Author: Momo Chan

1 By the seventh year of our marriage, Ethan seemed to have grown weary of me. His phone password had changed. He no longer shared the small details of his day. 【I’m swamped, feet barely touching the ground. No time for trivial chatter.】 Yet, later, in class, the young student he was sponsoring wept as she poured out her grievances to him. 【Just because I missed a few classes, the teacher wants to dock my participation grade.】 Without a word, he hired someone to vandalize my cubicle. When I returned to my office, I found utter chaos, shattered glass, and papers strewn across the floor. For a long moment, I stood frozen. Then, I bent to pick up our wedding photo, torn in half on the ground – a picture of us, so young and full of hope, beaming back. In that instant, everything just felt utterly meaningless. That evening, Ethan, a rare presence at home, carried the chill of the outside world with him. He handed me a few takeout containers. 【Passed by National University today, saw that old spot you loved. See if it tastes the same as it used to.】 The containers were barely warm, yet my palms felt scorched. “What were you doing at National University?” I asked. His hands, poised to loosen his tie, paused, then casually resumed their task. 【Client dinner.】 I nodded, tracing the wedding band on my ring finger. A colleague’s words resurfaced – she’d said the young student’s boyfriend, a man seemingly well-established, had hired the vandals. He’d even left a business card, telling me to contact him for compensation, his tone arrogant but brimming with confidence. That gilded card was still in my bag, its intricate patterns on the back. The prolonged silence made Ethan restless. He turned, kneeling before me, reaching out to cup my face. 【Why the long face? What happened?】 Just then, his phone chimed. His eyes flickered, his movements slowing by a beat. I pulled back a little. 【A student misbehaved, and she’s upset about being disciplined.】 At my answer, he relaxed, his suspended hand gently ruffling my hair. His voice, for once, was uncommonly soft. 【So even our Ms. Lila faces trouble at work.】 The chime sounded again. This time, I caught it – it was his ‘special contacts’ ringtone. The continuous stream of messages clearly distracted him. 【Don’t you want to know her name?】 【My student? How would I know her?】 【What if you do?】 【Chloe!】 He cut me off, a frown creasing his brow, then pointed to the documents on the table. 【I’m truly busy. The company’s swamped. I don’t want to come home and have to listen to your cryptic questions. You can handle things, right?】 The words choked in my throat, and I fell silent again. Ethan, his face cold, retreated into his study. When I followed him with the documents he’d dropped, my nose met the slammed door. The papers scattered across the floor, caught in the gust of air. I crouched, clutching my throbbing face, beginning to resent our house’s poor soundproofing. It was so bad, I could still hear Ethan’s hushed, tender voice from behind the door: 【Don’t cry. I’m here.】 Ethan and I married in our seventh year of dating. He’d just failed his startup, and I hadn’t finished my studies. We had no car, no home, squeezing into a tiny rented apartment, eating instant noodles. Yet, somehow, we found the courage. Just a casual remark about the “seven-year itch” sent us impulsively to City Hall to get our marriage license, keeping it a secret from our families. Stepping out of the registry office, he held the red certificate, grinning at me. 【Seven years? What’s seven years? Lila, we’re legally married now. We have a lifetime to go.】 We were so naive, so innocent back then, believing love could conquer all. Until we learned to compromise with the world. After his third failure, he gave up on his startup, joined a big company, and steadily climbed the corporate ladder. And I, after graduating with my master’s, gave up on studying abroad, choosing to become an ordinary teacher. Over those seven years, our paths diverged, we grew in different directions. We seemingly found both love and security, only to suddenly realize, looking back, that the person beside us had become a stranger, no longer the one we’d fallen in love with. The boy who, eyes red-rimmed, once rubbed my hands because we couldn’t afford heating, was now comforting another girl’s tears. Around eleven, I heard movement by the door. Ethan walked in, as he always did, pulling the covers over me. Seeing I was awake, he seemed surprised, then explained that a client had an emergency, and he had to go. I didn’t respond. 【Was that the same client you had dinner with today?】 【Hmm.】 【Is just having dinner not enough? Do you have to sleep with them too?】 Ethan, halfway into putting on his jacket, shot me a cold glance. 【What are you trying to say? That there’s no such client, that I’m lying because I’m with another woman?】 He took a few steps back, scrutinizing me. 【You weren’t this unreasonable before.】 After Ethan left, a message popped up in my staff group chat. It was Ms. Davies, the counselor for the third-year class, complaining: 【That Chloe girl in my class is causing trouble again. She insists her roommate is targeting her, making a fuss about moving out late at night. Can’t stop her. Says her boyfriend is picking her up soon. These young girls nowadays, honestly…】 When I woke up the next morning, Ethan was lying beside me, his phone on the nightstand, its notification light blinking incessantly. I reached for it, but as my hand passed over him, he caught my wrist – his eyes filled with a guarded suspicion, as if I were a class enemy. I stated calmly, 【You have messages.】 He scoffed, handing me his phone. 【Go ahead and check. The password’s our wedding anniversary.】 His tone was dismissive, almost mocking, as if taunting my lack of trust in our marriage. I typed in the password. Aside from company group chats, there were very few personal conversations. The recent messages were just a subordinate requesting leave. Seeing my grim expression, Ethan, as if he’d won a battle, put down his phone and pulled me into his arms. From under the pillow, he pulled out a box – inside was a ruby necklace. It was beautiful, a deep, pulsing crimson, like an endlessly beating heart. Even for us now, it was a significant expense. He gently put it on me, his voice tinged with weary resignation. 【It’s our wedding anniversary today. We’ve been through fourteen years together. How could you have so little faith in me?】 With that, he closed his eyes, fatigued, nestling into the crook of my neck. 【Wife, I don’t like you like this.】 If I hadn’t seen that necklace in a magazine, knowing it came with a pair of matching earrings, I might have felt guilty for my suspicions. But there was no ‘if.’ Whose ears would those earrings adorn? I instinctively hugged Ethan back, trying to comfort myself: It’s okay. They’re just a free gift. That evening, Ethan stood me up for our candlelit dinner. When the waiter asked for the third time if I could give up my table, I awkwardly stood. A young couple who had been waiting eagerly took my spot, thanking me profusely. Even as I walked out of the restaurant, I could hear their sweet chatter about how hard it was to get a reservation, how famous the dishes were. My chat screen was stuck on a message from three hours ago, asking Ethan how much longer he’d be. I called him; it went straight to voicemail. Then a message came through: 【Something came up at work.】 On a whim, I opened the staff group chat, added Ms. Davies, the counselor, and asked her about the student from the other day. She seemed to find a willing ear, sending seven or eight voice messages in quick succession, finally telling me: That little girl’s boyfriend showed up again, helping her move her luggage. She couldn’t resist adding: He’s quite handsome, actually. Time had been exceptionally kind to Ethan; he hadn’t become a portly, unkempt middle-aged man. His thick black hair was neatly combed, his simple yet elegant suit exuded an aura of confidence and poise. Chloe stood beside him, twirling her long hair, occasionally glaring at passing girls, looking possessive. I stood behind them, watching him help the girl move her luggage, then share a late-night snack. They strolled leisurely through the campus. As they passed National University’s famous Lovers’ Lake, Chloe linked her arm through his. Ethan’s expression remained placid, letting her cling, neither returning the gesture nor resisting. The girl’s eyes crinkled in a smile, her cheeks flushed as she lowered her head, and a glint from her earlobes caught the light. I followed them until they entered an apartment building, then finally left. That night, my old professor called. He started by grumbling about his current students, then praised my talent in our field, finally tentatively asking where I was working now. I candidly told him I’d stayed to teach at the university after graduation. He expressed deep regret, asking if I was interested in joining an international project and continuing my research. I clutched my phone, thinking of something, and shook my head. 【I’m married.】 A long silence stretched on the line. Finally, my professor said no more, only hoping I’d consider it. When Ethan returned, I had just gotten out of the shower. He didn’t even bother to take off his jacket before embracing me from behind. A faint scent of alcohol drifted from him. Then, a shower of kisses, dense and urgent, rained from my neck to my cheeks, finally lingering on my earlobes. His voice was hoarse, tinged with a rare desperation. 【Wife, I missed you.】 It had been so long since we’d been this intimate, not since his work had gotten so busy. I couldn’t help but remember the ruby earrings, how intimately he had nestled with that young girl. My throat instantly tightened. I instinctively pushed him away. 【I don’t feel well.】 As if to prove my words, a moment later, my stomach churned violently. I rushed into the bathroom, throwing up until only a bitter, salty taste remained in my mouth. In that moment, I suddenly understood: I couldn’t just be indifferent anymore. When I emerged, Ethan was already asleep. His phone was still on the nightstand. This time, no one stopped me. I picked up the phone, typing in the young girl’s birthday. The screen unlocked to an interface completely different from what I’d seen that morning. There was only one contact, labeled “My Forever Young Girl.” As I watched, a message came in: A photo. A pristine white sheet, neatly folded, adorned with crimson spots, a heart drawn in marker beside them. 【Remember our first time? When we became one, our hearts beat in sync, and I felt your burning love. Will big brother divorce for me?】 …My mind buzzed. I scrolled up through their chat history. It was as if they had endless things to say to each other, so much content that Ethan’s silence at home suddenly seemed “understandable.” Two years ago, on Lunar New Year’s Eve, he didn’t come back to my hometown for the first time. We watched the boring New Year’s gala from our phones, listening to the noisy firecrackers outside. At the stroke of midnight, he sent his blessings precisely on time. I even teased him then, saying we were an old married couple, no need for such exact timing. I didn’t know that at that very moment, he was celebrating New Year’s with that young girl, and they were making dinner together in the same house we’d lived in for seven years. In the photo, the girl’s face was dusted with flour, beaming. Ethan’s gaze was tender as he wiped her face. My fingertips slowly grew cold. I tormented myself, scrolling through the messages Ethan had sent her. At first, the girl spoke more. She called him “Kind Big Brother,” innocently complaining about school troubles, about classmates being difficult. Later, Ethan’s messages grew more frequent. He’d tell her about his work frustrations. Chloe mostly wouldn’t understand, but she’d respond with a soft voice saying “So tough,” and send “sympathy for big brother” emojis. And then, the Ethan of later messages was both familiar and a stranger to me – he’d share mundane daily details with her, and when she was upset, he’d rush to be with her. Those late nights he told me he was “busy with work” were almost always spent by her side. As I kept reading, the nausea returned, but I had nothing left to throw up. I pulled on a jacket, buried myself in the couch, and sank into a deep sleep. I felt cold in the night, but warm in the morning. When I woke up, I found myself curled in Ethan’s arms, like a chick returning to its nest. Seeing I was awake, he naturally patted my back. 【Feeling better?】 On the table were water and medicine he’d prepared. Seeing me take it, he slipped a piece of candy into my mouth. The sickly sweet taste startled me. Still half-asleep, I instinctively questioned, 【I’m not a child.】 【Someone else gave it to me. I don’t like sweets anyway.】 He pulled me back into his embrace. 【Oh, by the way, did you know that girl I was sponsoring also got into National University?】 My heart suddenly clenched. 【What are you trying to say?】 He seemed oblivious. 【You have pretty good connections with a lot of professors. Could you put in a good word, help her get a spot in the grad program?】 Later that day at school, the principal informed me I’d been reported for “abusing authority and targeting a student.” I knew it was Ethan’s doing, so I submitted my resignation. However, with final exams approaching, the principal hoped I would help teach the last few classes. As I worked through calculations on the blackboard, Chloe sauntered in late. I glanced at her, then continued my lecture. During a short break, some students gathered around her, asking: 【You were late today, and Ms. Hayes didn’t say anything to you. How did you do that?】 She was looking down, fiddling with her phone, a smug grin on her face. 【She wouldn’t dare mess with me.】 She then launched into a vivid, embellished tale of how she and her boyfriend had “punished” me. Finally, she pulled out her phone and showed the others a picture of the two of them. 【Wow, your boyfriend is so handsome?! You two together look straight out of a billionaire romance novel!】 Someone snatched her phone and handed it to me. 【Ms. Hayes, look, isn’t Chloe’s boyfriend handsome?】 I looked at the familiar face on the screen, then at Chloe, who stood there, her face a mask of brazen provocation. In that instant, a sharp, cold fury pricked at my heart, impossible to contain. I gripped my lesson plan tightly, forcing myself to remain calm. 【I know him. He’s a general manager at a publicly traded company. I heard he’s already married. So, Chloe, are you… the other woman?】

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1 After my divorce from Clara Reynolds, I found myself with three new card buddies. One was Professor Arthur Harrison, a true titan of legal academia. Another, General Eleanor “Ellie” Thorne, a legendary figure in the military. And the third, Victor Sterling, a renowned investment guru, known throughout the industry. Every day, we’d gather around a table, playing cards with relish. Then one afternoon, my “precious daughter” suddenly showed up at my doorstep. I didn’t even recognize her. “Young lady,” I said, a little gruffly, “this is where us old timers play cards. You don’t really belong here.” She eyed my sprawling penthouse with disdain, refusing to even step inside. “Dad,” she announced, her voice flat, “I’m getting married tomorrow. I came to pick you up for the wedding.” I turned to my three card buddies. “Whose daughter is this? Getting married, she should be home preparing!” Professor Harrison, busy with his hand, didn’t even look up. “My grandson’s old enough to drive,” he mumbled, “she’s definitely not mine.” To my surprise, the girl bristled, puffing out her cheeks. “I’m Maya Reynolds, your daughter!” “Young lady, you must have the wrong house,” I countered, “My daughter’s name is Lily Carter.” “Mom changed my name.” I scrutinized her for a long moment. This vibrant, beautiful girl, with that strangely cold expression, slowly merged with the memory of that soft, sweet little kid I’d adored – indeed, the “nuisance” I’d doted on for seven years. At the time, I was caught up in the thrill of a winning hand. In my good mood, I casually replied, “Marriage? That’s great. You’ve grown into a young woman, it’s time you settled down!” “Come on, Charlie, hurry up! Second game’s about to start! We’re waiting on you!” my friends urged. “Coming, coming,” I chuckled, already grabbing a card. “Here, daughter, here’s an early wedding gift.” I tossed a card to Maya Reynolds, but she angrily swatted it aside. “All you ever do is play cards!” she snapped, her voice tight with indignation. “Your own daughter’s getting married, and I have to come begging you to come? Couldn’t you have prepared anything ahead of time?” My own temper flared. “Are we close? Didn’t you cry and scream that you wanted David Reynolds to be your dad? What are you doing coming to me now?” From the moment she was born, Clara Reynolds had washed her hands of parental duties, claiming she needed to recover. Even with a nanny at home, I worried Maya would feel neglected. I put my thriving career on hold to be fully present: I personally gave her first haircut, brushed her teeth, bathed her, gave her massages every single day… Before kindergarten, she was still my little daddy’s girl, sharing all her secrets with me. But then David Reynolds came back, and everything changed. Once, I saw them – mother, daughter, and David – at a theme park, looking like a picture-perfect family. I wanted to storm over and punch David right there, but my young daughter stopped me. Her tiny, pink fists pounded against my leg. “Go away! All you ever do is stay home, doing nothing! I don’t want you as a dad, I want Uncle David to be my dad!” The punches stung my leg, but the