Chapter 8

Isabella’s POV

I married Ethan a year later, and I can confidently say our marriage couldn’t have been more perfect. Ethan cherished me in every possible way.

Not long after, I became pregnant with his child.

Ten months later, our daughter was born.

Time passed, and when she turned two, I finally decided to fly back to New York with my parents.

Stepping foot in New York again felt entirely different from when I had left. Back then, I was a different person. Now, I returned with my baby girl in my arms, my loving husband by my side, and my parents standing behind me. I was changed. Stronger. Happier.

But the world is small—too small.

I hadn’t expected to cross paths with Rosa, yet there she was, selling balloons on the street.

I hesitated, not ready to acknowledge her. I just wanted to walk past before her filthy hands could touch my dress.

But she noticed me.

Her eyes widened, and in an instant, she rushed toward me, dropping to her knees, gripping the fabric of my dress.

“Isabella! Please! I have nowhere else to go!”

I looked down at her, at the woman who had once tried to steal everything from me. She was a shadow of her former self—her clothes worn, her hair unkempt, her face sunken with desperation.

Ethan gently touched my shoulder, silently asking if I wanted to entertain this moment. I shook my head slightly, then turned my attention back to Rosa.

“You had everything, Rosa. You manipulated, you schemed, and yet, you still lost.” My voice was calm, without malice. “And now you want my pity?”

Tears streamed down her face as she clung to my dress. “I was wrong. I was stupid. Vincent—he left me. He never loved me. I have nothing, Isabella. Nothing!”

I felt nothing for her. No anger. No hatred. No satisfaction. Just emptiness. Rosa had done this to herself.

I pried her fingers off my dress and took a step back. “Find your own way, Rosa. Just like I did.”

I turned and walked away, leaving her kneeling in the street, sobbing.

But as I moved forward, I felt another presence—one that made my chest tighten for a brief moment.

Vincent.

He stood across the street, leaning against his car, watching me. He looked different—colder, older, his once-proud posture weighed down by something deeper. Regret, maybe. Or loss.

Our eyes met, and for a moment, it was as if time stood still.

He didn’t move toward me. He didn’t call out my name. He simply gave me a single nod—a silent acknowledgment, a farewell.

And just like that, he turned and disappeared into the city, leaving me to my new life.

I exhaled and smiled at Ethan, who wrapped his arm around me.

The past was behind me. My future was in my hands.

And I had never felt more free.

THE END.