On our third wedding anniversary, he went on another “business trip.” Two days later, his foster sister Shea sent me a friend request. The moment I clicked on her profile, I saw the post. Him with his arm around her, watching the sunset on the beach. The caption read: “One phone call and he came running. Let that woman rot at home alone.” My hand trembled as I scrolled. Further down, Shea had posted a photo of a limited-edition handbag. “He bought this for me. The ugly bag that came with it as part of the bundle purchase? He just tossed that to the woman beneath us.” That bag was sitting on my vanity right now. My phone buzzed. A message from Xander: “Did you get my anniversary gift? Do you like it?” I stared at the message and felt something close to laughter rising in my chest. “Got it,” I typed back. “There’s a gift waiting for you too. You’ll receive it in a month.” Then I called a divorce attorney. Lora’s POV “Ms. Lora, I have sent the divorce agreement you asked me to draft to your email. Did you receive it?” I looked down at the freshly printed divorce papers in my hand and made a sound of acknowledgment. “Once he signs it, I will be in touch.” I hung up. The front door opened. Xander stepped into the entryway, tall, lean, composed, his face carrying the weariness of a long-haul flight. “What are you reading?” He pulled me into his arms without hesitation, his low voice settling near my ear, warm breath grazing my neck. “Who were you just on the phone with?” An unfamiliar perfume drifted off him. “All done with business overseas?” I didn’t answer his question. “Yeah, it was messy. I barely slept these past few days trying to get back to you sooner.” He buried his face against the curve of my neck and shoulder. “Sorry I missed our anniversary again.” He held out a luxury gift box like he was presenting treasure. “Take this for now. Whatever you want as compensation, just say the word. We’ll do a proper anniversary celebration another time.” I didn’t take it. I glanced at it once, then looked away. “I’ve had my eye on a lakeside villa. That’ll do. I just need your signature.” I handed him the last page of the divorce papers along with a pen, gesturing for him to sign. Xander paused, visibly caught off guard. In the past, whenever he had missed something important, he would offer to make it up to me, and I never asked for anything. He instinctively reached to flip through the document. “What? You don’t trust me? Think I’m trying to steal your money?” “Of course not.” Xander smiled, dropped the pages, and signed his name in one fluid stroke. “Everything I have is yours anyway.” Once, those words would have made me feel warm all the way through. Now they only made the cold in my chest sink deeper. “What did you get me for our anniversary?” Every year, I put careful thought into Xander’s anniversary gift. This year, I’d planned to give him my pregnancy test results. But that no longer felt right. A divorce filing would have to do. “To punish you for missing it again, you’ll have to wait a month.” I said it with a playful air of mystery. Xander let out a low laugh. “Fair enough. I’ll take my punishment.” Then his hands wandered under my shirt. My whole body went rigid. A wave of goosebumps swept over my skin. I was forcing down the urge to push him away, scrambling for an excuse, when his phone buzzed. Xander immediately let go of me and walked toward the balcony, already answering the call. Through the gap in the balcony door, fragments of the conversation drifted in: “Okay. I won’t touch her.” “Just you.” I pulled one corner of my mouth into a thin smile. No excuse needed after all. Because Xander would put himself in the guest room tonight all on his own. This had happened more times than I could count. The call was from Shea, his foster sister, and the point was to make sure he didn’t come near me. Sure enough, a few minutes later, Xander came back into the living room. “Sorry, something urgent came up at the office. I’ll be in the study tonight. Don’t wait up.” That evening, I sat alone by the bedroom window, and the past came rolling in like a tide. I grew up in a small, poor town in the middle of nowhere. When I was five, my parents left to find work in the city. On the winding mountain road leading away from home, their bus went off the road. They both died. I was left with my grandmother, who was already old and fragile. When I was thirteen, she got sick. I was ready to drop out of school. It was Xander’s financial support that gave me the chance to keep studying and eventually leave that town behind. From that day on, I made myself a promise: I would get into his university. I would not waste what he’d given me. I did. I got in with strong grades, enrolled in the same program he’d studied. My freshman year, Xander, who had by then taken over the family business, was invited back to campus as a distinguished alumnus to give a speech. Watching him on that stage, easy and assured in every movement, I understood for the first time what it felt like to fall for someone. Backstage, I went to give him flowers and thank him for his support. He accepted them and looked at me. “Lora. I remember you.” But I knew what separated us. I never let myself hope for anything more. Then