Chapter 3: Lost Years, Bitter Truths

After that night, I never saw Autumn again.

The house felt emptier, colder. I waited for her return, but the days stretched into weeks, then months.

I propped my head, watching robins and sparrows whirl under the maples. My wild goose never came home.

I watched the world go by, hoping for a sign. But there was nothing—just silence.

I waited a long time.

The seasons changed, but Autumn never came back. I began to lose hope.

Autumn’s room gathered dust, the candies in the box rotted.

The air grew stale, the memories fading. I clung to what little I had left.

The madam sent people to clean her room, even taking away her old things.

They packed up her belongings, tossing them into boxes. It felt like erasing her from the world.

I stood helplessly in the empty room.

I wanted to scream, to fight, but I was powerless.

Sometimes I sat on the roof, watching the busy street below.

The world moved on, indifferent to my pain. I felt invisible, forgotten.

There was no place for Autumn.

She was gone, and I was alone.

Day after day, moon waxing and waning.

Time lost all meaning. I counted the days, hoping for a miracle.

Savannah Lane never returned to the house. I once feared Caleb had taken her, but tied to the house, I could do nothing.

I imagined all the terrible things that could have happened. The fear ate away at me, day by day.

I waited hopelessly in this small room, year after year.

The years passed, but nothing changed. I was stuck, trapped in a cycle of waiting and regret.

So many years, and she never returned once.

I almost forgot what hope felt like.

What had she gone through? I was troubled. Doubt rooted in my heart; I couldn’t escape the anxiety and worry after Autumn disappeared.

I replayed every memory, searching for answers. But there were none.

Autumn, will she never return?

I asked the question every night, but the answer was always silence.

But instinct told me, no.

Somewhere deep inside, I believed she was still out there, fighting to come back.

Autumn wouldn’t give up the house she just revived, nor me.

She was too stubborn, too brave. I clung to that hope, even when it hurt.

Finally, one old housekeeper pushed open the room door on a rainy night.

The sound of rain on the roof was soothing, a reminder that life goes on.

Her mournful voice echoed in the creaking boards.

She moved slowly, her footsteps heavy. The past weighed on her, too.

“The lady told me to pack old things for the little boy’s first birthday. But there’s nothing here.”

Her words caught me off guard. A little boy? I wondered what she meant.

She looked around, covering her nose in disgust.

The room smelled of dust and decay. She wrinkled her nose, muttering under her breath.

“Such a musty smell.”

She opened the window, letting in a rush of cool air. It made the room feel less suffocating.

Hearing her, I sobered up.

I realized this was my chance—maybe my only chance.

Who is the lady? Is it Autumn?

I hoped, prayed it was her. My heart pounded in my chest.

I didn’t know, but this old housekeeper was my only chance. She smelled like the perfume Autumn used to wear.

The scent brought back memories, sharp and sweet. I followed her, hoping for a sign.

The old housekeeper picked up the candy box, squinting at it for a long time.

She turned it over in her hands, frowning. I held my breath, waiting.

“Just a broken box, why does the lady care so much? Never mind, the girl is favored, just take it back.”

She tucked the box under her arm, shaking her head. I clung to it, desperate not to be left behind.

This was my chance. I quickly attached myself to the candy box.

I focused all my energy, willing myself to stay with the box. It worked—I felt myself being carried away.

The old housekeeper carried the box onto the pickup truck.

The engine rumbled to life, and we drove through the rain-soaked streets. I watched the world blur by, hope flickering in my chest.

I followed the swaying truck all the way to Caleb’s house.

The house loomed in the distance, imposing and cold. I braced myself for what was to come.

The moment I saw Autumn, my tears almost fell.

She looked so different—pale, thin, her eyes hollow. But it was her, and that was all that mattered.

She clutched the candy box, her hands trembling. Her face was pale and thin. All the vitality was gone from her eyes. Only desperate pleading remained.

She took the candy box from the old housekeeper, staring at the back of the box.

Her fingers traced the worn edges, her eyes filling with tears.

“Autumn?” She almost whispered.

Her voice was so soft, I barely heard it. But I knew she was calling for me.

I choked with tears, “It’s me.”

I wanted to shout, to make her hear me. But all I could do was whisper, hoping she’d feel my presence.

The old housekeeper glanced at Savannah Lane with disdain: “Is the lady muddled by old things? Even if you’re not yourself, think—the little boy doesn’t need a crazy mother.”

Her words were cruel, but Autumn ignored her. She was lost in her own world, searching for something only she could see.

So much information, I couldn’t process it.

My mind raced, trying to make sense of it all. A little boy? A wedding? I was overwhelmed.

I could only look at Savannah: “You have… a child? What happened in these three years?”

I needed answers, but I was afraid to hear them.

She lowered her head, veins bulging, but her face was full of pain.

She looked so tired, so defeated. My heart broke for her.

Only the old housekeeper kept nagging: “In a few days is your wedding ceremony, the etiquette coach will come. Also, you’d better persuade the house girls to join the sheriff. The sheriff has been troubled by these things for years.”

The housekeeper’s voice was sharp, her words cutting. I wanted to tell her to leave us alone, but I couldn’t.

She added: “Since the little boy has nursed here this morning, no need to trouble you. I brought a nanny to take the little boy.”

She bustled around the room, ignoring Autumn’s pain. I wanted to scream at her, to make her see what she was doing.

Savannah staggered, watching her child taken away, reaching out but grabbing nothing.

She collapsed onto the bed, her body wracked with sobs. I wanted to hold her, to make it all better.

