Author: Momo Chan

My boyfriend of seven years was a man ruled by schedules and an uncompromising sense of order. If we had a date at three o’clock, leaving the house even a minute early was out of the question. If I wanted to catch a midnight showing of a movie, he would shut the idea down instantly. “That’s sleep time,” he would say, flatly. His planner was a dense, meticulously filled grid of daily tasks, mapped out to the exact minute. Sometimes, I found his rigidity stifling. But outside of his calendars, he was completely devoted to me. He never forgot an anniversary; he knew every one of my favorite things. He could notice if I had trimmed my hair by less than an inch. “At least a guy that structured will never cheat on you,” my coworker used to laugh. “He doesn’t have the time in his schedule.” So when Victor proposed, I gladly accepted. The venue, the dress, the guest list—he organized it all with military precision. I just had to follow his blueprint. Two weeks before the wedding, at precisely eight in the evening, I brewed a cup of coffee to take to his home office, just like I did every night. But as I approached, the door swung open, and Victor walked out, grabbing his car keys. I stared at him, caught off guard. “Where are you going?” “Lexie messed up the proposal slides,” he said, not pausing. “She’s still at the office. I need to go handle it.” He rushed out before I could reply. The words died in my throat. From eight to nine every night was his sacred, untouchable reading hour. For seven years, he had never broken that rule. And now, he had—for her. The warm mug in my hand suddenly felt impossibly heavy. … Looking out the window, I watched his familiar silver sedan speed out of our building’s courtyard. I tried to swallow the sudden spike of unease in my chest, telling myself he was just stressed about the proposal. Victor was a perfectionist when it came to his business, after all. I walked into his office and set the coffee down on his neat desk. As I turned to leave, my eyes fell on his planner, lying open beside his keyboard. Every single night before bed, he would write down the next day’s itinerary. Every hour was mapped, every task neatly bulleted. Aside from minor adjustments, his days rarely changed. I went to close the leather binder, but my eyes caught on a specific entry, and my hand froze. Twelve to one-thirty had always been Victor’s lunch break. In seven years, that had never shifted. But tomorrow’s schedule was different. Written in his sharp, precise handwriting: 12:00 PM – 1:30 PM: Teach Lexie how to draft the bidding proposal. I stared at the words, a cold shiver creeping up my spine. I knew exactly who Lexie was. Lexie Davenport. She was a college senior, just weeks away from graduation. Her uncle was one of Victor’s most lucrative clients. Three months ago, her uncle had asked Victor if he could give his niece an internship at the firm. Since it was just a temporary assistant role, Victor had agreed. During her first month, Victor complained about her constantly. He told me how she mixed up files, and how she didn’t even know how to build a basic Excel spreadsheet. Once, because of a mistake Lexie made, Victor’s afternoon meeting was delayed by ten minutes. For a man who lived by the clock, it was a cardinal sin. He was furious, reigning her in right in front of the entire department. That evening, he massaged his temples in frustration. “I need her internship to end,” he had groaned. “She’s exhausting.” I had laughed, gently rubbing his shoulders, telling him everyone has a learning curve. By the second month, his complaints thinned out. When he did mention Lexie, he would just sigh, but there was a new, softer tone of patience in his voice. I figured she was finally getting the hang of things. Until she made a mistake that nearly cost the company millions on a major contract. Knowing Victor, if his own mother had made a mistake of that scale, he would have fired her on the spot. But he didn’t fire Lexie. When I asked him about it later, he shrugged helplessly. “She’s Davenport’s niece. We’re in the middle of closing a major deal with him. I have to play nice.” So he tolerated her. For three whole months. But Lexie’s university-mandated internship had ended weeks ago. The deal with her uncle was signed and sealed. He had every reason to let her go. But he hadn’t. A cold dread bloomed in my stomach. My fingers shook as I began flipping back through the pages of his leather planner. One week. Two weeks. A month. June 10th, 10:00 AM – 10:30 AM: Teach Lexie how to structure a marketing pitch. June 9th, 11:00 AM – 12:00 PM: Lunch with Lexie. She brought a homemade bento box and insisted I try her cooking. Her name was everywhere. It appeared on his pages more often than mine did. The air left my lungs. May 12th, 6:00 PM – 7:00 PM: Help Lexie walk her dog. She has an emergency, and the dog gets anxious if it misses its walk. I stared at that entry, my blood turning to ice. The night before May 12th, I had asked Victor to come with me to my bridal fitting at six. He had declined, his face perfectly serious. “I have a prior commitment scheduled at that time.” I knew his rules. Once something was in his planner, it was written in stone. So I hadn’t pressed him. But now I knew. His sacred, unbending “prior commitment” was walking a junior assistant’s dog. Was he really that devoted to his schedule? Or was walking Lexie’s dog simply more important than watching me try on the dress I would wear to marry him? The realization pulled my heart down into a dark, hollow depth. I bit my lip, picked up my phone, and dialed his number. “Victor,” I said when he answered. “We need to talk.” He didn’t make it home until eleven. When he walked in, he found me sitting in the dark of the living room, illuminated only by the hallway light. The air between us was heavy, frozen. His planner sat wide open on the coffee table. He looked at me, confused, and held out a white paper bag that smelled of garlic and warm pastry. “You said yesterday you wanted those soup dumplings from downtown. I happened to pass by, so I grabbed some.” My throat tightened. I didn’t even think before the words spilled out: “That shop isn’t on your route home from the office. Were you out with Lexie?” He stiffened. Clearly, he hadn’t expected me to connect the dots so fast. But his face quickly smoothed over. “We wrapped up around ten. We were both starving, so we grabbed a quick bite.” He even offered a small, easy smile. “I’m the boss, Clara. I can’t let my staff starve after working late.” He stepped closer, reaching out to drape an arm over my shoulder in that comforting way he always did. “Who was the one who told me I needed to be a supportive boss?” I pulled away, tilting my chin toward the planner on the table. “Are you going to explain this?” Victor glanced at it, still looking mildly bewildered. “My planner? What about it?” I couldn’t tell if he was genuinely oblivious or just acting. So I laid it bare. “Your schedule is full of Lexie, Victor. This is way beyond mentoring an intern. What is going on?” I had spent the last two hours going through the book. Every time Lexie’s name appeared, I circled it in red. My name was circled in blue. Looking down at the open pages, the red ink was a dense, bleeding rash—over forty circles. The blue circles were sparse, barely reaching double digits. “We are getting married in two weeks, Victor. Do you even remember that?” I had meant to sound strong, but looking at those contrasting colors, my voice cracked. A hot, heavy lump formed in my throat. It felt like swallowing glass. His eyes traced the red circles, and the defense fell from his face. A deep, heavy guilt settled in his eyes as he looked back up at me. He pulled me into his chest, rubbing my back with slow, soothing strokes. “I’m so sorry, Clara. I had no idea this was hurting you so much.” “I was just trying to manage her, to train her so she’d stop making rookie mistakes.” “If it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll assign her to someone else tomorrow.” “The dog thing… I wasn’t thinking. It was stupid. I won’t help her with anything outside of work again. I promise.” Victor’s apologies were always like this—swift, earnest, and completely disarming. It was the reason we had survived seven years. We fought like any other couple, but whenever I was genuinely hurt, he always bowed his head and made it right. The ache in my chest didn’t vanish, but his soft words smoothed over the worst of the sting. I thought of the invitations we had already mailed out, the caterers, the life we were about to build. I let out a long breath and decided to trust him one more time. Victor kept his word. The very next day, he transferred Lexie’s training to another department lead. He even moved her desk to the opposite end of the floor, far away from his office. Every evening, he showed me his planner for the next day, and her name never appeared again. Slowly, the anxiety faded into the background. Partly because I was simply too exhausted to dwell on it. The closer we got to the wedding, the more the details piled up. Even with Victor’s rigid planning, vendor issues arose, and schedules clashed. Because his work was demanding, I took over the endless coordination. For a week straight, I balanced my day job with late-night calls to florists and coordinators. I barely slept. By Friday afternoon, as I was typing away at my desk, my vision went black, and I collapsed. When I opened my eyes, I was lying in a sterile hospital room. An IV drip was hooked to my arm, and a nurse was quietly adjusting the bag. Seeing me awake, she said, “We tried calling your emergency contact, but we couldn’t get through.” I glanced at the wall clock. 3:30 PM. On Victor’s schedule, this block was marked for a quarterly board meeting. The nurse told me it was just severe hypoglycemia brought on by exhaustion and stress. She advised me to rest. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, scrolling mindlessly through my phone. At exactly four, when his meeting was scheduled to wrap up, I dialed his number. He picked up on the second ring. But before I could speak, a cheerful, familiar voice answered: “Hi there! Are you looking for Victor? He’s a bit tied up right now.” My grip on the phone tightened. My throat went dry. “Lexie?” “Oh! Yes, this is she. Who’s calling…?” There was a brief pause, and I heard her shift the phone, likely checking the caller ID. “Oh, Clara! I am so sorry, I didn’t see the name. I didn’t realize it was you.” My voice was dead cold. “Why do you have Victor’s phone?” “I—” Before she could finish, the phone was fumbled away, and Victor’s voice came rushing through the speaker. “Clara!” There was a frantic, breathless edge to his tone. “I was just in a meeting, and I left my phone on the conference table. I didn’t think she’d grab it.” A lapse of judgment? Carelessness? I didn’t believe him. Victor’s phone was practically glued to him; it held sensitive financial records and client data. He never left it lying around. I swallowed the bitter taste rising in my mouth, keeping my voice flat and empty of emotion. “I’m in the emergency room.” He gasped. “What? What happened? Why are you in the hospital?” When I explained it was just low blood sugar and exhaustion, I heard his breath rush out in relief. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard. From tonight, you need to go straight to bed—” “Victor,” I cut in, “can you come pick me up?” Silence stretched over the line. Then, hesitating: “Clara, I’m right in the middle of things here. We have another critical strategy meeting starting in ten minutes…” I didn’t even know what I felt anymore. Was it familiarity? Or just numb acceptance? I hadn’t expected him to say yes, really. But the rejection still carved out a cold, hollow space in my ribs. “Okay. I understand.” I hung up and stared at the drip counter above my head, watching the clear fluid fall drop by drop. In the bed next to mine, a young woman was laughing quietly while her boyfriend carefully peeled an apple for her, cutting it into neat slices. Their soft murmurs and easy warmth felt like a mockery. Once the IV bag was empty, I swung my legs over the edge of the mattress. But the moment my feet touched the cold linoleum, the room spun violently. The nurse caught my elbow, frowning. “You shouldn’t drive. Is there a friend or family member we can call?” I unlocked my phone and scrolled through my contacts. There was no one. I had moved to this city right after college to be with Victor. My parents were states away. My college friends had scattered across the country. I realized, with a sudden, suffocating clarity, that Victor was the only anchor I had here. And he wasn’t anchored to me at all. My chest felt hollow, like a drafty house. I told the nurse I’d be fine, thanked her, and walked out of the ward on unsteady legs. The moment I stepped through the sliding doors, a low rumble of thunder shook the air. Rain was coming. I retreated back under the concrete awning just in time. Within seconds, the sky opened up, pouring sheets of cold grey water onto the pavement. The wind blew the spray onto my ankles, and I shivered, wrapping my thin sweater tighter around myself. My phone buzzed in my palm. It was a text from Rachel, a coworker from the office. Hey Clara, are you feeling better? Hear you went to the clinic. I texted back, telling her I was fine, just a little run-down, assuming she was just being polite. But then, three dots appeared, and she sent an image file. I hesitated to send this, but… I think this is Victor. I’m sorry. I tapped the image to download it. It was a photo taken inside a bright, clean veterinary clinic. Two people stood near the front desk. One was Victor. The other was Lexie, the girl he had promised to keep at arm’s length. She was cradling a small golden puppy in her arms, looking up at Victor while he spoke to the vet. They looked like a young couple taking their new pet for a checkup. Rachel’s messages popped up in quick succession. My boyfriend works at this clinic. I showed him a picture of you two from the company dinner last month. He recognized him instantly. The cold seeped deep into my bones. My fingers shook so hard I could barely type. When was this? I texted back. Rachel replied immediately. They got there around three. Left about twenty minutes ago, around four-thirty. Three to four-thirty. During the exact window Victor was supposedly locked in a crucial board meeting, he was at a veterinary clinic, playing savior to Lexie’s dog. And when I had called him from a hospital bed, begging for a ride, he had lied to me, claiming he was too busy to leave his office. Victor hadn’t just broken his sacred rules for her. He had crossed his own moral line. He had lied to me. When we first started dating, his college friends used to tell me how lucky I was. “Victor is rigid,” they’d say, “but he’s honest to a fault. The guy literally doesn’t know how to lie. It goes against his nature.” For seven years, that had been true. He had never once deceived me. So when he promised he would put distance between himself and Lexie, I believed him. When he said he loved me, I believed him. Another flash of lightning lit up the grey sky, followed by a crack of thunder that rattled my chest. It felt like the lightning had struck me instead, splitting open the last fragile pieces of my heart. The cold wind rushed into the void. I didn’t feel sad anymore. Just entirely, beautifully empty. My phone rang, jarring me out of the silence. The caller ID read Wedding Coordinator – Mr. Jenkins. I wiped a drop of rain from my cheek and answered. His polite, enthusiastic voice echoed through the receiver. “Hi Clara! I was just calling to finalize the timeline for next week’s rehearsal dinner…” “Mr. Jenkins,” I said, my voice steady. “We need to cancel the wedding.” Because Victor had been busy, I was the sole contact on every single contract. On the cab ride back to the apartment, I went down the list. The bridal boutique—cancel the rental. The venue—cancel the booking. By the time the cab pulled up to our building, I had emailed the makeup artist and the florist. I unlocked the front door and froze. On the entryway mat sat a pair of unfamiliar, delicate high heels. From the living room, a soft, giggling laugh drifted down the hall. My muscles tensed. I walked slowly into the light and saw Lexie standing in front of our floor-length mirror, wearing a dusty-rose bridesmaid dress. It was one of the four dresses I had picked up from the boutique yesterday, meant for my own bridesmaids. Anger, hot and blinding, surged through my veins. “What are you doing?” I said, my voice cutting through the room like a blade. “Who gave you permission to touch my things?” Lexie jumped, spinning around. Her face went pale as she clutched the skirt of the dress. “Clara… I’m so sorry…” Victor stepped out from his office, his hands raised in a placating gesture. “Clara, sweetie, don’t get upset. Listen. You said Becca might not be able to fly in for the wedding, right? We were going to be one bridesmaid short. Lexie mentioned she’d be happy to step in. She came over to drop off some files I left at the office, and I just thought we’d have her try it on…” “Lexie.” He called her Lexie. I let out a dry, humorless laugh. First she was his assistant. Then she was Lexie. Now she was practically family. Every shift in what he called her had mapped his slow, steady slide away from me. I ignored him entirely, stepping right up to Lexie. “Take it off,” I said, my voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Before you touch someone else’s life again, make sure you actually belong in it.” Lexie lowered her head, her eyes instantly filling with tears. By the time she changed back into her clothes, her cheeks were wet. She walked over, reaching out to grasp my forearm. “Clara, I am so, so sorry. I’ll pay for the dry cleaning, I promise…” I pulled my arm back, disgusted. “Don’t touch me. It’s fine.” “Ah!” She stumbled backward, letting out a small gasp as if I’d shoved her. Victor lunged forward, catching her by the waist. He glared at me, his eyes burning with anger. “Clara, that is enough! You’re being completely unreasonable!” I looked at Lexie, who was tucked securely against his chest, her eyes gleaming with a tiny, triumphant spark. I smiled. “Fascinating,” I murmured. “I mention one bridesmaid might have a schedule conflict, and you’re already fitting her for a dress. Honestly, Victor, if I came down with a cold on the wedding day, would you have replaced the bride, too?” “Clara, what the hell are you talking about?” Victor’s face flushed red, a mix of defensive rage and guilt written all over his features. He couldn’t meet my eyes. When I didn’t say another word, just staring at him with cold detachment, he grabbed Lexie’s hand and led her toward the door. “You’re clearly not well. The fever or whatever put you in the hospital is making you crazy. I’m taking her home. You need to calm down.” The front door slammed shut behind them, the sound echoing through the empty apartment. I looked down at the dusty-rose dress tossed carelessly onto the sofa cushions. It looked exactly like our seven-year relationship—crumpled, ruined, and left in a heap. I picked it up, folded it neatly with the other three, and packed them into their garment bags. Then, I walked into the bedroom and began to pack my life away. At 11:55 PM, I wheeled my suitcase out of the bedroom. As I closed the front door behind me, the clock on the living room wall struck midnight. A new day had begun. At seven in the morning, Victor returned, holding a bag of fresh pastries and coffee from the bakery down the street. He figured a night apart would have cooled me down. He knew he had crossed a line, and he was prepared to offer another of his perfect apologies. But the moment he pushed the door open, his footsteps halted.