real pain was in my heart. So this is how ruthless human nature is. Even children know how to pick who gives them more. Between the father who gave her love and the mother who gave her wealth, she had unhesitatingly chosen the latter. In that moment, I felt there was no longer any reason to remain in that house. So, we separated, then divorced. Over a decade later, that little ball of fluff stood before me again. She’d never been reprimanded like that. Her face flushed scarlet. “Dad, that’s ancient history! Uncle David doesn’t even care that you hit him! Why are you still holding a grudge? I’m getting married! If you don’t come, where will the Reynolds family put its face?” I rolled my eyes. What did the Reynolds family’s reputation have to do with me, Charlie Carter? Besides, knowing David Reynolds, he’d probably prefer I never showed up. Why would he send his daughter to invite me? “Anyway, I told you! You have to be there tomorrow!” Maya threw the words over her shoulder and walked away, confident that I would still chase after her, doting and fussing, like when she was a child. But then I reconsidered and agreed. I’d almost forgotten those grievances. Since they were coming to me, it was time to reclaim what was mine. 2 The wedding day was Valentine’s Day. I played cards with my old buddies, then headed to the reception. By the time I arrived, the dinner had already begun. I heard the groom was from out of state, the wedding was at the Reynolds’ grand estate, and they’d even hired a celebrity chef. The moment I entered, a security guard stopped me, demanding an invitation. “I didn’t receive one. I’m the bride’s father. Go ask her if she wants me here. If not, I’ll leave.” Just as I turned to go, David Reynolds called out, “Charlie, you made it! Family doesn’t need an invitation. Next time, I’ll kick you out!” He seemed to be scolding the guard, but his lips were practically touching his ears with triumph. I ignored him – in a few days, that smile would vanish. The Reynolds’ grand estate, now ablaze with lights and opulent decor, was unrecognizable from my memories. I walked straight to the head table and sat down. Maya quickly rushed over. “Dad, what are you doing in the main seat? That’s Uncle David’s…” Her words were cut short by a sharp look from Clara. Seeing this, I knew there was a catch: the mother and daughter, biting their tongues, were clearly plotting something against me. David Reynolds, finding his seat taken, awkwardly introduced me to the groom’s parents. “This is Maya’s biological father. We specifically invited him today to witness the children’s happy moment. There was a little misunderstanding back then. Charlie left for over ten years. Now that he’s here today, he should stay a few extra days. Maya misses you too; don’t be mad at her anymore.” His words were designed to nail me to a pillar of shame, proclaiming to the world that I, a grown man, had abandoned my wife and daughter for over a decade out of spite. “Maya, you and your husband should raise a toast to your father.” How ironic. My own daughter had to be told by someone else to toast me. But I no longer cared. “You must be the groom’s father,” I said, looking at him. “It’s a privilege to become family. A truly auspicious fate.” I smirked. The groom’s father was a new money tycoon from Riverton City, Mr. Wallace. He’d tried to join our card club a while back, even offering a briefcase full of cash, but we’d always rejected him. He hadn’t met me in person. He exchanged a few polite words, then left. Ignoring the stares of the other guests, I finished my meal and retired to my room. Meanwhile, Maya, fearing her “Uncle David” might be upset about losing the head seat, fussed over him, playing the role of the devoted daughter. 3 During the banquet, I felt my phone buzzing constantly. Once in the room, I opened it to find dozens of unread messages in our card club group. Leading the charge was Professor Harrison: “So, Charlie, my man, did you work your magic at the party?” “There are a lot of them. Want us to come give you some moral support?” That was General Thorne. “Your ‘dear daughter’ seems like an ungrateful wretch. Just forget about her. We’ve got more money than we can spend in a lifetime; wouldn’t it be better to adopt some grateful kids?” That was Victor Sterling, never missing a chance to flaunt his wealth. Professor Harrison, General Thorne, Victor Sterling, and I formed the card club. Professor Harrison, the “Ace,” came from a scholarly family, dedicating himself entirely to law. Years of hard work paid off; he became famous young and has held a prestigious position as a legal luminary for decades. General Thorne, the “Queen,” was a military brat who followed in her father’s footsteps. Fearless of bloodshed or sacrifice, she embodies the glory of a soldier with her unyielding iron will. Victor Sterling, the “King,” was born into immense wealth. His father’s only wish for him was to be a carefree socialite, as long as he never started a business. But a Midas touch seemed to possess Victor, and every investment he made turned to gold. These past few years, he suddenly retired from the game. In his words, he was tired of being on the richest list and it was time to make way for younger generations. Right after I left the Reynolds family, I felt utterly adrift, locking myself in the house day after day. Then, by chance, I discovered poker, and before I knew it, I’d made these three incredible friends. After more than a decade of friendship, they knew all about my messy past with the Reynolds family. David Reynolds was Clara’s adoptive brother. When Clara was chasing me, he’d follow us everywhere, claiming he was scrutinizing me for Clara’s sake. In the throes of new love, I’d mocked their “deep sibling bond.” Who knew that bond was deep enough to extend to the same bed? Once I discovered their affair, Clara went full scorched earth, loudly declaring to everyone that David Reynolds was her true love. Back then, she hadn’t dared to face her true feelings, afraid that rumors would ruin David’s future. After marrying me, she realized she couldn’t control her passion, couldn’t escape her feelings, and that we had nothing in common anymore. It sickened me. Why didn’t she realize this earlier? The child was six or seven years old before she declared she couldn’t forget her true love. The truth was simply that years ago, my parents were still alive, and the Carter and Reynolds families were equally powerful. The Reynolds family, fearing a broken partnership, even sent David abroad to cut off Clara’s hopes. Now, Clara had risen by stepping on me, with no one to restrain her. And she spoke with such self-righteousness. Cheaters truly have a twisted way of thinking. 4 Old memories haunted my dreams last night, and I woke up in a foul mood. Especially when I saw a crowd gathered in the middle of the Reynolds Estate, I just wanted to stir up some trouble for that family. In the living room, a large group of people watched as Maya and her new husband knelt before David Reynolds. “Dad, thank you for raising me these past ten-plus years. Without you, I wouldn’t be where I am today.” I rolled my eyes. As if this ingrate just popped out of a rock. Several cameras were set up, broadcasting live. Professor Harrison sent me a link. “Your daughter’s live-streaming her gratitude to her step-dad. Truly moving to hear, heartbreaking to witness.” “Want me to report them and shut it down? That David guy is still just her secret lover, isn’t he?” “Why use a sledgehammer to crack a nut? Just watch, the ‘other woman’ drama is about to go live.” Meanwhile, David Reynolds was wiping away tears, looking like a proud father marrying off his own daughter, as he handed Maya and her husband a gift envelope. Seeing me, he came over, trying to pull me in. “Charlie, you’re here! Come, sit. Let Maya and her husband kneel to you too.” “Dad, why did you bring him?” Maya grumbled, clearly annoyed. “Charlie, the kids are starting their own family. The young couple needs to make a start. Maya and her husband want to build a major development in Riverton City. There’s a piece of land I remember that’s yours. If you transfer that land to the kids as startup capital for Maya’s wedding, they’ll surely be grateful.” He continued, “Wouldn’t that mend the father-daughter relationship?” His speech was so heartfelt, as if he genuinely cared about our father-daughter bond. If he weren’t eyeing my land, I’d almost applaud him. “That land already has another purpose.” Hearing that the land was unavailable, Maya immediately interrupted me. “The Carter family is in decline. All he does is play cards all day; he probably gambled that land away ages ago. Dad, why bother with this broke old man?”

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Jason walked in as I was eating hotpot alone on the rug. Though I knew he’d already dined, I kept my eyes on the simmering broth. He sat silently on the sofa edge – the quiet so deep I heard my slotted spoon drip. I timed my Wagyu slice perfectly: five seconds, then a light soy dip. The absurd scene: a woman in evening gown, kneeling at a low table devouring hotpot. Our downtown penthouse, once a marital home, was now mostly my solitary space. I cooked vegetables meticulously while he sat wordless beside me. Only when full did I rise, leaving the mess for Maria. In the bathroom, I removed the barely visible black mourning band from my sleeve. Folding it, my reflection caught me. As I reached for the bedroom knob, he finally spoke. “Alice.” I turned, simply murmuring, “Hmm?” He was already striding forward, sweeping me into his arms. “If you need to cry, just let it out. I’m here.” I looked up at him, my expression calm and serene. “I haven’t shed a tear in years. Not then, not now, not ever. Go take a shower. Your clothes are picking up my perfume.” He started to speak again, but I gently pressed a finger to his lips. As the sound of the shower filled the bathroom, the lingering scent of violets on him slowly faded. I pushed open the bedroom’s floor-to-ceiling window, gazing down at the bustling city grid sixty-six stories below. If I were to leap from here, I wondered, would there even be a trace left? But which would be harder to bear: the soul-gnawing agony of chemotherapy, or the searing, instantaneous pain of a fall? 1 My phone buzzed relentlessly, a cascade of sympathetic messages. My finger paused on an unread voice note. The moment I tapped it, a boy’s bright voice, clear as shattered ice, pierced my ear: “Happy birthday, Sis! Don’t forget your strawberry cake~ And just between us, I recorded a hundred ‘Happy Birthday’ messages for you, so you have to live to be a hundred, so you can hear them every year!” A dull ache, like a hammer blow, slammed into my chest. I slid down the cool glass wall, slowly collapsing to the floor. No more. My only brother, Leo, had finally succumbed to the bone cancer, closing his eyes forever on the eve of my birthday. …A rapid knock echoed on the bedroom door. He called my childhood name, his voice laced with an urgency I hadn’t heard in years. In my daze, it was almost as if I were a child again, when he would tug my ponytail and sweetly call out, “Alice.” “The bath’s ready. Please open the door, let me carry you in, okay?” “Alice, don’t scare me…” I leaned against the frigid glass, my eyes hollow as I stared at the city’s neon glow. I wanted so desperately to tell him to leave, to go anywhere – after four years of living alone in this empty house, I’d long grown accustomed to the chilling solitude. He hadn’t shown up for my mother’s funeral four years ago; he hadn’t been there for Leo’s farewell just yesterday. His “return” now felt utterly superfluous. …He must have learned about my illness. Lately, he’d been home every day, even his voice noticeably softer. It wasn’t hard to guess why – both my mother and Leo had died from bone cancer, a disease known for its high hereditary risk in our family. I curled up on the sofa with my Maine Coon, watching a show, when he brought over a breakfast tray. “I made your favorite ham sandwich. Want some?” I set the cat down and sat at the dining table, but only spooned a bit of plain rice porridge into my mouth. “Would you mind coming to Grandma Helen’s place with me for lunch?” “Hmm.” As I swallowed the second spoonful of porridge, I caught his hesitant, unsaid words. 2 Outside the car window, the sycamore leaves were tinged with gold. Autumn had arrived, unnoticed. A cashmere scarf suddenly draped over my shoulders. “Careful, you’ll catch a chill.” At Grandma Helen’s estate, her eyes were filled with worry, none of her usual cheer. She sighed often. I sat beside her on the long sofa, but deliberately focused on the TV show, laughing loudly. “Grandma, look how funny that comedian’s hat is!” “Yes, it’s quite funny. As long as you like it, Alice.” Before dinner, I took a walk in the garden, only returning when the dinner bell chimed. Before I even entered the house, I heard voices arguing from a side room. “You need to cut ties with that woman, immediately! Can’t you see Alice isn’t herself anymore? She just lost her only family member, if you have any decency…” “You were gallivanting around overseas with another woman during Leo’s funeral!” “I booked the fastest flight…” That was Jason’s strained defense. “The hospital had already issued a critical condition notice! And you chose that moment to go abroad, with that hussy… Any woman would be driven insane by you!” “She insisted on coming along…” “Enough! What good is saying all this now? Just make amends during the time she has left.” I stepped back, walked another loop around the garden, and then returned. When I got back, Jason was already waiting for me by the front door. He wore a coat, and in his eyes, for once, was genuine concern for me. “Where did you go? Couldn’t find you anywhere in the garden.” “Found a stray dog. Took it to the shelter.” “Your hands are freezing.” He came closer, reaching for my hand. My body stiffened. Perhaps my hands were just too cold; the warmth of his grasp made me instinctively tremble. He squeezed my hand, a little harder, as if trying to hold onto something precious. Seeing Grandma Helen standing by the inner door, waiting for us, I forced a smile and followed him back inside. 3 After lunch at Grandma Helen’s, we said our goodbyes. I’d already quit my job. For the rest of my days, I simply cooked, ate, slept, consumed TV shows on my phone all night if they were good. Jason would tell me to stop, but I wouldn’t listen. His tone was too gentle now, unlike our past arguments, which were always sharp as knives. This particular night, I stayed up all night on my phone. When he woke up the next morning and found me still glued to it, he took it away. “Stop playing. Let your eyes rest.” But he was wrong this time. I was dealing with something serious. I was talking to a cemetery sales agent about a burial plot. He saw the screen and froze. I held out my hand. “I’m almost done. Give it back.” He became like a caged beast, veins bulging on his clenched fists. He said nothing, just took my phone and walked out. I came out, picked up the cat by the door, and looked at the closed balcony door. He was out there, chain-smoking, almost swallowed by the haze. 4 In the days that followed, he was exceptionally good to me, indulging my every whim. If I fell asleep by the floor-to-ceiling window while watching the sunset, he would gently carry me to bed. If I lounged in the living room watching TV, he’d join me. He even experimented with foreign cuisines every day, ensuring no two meals were alike. Sometimes, I’d just stare, mesmerized, at him in the kitchen in his loungewear. Oh, and he thoughtfully removed all the calendars from the house, not wanting me to see the thinning stack of days. One day, scrolling through videos, I saw countless flower deliveries. It clicked. It was Valentine’s Day. The bedroom door creaked open. I quickly shut off the video. He had something to say. “What is it?” “I need to go out for a bit.” I paused, then simply replied, “Okay.” He didn’t need to tell me if he was going out. After he left, I changed into a sweater, deciding to go for a walk. The afternoon sun cast a pleasant glow on the streets. We were running low on cat food, so I bought two large bags of cat treats and some of my favorite potato chips. My hands were full, but I still planned to stop at my favorite coffee shop for a hot cup. At a traffic light, I saw the coffee shop across the street. And I knew I wouldn’t be having that coffee. Through the cafe’s large window, Jason looked out, his eyes widening in shock. I hadn’t managed to get away fast enough. Our quiet moment was shattered by my presence, and their festive warmth, too. Amidst the rush of people, I quickly turned and walked away. I didn’t understand it today. Seeing Skye in a red dress, she still looked so vibrant. But the furious hatred I once held for her had completely faded. I remembered the first time I found out about her. I’d stormed over to her bayfront house, smashed things, and we’d fought tooth and nail, scratching each other until our faces bled. Now, looking back, it felt so childish. Carrying my purchases, I hailed a cab home. I fed the cat its treats, rubbed its plump belly, and sighed. Just like me, it loved to sleep after eating. After tucking it into its cat bed, I began packing my clothes. I planned to leave. The thought had crossed my mind before, for no other reason than knowing the very last days of my life would be messy, unsightly. I wanted to find a place where no one would be, to fade away in silence. I packed a large suitcase and carried it to the door, taking one last look at the home I had lovingly created. The sleeping cat woke, looking at me with bewildered eyes. In the taxi, I held the cat. Together, we gazed up at the sky outside the window.

