On the day Anne Wilson returned, she cried for a long time in front of my door.

“Mom, why did you give my room to her?”

“Make her leave. I want my room back.”

Mom was too busy wiping away Anne Wilson’s tears to even glance at me.

“Anne, this will always be your room. I’ll clean it up right away.”

I stood aside, listening to the whispers of the servants.

Anne Wilson, wiping her tears and forcing a smile, suddenly said,

“Mom, I don’t want to see her.”

“Whenever she’s around, I feel like I’m not your child anymore.”

“Now that you have your child, you don’t love me...