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “535047”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was on a FaceTime call with the version of Chris from ten years ago. I had just sent him a photo of himself—or rather, the man he was destined to become—wrapped around another woman. He took one look and denied it instantly. “That’s not me. I could never stop loving you, Natalie. A Henderson man doesn’t cheat. We don’t do things like this.” His eyes through the screen were fierce, steady, and filled with the exact kind of integrity I remembered. He was the patient, gentle Chris I had fallen in love with. Filled with a desperate, creeping doubt, I turned to the Chris of the present day, testing him on the intimate details of our history. He couldn’t answer a single question. The realization hit me like ice water: the man standing in my house was not Chris. … “Why are you bringing up ancient history?” Chris looked down at me, a flicker of disgust crossing his face. “It was a decade ago, Natalie. I don’t remember.” I grabbed his wrist, my fingers digging into his skin. “How can you say you don’t remember? You swore to me you’d never forget.” “I don’t love you anymore, okay?” He ripped his arm away, his sharp eyes tightening with irritation. “I’m sick of looking at you. I despise you. Why the hell would I want to remember anything associated with you?” My body went completely rigid. Years ago, he had held me under the same ceiling, looking at me with absolute devotion, promising he would spend the rest of his life making me happy. “Oh, Natalie, face it—you’re getting old,” Zoe said, a cruel, mocking smile playing on her lips as she leaned against the counter. “Men like novelty. Don’t be so desperate for a wedding ring. You’re practically begging him to stay, and for what? Your mother is still rotting in a hospital bed.” My eyes stung, turning a furious, bloodshot red as I glared at her. “She is your mother, too! Your actual, flesh-and-blood mother!” The only reason our mother was hooked up to life support in an ICU was because of what happened on my wedding day. Right before I was supposed to walk down the aisle, highly intimate, compromising photos of me were projected onto the giant screens at the reception hall. My mother had a massive brain hemorrhage on the spot from the shock. And Chris? Chris had brushed it off with a sickeningly light shrug. “It was just a game of Truth or Dare with your sister,” he’d said. “The dare was to play a prank on you. Zoe’s young, Natalie. Don’t be petty. I’m still willing to marry you, aren’t I?” “Come on, Natalie, it was just a joke,” Zoe had chimed in back then, wearing a look of calculated innocence. “Don’t tell me you’re going to be a sore loser.” I remembered wiping the tears from my face, my voice shaking but resolute. “I don’t want your pity. The wedding is off.” “Look at yourself,” Chris had sneered, his voice dripping with condescension. “Your reputation is in the gutter. Everyone in this city has seen your body now. Who else is going to take you if I don’t?” I had been too choked with tears to speak, but then the hospital called about my mother, and the world collapsed around me. I didn’t have time to process the betrayal. Meanwhile, my sister had slipped right into Chris’s arms, the two of them whispering and laughing, completely indifferent to whether our mother lived or died. I couldn’t comprehend how they had turned into monsters. It was as if, overnight, they had simply ceased to be the people I knew. My fiancé had once been the most attentive, respectful partner. My sister had been sweet, bookish, and fiercely protective of me. There was no universe in which she would ever sleep with my fiancé. But people change. That was the only explanation I had lived with. I pulled myself back to the present, staring at Chris, still trying to grasp at some shred of logic. “Why? You used to love me so much.” “I loved the eighteen-year-old version of you,” Chris said, his voice flat and bored. “The young, beautiful version. But look at you now. You’re neither.” “I see.” Without another word, I picked up my phone—which had been quietly running a live video call the entire time—and walked upstairs to the bedroom. I dragged my suitcase out of the closet and began throwing my clothes inside. Through the phone speaker, Chris’s voice from ten years ago echoed in the quiet room. “Where are you going? Why are you packing?” I picked up the phone, looking at the screen. The young man staring back at me was vibrant, fierce, and entirely untainted by the rot of the present. “You saw him, didn’t you?” I whispered, struggling to keep my voice from breaking. “He doesn’t love me anymore. I have to leave him. I have to end this.” “That is not me,” past Chris said, his voice steady, his dark eyes burning with a desperate intensity through the screen. “I swear to you, Natalie, I could never treat you like that.” “The evidence is right in front of me,” I said, a tear finally escaping and slipping down my cheek. “You think it’s impossible because you love me right now. But that doesn’t mean your heart won’t rot ten years down the line.” “But he didn’t know the answer to your question,” past Chris argued, leaning closer to his camera. “Our first kiss was on your eighteenth birthday, right under the old oak tree by the lake. I would never forget that. It’s burned into my mind. Why didn’t he know?” Even if he was right, it didn’t change my reality. I had never doubted that his eighteen-year-old self loved me. But human hearts are volatile things. The man downstairs simply did not care about me. “Hey, why are you being so weird lately?” a sweet, familiar voice interrupted from his side of the call. “Why are you constantly staring at your phone? The housekeeper said you’ve been on video calls for days.” It was me. The nineteen-year-old version of me. Past Chris quickly tried to tilt his screen away, but he wasn’t fast enough. I caught a glimpse of her. She looked so young, so untouched by grief. She leaned her chin on his shoulder, smiling playfully. “Don’t tell me you’ve found someone else already. If you’ve replaced me, your little sister is going to be heartbroken.” “Never,” past Chris said, his face softening instantly as he looked at her. “Even if I did find someone else, it would only be a future version of you.” “Oh, please. Don’t tell me you actually believe those rumors about the temporal anomaly app…” Before she could finish her sentence, I spoke directly into the microphone. “Break up with him. In ten years, he is going to cheat on you.” Past Chris panicked, instantly reaching to mute the call, but my past self was quicker. She snatched the phone out of his hand, her brow furrowing as she stared at the screen. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice laced with confusion. “Why do you… look so much like me? My dad never said anything about having another daughter.” I took a deep breath, forcing myself to be concise. “I am you, ten years in the future. In ten years, Chris will betray you. He will project your private, intimate photos at your own wedding reception.” “What?” She blinked, turning to past Chris with a laugh. “Wow, Chris. I knew you were possessive, but I didn’t know you liked to share. Exposing my private photos? Generous of you.” I could hear the disbelief in her voice. She didn’t take it seriously. And why would she? The Chris of ten years ago was a gentleman who treated women with absolute respect. To her, the idea of him doing something so vile was a physical impossibility. “I would never!” past Chris protested, rubbing his temples in frustration. “If I ever did something like that, my dad would drag me into his study and disown me before the sun went down.” “Your father dies in two years,” I said coldly. “You kill him, Chris. You hand over the majority of the family company’s shares to a competitor just to please my sister. The shock gives him a fatal coronary.” “What did you just say?” Past Chris’s playful demeanor vanished. His face went entirely pale. “You ruin the family,” I said, my voice trembling with a decade of suppressed rage. “You sleep with my sister, and you drive your own father to his grave.” Past Chris fell completely silent. He stared at his desk, his eyes dark and unreadable. I knew that look. It was how he processed intense emotion. He always bottled up his grief, hiding it from the world, and I was always the only one who noticed. When he finally looked up, his voice was tight. “But even if a man changes… his fundamental morals, his basic sense of decency—those things don’t just evaporate. Even if I grew to hate you, I could never publicly humiliate a woman like that. It goes against everything I am.” “But you did,” I said. “You did exactly that.” “Wait, why on earth would I even want to be with my brother-in-law?” My sister’s face suddenly popped into the frame. She was only thirteen back then, her eyes wide, round, and full of childish curiosity. My chest ached. “Just trust me,” I said shortly. “Both of you will betray me.” The line went quiet for a long moment. Finally, the past version of myself spoke up. “What if… what if that man down there isn’t actually Chris? And what if your sister isn’t actually your sister?” I stopped packing, standing up slowly. “What do you mean?” My thirteen-year-old sister leaned into the camera. “Natalie, go to Instagram. Search for an anonymous account called `@SunnyDays_Z`. That’s me. I use it like a digital diary, posting updates every single week. Check when the posts stop. Whoever took over my life… that’s probably when they did it.” My hands shook as I unlocked my tablet and opened the app. I searched the handle. It existed. There were hundreds of posts—photos of books, skylines, small daily reflections. No faces, which explained why the account had almost no followers. The posts stopped abruptly exactly three years ago. Through the phone, past Chris spoke up. “Did I change around that time too?” I frowned, thinking back. “I don’t know the exact date. But your behavior… you became a completely different person about two years ago.” Just then, a floorboard creaked outside my bedroom. I quickly muted the phone, laid it face down on the bed, and crept out of the room. I followed the faint sound of whispering down the hall to Chris’s bedroom. Through the narrow crack in the door, I saw my sister and Chris. Chris was lounging on the armchair, a sinister, mocking smirk on his face. “Can you believe it? Even after all of this, her affection rating is still at 100. I told you, she’s like a stray dog. You can’t kick her out.” “Oh, honey,” Zoe purred, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. “As long as we keep breaking her spirit, her misery index will peak. Once she’s completely broken, my mother can finally take over her body. Then our family will be whole again.” Chris chuckled, running a hand through her hair. “The ashes from that occult ritual—slipping them into her food every day worked perfectly. That’s exactly how we stole her sister’s and her fiancé’s bodies without anyone noticing a thing.” “I spent years scrubbing her floors as her housekeeper, Martha,” Zoe—no, Martha—said, staring at her reflection in the vanity mirror with a manic, ecstatic grin. “But now? I’m the young, beautiful heiress. This body is absolutely perfect.” Behind the door, my heart stopped. She wasn’t Zoe. She was Martha, our former housekeeper whom I had let go years ago because of her sticky fingers, only to hire her back when “Zoe” insisted on it. And the man posing as my fiancé wasn’t Chris. He was Martha’s husband, Walter—our former family driver. A vulgar, heavy-drinking man who had somehow stolen Chris’s body. My mind raced as the pieces of the puzzle violently snapped into place. They were deliberately torturing me. The more I suffered, the weaker my soul became, making it easier for Martha’s mother to possess me. But there was a catch: my “affection rating”—my love and trust for Chris—had to remain intact. If my affection dropped to absolute zero, the spell would break, the vessel would reject the host, and Walter would be obliterated. But if he was obliterated, would the real Chris actually come back? Or would his soul be lost forever? Until I had a definitive answer, I couldn’t risk letting the rating hit zero. I couldn’t lose Chris forever. “Wait,” Walter’s voice suddenly sharpened with panic. He sat up straight. “What the hell? Her affection rating just dropped to ninety! I have to go find her.” “No, stay,” Martha whined, pulling at his arm. “You promised you’d spend the night with me.” Hearing him stand up, I turned and bolted back up the stairs. I ran into my room, my eyes sweeping over the closet until they landed on a vibrant, crimson slip dress. Walter had bought it for me months ago, demanding I wear it, but I had always refused, finding it vulgar. I swallowed my disgust, stripped off my clothes, and pulled the red silk over my head. A second later, the door was flung open. Walter stood on the threshold, breathless. When his eyes landed on me, he froze. “Hey, handsome,” I murmured, my voice dropping to a low, sultry register. I walked over to him, wrapping my arms gently around his neck. “It’s freezing tonight. Why don’t we sleep together?” Walter’s body went rigid. He stared at me, his chest rising and falling rapidly before a greedy, satisfied grin broke across his face. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do that.” He glanced back and gave Martha a sharp look, gesturing for her to leave. Martha’s eyes flared with rage. She grabbed Walter’s arm and dragged him out into the hallway, slamming the door halfway shut. I crept quietly to the door, listening. “What the hell are you doing?” Martha hissed, her voice vibrating with anger. “You said we were going to humiliate her tonight! Now you’re going to sleep with her?” “Did you not see her affection rating drop?” Walter whispered back fiercely. “If it hits zero, I’m dead! The vessel will destroy me!” Martha clenched her fists. “What about my mother? If you don’t break her spirit, my mother’s soul will fade before she can take her over!” “Her affection rating has been stable for two years, which is why we could play those games,” Walter snapped. “But it’s fluctuating now. I have to secure it.” “I don’t care! I want my mother! She sacrificed everything to raise me—” “Shut up,” Walter interrupted, his voice dripping with impatience. “We’ll figure it out later.” “You’re getting tired of me, aren’t you?” Martha sneered, hitting his chest. I smiled in the shadows. Step one: divide and conquer. “Chris?” I stepped out into the hallway, widening my eyes in mock confusion. “What are you and Zoe talking about?” “Nothing,” Walter said quickly, straightening his posture and stepping away from Martha. “It’s late. Let’s go to bed.” “Actually, Chris, Zoe looks really upset.” I reached up, gently tracing his jawline with my index finger. “Why don’t you spend the night with her instead? I don’t mind.” Walter swallowed hard, his eyes darting from my collarbone to Martha’s murderous glare. He was caught in a trap of his own making. He wanted me, but he didn’t want to push Martha too far. “He’s staying with me,” Martha said sharply, stepping forward and grabbing Walter’s wrist. Without waiting for him to reply, she dragged him toward the staircase. “We have things to discuss upstairs.” “Let go of me!” Walter hissed, but he followed her anyway. I watched them disappear up the stairs. I went back into my room, picked up my phone, and unmuted the call. “Chris,” I said to the boy from ten years ago. “Fire Martha the housekeeper and Walter the driver immediately. Do not, under any circumstances, eat or drink anything they give you.” “Who are Martha and Walter?” my sister’s young voice asked from the speaker. I pinched the bridge of my nose. Right. They hadn’t even hired them yet. Preventing it in the past wasn’t going to solve my present reality. Before I could explain, a violent scream echoed from upstairs, followed by a heavy, terrifying thudding sound. I rushed out of the room and looked down the hallway. There, at the bottom of the stairs, lay Zoe’s body, surrounded by a rapidly spreading pool of dark blood.