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My cousin, Kayla Sullivan, had been studying for years and finally, this year, secured a teaching position in the public school district. As her only close relative in the city, I felt it was only right to treat her to a celebratory dinner. Kayla specifically chose “The Gilded Spoon,” a place where a single meal could easily set you back three hundred dollars a head. I winced, but agreed. She proactively made the reservation, chirping that she had a special “gift” for me that day and that I absolutely had to dress up. On the appointed day, I put in my daily contacts, slipped into a fresh dress, and strapped on my sky-high heels. Fearing rush hour traffic would delay me, I even took a cab to the restaurant ahead of time. “Hello, I’m here for a reservation under Kayla Sullivan.” “Let me check for you… Ms. Sullivan booked our largest private dining room.” Largest room? I frowned, confused. I followed the hostess to the private room, pushed open the door… A massive dining table sprawled before me, surrounded by over a dozen people. They all turned, as one, to stare at me. “There must be a mistake,” I said, “there are only two of us.” “No mistake at all! This is it!” “Rachel! You’re finally here!” Kayla, in a vibrant red cocktail dress, emerged from the crowd, pulling me by the arm to sit down as she spoke. “Didn’t you say you were taking me out to dinner? I ordered the food ages ago! We’ve just been waiting for you!” “Oh! Sis, that bracelet is gorgeous.” I quickly twisted the jade bracelet away from her view. Kayla had a habit of “borrowing” my things since childhood, and “just looking” often meant “never returning.” I hissed at her in a low voice, “Kayla, I said I’d take you out to dinner. Who are all these people?!” “Oh, these are all my study buddies and future colleagues from various universities!” she chirped. “You said you were treating me, right? So I just invited everyone along!” Excuse me? Doesn’t she understand basic etiquette? You don’t bring your own guests to someone else’s treat! I managed a weak, awkward laugh. “Well, since you have friends here, I won’t intrude. I’ll just head out.” “You’re not going anywhere, Rachel Green!” Kayla’s voice suddenly pierced the air. “It’s just dinner, you’ll get to know them! Besides, how much can it possibly cost? You own a house in the city, what’s a little cash to you?” I’m poor because I bought a house! Mortgage payments! Renovations! They’re crushing me! There are over a dozen people here, at three hundred a head, this meal is going to be almost five thousand dollars! Are you kidding me?! Her gaze remained fixed on my bracelet. “Look at that clarity! How much was it?! Honestly, Rachel! You buy yourself such expensive things, but you’re too stingy to spend a little on me!” Are those even comparable? Before I could even retort, Kayla’s so-called ‘friends’ chimed in. “Is this your rich cousin? It’s just one meal, why be such a miser?” “Exactly! Your sister finally landed her dream job! Don’t ruin the celebration!” Kayla grabbed a bottle, ready to pour me a drink. I recognized it: Dom Pérignon?! “This is all about networking, Rachel, don’t look so glum! Come on, let’s toast!” she continued. “Didn’t I say I had a gift for you? Take a look!” A guy who looked old enough to be my father winked at me. “To my left, this is Gary. He’s forty, divorced with two kids, and works at a local university. Then there’s Steve, a little heavier but younger, he’s your age and landed his job with me. And there’s also…” She rattled off a list of ‘gifts’ – potential suitors, apparently. I waved my hand, resisting. “These are your ‘gifts’?” “Yeah! You’re in your thirties and still single, right? I’m just trying to set you up with a few good catches!” With that, their glasses clinked against mine. I looked at balding Gary, pot-bellied Steve, and pock-marked Mark, as Kayla whispered excitedly in my ear, “These are all rock-solid government jobs! You’d be marrying up!” I forced a strained, unconvincing smile. “Why does your cousin look so unhappy? Does she think we’re not good enough?” “Even if I’m on my second marriage, I’ve got full benefits and a pension! I’ll be set for life!” “She’s no beauty queen, just a plain Jane really. And I’ll be clear, after we get married, you’ll still have to work.” … “Rachel, just for my sake, have a drink!” I was seconds away from smashing my glass and walking out when, fortuitously, my mom called. “You took Kayla out to dinner? Do you have enough money?” Kayla was the middle child, with an older and younger brother. Her family wasn’t well-off, and she’d always felt a bit neglected. Her pocket money often came from petty theft, a habit the family knew about but rarely confronted. Because of her tendency to freeload and her light fingers, she almost didn’t get into college. In the end, it was the relatives who chipped in for her tuition. Mom always said Kayla had it tough, and since we were in the same city, I should look out for her. Growing up steeped in her struggles, I felt a deep sense of sympathy. I personally drove her to her university, but when I turned around, I noticed five hundred dollars missing from my purse. I didn’t say anything; I knew her family gave her no allowance. From then on, I started giving her five hundred dollars a month for pocket money. By her senior year, I’d increased it to a thousand. She never once thanked me, instead always complaining she was broke and that the allowance was too little. She majored in literature, which didn’t lead to many job opportunities, and she refused to go back home to take the civil service exam. So, as a compromise, she decided to pursue teaching. After graduation, with nowhere to go, I let her stay with me rent-free. She used my things without asking, wore my clothes, used my bags without hesitation, always brushing off my concerns with a breezy, “Aren’t you my sister?” After watching her struggle to find a job for over six months, I pulled some strings, tapped into my network, and found her a substitute teaching position at a private academy. Instead of gratitude, she accused me of trying to sabotage her. “A private elementary school?! Don’t you know I’m qualified for middle school? And it’s just a contract position! How can that compare to a tenured role? The pay is half, and I’d be stuck with all the grunt work!” Plenty of people work while studying for certification, but with her, it became my fault. Furious, I told her to get out! But then she demanded three thousand dollars a month in living expenses, saying it would help her “get by” until she “made it big” and could pay me back. I know the difference between generosity and obligation, and how favors can turn into resentment! I flat-out refused to fund her and kicked her out. She secretly called me heartless, blocked my number in protest, and for the first couple of years, she didn’t show up at family gatherings or visit our home during the holidays. I didn’t care; I just figured my kindness had been wasted. But in the last year or so, she reconnected, even asking if there was any chance for another contract teaching gig. “No way! They only hire recent graduates! You missed your window, you just need to focus on passing the exam yourself!” She underestimated the exam. Many schools require teaching experience, and aside from a few openings for exceptional teachers, most positions go to those already working under contract. To survive in the city, she worked DoorDash by day and burned the midnight oil studying by night. Her social media, once full of ambitious pronouncements, grew silent. She took the exam for four years, and finally, she passed, securing a spot at a new suburban elementary school. Mom suggested I treat her to dinner, and I figured, as her only close relative in the city, I should acknowledge her achievement. But she couldn’t pull a stunt like this on me, could she? After my call, I returned to the dining room to find Kayla telling the waiter she wanted to box up leftovers. “You haven’t even eaten much yet? Are you leaving?” “Oh, I’m not leaving~ My boyfriend hasn’t eaten yet, I’m ordering some fresh dishes to take back to him.” Seriously? Eating here and taking food to go! “Um… Kayla, my husband didn’t get dinner tonight, could I get a doggy bag too?” An older woman suddenly turned to me and asked. I was stunned into silence. What in the world was happening? Kayla interjected before I could speak: “Of course! My cousin Rachel is the most generous person ever!” “Then I’ll pack a little too, I have two kids at home…” I was completely speechless. They truly had no shame. “Rachel~ Is that okay?” Kayla winked at me, practically begging. I just smiled back, a sudden thought sparking in my mind. “Yes! Absolutely! Order whatever you want, as much as you want!” You want to eat? I’ll let you eat your fill! Want more food? I ordered double portions. Want more drinks? Only Dom Pérignon. Whether it was exotic delicacies or seafood, I didn’t even glance at the prices; I ordered the biggest, most expensive options. “Rachel! You’re giving me so much face! I thought you’d be furious that I brought so many strangers without even asking first.” Oh? So she does understand social etiquette, after all! “Today’s a huge milestone for you, how could I, your big sister, ever be anything less than welcoming?” “You’re right~ I’ve finally got a rock-solid job now~ Totally different from you, a regular wage slave!” She tilted her chin up proudly again. “Did any of those guys I introduced you to catch your eye? I’m telling you…” I quickly waved my hand. “I’m not looking to get married, thanks.” “You’re in your thirties! Aren’t Aunt and Uncle worried?” Too lazy to listen to her lecture, I poured her another drink. Watching the table of them, all flushed and giddy from the food and drinks, I prepared to make my exit. “Sis? Where are you going? You’re not planning to ditch us, are you?!” “Why would you think that? My purse is right here!” I pointed to my old canvas tote bag on the chair, and she snickered. “Your salary isn’t bad, how come you can’t even afford a mid-range designer bag~ Go on, go on~” She patted her own obviously fake designer bag as she spoke. I just smiled and said nothing. A canvas bag isn’t worth anything, which made it all the easier to sneak away~ “Sis! Where did you go?! The waiter’s trying to get the check!” “I went home! I already Venmo’d you my share and yours.” “Didn’t you say you were treating today?!” “I am! I’m treating you, not your friends!” “Sis! How could you do this?!” “How could I do this? You don’t understand basic etiquette, bringing guests to my treat! And then you try to set me up on blind dates? What kind of guys were those? Your own mother would think they’re too old! What were you even thinking?!” “But—” “No ‘buts’! I’m hanging up!” “Hey! Rachel! Sis! Rachel Green!” I leaned back comfortably in my chair as the waiter brought me a perfectly cooked steak. From where I sat, I had a perfect view of Kayla’s private dining room diagonally across from me. Inside, the whole group was staring at each other, stunned. The waiter’s face had darkened. He stood, arms crossed, holding the massive bill. “Who’s paying for this?!” Kayla looked up, mortified. “How about… we all just split the bill?” “Kayla Sullivan! You said you were treating me to dinner!” “But you guys were the ones drinking all that liquor!” “Didn’t you drink? And didn’t you say your cousin was loaded and it was time she bled a little after not giving you allowance for years?!” “Kayla Sullivan! Do you even want your job?! Don’t forget who pulled strings for you!” “She’s paying! She said she was treating!” ….