one night, I ran into him at the bar where I worked part-time. He was alone in a corner, drinking in silence, a shadow across his face. I couldn’t help walking over. He looked up just as I reached him. “Lora. You have feelings for me.” He said it like a fact. I froze. My face went hot. “Then marry me.” He was looking at me like he could see straight through to whatever I was hiding. Three months later, Xander married me over his family’s objections. It was a grand wedding, the kind people talked about for years. In the circles he moved in, Xander was known as a rare and model husband. He didn’t smoke, didn’t drink, came home every night. He made me feel safe. No scandals, no rumors. Reporters couldn’t find a crack in him. He was generous too. Jewelry, bags, clothes. I lost count of the things he gave me. Everyone envied me. They said I must have saved the world in a past life. I believed it. Aside from working too much and being away constantly on business trips, I couldn’t find a single flaw in Xander. Yes, aside from the business trips. My birthday: emergency abroad, business trip. Valentine’s Day: important meetings overseas, business trip. Our anniversary: business trip again. Three years of marriage, and almost every significant day had been spent apart. Once, we planned a trip together. We made it all the way to the airport. Right before boarding, Xander took a call, apologized, bought a ticket to Paris, and left me standing there alone. I never complained. I only felt sorry for how hard he was working. Every time he came home from a trip, I cooked a full meal to welcome him back. Then came our third anniversary, and, no surprise, another business trip. Two days later, a profile under the name Shea sent me a friend request. I remembered Xander had a foster sister named Shea. She’d gone abroad a few years back and never returned. I accepted. What I found on her social media was three years of truth. Every so-called business trip had been spent with Shea. He’d had no time to take me to see the winter snowfall in Hokkaido, but in three years he’d taken her everywhere in the world. When Shea mentioned craving pastries from a shop she’d loved as a kid, he boarded a private jet that night and delivered them himself. They were still warm when they reached her. When Shea texted that she was upset and didn’t want him sleeping beside that woman, he moved to the guest room and worked through the night. Shea had also posted a screenshot of their messages. In it, Xander had written that he married me as a cover. That he had never loved me. The wife everyone envied, I was nothing but his shield. The happiness I thought I had was a lie, start to finish. I looked at the bag on my vanity, the one Xander had just given me. I had already seen it on Shea’s profile two days ago. It was a bundle item. Xander bought it to get the limited-edition bag Shea wanted, and this was the piece that came along with it, the one Shea called old and ugly and told him to get rid of. So he brought it home and gave it to me. I didn’t know how many of his other seemingly expensive gifts had come to me the same way. I picked up my phone and called the attorney again. “Mr. Brooks, the agreement’s been signed. How soon can we finalize the divorce?” The attorney on the other end seemed genuinely surprised the papers had gone through so quickly. A brief pause. “One month from now.” One more month. One month, and I’d be done with this three-way mess. Done with Xander’s world entirely.
Lora’s POV The next morning, I opened my eyes to find them swollen and red. I held a cold cloth to my face at the bathroom mirror before finally opening the door and stepping out. The smell of food was coming from the kitchen. I stopped. I was always the one who made breakfast. I walked over and found Xander at the stove. In three years of marriage, he had never cooked. Something flickered in my chest. Was this an apology for last night? He heard me come in and glanced back. “You’re up. Sit down, it’s almost ready.” He carried the plates to the dining table. French toast with smoked salmon, and a small dish of poached eggs drizzled with sauce. I found it odd. We always had milk and toast in the mornings. Xander knew that. So why the elaborate breakfast today? I was about to ask when he turned and went back into the kitchen, like there was still something to finish. I looked at the food in front of me. It wasn’t really to my taste, but I didn’t want to waste the gesture. I picked up my fork and knife and made myself eat. A few minutes later, Xander came out of the kitchen carrying a thermal container. He went straight to the entryway and put on his coat. I finally spoke up. “You’re not eating? What’s the thermal container for?” “Shea’s flying back today. I’m going to pick her up.” He grabbed his keys, voice casual. “The food on the plane isn’t great. I’m bringing her something.” The front door closed without hesitation. I sat there with my fork and knife suspended in the air for a long moment. He hadn’t been apologizing. The breakfast wasn’t made for me at all. It was made for Shea. And once again, I had been the accidental recipient. I dumped the rest of the food in the trash. Maybe it was that I wasn’t used to that kind of