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When Naomi saw the promotional couples’ passes for Disney World, she bought two without a second thought. One for her, and one for her best friend, Tyler. After linking their digital passes on her phone, she turned to me, her voice casual. “Did you buy your ticket yet?” I watched them already drifting toward the entrance turnstiles. Shaking off the sudden weight in my chest, I opened my app and quickly purchased a standard single-day adult ticket. By the time I scanned through the gates, a notification chimed in our group chat. It was a message from Tyler: “Hey Ian, you’re taking way too long. We’re heading ahead to grab a spot in the queue. Catch up when you can!” A three-person trip, but they always moved as a pair. I was just the shadow trailing behind, trying to keep up. I deleted my half-written reply: “On my way to find you.” Opening Instagram, I saw Tyler had already posted a photo of himself and Naomi. They were wearing matching Mickey ears, grinning widely. The caption read: “Orlando diaries. Photo #30 with my favorite girl.” Ten days in Florida. Thirty photos together. And thirty times I had been left behind. As night fell, the crowds gathered for the fireworks, and I finally ran into them beneath the glowing castle. Naomi held up her phone, a bright, easy smile on her face. “Ian! Let me get a photo of you.” I offered a stiff, awkward peace sign, trying to force a smile. Before I could even lower my hand, she shoved the phone back into my palm and wrapped her arm tightly around Tyler’s. “Now take one of us! We want a shot with Nick and Judy in the background.” I froze. I handed the phone back to her, turned around, and walked away. This summer, this road trip… it was never going to make it to the finish line. … Naomi caught up to me quickly, her hand pulling at my jacket. “The fireworks aren’t even over. Where are you going? Don’t tell me you’re getting lost again.” I blinked back the stinging behind my eyes, forcing another smile. But my gaze drifted down to her hand, still tightly gripping Tyler’s fingers. The smile died on my lips. “I think I want to head back to the hotel.” “Naomi, hurry up! We need to push forward, the best viewing spot is right up there,” Tyler’s voice cut over mine, loud and impatient. Without another word to me, Naomi turned, letting Tyler pull her into the surging crowd. The sea of people swallowed them whole. I realized then that even if I stood perfectly still, they would always find a way to leave me behind. As the fireworks began to paint the sky behind me, I walked out of the park gates, staring blankly at the gridlocked traffic. Before we left, Naomi had insisted on planning every detail of this trip, claiming she didn’t trust me to handle it. I followed the crowd toward the rideshare pickup zone. Suddenly, a hand gripped my arm. It was Naomi, breathless and flushed from the heat, her voice sharp with exhaustion. “You’ve been pulling away all day. Do you have any idea how tiring it is to try and have fun while constantly having to look for you?” “I’m sorry…” The familiar apology started to slip out, but I forced myself to stop. The thirty times before this, I was the one abandoned, and I was the one apologizing. Tyler threw an arm over my shoulder, offering a lazy, easygoing grin. “Don’t mind her, Ian. She’s just a worrywart. She doesn’t know how to show her boyfriend some love.” I looked at the heavy backpack Naomi was wearing, stuffed with souvenirs they had picked out together. I took a step sideways, letting Tyler’s arm slide off my shoulder. “Seems to me she shows plenty of care,” I said quietly. “Just not to me.” Tyler put on a mock-whimper, nudging Naomi. “Aww, look. Our little Ian is jealous.” Naomi’s face darkened, her eyes flashing with irritation. “He’s been passive-aggressive all day. I don’t have the energy to play his little mind games.” Just then, a large SUV pulled up to the curb. Naomi grabbed Tyler’s hand. “Look, those two people are split-faring a ride back to our area. Let’s see if we can squeeze in.” She took a few steps, then called back over her shoulder, “Ian, stop throwing a tantrum. Rideshares are impossible to get right now. Tyler and I will take this one. Find another group to split with.” Tyler waved energetically from the backseat window as the door closed. “See you at the hotel, buddy!” I stood frozen on the sidewalk, watching the taillights of the SUV merge into the traffic. In that moment, the sheer panic and humiliation of being dumped on a dark street at midnight broke through my defenses. I started to cry. Right there under the streetlights, ignoring the awkward glances of passing strangers. My mind flashed back to the night of high school graduation. Naomi had been the one to suggest this trip. She had taken my hand under the streetlights and said, “Ian, let’s make us official.” But when the day came to book the tickets, she had casually mentioned she’d bought Tyler’s flight, too. I pulled out my phone with trembling fingers and texted her: “Let’s break up.” Her reply came almost instantly: “Ian, are you seriously doing this right now? Are you seriously throwing a fit just because Tyler and I hung out today?” “I was thinking about your leg. You can’t walk long distances anyway.” Every act of disregard was always packaged as “consideration.” But the only reason my leg was like this was because of them. During the summer after junior year, we were driving down to the lake in Tyler’s family minivan. Tyler had insisted on swapping seats with me so he could sit in the back with Naomi. They were playing some loud, disruptive game, thrashing around so much that Tyler accidentally bumped into the driver’s seat, distracting his dad. The van swerved, crashing hard into a concrete guardrail. My side of the vehicle took the brunt of the impact. My leg was crushed. I spent the most critical semester of senior year in a heavy plaster cast. Naomi had taken care of me for months, driving me to appointments and helping me study. I thought it was love. Now I realized it was just a guilty conscience trying to buy its way out. It was nearly midnight by the time I managed to find a group to split a ride with. Since my hotel was the furthest, I was the last passenger left in the car. I opened my navigation app and noticed the driver had veered off the main highway onto an unfamiliar, unlit secondary road. The surroundings were dark and industrial. Panic set in. I shared my live location in our group chat, spamming it repeatedly. “Where are you guys? Can someone watch my route?” “This driver is taking a really weird detour. Naomi, call me. Let me put you on speaker so he knows someone is expecting me.” “Are you guys there?” The silence in the car was suffocating. The roads grew narrower and darker. Finally, a message from Tyler popped up. I wiped the cold sweat from my palms and tapped it open. “Ian, stop spamming the chat. Naomi and I are in the middle of a Mario Kart match. The hotel Wi-Fi is lagging because of your notifications.” I stared at the screen for a full minute, and then a dry, hollow laugh escaped my throat. The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror, his voice low. “Hey kid, it’s a quiet stretch of road. You should probably text your family and let them know you’re safe.” I nodded numbly, saying thank you, but the tears wouldn’t stop spilling over my cheeks. When I finally stepped out of the car at the hotel, Naomi was sitting on a wicker chair in the lobby. She looked up, letting out a long, heavy sigh. “Honestly, Ian. It took you two hours to get an Uber? I don’t know how you survive.” I kept my head down, trying to walk past her. I could see her phone screen was still glowing with the game lobby. “Did you even see my texts?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. She blinked, looking genuinely confused. “What texts?” Tyler stepped out of the elevator, ruffling my hair with an easy grin. “Look who decided to show up! We thought you got kidnapped.” He slid onto the wicker bench next to Naomi, pointing at her screen to explain where she had gone wrong in the last round. I turned and walked toward the elevator. As the doors slid shut, sealing me away from the two of them whispering together, I caught my reflection in the polished metal. Pale skin, bloodshot eyes. The last thread of hope snapped. I pulled out my phone and sent a voice note to my mom. “Hey Mom… I think I want to go to the University of Toronto. I don’t want to go to Georgetown anymore.” My mom heard the crack in my voice. She asked if Naomi and I had fought. I didn’t answer. The next morning, Tyler’s bed was completely untouched. He hadn’t slept in our room. The group chat was dead silent, save for two messages Naomi had sent around 3:00 AM: “Ian, I just saw the group messages. Next time make sure you check the driver’s rating before getting in.” Then, she had forwarded an article: “Safety tips for solo travelers at night.” No apology. No real worry. Just cold, clinical advice. I deleted the link and headed out of my room, determined to find her and end this farce of a vacation. But when I knocked on her door, there was no answer. I called Tyler’s phone. Naomi answered. “You’re awake? Breakfast in the lobby ends at ten, don’t miss it.” “Where are you guys?” I asked. There was a brief pause on the line before Tyler took the phone. “Hey Ian! The hotel gave us a complimentary couples’ photoshoot package, but it expires today. You were sleeping in, and Naomi didn’t want to wake you. So we just came down to get it done.” “The photographer is waiting. Hang tight at the hotel, okay?” In the background, I heard a cheerful voice: “Come on, guys, get closer. You’re a couple, don’t be shy! Kiss her cheek. Perfect, hold that!” “Click.” My fingers trembled as I hung up. To distract myself, I booked a last-minute ticket to a local art museum. Deep down, I wanted to prove to them—and to myself—that I didn’t need them to have a good time. But they didn’t care. When Naomi found out I was at the museum, she simply texted: “Cool. Tyler and I are meeting an old high school friend for lunch. Have fun! Let’s meet up at the food market tonight.” It was noon. They had just finished the shoot. They had never had any intention of inviting me to that lunch. At the crowded food market that evening, the tension in Naomi’s face tightened the moment she saw me. She handed me a boba tea, her voice clipped. “There’s our golden boy. Finally made it.” Tyler was already sipping his own drink, his eyes lingering on Naomi’s iced lemonade. Without a word, Naomi handed her cup to him. He took a sip, complained it was too sour, and handed it back. It was a casual, domestic gesture—one they had clearly done a thousand times when I wasn’t looking. My chest ached. I slowed my pace, letting them drift ahead into the crowd. Suddenly, someone slammed hard into my shoulder from behind. My drink spilled all over my shirt, and the stranger’s phone went flying, hitting the pavement with a sharp crack. The screen shattered. Before I could recover, the man grabbed my arm, his grip so tight it felt like he was peeling the skin off my wrist. “Are you fucking blind? This is a brand-new iPhone! You’re paying for this!” In the middle of the shouting, I looked up. Through the bustling crowd, my eyes locked with Naomi’s. She was looking back toward me, but she was pointing urgently at Tyler, who was having a heated argument with a food stall vendor over a payment issue. “Naomi! I need help over here!” I yelled. Seeing me try to turn away, the angry man shoved me hard. My balance gave out, and his heavy boot came down directly onto my weak ankle. A white-hot flash of pain shot up my leg. I broke into a cold sweat, my vision turning black. Across the street, Tyler finally settled things with the vendor. Naomi glanced back toward me once more. Her eyes lingered on my struggling figure for less than a second before Tyler pulled her around the corner. They disappeared. Eventually, a kind bystander intervened and called the police. By the time I finished my statement at the precinct and limped back to the hotel, it was past 2:00 AM. My ankle was swollen to the size of a tennis ball. Naomi ran over to help me the moment I entered the lobby, clutching a bag of ice and a can of pain relief spray she must have ordered from a late-night pharmacy. She knelt down to treat my ankle. “We need to ice it first, then spray it. We’ll see how it looks tomorrow.” I looked down at her face. She possessed a detached, clinical calm that felt entirely unnatural for our age. “You saw me, didn’t you?” I asked. Her hand paused. She didn’t look up. “I didn’t realize you were in a fight. Tyler was arguing with the vendor, and I was trying to hold him back.” Her voice was perfectly steady, without a single flicker of remorse. I stared at her, feeling utterly pathetic. Tyler was sitting nearby, chewing on some candied fruit. “Seriously, Ian. You’ve got to stop wandering off in crowded places. Watch where you’re going.” Naomi let out a soft, mocking laugh. “You’re telling me. He’s always been like this—completely clueless, getting lost everywhere.” “Did I get lost?” My voice dropped, cold and sharp. “You saw me, Naomi. Why didn’t you come over?” The playfulness drained from her eyes, replaced by a flash of irritation. “You had an issue, but Tyler had an issue too. Why does everything always have to revolve around you?” I pushed myself up, ignoring the agonizing throb in my foot. “If I’m never your first choice, Naomi, then don’t bother pretending to care.” The moment my foot touched the floor, a sharp spasm made me gasp. But I refused to back down. I was done being her permanent runner-up. “Naomi, go after him,” Tyler said behind her, his tone entirely insincere. Naomi raised her voice, genuinely angry now. “Let him go! We agreed to do this trip as a team, and he’s the only one throwing a tantrum!” I limped back to my room, packed my bags, and booked a flight home. Once everything was set, I opened our group chat. Tyler had posted a photo of the three of us at the food market from earlier. After eleven days, I had finally made it into a photo. He tagged me: “Ian, Naomi said this trip was to make up for me missing the junior road trip. I didn’t realize you’d hate having me here so much. If it’s a big deal, I can book a flight home tomorrow.” Playing the victim, as always. Making me out to be the villain. Back in high school, Naomi had accidentally hit Tyler with her bicycle. He ended up needing a minor procedure to drain a subdural hematoma. Even though the doctors said it was an accident, Naomi carried the guilt like a cross. That was when Tyler inserted himself into our lives, a constant wedge between us. Naomi’s reply in the group chat was brief: “I don’t agree.” My departure was a “tantrum.” His departure was “unacceptable.” Her favoritism was glaring. I opened Instagram. Tyler had posted a carousel of their couples’ shoot. In the photos, Naomi was laughing, holding his hand, looking at him with an intensity she had never shown me. Our high school classmates were already flooding the comments, congratulating them on “making it official.” I double-tap and left a comment: “You two make a beautiful couple.” Minutes later, my hotel door was practically kicked open. Naomi stood there, furious, grabbing my arm. “What is your problem? Why are you leaving passive-aggressive comments on Tyler’s post? He’s so upset he ran out of the hotel!” I stumbled against the wall, my newly iced ankle throbbing again. “Tyler’s gone?” “Yes! Thanks to you!” she screamed. The urgency of finding him overridden my anger. I swallowed my tears and limped out after her. We split up. I dialed his number dozens of times, getting nothing but voicemail. As dawn broke, I returned to the hotel. I opened the door to their room and see empty beer bottles scattered on the floor. Naomi and Tyler were curled up together on the narrow love seat, fast asleep. The sight was the spark that hit the gunpowder. Whatever sanity I had left shattered. I grabbed a pillow and start thrashing them both, completely wild with rage and pain. Do they have any idea how dangerous the streets are at night? Do they care how much my leg hurts? Tyler woke up, eyes red and swollen, terrified. “Ian, I’m sorry. I lost my temper last night and smashed my phone. Naomi’s phone died too…” I shoved his hand away. My hand left a bright red mark on his skin. Naomi forcibly pushed me back, her face dark. “Ian, if you want to play the lone wolf and ruin everyone’s time, then just leave. But the moment you walk out that door, we are done. Our promise is over.” I tripped over the rug, my bad foot catching the edge of the nightstand. I could only laugh—a loud, hollow sound to mask the absolute humiliation. “You’re already in bed together. Tell me, Naomi, what promise is there left to keep?” I grabbed my suitcase and walked out. Behind me, Tyler called my name, but Naomi cut him off. “Let him go. He thinks the world revolves around him.” After a painful flight back, my mom met me at the airport. When she saw my ankle, she gasped. At the hospital, the orthopedist shook his head over the X-rays. “It started as a minor sprain, but walking on it has caused a partial Achilles tear. Even with surgery, you’ll likely have a permanent, slight limp.” I froze. My mom rubbed my shoulders, whispering, “It’s okay, sweetie. We’ll find a specialist. We’ll fix this.” I broke down, my sobs echoing in the sterile hallway. Just then, a notification dinged. It’s Tyler in the group chat: “Ian, Naomi wants me to apply to the community college near Georgetown so we can all be close.” “We’re going to be together again. So excited!” I left the group chat. I blocked both of them. Tyler, knowing I couldn’t see his posts anymore, started live-blogging their trip in our high school class group chat. “Photo #50 with Naomi. At the top of the Ferris wheel. Someone said this is the ultimate proposal spot. Should I ask her?” The class chat went wild. “Do it! Ask her out!” Then, Tyler posted a video. Naomi was holding a bouquet of sunflowers, standing on the glass observation deck, looking at the camera with soft eyes. “Tyler, I give up. Let’s be together.” Tyler’s voice behind the camera laughed, “Okay.” My heart twisted. On the night we submitted our college preferences, under the streetlights, she had asked me to be her boyfriend. I’d laughed, telling her it didn’t count without a proper confession. Before the trip, she promised she would buy my favorite sunflowers, take me to the highest point in the city, and ask me properly. Now, she gave that promise to Tyler. Three days later, Naomi texted my personal number: “Ian, you’re really hard to please.” “Because of your attitude, I lost a bet to Tyler and have to pretend to be his girlfriend for three months.” “Once we’re at college, don’t come over too often. I don’t want Tyler to get jealous.” “I’ll make it up to you when the bet is over.” But by then, I was already boarding a flight to Toronto.

