Because I was pregnant with Peter's child, his mother agreed to let me stay, for now. The condition was that after the child was born, she would take over the child's upbringing.

Peter also promised me that once he regained full control of the Griffin Group, he would marry me. I didn't know how he communicated this to Claire, but she surprisingly accepted my presence.

However, after the child was born, I finally understood what Mrs. Griffin meant by 'taking over the child's upbringing', it meant completely stripping me of my rights as a mother.

She took the child away, leaving me, weak and exhausted after giving birth. I still vividly remember the cruel words she said as she left, "You're lucky to have borne Peter's child, it's a fortune you've accumulated over your lifetimes. But I can't allow a Griffin Family child to live with a useless and worthless mother like you. Every word and action of yours disgraces the Griffin Family's bloodline."

From that day on, I was only allowed to visit my child at the Griffin Manor on the fifteenth of each month, while Claire could see him anytime.

I fought with Peter, argued and asked him when he would return our child to me.

But at that time, he was too overwhelmed with the company to pay much attention to me. He grew increasingly impatient with me.

He blamed me for not understanding him, I blamed him for not standing up to his mother. The tenderness and love we once shared had turned into poisoned arrows that we shot at each other, one after the other.

I couldn't bear the torment of being separated from my child. On one of my visits, I seized the opportunity when no one was paying attention and took my son, Joshua, trying to escape to the train station.

I knew no one could help me anymore. I had to rely on myself. I needed to leave this place, to leave Peter. But before I reached the train station, I was intercepted. The Griffin Family's butler came and took Joshua away again.

Peter, filled with rage, dragged me out of the taxi and slapped me hard across the face.

"Handling the company's affairs has already drained me. Can't you be more sensible and stop causing me more trouble?" he shouted at me. "I promised I'd marry you. Can't you wait? Do you really have to pull stunts like this to force my hand?" he continued.

But I had never once pushed him to marry me. It was after that incident that he confiscated my ID card and refused to give it back, no matter what I said.

He probably realized deep down that he owed me, that I truly wanted to leave, but he just couldn't admit it to himself.

Later, whenever I tried to replace my ID card, he would seize it again. Once, he even told the office staff, in front of me, that he'd keep my ID safe and that I wouldn't need to apply for another one in the future.

I developed severe depression and separation anxiety, often relying on medication to keep myself stable. The doctor suggested I get a pet, so I bought Timmy that very day.

The sound of water from the bathroom stopped. I turned and headed to the guest room. Alas, I still couldn't get my ID back.

He thought that by holding onto my ID, I have nowhere to go. But this time, I wouldn't let that stopped me.

Over the years, I had sold off all the jewelry, designer clothes and handbags Peter had given me, making quite a bit of money.

I used the money to buy a small farmhouse in the countryside, only providing my ID number when signing the contract.

Once Peter closed the bedroom door, I packed a half-filled suitcase, picked up Timmy and left the house. When you stop loving someone, nothing else matters anymore.

I hoped that my departure would finally put an end to these ten wasted years, allowing both of us to return to our separate lives. It would be better for him and for me.

The two weeks I spent living in the farmhouse with Timmy were some of the most peaceful and free days I'd had in years. The neighbors were incredibly friendly, going out of their way to take care of me, the newcomer. They delivered baskets of fruits and vegetables to my home, refusing to take any money in return.

Letting go of everything lifted a great weight off my chest. My mood improved, my health followed suit and I didn't need to rely on medication as frequently anymore.

One morning after breakfast, I was lounging under the grapevine in the courtyard with Timmy in my lap, scrolling through short videos to pass the time.

The top trending video was a live broadcast of Peter and Claire's grand and lavish wedding. The sunlight bathed the green lawn, casting a warm glow over their love, as if blessing their union. The gentle waves in the distance lapped at the shore, playing a beautiful melody for their vows.

The couple, hand in hand, walked down the long red carpet, beaming with joy, basking in the well-wishes of the guests.

Their striking looks made them a picture-perfect couple, even by the entertainment industry's standards, where beauty abounds. Onlookers couldn't help but praise them as a match made in heaven.

A private helicopter hovered above, scattering rose petals, symbols of love, while thousands of white doves soared into the sky as they exchanged rings.

The comment section erupted with wave after wave of awe and admiration. The atmosphere reached its peak when Claire boldly announced that she was four months pregnant.

On screen, a flicker of panic and shock crossed Peter's face, his fingers trembling slightly.

My heart, long thought to be cold and still, was unexpectedly pricked with pain, not for Peter, but for the child I'd lost before it ever had a chance to live.

I never expected Peter would find me. Three days after his wedding, at dusk, I returned home from a walk with Timmy, only to see him standing stiffly at the entrance of my courtyard.

His face lit up with a smile I once knew so well, as if he had transformed back into the boy who had loved me deeply.

He ran toward me, enveloping me in a tight embrace, as though he wanted to merge me into his being. Overwhelmed with emotion, he said, "Hillary, everything's been taken care of. We can finally get married!"