meal. A little while later, my stomach turned. My throat felt tight and itchy. I was worried about the baby. I didn’t want to wait. I called a car and headed to the hospital. In the ER, the doctor looked at my results and said, with an edge of reproach: “You’re pregnant and you’re still not watching what you eat? Where’s your family? You have a peanut allergy, a severe one. This could have killed you.” That’s when I realized. Xander had put peanut butter in the French toast. I had a serious peanut allergy. Xander knew. When we went out to eat, he always remembered to tell the server. But Shea was back, and his whole mind was on her. Everything he knew about me had slipped away. Lucky I’d barely eaten any of it. The reaction wasn’t severe enough to require admission. A few hours on a drip and I’d be free to go. By the time I walked out of the hospital, it was dark. I was making my way home alone when I heard footsteps behind me. I turned. Several figures were following at a steady, unhurried pace. The blood drained from my body. Cold sweat broke out across my back. I quickened my pace and pulled out my phone to call Xander. It rang three times before he answered. “Xander, someone is-” “following me” never made it out. He cut me off. “Hold on, my phone’s about to die. I’ll call you back later.” A beeping sound. He’d hung up. I called again. Straight to voicemail. The footsteps behind me were getting closer. The street was empty and quiet, and the lampposts stretched the shadows of the figures into something monstrous. I didn’t dare take the road home. That route was darker and more isolated. I kept to the main road, walking faster, almost running. A black Mercedes pulled up alongside me. The window rolled down. The man in the driver’s seat had a kind, middle-aged face. He leaned over and looked at me. “Hey, you need a lift? Where are you headed? We can drop you.” I glanced back at the figures closing in behind me, bit my lip, and pulled open the rear door. I got in and nearly jumped out of my skin. There was already a man in the back seat. The interior was dim. I couldn’t make out his face, but I could feel the sharp edge of his presence, as if the temperature in the car had dropped a few degrees just from being near him. “Relax,” he said. His voice was cool and even. “I’m not going to hurt you.” The force of his composure silenced me completely. Even the thank you I’d meant to say got swallowed. A brief quiet settled over the car. “Where do you live?” he asked. I gave my address quickly.
Lora’s POV Once I was home, I locked the door behind me, wrapped myself in a blanket, and curled up on the bed, still trembling. My phone lit up with a social media notification. I opened it. Shea had just posted a grid of photos. She looked polished and done up, wearing several different outfits, posing in various ways against the backdrop of a rooftop city skyline at night. Her caption read: “Someone spent the whole evening taking photos of me. Ran his phone battery down to zero. You’ve worked hard.” I stared at that line for a long moment, and felt something crack quietly in my chest. So that was it. His phone had died because he’d been out there photographing Shea all night. While I was being followed, not knowing if I was going to make it home safe, he was worrying about running out of battery for her. I reached up to wipe my face. My fingers came away damp. I let out a quiet, humorless laugh, then screenshotted the post and saved it. A while later, once Xander had apparently found a charger, he called. “What did you need earlier?” My voice was still slightly unsteady. “Nothing. Never mind.” He didn’t notice anything off. Because it wasn’t what he was paying attention to. He moved on immediately. “I’ve got to pull an all-nighter for work tonight. I won’t be coming home.” I looked down, voice quiet. “Okay.” After we hung up, I went through every door and window in the apartment and made sure each one was locked before I got back into bed. I didn’t sleep well. I dreamed the figures following me dragged me into an alley and I struggled and struggled but couldn’t make a sound. I dreamed Xander walked past me hand in hand with Shea, not turning back, telling me to stay away. I dreamed I was small again, and my parents were lying in a pool of blood on that mountain road, and I ran to them screaming but couldn’t wake them up. Before dawn, I gave up sleeping. I got out of bed with dark circles under my eyes, washed up, got dressed, and left. Less than a month now. Then I’d be free of this. I wanted to go somewhere far away, far outside the world Xander and Shea occupied. Before I left, I wanted to go back to my hometown one last time. To see the house I grew up in. It was a remote place, a small, poor town, but beautiful. Hills and water everywhere, a stream running right through the middle of it. My grandmother used to say the town was very, very old. The tragedy was that over the years the young people had all left, and the town had quietly fallen apart. The buildings had crumbled along with everything else. I’d always had one wish: to one day restore those old buildings, preserve the town, and let the world know it existed. Xander had once promised he would help me make that happen. But we were