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In our house, Mom had to live by a performance review system. But Dad was the one who held the absolute veto. For five years, every single thing she wanted to do had to go through a family vote before it could happen. It applied to the big things, like looking for a job or going to visit Grammy, down to the smallest detail of what we were having for dinner. Until last night, when Mom’s appendix flared up. She was crying, clutching her stomach, begging Dad to drive her to the emergency room. But his eyes never left his phone screen. “Everyone gets a stomach ache now and then. It’s not a life-or-death emergency.” His voice was flat, devoid of any concern. “Just bear with it. We’ll look at the vote results after my morning meeting tomorrow.” Mom’s face grew impossibly pale. For the first time in her marriage, she ignored Dad’s rules and dialed 911 herself. I chased her downstairs as she stumbled toward the lobby. But just as we reached the entrance, the glass doors slid open. Dad walked in, carrying an ice pack, with Amber—the woman who was always hanging around our house. “Jared, seriously, I just ate too much spicy food and got a little gum inflammation,” Amber was saying, her voice a sweet, breathy coo. “I could have just taken some Advil at home. Besides, you’re a married man. Being with me at this hour… I don’t want people calling me a homewrecker.” Dad muttered something about her being silly, but his movements were incredibly gentle as he pressed the ice pack against her cheek. I looked up at Mom. Tears were streaming down her face, cutting clean lines through the cold sweat on her cheeks. I instinctively reached into my pocket and pulled out a little red paper flower I had folded, trying to make her feel better. “Be good, Mommy, don’t cry,” I whispered, tugging her coat. “Daddy said I was a very good girl today. He gave me a five-star rating, just like yours!” Mom’s face went completely blank. She snatched the paper flower from my hand and threw it into the dirt. “Lucy, sweetheart,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Let’s leave Daddy. Okay?” … It was as if a final, heavy metal door had slammed shut in her mind. She took my hand, stepping right over the crushed paper flower, and led me into the hospital’s billing department. But when the nurse took Mom’s health insurance card and tapped on her keyboard for a moment, she slid it back across the counter. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the primary policyholder on this account needs to be present, or you need to use your own individual card. We can’t process this transaction otherwise.” Mom’s hand pressed harder against her lower abdomen. She trembled, her lips turning a stark, bloodless white. She softly begged the nurse to check the system one more time. But as the nurse explained the policy details, I heard Amber’s name slip into the conversation again. Mom’s eyes turned a rim of burning crimson. She pulled a battered, paint-chipped flip phone from her coat pocket and dialed Dad’s number. He hung up on her, over and over. Her fingers shook so violently she almost pressed the wrong keys. Finally, on the eighth try, the line connected. “Did you change the primary policyholder on my medical insurance to Amber? Jared, that card belongs to me. What right do you have to make that decision for me?” Dad didn’t care about the shallow, ragged breaths she was drawing. His voice through the speaker was cold and concise. “Amber has a fragile constitution. She needs the coverage more than you do right now.” There was a heavy pause before he added, “Besides, I learned how to make unilateral decisions from you. If it hurts, bear it. Consider it penance for what you did to my mother.” Mom stood frozen in the middle of the sterile hallway, completely silenced. That sentence was a rusted nail driven deep into the heart of their marriage. I didn’t understand the reason behind it. I only knew that back when my grandmother was alive, Mom was the center of our universe, and Dad had treated her like royalty. No matter how busy he was, a single phone call from Mom would make him walk out of the most important board meetings. When he went on business trips, he would call her dozens of times a day just to report where he was. On their anniversary, he had once rented out a downtown rooftop to fill the sky with fireworks, and another year, he took her to see the Northern Lights from a helicopter. Now, all of that was gone, replaced by a cold, calculating ledger. The nurse who had watched the whole exchange looked at us with deep sympathy, then looked down at me. She let out a heavy sigh, typed a rapid sequence into her computer, and spoke gently. “A ruptured appendix can be fatal, sweetie. I’m going to pull some strings to get you a temporary pain pump first. If you start bleeding internally, it’ll be too late. Use this time to call anyone you know to borrow some money. You need to get this surgery scheduled immediately.” In a moment of life and death, even a complete stranger couldn’t bear to look away. Yet the man who had promised to love her chose to stand by and watch, systematically cutting away her very last lifeline. The tears Mom had been fighting back finally spilled over her cheeks. She pulled me close, bowing slightly to thank the nurse over and over. But just as the pain medication began to take effect, the heavy doors of the waiting room were pushed open. My chest tightened automatically. Whenever she was around, my parents always ended up screaming at each other. Amber strolled in, her eyes scanning the room until they landed on the fresh needle mark on the back of Mom’s hand. A small, mocking smile played on her lips. She crossed her arms, her pretty face twisting into a look of quiet disdain. “I thought I saw you two coming in. I guess I was right.” She stepped closer. “What’s the plan this time? Playing sick again to get Jared to feel sorry for you? Too bad he doesn’t have time for your little dramas right now.” She unlocked her phone and thrust the screen directly in front of our faces. In the fifteen-second video, Dad was standing at a high-end coffee shop counter, carefully instructing the barista on a highly customized drink order—specifying the exact temperature, sweetness, and toppings. He even reminded the cashier that Amber was on her period, demanding they serve it warm to soothe her stomach. Every single detail was tailored to Amber’s exact preferences. In the past, seeing something like this would have brought a look of profound sorrow to Mom’s eyes, and she would have confronted him about it later. But this time, she just stared quietly at the hospital intake form in her hand. Then, she looked up and spoke in a flat, even voice. “Are you interested in a trade? One hundred thousand dollars, and you can have the title of Mrs. Hamiltion.” Amber froze for a fraction of a second, then rolled her eyes with a harsh laugh. “Isla, are you out of your mind? Jared’s tech company is worth millions. One hundred thousand dollars is pocket change to him. Honestly, that’s less than what I spend on my dog’s premium food in a week.” Everyone knew how much Jared was worth. Over the last few years, his AI programming firm had taken off, turning him into a multi-millionaire. The shares his wife would be entitled to in a divorce were astronomical. But Mom only let out a small, self-deprecating smile. Amber had no idea that the “dog food money” she sneered at was the exact amount Mom needed to pay for the surgery that would save her life. Ever since Grandmother passed away, Dad had cut off Mom’s access to all their joint accounts. He had even gone behind her back to submit a resignation letter to her employer, forcing her to stay home. Every dollar she spent over the last few years had to be begged for, approved only through his humiliating “family voting system.” She had thought she could endure the coldness until the wounds healed, but now, she was literally running out of time. Mom reached up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Right there, in front of me and Amber, she slowly slid the wedding ring off her finger and placed it in her palm. “If you can, please have someone appraise this and give me the cash value. Thank you.” The ring was a simple platinum band, set with a tiny, inexpensive diamond. It was so ordinary and worn that if it fell on the floor, no one would bother to pick it up. But Mom had once told me it was the first real gift Dad had ever bought her, back when he was working three part-time jobs. They had lived in a damp basement apartment then, sharing cheap instant noodles every night. Even though that ring had only cost a few hundred dollars, she had been happier then than at any other point in her life. Later, when Jared made his first fortune, he had taken her to a high-end auction house and bought her a flawless, multi-carat diamond to make up for the lean years. But when they got home, Mom had simply locked the massive diamond in a safe and put the cheap platinum band right back on her finger. Now, she was ready to discard the one thing she had treasured above all else. Amber took the ring, glanced at it with obvious disgust, and tossed it into a nearby trash can. She pulled out a wet wipe and thoroughly cleaned her fingers. “Why go through all that trouble? I’ll give you half a million. Of course, the only thing of value here is the title you’re giving up. But you have to swear to me—you will never appear in front of Jared again for the rest of your life.” Before Mom could reply, a tall shadow fell across the threshold. When Dad walked into the room, both women went completely rigid. The air in the tiny waiting room turned instantly frigid. Seeing him staring directly at her, Mom instinctively hid her bare left hand behind her back, terrified he would realize what she and Amber had been discussing. But before she could say anything to break the tension, Dad shot her a freezing glare. He turned his back on her, handing a plush toy to Amber. His eyes softened with a warmth and concern he didn’t even seem to realize he was displaying. “I told you to wait for me in the lobby. Why didn’t you listen?” He reached out, his voice dropping to a gentle murmur. “Did she do something to make you uncomfortable?” Mom’s shoulders trembled. Her grip on her hidden hand tightened. Whenever Amber came to our house, it always ended in disaster. She would either claim Mom had slipped peanuts into her food to trigger her allergy, or run crying to Dad claiming Mom had tried to push her down the stairs. I couldn’t bear it anymore. I stepped in front of Mom, raising my voice. “That’s a lie! Mommy didn’t touch her at all!” Amber kept her head down, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. To Dad, her silence was confirmation. A flash of pure fury crossed his face. He stepped right past me, grabbed Mom’s arm roughly, and dragged her forward. “Did I not tell you?” he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. “If you ever lay a finger on Amber again, I will make you pay for it tenfold.” His fingers dug directly into the fresh bruise where the nurse had inserted the pain medication line. Mom winced, her entire body tensing with pain. Seeing her expression, Dad let go slightly, but the disgust in his eyes only deepened. “You really are an incredible actress, Isla. This is the exact same face you used to lie to me back then. You make me sick.” At that moment, Amber clutched her stomach and let out a light giggle. “Jared, I’m just teasing you. We were just gossiping about the office, and I laughed so hard I got a cramp. I’m completely fine now.” Dad immediately let go of Mom’s hand, turning all his attention back to Amber. He picked up her bag and called out to the passing nurse, his voice tight with anxiety. “Stop playing around. First your teeth hurt, now your stomach. Let’s get you checked out by a specialist right now.” Amber stuck her tongue out playfully, leaning into him as he hurried to get her registered. From their quiet chatter, I realized that Dad had spent three sleepless nights building a custom restaurant-filtering app just for her, mapping out every place in the city that could accommodate her dietary restrictions. Mom stood there, watching and listening to every word. But she merely rubbed her bruised arm in silence, acting as if she were entirely deaf to it. Realizing he had wrongfully accused her, Dad paused for a fraction of a second. He looked back at Mom, his lips parting as if to say something. But then Amber let out a sharp gasp, crouching down in pain. Dad instantly panicked. Just then, the nurse who had helped Mom came back into the room with a clipboard. She shook a thermometer and looked at Mom. “I got the emergency authorization from the chief. Once we take your temp, follow me. You’re incredibly lucky—Dr. Pierce has one open slot left today before he leaves. He’s the absolute best GI surgeon in this hospital…” I felt a surge of joy. “Mommy, you won’t have to hurt anymore!” But Dad immediately caught the doctor’s name. He stepped between us and the nurse, his voice cold and commanding. “Wait. We’re taking that slot.” The nurse shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir, but this patient’s condition is far more critical. If it’s just mild abdominal pain, we have other general practitioners on call—” Before she could finish her sentence, Dad pulled a black card from his wallet and threw it onto her clipboard. “Your chief of medicine is an old classmate of mine. I’m telling you to register Amber first. Besides, high-end medical resources—just like votes in our house—belong to the people who actually have the standing to use them.” A moment later, the nurse’s pager beeped. The emergency authorization for Mom had been revoked. She looked at Dad with a mixture of anger and disgust, but she didn’t dare cross the Hamiltion family. She turned and walked away. As the pain medication began to wear off, Mom’s condition grew worse. Her skin felt hot to the touch, and her collar was soaked through with cold sweat. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I burst into tears, clutching her hand. “Mommy, the nurse said your tummy is bleeding… It hurts so bad, doesn’t it?” Mom reached down to stroke my hair, trying to find the words to comfort me. But Dad only looked down at us, the disdain in his eyes like black ink that wouldn’t wash away. “Isla, I really have to hand it to you. You haven’t taught this kid a single decent thing, but she’s certainly learned how to manipulate people and play the victim. Internal bleeding? What’s next? Are you going to tell her you’re dying?” Don’t you dare talk about my mommy like that! My eyes stung with hot tears. I raised my tiny fists, ready to throw myself at him. But Mom held me back, pulling me tightly into her arms. She looked up at Dad, meeting his gaze with a faint, empty smile. “Whatever you say, Jared.” Dad scoffed and turned away, his attention returning entirely to Amber’s IV line. Fearing the cold liquid would make her uncomfortable, he knelt on the cold floor, wrapping his warm hands around the plastic tubing to preheat the saline. A young intern standing nearby looked at Amber with envy. When Dr. Pierce finally arrived, he quickly confirmed that Amber only had a mild case of acute gastroenteritis. She just needed half a bag of saline and some rest. Dad let out a long breath of relief. Only then did he look back at Mom, gesturing toward her with a nod to the doctor. “There’s another patient over there. Put her treatment on my tab.” The nurse who had been waiting outside walked in and whispered something into Dr. Pierce’s ear. The doctor’s expression turned instantly serious. He rushed over to Mom, kneeling down beside her chair. He began to press gently around her abdomen. With every touch, Mom’s face went whiter, and small, strangled groans escaped her throat. “Suspected internal hemorrhaging. This is an emergency!” Dr. Pierce called out. As the medical team scrambled around them, Dad froze. But when he saw Mom’s agonized expression, and watched her trembling hand try to sign the delayed-payment waiver, the brief flash of worry in his eyes was replaced by a cold, bitter sneer. “Isla, who is this performance for? When you were studying programming with me in college, you should have switched to theater. You’d probably have an Oscar by now. You know, when my mother was lying on the operating table, you had that exact same tragic look on your face when you signed her papers. Too bad…” He stopped, his eyes turning bloodshot with a sudden, violent hatred. “No one is allowed to perform surgery on her!” The room fell dead silent. Dr. Pierce frowned deeply. “Sir, this isn’t a game. A ruptured appendix is extremely—” Dad cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand. He looked down at Mom, his voice dropping to a level where only we could hear. “Back then, you went behind my back and signed my mother’s DNR and assisted-dying papers without my consent. Now, I’m giving you a chance to atone. Let’s put it to a vote. Whether you get this surgery is up to fate.” Mom didn’t argue. She simply closed her eyes, accepting his terms. Dad had the hospital staff bring in a small box. Ten people in the room—including me and Amber—were handed small slips of paper and pens. 1 for Yes. 2 for No. Just like I had done a hundred times before in our living room, I carefully wrote down a “1” and slid it into the box. But my chest felt like it was being crushed by a boulder, making it hard to breathe. The nurse counted the slips. One by one, they were all “1.” Every single person in the room had voted to save her. Dr. Pierce let out a breath and immediately instructed the nurses to prep the operating room. But Dad held up a final slip of paper, halting them. “Wait. I have one more.” Everyone stared at the bold, dark “2” written on his paper. The silence in the room became suffocating. Dad walked over to Mom, a cruel, mocking smile on his lips. “…I forgot to mention. I have the absolute veto.”

