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Prologue

*splash* *splash*

????: Running through the misty, wet swamp

I could feel my feet go numb.

Countless thorns stuck in my feet felt like thousands of meat ants crawling in my body.

I fled past trees, snakes, birds at an inhuman speed, it all felt like a dream, so

unreal

[. . . . . .....

...]

Nine months ago . . .

My sister and I were on our way to our rooms when I heard my parents discuss something in a hushed voice.

"Dear, it's very important, with this wealth, I can start a new business that would greatly improve our condition."

"..."

"I also know a person who will help me with this. If needed he will even provide me with money. All I have to do is invest in the business.

Soooooo"

"Well, if you say so, I can give my father's fields but that is all I have..."

"Thank youuuu"

[Five months later..]

*knock* *knock*

There was someone at the door, mother

hoping that it was father, who went to London for business, has returned,

quickly opened the door, only to find....

"ma'am, your parcel."

It was postman who brought an anonymous parcel.

Mother confusingly opened the parcel.

It had a letter and some documents.

When she opened the letter, her eyes widened, droplets appeared from its sides.

She quickly took out the documents from the box, it seemed like something legal.

She was shaking while holding those documents and then she suddenly collapsed on the ground.

I ran to support as fast as I could. After

I felt her pulse I could finally breathe in relief. She was just unconscious.

But, it felt suspicious,

why would a person suddenly collapse after seeing some documents?

So, I opened the letter to read. It said-----

" I am not going to return. I have found someone who can keep me happier than you and can make me rich.

You and your cubs are now of no use to me.

So, don't come to me, sniffing.

Sam"

...

it was from my father. I couldn't believe that he wrote such an outrageous letter.

I quickly took those papers from my unconscious mother's hands

Those were divorce papers.

.....

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