Final Chapter

Mark's day in Forget-Me-Not Valley has grown quieter, and the silence is starting to weigh heavily on him. That morning, he wakes up in his large double bed, now feeling impossibly vast and empty. The warmth and liveliness Keira once brought to the room are gone, leaving behind a space that feels cold and lifeless. His gaze falls on the empty corner where her robe used to hang and the bedside table now cleared of her favorite hairbrush. He lets out a faint sigh, pushing the lingering ache in his chest down as he gets ready for the day.

When breakfast is ready, the habit of making enough for two lingers, as if his hands have a memory of their own. Without thinking, he sets the table for both of them—the plate, the utensils, even the cup of tea Keira used to love. Only when he sits down does he realize the mistake, the second plate sitting across from him untouched, steam rising from food no one will eat. Mark picks at his own meal, his appetite dulled, the faint clinking of his fork against the plate the only sound in the room. The silence is deafening, and it makes the house feel larger, emptier than it's ever been. He catches himself glancing at the chair across from him, hoping for a fleeting moment that Keira might be there, smiling and teasing him for making too much food. But, of course, the chair stays empty.

As he finishes his meal, he hesitates before cleaning up, reluctant to clear away the second setting, as though leaving it there might somehow keep her presence alive in the house. When he finally does, it feels like erasing her all over again. He steps out of the house and onto the farm, hoping the open air will clear his heavy thoughts. The morning sunlight stretches across the fields, painting them in gold, but even the beauty of the valley doesn't reach him as it once did. He pauses at the door, turning back to the house out of habit. For a moment, he half-expects to see Keira standing there, framed by the doorway, her soft voice wishing him a good day with that gentle smile that always made him feel at ease.

But the doorway is empty. Only the faint creak of the hinges and the sound of the wind answer him. The weight of her absence presses on him, heavier than any chore he could face that day. As he walks toward the fields, he feels a tug in his chest—a longing for something, someone, that is no longer there.

Mark works on the farm as he has every day since he first arrived in the valley. He plants, waters, and harvests, going through the motions, but his steps are slow and his hands heavy. The once-fulfilling work now feels hollow, a dull ache settling in his chest as he realizes there is no one waiting to hear about his day. No one to join him for lunch in the house or share a laugh over the smallest things. He takes longer to finish his tasks, not because of exhaustion but because there is no rush to return home to an empty house.

When the day's work is done, he lingers outside, letting the golden glow of sunlight wash over him. The thought of stepping back into the empty home fills him with dread. Despite being used to this life of solitude before Keira entered his world, it now feels unbearably hollow. She had brought light into the corners of his life that he hadn't realized were dark, and now that light was gone, leaving shadows he didn't know how to chase away.

For the first time in a long time, Mark wonders if he's lost something he will never be able to replace. And though he wanted her to have a better life, the truth he can't shake is that she took a piece of him with her when she left.

Mark, unable to stay in his empty home, decides to take a walk to the Blue Bar. The silence of his home is too much to bear, and he hopes that the familiar atmosphere of the bar—and maybe a conversation with his best friend—will help lift the weight pressing down on his chest. The late morning sun casts long shadows across the valley as he makes his way to the heart of the village, his steps heavy with lingering thoughts of Keira.

Once inside the bar, Mark is greeted by the faint hum of soft music playing in the background and the smell of freshly cleaned wood and faint traces of alcohol. The usual warmth of the place feels different today, quieter, almost somber. Muffy is there, her back to him as she wipes down the tables, her movements brisk and precise. Empty glasses and dishes clink together as she collects them, the only sound cutting through the stillness of the room.

Mark calls out to her. "Hey, Muffy." His voice is quiet but hopeful, eager for a moment of normalcy.

She doesn't respond. Instead, she continues her work, her shoulders stiff as she swipes the cloth across the table with a little too much force. Dishes rattle under her touch, but she doesn't turn to look at him.

Concerned, Mark takes a step forward. "Muffy, are you okay?"

The sudden slam of plates onto the table makes him flinch. Muffy turns to face him, her expression angry, her cheeks flushed with emotion. Her eyes, usually so warm and understanding, are sharp as they meet his.

"Am I okay?" she snaps, her voice louder than usual in the empty bar. "I should be asking you that, Mark! What were you thinking? Why did you leave Keira?"

Mark's breath catches, and he looks away, guilt etched across his face. He had expected a friendly chat, not this confrontation. His shoulders slump, and his voice drops to a murmur. "You wouldn't understand my reasons, Muffy."

Muffy takes a step closer, her hands resting on her hips. "Try me," she says, her tone softer but no less pointed.