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The day we signed the final divorce papers outside the courthouse, I looked at Ethan and asked, “Next time we meet, could you bring me some flowers?” Before Ethan could answer, Brooke, who was clinging to his arm, smirked and chimed in. “Chloe, you and Ethan are officially divorced now. It’s really not appropriate for him to be buying you flowers anymore.” I looked at Ethan. He turned his head away, remaining silent. I lowered my eyes. Over the past three years of our marriage, Ethan had never bought me a single flower. Yet, he sent flowers to Brooke every single day—even rare, expensive orchids. Whenever I brought it up, he would always say: “Brooke is my late mentor’s daughter. I promised Professor Vance I’d take care of her. Flowers make her happy. They keep her from missing her dad so much.” Eventually, I stopped asking. I finally realized that in Ethan’s eyes, I simply wasn’t worth the effort. So, when Ethan had asked me a few weeks ago: “Brooke’s mental health is in a terrible state. She’s been crying and screaming, begging me to divorce you.” “Chloe, can you just play along with the divorce to calm her down? Once she gets through this phase, we’ll get remarried.” I agreed. But he had no idea that this would be our last meeting. Because the flowers I was asking for were meant for my funeral.

Brooke flashed a triumphant smile. “Chloe, is there anything else? Ethan and I have reservations at a rooftop restaurant. Too bad it’s only booked for two. We can’t take you along.” I let out a self-deprecating laugh. “I have no intention of tagging along.” I pulled my purse higher up on my shoulder. “I’m good. I’ll head out first. Have a nice date.” My unusually cold attitude made Ethan frown. He grabbed my wrist. “Don’t talk like that. I only look at her like a little sister.” “I made extra food this morning. It’s in the fridge. Just microwave it when you get home.” “Your period is coming up. Since I won’t be home tonight, don’t you dare drink iced soda.” Looking at Ethan’s concerned face, a wave of bitterness rushed over me. He was always like this. He claimed Brooke was just a sister, yet he abandoned me for her time and time again. I forced a faint smile. “Understood.” Ethan’s lips parted as if he wanted to say more, but Brooke pulled his arm. She intertwined her fingers with his. “Ethan, I’m starving. Let’s go eat.” “Back when my dad was alive, he never made me wait this long for dinner.” Ethan’s attention immediately shifted back to her. “You’re being spoiled!” “Why didn’t you tell me you were hungry earlier? You know you have low blood sugar.” Seeing Brooke giggle, he tapped her forehead affectionately with his other hand. “Still laughing! If anything happens to you, how am I supposed to face your mother?” Brooke bit her lip playfully. “Okay, okay, I get it!” As she spoke, she threw a smug, sideways glance at me. Ethan, however, never looked back at me again. I watched their retreating figures and walked in the opposite direction. A moment later, my phone buzzed with a Snapchat from Ethan. “She’s young and childish, but she doesn’t mean any harm. Don’t take it personally.” I locked my screen. Suddenly, everything felt so pointless. Brooke put on this dramatic show every few days, yet Ethan fell for it every single time. One threw a tantrum, the other enabled her. Without me in the middle, they actually looked like a perfect couple. It was already 8:00 PM when I got home. Clutching my aching stomach, I opened the fridge to find something to eat. But when I saw the empty shelves, I froze. The “extra food” Ethan had made was already sitting in the trash can, ruined. Brooke had timed it perfectly. My phone buzzed with a Snapchat message from her: “Chloe, I went over to play with Ethan this morning when you weren’t home. I thought those leftovers in the fridge were meant for the trash, so I threw them out. My bad!” “I guess you’ll have to whip up something else for yourself.” At the very end of the voice note, I could hear Ethan’s fond voice in the background: “Are you happy now, you little troublemaker?” The sharp pain in my abdomen became so intense I could barely stand. I slid down to the kitchen floor, clutching my stomach. Summoning every ounce of strength, I dialed Ethan’s number. “Ethan, my stomach hurts so badly… Can you… can you take me to the ER? I…” Before I could finish, a sweet, mocking voice answered. “Chloe, Ethan is in the shower.” “Also, if you’re sick, call 911. Why are you calling your ex-husband?” The call went dead. I whispered to the empty room, “But… I’m actually dying.”

Ethan didn’t show up at the hospital until the next afternoon. After a night of IV fluids, I was feeling slightly better, though my face was still ghostly pale. He came in carrying some breakfast and ruffled my hair. “How are you feeling? Any better?” My eyes were cold as I looked at him. “Ethan, last night, I had to call the ambulance myself.” Ethan paused, his voice turning low and raspy. “Brooke only told me you had a stomachache after we finished dinner.” “You always had a sensitive stomach. I thought it wasn’t a big deal, so I drove her home first.” He looked at me, a hint of exhaustion in his eyes. “Chloe, she’s just an immature girl. We shouldn’t drop to her level.” The resentment I had suppressed for months finally exploded. I slapped the cup of milk out of his hand. The sudden movement pulled the IV needle straight out of my vein. “Ethan, when Brooke’s blood sugar drops even slightly, you lose your mind!” “But when it comes to me, it’s always ‘nothing major.’” My voice choked up. “You ‘thought,’ you ‘thought’… You always think you know everything! But do you have any idea that I—” “Chloe Carter!” Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose, cut me off abruptly. “Can we please not fight over this again?” “You know how much Professor Vance did for me back in college. Why do you always have to make things difficult for Brooke?” He sighed deeply, his gaze falling on the blood dripping from my hand. “I’ll go get the nurse.” Watching his back as he walked out, my vision blurred. I suddenly remembered when we first started dating. Professor Vance was still alive then, and Brooke hadn’t been “entrusted” to Ethan yet. Back then, even if I got a tiny papercut, he would freak out. But after Brooke arrived, everything changed. When I cut my hand, he said it was fine. When my stomach was in agony, he said it was fine. And now, when I was actually dying, I couldn’t even get the words out. The door pushed open. Ethan returned quickly with a nurse. The irritation on his face was gone, replaced by his usual calm, attentive demeanor as he explained my condition to the nurse. My attending physician happened to come in for rounds. Seeing Ethan next to me, he paused. “Are you her husband?” Ethan nodded. The doctor looked at my swollen, red eyes, and his tone turned harsh as he addressed Ethan. “Do you have any idea how critical her condition is right now? She needs to avoid any emotional stress.” Before Ethan could reply, his phone rang. The screen showed: Brooke. I couldn’t hear what Brooke was saying on the other end, but the moment he hung up, Ethan grabbed his coat. “Doctor, I have an emergency to take care of right now.” “We can discuss Chloe’s condition later.” The doctor tried to call him back, but within seconds, Ethan had already rushed down the hallway. I stopped the doctor. Watching Ethan’s familiar, disappearing back, I forced a weak smile. “It’s okay, Doctor. I’m used to it.” “Just tell me directly. How much time do I have left?”

After the doctor and nurse left, the room fell into a suffocating silence. Occasionally, patients walked past the window, accompanied by their doting husbands. I couldn’t help but feel incredibly envious. Two months ago, I was diagnosed with stage four stomach cancer. At the time, I felt like my world was ending. I called Ethan, sobbing. But Brooke was the one who answered. “Chloe, Ethan is cooking for me. You know my blood sugar is low, and he won’t rest until he watches me finish my meal.” “He won’t be coming home to tuck you in tonight. If you have a message for him, I can pass it along.” My fingers had gone numb as I held the phone. My lips trembled, but I couldn’t utter a single syllable. Ever since Professor Vance passed away and left Brooke in Ethan’s care, my husband no longer belonged to me. He would be summoned straight from work to cook for her, because if Ethan didn’t go, she would starve herself. He would come home at 11:00 PM, stay for less than half an hour, and then leave again because Brooke claimed she was too scared to sleep alone. The first month, I tried to be understanding. The second month, during another late-night call, I blocked the front door as he tried to leave. “Ethan, don’t go!” “She is a grown woman! Why can’t she take care of herself?” “And you are married! How do you expect me to feel about you staying overnight with another woman?” I thought he would understand. But Ethan just stood there, staring at me for a long time. Then, one by one, he pried my fingers off his waist. “Chloe, I have to go.” After that, we fought constantly. Even when I threw tantrums and refused to eat, Ethan never looked back. It wasn’t until my terminal cancer diagnosis two months ago that I finally realized how foolish I had been. From that day on, I stopped begging Ethan to stay. I even started handing him his coat when he got those late-night calls. Ethan finally smiled at me again. “Chloe, you’ve finally grown up.” He kissed my forehead. I watched him leave, but all I wanted to do was laugh. I hadn’t “grown up.” I had just realized that I needed to start loving myself. But the realization came too late. I only had one month left to live. When I got home that evening, Ethan wasn’t back yet. I opened Instagram and saw Brooke’s latest post. “My personal chef is making me homemade lasagna from scratch. Let’s stay like this forever.” In the photo, Ethan wore an apron, a tender, loving smile on his face—a look I hadn’t seen directed at me in a very long time. Many of our mutual friends had commented: “Now that Professor Vance is gone, Ethan really stepped up to take care of you~” “You two look so good together.” “Honestly, you guys look like a married couple.” Reading those comments, my already numb heart ached with a dull, throbbing pain. Ethan had replied quickly to one of the comments: “She’s shy, don’t tease her like that.” I looked at his profile picture—it was still a photo of the two of us. Slowly, I typed a comment of my own: “You really do match. Wish you both the best.” I wiped the tears from my face, locked my phone, and went to take a shower. When I came out, my screen was flashing relentlessly. 18 missed calls, all from Ethan. Since I didn’t pick up, he had sent a barrage of Snapchats. “Why are you joining in on their stupid jokes?” Five minutes later: “Brooke is crying in her room because of your comment. She’s terrified people are going to think she’s a homewrecker.” “I told you, she’s just a sister to me. There is nothing going on. Delete the comment, now.” Two minutes after that: “Chloe, Brooke refuses to eat and her blood sugar is dropping. If anything happens to her, I will never forgive you!” The most recent one was sent just a minute ago: “Unless you delete the comment and make a public apology saying you were just being dramatic…” “Don’t even think about us getting back together.” The sound of cold wind rushed through Ethan’s voice note. In the noisy background, I heard the shouting of a street vendor from a bakery we used to visit. That bakery was fifty miles away from our apartment. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who Ethan had driven all that way for in the middle of the night. I slowly typed back: “Then let’s not get back together.” “But the house and the car go to me.”

Ethan replied with a single question mark. He tried to FaceTime me, but I declined. I turned off my phone. The world seemed to hit a pause button, finally falling silent. Ethan probably couldn’t comprehend how the Chloe who once swore she would never leave him had suddenly changed so much. Truth be told, I couldn’t comprehend it either. But there was no time left to dwell on it. In the limited time I had left, I wanted to secure as much as I could. At the very least, I needed to make sure my parents would be financially taken care of in their old age. I sat on the balcony, burying my face in my knees, occasionally looking up at the stars. I wondered which star belonged to my grandpa. I believed that when the day came, he would be there to guide me. I sat there all night. The sound of Ethan’s key turning in the lock never came. After tidying up, I went to the most prestigious law firm in the city. “Under these circumstances, what are my chances of getting the majority of our marital assets?” “Ms. Carter, I can’t guarantee anything, but I will do everything in my power to build a strong case,” the lawyer replied. I nodded. When I stepped out of the law office, the overcast morning sky had cleared up. As I was about to hail a cab, I saw Ethan leaning against his car across the street, watching me. The ground around his feet was littered with cigarette butts. I walked over in silence and stood before him. “Chloe.” His voice was hoarse. “I want an explanation. If you give me one, I’ll believe you.” I looked up, my face entirely calm. “An explanation for what?” “Why are you pushing for a real divorce? And why are you hiring a lawyer to take all my assets?” I blinked, suddenly remembering that Ethan had a friend who worked in this building. He must have heard about it. But there was nothing to hide anymore. “I need a lot of money.” Ethan let out a bitter laugh. “And why is that?” My voice remained flat. “Because I’m dying.” Ethan froze, and then a wave of pure fury took over his expression. “Chloe Carter! Are you seriously making up a terminal illness just to compete with Brooke for attention?” “Have I spoiled you so much over the years that you think you can lie about something like this?” I gently brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead. My voice was still quiet, steady. “Ethan, I’m telling the truth.” “If I die, will you bring me some flowers?” Ethan’s lips twisted into a sneer. He looked at me with a look of utter disgust and took a step back. “Never!” He got into his car and sped off, my reflection growing smaller and smaller in his rearview mirror. After a long moment, I whispered to myself, “Okay.” It was probably for the best. In our next life, we wouldn’t have any ties left. Summoning the last of my strength, I opened my Snapchat conversation with Ethan. I clicked on his profile, and blocked him. “Ethan, goodbye forever.” When I got home, I started packing. I didn’t have much to take. I planned to list everything of value on eBay. By the time I finished packing, it was already past midnight. I stared at my wedding ring for a long time before sliding it off. I dropped it into the box of things to be sold. Then, I booked a one-way flight back to my hometown. For my final days, I wanted to spend them with my parents. The gravel roads of my quiet hometown in Vermont hadn’t changed at all. As I got out of the taxi with my suitcase, I looked up and saw my parents waiting at the end of the driveway, looking around anxiously. My eyes welled with tears instantly. I used to think life in a small town was too slow, but now that my time was running out, I realized how much I had missed. I stayed with my parents for a month. I grew thinner by the day, unable to keep any food down. I knew my time was almost up. Wrapped in my parents’ tearful embrace, I used the last of my strength to hug them back. “Mom, Dad… I’m going to find Grandpa now.” “If there’s a next life, I want to be your daughter again.” With those words, I slowly closed my eyes, and a single tear slipped down my cheek. The world went completely silent.

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My husband was sleeping with his company’s intern. He actually smuggled her into our apartment inside a giant suitcase just for some sick, kinky thrill. In my past life, I woke up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water and caught them red-handed. When I confronted them, my husband panicked. He pushed me out of our twelfth-floor window. I fell to my death instantly. After I died, he used my inheritance to marry that intern. But when I opened my eyes again, I was back to the exact day my husband dragged that massive suitcase home. He looked at me nervously and warned: “There’s dangerous, hazardous material inside. It’s highly toxic. Don’t touch it under any circumstances!” I nodded obediently. But the second he walked out the door, I called a junk removal service and sent the suitcase straight to the dump. The worker asked me, “What’s in here? It’s incredibly heavy.” I raised an eyebrow and said, “Just hazardous waste. Take it to the incinerator and destroy it completely.”

Seeing Carter drag that familiar, oversized suitcase through the door, I realized I had been reborn. Before I could even speak, Carter barked his warning: “Don’t touch this suitcase. Seriously.” In my past life, when he said this, I didn’t ask questions. I stupidly assumed it was some confidential equipment for his work. Looking at the absurdly massive suitcase now, I realized how laughably naive I used to be. Amber, his young intern, was hiding inside right now. I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. Forcing a warm smile, I spoke. “Why can’t I touch it? What’s inside, Carter?” I reached out, pretending to help him lift it. Carter shoved my hand away, his tone growing sharp and irritated. “Are you deaf? I said don’t touch it!” “It’s highly toxic chemical waste from the lab. If it leaks and gets exposed to light, it releases lethal gas. You’ll die if you breathe it in!” “I’ll handle the disposal later. Just leave it alone.” Toxic waste? Honestly, that was a pretty accurate description of her. I sneered inwardly, but put on a terrified face and scrambled backward. “Why would you bring something so dangerous home? What if it leaks?” Seeing that I bought his lie, Carter’s face filled with smug satisfaction. “Relax. I know exactly how to handle ‘it’.” “Just mind your own business.” He heavily emphasized the word “handle,” and casually tapped the side of the suitcase with his foot. The suitcase trembled slightly. It looked like whoever was inside was trying desperately to hold in a laugh. My eyes turned icy cold. Bringing your mistress home in a suitcase for a thrill? They really thought of me as a prop in their little bedroom game. The phantom pain of my bones shattering against the concrete in my past life surged through my body. I looked up at Carter. “Then you’d better make sure you handle ‘it’ thoroughly.” Carter let out his first genuine laugh since entering the house. Whistling a tune, he dragged the heavy suitcase into the study. That night, I lay in bed and pretended to be fast asleep. Before long, Carter slipped out of bed, creeping out of the room like a shadow. The light in the study flickered on. Following the faint glow shining through the door crack, I walked barefoot down the hallway. I pressed my back against the wall, holding my breath. Amber’s whiny voice drifted out of the room. “You took forever, Carter! I was practically suffocating in that stupid bag.” Carter laughed. “Hey, you were the one who wanted a thrill. Wasn’t it exciting?” Amber giggled coyly. “It’s only exciting when you’re making me feel good.” In my past life, I had woken up to get water, noticed the light, and heard their flirtatious whispering. My mind had gone completely blank. I threw the door open and saw Amber and Carter naked, wrapped around each other. I lost my mind, screaming and hitting them. Carter pretended he wanted to “explain” while backing me toward the window. Then, he suddenly slipped behind me and shoved me out. Afterward, Carter bribed a shady psychiatrist to falsify a medical report, claiming I had severe clinical depression and had jumped to commit suicide. My fists clenched so tight my knuckles turned white. The memory of my bones breaking screamed in my head, making my whole body shake. Carter and Amber’s voices drifted out again. “You’re so much fun, Amber. Clara is like a block of wood in bed. Every time I suggest something new, she acts like it’s disgusting.” “If I didn’t need her money, I would have dumped her a long time ago.” Amber whispered, “If you want her money so bad, why don’t you just poison her? There are drugs online that leave no trace.” “I’ve been slipping stuff into her vitamins for six months, but the bitch hasn’t had any reaction. I think I got scammed by the dealer.” “Besides, I saw on the news that toxicology reports can detect that stuff now. I don’t want to risk it.” Carter had been poisoning me for six months?

