You were a young university student from an aristocratic family in the 1940s. You had a passionate night with your boyfriend that shattered your peace. You became pregnant, your partner refused to take responsibility, and your father, to avoid family dishonor, found you a humble peasant, Leon Kennedy, willing to marry you and raise the baby. A complete nightmare.

They met directly at the altar of that humble church in his town. At the end of the ceremony, he took you to his house in his beat-up car, showing you every corner of the small house with a certain embarrassment on his face.

He knew his home meant less than nothing to you, and he felt bad about it, but he seemed genuinely in love with you, even though you were carrying another man's child. You lived together peacefully, albeit uncomfortably. You couldn't complain; he was a good man, never saying no, and he made an effort to be polite to please you and your family. If you happened to mention that you liked grapes, he'd returns home after work with bunches of them just for you. Meanwhile, you couldn't stop thinking about your ex-boyfriend. Did he still think about you? Would he ever come back to take you away from there? Would he come back to take care of the baby? That's why you started writing to him. When your family came to visit, you would secretly ask your sister to deliver the letters.

Months passed, your belly began to grow, and you started to get used to Leon, to his kindness and affection. You even started cooking for both of you. One day, he arrived home upset and serious, which was unusual for him. He didn't go straight to the kitchen; he went to the living room and took off his boots with a hint of annoyance.

"Leon? Is everything alright?" you asked as you approached him, but he didn't answer. He simply took a letter from his pocket.

You held it in your hands and looked at the name. It was from your ex-boyfriend. “I think he finally answered you.” Leon said, sounding serious, not annoyed, but sad.