Muffy leans against a nearby table, arms crossed, her expression a mixture of disbelief and frustration as she waits for Mark to explain himself. Her piercing gaze demands an answer, and Mark knows he can't avoid it any longer. He exhales heavily, running a hand through his hair before finally speaking.

"My marriage to Keira… it wasn't born from love," Mark begins, his voice quiet but steady. "When I married her, I didn't even know her. I didn't know anything about her, except that she came from a different world—one with rules and expectations that didn't belong here. She was lost, Muffy. Alone. And I… I promised to help her. To guide her, so she could adapt to living in modern society."

Muffy narrows her eyes, her disbelief clear. "So you married her? That's how you decided to help her?"

Mark shakes his head, a faint, bitter frown tugging at his lips. "It wasn't exactly her choice. It was mine—or at least, it's what I thought I had to do. In her world, a queen serves the king. That's how she was raised. That's what she believed. I didn't want to be married to her, not like that, not under those conditions…"

Muffy stares at him, her lips pressed into a thin line as she tries to process his words. "So, what?" she finally says. "You never loved her? Is that it?"

Mark hesitates, his throat tightening. He doesn't want to lie. "I didn't love her when we first married," he admits. "How could I? I didn't even know her. But over time… things changed. She changed. I changed." His voice softens, his gaze distant. "I grew to care about her more than I ever thought I would. She became… everything to me. But that doesn't change the fact that this marriage wasn't her choice. She didn't marry me because she loved me. She remained married to me because she thought she had to. Because that's what her world… taught her."

Muffy shakes her head, frustration and sadness mingling in her expression. "What are you talking about? Mark, she wasn't trapped. She chose this life with you. She wanted it. And now…" She sighs heavily, wiping her hands on the cloth before tossing it onto the bar. "She loved you!"

Mark lowers his head, his voice cracking under the strain of his emotions. "Keira never loved me, Muffy," he mutters, the words tasting bitter as they leave his mouth. "She doesn't even know what love is. How could she? She was raised in a world where love doesn't matter, where duty and obligation take its place. I saw it in her eyes… I can't pretend she feels something for me that she doesn't even understand."

Muffy freezes for a moment, her breath catching in her throat as his words sink in. Then, without hesitation, she steps forward and slaps him across the face, the sound echoing through the empty bar. Mark staggers slightly, stunned by the sudden blow, his cheek burning with the sting of her hand.

"How dare you say that!" Muffy snaps, her voice trembling with anger and disbelief. "Keira is a person, Mark! She's not some cold, unfeeling doll! Just because she doesn't know what the word 'love' means, that doesn't mean she's not capable of it! You think she didn't love you? You think she didn't feel anything for you? You're a moron if you believe that!"

Mark opens his mouth to respond, but Muffy doesn't give him the chance. She takes a step closer, jabbing her finger at his chest. "You hurt her, Mark. You hurt her more than you realize. She was crying here, in this very bar, after you told her it was over. Do you know how hard it was to watch her break down like that? She didn't even have the courage to cry in front of you because she didn't want to make YOU feel worse, but she was destroyed by what you did!"

Mark's fists clench at his sides, his body trembling with guilt and frustration. "You think I don't know that? You think it doesn't kill me inside, knowing I hurt her?" His voice rises, matching Muffy's intensity. "I didn't want to let her go, Muffy! I didn't want to lose her! But what choice did I have? She deserves to live a life that's hers, not one dictated by me, or her past, or some old rules from her world. She deserves to be free. To choose for herself!"

The air in the bar grows thick with unspoken emotions as the silence between them lingers. Mark then takes a seat, his mind racing to process the words they've thrown at each other. Muffy, on the other hand, sighs deeply, grabs another rag from a nearby bucket, and resumes wiping the tables, her movements slower and more deliberate, as though the weight of the conversation has settled heavily on her shoulders.

"I guess…" Muffy starts, her voice quiet and strained, "it really was the same for me."

Mark lifts his head, confusion crossing his face. "What are you talking about?"

She stops her work and turns to look at him, sadness pooling in her eyes. "The blue feather in her hair—it was for me, wasn't it?"

Mark's breath catches in his throat, and his heart sinks like a stone. "You knew?" He stares at her, caught off guard by her sudden question. "How… how did you know?" he asks softly, his voice barely audible.

Muffy exhales, leaning against the table she had been cleaning. "I saw it," she admits, her tone bittersweet. "That day Griffin proposed, and you came rushing into the bar that day. I saw the feather for just a split second. At first, I didn't know what to think. But then, I remembered… I told you once, a long time ago, how I dreamed of being proposed to with a blue feather someday. Just casually, in a conversation I didn't think you'd even remember. But when I saw it, Mark… I knew it was meant for me. I just knew."