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1 On my first day back in the States, I walked straight into a scene I’d dreaded for years: my estranged sister, Lily, being publicly humiliated. Smack! A sharp, stinging slap landed squarely on Lily’s face, the sound echoing, drawing every eye in the crowded college quad. “Lily, I considered you a sister, how could you be so cruel? You take everything from me, even my boyfriend?!” The girl shrieked, her voice morphing into a simpering whine after delivering the blow. “Huh, I always thought Lily seemed hard to get along with, but a home-wrecker? Didn’t see that coming.” Whispers rippled through the onlookers. … My first day back in the country, my immediate thought was to visit my sister at her university. I also planned to scout the campus, considering a potential investment. I never imagined I’d arrive to such a spectacle. Lily was trapped, encircled by a hostile crowd, her face a mask of weary helplessness. I recognized the ringleader: Chad Worthington, her boyfriend. Next to him, a girl clung to his arm, looking utterly helpless and demure. “Lily Ellis, you’ve gone too far! We tolerate you bullying Lily, but now you’re accusing her of ruining your watch? What kind of cheap watch is worth five million dollars, anyway?!” Chad lectured my sister, his voice dripping with self-righteous indignation. “Oh, Chad, she copied my senior thesis! It almost kept me from graduating, but thankfully, Principal Evans saw through her plagiarism.” The girl, Lily, simpered, batting her eyelashes. “Lily, that’s a lie! You copied my senior thesis!” Lily’s voice was barely a whisper, weak and trembling. Lily. Her name jolted my memory. That was Lily, the daughter my stepmom brought into our lives. Lily was my full sister, born of the same parents. Not long after our mother passed, Dad brought home my stepmom, along with a little girl Lily’s age. Looking back, Dad must have already been having an affair while Mom was still pregnant with Lily. Later, under my stepmom’s relentless manipulation, Dad sent me away. She’d claimed our horoscopes clashed, that I’d jinx the family business, even curse Dad’s luck. He’d believed her, banished me abroad, leaving me to fend for myself. In truth, I never brought him bad luck; our family business had only boomed after I was born. My stepmom’s real fear was that Dad, always favoring sons, would leave her own daughter with nothing. “Lily Ellis, if I copied your work, why was it your graduation status that was revoked? If you get on your knees and apologize to me, I’ll let it go.” Lily’s arrogant tone snapped me from my thoughts. “Ben,” I said to my assistant, “get Principal Evans here. Now.” “Right away, sir,” Ben replied, nodding. “Lily Ellis, that broken watch of yours was already garbage, and now you’re trying to frame me, demanding five million dollars? Are you out of your mind? I’d say you’re worth more than that watch. If you want money, why don’t you just sell yourself?” Lily giggled, a cruel gleam in her eyes. “Lily, do you think this is worth five million dollars? Oh, wait, no. I’d say it’s worth ten million.” Chad pulled out his phone, a few taps, and then, a series of revealing photos flashed before everyone’s eyes. “Wow, Lily Ellis, who would’ve thought she’d take pictures like that? She always seemed so innocent, but look at her, playing dirty.” “Man, if I could spend just one night with her, I’d die a happy man!” The students surrounding them jabbered, their voices growing louder. “Ben, find out the truth about those photos.” I couldn’t believe my sister would do something like that. I had to know. “Now,” I added, my voice tight. “Yes, sir, immediately.” More and more people gathered, their faces alight with morbid curiosity. “Lily, how about a little game? For every minute you delay paying Lily, I’ll post one of your photos in the campus group chat.” Chad’s grin was sickeningly lecherous. “Yeah! Post ’em! Post ’em fast!” “Go, Chad!” “Wait, isn’t Chad Lily’s boyfriend? Why would he share his own girlfriend’s private pictures?” Finally, someone asked the obvious question. “Boyfriend? Please. Chad and Lily are the real couple. Lily was just a plaything.” 2 “You’re right, why else would he treat Lily like this?” The students babbled, a cacophony of judgment, and then, in the very next minute, a photo was indeed posted to the campus group chat. The group chat exploded, the comments even more vile and disgusting than the whispers. “Chad Worthington, you are absolutely despicable!” “Lily Ellis, all you have to do is kneel and apologize to Lily, plus pay ten million in compensation, and I’ll delete all these photos.” “Apologize? You wish! I have proof that Lily plagiarized my work. Who apologizes to whom is far from decided!” Lily seemed to remember something, a flicker of defiance returning to her eyes. “Proof? Haha! If you had proof, you wouldn’t have been expelled, would you? Stop putting on a show!” Lily laughed, her head tilted condescendingly. “Exactly! If you have proof, show it!” A student, eager for more drama, chimed in. “Forget the plagiarism for a second, Lily. Let’s talk about you damaging my watch.” Only then did Lily pull out a watch. I recognized it; it was a gift I’d given her years ago. “Lily Ellis, you’re just trying to extort me, aren’t you? A broken watch, you say it’s worth five million? Who knows what garbage dump you found it in?” Lily rolled her eyes, her tone dismissive. “Lily, why are you being so aggressive? Lily is your sister, after all. Are you trying to destroy her?” Chad said, feigning concern. “Chad Worthington, I can’t believe I ever fell for a wretch like you!” Lily’s voice trembled with fury. “Lily, I always side with justice, not people. If you’re in the right, I’ll definitely help you,” Chad said, posting more photos to the group chat. “Chad Worthington! Stop! Please, for the sake of our childhood, don’t post anymore!” Lily’s composure crumbled as she saw the new photos. “Besides the photos, I have videos too. Does anyone want to see them?” Chad asked the crowd, his voice laced with menace. “YES!” The crowd answered in unison, a hungry roar. “Sir, the photos are real. No Photoshop traces,” Ben reported, having finished his quick investigation. “How could Lily have taken photos like that?” I asked, my gut churning. “It’s Chad Worthington. He’s manipulated more than just Lily. There are so many other girls he’s tricked. He’s a total scumbag.” Ben’s voice was laced with disgust. “Principal Evans? How long until he gets here?” I pressed Ben. “He’s on his way.” “Tell him if he’s not here in ten minutes, I’ll tear this school down.” “I’ll hurry him up.” At that moment, the onlookers buzzed with anticipation for Chad’s promised videos, and Lily looked even more helpless. “Lily, I told you, I can let the senior thesis issue go. But you damaged my watch, and you’ll pay for it. My brother gave me that watch.” As soon as Lily’s words left her lips, Lily burst out laughing. “Haha! Your brother gave it to you? You’re such a liar, you can’t even blink when you say it! Dad forbade you from contacting your brother, so how could he give you a gift? Have you secretly been in touch with that unlucky brother of yours?” Chad sneered. “Even if your brother did give it to you, how would he have the money to buy you a watch like that?” Lily challenged. “That’s none of your business! Either fix my watch or pay up!” “That broken antique of yours? How am I supposed to fix it? You’re clearly just trying to extort me!” Lily whined, affecting a pitiful expression. “Move it, everyone! What’s all this commotion about?” A greasy, portly man pushed through the crowd, squeezing his way to the front. 3 “Dean Miller, you’re just in time! Quickly, while everyone’s here, tell them about the senior thesis plagiarism! Let everyone know how Lily Ellis copied my work!” Lily said to the man. “Ahem… well, about that!” Dean Miller hemmed and hawed, clearly reluctant to speak. “Oh, Dean! Just say it! After all…” Lily leaned in, whispering something into his ear that no one else could hear. “Yes, Lily is correct. Lily Ellis did plagiarize Lily’s senior thesis. The school has investigated thoroughly, and a formal announcement will be made on Monday,” Dean Miller declared, his voice suddenly authoritative. “Wow! So it’s true!” A murmur of shock rippled through the students. “No, I didn’t! Dean Miller, you’re mistaken!” “Lily Ellis, didn’t you say you had proof? Just show it!” A student reminded her. “Don’t listen to her nonsense. If she had proof, would the school have ruled against her like this?” “Lily Ellis, I told you, if you get on your knees and apologize to me, I’ll forgive you! If you don’t, you can forget about ever making it in this industry!” Lily tossed her head back at a forty-five-degree angle, her voice dripping with malice. “Forget it, Lily. I think these photos are worth more than any apology. Now, I wouldn’t trade them for ten million dollars. I’m raising the price! Let’s get her to sign an agreement to transfer all her assets to you. What do you say?” Chad said, looking at Lily. “Good idea. Get the lawyer here. We’ll sign it now.” “No matter how good the photos and videos are, nothing beats a live show. Let’s strip her clothes off, piece by piece, and give the students a little treat.” Chad leered, his large hands gripping Lily’s collar, tearing savagely. Lily didn’t have time to react; her shirt ripped in two. Lily burst into tears, frantic and exposed. “Why are you crying? Lily Ellis, you always bullied Lily in the dorms, we all know that. You deserve this!” A girl in the crowd, eager for more drama, sneered. “Jenny, what are you talking about?! When did I ever bully her? You guys ganged up on me, pouring water on my bed when I was out, putting something in my face wash that made my face break out for a month! I’m the one who’s always been bullied!” “Lily Ellis, do you have proof? If you do, show it. If not, stop slandering us.” Jenny clearly belonged to Lily’s clique. Lily’s eyes darted around, as if a new thought had struck her. “Lily Ellis, how about this: I’ll make you a bet. If you can provide proof, we’ll call it even. If you can’t, you sign the asset transfer agreement we just discussed.” “Lily, you dream big, don’t you? You want to pull a fast one? I’ll put all my assets on the line, but what about you? Nothing? I’ll only bet if the stakes are equal!” Lily countered. “Lily, bet her! She can’t possibly prove herself, what’s there to be afraid of? Surely your assets are more than hers? Just the outfit you’re wearing is worth infinitely more than anything she owns! We’ll just swallow up all her assets, won’t that be better?” Chad urged. “Fine, Lily Ellis, you asked for this. I’ll bet you! All my assets, plus five percent of Ellis Industries!” Lily declared. “Haha, forget it. You’re not worthy of betting against me!” Lily chuckled, then continued, “I have more shares than you. I have ten percent. All your assets combined probably don’t even make up for that extra five percent, do they?”

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1 The day my mom was cremated, I collected her ashes with my own hands. I buried the urn, I burned the paper offerings. She died, and for three straight years, I barely slept. But last night, she came back. She stood at the door, wearing the same nightgown from the fire, tapping softly. Her voice, gentle, called out, “Ethan, Mom’s home.” I didn’t dare open the door, didn’t even dare breathe. But she knew I was inside. She pressed herself against the wood. “I made your favorite chicken and wild rice soup. It’s still warm.” Her voice carried the faint, acrid scent of char. My name is Ethan Vance. I’m 28, and I live alone on the seventh floor of an old apartment building in the suburban sprawl. Three years ago, a fire devoured our home, and it took my mom with it. I remember that night, her body a shield, burning around me. That smell… I’ll never forget it. The police said she was unrecognizable, a brutal death. I identified her by the jade bracelet on her wrist. My mom was a good person, lived a life without a single regretful act. She shouldn’t have come back—not like this. I desperately tried to convince myself it was a hallucination. But the ‘her’ outside the door suddenly used my childhood pet name: “My little stink bug, come out. Mom saved a chicken leg for you.” My legs gave out, and I sank to the floor. Only she ever called me that. I’d never told anyone, not even my ex-girlfriend. I called the police. Two officers arrived. I steeled myself, opened the door, and she was gone. On the balcony, the chicken soup was still steaming, wisps of warmth rising into the cool air. The officers did a quick sweep, then suggested I might be having a mental health crisis, offering to arrange a hospital visit. I handed them my security footage. The result? All recordings from 2 AM to 4 AM were blank. They patted my shoulder. “Tough break, kid. Our condolences.” After they left, I found a fragment of a bloodied jade bracelet on the doorstep. It was my mom’s. The next day, she came again. This time, she didn’t knock. She used a key. I watched, horrified, as the lock clicked open, the deadbolt retracting with a soft clack. She walked in. She carried a grocery bag, a container of hot food, as if nothing unusual had ever happened. She headed straight for the kitchen to cook. I cowered in my bedroom, peeking through the crack in the door. A patch of burnt flesh on the back of her head was still faintly smoking. She was chopping vegetables, using the rusty cleaver I’d thrown away before she died. I swore I’d tossed that knife into the river after the fire. Yet, she chopped with practiced ease, humming a lullaby. “Dark skies, gonna rain…” She never sang. Not once in the twenty-five years I’d known her alive. I couldn’t take it anymore. I burst into the kitchen, slamming the knife from her hand. “Who are you?!” She paused, then slowly turned, a gentle smile still playing on her lips. “What’s wrong, Ethan? Didn’t you say last night you wanted pot roast?” A chill snaked down my spine. I hadn’t said that. But… I had, years ago, when I was a child. Fifteen years before she died. My voice trembled. “You’re not her… You’re not human.” Her smile vanished. She bent down, picking up the cleaver, and in a tone that sounded almost like a complaint, she said, “Little Ethan, why are you still upset?” On the third day, a neighbor dropped by. It was Old Man Johnson from downstairs. He glanced at ‘my mom,’ a cheerful grin spreading across his face. “Well, if it isn’t Eleanor! You look wonderful, dear. Did you go on a long trip these past three years?” My mind went blank. “She… you’ve seen her?” “Of course! Just yesterday, bumped into her at the complex entrance!” “But… she’s dead?!” Old Man