The front door closed again.

The sound echoed through the house, final and unforgiving.

I saw Autumn collapse, and cried too.

I pressed my face to the glass, tears streaming down my cheeks. I hated feeling so helpless.

“Why did you have to do this? Didn’t you say you wanted to make a career? How did you end up in Caleb’s house?”

My voice was full of anger and confusion. I wanted to understand, but I was afraid of the answer.

Her beautiful eyes now only had darkness, no light.

She stared at the ceiling, her eyes empty. It was like the light had gone out inside her.

“Do you know how I’ve lived these years?”

Her voice was barely a whisper, full of pain and regret. I wanted to tell her it wasn’t her fault, but the words wouldn’t come.

I shook my head, not daring or willing to tear open her wounds.

I sat in silence, waiting for her to speak.

I thought, these years must have been extremely hard for her.

I tried to imagine what she’d been through, but I knew I couldn’t.

Autumn said she was abducted.

Her words sent a chill down my spine. I wanted to scream, to fight, but I was powerless.

A small car brought her into Caleb’s house, and she never got out.

She described the ride in detail—the way the windows were covered, the way the doors locked from the outside. She was a prisoner, trapped in a gilded cage.

The crimson curtains blinded her, searing pain invaded her body.

She shuddered as she spoke, her voice breaking. I wanted to hold her, to make it all go away.

She couldn’t tell if it was bugs or rats on her; in the pain she heard gnawing sounds.

The memories haunted her, even in sleep. She woke up screaming, drenched in sweat.

It was assault, not pleasure.

Her words were blunt, matter-of-fact. She didn’t want pity, just understanding.

She said, day after day she stared at the window, always wishing I was there.

She longed for a friendly face, for someone to remind her she wasn’t alone.

But we both knew, I had no way, nor did she.

We were both trapped, in different ways.

I looked at her, tears falling: “How much have you suffered…”

I wanted to take her pain away, but I couldn’t. All I could do was listen.

Forced, humiliated.

She’d endured things no one should ever have to endure. My heart ached for her.

Gave birth to a child, even… had to be a lowly mistress.

She carried the weight of two worlds on her shoulders, and it was too much for anyone.

I dared not imagine if she ever cried on her pillow at night, or resented me.

I hoped she didn’t blame me, but I wouldn’t have blamed her if she did.

She bore what was never meant for her.

She was stronger than anyone I’d ever known. I thought of all the times I’d felt weak, and I wondered if I could have survived what she did.

Autumn looked at me with teary eyes: “Xander, Xander, I didn’t want to give birth to his child. But there was no way, all the medicine and soup was poured out by the house. And he was innocent.”

Her voice broke on the last word. I wanted to comfort her, to tell her it wasn’t her fault.

I touched her hair, cold to the touch.

I ran my fingers through her hair, hoping she’d feel the love behind the gesture.

“Autumn, now that I’m here, I’ll stay with you. I won’t let you be alone again.”

I promised her, and I meant it. I’d never leave her, not again.

I put my hand on hers.

Our fingers overlapped, the contact more real than anything I’d felt in years.

“Trust me, Autumn.”

I looked into her eyes, willing her to believe me.

I coldly watched Autumn’s room pasted with red paper cuttings.

The decorations were meant to be festive. Instead, they mocked us. Too bright. Too harsh.

Festive colors, but they felt icy cold.

The room felt like a tomb, the air thick with sorrow.

The old housekeeper brought etiquette coaches to teach Autumn the rules.

They marched in, their faces stern, their voices sharp. I wanted to throw them out, but I couldn’t.

The house’s rules were like a cage, pulling decent people out and forcing them to struggle in narrow cracks.

The lessons were endless, the rules arbitrary. Autumn bore it all in silence, her spirit slowly breaking.

Those coaches were never kind, always picking on Autumn.

They criticized everything she did, never satisfied. I wanted to scream at them, but I held my tongue.

Her gray face grew more embarrassed.

She kept her head down, her cheeks flushed with shame. I wished I could make it stop.

“When serving coffee to the main wife, the cup must be higher than the forehead,” the coach lectured. “Though the mistress comes from a humble background, she mustn’t forget the rules.”

The words were cruel, designed to humiliate. I wanted to throw the cup in her face, but I stayed silent.

I was furious; even an ordinary girl shouldn’t be humiliated like this.

I clenched my fists, fighting the urge to intervene.

Autumn lowered her eyes, the last of her self-respect worn away.

She looked so small, so defeated. My heart broke for her.

After the coaches left, I said to Autumn: “I’ll find a way to get you out.”

My voice was full of determination. I wouldn’t let her suffer any longer.

Autumn hid the token in her makeup box, voice trembling: “If you can help me, scatter the house girls. I have no way to protect myself, nor can I save them.”

Her words were desperate, pleading. I promised her I’d do whatever it took.

“He’s coming soon, don’t let him see you.” She said low, almost begging, “At least in front of you, I’m still a real person. I don’t want… I really don’t want to lose my last shred of dignity.”

Her voice broke on the last word. I nodded, understanding without words.

I nodded, hiding outside by the apple tree.

I pressed my back to the trunk, listening to the rain patter on the leaves. I prayed for a miracle.

I couldn’t bear to hear rain on the apple tree, nor see flowers broken in the ashes.

The world felt gray, colorless. I longed for spring, for hope.

But that broken branch could never return to the earth.

Some things, once lost, can never be regained.

The night before Caleb’s proposal, a riot broke out in the city, and Caleb was ordered to suppress it.