Mark feels a lump form in his throat, the guilt weighing heavier on him now. "Muffy…" he begins, but she cuts him off.

"I waited for you, you know," she says, her voice trembling but resolute. "That night, after Griffin proposed, I waited for you to say something. To tell me why you had the feather, what it meant, what I meant to you. But you didn't. You just… left. Quietly, like it didn't matter. Like I didn't matter."

Mark lowers his head, unable to meet her gaze.

"For the whole time I was planning my wedding," she continues, "I kept waiting. Waiting for you to come back and say something—anything. But you never did. And when I saw you at the wedding…" Her voice falters for a moment, but she steels herself. "When I saw you sitting there, watching me marry Griffin, I thought, maybe I was wrong. Maybe I imagined it. Maybe the feather wasn't meant for me after all."

She pauses, her hands gripping the rag tightly. "But then I saw her. Keira. And I saw the feather in her hair." She lets out an awkward laugh, shaking her head. "She told me you never proposed with it. That you just… gave it to her. Like it was nothing."

Mark feels his chest tighten, shame washing over him in waves. "I—Muffy, I didn't mean—"

"You gave up, Mark," she says, her voice cutting through his stammering. "That's what you do, isn't it? You just… give up. On love, on people, on yourself. You gave up on me, and now you've given up on her."

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut. He wants to argue, to defend himself, but he knows she's right. He has a habit of letting go too easily, of convincing himself that walking away is the right thing to do, even when it's the hardest.

Muffy picks up a handful of dishes, her expression softening slightly as she turns to head to the back. She pauses in the doorway, glancing over her shoulder. "Don't get me wrong," she says quietly. "I love my husband. Griffin's a good man and a wonderful father; I have a good life with him. All I'm saying is… if you'd just said what you needed to, things could have been different. Between us."

And with that, she disappears into the back, leaving Mark alone at the bar, drowning in the weight of her words and the reality of his choices. He stares at the empty space where she had been standing, the silence around him feeling heavier than ever. For the first time, he realizes just how much his inability to act, to speak, to fight for what he wants, has cost him—not just with Keira, but with Muffy, and maybe even with himself.

Mark steps out of the bar, the crisp afternoon air hitting his face like a slap of reality. The weight of the conversation with Muffy hangs over him, pulling at his thoughts as he begins the long walk back to the farm. Each step feels heavier than the last, as though he's trudging through an invisible mire of his own regrets and realizations.

He hates to admit it, even to himself, but Muffy was right. He has sabotaged his own love life. Not just with Keira, but in every moment that mattered—moments when he could have spoken up, fought harder, or allowed himself to believe that he was deserving of love. Instead, he walked away. Every time.

His mind drifts to memories of his father, a man who had always been distant, detached, and unwilling to settle down. His father never believed in the institution of marriage, dismissing it as a needless complication in life. Yet now, as he walks the quiet, winding path back home, he can't help but wonder if he is destined to become the same.

His father had died alone, without ever knowing the warmth of a partner's love or the comfort of a shared life. And here Mark was, following the same lonely trajectory. He feels it now, like a curse etched into his very being—an inherited inability to hold on to the people who matter most.

The thought sends a chill down his spine, but it's not just that. As he walks, he feels something deeper, darker gnawing at him. It's not overwhelming—just a small, persistent sensation, like a shadow at the edge of his soul. It eats at him quietly, leaving an ache that isn't physical but still palpable.

He wonders if it's guilt, shame, or perhaps the simple realization that he's pushed away the only people who ever truly cared for him. It's not enough to stop him in his tracks, but it's enough to be felt—a hollowing out of the man he thought he was.

The farm finally comes into view, its familiar shape no longer comforting but starkly empty. The home he built with Keira feels more like a monument to his failures than a place of refuge. Mark pauses at the edge of his field, staring at the house.

It was once a place of promise, a new beginning, a home where he and Keira could start their lives together. Now, it feels like a shell, a house without a soul. For the first time, Mark wonders if this emptiness is what his father had always felt. If this is what he was running from his entire life.

Mark takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the ache inside only deepens. Maybe this is his punishment—for giving up, for walking away, for being too afraid to believe in something as fragile and beautiful as love. Whatever it is, he feels it now, more than ever. A hollow man, walking the same path his father once walked. Alone.

"Mark?"

Mark freezes at the sound of the voice behind him. His heart races, unsure if it's a trick of his imagination or if he's losing his grip on reality. Slowly, he turns around, and his breath catches in his throat. There, standing a few feet away, is Keira.

She looks different—not in appearance but in her demeanor. The confident grace of a princess has been replaced by something raw and vulnerable. Her hands are clasped nervously in front of her, and her cheeks are flushed as if embarrassed by her sudden presence.