Johnson’s smile faltered. “What are you talking about?” I roared, “She burned to death! You were at the funeral!” His expression froze for two seconds, then he suddenly slapped his thigh. “Oh, my memory these days. I’ve been having so many dreams lately, maybe I mixed them up.” As he turned to leave, I saw a burn on the back of his ear. A fresh burn, blistered and weeping yellow fluid. I started to believe it wasn’t just my mom who had changed. It was the whole world. A new contact suddenly appeared in my phone: “Mom.” Her profile picture was taken six months before she died, the caption: “My sweetest son.” I’d never set up WeChat for her; she could barely use a phone when she was alive. My hands trembled as I tapped on the chat. The first message: “Ethan, Mom bought your favorite sugar figures today, just like when you were little.” I typed: “Who are you?” A reply, instant: “I’ve always been your mom. Don’t you want to come home?” I yanked out the internet cable and smashed my phone. But the next day, my phone was back to normal, and there was a new voice message on WeChat. I put on my headphones— It was my five-year-old self, crying and calling for Mom. That audio clip only existed in my head; it had never been recorded. I rushed to the cemetery. Her tombstone was still there, the name unchanged. But the urn had been dug up, placed on the ground, and opened. It was empty. I frantically dug at the earth, desperate to confirm if it had been stolen. My hand hit something solid. I pulled it out, and my heart nearly stopped. It was the paper airplane I’d placed at her grave when I was a child, inscribed with, “Mom, I miss you.” I had clearly burned it. Burned it to ashes. Yet here it was, clean and undamaged, buried in the soil. My scalp prickled with raw terror. My mom truly had “returned.” But how could she bring back burned paper? Unless she retrieved it from hell itself. That night, I dreamt she sat by my bed, whispering, “Ethan, our family should be together now.” In her hand, she held that rusty cleaver, lightly tracing its edge along my neck. The blade was cold. The dream was real. I woke up with a red mark on my neck. And she was standing outside my window, watching me through the glass. Smiling. 2 My mom never liked fish. I remembered that clearly from childhood; she wouldn’t touch it even if it was boneless, claiming a fish bone had once lodged in her throat when she was little, nearly killing her. But now, she cooked fish every day. Steamed, braised, stewed in sauce – different ways, always fish. If I didn’t eat, she’d put it in my bowl, watching me swallow each bite. Once, I asked her, “Don’t you hate fish?” She paused for two seconds, her expression momentarily stuck, her lips moving before a suddenly benevolent smile spread across her face. “Yes… Mom’s getting old, I misremembered.” But her eyes were fixed on my throat. I swallowed a mouthful of rice, my throat stinging. A fish bone. I watched her lips slowly curve upward. It was a smile of pure satisfaction. More and more “memories” began to tumble from her lips. Some were about my childhood, unnervingly accurate, even down to which shoe I wore out in third grade. Others, however, simply weren’t mine. She said I used to love folding paper boats and floating them down the river. But I never learned to swim; I was scared of water. She claimed I had a high fever when I was three that summer, and she rushed me to the Downtown Medical Center emergency room. I’d only ever stayed at the local hospital, never the Downtown Medical Center. I asked her, “Mom, was I afraid of shots when I was little?” She said, “You always cried when you got shots, especially that time you were hospitalized for pneumonia—” I cut her off sharply. “I’ve never had pneumonia in my life.” Her expression went blank for two seconds. The next moment, she was smiling again. “You don’t remember.” It wasn’t that I didn’t remember. It was that it simply wasn’t me. She was carrying the memories of more than one son. She was “piecing” me together. Or maybe, she wanted me to believe that she was the real one. In the mornings, she started using a bowl I’d never seen, calling it my “favorite patterned bowl” from childhood. She pulled out a family photo. “Your dad doted on you when you were little,” she said. My dad died when I was five. The ‘dad’ in that photo was a stranger. I picked up the photo. The child in it wasn’t me either. It was a pale-skinned boy with big eyes and dimples. I’d been chunky, with single eyelids and prominent front teeth. She looked at the picture. “This was taken on your fourth birthday, when we went to Westside Park.” She was becoming more serious, more natural, as if truly believing that photo was me, that past was me, that life was me. She looked at me, her voice soft as a lullaby, like a hypnotic whisper. “Ethan, are you… forgetting yourself?” I was losing my mind. I rummaged through all my old family photo albums. They were all gone. Three days after my mom died, when I packed up her things, I’d carefully put those photos in a box and hidden them in my closet. The box was still there, but all the photos had been swapped. Not a single one of me. They were all of that “dimpled boy.” I looked at my own ID photo, confirming I hadn’t had plastic surgery, wasn’t delusional. Then, suddenly, she patted my shoulder from behind. “Ethan, Mom got you a new ID. You didn’t like that photo.” I picked up the new ID she handed me—it bore the little boy’s face. The name was still Ethan Vance, the birthday the same. My hands started to shake. I opened my laptop, checked my social security records—gone. My work files—blank. My bank account balance read “0,” and the account holder was listed as “Ethan Vance (Minor).” My entire life had been overwritten. She hadn’t just come back; she was replacing me with someone else. That night, she said she wanted to take me to see someone. She led me to a house in the old city outskirts. The door opened, and an old woman emerged, grinning widely at my mom. “Oh, Eleanor! It’s really you, dear! I heard you were back, but I didn’t believe it!” I stared at the old woman, feeling a vague sense of familiarity. My mom asked me, “Who is this, Ethan?” I was stunned. “…I don’t know.” The old woman chuckled. “You rascal, I took you to the zoo when you were three, and you don’t remember me?” She turned and pulled out a photo. It was that “dimpled boy” again. The old woman’s tone suddenly shifted. “If you don’t recognize me, you’re not my grandson anymore.” My body stiffened. I swallowed hard, forcing a smile. “I do, I do.” Only then did she nod, satisfied. On the way home, my mom chuckled. “Remember that oak tree outside her house? You used to pee on its roots every day when you were little.” I looked down, saying nothing. I’d lived in a different complex when I was little. My home had a maple tree, not an oak. If I didn’t keep up the charade, they’d “cleanse” me. They weren’t trying to make me accept her return; they were trying to transform me into the ‘child’ she desired. Back home, I secretly took scissors and made a shallow cut on my wrist. The pain was excruciating, the blood real. She came in, saw it, but showed no anger or surprise. She merely sighed. “You’re still being stubborn.” She walked over, took my wrist, and wiped away the blood. She spoke, word by word: “Ethan, don’t mess with this body. You haven’t adjusted to it yet.” I completely panicked. I rushed into the bathroom, looked in the mirror, and saw my reflection suddenly wink its left eye—but I hadn’t winked. In the mirror, I made an expression I hadn’t made, a strange, unfamiliar smile. I stared at the mirror. The me in the mirror whispered, “Mommy’s waiting for you to wake up.” When I went to sleep, I locked my door. I woke up at 3 AM to sounds from the kitchen. She was cooking soup again. This time, it wasn’t chicken soup. It was pork brain soup. As she cooked, she murmured, “He was so smart as a child, needs a little boost.” I crept closer to the kitchen and saw her add something to the pot—a strand of hair, still clinging to its root, tainted with blood. I recognized it. It was mine. She turned around, slowly smiling at me. “Ethan, be a good boy. Drink one more bowl, and you’ll remember.” “Once you remember, you can stay forever.” 3 I started to wonder: Who was crazy? Me, or the entire world? At 7 AM, my mom called, announcing breakfast was ready. Three minutes ago, she was in the kitchen, I’d seen her with my own eyes, hacking at bones, red meat still clinging to them. But now, her number appeared on my phone, her voice gentle. “My little stink bug, time to get up.” That was exactly how she’d woken me every morning when I was small. She had completely reverted to ‘herself’—no, she was simulating a more perfect version of herself. I walked into the kitchen. She wore an apron, cooking. On the table, my favorite fried eggs, soy milk, plain congee, and pickled vegetables were perfectly arranged. There was even a glass of milk, with “Best Son Ever” printed on it—the exact mug I’d used as a child, which had been reduced to ashes in the fire. Now, it looked brand new. She slid a fried egg onto my plate. “Eat up. Aren’t your friends coming over today for a project? I remember you mentioning it.” I had never said that. But then the doorbell rang. I opened the door—it was Kevin Davis, my closest friend from college. The moment he saw ‘my mom,’ his eyes lit up. He smiled politely. “Mrs. Vance, long time no see. You look great.” I was stunned. “You’ve seen her?” “Of course!” He laughed. “I came over to your place the year you graduated, and Mrs. Vance even cooked me some congee.” “She died three years ago!!!” I roared. Kevin flinched, frowning at me. “Are you having too many dreams? Your mom just chatted with me a few days ago, even told me to convince you to find a girlfriend.” I stared, aghast. “You were chatting with her?” “Yeah, WeChat video. We even added each other. I’ve liked all her posts.” “My mom can’t even use WeChat…” Before I could finish, Kevin had already wandered into the living room, chatting with ‘my mom’ about recipes. I watched their conversation, feeling as if a glass wall separated us, and only I couldn’t understand the language. I opened WeChat. It was true. She was posting. The first one: “Ethan finally ate his dinner, such a good boy.” And the likes? They were from my friends, my colleagues, even my unit supervisor. Comments below: “Auntie is such a great cook!” “A son is a mother’s soft spot.” They all truly believed it—she was alive, had never died. I privately pulled Kevin into my room, closed the door, and lowered my voice to a whisper. “Please, I beg you, listen to me. Three years ago, the fire department pulled my mom from the rubble. I identified her body. I burned her ashes. I personally put them in the columbarium. I swear I’m not crazy, she is not my mom!” Kevin looked at me strangely, silent for a few seconds. Then he said, “Why are you still living in the past?” “I’m not living in the past! I’m living in the present—but she doesn’t belong in this present!” Kevin sighed, patting my shoulder. “Ethan, I know that fire really hurt you, but she’s really fine. You should take your medication.” I stared at him, testing. “Do you remember that day you came to help me identify the body?” “What?” “Didn’t you see my mom’s body after the fire?” “Stop joking. Your mom never died.” I took a step back, my voice dry as kindling. “Look into my eyes—are you thinking right now that I’m crazy?” Kevin didn’t answer. He only said, “If she’s not your mom, then who is she? She’s the mom we all recognize. If you keep talking nonsense, everyone will really think you’re unstable.” Before he left, he threw out one last line: “If you keep this up, don’t bother calling me again.” That night, I went to find my middle school deskmate, Sarah Chen, the only friend who knew my mom had truly died. I sent her photos, pictures of the empty urn. She was silent for a long time, then replied: “Are you trying to get attention, or are you really having a breakdown?” I opened her social media. She had also liked that post, “Ethan finally ate his dinner.” I hid on the balcony, watching ‘my mom’ in the living room clear the table, fold clothes, wipe the floor, and hang photos. Every movement was perfectly theatrical. She even pulled out my favorite childhood teddy bear from a cabinet and placed it on the sofa. I didn’t believe she could find it—I’d thrown that thing away before the fire. But she found it, and it even had the bite marks I’d made on it years ago. She turned and smiled at the balcony. That smile told me she knew I was watching. I went to check my household registration. The City Hall clerk flipped through the system and said my mom’s registration had been active for three years, with no record of any fire incident. I said, “Can I access the resident death records from the year of the fire?” She tapped a few keys, then frowned. “Which apartment complex did you say?” I gave her the address. She stared at me. “Are you mistaken? That building has never caught fire.” “What?!” “I checked the street records. The fire report for your complex that year was zero.” My body went cold, my legs turned to jelly. I forced myself to speak. “Then… can I access my medical records from those days?” “Were you sick?” I nodded. “That year… I had psychogenic aphonia, and I was admitted to the city hospital.” She checked, her expression growing stranger. “You were hospitalized, but it wasn’t for psychogenic aphonia.” “What was it?” She turned the screen toward me: “Cause of death: moderate burns, crushed airways, irreversible organ damage. Died despite resuscitation efforts.” Cause of death? I was looking at my own death certificate. I staggered back two steps. My phone chimed. My mom had sent a WeChat voice message: “Ethan, come home for dinner. Today, Mom made your favorite roast chicken, just like when you were little.” I hadn’t told her what I wanted to eat. And I had never eaten roast chicken as a child. But I remembered a detail—the night of the fire, I dreamt I was gnawing on a chicken leg. In the dream, my mom was peeling the skin, saying, “Son, is it good?” That was the only time in my life I’d dreamt of her being alive and on fire. Now, she was turning the dream into reality. I started to fear the dark. My room had four lamps, and they burned all night. My mom didn’t force me to turn them off; instead, she said, “You were afraid of ghosts when you were little. Mom won’t let you be afraid.” I hadn’t told her that either. Yet she always knew my little secrets, secrets I’d forgotten years ago. How did she know? Or was it that she wasn’t “knowing,” but rather digging out my memories one by one, reflecting them back on herself? If that were the case… then she was “emptying” me.