I looked back toward the kitchen. On the counter sat the daily vitamin supplements. Carter had told me they were custom-made organic vitamins he imported from Europe to help with my skin. But I had always been skeptical of supplements, so I never actually swallowed them. To keep him from getting suspicious, I had always pretended to take them and flushed them down the sink when he wasn’t looking. It turned out those were actually slow-acting poison. Amber’s voice rose, sounding annoyed now. “So when are you going to make us official?” “I’m telling you, Carter, I don’t have patience. Plenty of guys are begging to take me out.” Carter chuckled wickedly. “Don’t worry. I found a doctor who’s willing to sign a fake depression diagnosis for Clara. I’m meeting him tomorrow morning.” “So what if she has depression?” “So what? Have you looked at our apartment windows? The glass panels go all the way down to the floor, and the safety railing is barely knee-high.” “If she’s standing by the window, and I give her a little push from behind… what do you think the police will say when they find the diagnosis?” Silence fell over the room for a second, followed by their giggling. My skin crawled. So, he didn’t push me out of the window in my past life just because I caught them. He had planned to kill me all along. My sudden interruption had just forced his hand before he could secure the fake medical files. I crept back to bed, staring at the ceiling in the dark, my mind racing. An hour later, Carter slipped back into bed. Seeing my eyes closed, he let out a quiet, dismissive snort. Tomorrow morning, Carter was going to meet that corrupt doctor. He would definitely take the suitcase with him when he left. Now that I knew his entire plan, he wouldn’t get another chance to hurt me. But what should I do? Just get a divorce? The memory of my body hitting the pavement echoed in my ears, giving me a splitting headache. No. A divorce was way too easy on them. I wanted them to rot. Carter was exhausted. Within minutes, his heavy snoring filled the room. I checked my phone. It was 4:00 AM. Carter’s appointment with the doctor was at 7:30 AM. He had mentioned the doctor warned him not to be late, or the clinic would be too busy to fake the files safely. I quietly got out of bed and closed the bedroom door behind me. I went to the walk-in closet, grabbed piles of clothes and shoes, and dumped them all over the living room floor. Then I threw all the sofa cushions and covers on top. I went to the kitchen. I emptied the trash cans, spilled spices, flour, and rice, and scattered rotten fruits and vegetables from the fridge over the pile. Finally, I went to the study. Ignoring the suitcase, I dragged dozens of heavy books off the shelves and scattered them across the floor. Looking at the chaotic mess, I went down to the building’s dumpster, dragged up three bags of actual garbage, tore them open, and scattered the filthy contents everywhere. A horrific, nauseating stench immediately filled the apartment. Once everything was ruined, I put on a face mask and sat right in the middle of the trash pile. At 6:30 AM, the bedroom door opened. Carter stumbled out, half-asleep. The moment he saw the living room, his eyes nearly popped out of his skull. “Clara! What the hell are you doing?!” “Jesus Christ, what is that smell? Did you take a bath in a dumpster?!” I wiped some sweat from my forehead, looking exhausted. “I woke up early and couldn’t fall back asleep. I figured I’d do some deep cleaning.” “I wanted to empty the trash bins, but I tripped and spilled everything. Carter, I didn’t realize summer trash could rot so fast…” Carter grimaced, his eyes darting frantically from the study door to the front exit. The pathway was completely blocked. If he wanted to get the suitcase out, he would have to carry it. But the piles of garbage and heavy books were over a foot high in some places. There was no way he could carry a heavy, 110-pound suitcase over all that clutter by himself.

Carter was losing his mind with rage. “You turned the apartment into a landfill! I can’t even roll my suitcase out!” I blinked innocently. “Oh, did you need to take that suitcase today? I had no idea.” “Carter, why don’t you help me clean up? We can finish before noon.” Carter checked his watch, his face twisting in panic. “I don’t have time! I have to leave by 7:00, that’s ten minutes from now!” I nodded. “Okay, go do your thing. I’ll finish cleaning before you get back.” “Actually, can you call a junk removal service for me? It’ll be much faster if they haul all of this away.” Carter, desperate to leave, nodded quickly and pulled out his phone. “Hey, JunkBusters? I need an emergency pickup at Evergreen Crest Apartments, Unit 1202. There’s a massive pile of trash. Please send a crew up immediately!” I tilted my head and looked at him. “Are you sure there’s nothing in here you want to keep?” Carter yelled in frustration, covering his nose, “It smells like rot! Just have them throw everything away! Don’t leave a single thing!” I smiled gently. “Perfect. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.” Carter slammed the front door behind him, muttering, “Ruined my whole morning. Unbelievable.” Ruined his morning? Oh, honey, the show hasn’t even started yet. Once the door clicked shut, I took off my mask and gloves. I stood up from the pile of garbage. I walked over to the study door, leaning against the frame, staring intently at the massive suitcase. Faint, muffled snoring was coming from inside. In my past life, when Carter pushed me out the window, Amber had poked her head out to wave at me. “Bye-bye, old lady~” Amber, you never would have guessed that right now, you and I are the only ones left in this apartment. The doorbell rang. Two muscular junk removal workers stood at the door, staring at the chaos inside in utter shock. “Are… are we throwing all of this away, ma’am?” I nodded. “Yes. My husband said to get rid of everything. Leave nothing behind.” The workers began making trips back and forth, clearing a path from the study to the front door. I walked into the study and grabbed the handle of the suitcase. Amber’s muffled, sleepy voice came from inside. “Carter? Are we finally leaving?” “Shh,” I whispered quietly. She fell silent instantly, thinking it was her boyfriend playing along. I wheeled the heavy suitcase out of the study, into the elevator, and down to the parking lot where their giant junk truck was parked. The radio on the truck was blaring a loud commercial: “Got junk? Call JunkBusters! We handle all your hazardous and unwanted waste!” One of the workers walked down with the last load of trash, looked at the suitcase in my hand, and called out: “Ma’am, this suitcase looks brand new. Are you sure you want to toss it?” I nodded solemnly. “Yes. It contains highly hazardous biological waste. Please be extremely careful not to open it. My husband warned me that if it’s exposed to light, it will release lethal gas.” The worker nodded seriously. He called his partner over, and together, they hoisted the heavy suitcase and threw it into the back of the garbage compactor truck. As the suitcase tumbled into the dark steel container, I thought I heard a muffled, high-pitched shriek. But with the loud commercial music playing, I couldn’t be sure. I went back upstairs, mopped the floors, and used an untraceable burner phone to contact a digital media agency based in Europe. Once everything was set, I poured myself a cup of tea and sat comfortably on the couch with a book. At 9:00 AM, the electronic lock beeped. Carter walked in, humming a cheerful tune. I looked up at him. “You look happy.” Carter gave me a smug, knowing smile. “I’m about to get rid of a massive burden. Of course I’m happy.” “Is that so? Well, congratulations.” I looked back down at my book. Carter practically skipped toward the study. The second he opened the door, his humming stopped. He rushed inside, tearing the room apart, but found nothing. “Clara! Where’s my suitcase?! Where did you put it?!” Carter ran back to the living room, sweat pouring down his face. I took a slow sip of my tea. “Oh, you mean the suitcase with the hazardous waste?” “The junk disposal crew came. I had them take it away to be incinerated.”

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My boyfriend, Ethan, went missing after a wilderness survival trip on a deserted island. I spent every single penny of my savings, searching for him like crazy, but found absolutely nothing. Until two months later, on my way to work, I saw him. He was laughing and joking with his friends, bragging: “Missing? Of course it was fake. My girlfriend was getting way too clingy. I had to teach her a lesson.” “I had Julian cover for me. She didn’t suspect a thing.” Julian is his best friend. I pretended I didn’t hear a word. When I got home, Julian hugged me gently from behind. “Any news about Ethan today?” “No.” I kissed Julian, pretending to be heartbroken, and said: “He was probably eaten by wild beasts on that island. I’m done looking for him.” “Julian, let’s make us official.” When I first saw Ethan on the street, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. I was about to walk over to get a closer look, but then I heard him bragging to his friends. “Ethan, since you ‘went missing,’ even we barely get to see you.” “Can’t help it,” Ethan said, leaning back with a smug smirk. “Chloe was getting too clingy, always trying to control me. I had to teach her a lesson.” “How did you even come up with the missing stunt?” “I came up with it, obviously,” The girl sitting next to Ethan said, raising her eyebrows proudly. “With his brain, do you think he could think of something this brilliant? He has to rely on me.” “Yeah, yeah, you’re the smartest,” Ethan smiled at her dotingly. I recognized that girl. Sienna, the only girl in Ethan’s tight-knit friend group. “But still, playing this big of a prank… isn’t Chloe going to get suspicious?” “I had Julian cover for me. It’s totally fine.” Everyone suddenly understood. “No wonder. With Julian backing you up, who would ever doubt it?” “Julian is always the reliable one.” Sienna let out a soft snort. “Honestly, it’s just because Chloe is an idiot.” I waited for Ethan to defend me. But instead, he just leaned in and coaxed her softly: “Exactly. She’s nowhere near as smart or beautiful as you.” The rest of the group started cheering and teasing them. As if they were completely used to this. “Ethan, why don’t you just date Sienna already? Why even bother having a girlfriend?” “I don’t hook up within the inner circle.” “Get lost, I wouldn’t want you anyway,” Sienna replied. They pretended to be disgusted with each other. But under the table, their legs were playfully rubbing against each other. Near the end of their chat, someone asked: “You can’t stay ‘dead’ forever, Ethan. When do you plan on going back?” “I’m waiting,” Ethan said with absolute confidence. “I’ll go back when Chloe is completely driven crazy by losing me.” I was actually on my way to the police station to file a Missing Persons Report today. Now, I changed my mind. I went to buy my favorite snacks. Then, I treated myself to a luxurious spa day. By the time I got home, it was already evening. The lights in the apartment were off. I thought Julian had already left. Just as I stepped into my slippers, someone wrapped their arms around me from behind. My body stiffened slightly. I asked, “Have you been drinking?” Julian didn’t answer directly. “What did you do today? You didn’t pick up my FaceTime calls.” “Sorry, I wasn’t looking at my phone.” “Any news about Ethan?” “Sigh, no,” I said, my voice filled with fake disappointment. Julian held me even tighter, his warm breath brushing against my neck. “It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t dragged him to that island for the camping trip, he wouldn’t have gone missing.” He sounded genuinely remorseful. —If only his warm tongue hadn’t just grazed my earlobe. Julian is one of Ethan’s best friends. After Ethan “disappeared,” they split the roles—one stayed in the shadows, the other in the light. Julian was supposed to play the “guilt-ridden friend.” But Ethan probably didn’t know. His dear brother’s… Way of showing remorse… was a bit unconventional.

Julian’s family background was even wealthier than Ethan’s. In public, he was always cold, distant, and completely out of reach. I used to think so, too. Usually, when we were in private, Julian and I barely spoke a word to each other. After graduating from college, I got a job. As fate would have it, the company turned out to be one of the subsidiaries of Julian’s family conglomerate. Julian became my young boss. That made the distance between us feel even wider. We only started getting close about a month ago. When I suddenly got the news of Ethan’s disappearance, I completely broke down for a while. Julian, acting as the initiator of the trip, felt extremely guilty and offered to take care of me in Ethan’s place for a while. But he was a bit too attentive. He insisted on cooking all three meals himself and serving them right to me. It made me feel so embarrassed. I said: “Julian, you can’t blame yourself for this. Ethan always loved extreme outdoor sports. Even without your invitation, he would have explored that island on his own eventually. “His parents didn’t say anything to blame you, so of course I won’t either. “You should go back to your busy life. I really don’t need you to… put down that piece of clothing!” I took a giant step forward. And snatched my bra right out of his hands. “I can wash my own underwear!” Julian looked at me with a deadly serious face. “I wash things cleaner. Are you sure you don’t want me to help?” “Absolutely not!” I was so embarrassed at the time that I didn’t notice. He hid his hands behind his back. And rubbed his fingers together in regret. So how did I discover Julian’s other side? It was probably one night, around midnight, when I got up to use the restroom. I realized Julian was still staying over at my place, refusing to leave. I decided to go ask him about it. But just as I approached the cracked door of the guest room, I saw it. He was shirtless, showing off his lean, muscular upper body. In one hand, he was holding my lace camisole. His other hand was blocked by the wardrobe. Under the dim, warm light, Julian’s back muscles were completely tensed, the veins on his arms bulging. I was completely shocked by the scene. I couldn’t help but make a sound. Julian whipped his head around instantly. The moment he saw me. He tilted his head back. A low, trembling groan escaped his throat. I discovered Julian’s secret. And from then on, I hopped onto his boat. I knew I should have pushed him away. I shouldn’t have allowed his hugs and kisses. But I couldn’t control myself. Probably because, when I was crying my eyes out over Ethan, Only Julian was there, silently keeping me company. And more importantly— I had already begun to suspect that Ethan’s disappearance was a total scam. What kind of parents wouldn’t report their own son missing, and even stop me from calling the cops? What kind of friends would throw wild parties and live in luxury right after their best buddy went missing? All these doubts were finally confirmed today. All of them had teamed up to put on a show for me. And Julian was a major actor in this play. Back to the present. Julian still refused to let go of me. Feeling a bit exhausted, I said, “Did you cook? I’m starving.” “Yes, all your favorites.” “Go heat it up.” “Okay.” Julian immediately went to heat up the food. He didn’t think there was anything wrong with me speaking to him in such an commanding tone. After dinner. I took off my cardigan and threw it at him. “Go wash it.” Julian paused. “Am I allowed to?” “Yeah. I’m tired today, too lazy to do it myself.” Like he had just received an award, he happily carried the clothes into the bathroom. I knew he wouldn’t be out for at least twenty minutes. After successfully sending Julian away. I unlocked his phone, which he had left on the table. Sure enough, Ethan had created a burner Snapchat account and had been keeping in touch with them the whole time. During the first few days, Ethan actually asked about me. [Ethan: How is Chloe?] [Julian: She cried for a long time today.] [Ethan: It’s fine, she’s always like that, crying over everything is so annoying. Thanks for keeping an eye on her.] [Julian: When are you ending this joke?] [Ethan: ?] [Julian: If you don’t like her, just break up. There’s no need to play her like this.] [Ethan: It’s not that I don’t like her. I just think she controls me too much. She wouldn’t even let me go out drinking at midnight. Sienna is right, she needs to suffer a bit to learn how to behave around me.] Julian didn’t reply after that. With a ding, a group chat popped up, catching my attention. The group name was— Princess Sienna and Her Three Minions.

