Chapter 4

I stood there alone, a bride abandoned at the altar. The guests whispered, their pitying glances feeling like physical blows. I waited. I waited all day, hoping, praying he would come back.

As night fell, his assistant finally approached me, his face full of regret.

"Ms. Miller," he said softly. "Mr. Peterson... he won't be coming back."

My heart, which I thought couldn't break any further, shattered into a million pieces.

"He just had me book a flight," the assistant continued, unable to meet my eyes. "He's already on his way to the airport. His destination is... Germany."

My hands and feet turned to ice. Germany. Where Jessica was.

The humiliation was a physical thing, a crushing weight that made it hard to breathe. I went home and locked myself in my room.

That evening, as if to twist the knife, Jessica posted a photo on her social media. It was a picture of her hand, intertwined with a man's. Ryan's hand. I recognized the watch he always wore.

The caption was a smug, silent taunt.

"What's mine, no one can take away."

But the universe has a cruel sense of humor. Because that very same night, I got a call from my doctor with the results of a routine checkup.

I was pregnant.

My first, gut reaction was to get rid of it. I scheduled an abortion for the next day. I would end the pregnancy, call off the humiliating engagement, and cut all ties with the Peterson family.

I was literally walking into the clinic when my phone rang. It was Mrs. Peterson. She must have heard what happened. She was crying, begging me not to do it.

"Please, Sarah. Don't give up on the baby. Don't give up on Ryan. Give him another chance. Please, for me."

Mrs. Peterson had always been incredibly kind to me and my family. Our families went way back. Her persistent, tearful persuasion wore me down. Against my better judgment, I gave up on the abortion.

I gave birth to our child. Alone.

For five years, I raised Lily by myself, in the cavernous, empty Peterson mansion. I waited. I waited for Ryan to return from abroad, clinging to the foolish hope that Mrs. Peterson had given me.

In my heart, I wanted to try one more time. I hoped that one day, he would come back, that he would see our beautiful daughter, and that he would change his mind. That we could finally be a real family.

Three months ago, I finally got the news I had been waiting for. Ryan was returning to the country.

My hope, fragile as it was, flared to life.

But it was extinguished just as quickly. I found out he was only coming back because Jessica had told him she was tired of living abroad. He was simply accompanying her home.

He even had the audacity to call me from Germany before they left, his voice cold and commanding.

"Jessica lost our baby," he said, without a trace of emotion. "The trauma was severe. She can't stand hearing anyone call me Daddy. Control Lily. Make sure she doesn't call me that."

But how do you explain that to a five-year-old girl who has done nothing but look at pictures of her father her whole life? When she saw him in person for the first time at the airport, her little heart couldn't contain its excitement.

She called him "Daddy."

And that single, innocent word enraged him. It almost cost our daughter her life.

And now, standing here in this cold hospital corridor, I finally, finally realized how ridiculous my hope had been.

Five years had passed. He had never once thought of coming back for me or for Lily.

That romantic proposal in the snow... the only one trapped in that beautiful, tragic memory was me.