'Wait… Isn't this my allergy medicine?!' she realized.

"It's really her… Kiana!"

Leslie yanked open the drawer beside her. She froze in shock. It was full of items stolen from her room—perfume, jewelry, makeup… No wonder her belongings had been disappearing lately.

Her eyes landed on the bottom drawer, the only one locked.

What could be hidden in there?

She grabbed a piece of wire and carefully worked at the lock.

With a click, the drawer opened.

Inside, there were only three items—a diary, a padlock-shaped pendant, and a faded group photo.

The words written above the photo read: [Angel Welfare Home, 2008]

For some reason, Leslie's heart started racing.

She scanned the photo, looking at the young, innocent faces one by one.

Then she saw him—Denver.

Next, she saw Travis.

And finally, she saw… herself!

It was late at night.

In a quiet corner of the massive villa, Leslie sat clutching the diary, tears streaming down her face.

She had always been sharp—reading when she was three, writing when she was four, and her memory was sharper than most children of her age.

But after a car accident when she was seven, she couldn't remember anything before that.

Now, as she flipped through the diary, those lost memories came rushing back.

So this was her childhood.

She wasn't cursed or destined to be alone. She had once been loved—deeply, unconditionally.

She was the "Sister Kiana" Travis had spoken of!

She was the girl Denver had spent 16 years searching for!

When she was six, a wealthy man came to the welfare home.

He immediately took a liking to Kiana's natural beauty and wanted to adopt her as his daughter.

Fourteen-year-old Denver didn't trust the man and decided to escape, taking six-year-old Kiana and four-year-old Travis with him.

But during their escape, they got separated.

And that separation lasted more than 10 years.

Kiana grew up as Leslie, unknowingly crossing paths with Denver again.

The moment he saw her, Denver recognized her. But she insisted her name was Leslie, not Kiana.

Still, Denver kept her by his side and even decided to propose to her.

But fate had other plans.

Just as the wedding date was set, 'Kiana' came into the picture.

Leslie stared at the night sky, her heart full of questions.

"Who is this Kiana taking my place?"

"And who does Denver truly love?"

The stars twinkled back at her as if mocking her confusion.

Her mind spun with countless thoughts, but one image stayed: Kiana wrapping her arms around Denver's neck and pressing a kiss to his lips.

And Denver… didn't push her away.

'No. He didn't push her away,' Leslie recounted. 'Isn't that enough of an answer?'

She slowly wiped her tear-streaked face.

The wedding was in three days.

It was time for her final move.

The next day, Denver, Travis, and Kiana returned, dragging four oversized suitcases, clearly loaded with things they'd brought back.

Denver pulled Leslie into his arms, his tone warm and apologetic.

"My love, I'm so sorry I've been neglecting you. But I arranged for nurses to take care of you while I was gone. Did they do a good job?"

Leslie's gaze shifted to Kiana. "Nurses? Where are they?"

Of course, Kiana had secretly sent them away, and she quickly changed the subject.

"Leslie, I bought so many souvenirs for you. Let me show you!"

Leslie smirked, watching as Kiana opened her suitcase.

One by one, Kiana pulled out limited-edition shoes, bags, and jewelry, laying them across the floor. The room quickly filled with her spoils.

'Seems like their trip must have been worth every moment,' Leslie reckoned.

She smiled faintly, showing no hint of jealousy.

But Kiana wasn't satisfied. She pulled out a stack of Polaroid photos and began showing them off one by one, eagerly recounting the stories behind each picture.

Leslie's smile didn't waver. It was as steady as if it had been carved into her face.

Until she saw that photo.

In the picture, a man and a woman sat shoulder-to-shoulder on a park bench, bathed in the glow of the setting sun. The woman's head rested gently on the man's shoulder. It was as though even the sunlight couldn't find space between them.

Leslie reached out to take a closer look, but Denver swiftly pulled the photo away.

"Oh, just a random shot of some strangers," he said nonchalantly. "Nothing worth looking at."

"Is that so?" Leslie replied, pretending not to notice anything unusual. "You're quite the photographer."

But she had clearly seen the woman in the photo carrying Kiana's new limited-edition bag.

The next day was supposed to be her wedding day with Denver.

But that night, Leslie sat alone, clutching the group photo from the orphanage as tears streamed down her face.

It wasn't just four years. It was 22 years!

Denver had been part of her entire life, so deeply rooted in her that he was like a part of her soul.

And now, as she prepared to say goodbye, she finally understood how it felt to be torn apart from within.

Perhaps she hadn't hidden her emotions well enough. Denver came into her room, concern written all over his face. He found her sitting there, her delicate features streaked with tears.

He gently pulled her into his arms.

"Why are you crying again, my love?" he asked softly.

Leslie wiped at her tears and forced a smile. "I'm fine. I was just thinking… Tomorrow I'll be marrying you. I'm so happy."

Hearing this, Denver's lips curved into a gentle smile.

"Silly girl," he said, lightly tapping her nose. "I'm happy too."

His sharp, handsome features softened, his expression filled with warmth.

He tilted her chin with his slender fingers, slowly leaning in. His lips moved closer, inch by inch.

Just as they were about to meet, Leslie turned her head, her senses snapping back.

Denver paused, confused. "What's wrong?"

Blushing, Leslie stammered, "Tomorrow… Tomorrow night. Let's wait until then. Would you mind sleeping in the guest room tonight?"

Denver chuckled. "Alright, my love. Rest well tonight. Tomorrow, you'll be the most beautiful bride in the world."

Leslie watched Denver's tall figure disappear through the doorway.

'The most beautiful bride?' Leslie repeated in her head. 'No. I'm the most daring bride.'

That night, Leslie didn't sleep at all.

She packed her identification documents into her backpack, prepared a pair of sneakers, and scheduled a ride-share to wait outside the wedding venue.

Once everything was set, she sat down at her desk.

She pulled out paper and pen, intending to write a letter.

But as she stared at the blank page, her thoughts were a chaotic mess. She had so much to say that she didn't know where to begin.

The ink pooled on the paper, forming a dark blot, but still, she hadn't written a single word.

After a while, finally, inspiration struck her. Instead of writing, she began to draw.

It was a pattern she used to sketch as a child, tracing it in the sand with a stick—a sturdy tree trunk with strong branches reaching out, its leaves lush and full of life.

Tree. Branch. Leaf.

Their names.

As a child, Kiana always pulled Denver and Travis over to see her drawings.

"Guys, look! This tree is called 'Evergreen,'" she would explain proudly. "It means the three of us will always stay together and never apart!"

Now, Leslie carefully drew that same tree on the paper. Beside it, she wrote something in small handwriting.