The breathing on the other end of the line grew rapid for two seconds. Hugo snorted in anger.

"Fine, Mia. You've got some nerve."

After hanging up, I opened my messaging app and texted a lawyer.

Me: [Hello, Mr. Nichols. I'd like to consult about divorce procedures.]

…

When I put my phone down, the housekeeper was already helping me pack.

"Madam, are you sure you don't want any of these?" She stood in the walk-in closet, staring at the wall lined with luxury goods.

Those were all things Hugo had bought specifically for me to attend banquets. He had once said, "Mia, I don't care what you were like before. Since you married me, you need to cover up that poor, unlucky stench of yours. Don't embarrass me."

Thinking of that, I shook my head and spoke lightly, "I don't want any of the luxury items or gowns. Just pack up whatever's left."

The housekeeper looked troubled.

"Madam… other than these, there really isn't much left to pack…"

I froze for a moment, then couldn't help laughing.

She was right. After seven years of marriage to Hugo, the things that truly belonged to me had always been very few.

In this enormous villa, the space that was mine amounted to no more than half of the bed in the bedroom. That half of a bed summed up my seven years.

That night, Hugo didn't come home. I slept soundly.

The next day, I took the packed luggage and prepared to leave. I left nothing behind—except for a crystal snow globe.

From dating to marriage, that was the only gift Hugo had ever given me.

Back then, I had just come to Harpley City to study. Hugo fell for me at first sight. He was straightforward and passionate then, waiting on the road I took back to campus every day just to exchange a few words with me.

The snow globe was from that time. He said it was the first gift he'd ever bought without asking his family for money, earned through three days of part-time work.

He said the snow inside the globe would never melt, and neither would his love for me.

Seven years had passed. The snow inside the globe was still the same as ever. But his love—I didn't want it anymore.

After leaving Hugo's home, I checked into a hotel.

Less than a day later, Hugo called.

"Mia, where the hell did you run off to? Hurry back and clean up your junk!"

I replied calmly, "I don't want it anymore. Just throw it away."

Hugo paused, then asked, "Mia, are you serious?"

"Mm."

My tone was light. I truly didn't care anymore. "Throw it out. It's not anything important anyway."

That was when he seemed to hit a raw nerve.

"Not important? Do you even know that back then I—"

"Back then, what?" I let out a short laugh and cut him off.

"Are you referring to that crystal snow globe? Its retail price is only six-fifty. What kind of part-time job takes three days and pays that little?"

I'd heard this after we were married, once when Hugo was drunk. He'd said, "I just grabbed a random snow globe off the street and fooled you into marrying me. Mia, you're really easy to fool—and cheap."

Only then did I realize that Hugo hadn't changed at all. He'd simply stopped bothering to pretend.

After hanging up, I went to the law firm where I'd made an appointment.

After reviewing my situation, the lawyer looked troubled.

"Mia, you should understand this yourself. Given the Hudson family's standing, a peaceful divorce is almost impossible."

Of course, I knew that. That was why I was willing to give up what was rightfully mine.

"What if I don't want any assets? I can leave with nothing."

The lawyer looked slightly relieved, but still hesitant. "Does Mr. Hudson want a divorce as well?"

I shook my head, my heart sinking.

This wasn't the first time I'd wanted to leave Hugo.

Five years ago, the first time I asked for a divorce, Hugo said nothing. He simply locked me inside the villa for a full month.

A month later, I found out I was pregnant.

Three years ago, when I asked for a divorce the second time, Hugo returned to his family estate that very night. Soon after, I was granted the right to see Avery once a week.

Seven years into the marriage, Hugo had always known exactly where my weaknesses lay. He made sure I couldn't leave, couldn't escape—kept tightly in the palm of his hand, a ridiculous puppet.

Today was the third time.

Perhaps out of sympathy, the lawyer still accepted my case.

When he took the marriage certificate I handed over, his eyes widened.

"Mia, this marriage certificate… is fake. You and Mr. Hudson were never actually married."

"What?" I shot to my feet, convinced I'd misheard. "How could my marriage certificate be fake? Look again—carefully!"

The lawyer adjusted his glasses and examined it once more.

"I'm very sorry, Mia. This certificate truly is fake."

I laughed, though tears streamed down uncontrollably.

Seven years. Two thousand five hundred and fifty-five days.

Every single day, I asked myself hundreds of times: Why did I believe Hugo? Why did I agree to marry him? Why did I tolerate his family, who were cold, merciless monsters?

It took me seven years to face reality, and six years to gather the courage to divorce.

And now, the lawyer was telling me… I had never been married to Hugo at all.

No wonder his family treated me so poorly. So that was it… I really was no different from the women outside.

After wiping away my tears, I thanked the kind lawyer and slowly walked out of the firm.

If there had never been a marriage, then separating would be much simpler. There was only one thing I couldn't let go of—Avery.

Avery was my child with Hugo. He was five years old this year.

When I gave birth to him, I had dystocia and severe hemorrhaging. I nearly died on the operating table. Through the haze, I heard the doctor ask Hugo whether to save the mother or the child.

Hugo didn't hesitate. "Save the child."

