One day, I decided to return.
Not to forgive.
But to show them what they had lost.
I drove my Mercedes back to my hometown. The house stood exactly as I remembered—old, crumbling, and even more neglected. Rust covered the gate. Paint peeled from the walls. Weeds choked the yard.
I stood at the door, took a breath, and knocked three times.
A young woman—around eighteen—opened the door.
I froze.
She looked exactly like me. Her eyes, her nose, even the way she frowned—it was like staring at my younger self.
“Who are you looking for?” she asked gently.
Before I could answer, my parents stepped outside. When they saw me, they stopped dead. My mother covered her mouth, tears filling her eyes.
I smiled coldly.
“So… now you regret it?”
Suddenly, the girl rushed over and grabbed my mother’s hand.