getting divorced now. That promise had nothing to do with him anymore. After a long journey, I finally stood at the edge of my hometown. What I saw stopped me cold. The town was rubble. Every building had been leveled. Bulldozers rumbled across the ground, churning up dust that hung in the air like a gray curtain. “What are you doing? Who authorized this?” I couldn’t keep the tears out of my voice. A man who looked like the site foreman came over and waved me off. “Move along, move along! This is a construction site! You want to get hurt?” I grabbed his sleeve. “What company are you with? Why are you destroying this place?” He yanked his arm and failed to shake me loose, then jabbed a finger irritably at the logo on the side of a bulldozer. “You blind? We’re with Hargrove Group. This whole area’s being turned into an amusement park. Now get out of here.” Hargrove Group. Xander’s company. My hand slowly fell away. Every bit of strength left my body. I remembered now. I had seen it on Shea’s social media, Shea saying she wanted her own private amusement park. But the world was enormous. Why here? He knew this was my home. He knew what this place held for me. He had stood in front of me and promised, out loud, that he would protect it. And he had torn it down to build Shea a playground. Tears ran silently down my face, mixing with the dust. I walked away from the ruins in a daze. Beyond the edge of town, on a small slope, stood three modest graves. My parents. My grandmother. I couldn’t hold it together anymore. I sank down in front of them and wept. “I couldn’t protect our home. The pear tree is gone. The house is gone. I don’t have a home left.” I was born in March, the year the pear tree in the yard bloomed full and white on every branch. My parents weren’t educated people. They named me Lora after the pear blossoms, hoping I would bloom just as freely. That tree was older than I was. My grandmother had planted it the year she got married. When I was little, my dad hung a rope swing from its branches. I would go higher and higher, and my mom would stand beside it laughing and telling me to slow down. On summer evenings, my grandmother would pull a wooden chair under the tree and sew by the last light of day, stitching me a canvas backpack, murmuring that someday I would carry it to college. When the pear blossoms fell, I would crouch in the grass and collect them one petal at a time, pressing them inside my textbooks as bookmarks. That tree was my childhood. It held everything I meant when I said home. Now my roots were gone. I knelt by their graves and cried until my voice gave out and I had no tears left. Finally, I wiped my face and pushed myself to my feet. The wind came through. I drew in a long, slow breath. I would not let this break me. My parents and grandmother were gone. I would carry their share of living, and I would carry it well.
Lora’s POV I caught a bus back to the city from the stop just outside town. The road out required a stretch on foot first. At a sharp bend in the road, a truck came careening around the corner from the opposite direction, out of control, and slammed head-on into the bus. My right leg was wedged into the gap between the seats. Blood ran freely. I couldn’t move. All around me there was impact, screaming, blood. The air reeked of iron and gasoline. People were strewn across the seats and the road, some moving, some not. Pieces of wreckage were scattered everywhere. I felt like I had been dropped back into the day I turned five. That year, my parents were heading back to the city after the holidays. Their bus took the same winding road. I hadn’t wanted to let them go. Before it was even light outside, I had slipped out of the house and run down the road to catch one last glimpse of them. I watched the accident happen. The tumbling wreck, the flying debris, my mother thrown from the window, those images had never left me. The same road. The same devastation. The nightmare I could never fully outrun. I’d woken from it dozens of times over the years, shaking and drenched in sweat. Xander had known. Whenever a nightmare woke me, he would wrap his arms around me and pat my back, slowly, over and over, and say quietly, “It’s okay. I’m here.” Slowly, I had gotten better. Now, surrounded by blood and broken metal, every memory I’d managed to bury came flooding back at once. The world began to tilt. My heart hammered like it was trying to break through my ribs. “No.” I couldn’t catch my breath. A cramping pain spread across my lower abdomen. Xander had once told me: the next time these memories came for me, I should call him right away. I shouldn’t try to get through it alone. I found my phone. Still intact. Still working. My hands shook as I pulled up the call screen and entered the number. It took me several tries to get it right. It rang for a long time before someone answered. “Xander.” But it wasn’t Xander’s voice. A light, cheerful voice came through instead. “You must be Lora? You’re looking for him? He’s in line getting me a drink right now. He’s busy. Bye.” The line went dead. My hand holding the phone slowly dropped. Then darkness. When I came back to myself, I was in a hospital bed. The doctor looked at me with an expression of quiet