickly. "Yeah! Priscilla would never do that to herself. It was Mommy, for sure!"

Just a few words—and Edward was completely convinced by Priscilla.

Back home, he had her wound simply dressed. Then he ordered Anastasia to apologize.

Anastasia numbly signed, "It really wasn't me. I didn't do it. I won't apologize."

Priscilla sobbed at the side. "If Anna won't admit fault, then just forget it..."

The sight of her tears made Edward's face turn grim. His tone left no room for refusal. "Anna, you're being disobedient. You know what I hate most is being lied to."

He ordered the servants to drive ten wooden sticks under her nails.

The agony cut straight through her, leaving her drenched in sweat.

She wanted to cry, to scream, but only hoarse, muffled sounds came from her throat.

In the end, she was locked in a sealed room.

No air, no light.

And she had claustrophobia.

The floor was cold. She curled into a corner, hugging her knees, tears flowing nonstop.

Just before she blacked out, she thought she saw that boy again.

He had once said he'd never leave her alone.

He had said he would always stand by her side, unconditionally.

He had said he'd never let anyone hurt her.

Yet now, the one who hurt her most was him.

Anastasia wasn't locked up for long. She was released the next day.

Edward immediately treated her injured nails, then said coldly, "This can't happen again."

But when he saw her blank face, he finally gave in. His voice softened. "Honey, don't be sad. You love snow views the most, right? I'll take you halfway up the mountain to see the whole city covered in snow, okay?"

Anastasia didn't answer. After a long silence, she stiffly signed, "Edward, if one day I'm gone, would you be sad?"

He pulled her into a tight embrace, as if he wanted to crush her into his chest. His voice carried raw panic. "Honey, what's wrong? Don't scare me. Are you mad at me? Don't leave me. I can't live without you. If you're gone, my life will be meaningless."

The fear on his face wasn't fake. Even his arms trembled as he held her.

His reaction surprised her.

She wondered, "If he truly lost me, what would he do?"

After calming Anastasia down, the three of them set off for the snowy mountain.

Of course, Priscilla came too.

It was deep winter. Snow lay thick on the ground. From halfway up the mountain, the whole city looked like a world of ice and snow.

Afraid she'd feel cold, Edward had brought hand warmers and even draped his coat over her shoulders.

Worried she'd be bored, he sliced her favorite fruit himself and placed it within easy reach.

But she barely touched her fruit, only sipping hot chocolate distractedly while listening to their chatter.

Suddenly, their normal conversation shifted into Russian.

A man bumped Edward's shoulder and teased, "Eddie, you're so blatant with Priscilla. What if your wife finds out?"

Edward's expression didn't change. He even took Priscilla's hand, replying in Russian, "So what if she does? Who in our circle doesn't keep a wife at home and a mistress outside?"

His words drew even louder laughter. "Back in high school, you already had a crush on Priscilla. After all these years, you still do. What is it about her that you can't let go of, Eddie?"

Edward's lips curved, expression unchanged. "First love always shines the brightest. No one can compare."

The group burst into louder laughter.

One bold man let his eyes fall on Anastasia. "Looks like your little Anna is crazy about you. Since you've got Priscilla already, why not let me have a turn once you're tired of her?"

Edward's face instantly darkened. He ground out each word, "Anna is mine. Even if I get tired of her, she'll stay by my side. Don't even dream about it."

The men kept talking, their voices rowdy, none of them noticing her pale face.

They didn't know—she caught every word.

In college, she'd chosen Russian just to communicate with him better, just to share more common ground.

But now, the very language she learned for him was being used to trample her heart.

Her hands trembled as she rose, ready to leave, when shouts came from outside. "Avalanche! Run!"

A mass of snow thundered down the mountain. Chaos erupted as people scrambled for their lives.

Edward quickly steadied himself, grabbed Anastasia, and pulled her to run.

But panic made her twist her ankle—she couldn't move.

Just then, Thomas clutched Priscilla's hand, screaming in terror, "Daddy! Daddy, come save us!"