"Keira…" Mark's voice trembles as he says her name, almost afraid to believe she's standing there. "Why…why are you here? Why did you come back?"

Keira shifts uncomfortably, as though struggling to find the right words. Finally, she looks up at him, her eyes filled with both determination and hesitation. "I couldn't do it, I turned the job down," she says, her voice quiet but firm.

Mark blinks, unable to process her words. "What do you mean? You… you turned the job down? I don't understand, Keira. You wanted this. You wanted to pursue that life."

"No!" Keira suddenly shouts, shaking her head emphatically. Mark steps back, startled by the intensity in her voice. Tears are already welling in her eyes as she takes a shaky step toward him. "You still don't understand! I didn't choose to go!"

Mark's heart pounds as her words hit him like a wave. "What… what are you saying?" he whispers.

Keira takes another step forward, her voice trembling as she continues, "I liked the idea of going to the city. Of sharing my cooking with new people, of seeing new places—but not at the cost of losing what truly matters to me." Her voice cracks as tears stream down her face. "Don't you see, Mark? I didn't want to give up my life to do it."

Mark feels his throat tighten, his breath hitching as the weight of her words sinks in. "Keira…"

Her voice rises, filled with both anguish and desperation. "I didn't know what love was when we got married. I didn't understand it. But I do now. I know what it means to wake up every morning and feel safe because you're by my side. I know what it means to want to share every little joy, every little struggle, with someone. And I know what it means to want to stay, even when the world is pulling you away." She takes a deep, shuddering breath before whispering, "Don't you understand, Mark? I love you!"

Mark's entire world shifts as the words leave her lips. Tears spill from his eyes, and for the first time in what feels like forever, the barriers he's built around his heart begin to crumble. The doubts, the fears, the voices in his head telling him he isn't worthy of love—all of it melts away.

He no longer sees the princess of the Hanabishi Kingdom standing before him. He no longer sees the woman bound by obligation and duty, forced into a life she didn't choose. He sees Keira—just Keira. A woman who is standing here, telling him with every ounce of courage what she wants.

Keira's trembling hands grip the blue feather tightly tied to her hairpin, her knuckles white with determination. With a sudden motion, she yanks it free from the hairpin, the delicate threads snapping as beads and gemstones scatter to the ground like forgotten memories. She doesn't flinch or glance at the fallen pieces—her focus is solely on the feather, its significance burning in her heart.

Slowly, she steps toward Mark, her footsteps deliberate, her eyes shimmering with a mix of tears and resolve. Mark stands frozen, his heart pounding as he watches her approach. The feather in her hand seems to radiate a quiet power, carrying with it all the emotions she's been holding inside.

"You told me," she begins, her voice quivering but strong, "that I can use this on the husband of my choosing." Her words hang in the air, each syllable piercing through the weight of everything unspoken between them.

Then, with a trembling hand, she holds the feather out to him, her eyes never leaving his. "I choose you," she says, her voice steady and filled with conviction. "I choose the farm, the valley, this life. Mark…" She takes a deep breath, her tears falling freely now. "Will you marry me?"

Mark stares at the feather she's offering him, the very same one he had once given her, now presented to him in a way he never expected. His hands tremble as he accepts it, the weight of its meaning settling over him. For a moment, he's silent, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. But then, he looks up at Keira, a soft smile breaking through his tears.

The moment feels sacred, almost ceremonial, as if the valley itself is bearing witness to their bond. "So," Mark says softly, his voice tinged with disbelief and joy, "I guess we're getting remarried."

Keira blinks at him, and then, despite the gravity of the moment, a small laugh escapes her. Mark joins in, their shared laughter breaking the tension and filling the air with warmth. It's as if the heaviness of the past few days has lifted, leaving only the two of them and the promise of a future they both want.

Before the laughter can fade entirely, Mark rushes forward and pulls her into a tight embrace. Tears spill from his eyes as he clings to her, his voice breaking as he whispers, "I'm so sorry, Keira. I shouldn't have let you go. I—"

She gently presses a finger to his lips, silencing him. "Shh," she whispers, her voice soothing. "Everything is okay now, Mark. I know you had your heart in the right place. I can't possibly hold it against you."

Mark pulls back just enough to look into her eyes, the love and forgiveness he sees there undoing him all over again. He leans in, and their lips meet in a kiss—soft, tender, and filled with a promise to never leave each other again.

As the sun dips lower on the horizon, painting the valley in hues of gold and crimson, they hold each other close, their hearts finally at peace. It's not just the beginning of a new chapter for them—it's a rebirth. A second chance to love, to grow, and to choose each other every single day.