When Ayla opened her eyes again, she was lying in a hospital bed.

A man sat at her side, silently keeping watch. She blinked a few times, trying to recognize him—but her mind came up empty.

“Baby,” he said gently, voice tight with emotion, “you’ve been through so much. It kills me to see you like this. How could they do this to you? This is my fault… I got here too late.”

Just then, the doctor entered, his expression grim. “Sir, we did everything we could. But the patient’s body was already weak, and the trauma she endured was extensive. By the time she arrived…” He hesitated. “The baby was already gone.”

Ayla’s hand moved instinctively to her stomach.

‘That tiny life—barely beginning—was gone before it ever had a chance to exist.’

The doctor left, saying Ayla had to stay in the hospital for another two days. During that time, Brynn Rafferty never once left her side. He was there through every quiet hour, every restless moment, tending to her with a steady, wordless care.

But on the third day, he finally spoke of his need to return to Bonneville. Urgent matters were waiting for him back home.

Before leaving, he gently took her hand. “You promised me you’d come back with me. Once you’ve handled everything here… call me, alright? I’ll be waiting.”

Not long after he left, another visitor appeared at her door—Bennett.

He stepped into the room, guilt written all over his face. “Hey… I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I forgot you were pregnant that day. I was just so focused on Aston. I should’ve protected you—protected our child. It’s my fault.”

He moved to sit beside her, lowering his voice. “But… what’s done is done. We’re still young. We can have another baby, right? Aston’s still little. He needs all our love. He needs a complete family.”

Ayla let out a cold, self-mocking laugh.

‘Of course. One child—Aston—is enough for him. Why did it take me so long to see it?’

Her mind drifted back to her last miscarriage, a memory she had buried deep. At the time, she’d dismissed what she heard as a fevered hallucination—an illusion brought on by pain and blood loss.

But now, the truth was horrifyingly clear.

That day, Aston had spilled oil on the stairs. She’d slipped—tumbled down from the third floor. In the blur of agony, she’d vaguely heard the doctor speaking over the phone.

In a haze of pain, she had vaguely heard the doctor speak carefully into the phone. “Sir, she suffered emotional trauma and is showing signs of a threatened miscarriage. We can…”

“Let it happen,” Bennett cut in, his voice unmistakable through the speaker.

The doctor hesitated. “She is already physically fragile, sir. If she loses her baby this time, future pregnancies may be extremely difficult.”

There was a pause. Then Bennett gave his answer, certain and final.

“One child is enough. I have Aston. As for Ayla… I believe she’ll understand.”

Even now, the memory cut like a blade. She could still feel the sting of the surgical instruments, the sharp, twisting pain in her abdomen—the brutal moment when life was torn from her body.

Beside her, Bennett gently reached for her hand. “Ayla, I know I made a terrible mistake. But once you’re better, we can try again. We’ll have a child of our own—”

“Bennett,” she interrupted, her voice flat and hollow. “You should go.”

He paused, uncertain. “Ayla, I know you’re hurting, but—”

“I said enough.” Her voice turned cold, slicing through his words like ice. There was no room left for discussion.

‘Why is he still here,’ she thought bitterly, ‘pretending to care?’

Before he could say another word, the door swung open.

Vayda stepped inside, her voice bright and breezy. “Bennett! Aston just woke up—he’s crying and calling for you!”

Then her gaze fell on Ayla. Her expression faltered, softening into a mask of concern. “Oh… what happened to her? Anyway, since you’re busy, I’ll go explain things to Aston.”

Bennett froze, caught between the two women.

A long, awkward silence stretched between them—until at last, he stood up.

Turning to Ayla, Bennett spoke gently, almost pleading. “Ayla, Aston needs me right now… Wait for me here, okay? Just a little while.”

But the moment he walked out, Ayla quietly requested her discharge papers.

Shortly after, a message came in from Brynn—her identity nullification had been successfully processed.

‘It’s time to leave.’

As she passed by one particular hospital room on her way out, laughter spilled from behind the closed door—cheerful, familiar, and sweet. Bennett’s voice. Vayda’s laughter. Aston’s giggles.

‘A happy family,’ she thought. ‘That kind of warmth… It’s been so long since I felt anything like that.’

Back at the villa, she packed with determination. The gifts Bennett had given her over the years—some extravagant, others simple and thoughtful—were all tucked away in storage boxes and left in the basement.

She didn’t take a single one with her.

As she folded the last of her clothes into a suitcase, her phone buzzed again.

It was a message from Vayda.

Attached was a photo—a polished, beaming family portrait of the three of them: Vayda, Bennett, and Aston, all smiling under perfect light.

A voice message followed. It was the photographer gushing about how perfect they looked together.

Ayla scrolled through it all lazily. Next, she blocked both Vayda and Bennett.

But she wasn’t leaving quietly. She carefully prepared three gifts—her final acts of love to Bennett.

Fifteen years—that’s how long she had known him.

‘It’s time to end it,’ she decided.

Outside, the honk of a car broke the stillness.

For the last time, she glanced around the house she’d called home for over a decade.

With her suitcase rolling behind her, she stepped through the door.

As the car pulled away, the villa slowly vanished from sight, swallowed by distance. Leanin lightly against the window, Ayla let the breeze graze her face, breathing in the unfamiliar calm that settled over her.

‘From this moment on,’ she promised herself, ‘no matter how high the mountains or how long the road, I’ll keep moving forward—for me. From now on… I don’t know any man named Bennett.’