Chapter 1
I come from the land of imagination, where someone tries to rewrite their life.
I come from a middle-class family where my parents died when I was only 15 years old.
I have a younger brother who is four years younger than me. My parents died in a car accident.
I remember when I was in school, sitting in my science class. Another teacher came to my classroom and told me to come outside with my bag. My neighbor had come to pick me up. I asked her what had happened, but she started crying, and my heart already felt heavy.
I knew something was wrong.
Then I found out what had happened. I saw my brother—he had blacked out after seeing our parents.
After the funeral, everyone left. That was the moment I realized what life really was. I gathered my broken heart when I saw my brother asking me if we were alone now.
After that, I decided I would never cry in front of him.
As I promised, I never cried in front of him.
I worked hard and gathered every bit of money I could to take care of my brother.
We went to live with my aunt and her husband. After two years, I moved to another city with my brother. Time flies too fast. I completed my bachelor’s degree and then enrolled in my master’s degree program. My brother is now in twelfth grade.
One time, I had to go back to my hometown. I never wanted to return there—I only went when it was necessary. I didn’t want to remember those things.
Going back to my hometown always felt strange, like stepping into a world that no longer belonged to me. After our parents died, my brother and I moved to the city. We worked and studied, both of us trying to build a life out of the pieces we were left with.
That weekend, I returned alone. The house was dusty, the windows were stiff, and the air carried the faint smell of old memories. I spent the morning cleaning, trying not to let the silence bother me.
In the afternoon, my uncle arrived unexpectedly.
He stood at the doorway, slightly out of breath. Worry—and something else, maybe excitement—was hidden in his eyes.
“Uncle? Is everything okay?” I asked.
He nodded slowly. “There’s someone who wants to meet you.”
“Me? Why?”
His pause was long enough to make my heartbeat quicken. “It’s about your father.”
My stomach tightened. “What about him?”
“Not here,” he said gently. “Come with me.”
I followed him through the familiar narrow streets, confused and uneasy. We stopped in front of a small café I barely remembered. Inside, a man in his late fifties stood up as soon as he saw us.
He had sharp, observant eyes—eyes that had seen enough of life to understand things without words. When he spoke, his voice was calm, almost regretful.
“You’re his daughter,” he said softly. “You look just like him.”
I blinked, trying to find my voice. “Do I… know you?”
He exchanged a glance with my uncle and then sighed.
“I’m Albert, your father’s closest friend.”
The name meant nothing to me—no stories, no photos, nothing I could remember.
He gestured for me to sit, and when we were seated, he continued, “Your father trusted me with something. Something very important.”
I frowned. “My parents never told me anything.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “He wanted to tell you when you were older. But life…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Life didn’t give him the chance.”
My heart throbbed painfully at the reminder.
Albert reached into his bag and placed a thick envelope in front of me. My name was written on top in unfamiliar handwriting.
“Before you were born,” he said, “your father invested in my business. Not a small amount. He told me, ‘If my daughter grows up and your business grows with her, thirty percent of it belongs to her.’”
The room suddenly felt smaller.
“I—I don’t understand,” I whispered.
