Chapter 2

Clutching what belonged to me, my steps didn't falter as I walked away from this seven-year confinement.

On the street, a couple approached, taking turns enjoying an ice cream cone, the girl's face alight with a radiant smile and visible happiness, while the boy's eyes brimmed with tenderness and affection.

Watching them, my eyes grew misty.

Wasn't that Archie and me at 22?

Our first encounter was a classic tale of a knight in shining armor.

I was working part-time as a waitress to cover my living expenses when a customer got handsy. The manager turned a blind eye to my pleas for help and even forbade others from intervening.

Just as I was about to smash a bottle over the man's head, Archie stepped in before I could.

He shielded me like a guardian angel, smiling as he reassured me, "Don't be afraid, I'm here."

It was the first time I felt protected by someone.

But I knew who Archie was-a celebrated scholar at a top university and a wealthy heir, while I was just someone despised by her father and mourning her deceased mother.

I could only bury my feelings deep inside.

After that day, Archie seemed to take me under his wing. No one dared trouble me again, and he even picked me up and dropped me off at work daily.

Despite my attempts to remind myself that Archie and I came from different worlds and our story couldn't end well, I yearned for love too much.

After my mother passed, I lived alone for eight years, enduring endless nights and boundless solitude.

So, naturally, we ended up together.

I once told Archie that when I was twelve, my father had an affair and wanted to divorce my mother.

She refused, so he moved out to live with his mistress, and they divorced after two years of separation.

When my father married his mistress, my mother, in her wedding dress, jumped from the twentieth floor.

The crimson blood turned her white gown a ghastly red.

I watched her die before my eyes, a memory I would never forget.

I vowed never to wear a white wedding dress, knowing that in Western weddings, white symbolizes purity and new beginnings.

If Archie ever ordered a white dress, I'd know he didn't want to marry me, and I would leave.

"I'll never forget, my bride will only be you, " 22-year-old Archie promised, holding me tightly.

Knowing my circumstances wouldn't please Archie's family, I worked harder, opening a small studio and taking on as many jobs as possible.

Yet, to them, I was still insignificant-a nobody without parents.

Watching Archie, the pride of the family, bend his back and plead for their approval, I endured all the insults.

Even after we registered our marriage, his family refused to acknowledge me or allow a wedding, demanding I give up work to care for Archie.

Out of love, I courageously dissolved my thriving studio to become a stay-at-home spouse.

Only when I became pregnant this year did relations with Archie's family improve, allowing us to plan a wedding.

Every woman dreams of her own wedding.

After seven long years, I thought I was finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.

But just as my long-awaited dream was within reach, it shattered.

I should have realized seven years ago that Archie and I were never meant to be.

In the end, I returned to my once lonely home.

I remember leaving it full of hope that someone would finally accompany me through the long nights.

Yet, after all the twists and turns, here I am, alone once more.