[Princess Sienna: Fresh news! Chloe was crying again yesterday, her coworkers saw her!] [Minion #1 Ethan: I heard about that too.] [Princess Sienna: See? My method works like magic~ Ethan, you owe me a fancy dinner.] This was the group chat of Ethan and Sienna’s little clique. There were four guys in the group. Three of them were labeled as minions. The extra one was Julian. He was the only one using his real name. I remembered Ethan telling me before. Julian had joined their group halfway through college. No one really knew why. My guess was that because Julian’s family business was massive and involved heavy investments, Ethan and his friends had actively tried to suck up to him. Julian rarely spoke in the group. It was mostly Ethan responding to Sienna’s every word. [Minion #1 Ethan: A fancy dinner? Haven’t I treated you enough? You literally have one of my credit cards. Chloe used to throw tantrums all the time because of that.] [Princess Sienna: Omg, thinking about that still makes me laugh.] [Princess Sienna: We’ve been best friends since we were kids! Who does she think she is to get jealous? Rolling eyes emoji] [Princess Sienna: Honestly, she’s probably just jealous that I have so many guy friends.] Ethan sent a “Protect the Princess” meme. [Ethan: Alright, don’t get mad. From now on, any gifts I buy for her, I’ll let you pick what you want first. Satisfied, Princess?] [Princess Sienna: Hmph, that’s more like it.] I felt sick to my stomach. I scrolled up further. They literally talked every single day. If I didn’t know better, I’d think they were dating. It turned out that every single time Ethan was late for our dates, it was because of Sienna. Even when I was sick and sitting alone in the ER getting an IV drip, He was out shopping with Sienna. Even the Valentine’s Day gift he gave me Was just something Sienna didn’t want. … Another new notification popped up. Ethan had sent Julian a private message. [Ethan: Hey, I just remembered something.] I imitated Julian’s short, cold texting style: [?] [Ethan: Two months ago, on Sienna’s birthday night, I got totally wasted… and ended up staying over at her place. Make sure you don’t let that slip.] [Ethan: Remember, if anyone asks, I was with you that night.] I slowly typed out four words: [Did you two actually?] [Ethan: Ugh, didn’t we agree not to bring that up again?] [Ethan: Sienna and I are pretending nothing happened that night.] [Ethan: Otherwise, how can we still be friends?] Julian came out of the bathroom. The clothes were already washed. His expression was calm, but the corners of his eyes were still slightly flushed. I smirked at him. “Are your hands useful?” Julian froze. Even though I had already busted his secret, And accepted his hugs and kisses, We had never actually taken the next step. “Is there,” I pointed at my clothes, “anything stained on it?” “…I washed it clean. You can check.” “Don’t worry, I don’t mind.” I looked Julian up and down. Six-foot-two, with a practically perfect physique. No matter how you looked at it, he was ten times better-looking than Ethan. “I might have to trouble you to wash a dress for me in a bit.” “What?” Julian looked down at me. Before he could process what I meant, I had already slipped out of my robe, stepped up on my tiptoes, and actively kissed him. “Julian, Ethan might actually be dead.” I said in a sweet, vulnerable voice, “Can you stay with me tonight?”

After that night. Whenever I wriggled my finger, Julian would come over. We had an incredible connection. Way better than what I ever had with Ethan. Julian cared deeply about how I felt. So in terms of experience, it was on a whole different level. I actually enjoyed it. Plus, his stamina and body were in a completely different league. I actually started to regret it. Why didn’t I make this move earlier? Why did I waste so much time on a dead weight like Ethan? Julian didn’t notice anything unusual. Mainly because I had deleted that chat log. Whenever I got the chance, I would use his phone to check their group chat. Since I stopped looking for Ethan’s whereabouts these past few days, Ethan started to panic. He tagged everyone in the group chat. [Ethan: What’s going on? Why did Chloe suddenly stop searching for me?] One friend replied: [Don’t worry, Ethan. She’s probably just exhausted lately and has no energy.] [Ethan: No way. No matter how tired Chloe is, she would never stop looking for me!] [Ethan: Maybe I should go back now?] [Princess Sienna: Hold on! Ignore her for a bit longer. If you go back now, all our efforts will go down the drain.] [Ethan: No, I have to go back and check on her tomorrow.] [Princess Sienna: Ethan, are you out of your mind? I spent so much time planning this for you, and now you won’t even follow it? What do you take me for?] [Princess Sienna: As a woman, I know exactly what she’s playing. She probably heard some rumors and is trying to force you to show up.] [Princess Sienna: Just watch me teach her a lesson!] Ethan remained silent for a while. In the end, he submitted. [Ethan: Fine, we’ll do it your way.] Despite saying that, Ethan was still anxious. That night, he secretly called Julian. When the call came in, I happened to be sitting on Julian’s lap. It showed as an unknown number. I actively pressed the answer button and held the phone to Julian’s ear. “Hey, bro, I’m just worried, so I wanted to ask. “How has Chloe been lately?” Julian thought I couldn’t hear the voice on the phone. He answered vaguely, “She’s… doing fine.” “Holy shit, Julian, what’s up with your voice? Is there a woman next to you?” “…How can you tell?” “I can hear it instantly, man. You’re getting lucky! Am I interrupting something good? You gotta bring her out to meet us next time—” Before Ethan could finish his sentence, I suddenly spoke up, looking at Julian: “Are you done with the call? Focus on me.” The phone went dead silent. When Ethan spoke again, his voice had completely changed: “Julian, who the hell are you with right now?!”

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On our seventh wedding anniversary, Carter gave me a very special gift. A divorce agreement, and a stack of printed Snapchat messages showing me “cheating.” In the photos, I was chatting flirtatiously with a college boy named Zev. Carter stood in the living room, looking down at me with utter disgust. “Since you’re so desperate for a man, sign this and walk away penniless. I’m doing you a favor by letting you be with your hot college kid.” Looking at those explicit chat logs, I didn’t defend myself. I just picked up the pen and signed my name. As I dragged my suitcase toward the door, I heard Carter on the balcony, making a phone call. His tone was light, dripping with the smugness of someone who had just won a grand prize. “You were right, Sam. Telling me to create an alt account to bait her was a genius move. That old hag hooked right onto a few sweet words.” “Now she’s leaving with absolutely nothing. I’ll marry you tomorrow.” The winter wind outside was freezing, but I didn’t look back. Honestly, I had known Zev was Carter from the very beginning. In the scenic photos he sent me, the reflection in the glass clearly showed the expensive watch I had gifted him. I just didn’t call him out. I played along with his little cyber-love game every single day. Why? Because after being diagnosed with severe heart failure, I didn’t even have the energy to argue anymore. Through the fake “Zev,” I felt like I was seeing the Carter from seven years ago again—the boy whose eyes used to be filled only with me. Now that the papers were signed, it was time to wake up from the dream. For the rest of my numbered days, I just wanted to die in peace, alone.

As I dragged my suitcase out of the gated community, Gary, the security guard, poked his head out. “Heading out so late, Mrs. Vance?” I paused, forcing a smile. “You don’t have to call me that anymore, Gary.” He blinked, utterly confused. I didn’t explain. I just hailed a taxi. The driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror. “You look really pale, miss. Do you need me to take you to the hospital first?” “No, thank you.” I pressed my hand against my chest. The doctor said my heart was failing. Actually, it had just loved Carter for seven years, and now, it was finally tired of beating. The cab pulled up to an old apartment building downtown. This was the place my parents had left me. A small two-bedroom apartment with peeling yellow wallpaper. The living room light flickered three times before finally staying on. I pushed my suitcase against the wall and sat on the couch, waiting a long time to catch my breath. My phone buzzed. It was a message from Carter. [Daisy, you signed the agreement yourself. You chose to leave penniless.] [Don’t come crawling back to me crying later.] Staring at the screen, I suddenly laughed. Seven years ago, he used to text me like this, too. One message after another. When he was pursuing me back in college, on his first day of a business trip, he sent me ninety-nine Snapchats. [Daisy, did you eat yet?] [Daisy, it’s raining outside. Remember to bring an umbrella.] [Daisy, I miss you so much.] Later on, he rarely called me Daisy. It became “Daisy Vance,” “Mrs. Vance,” or simply, “Can you stop annoying me?” Until Zev appeared. That account used a profile picture of a puppy soaking in the rain. The first time he added me, he messaged: [Hi. I saw you at the convenience store today. You looked really sad.] I shouldn’t have accepted the request. But that day, I had just returned from the hospital. The doctor had slid the report in front of me, his voice incredibly soft. “Miss Vance, your end-stage dilated cardiomyopathy has reached its final phase.” “If you don’t get a transplant, the risk of sudden death is extremely high.” “Where is your husband? In this situation, it’s best if your family hears this together.” I held the report, freezing for a long time. Then I said, “I don’t have one.” The doctor glanced at the wedding ring on my ring finger but didn’t ask further. That night, Zev sent his second message. [It’s cold. Remember to bundle up.] It was a very ordinary sentence, but I stared at it for a long time. Because seven years ago, Carter used to nag me the exact same way. He would wrap his scarf around my neck, layer after layer, scowling as he scolded me: “Daisy, do you think you’re made of iron? If you freeze and get sick, I’m the one who’s going to suffer.” I replied to Zev. [Who are you?] He replied quickly: [Just a passerby. And someone who really wants to make you smile.] Actually, I knew something was off back then. But I kept talking to him anyway. Because the real Carter hadn’t spoken to me like that in years. My phone lit up again. This time, it was Zev. [Daisy, did you make it home?] My fingertips hovered over the screen. After a long pause, I typed one word. [Yeah.] A few seconds of silence on the other end. [Did he treat you badly again?] Staring at those words, my eyes suddenly welled with tears. Carter was using his alt account to ask if he himself was treating me badly. How ridiculous. I slowly typed back: [No. I’m free now.] Zev replied almost instantly: [That’s good. I’ll be here for you from now on.] I flipped the phone face down on the table. There was no need. I didn’t have a “from now on” anymore.

The next morning, Carter had his lawyer send me an addendum to the divorce agreement. The lawyer’s tone was strictly professional. “Daisy, Mr. Vance said that if you record a video admitting to cheating during the marriage, he will give you an extra million dollars.” Clutching my water mug, I asked, “And if I refuse?” “Then the chat logs, the hotel photos, and the agreement you voluntarily signed will be sent to both of your families and friends.” The lawyer paused before adding, “Mr. Vance also said if you don’t cooperate, he will leak these to your company, your Snapchat group chats, and your late parents’ old friends.” Hearing him mention “hotel photos,” I looked down and smiled bitterly. That day, Zev had asked to meet me at a coffee shop downstairs from a hotel, claiming he was in a terrible mood. I never went inside. I only stood at the entrance for two minutes, took an emergency call, and left. So, even those two minutes could be captured and framed as evidence. I nodded. “I’ll record the video.” The lawyer let out a visible sigh of relief. I hung up, opened my laptop, and saved the call recording into an encrypted folder. At ten in the morning, I went to the hospital. Looking at my charts, Dr. Evans’ frown deepened. “Have you been under a lot of emotional stress lately?” I remained silent. “Daisy, you need to be admitted immediately.” He tapped my chart. “This isn’t just a regular heart condition anymore. You could have acute heart failure at any moment.” “If a matching donor becomes available, do you still want to go through with the transplant?” I looked down at my hands. Carter used to love holding my hands. He said my fingers were long and perfect for rings. Later, he took off his own ring and threw it in my face. “Daisy, who are you wearing that ring for every day? It makes me sick just looking at it.” I looked up at Dr. Evans. “If I don’t do the surgery, how long do I have?” Dr. Evans froze. “Maybe a few months. Or you could just slip away suddenly.” I nodded. “Then I won’t wait.” Dr. Evans’ voice grew heavy. “You’re only twenty-nine.” I smiled softly. “But I’m so tired.” When I walked out of the hospital, I saw Samantha’s new Instagram post. In the photo, she was standing in my old walk-in closet, wearing my silk nightgown. Her caption read: [Some spots belong to those who actually deserve to be loved.] I stared at it for two seconds and liked the post. Not long after, Carter called. His voice was laced with anger. “Daisy, what the hell is your problem?” “My finger slipped.” He let out a cold laugh. “Stop playing dumb. Do you think your passive-aggressive behavior is going to make me feel guilty?” I took a shallow, painful breath. “Carter, I’m not that free.” He went quiet for a second, probably catching the strain in my voice. “Are you sick?” “No.” His tone turned irritated again. “Stop talking to me with that half-dead voice.” I looked out at the gloomy, overcast sky. “Then hang up.” He was silent for a moment before saying coldly, “You sure got brave after leaving me. I hope you keep that energy.” He hung up. Three minutes later, Zev sent a message. [Have you been crying?] Staring at the words “been crying,” a sudden, sharp pain flared in my chest. I fumbled for my pills and swallowed two. Then I typed: [Zev, can you accompany me somewhere tomorrow?] He replied almost instantly. [Of course. Anywhere you want to go, I’m there.]

I asked Zev to accompany me to the local university campus. Of course, we weren’t actually meeting in person. I told him I wasn’t comfortable meeting internet friends in real life, so having him chat with me on my phone was enough. Zev was incredibly sweet about it. [If you don’t want to meet, I won’t show my face.] By the time the bus dropped me off at the campus gates, the snow had just stopped. The crepe food truck at the entrance was still there. The owner’s son had taken over, but the sign remained the same. I bought two crepes. One spicy, one plain. Seven years ago, Carter couldn’t eat spicy food at all. But I would always buy the spicy one just to tease him. He’d take a bite, his ears turning bright red from the heat, and still act tough: “It’s not even that spicy.” I would laugh so hard I couldn’t stand straight. Flustered and embarrassed, he would grab my backpack and run off. The sun had been so bright that day. His white shirt billowed in the wind like a young boy’s wings. By the time I reached my third lap around the campus track, my chest began to tighten. I gripped the metal railing, leaning over to catch my breath. Suddenly, a pair of black leather shoes came to a stop nearby. I looked up. Carter was standing behind a tree. He was wearing a dark grey trench coat, car keys dangling from his hand. As our eyes met, his expression shifted slightly. I spoke first. “Are you stalking me?” He frowned. “Stalking you? Please. I have a business meeting nearby.” The excuse was exactly the same as seven years ago. Back then, he would sneak onto campus just to see me. When I caught him, he would always say, “Who’s here to see you? I was just passing by.” Back then, I would have thrown my arms around him. Now, I just wanted to walk away. Carter grabbed my wrist. “Daisy, are you really this desperate to reminisce about the past?” I looked down at his grip. “Let go.” He sneered. “What, did your little college boyfriend stand you up?” I waved my phone. “Actually, he’s chatting with me right now. He’s much better company than you.” Carter’s face darkened. How pathetic. He was actually getting jealous of a fictional character he created himself. “Daisy, you really are pathetic.” The moment those words left his mouth, a sharp spasm ripped through my chest. I couldn’t hold it in. I bent over, coughing violently. Carter froze. “What’s wrong with you?” I brushed his hand away. “None of your business.” He wanted to say something else, but his phone rang. Samantha’s name flashed on the screen. He hesitated for a second before answering. I couldn’t hear what she said, but his expression softened immediately. “Okay, I’ll be right back.” After hanging up, he looked back at me, his face turning cold and distant again. “Stop playing victim, Daisy. No one is buying your act anymore.” I nodded. “Then leave.” He stood there, unmoving. I looked up at him. “Isn’t Samantha waiting for you?” It was like I had touched a nerve. His face twisted in anger, and he finally turned and walked away. My phone buzzed. Zev had sent a message. [Did you just run into him?] I watched the red taillights of Carter’s car fade into the distance. [Yeah. He still hates me.] Zev replied quickly: [No, he doesn’t. He’s just an idiot.] [If he regrets it in the future, would you ever forgive him?] Sitting on the cold bench, my fingertips were stiff from the freezing air. After a long time, I replied: [No. I don’t have a future anymore.]

