The Smith 's cottage was vast, but it is a pity that the population was too sparse and seems to be very cold.

Oliver's mother used to sigh, saying perhaps the ruthless methods their ancestors used to build their fortune had angered the heavens, and that's why, despite their grand family name, Oliver was the last remaining heir.

Starting with Oliver's grandfather, they had turned to charity, hoping to make up for their ancestors' wrongdoings.

I was one of the beneficiaries of the Smith family's charitable work.

Later, when I fell gravely ill, it was Oliver's mother who saved my life by donating her blood. She even took me in and cared for me.

I owed her my life, and because of that, I tried to do everything she asked of me.

But hearts cannot be won through effort alone.

I placed the flowers on Auntie's gravestone, knelt down, and bowed three times before softly speaking,

"Oliver doesn't like me. The engagement has been called off, and I'm planning to head south. Auntie, will you forgive my choice?"

In the photo frame, Oliver's mother wore a gentle smile. She was always a kind woman, and the only thing she ever asked of me was to take care of Oliver.

Oliver knew his mother's dying wish, which is why he was certain I wouldn't leave, no matter what. He felt free to unleash all his negativity in front of me.

But what he didn't know was that Auntie had a kind heart. Even though Oliver was the one she cherished the most, she couldn't bear to see my life wasted.

Before she passed, she had more to say.

"...Auntie asks you, give Oliver fifty chances. After that, you... you can embrace your freedom."

I took her words seriously, and I carefully noted each time Oliver hurt me.

Today was the fifty-first time.

So, I was free.

That night, Oliver didn't come home. I didn't bother to send a carefully worded text like I used to. Instead, I spent the entire night packing, and I sent a message to my friend Emily, who had moved south after graduation.

By six in the morning, I received her reply, filled with excitement.

"My darling, you've finally come to your senses! Come, come! I've rented a two-bedroom place. You can move right in!"

I smiled. If my twenty-two years of life had been filled with suffering, heaven had given me two sweet blessings:

Oliver's mother and Emily.

I asked Emily for her address, scheduled the earliest courier to come pick up my two boxes of belongings, and booked the next available flight.

Just after I paid for the delivery, my phone started dinging nonstop.

Mia had sent me several private messages on WhatsApp, all of them photos of her and Oliver. One was of four legs entwined together—suggestive and shameless.

My intimacy with Oliver was limited to the occasional hug or kiss on the cheek.

His attitude toward me was like a roller coaster—slow to climb but capable of plummeting in an instant.

Most of the time, Oliver wouldn't even speak to me patiently. He wouldn't let me walk beside him in public, and when he was in a bad mood, his words cut deep:

"Linda, are you a wooden doll? Who are you trying to impress with that virtuous act all day long?

"Stay away from me. It's my mom who likes you, not me, you country bumpkin."

I probably resembled more of a tag-along than a fiancée.

Another message popped up on WhatsApp—Mia had sent a 40-second voice recording.

When I pressed play, it was filled with heavy breathing, charged with passion, followed by her tearful question,

"Oliver, do you like me or Linda?"

His response, mingled with her cries, pierced through me:

"If every woman on Earth were dead, I still wouldn't look at her."

A sharp pain spread from my chest to the rest of my body.

I had thought Oliver's attitude was already bad enough, but it turns out that his bottom line can be lowered even further.

All it took was one act of defiance from me, and he found this disgusting way to disgust me.

My heart, long dead, was crushed repeatedly, yet somehow it still hurt enough to take my breath away.

I crouched on the floor, tears falling one by one.

I told myself that after this cry, I would let go for good.

This was the hardest I had ever cried since moving in here. All along, because I was living under someone else's roof, I had to be cautious, afraid that asking for too much would exhaust their kindness too soon. So I was always strong, always sensible.

I thought I'd never be able to take off this mask again.

Only now did I realize that the tough shell I wore had already been riddled with holes, and Oliver had effortlessly dealt the final blow.

Did Auntie see through my façade too? Is that why, before she passed, she finally gave me my freedom?

I didn't know, but I was truly grateful to her—for allowing me to stop living like a dog in Oliver's shadow.