Treasured

I gave up a vast fortune to be with my boyfriend Terrence. In our poorest days, we didn't even have a single grain of rice at home. Terrence went out to fight in underground rings, never surrendering once even when he was beaten black and blue. With his blood and sweat, he paved the path to our future brick by brick. In the present, his name was uttered with an undeniable tone of respect, while I was known far and wide as his missus, the woman he treasured above anyone or anything. One year, when I left the country because of a family emergency, I learned that he even started seeing a therapist due to separation anxiety. Everyone said that Terrence loved me more than life itself, and I had believed it too, wholeheartedly. Until I stood on our balcony, watching him tightly embracing another woman in the villa next door. "Even though Tanya is back, the very thought of losing you makes me lose control… I can't live without you, Mia… "If any other men ever appear by your side, I might just end up killing them…" His voice was a low rumble, tinged with a sort of unconscious madness. "B-But what about your wife? Didn't you say that she means more to you than your own life?" "Well, we just have to keep this hidden better, don't we? I want to always be with you…" My hand trembled, and I accidentally cut my hand with the fruit knife I was holding, but I felt no pain at all. To think that just one year apart was enough to shatter thirty years of love and mutual support… With trembling hands, I picked up my phone and called my mother. "Mom, I'm feeling homesick… Can you get me a new identity and a one-way ticket out of the country?"

On Christmas Eve, my father got the man I had secretly loved for ten years drunk and sent him to my bed. When I woke up the next morning, Roy pulled away from my attempt at a good-morning kiss. His voice was cold and distant as he agreed to marry me. After the wedding, Roy wasted no time submitting a transfer request. He took an overseas post and left. He did not return for five years. I gave birth to our daughter, Eve, alone and waited for him to come back home. When I heard that Roy had finally applied to return to a domestic position, I was overjoyed. I spent days preparing, imagining our first reunion as husband and wife. But even when the clock struck midnight, he still hadn't come home. Our daughter, ever so thoughtful, placed her most treasured possession—a photograph of Roy—into my hands. "Don't cry, Mommy," she said softly. "Look, Daddy's right here." I tried to convince myself that his absence was due to a delayed flight. But later that night, while watching the news, I saw him. He was on a crowded city street, holding a young girl in his arms. Beside him stood a woman, her smile soft and warm. Facing the camera, Roy said, "Being with them is my greatest wish." At that moment, something inside me broke. I wrote up the divorce papers, packed our things, and planned to take Eve to change her identity. I didn't want him anymore. The day before we left, a man I had never met came to see me. He was Roy's father. "You could call me Dad," he said, a faint smile playing on his lips. "But I'd rather you call me Ryan." I told him everything about the past five years—how I had waited, how I had hoped. When I finished, he laughed softly, an unusual warmth in his voice. "If it was just business," he said, "perhaps your father should have tied a bow around me and sent me to your bed instead. But I hold my liquor well—if I ever end up wrapped in a bow, you can be sure it's by choice."

I gave up on my inheritance right during the time my love for Matteo Rossini ran the deepest. When I was about to leave, Papa looked at me before saying lightly, "I bet that you'll come home in three years." Back then, I didn't take his words to heart. After spending three years overcoming life's hurdles with Matteo, he finally becomes the Don of his family. On the day the inheritance party is to be held, I decide to wear a dress that I've treasured for a very long time but never had the heart to wear. But the moment I walk into the banquet hall, I see Matteo holding hands with a radiant young woman. She's Isabella Ginevra, a popular socialite in the elite society. Isabella flits among the guests charismatically, as though she were the lady of the house. She's capable of engaging in any conversational topic, be it finance strategies or channels to obtain firearms. I try to participate in a conversation, only for Isabella to cut me off with a titter. "I thought you've been spending the past few years being cooped up indoors. It turns out that you know a thing or two about these topics, huh?" Everyone around us falls silent for a brief moment. My expression freezes on my face. Then, I turn to look at Matteo subconsciously. But he doesn't even bother looking my way. Instead, he merely says softly, "We're talking business here, Bianca. You should sit with the other ladies." I clench my fists instantly. But in the end, I opt to not say anything and just walk away. Through the throngs of the guests, I can see Matteo and Isabella chatting animatedly with each other in low tones. For once, Matteo looks relaxed and at ease—an expression that I haven't seen for a long time. Suddenly, I hear a guest remarking, "If someone like Ms. Ginevra were to become the Donna, she'd be of great help to the Don." A chorus of agreements ring out around him. Matteo just smiles in return, though he doesn't deny that remark. In fact, he even toasts to Isabella and drinks to her in front of everyone. That's when I draw to my feet and walk over to snatch the glass out of his hand. "I think so too. In that case, she can have the position as the Donna, then."