Dennis spoke with lazy ease, freeing one hand to lace his fingers through the woman's beside him.

"From now on, I just want to be with Scarlett. Hand in hand, for the rest of our lives."

"So sweet! I want my girlfriend to have a baby with me too!"

Laughter and cheers erupted around them.

"Dennis, have you thought about how to explain things to Anna?"

At the mention of my name, his face darkened instantly.

"I've never planned on letting her come back."

Then he turned to comfort Scarlett. "The housekeeper will handle everything. Don't worry. The only person I want beside me is you."

Snow began to fall from the sky—soft flakes landing on the tip of my nose, seeping cold into my heart.

Three years ago, the day I left, I had grabbed Dennis's hand and asked him, "Dennis, when I come back, will you really marry me?"

He'd ruffled my hair gently, voice warm. "Of course. By then, you'll be so much more mature. Don't worry, I'll wait for you. I will only ever love you."

But now I had grown up. And he was with someone else.

Why? Why did he lie to me?

My chest ached. The tears came without permission, falling faster the more I tried to wipe them away.

In those war-torn countries, I treated wounded civilians under falling bombs and gunfire.

Even then, I kept telling myself, 'I have to survive. I have to come back alive, because I'm going to marry Dennis.'

I even applied a year early to come home.

Today, I finally came back, planning to surprise Dennis. But he was the one who surprised me first.

"I heard Dennis bought a cruise ship. He's planning to marry Scarlett on board," someone said nearby.

I quickly ducked behind a tree.

"Oh my god, I'm so jealous. But what about Anna? Wasn't she the one who loved him the most?"

"You didn't hear? Three years ago, he tricked her into going abroad with Doctors Without Borders. No one even knows if she'll make it back alive. He just wanted to be with Scarlett, but was afraid Anna would throw a fit, so he sent her away. So the moment she left the country, he got together with Scarlett."

Every word struck my ears with perfect clarity.

So this was all planned. Dennis had made his calculations three years ago. And I had believed him—every single word.

The conditions abroad were so harsh, but I didn't feel the pain. I kept going because I believed: if I made it through, we'd be together.

The group walked on, offering blessings to Dennis.

Someone suddenly joked, "Dennis, after all those years Anna's been in love with you, don't you feel bad leaving her out there, working in such tough conditions?"

Dennis didn't even blink. He just kept staring at Eugene.

"She's the one who liked me. I never liked her. If it weren't for my father adopting her—and him being so fond of her—I would've cut her off long ago. You all know she's seven years younger than me. There's no way I'd like someone like that. All these years, it's always been her chasing after me."

I was sixteen when the McMillan family took me in—just starting high school. Dennis was twenty-three, already a college graduate. He had a good family, good looks, and girls constantly orbiting him.

Every time I saw him with someone else, I'd get jealous. I'd find him and say, "Dennis, can you stop getting so close to other girls?"

He'd laugh, ruffle my cheek, and say, "I'll do whatever you say, Anna."

As a teenager, I believed this was what love looked like. So I kept trying to get closer to him—learning what he liked, shaping myself into someone he would want.

At eighteen, I put on my first strapless dress and high heels. At a party, a rich young man struck up a casual conversation with me. That was all it took. Dennis dragged me into a bathroom and kissed me—hard.

His dark eyes stared into mine from beneath tousled hair. He pressed his forehead to mine and whispered, "You're mine."

From the very beginning, he was the one who gave me hope. Every gesture, every word said he liked me. But now, he says I've been the one clinging to him.

I walked away, devastated. The moment I reached the door, I broke down.

My hands trembled as I took out my phone and opened Telegram.

The most recent message from Dennis read: [Anna, happy birthday.]

At the time, I was saving a pregnant woman's life, covered in blood, running on no sleep for over twenty-four hours. But when I saw his message, all my energy came back.

I wiped away my tears and tapped the voice call button.

"Anna, what's wrong?" His voice came through the line, as gentle as ever.

He must have stepped somewhere quiet to answer—the call had rung for a long time before he picked up.

I wanted to speak, but all I could see in my mind was the image of him holding a child, standing next to another woman.

"Anna?" he called again.

I used to love how my name sounded coming from him. But now, it made my stomach churn.

"Dennis," I said. "I'm back in the country."

If he listened carefully, he could probably hear the faint tremor in my voice. But he didn't seem to notice.

There was a pause on the other end, then he asked, "You're back? Why? Where are you now? I'll come get you."

The truth is, the moment I saw him in the garden with that woman and their child, something inside me had already collapsed.