Edward looked at Anastasia clutching her ankle, then at them. Without the slightest hesitation, he chose them.

He didn't even glance back, only threw her a single line as he ran.

"Anna, wait here. I'll be right back for you."

Watching him run off without her, Anastasia let out a bitter laugh through her tears.

At 18, Edward would've saved her without hesitation.

At 28, he didn't even look her way.

As the avalanche buried her, she thought she saw him turning back for her.

When she opened her eyes again, she was in the hospital.

Her baby was gone.

Anastasia lay on the hospital bed, her hand resting on her flat stomach, face blank.

For the first time, she realized—when pain reached a certain point, it truly numbed you.

Edward sat by her side, offering half-hearted comfort. "Anna, don't be sad. If we lose this one, we can always have another baby later."

He looked at her, as if wanting to say more, when the door suddenly swung open. A nurse rushed in, her voice urgent.

"Family of patient in Room 24! The patient is hemorrhaging badly; she needs an immediate blood transfusion. The hospital blood bank is short—any family members with type B blood?"

Edward's gaze fell on her. "Anna, Cilla was hurt protecting Tom during the escape. She ruptured a major artery. As Tom's mother, you should set an example—step up and donate your blood."

Anastasia was stunned.

He wanted a woman who had just miscarried to donate blood to his first love?

She could hardly believe her ears. Her fingers stiffly formed the words in sign language. "Do you even know what you're saying?"

The nurse added gently, "Mrs. Copeland just miscarried. She's in no condition to give blood. Is anyone else type B? Time is critical—the patient can't wait."

"Anna, listen to me. You have to donate. You're the only one who can save her." Edward's voice left no room for refusal. He ordered coldly, "Take her into the operating room. Draw her blood."

From the next bed, Thomas had just woken up. Hearing that his beloved Priscilla was in critical condition, he spoke to her for once in a soft tone. "Mommy, please save Priscilla. If she hadn't shielded me, I'd be the one badly hurt. It's just blood—you won't die."

His words froze her heart completely.

Her husband. Her son.

The two people who once meant everything to her.

And not one of them cared about her life.

She struggled to get up, to escape, but Edward's bodyguards caught her easily and forced her onto the operating table.

The needle pierced her skin. Blood streamed into the bag. In minutes, they had drawn 500cc.

Anastasia's body shook uncontrollably as her vision blurred. Her body temperature was plummeting.

A nurse, unable to bear it, murmured, "Mr. Copeland, your wife's body can't handle any more blood loss. Maybe we should—"

But he cut her off coldly. "Keep drawing. Anna has always been healthy. However much Cilla needs, take it from her."

Bag after bag was rushed into Priscilla's operating room.

Anastasia finally collapsed, blacking out completely.

A miscarriage followed by massive blood loss—she remained unconscious for three days and nights.

Edward never came. And she no longer asked for him.

Once her body fully recovered, Anastasia returned to Copeland's residence to gather the documents she needed for going abroad.

She pulled out everything that carried their shared memories.

A whole box of love letters. Birthday gifts that came year after year. Handmade crafts. Countless pieces of expensive jewelry...

All of it—proof of Edward's love for her.

But she listed them on Facebook Marketplace. And the things that wouldn't sell, she piled up in the back garden and set on fire.

The flames devoured every last trace of memory.

Her heart would never again belong to him.

She stared blankly at the final envelope burning to ash, not noticing the shadow closing in behind her.

When she finally looked up, her eyes met Edward's flustered gaze.

He strode forward, pulled her into his arms, his voice trembling in a way that even surprised himself. "Honey, what are you doing? What are you burning?"

While she lay unconscious, he had spent nearly every moment at Priscilla's side.

He'd even prepared excuses for her questions—yet Anastasia never asked.

Her strange calm unsettled him more and more. His arms tightened around her in fear.

He couldn't even say clearly what he felt for her.

Divorce her? He couldn't let go.

Be faithful? He still thought Priscilla was good.

So he told himself—keeping things this way was fine.

