4: Not A Dream

Melda and Jovas widened their eyes at Danice's words.

The police officers were also stunned—they had assumed Danice couldn’t speak because she had remained quiet the entire time.

Melda, in shock, impulsively struck Danice’s shoulder hard.

“What are you saying, you bitch?! Do you want to drain our savings?! Have you gone mad?!”

Jovas noticed the grim expression on the police officer’s face and quickly pulled his wife back.

“M-Melda… stop… not now.” He turned to Danice with a smile. “Danice, you must be in a lot of pain, which is why you're muddle-headed. But it'll go away after some rest at home. You can use Christopher’s room. We’ll have your brother stay with us for a while while you recover.”

“What?! Dear, how can we fit in that small bed? And our son is big! That room will be crowded! And our son won't accept this!” Melda complained.

“Shut up! Do you want Danice to stay in that old shack instead? She asked to stay there when she was young, and we gave in. But now that she’s older and sick, she has to take that room.”

Jovas turned back to Danice with a kinder tone. “You like that room, right? It has a big window and a nice bed. That will be your room from now on. You won't have to worry about anything. You will just focus on getting better."

Danice listened to his nonsense, feeling incredulous.

That old shack… she had never asked for it. But for as long as she could remember, it had been her "home" for eighteen years. Even during storms and floods—when the floor was soaked and the roof nearly torn off—they never once invited her to sleep inside the main house. Not even for a single night of rest.

She wasn’t even allowed to sit at the same table with them for meals.

She was only called when there was work to do—cleaning, doing the laundry, and acting as their maid for everything.

And she had thought that was normal. After all, she believed she was indebted to them.

Danice looked down at her bandaged feet.

What had she said back then?

Because she had been too controlled by this couple, when they told her to lie to the police, she obeyed. She bore the pain and left the hospital just like they wanted.

And her hellish life had continued like that.

But… in this dream… she could do whatever she wanted, right?

She could be bold, speak for herself, and be angry like normal people.

Danice lifted her head and looked straight into Jovas’s eyes.

“I don’t like that room. That place is filled with painful memories. Your pig-headed son forced me into it many times just to insult me, beat me, and almost violate me. I would even prefer the old shack over that room.”

Jovas and Melda’s eyes widened in disbelief, stunned by the smooth, direct words that came out of her mouth.

But she wasn’t done.

Despite her hoarse voice from not speaking for so long, she went on.

“And when did I ever ask to live in that shack? Even animals would complain about living there.”

Danice turned to the police officers, who were as dumbfounded as the Zagar couple.

“Would real parents treat their child like that? I think you can piece it together yourselves, officers. I’m not their child. These people are worse than child trafficker."

A deafening silence followed.

In the hallway, all four pairs of eyes stared at Danice in disbelief—though for different reasons.

The Zagar couple never expected—even in their dreams—that Danice would speak out against them like that, or expose the truth in front of the police!

And the police officers were stunned at how much the young girl had endured living under these people.

“I knew it. She was so thin I could carry her with one arm. Even prisoners live in better conditions than where she was forced to stay. And those bruises on her body—were they from you two?! What kind of parents would do that to a child?!”

The policewoman spat the next words with disgust.

“Even if you were her parents, you still deserve to rot in jail.” She snapped open her handcuffs. “You’re both under arrest for child abuse, maltreatment, and custodial interference. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

The policewoman handcuffed Jovas while her partner restrained Melda.

“Th-this is wrong! We’re being falsely accused! We want a lawyer—a lawyer!”

“Where are you taking us?! My son is still back at home! He’ll get hungry and cry if we don’t go home on time!”

The police officers ignored their complaints and turned to Danice. “We’ll handle the rest from here. Please go inside and wait for us—we’ll take your full testimony shortly. Can you do that?” the policewoman asked gently, her voice warm and kind.

Danice was stunned. This sudden kindness made her unsure of how to respond.

But... this was a dream, wasn’t it?

She could do whatever she wanted.

She could speak up. Fight back. Curse those who hurt her. Thank the ones who helped her.

All the things she hadn’t had the courage to do in the past—here, they were finally possible.

Danice smiled.

Her sunken cheeks lifted, and her dry lips cracked, causing them to bleed. Her smile might’ve looked creepy, but her eyes were full of gratitude.

“Thank you, officer. For helping me... today. And back then.”

Danice remembered how this same policewoman’s gaze had lingered on her as she was being dragged away by the couple. That concerned look had silently encouraged her to speak up. To ask for help. But back then, she’d been too scared. Too spineless.

But now... she could finally let her voice be heard.

The policewoman smiled at her in return.

But when she turned back to the Zagar couple, her expression darkened. She yanked them forward without mercy.

“Let’s go to the station. Your shouting is disturbing the patients’ rest!”

.....

The sun was rising on the horizon, the birds were singing cheerfully as they welcomed the morning.

A ray of sunlight pierced through the window and fell upon a young girl sitting on the hospital bed. She was staring out the window in a daze.

Danice blinked slowly.

It was the seventh day—seven days since she had arrived in this so-called dream. But now, she had come to terms with it.

This wasn't a dream.

This was reality.

She had really gone back to the past.

Danice slowly stood and limped toward the comfort room. There was a large mirror inside, and it reflected the image of the girl she had become.

A thin, fragile figure stared back at her. Her brunette hair was dry and nearly yellow from malnutrition. Her skin was rough and worn—proof of years of hard labor in the Zagar household.

But what truly stunned Danice… was her young face.

The burn scar she had seen every day for the past ten years—covering the right side of her face, her neck, and part of her arm—was gone.

Her breath caught.

Although she looked like a starved ghost, Danice wasn’t heartbroken.

Because the scar was gone.

Or rather… the incident that caused it had not yet happened.

For the past several days, Danice had half-expected to wake up and laugh off this strange dream. But she didn’t.

She never woke up.

Going back to the past was absurd and ridiculous. If she ever told someone, they’d think she’d lost her mind.

But she knew what she had lived.

She had experienced that life for eleven years.

One year in the Roan household.

Ten years as Julian’s wife.

And then, death.

The memories were still vivid—so real, so raw—that even just closing her eyes brought them flooding back. The emotions, the pain, the regrets—they lingered.

Danice looked into the mirror once more.

The dullness in her eyes slowly faded. In their place rose clarity… and determination.

The sheer will to live differently—to rewrite the tragedy of her past—burned in her heart.

“Then there’s only one conclusion,” she whispered.

“I’ve gone back to the past. Eleven years, to be exact.”

She had been given a second chance.

And this time, she wouldn't waste it.