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I was born into a wealthy family, yet I lived a life worse than a dog. My mother, Eleanor, believed her child had been swapped with my father’s mistress’s daughter. She tormented me endlessly, while doting on the other girl. My father, Robert, despised Eleanor, calling me a disgusting bastard. He let me be bullied for over a decade, turning a blind eye. The mistress’s daughter, Chloe, flourished under their combined cultivation, becoming a celebrated socialite. And I, battered by my own mother, was married off to Silas, an old bachelor from a rural town, aged fifty. Later, they discovered I was their only biological child. Both were consumed by regret, scrambling up the mountain that very night to find me. The old monk, beads clutched in his hand, looked at them, bewildered. “Who are you? The young woman, before she passed, said she never had parents.” 1 “Control your daughter.” Chloe, chin held high, yanked my hair, then shoved me toward Eleanor. “Her filthy hands touched my new dress! Dad just bought me this limited edition one!” Even though she was the mistress’s daughter, she acted like a proper heiress in front of Eleanor, commanding more authority than the lady of the house herself. Eleanor, far from being angry, offered a fawning smile. “Chloe, your new dress must make you so sad. Auntie will wire you money. Go buy the latest, the very best.” With that, she grabbed my collar, forcing me to the ground, and slapped me across the face. “Idiot. You made a mistake, now get over here and apologize!” I looked at my own mother, filled with nothing but raw terror. I held out my reddened palm for her to see. “I… I didn’t mean to. The coffee was just so hot, I couldn’t stand the pain and accidentally touched it.” Before I could finish, Eleanor cut me off. “I don’t care if you meant to or not. Have you forgotten what I told you? You’re an unspeakable thing, destined to be beneath everyone!” She loomed over me, pressing the toe of her shoe into my back. “Go on, crawl over and kowtow to Chloe.” I bit back a cry and complied. Chloe deliberately positioned her diamond necklace near my forehead. In moments, my cheek was streaked with flowing blood. Eleanor watched, her face impassive, showing not a shred of pity. Instead, she invited Chloe inside, personally serving her tea. I was left trembling, cowering on the cold ground. Eleanor was known in our circles as a woman consumed by resentment. She’d used every trick to force Robert to marry her, securing her title as matriarch of the Vance family. But on their wedding day, Robert was already cavorting with his first love, Vivian, never stepping foot in our house again. Eleanor hated the woman kept outside, but she was powerless. All her hopes were poured into her womb. She yearned for me to be born exceptional, hoping I’d make Robert glance her way. But fate was unkind; Vivian and Eleanor became pregnant at the same time. Robert showered all his affection on Vivian. From birth, I knew I was the child no one wanted. Robert would yell at me, call me disgusting, declare me the biggest stain on his life. Eleanor would curse me as a worthless disappointment, incapable of even earning affection. Then one day, I noticed Eleanor changed. She stopped wallowing in self-pity, no longer shedding silent tears. Instead, she found joy in tormenting me. In our sprawling mansion, with so many empty rooms, I was relegated to the dog kennel in the yard, spending my days with mastiffs. My meals were three-day-old leftovers, my water the dirty run-off from watering plants. Even the household staff felt free to kick me. Eleanor’s mind grew increasingly twisted; the more I suffered, the happier she became. Many times, she’d grip my throat, laughing maniacally. “If only you’d die in my hands, how wonderful it would be if you just died.” But then she’d release me. “No, I can’t kill you yet. I haven’t had enough fun, hahahaha.” That time, I truly couldn’t take it anymore. I cried, asking her, “Am I really your biological daughter?” 2 Eleanor didn’t hesitate, biting out her words with certainty. “Of course you’re my biological daughter. I carried you for nine months and gave birth to you with great difficulty.” “Then why do you treat me like this?” My heart burned with raw indignation. Born into wealth, I didn’t ask for luxurious food and clothing like other young masters and ladies. I didn’t ask to attend elite schools or travel the world. I had only one wish: to eat enough, to be warm. Yet the mother who birthed and raised me wouldn’t even grant me that. Chloe emerged from the house, adorned in sparkling jewelry. Eleanor fussed over the driver, repeatedly telling him to ensure Chloe arrived home safely. I stood there, like a dog kicked from pillar to post, watching them with desperate, pleading eyes. “Want to wear pretty clothes like her?” After seeing Chloe off, Eleanor’s expression instantly twisted, her voice turning cold and ruthless. “Yes,” I whispered. I dreamed of it. She pinched my chin. “Then go beg your father to come home. If he agrees to return, I’ll buy you dresses and treat you to a fancy meal.” I was abandoned at the doorstep of Robert and Vivian’s house. When Robert returned from work, he saw me, disheveled and cowering on the ground, and his eyes filled with contempt. “Autumn? What are you doing here?” Though I’d been alive for over a decade, my encounters with my father were few and far between. Hearing his icy question, I cautiously tugged at his sleeve. “Please, Dad, come home with me, okay?” He cruelly shook me off. “What new scheme are you and your mother cooking up now? I left that woman plenty of money, enough for you two to live comfortably for generations. Why are you here playing pitiful?” I pulled up my sleeve, showing him the bruises and cuts on my arm. “It’s not pretend. If you don’t come home with me, she’ll beat me to death.” I expected him to show some sympathy, seeing the marks of physical abuse on his own flesh and blood. Instead, his contempt twisted into outright fury. “Autumn, you’re as worthless as your mother. She tricked me into marrying her step by step. If I ever feel an ounce of pity for either of you again, I’ll change my name!” He clutched a takeout bag from a five-star restaurant. He stood at the door, composing himself for a moment before daring to step inside. Just a wall separated us, and from within, Chloe’s high-pitched voice chirped, “Daddy!” Vivian, too, emerged, smiling, taking the food from his hands. The three embraced, bathed in the warm glow of the lights, a picture of impossible happiness. I had never experienced a single day like that. Lost and despondent, I returned home. A maid, sneering, informed me, “Hurry up. The mistress has prepared a grand meal for you.” My heart fluttering with a fragile hope, I rushed into the living room. The table was indeed laden with a feast. Chicken, fish, meat, and many dishes I couldn’t name. Eleanor sat nearby, smiling as she watched me. “Autumn, you must be hungry. Come quickly, taste it. This is Aunt Grace’s cooking.” My face full of disbelief, I cautiously asked, “Can I really eat?” Eleanor nodded. “Of course. Come sit down.” I excitedly picked up a piece of fish and put it in my bowl. “Mom, I promise, I’ll be filial to you from now on. Just be a little kind to me, just a little.” “And…” I couldn’t help but offer her a piece of advice. “If Dad makes you unhappy, maybe we could leave him, okay?” Eleanor’s smile didn’t waver. She gently stroked my tangled hair. “Oh, speaking of your father, I asked you to invite him. How did that go?” I answered casually, “I asked him, but Dad wouldn’t come.” The next moment, Eleanor’s face darkened like a storm. The serving dish, a plate of steamed crab, crashed down on my head, stunning me. 3 The plate of steamed crab shattered, and the sharp crab claws sliced, leaving a red gash on my cheek. Eleanor stood under the light, a furious beast. “What good are you to me? You can’t even handle this one simple thing.” She forcefully pried open my mouth, sticking her fingers in and rummaging frantically. “Where’s that piece of fish you just ate? Spit it out.” I gagged, tears streaming down my face. “Mom, I swallowed it. I really did swallow it.” Eleanor seemed to feel profoundly wronged. She slapped me, knocking me to the ground. “You worthless wretch, why are you so greedy? You didn’t accomplish my task, and you still want to eat my food!” I frantically apologized. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again. I won’t eat anymore.” I understood Eleanor’s temperament. If I didn’t bow down and admit my mistake now, she would only grow more insane. Sure enough, seeing me so submissive, her mood brightened slightly. Suddenly, a thought seemed to strike her. She produced an iron chain from somewhere, binding my hands and feet. That night, I wasn’t even allowed the dog kennel. Eleanor shoved me into the basement. “Autumn.” She grinned menacingly at me. “I suddenly have an idea.” “My grandmother has a relative, he’s over 50 and hasn’t married yet. How about you marry him?” I had never felt such sheer terror. “No, Mom, please. I’ll stay here, I’ll work like a dog, a horse, anything.” “I’m not even eighteen yet. I can’t marry him.” These few pleas only displeased her further. She traced her fingernail along my cheek. “Nonsense. Your face looks exactly like Vivian, that wretch. He’ll surely like you when you marry him.” I actually didn’t look like Vivian at all. If Eleanor would just calm down and look closely, she’d see that from my high nose bridge to the mole at the corner of my eye, I was remarkably similar to her. But she couldn’t see it. “You stay here and be a good girl. Tomorrow night, Mom will personally send you off to your wedding.” My last shred of hope was replaced by mounting dread. I realized I couldn’t just sit idly by. I had to escape. Eleanor was usually so good at disguising herself; if I called the police, I’d only be sent back to this house. Without an ID, I couldn’t run far; I’d be caught no matter what. The immediate priority was to find Robert. Only he truly understood Eleanor’s nature. If he knew the truth, he surely wouldn’t abandon me. While the maid came in to dress me, I knocked her unconscious. I found the keys, unlocked the chains, and fled, running wildly to Robert’s house. To avoid drawing the attention of Chloe and Vivian, I aimed for the second-floor balcony, planning to sneak in and hide in the study until Robert returned. But the moment I got onto the balcony, I overheard a shocking secret in the hallway. Chloe and Vivian were whispering conspiratorially in the bedroom. “Mom, what are you saying? Dad has been so good to us, why are you trying to harm him?” 4 Vivian shed her pretense, no longer the gentle person I usually saw. She said coldly, “Why? Because he’s not your biological father.” That statement not only stunned Chloe into silence but utterly shook me to my core. “I didn’t tell you this before because you were too young. Now you’re almost an adult; it’s time to plan for our future.” Chloe’s voice was hesitant. “But Dad has doted on us for so many years, I can’t bring myself to do it.” Vivian scoffed. “You’re foolish. No matter how good he is to us, he hasn’t given me a legal status all these years. If something happens to him, what share of the inheritance would we have? It’s better to humor him now, get him to write a will, and then find an opportunity to take care of him.” Chloe argued, “But even if we don’t kill Dad, we’ll still get the inheritance, won’t we?” Vivian lowered her voice. “Are you crazy? Your real father is a low-life. If he ever finds out I’ve cheated on him all these years, do you think we’d have a good life?” At that thought, Chloe also sobered up. “Okay, I’ll do whatever you say, Mom.” I waited outside all night. They discussed tampering with Robert’s car brakes. The next morning, mother and daughter appeared completely normal. Chloe specifically came out to see Robert off to work. She thoughtfully prepared his lunch, telling him, “Dad, drive quickly, or you’ll be late.” Robert smiled widely, a look of gratification on his face. “Chloe’s grown up, making lunch for Dad now.” “My little sweetheart prepared this for me, I’ll definitely eat every last bite.” Just as he was about to start the car, I couldn’t help but leap out from behind the door. “Dad, don’t drive! They tampered with your car!” Robert saw me, and his brows furrowed deeply. “What nonsense are you talking about? How dare you slander Chloe like that? Do you think this will make me look at you more? Too bad. I only acknowledge Chloe as my daughter.” Chloe, seeing me interfere, shoved me to the ground. “Your mom stole my mom’s position, and now you want to steal my dad too?” She clutched Robert’s arm, crying with a heartbroken expression. “Dad, Mom and I have suffered so many years of injustice with you. Do you also think I would harm you?” From birth, she had been served with luxury and comfort. Anyone who dared to anger her, Robert would make them pay a hundredfold. Now, seeing Chloe’s face streaked with tears, Robert’s anger soared. He deliberately slammed the car door shut, brutally severing my hand from where it clung to the door. “Enough! Stop being so unreasonable! Chloe would never harm me. I’m calling your mom right now to discipline you!” “No!” I knelt on the ground, begging him. “I won’t stop you from driving, just don’t tell Mom. She’s going to marry me off. I’ll die, I really will die.” Robert sneered. “Even a tiger doesn’t devour its cub. And you’re still lying, even now.” Without another word, he called Eleanor. Eleanor saw me, put on a show of false kindness, constantly apologizing to Robert. But when she faced me, her eyes suddenly blazed with a vicious light. I was utterly despairing. As I was dragged away, I cried out to him, “We’re both your daughters, so why do you never believe me? Not even once.” I knew I would eventually die by Eleanor’s hand. Before I was taken away, I performed one last filial act. I grabbed handfuls of dirt and stones from the roadside and violently hurled them at Robert’s car. Robert cursed me as a lunatic, his face etched with disgust, and told the butler to drive it for repairs. Meanwhile, as soon as I got home, Eleanor tied me up, shoved me into a car, and headed towards the mountains. Not long after, the Vance family’s maid received a call. She rushed to Robert, reporting frantically, “Sir, bad news! Mr. Davies, the butler, was driving your car and got into an accident. He’s gone…”

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1 Every time Sylvie returned home from visiting her hospitalized childhood sweetheart, she’d banish me to the hallway as punishment. “If you hadn’t stopped me from going out that day, Trent wouldn’t have drunk-driven, and he wouldn’t have crashed!” Today, Sylvie once again threw me out of the house, threatening to call off our engagement. Freezing and starving, I collapsed on the spot. When I woke, the first thing I did was agree with Sylvie. “Fine, cancel it.” Because every time she’d mentioned breaking up, I’d torn a page from the journal I kept for her. And today, with ninety-nine pages already ripped out, only the last one remained. My love for her, too, had finally dwindled to nothing. I had undergone memory erasure surgery. “How long will it take to forget everything about her?” “Seven days.” … I returned home from the surgery to an empty house. Everything was exactly as I’d left it three days ago; even the fruit on the table had begun to mold. It was clear Sylvie hadn’t been home in three days either. No wonder. Not a single text, not a single call from her in that time. In the past, I would have already been meekly calling to beg for reconciliation. Now, I felt a strange relief that she wasn’t there. The doctor had said I needed to rest well for seven days. Only when every memory of Sylvie completely faded would the surgery truly be a success. I yearned for that success, feeling the occasional, faint prickling in my brain. Many memories of Sylvie slowly began to blur. I sank onto the sofa and, without realizing it, drifted off to sleep. “Ethan! I’ve only been gone for three days! Are you trying to turn this place into a pigsty?!” A furious shout jolted me awake. I opened my eyes to see Sylvie walking through the door. She chastised me, her gaze sweeping over the cluttered table. Clearly, she had no idea I’d spent three days in the hospital. Of course, her time was entirely devoted to Trent; she had no energy to worry about me. Too tired to argue, I stood and headed for the bathroom. She irritably blocked my path. “I’m talking to you! Did you lose your tongue?” I sighed. “I didn’t do it. I haven’t been home these past few days, I…” “You haven’t been home?! Where were you?!” she snapped, cutting me off. The next second, she muttered to herself, “Never mind. You have nowhere to go here anyway, except the internet café downstairs.” Suddenly, like a blast of winter air, a chilling realization hit me. She knew I had nowhere else to go. Seven years ago, Sylvie and I began an online romance. For her, I had a massive fight with my parents, then moved across the country to her city. She’d told me she didn’t care about my background or my poverty, only my ambition. I worked myself to the bone, earning every penny. Aside from essential expenses, my socks were threadbare and my shirt collars frayed, but I couldn’t bring myself to replace them. I wanted to build her a beautiful future with my own two hands. Seven years passed. I finally had the car and the apartment she’d wanted, and she finally accepted my proposal. I thought a life of perfect harmony awaited us. But then, three months ago, her ex-boyfriend, Trent, returned from abroad. When he heard she was marrying me, he got completely plastered. I refused to let her, a woman, go pick him up. Trent, in a fit of pique, drunk-drove and shattered his leg. I honestly didn’t feel I was much to blame for that incident, yet Sylvie laid all the fault squarely on me. For three months, she cooked meals and simmered soups, taking them to the hospital to visit Trent, while I was met with humiliation, beatings, and banishment from our home. The moment I collapsed outside the door three days ago, she was inside, on a video call with Trent. In that moment, my seven years felt like a cruel joke. And now, I would spend seven days erasing her completely. 