He never believed that I loved him. Over the years, I've tried countless times to marry him, but he always rejected me.

I didn't even have the chance to explain myself; I could only helplessly write “I love you” over and over again.

When others mocked and doubted me, Nathan never cared. He even indulged their gossip.

As the phone screen dimmed, I remained standing there, lost in thought.

If he didn't believe me, then why did he choose me?

I didn't know where to go, and when my thoughts returned, my soul was already floating at the entrance of the villa.

Before I even got close, I saw a vast sea of golden flowers—sunflowers everywhere.

On the way here, I'd heard many things about Nathan.

They said he had been looking for me all these years, trying to mend our relationship.

Everyone thought I was ungrateful, saying I was cold and heartless.

If I truly loved him, why did I disappear for a year, never giving Nathan a chance to change?

But they didn't know that I had waited for Nathan for seven years—I loved him for seven years.

Nathan said I liked sunflowers, so the media eagerly reported that he planted a field of sunflowers for me.

This deep expression of affection actually revealed a false sense of camaraderie.

I don't like sunflowers; the last gift I left was that field of sunflowers.

Even the flower's language, "silent love", was repeatedly mentioned, forced onto Nathan.

His influence was too powerful, and naturally, no one cared about the small patch of flowers in the backyard that truly belonged to me.

Returning here after a year, I only felt lost.

My hands passed through the glass door, and the lightweight feeling of my body reminded me once again of the reality of my death.

I saw the many picture frames hanging on the living room walls, each containing the love letters I had written.

That was when Nathan first doubted me.

He didn't believe in love; his friends looked down on me, a mute.

They jokingly asked if I was with Nathan for money, their tones frivolous.

I blushed and frantically tried to explain in sign language, forgetting that these young masters didn't understand sign language.

Nathan never said a word; he just stood there, watching the farce with a cold expression.

To prove myself, I wrote many love letters, detailing my affection word by word.

Those letters were later thrown to the ground during our arguments and dismissed by Nathan as trash.

He said he didn't believe in those insincere words and mocked my lack of sincerity.

I cried as I picked up those scattered papers, unable to utter a sound.

But now, atop those love letters, there were red markings.

Every word I had written had a response below it—Nathan's belated confession.

It turns out, he always knew I was telling the truth and he had always been following my actions.

But Nathan repeatedly pushed me away for his ridiculous pride.

He denied me over and over again, saying hurtful things, yet begged me to come back each time.

Because of Nathan's attitude, everyone around him looked down on me.

They all thought I was pestering him relentlessly, unaware that Nathan and I were each other's salvation.

I liked the handsome boy in school, and he liked having me by his side.

He always confided in me, stood up for me, unwilling to let me suffer.

Nathan once learned sign language for me, but over time, he simply forgot.

All those beautiful memories, discarded halfway through.

The house was familiar, but my memories of it were incredibly distant.

During the year I was trapped there, I barely saw the sun. It was always pitch black, impossible to see my hand in front of me.

When I finally groped my way to the study, the first thing I saw was the unfamiliar face of Nathan.

His desk was crowded with books, all on sign language instruction.

After my death, Nathan had finally begun the long-delayed task of learning my language.

He started to investigate the things he had previously ignored, things deemed unworthy of mention and thrown into the corner.

Like the paper stars, each of which held a message I wanted to tell him.

Or the clothes I sewed for him, stitches clumsily made after pricking my fingers multiple times.

"The ten fingers are connected to the heart," I had felt the pain acutely, deeply hoping Nathan might change his view of me.

But in the end, he only looked at them with disdain before tossing them into his closet, never to be seen again, never even tried on.

At this moment, Nathan's well-defined fingers were holding fabric, unsure of what to do next.

The pampered young master finally bowed his head, trying to please his beloved, merely to soothe his faint guilt.

But Nathan only understood my past self; he had no idea that I no longer liked the plain white, nor did he know my changed measurements.

Nathan had once held me close, lamenting my frailty and swearing to fatten me up and keep me healthy.

But later, Nathan seemed indifferent to my skeletal frame, ignoring the doctors' subtle hints that my condition was not good.

"Did I mistreat you? Why did you let yourself become like this? For what reason?"

He neither cared nor knew.

Didn't know about the mental abuse from his friends that kept me sleepless and anxious.

Didn't notice the housekeeper’s mistreatment, always skimping on the groceries.

He only saw the surface, that he had given me plenty, materially I was comfortable.

Nathan never cared about my feelings, just that I hadn't endured real suffering.

The day we went to the mountains was meant to mend our relationship.

Nathan’s visits became more infrequent, and our silences grew.

When the accident happened, Nathan didn't even have time to react.

Due to a congenital condition, I was always more sensitive to my surroundings.

In the end, I resolutely pushed Nathan away.

He left just like that, not glancing back at me.

I hoped he would return with a rescue party, fantasized about him saving me like a hero from a storybook.

I don't know how long I waited, still trapped in the same place, curled up in despair.

The wind roared, the cave cold and dark, driving me to madness.

It wasn't until a year after my death that someone found me.

Nathan, however, acted like nothing had happened, sitting there, steadily anticipating my return.

He didn't actively search for me. If he had even thought of me during those days, I wouldn't have died.

I was only twenty-seven, and I didn't die in the landslide, but starved to death.

No one loved me while I was alive, not even Nathan, who repeatedly doubted me.

It was only after my death that Nathan acknowledged me, preparing to repay, full of sorrow.

I suddenly wondered how Nathan reacted when he found out I had died.

During media interviews, he repeatedly talked about his plans to propose to me.

Those were things I had yearned for but never received, but now, I'll never have the chance to wear a wedding dress.

Whenever he talked to others, he said he missed me.

Yet now, standing before him, he couldn't see me anymore.

The room was silent until Nathan’s phone beside him rang abruptly.

"Hello, is this Mr. Ruthledge? We have found Madame Pemberton’s remains. Do you have time to come and claim them?"