For the past three years, Isabella had carried an unknown burden, but now, she had an even bigger problem right beside her. Fortunately, that problem would be resolved tomorrow.
Determined to start fresh, she decided to sleep early and welcome a new day—and a new year—with a renewed mindset.
She promised herself that this year, she would be happier.
Perhaps she truly was exhausted, as she quickly fell asleep, her breathing soft and even.
Ethan, lying beside her, slowly opened his eyes and glanced at her.
"Carefree," he muttered before turning over and falling asleep again.
The next morning, Ethan was jolted awake by a loud noise.
Opening his eyes groggily, he saw Isabella rummaging through drawers, the bright morning sunlight flooding the room through the open curtains.
Shielding his eyes with his hand, he asked irritably, "What are you looking for?"
Isabella was dressed casually in a white sweater and light blue jeans, her hair tied up in a messy bun. She had a toothbrush in her mouth, brushing as she searched.
This was not the Isabella he remembered.
The previous Isabella was always impeccably dressed, her hair styled meticulously—though, in truth, he had never paid much attention to her.
But now, oddly enough, his gaze lingered on her for a few extra moments.
"I'm looking for the marriage certificate," Isabella replied, her words muffled by the toothbrush. "Don't we need it for the divorce?"
She turned to him and asked, "Do you know where it is?"
Ethan frowned impatiently and sat up. "I tore it up the day we got it. It didn't even last ten minutes."
He had destroyed it because he never wanted to see it again.
Isabella had torn it up too, for a different reason—because she never intended to use it.
But now, she needed it again.
"Great. That means we have to reapply for a marriage certificate first," Isabella said, exasperated. "Hurry up, or we'll be late!"
Her urgency only made Ethan more annoyed. He walked past her, slipping on his slippers, and said coldly, "Today is New Year's Day. The Civil Affairs Bureau is closed."
Isabella froze.
Oops.
She had completely forgotten about the holiday.
After freshening up, she made her way downstairs to the dining room, feeling dejected.
As soon as she entered, three pairs of eyes locked onto her with burning intensity.
Their gazes were so piercing that she felt exposed.
Madam Emily immediately got up to support her, her voice filled with concern. "Isabella, why are you up so early? You should sleep in a little longer!"
"Um... I'm hungry, so I came down," Isabella replied, feeling uneasy.
"Hungry?" Madam Emily's face lit up. "Then let's eat first!"
She turned to the butler. "Have someone bring Miss Isabella a bowl of angelica blood-tonifying soup. She was exhausted yesterday and needs proper nourishment."
Isabella immediately understood the implication and waved her hands frantically. "No, no! Nothing happened last night!"
Madam Emily looked genuinely surprised. "What? How could that be?"
She had heard noises last night—hadn't she?
After a moment of hesitation, she cautiously asked, "Is it because of Ethan? Is there… something wrong with his health?"
Isabella: Pfft!!
Choking back laughter, she decided to play along.
Following the principle of "never abandon a friend in need," she nodded wickedly and lowered her head, pretending to hesitate.
"I'm not sure… maybe..." she mumbled.
A stunned silence filled the dining room.
Everyone at the table wore an expression of shock, their thoughts clearly running wild.
Madam Emily sighed. "I knew something was wrong with that boy. He remains indifferent, even to such a lovely girl like Isabella…"
Mr. Henry shook his head regretfully. "Drinking all that whiskey was a waste."
The old woman Madam held Isabella's hand tightly and said with conviction, "Don't worry, dear. I'll take him to the hospital later. If he can't be cured… I won't hold you back. I agree to the divorce!"
Isabella struggled to keep a straight face as she wiped away tears—not from sadness, but from barely-contained laughter.
She forced a twitchy smile. "Auntie… thank you."
Not wanting to stick around for Ethan to retaliate, she quickly found an excuse to escape.
"Auntie, I made plans to go shopping with Olivia today, so I should get going."
"Go ahead," Madam Emily said warmly. She reached into her purse and handed Isabella a bank card. "The password is your birthday. Buy whatever you like."
Isabella hesitated.
Her birthday?
She was surprised—and touched.
Besides her parents, no one had ever used her birthday as a password before.
If it weren't for her dislike of Ethan, she would have loved having Madam Emily as a mother-in-law.
After Isabella left, Madam Emily's smile faded into sorrow.
She sighed deeply and murmured, "I really hope Isabella never remembers..."
Grandma Hannah, who had been silent until now, nodded. "Yes. After all, we bear responsibility for her parents' death."
Madam Emily's expression darkened. "That's why we have to treat her even better—to make up for it."
As soon as Isabella got into the car, a maid handed her a new phone and a SIM card.
"This is from the young master," the maid said.
"Okay," Isabella replied, relieved.
Finally, she had a working phone again.
She inserted the SIM card, synced her data, and immediately called Olivia.
Olivia, who had worked the night shift, was still sleeping. They agreed to meet at noon.
Since it was still early, Isabella decided to go home first.
She dialed her parents' number.
No answer.
Frowning, she muttered, "Are they still asleep?"
From the front seat, the driver, Uncle Noah, glanced at her through the rearview mirror.
He hesitated, then started to speak. "Miss..."
Isabella caught his hesitation. "What's wrong, Uncle Noah?"
Uncle Noah thought for a moment before shaking his head.
"Nothing… Just wondering where you want to go next."
"Take me to Wilson Mansion," she said without much thought.
Wilson Mansion was a private estate, and her family lived in Villa No. 3.
"Understood," Uncle Noah said.
But inwardly, he sighed.
She would understand everything when she arrived.
On the way, Isabella logged into her account using her new phone number.
Thankfully, her password hadn't changed, and she accessed it easily.
However, there was one problem.
All of her chat records were gone.
She couldn't use them to figure out what had happened before she lost her memory.
But then she thought of something else—her Moments.
She clicked on them, expecting nothing unusual.
Instead, she was stunned.
Before she lost consciousness, she had posted every single day.
One post per day.
Without fail.