Rebirth: The New Bride Wants A Divorce-Chapter 299: They are my parents

Back inside the hilltop house

Daniel had smoothly dodged Anna’s question when his phone rang. He excused himself, saying the call was urgent, and stepped away before she could press him further.

Left alone, Anna remained sprawled lazily on the couch, the remote loosely held in her hand as a movie played on the television. She tried to focus, letting the scenes flicker past her eyes, but no matter how hard she tried, her mind kept drifting back to Daniel. To his sudden seriousness. To the things he had left unsaid.

With a frustrated sigh, she muted the television and set the remote aside.

Staying still was getting her nowhere.

She pushed herself up and began to wander around the house. She had not really had the chance to explore the place properly since they arrived, and curiosity quietly nudged her forward.

As she moved through the space, her gaze landed on a door at the far end of the living room. It stood slightly apart from the others, almost hidden, as if it were meant to be overlooked.

She paused for a moment but did not think much of it. Assuming it was just another room, Anna walked toward it and pushed the door open.

The moment she stepped inside, her eyes widened in surprise.

She froze at the threshold, breath catching as the sight before her registered, completely unprepared for what she had just walked into.

Anna stepped fully into the room, the door closing softly behind her.

It was quiet. Too quiet. The air carried a faint sense of warmth, like a space that had once been lived in with love. Her eyes drifted instinctively to the walls, and that was when she noticed the photographs.

Frames of different sizes lined the shelves and walls, carefully arranged. They all held the same three people.

A family.

At first, Anna felt only confusion. She did not recognize any of them. The man, the woman, the child, all strangers to her. Yet there was something undeniably tender about the way they looked at one another. Their smiles were unguarded, natural, captured in moments that felt real rather than posed.

She moved slowly across the room, studying each frame. In one photo, the couple stood close, the woman’s head resting on the man’s shoulder, laughter frozen mid moment. In another, the child sat between them, arms thrown around their necks, joy shining brightly in his eyes.

They looked happy.

Genuinely happy.

Anna found herself smiling without realizing it, admiring the ease in their expressions, the kind of warmth that could not be faked. Whoever they were, they had loved one another deeply.

Then her gaze fell on a photograph placed slightly apart from the others.

She stopped.

It was of the boy, older than in the earlier pictures, standing proudly with a medal held up in his small hand. His smile was wide, almost shy, his eyes bright with accomplishment. Something about the image tugged at her chest, a strange, inexplicable pull that made her step closer.

Her fingers lifted slowly, hovering just above the frame as she studied the boy’s face.

For reasons she could not explain, her heart beat a little faster.

And suddenly, curiosity sharpened into something deeper until the realization finally settled in.

Click.

The soft sound snapped Anna out of her trance. She jolted and turned toward the door, only to find Daniel standing there, his gaze fixed on her.

Her throat tightened instantly. Words gathered but refused to come out, as if her voice had been locked away.

"They are my parents," Daniel said quietly, breaking the silence as he stepped inside.

He moved toward her with unhurried steps. His demeanor was calm, almost composed, yet there was something in his eyes that made her chest ache. A depth of pain she could not fully understand, but one she could feel.

Anna’s stomach twisted when he stopped beside her. He did not look at her. Instead, his eyes traveled to the framed photographs lining the wall.

He studied each one carefully, his gaze lingering as though he were memorizing them all over again. Yearning flickered across his features, emotions raw and unguarded, impossible for Anna to ignore.

Then his eyes stopped.

On the photograph she had been staring at for so long.

"This was taken the day I came first in my ninth grade," Daniel said softly. "The same day I lost my parents."

The words hung heavy in the room.

Anna’s breath hitched as understanding washed over her, the warmth she had sensed in the photographs now edged with heartbreak. The smiles, the laughter, the love frozen in those frames were all that remained.

She turned slowly to look at him, her heart aching in a way she had not expected.

"I am sorry," she whispered, the words barely enough, yet all she could offer in that moment.

Daniel did not respond right away. His eyes stayed on the photograph, his expression distant, as though he were standing in two different moments of his life at once.

And Anna realized that this room was not just a place filled with memories.

It was a place where time had stopped.

She should’ve known this place wasn’t just a random house, but were Daniel grew up.

Daniel let out a slow breath, his gaze never leaving the photographs.

"My mother used to wake me up every morning before school," he began quietly. "She would hum while opening the curtains, even when I complained that it was too early. She said the day should always start with light."

A faint smile touched his lips, brief but genuine.

"And my father," he continued, "he was strict in front of others, but with me... he was different. Every Sunday morning, he would take me out for ice cream, even when my exams were close. He said memories mattered more than marks."

His eyes drifted to another frame, one where the three of them stood laughing, caught mid moment.

"They never missed a single school event," Daniel said. "Sports day, parent meetings, award ceremonies. They were always there, clapping the loudest, embarrassing me on purpose." His smile deepened slightly. "I used to pretend I hated it."

Anna listened quietly, her heart tightening with every word.

"They taught me how to ride a bike," he went on, his voice softening. "My father ran behind me the whole way, refusing to let go even when I had already learned to balance. My mother was shouting instructions from the porch, terrified I would fall."

He paused, his throat tightening just enough for Anna to notice.

"That medal," he said, nodding toward the photograph of the boy holding it proudly, "they celebrated it like I had won the world. We went out for dinner that night. My mother said she wanted to frame the moment forever."

Silence settled briefly between them.

"I never got to show them who I became," Daniel added quietly. "Everything I built after that... they were not there to see it."

Anna reached for his hand without thinking, her fingers curling around his. He did not pull away.

"They sound like wonderful people," she said softly.

"They were," Daniel replied. He squeezed her hand gently. "And for a long time, they were the only reason I believed happiness could exist."

He finally turned to look at her, his eyes still heavy with memories, yet clearer than before.

Anna wanted to ask him what happened to them and how they died, but she didn’t realize how sensitive Daniel’s thoughts could be.

"Thank you for listening," he said, drawing her out of her thoughts, her eyes seeing through the trust Daniel had placed in her when he decided to bring her to this house.

Anna shook her head slightly. "Thank you for trusting me with them."

Her words seemed to break the last bit of restraint he was holding onto.

Daniel reached for her wrist suddenly and pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her as if he were afraid she might disappear. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in, holding her tighter than before.

For a brief moment, he let himself forget.

Forget the night that had taken everything from him. Forget the people who had torn his world apart without mercy. Forget the grief that had followed him into every stage of his life.

Anna stayed still in his arms, her hands slowly coming up to rest against his back, grounding him without saying a word. She could feel the weight he carried in the way his body tensed, in the way his breath hitched just slightly against her skin.

He closed his eyes, clinging to her warmth, even though a bitter truth lingered at the edge of his thoughts.

She was connected to that past. A product of the very people who had taken everything from him. And yet, in this moment, she was also the only thing keeping him steady.

Daniel tightened his hold just a little, as if choosing her despite everything, as if choosing the present over the pain that refused to stay buried.