2 “I just came back to shower and change. I’m heading back to the hospital to take care of Trent. You know he can’t be left alone right now.” Sylvie didn’t notice anything amiss, muttering on and on, not even giving me a chance to react. With that, she simply walked into the bedroom to change. I headed into the bathroom, pretending I hadn’t heard a thing. A moment later, she knocked on the bathroom door. “Ethan, don’t be mad. I’ll bring you something good to eat tonight when I come back.” Unsurprisingly, she didn’t come home all night. And unlike before, I didn’t wait up for her. Instead, I cooked myself a meal and ate without a single care. The next day, she still didn’t return, only sending me a text. “Trent has a fever.” I just found it amusing. She seemed to have forgotten I had her burner account. She’d just posted a video of her and Trent at an amusement park, watching fireworks. In the bottom right corner of the video, two hands were clasped tightly together. The caption was explicit: Nothing is happier than having the one you love most by your side. Trent was the one she loved most. So what about me? Who would love me? Day five of the countdown. Sylvie returned. She walked in without even glancing at me. “Ethan, I went to see the wedding venue yesterday. Since you wouldn’t pick up my calls, I asked Trent to come with me. Oh, and by the way, his leg’s much better, he’s already been discharged.” Seeing her lie so effortlessly, I couldn’t help but blurt out, “When did you call me?” At my words, she nervously averted her gaze. “Maybe I misremembered… I’m just going to the restroom.” She fled in a rush. The moment she closed the door, her phone, left on the sofa, vibrated. The glowing screen showed her chat with Trent. It was impossible not to see it. Trent asked, “You secretly changed the wedding theme. Ethan won’t be upset, will he?” Sylvie replied, “What matters is what you like. As for him, I’ll just sweet-talk him a bit. Wrapping him around my finger is as easy as training a dog.” The wedding theme, originally my preferred white, had been changed to blue. And her opinion of me? That I was like a dog. My brain throbbed with intense pain, like a blender churning wildly. In that moment, I decided. The wedding in five days would be for her and Trent. Just then, HR from my company called, informing me that my resignation, submitted two days prior, had been accepted. I needed to pick up my belongings. I walked out of the house and called a colleague. He was a co-worker, and my only friend in this city. We agreed to meet at a restaurant. I told him I was leaving. His eyes reddened. “Ethan, you should have lived for yourself a long time ago. A woman like her isn’t worth this much from you.” Suddenly, a call from Sylvie interrupted my friend. “Ethan, why did you go out without telling me? Also, I heard you resigned. Why did you suddenly quit without discussing it with me?” Her quick grasp of the news caught me off guard. My heart sank. “Work was too exhausting. And our wedding is coming up soon, so I want to focus on planning it.” At my words, Sylvie was silent for a few seconds. “I knew it. You wouldn’t be so unreasonable.” She was always so domineering, so convinced I could never leave her. Before I could speak, she commanded me again. “I’m coming to pick you up. Where are you?” Half an hour later, Sylvie drove up to the restaurant entrance to get me. She didn’t ask who I was having dinner with, but subtly scrutinized me. “Next time you go out, dress better. Don’t let people laugh at you.” I dressed warmly, like a bear, because I was sensitive to cold. I’d always dressed like this, but she’d never commented before. Soon, I understood why she suddenly said that. Because there was a comparison. She drove me to another upscale restaurant. The moment I pushed open the private room door, I realized with a jolt that it was a banquet. Everyone present was impeccably dressed, especially Trent, who was surrounded by the crowd. Suit and tie, the picture of an elite. Sylvie shoved me into the private room. My pilled jacket, under the bright lights, looked so shabby, so utterly out of place. 3 As everyone started talking, I realized this banquet was Sylvie’s specially prepared birthday party for Trent. “You just got out of the hospital a few days ago, so consider this your welcome-back party.” Sylvie’s gaze was fixed on Trent, utterly unable to move. I sat in the corner, watching her and Trent, surrounded by well-wishers, their eyes conveying their deep love for each other. Even though I’d forgotten many things, even the beginning of my acquaintance with Sylvie, the pain in my heart was undiminished. “Ethan, you’re really something, managing to snag our school’s most beautiful girl!” “Yeah, back then, the guys pursuing Sylvie stretched all the way to Paris! Ethan, you’re so lucky!” “Ethan, what’s your secret? Tell us.” Everyone looked at me with eager gossip. I found it amusing. What secret? It was just that Sylvie had just broken up with Trent back then, and she was nursing a broken heart. I became her tool to forget him. Now Trent was back, and it was time for this tool to step aside. Seeing the conversation shift to me, Sylvie spoke up to save me. “What secret could he possibly have? He’s just an ordinary guy. Stop making fun of me.” Her expression was genuine, tinged with obvious disdain. Just then, Trent suddenly raised his glass and walked towards me. “Mr. Reed, it was very kind of you to allow Sylvie to visit and care for me every day while I was in the hospital. I want to thank you for your generosity.” It was meant as a toast, but it felt more like an insult. Sylvie had been visiting and caring for her ex-boyfriend every day, and I, her fiancé, was supposed to be “generous” enough not to care. Others looked at me with amusement and mockery. I didn’t want to cause a scene; after all, they outnumbered me. “I’m not feeling well. I can’t drink.” The next second, Trent’s face darkened. “What do you mean ‘not feeling well’? I think you just don’t want to give me face. If you’re not going to be respectful, why even come and embarrass me?” He set down his glass, looking utterly wronged. “Fine, I’m leaving.” As I turned to go, Sylvie suddenly blocked my path. She shoved the glass into my hand, then leaned close, lowering her voice to a whisper. “It’s Trent’s birthday. Don’t ruin the mood right now!” “He just got out of the hospital, and he hasn’t even said he’s not feeling well, but you are?!” “If you don’t want to stand in the hallway as punishment tonight, then drink up!” The liquor sloshed out, splashing onto my already shabby clothes. Sylvie pulled her hand back in disgust. I clenched the glass, looking at her, and suddenly remembered when I first started working. Back then, I often had to attend dinner parties with my bosses, forced to drink. Once, I got drunk and took the subway home, only to have my phone stolen and my ticket disappear, leaving me unable to exit. Before the staff arrived, I suddenly broke down, hiding behind a pillar and sobbing uncontrollably. At that time, I missed home, I missed my mom, I couldn’t understand why I’d thrown everything away to come to a strange city. Later, Sylvie found me in the subway station, holding me, tears of sympathy streaming down her face. “Ethan, if you don’t want to drink, then don’t. We’ll never drink again, okay? If anyone ever forces you to drink again, I’ll tell them off! We’ll never drink again!” She held me tightly, promising me forever. I thought I had finally found my place in life. But now, the person forcing me to drink was the same person who had once cried for me. Many memories suddenly became blurred in my mind, and Sylvie’s face slowly lost its clarity. I raised the glass. “Fine, I’ll drink.” Consider it a farewell drink. The moment I set the glass down, my phone chimed. A text message from the bank. “Mr. Reed, today is your birthday. Happy Birthday!” 4 My eyes red-rimmed, I left the private room amidst a chorus of mockery. Sylvie didn’t come with me; she personally shut the door in my face. I walked out into the cold wind, rushing to the main entrance where I emptied the contents of my stomach, throwing up all the alcohol. My head throbbed, a relentless pounding, and more memories began to blur. Back home, I collapsed into bed, falling into a deep sleep. For the next two days, Sylvie still didn’t come home. I didn’t look for her. Instead, I busied myself with preparing for my departure. I thought she wouldn’t return before I left. Yet, the morning before our wedding, she appeared in my bed. She wore a thin nightgown, burrowing into my arms. “Husband, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have forced you to drink in that private room. My parents have been scolding me terribly these past two days, I know I was wrong…” If it weren’t for the suggestive red marks on her neck, I might have almost believed she had truly come home. I pushed her away and got up. “I’m not angry.” Many things were unclear in my mind now, and many emotions had simply vanished. At my words, she hugged me from behind and chuckled. “Tomorrow’s our wedding! You promised to treat my close relatives to a dinner first. You can’t go back on your word, okay?” Had I promised? I didn’t remember. But I didn’t ask. I just nodded. “Okay.” That evening, she left to pick up her relatives first. When I rode my bike to the destination, I was hit by someone, scraping my knee. But fearing I’d delay dinner, I refused to go to the hospital, just bandaging it haphazardly. I never expected Sylvie to vanish without a trace. For three whole hours, I couldn’t find her. I clutched my wound, standing in the cold wind. Just as I was about to give up, Sylvie’s call came through. “Ethan, Trent’s leg was hurting, so I took him to the hospital first. Forget about dinner with the relatives. Anyway, tomorrow’s the wedding.” Her voice was so light, so indifferent, not once asking about my situation. The next second, Trent’s voice came through the phone. “Sylvie, after you marry him, will you still have dinner with me like this?” “My marriage to him is just a formality. It won’t affect our relationship.” So, while I waited in the cold wind, she and Trent were having a romantic dinner for two. My dream of a marriage, for her, was just a formality. My injured knee throbbed even more, and my memories of Sylvie blurred further. I hung up the phone and returned home alone. The entire house was filled with Sylvie’s traces. I packed all her belongings and threw them outside. Just as I took out the journal I’d written for her, seeing it completely blank, Sylvie’s frantic call came in. “Ethan, what are you doing?! Trent’s leg hurts, and no one’s taking care of him. What’s wrong with me bringing him some food?!” “Do you want me to stay home forever, never going anywhere, for you to be satisfied?!” “Don’t even think about sleeping in our bed tonight! Stand in the hallway! Stand there until the wedding party arrives tomorrow morning!” She was still demanding I stand in the hallway as punishment, just as she had a hundred times before, completely disregarding my well-being. In the past, I would have meekly begged for her love, terrified of displeasing her. But in that moment, I found myself smiling as I agreed. “Okay.” After hanging up, I got into a car heading for the airport. As the plane took off, large blank spaces appeared in my mind. I seemed to have forgotten something, yet I felt a lightness I’d never experienced before. The morning of my second day home, my parents called me down for breakfast. They said, “Mr. Nelson’s daughter heard you’re back from working out of state and wants to meet you. Do you remember her? You two used to play house when you were little, even saying you’d marry when you grew up.” I couldn’t quite recall, but I agreed to meet her. When I arrived at the coffee shop, an unknown number called. A strange woman shrieked on the other end of the line. “Ethan Reed! Did you forget it’s our wedding today?! Where are you?! Where did you run off to?! Do you even want to marry me anymore?!”

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After Julian gave me the silent treatment for the ninety-ninth time, I finally saw him reach out. He sent a message, a peace offering, inviting me to witness a surprise tonight. My mind immediately conjured the joy that had lately been etched on his face, and the diamond ring I’d glimpsed beneath his pillow. Instinctively, I thought he was finally going to propose. I dressed meticulously and went to the appointed place. But when I pushed open the door, I saw his childhood sweetheart, Chloe, clinking glasses with him, their arms entwined in a classic toast. A giant screen behind them blazed with the words: “Welcome Home, My Princess Chloe.” Julian had told me that Chloe, in a drunken stupor, had given herself to him, and the emotional toll had left her with a delicate heart. And I, a “used woman,” dared to dream of surprises. Since he was so obsessed with “firsts,” then let him experience losing everything for the very first time. 1 Amidst the cheering crowd, Julian and Chloe drank from intertwined glasses, his face alight with a sweetness I’d never seen directed at me. Dressed like a princess myself, I instantly felt like an awkward clown, rooted to the spot, unable to advance or retreat. Chloe spotted me, stamping her foot with a childish pout. “Aurora, are you deliberately trying to ruin my welcome-home party?” So Julian’s big surprise was her return. “What are you doing here? You’re such a buzzkill.” “Chloe, ignore her. I probably sent the group message to everyone. Look, do you like this gift?” Julian knelt on one knee, pulling a small box from his jacket with an air of profound reverence. It was the ring I’d seen. The next second, he slipped it onto Chloe’s left ring finger. Everything before my eyes was an exact replica of the proposal scene I’d dreamed of. I had waited five years, hinting to Julian countless times. But on the very last day of our fifth anniversary, I watched, heartbroken, as Julian placed the ring on another woman’s hand. Julian’s friends came over, playfully teasing him. He just scowled. “Having a girlfriend who’s always spying on my schedule, I’ve had the worst luck imaginable.” Under the mocking stares of the crowd, I made a clumsy exit. Chloe triumphantly smashed her empty glass at my feet, the shards instantly embedding themselves in my calf. It was our fifth anniversary, after all. I thought Julian would surely chase after me, to explain, to apologize. But he didn’t. He only sent me a text message. “Aurora, don’t make a scene here. You’re embarrassing me.” “Chloe is back, and I just want her to be happy. She’s not like you; she gave her first time to me. I can’t be responsible for her, but I should definitely compensate her more.” Before Julian, I’d had a previous relationship, something he had constantly held against me. Even though I’d poured my everything into him, caring for him meticulously, none of it measured up to that single, fleeting moment Chloe had given him. Even if that “first time” was a drunken accident. But Chloe’s heart had been “unwell” ever since that incident, so Julian’s “compensation” to her was endless. Above that message in my phone, a text from my adoptive mother brought a bittersweet ache. “Seeing my darling daughter settled brings peace to my heart. Mom has fulfilled her mission. Don’t worry, darling, Mom will hold on with her last breath to attend your wedding.” I had grown up in an orphanage, only experiencing the warmth of family after my adoptive mother took me in. But she was gravely ill, with little time left. My future, my finding a partner, was her only remaining concern in this world. So, when I thought Julian was going to propose, I had eagerly shared the good news with her, hoping to ease her mind. But now… I looked at the cuts on my calf, the pain too deep for words. I had intended to ask Julian if he’d forgotten that today marked our five-year anniversary. But now, it was pointless. That ring I’d waited five years for? I didn’t want it anymore. And him? I didn’t want him either. 