And now, he was back to being gentle again—so effortlessly tender.

"I'm at the front door," I said quietly.

This house was a gift he gave me when I turned eighteen. Back then, he told me, "No matter who you end up with, this house will always be yours. With this house, you'll never want for respect."

But now, he was living in that house with another woman. And they had a child.

By the time Dennis stepped outside, I had already pulled myself together.

He walked toward me through the snow, one slow step at a time, his eyes full of something that looked like worry.

When he reached me, he pulled me into his arms. His breath was warm against my ear.

"Anna, it's been three years. You've lost weight."

A scent of peaches clung to him, sweet and unfamiliar.

He smelled different now.

He used to carry a faint trace of tea.

I recoiled at his touch, pushing him away.

His pupils contracted for a second. Then he smiled.

"Our little Anna's all grown up. Knows the difference between men and women now. But I'm still your future husband. Don't treat me like a stranger, okay?"

Once, I thought he was a light in my world.

Back when I first came to the McMillan family, I was quiet and withdrawn. I got bullied at school all the time. One day after class, a group cornered me in an alley. Then Dennis appeared, driving a black Maybach. He pulled up and trapped those boys in the corner with his car.

Then he got out and stood in front of me.

I'll never forget the coldness in his voice as he said, "Anna is my sister. Anyone who dares lay a hand on her again won't walk away from it."

But now, Dennis felt like a stranger to me. It was the same face—exactly the same—but I no longer felt my heart skip the way it used to.

Dennis reached out, his fingers brushing my cheek. That's when I saw it—the ring on his fourth finger.

That spot used to be bare.

"I'm tired," I said quietly. "Can I go home and rest first?"

I pulled my gaze away, but not before locking eyes with him.

Panic flickered in his eyes almost instantly. "Yeah... of course."

"But there are guests at the house today," he added quickly. "My friend just became a dad. He didn't have a venue for the baby's one-month celebration, so they're using our place."

He looked at me carefully. "You don't mind, do you?"

I used to think he was something otherworldly. Whenever I was bullied, he always appeared like a hero in a storybook. Whenever I was sick, he stayed calm, steady.

One winter, the two of us had gone out to buy fireworks. We passed by a couple arguing. The girl was in tears—turned out the guy had lied to her and snuck off to meet another woman.

Back then, he turned to me and said, "Anna, when you look for a man in the future, make sure your eyes are wide open. Pick someone like me as your standard. I'll never lie to the person I love."

But now? Every word from his mouth was a lie.

Maybe I've grown steadier, too. I didn't even want to call him out. I wanted to see how far he would go—how long he thought he could keep lying.

"I don't mind," I said.

He smiled when he heard that and reached for me.

I stepped back before he could touch me.

Surprise flickered in his eyes for a second, then he gave a soft laugh, as if trying to reassure himself.

"You're distant with me now. But that's okay. I'll stay by your side and help you become who you were before."

But deep down, I knew I wasn't going back. I couldn't.

Three years ago, he tricked me into going abroad to work with Doctors Without Borders. Since then, I'd seen more life and death than I ever thought possible. I watched children smile at me one second, and turn into cold, lifeless bodies the next.

That's when I learned to value time—because you never know if tomorrow or tragedy will come first.

And now? I had no desire to waste a second more on someone who didn't deserve it.

Dennis didn't take me to the master bedroom—the one that used to be mine. Instead, he led me to a guest room.

He explained, "My friend... he's a little proud. He told people this was his house, so he's been using the master bedroom for now. Once things settle down, I'll have the housekeeper clean it up for you. You can move in then, okay?"

"Mm." I set down my bag.

He looked at me for a moment, then said, "Knowing you, you probably don't enjoy noisy scenes anyway. Rest here for now. I'll take care of things."

After he left, I reached into my pocket and took out a small stone.

Etched into it were the words: Peace and Joy. A little boy gave it to me.

He had lost both his parents. He was all alone.

His small, dark hands placed the stone in mine, as he said, in halting English, "This is for you. You can give it to someone you love, so they'll always be safe."

I accepted it, and stood up to find some candy for him.

But before I could move, a gunshot rang out.

He dropped in front of me, a bullet to the head.

I screamed, hysterically, trying to resuscitate him, but a colleague pulled me away.

Now, pulled back to the present, I opened the guest room door and finally took a good look at the house.

Earlier, I'd been too overwhelmed to notice.

But now, I saw it clearly—signs of another woman were everywhere. In the bathroom, a towel and skincare products. Flowers on the coffee table. A baby bottle. Toys.