Anastasia studied him for a long moment before forcing a small smile, her hands signing, "I'm fine. Just burning some old clothes that were taking up space."

But her words didn't ease his doubts.

He was about to press further when she turned and walked away.

Over the next few days, she threw herself into tying up work, secretly transferred her assets, and collected the visa she'd arranged early.

When everything was ready, only three days remained before she went overseas.

Three days before leaving the country, Anastasia went to the nursing home to see her biological mother, Laura Kaine.

She wanted to say goodbye properly, extend her VIP ward for another 50 years, and leave enough money for her to live out her days in peace.

Back when the Copeland family adopted her, they had used their influence to track down her real parents.

Her father had passed away five years ago. Her mother was left paralyzed after a car accident, and the Copeland family had placed her in the best nursing home they could find.

When Anastasia arrived with her things, she found Priscilla already there.

The moment Priscilla saw her, she smiled and walked over. "Is this your mother? What a coincidence. I just came with a troupe for a volunteer performance."

Anastasia ignored her, fixing Laura's blanket without even a glance.

Seeing herself brushed off again and again, Priscilla's polite smile slipped away, replaced by a vicious glare.

"You still think you're some violin prodigy, huh? Your hand is ruined. Don't you know? It was Eddie who had someone injure you.

"You really have no shame. You knew I was with him, yet you still forced yourself between us. Anastasia, you're pathetic!"

Anastasia looked at her coldly but said nothing.

Her calm, indifferent silence—where Priscilla had expected a breakdown—only infuriated her further.

"Born in the countryside, and it shows. Even your mother looks hideous."

With that, she shoved Anastasia hard to the floor, snatched the hot kettle from the table, flipped it open, and poured the scalding water over Laura.

A twisted smile spread across her face. "I want to see if a paralyzed vegetable can still feel pain."

The sight made Anastasia snap.

She scrambled up from the floor, only to be kicked down again.

Towering over her, Priscilla sneered. "As long as you stay in the Copeland family, I'll make sure you suffer every day."

On the bed, Laura stared in terror. She wanted to call for help but couldn't speak—only widen her eyes, pleading silently.

Priscilla clapped her hands together, still smiling, though her eyes were wild with madness.

The next moment, she reached out, yanked off Laura's ventilator, and let out a cold laugh.

Seeing this, Anastasia finally snapped. She struggled up, desperate to run out and call a nurse.

But Priscilla spread her arms and blocked the doorway, staring her down with open provocation.

Minutes passed. The alarms on the medical equipment began to blare.

Laura, starved of oxygen, turned blue.

Anastasia was frantic, but Priscilla pinned her to the floor with a hard stomp, leaving her unable to move.

She opened her mouth, wanting to scream for help, but no sound came out no matter how hard she tried. Tears spilled down in frustration.

Priscilla sneered at the sight. "If I hadn't turned Eddie down back then, the title of Mrs. Copeland would never have fallen to you. Do yourself a favor—divorce him now."

Anastasia couldn't even hear her. She nodded at everything, just begging with her eyes for her to move.

But Priscilla stood firm. Clenching her teeth, Anastasia grabbed the fruit knife from the table and swung it in front of her.

The very next second, Edward walked in.

He glanced at Anastasia waving the knife, then at Priscilla's tear-streaked, terrified face—and instantly thought he understood.

His eyes filled with disappointment. "Anna, I can't believe you've become so unreasonable. Cilla only came here out of kindness to visit your mother, and now you're threatening her with a knife."

Thomas ran over too, clutching her leg, hitting her, and stopping her from hurting Priscilla.

Anastasia dropped the knife. Tears filled her eyes as she looked at him, silently pleading.

She signed frantically in front of him.

Following her gaze, Edward finally noticed Laura on the bed, barely clinging to life.

He frowned and was about to call for a nurse when Priscilla grabbed his sleeve.

She bit her lip, eyes welling like a startled kitten.

"Eddie, we can't let her keep this up. We have to teach her a lesson."

