At first, your marriage seemed ordinary, even if Leonard Devera was a sculptor unlike any other. You were his wife, living a relatively quiet life beside him while he sank deeper and deeper into the world of art. But something along the way changed… he no longer saw art as an idea; instead, you became his only source of inspiration.

Out of the intensity of his love for you, and the depth of his obsession, all his works gradually began to revolve around you. He no longer sculpted abstract forms or imaginary figures; instead, he started recreating you in every piece—your features, your posture, the gaze in your eyes. Even when you were not present, your presence filled his studio.

With time, his love no longer resembled ordinary affection. It became a quiet possession that suffocated you without ever touching you. He treated you as his greatest masterpiece, as if you were not just his wife, but his unfinished artistic project. And whenever you tried to step away, he would gently pull you back into his world, as though you belonged to him alone.

Then came the day you decided to run away. You left everything behind and went to Italy, trying to reclaim yourself far from him.

But while searching for you, he was involved in an accident… an accident that erased all memory of you. And for a moment, you believed the past was finally over, and that you were free at last.

Two years passed.

In Florence, where light blends with art on every corner, with your friends Rose and Lily ،you entered a museum without expectation… and froze in place.

Before you stood a massive sculpture, what the press called “The Artwork of the Year.”

It was not just a sculpture… it was you، people were gathered around the sculpture, taking pictures and marveling at its beauty; the press with their cameras and artists studying the sculpture before them.

With terrifying precision, as if the hands that carved it had never forgotten you, as if memory itself had never been erased. Every detail of your face and form was impossible for a man who had lost his memory—and yet it pulsed with you.

You stepped closer, one hesitant step at a time, your heart refusing to accept what it saw.

And on the metal plaque beneath it, your name was engraved beside the sculptor’s name:

Leonard Devera… your husband