After that final encounter, Ethan never appeared before me again. I heard he left the city and went back to his hometown with his mother. No company, no house, and a bleak future. He and his mother had to start from scratch, living amidst the scorn and criticism of relatives and neighbors. It was a bitter but absolutely deserved end for what they had done.
As for me, after such a major blow, I didn’t rush into a new relationship. I took time for myself to heal my internal wounds. The spacious penthouse, which held both happiness and tragedy, became my serene space to find my footing again. I sold half of the expensive but cold furniture and filled the space with green plants and works of art. I made it a real home, my own space.
My father, after teaching his treacherous son-in-law a lesson, no longer pressured me to join the family business.
“Sweetheart,” he told me, “You’ve been through enough storms. Now do what you truly love. Dad will always be here to support you.”
And so I returned to my passion, architecture. But this time, I didn’t work for a large corporation. I started my own small design studio specializing in social impact projects, building homes for the underprivileged, designing schools for children in rural areas, creating green buildings. I wanted to use my talent not just to build impersonal structures, but to create value for society.
The intense work and travel to new places helped me gradually forget the sad past. I met many people, saw different ways of life. I realized that as great as my pain was, it was small compared to other misfortunes in the world. It made me stronger and more compassionate.
A few years later, when my design studio was somewhat established, I happened to run into Mark, a friend from college. He was also an architect, and we shared the same ideals and passions. We talked a lot about work and life. With him, I found the empathy and understanding I never had with Ethan. Love knocked on my door again, very gently and naturally, without any calculation.
When I decided to get married again, my father asked me, “Are you sure this time?”
I smiled and nodded.
“Yes, Dad. I’m sure. He’s not wealthy like Ethan, nor does he have a guaranteed brilliant future, but he has a sincere heart, and for me, that’s now more valuable than anything else.”
My second wedding wasn’t lavish. We invited only family and our closest friends for a small, warm gathering. Instead of an expensive wedding dress, I wore one I designed myself. It was simple, but it held all my love and hope for a normal, peaceful happiness.
My story had come to an end, a journey from the pinnacle of happiness to the abyss of betrayal and back up again to stand on my own two feet and find a new peace. It taught me an unforgettable lesson about faith and human values. Love is beautiful, but one should never love blindly. Sacrificing for the one you love is good, but you should never sacrifice your pride and self-worth. And most importantly, never judge a person solely by their sweet words or dazzling appearance. You must watch their actions, especially how they act in your most difficult and trying times. Only after going through a storm can you tell which is a sturdy tree and which is a rotten branch ready to break at any moment. True happiness isn’t an immense fortune or a guaranteed future. Sometimes happiness is inner peace, being true to yourself and standing beside someone who values you even when you have nothing at
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