sorrow. “I’m sorry. You lost the baby.” I held the paper confirming the miscarriage, and what I felt, strangely, was something like relief. Maybe this was how it was supposed to be. Maybe the universe had decided this child didn’t deserve to be born into a home with no love in it. I looked at the cold words on the page and murmured to myself, “Well. He’ll have one more gift waiting for him when the time comes.” I carefully tucked the report into the bedside drawer, then asked the hospital to preserve what had been lost, in case it was ever needed. I checked the time. Two full days had passed since I lost consciousness. Not a single message from Xander. I stayed in the hospital three more days. Five days total, and Xander had forgotten I existed. No calls. No texts. Shea’s social media, on the other hand, was thriving. Day one: Xander taking her to the movies, then shopping. Day two: cooking her an elaborate dinner himself. Day three: riding the Ferris wheel with her. They were doing everything couples do, and I mean everything. Shea posted a photo of a bed. Rumpled sheets. A man’s dress shirt thrown across the pillow. She was bare-shouldered, leaning against the headboard, a faint red mark at her collarbone. I knew she was posting it to get to me. I let out a short, humorless laugh, screenshotted it, and saved it. Then I tracked down her other profiles and went through them carefully, looking for anything useful. On the sixth day, Xander finally remembered he had a wife named Lora and called. “Why aren’t you home? Where are you?” My voice was steady. “The hospital.” His tone shifted immediately. “The hospital? Why? What happened?” Still calm. “Did you see the news? The highway pileup on the 26th? I was on that bus.”
Lora’s POV Twenty minutes later, Xander came rushing into the room, forehead damp with sweat. He pulled me into his arms hard, his voice carrying both blame and relief. “Something this serious, and you didn’t call me? Are you hurt? Where? Where’s the doctor?” His panic was real. I could feel it. But I couldn’t feel anything in return anymore. “I did call. You were in line getting Shea a drink.” Xander went still. His eyes reddened. His voice came out rough. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Lora. I didn’t know.” I didn’t say anything else. I leaned back against the pillow and closed my eyes. For the next several days, Xander didn’t leave the room. The other patients and the nurses kept saying what a wonderful man he was. How lucky I was. I smiled and said nothing. A tabloid photographer caught it. It made the headlines. “Hargrove CEO Stays by Wife’s Bedside After Crash, The Love Story That’s Breaking the Internet.” Two weeks later, I was discharged. Xander came to take me home. In the car, the unfamiliar perfume hit me the moment I got in. Shea’s things were everywhere, a blanket, a throw pillow, some stickers, her perfume. I found a corner to settle into and didn’t say a word. When we walked through the front door, I almost thought I had the wrong house. The place was a mess. Shea’s things were all over it. Shea herself was on the couch in Xander’s shirt, legs crossed, eating fruit. The juice dripped onto my hand-woven rug, the one I loved most. When she saw us come in, she rolled her eyes without bothering to hide it. Xander acted like he hadn’t noticed. He smiled. “This is Shea. She’s young, always getting into trouble. Easier to keep her close.” I didn’t bother to respond. It didn’t matter. I was leaving soon. After that, whoever lived here was none of my concern. I said nothing and went upstairs. Xander had been juggling Shea and the hospital visits on top of a neglected workload, so he gave a quick word of apology and headed out. I pushed open my bedroom door and stopped. The room had been torn apart. The wardrobe was completely emptied, every drawer pulled open, like the place had been ransacked. I didn’t need to guess. My heart seized. I pushed everything else aside and started searching. My grandmother’s necklace. I needed to find it. It had been passed down through generations, her grandmother’s before it was hers. The only thing she had left me. The jewelry box was still in the drawer. It was empty. The necklace was gone. “Looking for this?” Shea’s voice came from behind me. I turned. She was leaning in the doorway, holding the necklace between two fingers, letting it swing lazily back and forth. “Give it back.” I went for it. She sidestepped me easily. Shea smiled, something mean in it. “I figured, something this cheap, and you’ve been keeping it in a box like it’s precious. It must really matter to you.” My voice shook. “Shea, I’ve never done anything to you. Please give it back.” The smile dropped. What replaced it was cold. “You took him from me. And you have the nerve to say you never did anything? Don’t play dumb. I can see it. You’re in love with him.” I was barely holding together, my eyes fixed on the necklace. “I don’t love him anymore. Give that back to me, and I’ll leave Xander. I swear.” Shea didn’t believe a word of it. “You think I’m stupid? A girl like you, you climbed your way up to him, and you expect me to think you’d just walk away?” “You want it? Fine. Keep me happy today, and I’ll think about giving it back.”