2 By the time Julian returned home, the living room clock had chimed midnight. Our five-year anniversary was over. He woke me, handing me a drink. “Alright, stop pretending to sleep. I know you’re wide awake.” “This is from Chloe. See how generous she is? When will you be as considerate as her?” I forced my eyes open, wincing at the harsh light, and glanced at the drink. It was a Mango Sago dessert. But he seemed to have forgotten again: I’m allergic to mangoes. This very cold war had started because one of his friends at dinner had insisted I eat mango, and Julian, instead of stopping them, had told me not to be rude. I was angry he didn’t care about me; he was angry I was being difficult. I took a deep breath, suppressing the bitter taste of injustice. “My mom is getting worse. She wants to see you one last time. She asked if you’re free tomorrow afternoon.” I hadn’t dared tell my adoptive mother the truth; I feared she couldn’t bear it. Likewise, I still wanted to give Julian one last chance, for the sake of our five years together and for my adoptive mother. Julian instinctively blurted out, “I’m busy. I have to be with…” Before he finished, he suddenly seemed to remember something, a hint of guilt in his voice. “Got it. I’ll make time tomorrow.” “And, Aurora, you don’t need to be so paranoid. I don’t even care that you’re not a virgin, so there’s no need for you to be hostile towards Chloe.” “You know, I accidentally touched her when I was drunk back then.” I didn’t want to speak. I just raised my hand and turned off the bedroom light. The bedroom ceiling was a custom-made star-field ceiling Julian had installed. Every time Julian gave me the silent treatment after an argument, I’d add a diamond to the star field. Five years, and I’d added too many. The ceiling was so bright now, it made it hard to sleep. As I was drifting off, Julian received a call and rushed out. I didn’t question it. I just sent him a text the next morning, reminding him not to forget about the hospital visit. My adoptive mother was in her final rally, her frail hand trembling as she pulled out the shares she’d left for me. “These funds should rightfully be yours, dear, but Julian’s career is on the rise. This is all Mom can do to help him. As long as he treats you well in the future…” I found it hard to believe. The shares my adoptive mother had guarded her entire life, she now wanted to transfer entirely to Julian, simply so he would treat me well. My adoptive mother held my hand, reluctant to let go, giving me countless instructions. She said she wanted to personally arrange some things with Julian. But she waited until nightfall, until her eyes finally closed for good, and Julian never came. I handled her funeral arrangements alone. Finally, Julian called. “Something urgent came up at the company. I’ll personally cook for you tomorrow as an apology.” Before I could speak, I heard a sweet, syrupy voice in the background. “Julian, I’m thirsty! I want that one.” The call was abruptly disconnected. I pondered for a moment, then proactively messaged my adoptive mother’s business partner. “I want to take over Mom’s projects.” 3 My adoptive mother had always wanted me to have my own career after she was gone, so she had arranged a path for me to go abroad. Before, I hesitated because I couldn’t let go of her and Julian. Now… I had no ties left. When Julian came home, I was packing my luggage. He didn’t notice anything amiss. He casually handed me a handmade ceramic piece. “A gift for you.” I remembered the social media post Chloe had made, showing her smiling radiantly at some exquisite handmade ceramics. The caption read, “He made it himself. So much better than my clumsy attempts.” So I recognized it immediately: what Julian gave me was just one of Chloe’s botched “clumsy attempts.” “You don’t like it?” Julian scoffed. “Chloe is innocent and not a gold-digger. Women your age, having experienced the world, naturally care more about money.” Julian emphasized the phrase “experienced the world,” a thinly veiled jab at my past relationship, implying I hadn’t remained “pure” for him. “You can’t find fault with this gift, can you?” Julian said, taking out a jewelry box. It was from my favorite brand. Not long ago, I’d casually complained to Julian that I really liked a necklace from their collection, but it was a limited edition, hard to find anywhere in the country. My heart lurched. To say I wasn’t expectant would be a lie. I cautiously opened the jewelry box, before I could even see what was inside. “Oh, does Sister Aurora like these girlish things too?” It was Chloe. She had come back with Julian. I couldn’t bear it anymore. I turned to her. “Didn’t you say your heart was delicate after that incident? What? Now that you’re a mistress, your heart feels fine?” My words had barely left my lips when Julian slapped me hard across the face. Julian’s hateful glare sent shivers down my spine. Combined with the searing pain in my head, the world spun, and I nearly blacked out. 4 When I came to, Julian seemed to regret it. He wanted to approach me, but after a moment’s hesitation, he still turned to comfort Chloe. “I’m fine, Julian. Thank you for the necklace, it’s beautiful.” “Why didn’t you go home?” Chloe’s clear laughter echoed through the living room. “Hmph, because she deliberately ruined my welcome-home party.” After Julian had comforted Chloe, he took her home. When he returned, I was curled up on the sofa, sweating and crying. The familiar pain brought back a flood of memories. My face was ashen, my forehead beaded with sweat, and my entire body trembled. “Aurora? Are you okay? I… I didn’t mean to just now. Chloe is young, don’t hold it against her.” Seeing my lack of response, Julian, fearing something serious, drove me to the hospital. Those icy memories and the feeling of profound loss clung to me, refusing to dissipate. I trembled in the passenger seat, feeling as if I might suffocate at any moment. Julian’s eyes finally showed a flicker of concern, his voice softening. “I’m sorry, Aurora. I was impulsive. Just hold on a little longer. We’ll be at the hospital soon.” Julian’s low voice, tinged with tenderness, slowly pulled me back from the brink of overwhelming fear. Just as I was about to calm down, Julian suddenly slammed on the brakes. 5 My forehead hit the ornament on the dashboard, the one designated “Princess Chloe’s Special Seat.” Julian looked at the message on his phone, his brows furrowed tightly, his gaze at me filled with internal conflict. “You can take a taxi to the hospital yourself. Chloe’s heart is bothering her again.” Seeing me sitting unresponsive in the passenger seat, Julian pushed me out of the car without another word. “You’re a grown woman; you’ll be fine. I’ll come to the hospital to see you. If anything happens to Chloe, I’d be the one to blame.” The car sped away, leaving me standing on the deserted street, a little lost. The familiar darkness and past terrors made me shiver, I didn’t dare wait for a taxi there. Dragging my injured calf, I ran wildly until I saw people, then finally relaxed. In that moment, the tightly stretched string inside me snapped. I stood on the busy street, sobbing uncontrollably. I was angry that Julian had abandoned me halfway, angry that he indulged Chloe’s insults, angry that he didn’t buy the spacious apartment I wanted, but instead, to fulfill Chloe’s wish, changed our wedding home to a suburban villa. I was angry that between me and Chloe, he chose Chloe again and again… Five years. I had accumulated far too much resentment. After I cried, I took a taxi to the hospital for a full check-up. My head was fine, but I was severely traumatized. The doctor gave me medication to relieve stress. I took a photo of the prescription and sent it to my adoptive mother’s business partner, postponing my trip abroad. I also promised him that I would handle everything before my injuries healed, and it wouldn’t delay my work. His reply came quickly: “Don’t burden yourself too much. You are excellent. Rest well and take care of yourself.” This was the only concern and affirmation I had received in a long time. I sent Julian a breakup text. I took a taxi back to pack my luggage, preparing to leave this place that used to be our home. To my surprise, Julian was home, and he had cooked a table full of dishes. He smiled at me, his gaze lingering on the medicine in my hand for a moment before quickly moving away. “Aurora, I promised I’d cook for you to apologize. Don’t be mad anymore. Let’s go pick up Mom and have dinner.” I walked straight to the bedroom, pulled out my suitcase, and looked at him, my eyes red. “But my mom… she’s gone.” Julian froze.

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I scrolled past a trending meme online: “Eight Swiss Rolls. How many can I eat?” Seemed fun, so I casually shared it in the family group chat. A moment later, my phone buzzed incessantly. Husband: “That whole box must be twenty, thirty bucks! Why’d you buy it? Aren’t your meals filling enough?” “Seriously, such a gold-digger!” Son: “Eat, eat, eat, eat it all! Mom, how old are you? Last year you were acting like one of those trendy influencers, eating just the tips of strawberries. This year, it’s Swiss rolls.” “You really think you’re some online ‘cute little wife’!” I stopped, my hand hovering over the lottery ticket in my pocket, and turned to retrieve my marriage certificate. I slapped a ten-dollar bill on my husband’s face. “Divorce. My treat!” 1 I wasn’t born a housewife. Before marriage, I held a respectable position with a good salary. For the sake of my family, I sacrificed my career. Leo’s mother was bedridden, incontinent. Every time I changed her adult diapers, they were bursting full. The acrid stench hit me, nauseating. My son had also just been born then. Leo was in the prime of his career, coming home drunk every day. I didn’t even get my full postpartum rest. Alone, day and night, I cared for the entire family. My body was completely depleted. Now, I have a host of gynecological issues. Before we married, Leo had promised me, “Honey, I’ll work hard to earn money and support you and our son. I won’t let you suffer a bit!” His idea of “supporting” meant I got a few extra bowls of plain rice. Eating a few Swiss rolls was being a “gold-digger.” I looked at my rough, ugly hands. I truly felt I wasn’t worth it. Good thing I finally woke up. I tagged them both in the group chat. Me: “Leo, tomorrow morning at 8 AM, we’re going to the courthouse to file for divorce. Our son goes with you.” A thankless wolf cub. Just abandon it. 2 My son’s thankless behavior showed early signs. On his fifth birthday, Leo was late, as usual. Calls went unanswered, texts unreturned. My son’s eyes drooped from exhaustion, and I, feeling sorry for him, told him, “Dad’s still working overtime. Mom will celebrate with you first, and Dad will celebrate with you again when he gets back.” He suddenly exploded, smashing the cake onto me. “I hate you! It’s all because you do nothing at home that Dad works so hard!” “Why are you so lazy, not going to work, just like a pig at home!” No money meant no dignity. In my son’s eyes, my care for him, my sacrifices for the family, couldn’t compare to the occasional toy Leo brought home. He even pushed me once because I dared to touch that toy while cleaning his room. To this day, a winding, ugly scar marks my wrist. Since he loved his dad so much, I decided to let them have each other. 3 My phone rang, stopped, and rang again. My nail technician couldn’t help but ask, “Ma’am, is someone trying to reach you?” I flipped my phone to silent, waving her on. “Unimportant people.” That night, I didn’t go home. I found a five-star hotel and thoroughly enjoyed a night of luxury. At eight sharp, I arrived at the courthouse. Father and son stumbled in late, hair messy, still in their pajamas. My son, like his father’s little bodyguard, immediately began to scold me. “Mom, are you done with your nonsense? You’re divorcing Dad just over a few Swiss rolls? Are you out of your mind?!” I gave him a cold look, then slapped him hard across the face. It was my first time hitting him, so he was stunned. I slapped him again. He finally reacted, roaring with rage, raising his fist to hit me. Leo stopped him. He was always good at playing the nice guy, mediating. Every time our son did something wrong and I tried to discipline him, Leo would step in to be the hero. It’s no wonder my son and I had become so antagonistic; Leo had played a significant role in escalating things behind the scenes. Sure enough, he smiled and said, “Honey, Jay just spoke out of turn. But it’s true, divorcing me over eight Swiss rolls? It wouldn’t look good for your reputation.” More useless platitudes. I rolled my eyes, curtly saying, “Leo, cut the crap. If you’re a man, come in and get divorced with me!” I waved my hand, adorned with new nail polish and sparkling rings, and slapped a crisp ten-dollar bill on the table. “Divorce. My treat!” 4 Seeing my nails, Leo’s face changed. “Who told you to do that? How much did it cost? Go get a refund right now!” I admired my manicure. “Not expensive, just about a hundred bucks!” A hundred bucks. For a cheapskate like Leo, it must have killed him. Usually, for the two hundred dollars in monthly living expenses, he’d humiliate me endlessly before handing it over, as if I owed him. But mortgage, car payments, utilities—none of those were free. I always worked odd jobs when our son was at school to supplement the household income. Leo spat on the floor, exasperated. “I’m out there, slaving away like a dog to earn some money, and you’re constantly finding new ways to torment me! Do you even care about this family anymore?!” My son chimed in, “Mom, you can’t spend Dad’s money anymore! Dad works hard for his money; what right do you have to spend it?!” They were a united front. I crossed my arms. “I am your legal wife. As long as you don’t divorce me, I will spend your money. If you don’t give me money, I’ll sell the house and the car.” Leo’s face turned ashen, speechless. It wasn’t that he didn’t want a divorce; it was that he didn’t want to split half his assets with me. “Divorce is fine, but you haven’t worked a day since we got married, and you ask me for two thousand a month. You owe me a ten-thousand-dollar breakup fee!” When it came to shamelessness, Leo was truly in a league of his own. I certainly wouldn’t agree to that; otherwise, he’d probably demand I return the original dowry too. “If you don’t agree, we’ll see each other in court. You’ll likely lose half your net worth to me.” 5 I couldn’t just sit there and take it. A divorce lawsuit would drag on forever. Seeing him for another day would make me sick. I listed the house they were currently living in online for a low price, using Leo’s number. I also printed cards explaining how Leo was demanding ten thousand dollars from me in the divorce and distributed them in front of his company. I shouted loudly, “Step right up, folks, don’t miss out! A guide to avoiding scumbag managers!” “I can’t believe Manager Miller is like this! He looks so decent, but he’s actually a jerk.” “Manager Miller is so low. His wife gave birth to his son, and now he wants her to pay him ten thousand dollars in the divorce!” “Someone with such a terrible character is a cancer to this company. He should be fired.” The public outcry spread quickly. Wherever he went, people at the company pointed and whispered. Soon, he was called into a meeting with his direct supervisor. When the partner company learned of the matter, they demanded that the project lead be replaced. Leo, fuming, found me just as I had finished getting my hair done. I smiled, waving at him. “Husband, pay up.” Not expensive, just a little over a hundred bucks. He stood there, frozen, clearly not wanting to pay for me. I took out my car keys, saying helplessly, “I don’t have any cash, so I’ll just have to pawn the car.” Leo snatched the keys away angrily, pulled out his phone, and paid. 6 The divorce went smoother than expected. Perhaps he feared I’d cause more trouble. With the marriage certificate exchanged for divorce papers, I was officially single again. Our son willingly went with Leo, even making a face at me as they left. He was clearly happy to be rid of a mom who only spent money. Leo’s meager possessions held no interest for me. He generously suggested I leave with nothing, and he wouldn’t demand child support from me. Such a good deal, I had no reason to refuse. The first thing I did was cash in the lottery ticket. Forty million dollars. I donated ten thousand to a mountain charity, leaving over thirty million. I bought a house in the suburbs and booked a tour package. My son’s teacher called my phone. I was luxuriously sunbathing on a beach. The teacher said, “Mrs. Jones, your son had an argument with another student at school and made his nose bleed. You need to come to school and handle it.” I slowly said, “I’m very sorry, Mr. Smith. I’m no longer his mother. His current guardian is Leo Miller.”

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