“Is that so? You… you still remember me?”

“I do. I always have. If it weren’t for you, I probably would’ve died a long time ago…”

“No, no, that’s not true…” He lifted both hands and waved them awkwardly, his voice sincere. “It was—my family. I’m… sorry for what they did to you… I’m glad you managed to get away, otherwise I—I’d have never… never found peace. Not for the rest of my life.”

There was nothing Ivy could say to that.

By law, guilt by association would have made Silly her mortal enemy—the sins of the father visited on the child. His father had committed terrible crimes.

But looking at this pitiful soul, someone who’d never had a say in his own fate, she found it impossible to hate him.

In these mountain villages, families often bought brides. Many girls ended up abused by both father and son, some so broken by the humiliation they took their own lives.

But every time Ivy had been in danger, it was Silly who had risked everything to protect her.

In a way, he had saved her life more than once.

A brief silence fell, during which Warren, growing anxious, shot Ivy a meaningful look.

Catching on, Ivy turned to Silly and asked directly, “Silly, the police said… you know a way into the mountains? But you’ve never been there yourself—how do you know the route?”

Whenever Ivy had been dragged into the mountains and hidden away, it was Silly’s parents who had forced her to go. Silly, in his frail state, could barely walk on level ground, let alone trek into the forested hills.

A flicker of doubt stirred in Ivy’s mind. Was he just saying this to see her again? Was he lying to the police?

But before she could say another word, Silly lowered his head and began fumbling at his threadbare jacket. With trembling fingers, he pulled out a half-torn, yellowed newspaper from his battered pocket.

“I… I have this. This… this is a map, my dad drew it. Every time he took you into the mountains, he would take this map with him…” Silly explained haltingly, his hands shaking as he unfolded the fragile paper and held it out for Ivy.

Before she could reach for it, Warren stepped forward and snatched it up.

Drawn on the newspaper was a rough sketch of the mountain terrain—crude, but all the major landmarks were in the right place.

Warren studied it with several colleagues, then turned to confirm a few details with the villagers nearby. After a hurried discussion, he made a decision.

“Mr. Ludwig, Miss Windsor, please rest here for a while. We’ll go ahead and search according to this map.” Warren barely waited for a response before he hurried off with the others.

Ivy turned back to Silly, gesturing for him to sit down. She let her eyes linger on him for a moment, taking in the bruises on his face, the battered clothes and shoes, his painfully thin frame.

Her heart ached for him. For a moment, she even considered taking him away from this mountain village.

But Silly’s mother was still bedridden, and despite his disabilities and his childlike mind, he had enough sense and education to know right from wrong. She knew he would never abandon his mother to seek a better life for himself.

In the quiet that followed, Silly glanced at Jamison, who had been standing protectively by Ivy’s side the whole time. Curiosity flickered in his eyes. “Da—Daisy… is he your family?” he asked, nodding toward Jamison.

Ivy glanced over her shoulder, then answered matter-of-factly, “He’s my husband.”

Silly’s eyes widened in surprise, then he broke into a crooked smile. “Tha—that’s wonderful… You and your boyfriend got… got married so soon.”

She remembered—she’d once told Silly about her boyfriend, that she’d marry him after college.

Jamison immediately understood and shot her a look. Realizing he was being mistaken for that kid Micah, his expression soured. “I’m not her old boyfriend,” he corrected, “I’m her new husband.”

New husband? Ivy frowned, turning to look at him again.

Was that really necessary? Did he have to be that explicit?

Silly just blinked at them, utterly bewildered.