Lora’s POV I closed my eyes. I had no other options. I had no home left, no family left. That necklace was the only thing I still had. “Fine. I’ll do it.” For the rest of that day, Shea made herself comfortable giving me orders.She deliberately spilled oil and sauce all over the floor, then made me get on my knees and wipe it up piece by piece. The moment I finished one spot, she’d stomp through it again and leave a fresh trail of prints. “You missed a spot. Right there. Can’t you see it?” She made me kneel beside her and hold out my hands to catch the grape seeds she spat from her mouth. Sometimes she’d do it fast on purpose, and the seeds would fly out with the juice and hit me in the face. She made me brew her coffee, but every single time I brought it out, something was wrong with it. Too hot, make it again. Too weak, make it again. Not enough foam, make it again. At one point she just poured hot coffee directly onto my arm. “You’re useless. You can’t even make a decent cup of coffee.” The slightest thing she didn’t like, she’d slap me. Before long, my knees had swollen from kneeling, and my face had swollen from the hits. Several times, I almost fought back. But Shea would dangle the necklace in front of my face. I’d look at it and think of my grandmother’s kind face, and I’d swallow it down. I could give up my dignity. But I would not give up the one piece of family I had left. I had been starved of love for so long. I wanted it so desperately. At one point, one of the housekeepers couldn’t take it anymore and carefully spoke up. “Miss Shea, she is the lady of the house. Maybe you shouldn’t-” Shea turned and slapped her across the face without a second thought. “She’s no lady of anything! Say one more word and I’ll have my brother fire you on the spot.” After that, nobody said anything. Shea only got bolder. She smiled with something vicious in it. “I’m sure you saw your precious little hometown. Every last bit of it, bulldozed flat.” “I told him I wanted that land for an amusement park, and he agreed on the spot. He didn’t even remember it was your home.” “Do you see that? You are nothing to him. Absolutely nothing. I can do whatever I want with you. People like you, you exist to entertain people like me.” It went on until evening, until Shea finally tired herself out and went quiet. I pushed down every last bit of humiliation and rage. “Had enough fun? Give me back the necklace.” Shea opened her eyes slowly, and the malice in them was at its peak. “Sure. I’ll give it right back.” She stood up and hurled the necklace as hard as she could into the decorative pond in the courtyard. I ran to the edge and watched my grandmother’s necklace hit the water and disappear beneath the surface. “Grandma.” The sound tore out of me. I had endured the entire day. I had told Shea outright I wasn’t going to compete with her over Xander. But Shea had never had any intention of giving the necklace back. She only ever wanted to break me. Even the most patient person has a limit. I was done being patient. I walked calmly over to Shea, looked at her satisfied face, and slapped her as hard as I could. I put everything I had into it. Half her face swelled up instantly. Blood appeared at the corner of her mouth. “You hit me?!” Shea shrieked and swung back. But she was a sheltered girl who’d never had to fight for anything, and I’d grown up rough. She had no chance. I caught her wrist. “Yes. I did.” I raised my other hand, ready to go again, when someone grabbed me from behind with iron force. Xander. He gripped my wrist so hard I thought the bones might give. His eyes were burning. “Lora. What the hell are you doing?” Shea burst into tears the moment she saw him and threw herself against his chest. “This is the wife you picked! She attacked me! She was going to kill me! Do something, hit her back!” Xander looked at Shea’s swollen face and her tearful eyes, and his fury ignited. “Lora. You want to die?” He raised his hand to strike back. I turned to face him squarely, and I didn’t step back. He saw my face. The bruises. The wreck I looked like. He went still. His hand hung in the air. “What happened to you?” Shea screamed, “What are you waiting for? Hit her!”
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