Those cold words jolted me awake from the brink of death. Over and over, I told myself, 'Mia, you can't die. Even if Hugo doesn't love you, you still have a son. Avery can't grow up without a mother.'

Clinging to that thought, I dragged myself back from the edge of death. It could be said that Avery was the most important reason I was still alive.

Yet less than two days after he was born, Hugo's mother forcibly took him away.

She said, "Mia, not letting you raise Avery is for his own good. Don't forget, you're just a nobody who clawed her way out of some poor backwater. If Avery stays by your side, he'll be looked down on just like you."

In that instant, I lost all strength to struggle.

I thought… she was right. I had nothing to give Avery. Being with Hugo's mom was what was best for him.

I exhausted myself trying to convince my own heart. Yet time and again, in the dead of night, I still couldn't stop myself from clutching the clothes and toys I'd prepared especially for Avery, crying until I could barely breathe.

When Hugo was occasionally woken by my sobbing, he would send me a video of Avery. Relying on those videos, I endured three years—one thousand and ninety-five days.

It wasn't until Avery turned three that Hugo's mom finally agreed to let me see him once a week.

Today was our scheduled visiting day.

When I arrived at the Hudson family estate, it was eerily quiet. I stood outside calling for more than ten minutes, but no one opened the door.

Yes. After seven years as "Mrs. Hudson," I still had no right to enter the Hudson family estate at will.

A passing servant, unable to bear it, told me that Avery had been taken away early that morning by Hugo.

I let out a bitter smile. I understood perfectly—this was Hugo punishing me.

Over the years, whenever I showed even the slightest disobedience, he would refuse to let me see Avery. And every time, I was forced to bow my head, trading my dignity for a single chance to see my child.

Taking a deep breath, for Avery's sake, I finally called Hugo.

"Hello? Mom!"

A familiar child's voice came through the line. It was Avery, my son.

My eyes reddened instantly, my heart melting all at once.

"Avery, when are you coming back? Mommy misses you."

The other end of the call was noisy, like an amusement park. Even so, I caught Avery's voice immediately.

"But I don't want to see Mommy."

The tears in my eyes froze. I asked in disbelief, "Avery… what did you say?"

His voice was as clear as ever, striking my heart with brutal force.

"I said, I don't want to see Mommy."

My grip on the phone tightened unconsciously. I took a deep breath and coaxed him gently, "Mommy knows you're having fun right now. You go enjoy yourself first, okay? Come see Mommy after you're done playing. No matter how long it takes, Mommy can wait."

Avery didn't hesitate. He had that same coldness he'd inherited from Hugo.

"No. Daddy said you made him angry. You're a bad mom! I don't want to see you anymore. Don't look for me again. I don't want you to be my mommy anymore!"

The call ended. I listened to the beeping tone in the receiver, my heart completely dead.

So it turned out my child, just like his father, didn't love me either.

That was fine. Now I could finally leave without any attachments.

…

Back at the hotel, I booked a flight for tomorrow to return to my hometown.

Before going to bed, I scrolled through Hugo's Instagram.

It was a photo taken at an amusement park—a picture of three people. The woman in the photo was the same young girl from the wedding.

My son, Avery, was leaning affectionately against Hugo, sharing a three-flavored ice cream with the girl.

The caption read: [My son likes it.]

Looking at the post with not a single like, I understood.

Hugo had posted it specifically for me to see—visible to me alone.

In the past, every time we argued, he would post something like this involving our son. It was a warning, forcing me to lower my head for the sake of my son.

And every time, I did exactly as he wished—placing my dignity at his feet, letting him trample it.

Thinking back now, the moment I risked my life to give birth, he had already seized me by the throat.

Thankfully, I was completely done.

I tapped a like, set my phone down, and went to sleep.

In the middle of the night, Hugo's call woke me.

"Mia, what kind of mother are you? Do you know Avery waited for you for a long time? He's crying right now!"

I rubbed my reddened eyes and replied casually, "Oh. Then help me tell him I'm sorry."

The voice on the other end went silent for two seconds. Hugo let out a cold laugh.

"Mia, do you believe I can make it so you never see Avery again?"

The threat in his tone was unmistakable.

But I was no longer the Mia who would bow again and again for the sake of my son.

"That's fine."

I stared at the ceiling, my voice distant.

The voice on the other end faltered. Hugo asked in disbelief, "Mia, what did you just say?"

I sat up, my hair brushing against the hotel sheets.

"That's fine. You're Avery's dad. Do whatever you want."

Through the phone, I heard the sound of porcelain shattering.

"Mia, I'll give you one last chance. Take back what you just said. Otherwise, I'll take Avery abroad tomorrow, and you'll never see him again."

I exited the call and opened my photo gallery.

Two hundred and thirteen videos. More than a thousand photos. Each one I had watched countless times.

Taking a deep breath, I cleared the entire gallery. Suddenly, I didn't want to wait anymore.

"Hugo, we were never married, were we?"

The voice on the other end froze abruptly.

Lowering my gaze, I continued, "Since we were never married, there's no need to go through divorce procedures. Let's break up."

I ended the call.

The very next second, someone knocked violently on my hotel door.