Edward gave a grave nod, pushing aside the thought of calling for help.

He turned to Anastasia. "Anna, do you admit you were wrong?"

Rage shook through her body, blood rushing to her head.

She tried to bolt for the door to find a nurse, but Edward's bodyguards caught her.

"Apologize to Cilla. Or you're not leaving." His voice was ice. "Apologize to Cilla. Otherwise, no one saves your mother."

Tears streamed uncontrollably down her face. She swallowed every ounce of pride and hatred and bowed.

Once... twice... three times...

She bowed ten times in total before Edward finally nodded in satisfaction.

At that moment, the monitor gave a sharp, continuous alarm.

Anastasia whipped her head around—and froze.

A flat line.

Ten minutes of resuscitation later, they declared her dead.

As the white sheet covered Laura, Anastasia's knees gave out. She crumpled to the floor, burying her face in her hands as harsh sobs tore from her throat.

If only... if only help had come minutes earlier.

If only she had never met Edward.

But there are no ifs.

It poured the day Laura was buried.

Out of guilt, Edward suggested a grand funeral.

Anastasia refused. In the end, she was the only one there.

She carried Laura's urn, eyes empty, walking like a ghost through the cemetery.

The staff shivered just watching her grief.

Still, they understood her grief and didn't disturb her.

She placed the urn on the grave she bought, leaned against the memorial photo, and closed her eyes.

Soon, footsteps came closer. A shadow fell over her.

She looked up—straight into Priscilla's mocking eyes.

Priscilla tilted her chin upward with smug satisfaction. "Now you see who really matters to Eddie. This is what you brought on yourself."

Facing Laura's killer, taunted again and again, Anastasia's rage burst.

She stood and slapped her with all her strength.

Priscilla froze, holding her cheek. Then she shrieked, "You hit me? Anastasia, how dare you hit me?"

Spoiled all her life, she had never been humiliated like this.

Her eyes brimmed with tears. Then she spotted the urn behind Anastasia.

She lunged, grabbed it, and smashed it to the ground.

The urn shattered. Ashes mixed with rain, vanishing into the air. What remained, she ground into mud with her foot.

"Aah—!"

The cry tore from Anastasia's chest, soaked in despair.

Sobbing, she knelt, trying to gather what little ashes were left.

She had spent so much to buy Laura a grave.

After settling the burial, a day had passed.

Tomorrow, she would leave.

She had her new identity papers and her passport and had already contacted the lawyer handling her divorce.

While she was packing, Edward wrapped his arms around her waist, his voice panicked. "Honey, where are you going with your things?"

Her coldness these past days made his heart more restless than ever.

Was she leaving him? Did she know about him and Priscilla? Did she...

He didn't dare think further. Every possibility was unbearable.

One thing was clear—he could never accept Anastasia leaving him.

Anastasia looked at his face and forced a smile.

She freed one hand, signing, "I'm not going anywhere. I just might have to travel for work, so I'm packing."

Having grown up with her, Edward knew she wasn't telling the truth.

But he said nothing. He had already decided—he would make it up to her, treat her well, and never let Priscilla's presence hurt her again.

He had neglected her lately. From now on, he would make it up to her.

"Anna, tomorrow's your birthday. I've prepared a special gift for you. You'll love it."

Anastasia froze, then smiled as she signed, "Really? I got you something too."

Hearing that, Edward's smile deepened. His earlier thoughts now felt ridiculous.

Anastasia had loved him since childhood—how could she ever leave him?

That thought finally gave him peace, and he vowed to spend the rest of his life with her.

But that night, Edward never came home.

Meanwhile, Priscilla posted a photo on her Instagram—a tall figure, a smaller one, and a child holding their hands.

This time, Anastasia's heart no longer ached.

She simply tapped "like."

At dawn, light broke over the horizon.

The house was empty. No one noticed Anastasia had gone.

She walked straight through the airport, dragging her suitcase, back straight, never once looking back.

From that moment on, Anastasia no longer existed.

And in her world, Edward would never appear again.

She was free.