Twisted Ties of Love

Izabella meticulously cleaned her bedroom, running her hands over every inch, smoothing out the sheets with a practiced touch.

She had moved the pot with Niki's sunflowers to the living room balcony. As she approached, she gently brushed her fingers over the withered leaves. Sunflowers wither without the winter sun, but after pruning, they'd rise again next year, turning their blossoms towards the light.

Touching the brittle foliage, she whispered a silent plea, "Niki, look after him for me, will you?"

Though she had taken everything she needed, Izabella couldn't shake the feeling that she had left something behind. Standing on the curb, she hailed a cab.

"Where to?" the driver asked.

"Quiet Forest Estates.

As the cab drove through the city, Izabella felt stifled by the stuffy air inside, suffocating enough to make her gasp for breath.

She cracked the window open, letting in the chilly breeze.

"Miss, the air conditioning is on. Aren't you cold with the window open like that?" the driver called back.

"Not at all. I get a bit carsick," she admitted.

The driver, upon hearing that she was feeling carsick, didn't stop her anymore. Cold was a minor issue; the concern was more about someone feeling sick and potentially vomiting in the car, as cleaning up afterward would be more troublesome.

Outside, the cityscape flashed by. The cold wind stung her eyes, but Izabella forced them open, hoping the breeze would dry her tears. But the more she tried to control them, the more they fell, unchecked. She looked down at the ring on her finger, inscribed inside with the words 'Love you as before.'

A beautiful sentiment in any language, but to Izabella, it was a promise of enduring love, one she had never regretted despite everything.

Her tears fell freely now, and she leaned her forehead against the window, sobbing silently, accompanied only by the sound of her labored breathing and the occasional convulsive shudder.

The driver thought it was just the wind at first, but a glance in the rearview mirror told him otherwise - the woman in the back was crying her eyes out.

Drivers often had little to do to pass the time, so they tended to chat with passengers whenever they could.

"Miss, what's wrong? Why the waterworks?" he asked.

Izabella wiped away her tears and murmured, "It's nothing."

"Don't bottle it up; it's not good for you. You can talk to me; I won't tell anyone," he assured her.

She sniffed, remembering how, after being diagnosed with terminal stomach cancer, she had taken a cab from the hospital and found solace in a driver's kind words. He had told her that everything would pass that a new day would begin with the sunrise.

But what if you couldn't wait for tomorrow's sun?

"Sir, are you married?" she asked suddenly.

"Married with two kids," he replied with a smile that spread across his face at the mere mention of his family. "I work hard driving this cab to give them a better life. As long as they're happy, I'm happy."

"I have a question for you," Izabella said, her voice so soft it was nearly swept away by the wind. "If one day you became a burden to your family, if your presence brought them unavoidable harm, what would you do?"

The driver took a sharp breath, half-jokingly replying, "Feels like you're cursing me with all this talk of accidents and troubles. We drivers are superstitious about those words, you know." "I'm sorry," Izabella quickly apologized.

The man, good-natured as he was, didn't hold it against her. At a red light, he braked and said, "If I ever become a burden, I'd find a way to disappear quietly." He chuckled softly after his remark.

"An old colleague of mine found out he had cancer. He bought himself a hefty insurance policy, then staged a car accident. All the money went to his wife afterward."

Izabella was taken aback by the driver's response, her voice hoarse as she asked, "Your colleague must have loved his wife very much, right?"

The driver scoffed, "Who knows?

That guy lived in my block, always fighting with his wife. They never split up, though, like grasshoppers tangled in the same vine, stuck. together even in death. Love or hate, they had 15 years together. How many 15-year periods does one have in life? As an outsider, I can't judge their relationship. It's a waste of time, if you ask me."

The conversation ended as the light turned green, and the driver eased off the brake, cheerfully announcing, "Let's roll."

When the cab pulled up to Quiet

Forest Estates, Izabella paid the fare and stepped out. The place had changed a lot over the years; more high-rises, better landscaping, and several new beauty shops adorned the neighborhood. Brett's assets were still under scrutiny, but nobody questioned this property.

It belonged to the Salotti family, the original Izabella who had passed away.

She had sold the place to Brett, and he had given her a sum of money. The agreement was signed, but for some reason, it had never gone through the courts.

Izabella wasn't here to reminisce about the past.

Remembering only brought back pain.

Quiet Forest Estates had witnessed her four years of folly.

At Crystal Bay Mansions, Brett had kept her locked up like a dog.

In J City Flower Garden, she was deceived, dying like a fool, unable to return home.

Brett always said she should go home with him..

But which "home" should she return to? Did they even have one? Each of these luxurious villas was nothing more than a gilded cage.

Stepping out of the cab, the cold wind whipped through Izabella's hair. She tied it back quickly, wrapped her coat tightly around her, and with her head lowered, she moved inside.

Even after all these years, Izabella still felt a connection to this place. It was almost instinctual how she took a left after entering through the grand gates, following the path that led to the house, a five-minute walk that she intentionally stretched into ten.

The villa neighborhood felt eerily quiet, especially under the gloomy sky as the wind ushered in a soft drizzle. The melancholy weather seemed to underscore the loneliness of the empty street.

Standing before the closed door,

Izabella realized she had no keys to get in, and fingerprint identification was out of the question-after all, she was in a different body now. She descended the steps and made her way along the wall where a line of potted plants stood guard. In the corner, beneath the last pot, she found a key, just where it always used to be.

Holding the key, Izabella unlocked the door and stepped inside. There was no strange odor to greet her; the living room was spotless, with every piece of furniture and decor in its rightful place. Yet, the house felt hollow, as if it lacked something essential-a sense of life and warmth.

She ventured further in and spotted a familiar figure on the staircase.Content is © by NôvelDrama.Org.

Brett was there, earnestly scrubbing the steps with a bucket of water beside him, his motions intense, as if trying to erase something deeply ingrained. The stairs were spotless, and Izabella squinted slightly, understanding what he was so desperately trying to clean.

He was scrubbing away the ghost of a tragedy-the vanished bloodstains of a miscarriage that happened right there. It was here that Brett had struck her, forced her to her knees, hurled insults at her, and caused her agonizing pain.

Izabella tried to grasp at any fleeting, happy memory of this place, but there were none.

She couldn't comprehend how Brett could still live here, how he could find peace within these walls.

Once someone has tarnished your image of them, every subsequent action they take is subject to doubt and suspicion.

And from doubt sprouts disappointment; from disappointment, resentment; and eventually, an emotional void.

Izabella had been through it all.

As Brett turned his head, his pallid, sickly face and lifeless eyes betrayed his frailty. But all Izabella could think about was the venom in his voice when he had gripped her throat and spat out her name, "Izabella," hissing insults and calling her a "worthless tramp" with pure loathing.