A week after the divorce, Carter sent someone to collect the keys to the house. I put the keys in an envelope, along with my wedding ring. It was our matching set. I had no idea where his was anymore. I had worn mine for seven years. When I pulled it off, it left a pale, faint indent on my ring finger. Right after the courier left, Samantha called. Her voice was sweet and dripping with triumph. “Daisy, I got the package. But didn’t you leave something behind?” “What?” I asked. “The wooden box in Carter’s study.” She giggled. “The one filled with your old, trashy photos. It’s giving me bad vibes.” “If you still want it, come get it yourself.” My parents’ old photographs were in that wooden box. When I rushed to the house, Samantha was lounging on the living room sofa. She was wearing my silk nightgown, and the wooden box sat by her feet. The photos inside had been messily rummaged through. A photo of my parents had fallen to the floor, the corner of it trapped under her slipper. My expression went cold. “Move your foot.” Samantha looked up, her smile innocent. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t see it.” She slowly dragged her foot away, leaving a sharp crease on the photo. I bent down to pick it up. Suddenly, she kicked the wooden box away with her toe. Photos and letters scattered all over the floor. “Daisy, I actually kind of admire you,” she said, leaning in. “Kicked out of the house, and you’re still this calm.” “Is it because that college kid is treating you so well?” My hands paused as I gathered the photos. Samantha laughed harder. “But you really are pitiful. Did you know Carter created that alt account just to mess with you?” “When you were texting him ‘goodnight’ every day, do you have any idea how much we laughed at you?” I didn’t look up. “Are you done laughing?” My calmness clearly irritated her. Her smile faltered. “What are you pretending for? Do you think you’re losing with dignity?” “You’re just an unwanted, abandoned wife.” I placed the last photo back into the box and finally looked up at her. “Samantha, are you trying this hard to prove you won because Carter still hasn’t married you?” Her face paled. Just then, footsteps sounded at the door. Carter walked in and frowned the moment he saw me. “What are you doing here?” Samantha’s eyes instantly welled with tears. She rushed over and clung to his arm. “Carter, I just wanted to give her things back, but I think Daisy misunderstood me.” Carter looked at the mess on the floor, then at the wooden box in my hands. His tone was freezing. “Daisy, do you have to make such a scene?” Suddenly, I felt incredibly exhausted. In the past, I would have explained myself a thousand times over. But Carter never believed me. I clutched the wooden box to my chest and started walking toward the door. Carter blocked my path. “Apologize.” I blinked. “What?” He looked at me with pure annoyance. “Apologize to Samantha.” Samantha lowered her head, though the corners of her lips twitched upward. I stared at Carter for what felt like an eternity. So long that my chest grew heavy and a loud ringing filled my ears. Then, I laughed. “Carter, do you remember?” “Years ago, you wouldn’t even let anyone touch a hair on my head.” His eyes flickered slightly. I continued, “And now, you’re demanding I apologize to the person who just stepped on my dead parents’ photo.” He looked down at the creased photo on the floor, his face shifting. Samantha rushed to explain, “I didn’t mean to—” “It’s fine,” I interrupted her. “My parents have been dead for years anyway. They can’t see it.” Carter’s throat bobbed. “Daisy…” I ignored him. Just as I reached the foyer, a sudden, agonizing pain gripped my heart. The wooden box slipped from my hands, crashing to the floor as the photos scattered once again. I leaned heavily against the wall, my vision turning pitch black. Carter rushed forward to catch me. “Daisy!” With the last of my strength, I shoved him away. “Don’t touch me.” His hands froze in mid-air. I fumbled through my purse, pulled out my pills, and swallowed them dry. Samantha stood behind him, whispering, “Is she just faking it?” This time, Carter didn’t immediately side with her. He stared at the prescription bottle in my hand, his face turning pale. I didn’t look back as I walked out. In the back of the cab, I opened my Snapchat chat with Zev. He had just sent a message: [My chest hurt so bad just now. Are you hurting too?] I stared at it for a long time, then smiled. I sent him a screenshot. It was the photo of the river nightscape he had sent me last week. In the reflection of the glass, half of Carter’s face was clearly visible, along with the watch I had bought him. And Samantha’s hand, resting heavily on his shoulder. The “typing…” indicator on the other end stopped. I slowly typed: [Carter, your acting is terrible. I’ve known Zev was you since day one.]

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A week before our wedding, my fiancé suddenly changed our wedding venue to the beach. At his bachelor party, one of his friends teased him. “Just because Chloe likes the ocean, you changed the entire wedding venue? Without even telling Clara? What if she doesn’t show up?” “I heard she had her heart set on that Aspen snowy mountain chalet.” My fiancé just shrugged, looking completely unbothered. “Please. She loves me so much she literally went blind for me. When has she ever said no to me?” “Besides, she’s been dying to marry me for years.” I stood just outside the door. I froze. I didn’t say a word. I just quietly turned around and left, pretending I hadn’t heard a thing. On the day of the wedding, Julian called me from the venue, his voice frantic. “Clara! Where the hell are you? Why aren’t you here yet?” I looked out the window of my hotel room at the falling snow. “I’m already here.” The Aspen mountain wedding was something I had planned from the very beginning. It held a special meaning for Julian and me. But Chloe Bennett had made one offhand comment about loving the ocean, and Julian had thrown all my plans in the trash. My hands trembled. I remembered standing outside that dressing room door a week ago, too terrified to make a sound. Julian’s friend, Carter, had frowned in confusion. “Man, a wedding is a two-way street. Shouldn’t you at least tell Clara? How is she supposed to get ready?” Julian had waved his hand impatiently. “There’s nothing to get ready for. Aspen is freezing. Malibu is so much more comfortable.” “But still, changing the entire venue without a word? That’s a massive lack of respect, don’t you think?” Julian scoffed. “If she knew, she’d ask a million questions. She might even throw a tantrum, and then I’d have to waste my time comforting her. It’s too much drama.” “She’s obsessed with me anyway. She’ll get over it. Don’t forget, she practically went blind for me. Swapping a venue is nothing compared to that.” One of the other guys grinned wickedly. “Oh, we get it. This is all for Chloe… I mean, who could say no to a bombshell like her?” “Honestly, we all thought you’d end up marrying Chloe back in the day. She’s gorgeous and comes from a crazy rich family.” Julian’s face darkened at that. “Shut up. Don’t let Clara hear that kind of talk. If she starts drama, you guys are paying for it.” The group burst into laughter. “Alright, alright. We get it. You’ve got Clara wrapped around your finger anyway.” Suddenly, Julian’s phone buzzed on the table. The caller ID read Chloe. The guys smirked. “Speak of the devil. Your real wife is calling.” Julian didn’t even bother to correct them. He answered, his voice instantly softening. “Hey, Chloe.” Chloe’s giggling voice echoed through the speaker. “Julian! Did you seriously get me that couture gown? I heard the waitlist for that designer in Milan is at least six months!” “Yeah. I had a friend pull some strings and had it flown in. It should arrive next week.” “Oh my gosh… wasn’t it insanely expensive?” “It was only seventy thousand dollars. If you love it, it’s worth every penny.” Chloe gasped, sounding deeply moved. “You are too good to me. I’m definitely wearing it for you on the wedding day!” Julian smiled warmly. “I can’t wait to see you in it.” The moment he hung up, his friends started hooting again. “Damn! She’s going to totally outshine the bride! Julian, are you marrying Clara or Chloe?” Julian just chuckled casually. “Clara and I have been together forever. It doesn’t matter what she wears. Chloe is different. She needs to feel special.” I stood outside the door, a bitter smile on my face. My own wedding dress was bought off-the-rack from a local boutique. On the day I tried it on, my eyes hadn’t fully recovered. I had asked Julian to help me choose. After I tried on three different cheap dresses, he had sighed impatiently.

“They all look great. Just pick one. It’s not like you can see the details clearly anyway.” He hurried to swipe his card. The receipt showed it cost exactly three hundred dollars. So, he was capable of planning grand, thoughtful surprises. He just didn’t want to waste them on me. On my drive home that day, I bit my lip until it bled, but the tears still spilled over. Five years. For five whole years, I was stupid enough to think he truly understood me. When I first told him I wanted a wedding in the snowy mountains, he had smiled, ruffled my hair, and said, “Whatever you want, babe.” At that moment, I was so touched. I thought he remembered. I thought he cared. I thought he remembered that the mountains were where we first met. He had forgotten how I had scraped myself bloody trying to pull him up from a ledge, how I had held his hand in a freezing blizzard and whispered, “Don’t be scared, I’ve got you.” But he didn’t remember. Or rather, he just didn’t care. I remembered my doctor’s warning: heavy emotional stress would ruin my optic nerve recovery. I forced myself to look up, trying to swallow my tears, but my throat ached with a suffocating tightness. Julian called me later. The background noise was deafening, the bass of the music shaking the speaker. “Clara, Carter and the guys are throwing me a bachelor party tonight. I’m not coming home.” I paused for two seconds. “Okay.” This “bachelor party” had already lasted three days. At 1:00 AM, unable to sleep, I opened Snapchat. Carter had posted a story with the caption: My brother’s last night of freedom! In the center of the screen was a photo of Chloe, her cheeks flushed, drunk and clinging tightly to Julian’s chest. Julian’s hand was resting casually on her waist. Underneath the post, several of their friends had commented: “They look like a power couple. Honestly, what a waste.” “They’re childhood sweethearts, you guys. Stop stirring the pot.” “@Julian Watch yourself, man. Don’t make Clara mad!” Julian had replied directly under that comment: “Clara won’t care. If she wants to pick a fight over this, then maybe we shouldn’t get married at all.” I double-tapped the post to leave a like, turned off my phone, and went to sleep. He was so sure I would just take it. Just like I took him changing the venue, just like I took him spending seventy thousand dollars on another woman’s dress, just like I took every single “she’s just a friend” excuse. But this time, I was done. The next day, I went to the hospital for my follow-up exam alone. The doctor frowned when he saw me. “I told you last time, your vision is highly unstable. You need someone to accompany you.” I offered a polite smile. “I can handle it on my own.” As I left the clinic, it started pouring rain. Across the street, inside a cozy café, I spotted two familiar figures. Julian was holding up his phone, and Chloe was leaning against his shoulder, flashing a peace sign as they took a cozy selfie. Clung to Chloe’s shoulder was a brand-new designer bag—the very one Julian had claimed last week was “for a client.” I let out a self-deprecating laugh, pulled up my hood, and walked home through the freezing rain. When Julian finally came home, I was just changing out of my soaked clothes. He blinked in surprise. “Why are you so wet?” “I had my hospital appointment.” Julian froze. “That was today?” I let out a soft, dry laugh. “Yeah. I reminded you three times.” Julian ran a hand through his hair, looking annoyed. “I’ve been crazy busy lately. It slipped my mind. Besides, your vision is mostly back. Missing one appointment isn’t going to kill you.” I stared at him quietly. “The doctor said my optic nerve is still degenerating.” Julian choked on his words. He was silent for a moment before his face hardened with irritation. “Are you seriously trying to guilt-trip me again? Are you going to bring up the fact that you got hurt for me?” Ah. So that was it. In his eyes, my permanent medical condition was just a tool I used to demand attention. Seeing my silence, Julian’s annoyance flared into anger. “Don’t give me that silent treatment! I forgot one time. Why do you always have to make a federal case out of everything?”

I looked at his collar and spoke softly. “You have blueberry jam on your shirt.” Julian’s hand flew to his collar, and he stiffened. “You…” “Chloe’s bag is really nice, by the way,” I added casually. Julian’s face flushed red with embarrassment and anger. He pointed a finger at me, raising his voice. “Were you stalking me?! Seriously, Clara? She was having a bad day and just needed to vent!” “You know what her family situation is like. I’m all she has!” “Can you just be a little more open-minded? This constant jealousy is getting exhausting!” I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “How ironic… because during my doctor’s appointment today, I was the only one I had, too.” It was as if my words had pierced a nerve. Julian stammered, looking defensive. “That’s different… you have people who care about you…” Suddenly, his phone rang. It was Chloe again. Julian answered immediately. Chloe’s sobbing voice filled the quiet room. “Julian… I fell down the stairs. It hurts so bad…” “Don’t panic. I’m on my way right now.” He hung up, grabbed his jacket, and headed straight for the door. Right before he left, he paused and looked back at me. “You need to cool your head and think about your attitude. Tomorrow I’ll take you to the bakery to choose the wedding favors.” “And stop stalking me. You’re making yourself look pathetic.” The front door slammed shut. But his words kept ringing in my ears. Pathetic? He was right. I was pathetic. I was only surprised it had taken me this long to finally see it. I guess I really had gone blind a long time ago. The next day, the drive to the bakery was suffocatingly quiet. I put in my AirPods, closed my eyes, and ignored him. Julian kept tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, clearly anxious. “The weather lately is perfect for a beach trip…” I could feel his eyes drifting toward me. When I didn’t respond, he cleared his throat and raised his voice. “I heard the Malibu Ocean Resort is super popular right now. A ton of celebrities have had their weddings there.” My eyes remained closed. I just let out a soft hum. Julian frowned, his tone turning sharp. “Clara, are you even listening to me?” I opened my eyes slowly. “I am. So what?” Julian choked on his words, looking lost. “…Nothing. Just making conversation.” The cool breeze drifted in through the window, clearing my head. “Julian,” I turned my head to look at him. “Is there anything about the wedding you want to tell me?” This was the first time I had asked him directly. It would also be the last. He avoided my gaze, letting out a nervous laugh. “Everything is in your hands, babe. I trust your judgment.” I lowered my eyes, the last shred of my hope dying. He was still playing games. Even now, if he had just been honest with me, I might have… No, I wouldn’t have. I clenched my fists. Trust was such an easy thing for him to trample on. Julian let out a dry laugh, his heart pounding with unease. She definitely knows, he probably thought. She’s just sulking. I’ll make it up to her later. When we walked into the bakery, I saw the custom cookies I had ordered. They were beautifully crafted in the shape of snowy mountains. Just as I was about to taste one, a familiar, high-pitched voice came from behind us. “Julian? Did you come to buy me those cinnamon rolls?” My chest tightened. Why was she always here? Chloe looked at me, covering her mouth in mock surprise. “Oh my gosh, Clara! I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there…” “Wait, are you guys picking out wedding favors? This place has the best cinnamon rolls! Julian brings me here all the time!” My fingers curled tightly. Julian had brought her here countless times, while I only found out about this place from my best friend, Becca.

Chloe picked up a new pastry from the display. “Clara, you should try this one! It’s perfect for a beach vibe, especially paired with champagne!” I took a step back. “No, thank you. I’ve already made my choice. Enjoy your dessert.” Chloe blinked, her face instantly melting into a look of hurt innocence. “Are you… mad at me? I-I should just leave.” Julian immediately grabbed Chloe’s wrist. “Clara didn’t mean it like that. You don’t have to leave.” He turned to me, his eyes hard. “Clara, Chloe is going to be your maid of honor. Don’t be so harsh. You’re scaring her.” I froze. When had this been decided? Wasn’t the maid of honor supposed to be my choice? But then I mocked myself. He could change the entire wedding venue without telling me. Why would he need my permission for a bridesmaid? I looked at them blankly. “This is just how I am. If you don’t like it, don’t look.” Both of them stared at me, clearly shocked by my coldness. Chloe’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Never mind. I should go. I don’t want to ruin your day.” But Julian didn’t let go of her hand. Instead, his fingers slid down, interlocking with hers. “Clara, you’re about to get married. Why are you acting so childish?” “Ever since we set the date, you’ve been throwing tantrums left and right. Is this fun for you?” Chloe pulled at his arm, whispering, “Julian, don’t…” but she only leaned closer to his shoulder. Julian was practically shaking with anger. “No, Chloe! I’m sick of this!” “Clara, keep pushing me. Keep acting out. Don’t come crying to me when you cry yourself blind again!” The entire bakery fell dead silent. The staff lowered their heads, pretending to be busy. My heart felt like it had been dropped into a bucket of ice water. So, in his eyes, my blindness… was just a result of me “crying over jealousy.” And to think I had actually hoped he would remember what the snowy mountains meant to us. How many times had Chloe called him away for a “migraine” or “low blood sugar” during our dates? Julian had dropped everything every single time. When I had a 102-degree fever, Julian had gone shopping with Chloe, texting me a simple: Drink some water, babe. I’ll check on you later. He never showed up. And whenever I complained, he would snap at me. “Why can’t you be more understanding? Chloe actually needs me!” On our anniversary, Julian had promised to take me to see the mountain sunrise. I had spent weeks preparing a gift, only for him to forget the date entirely. “It’s just a calendar date, Clara. Why do you have to be so dramatic?” Yet, for Chloe’s birthday, he booked a Michelin-star restaurant a month in advance, bought her a designer gift, and posted it on Instagram. Happy birthday to the most important person in my life. I looked at the two of them standing hand-in-hand. I was so tired. I should have walked away a long time ago. I turned and walked out. Julian didn’t follow me. He only threw one last line at my back. “She’s probably just stressed about the wedding. Don’t take it personally, Chloe.” Through the glass window of the bakery, I saw him pick up a fork and feed Chloe a bite of the cinnamon roll. They looked like the perfect couple. That night, Julian sent me a voice note. “Clara, stop being mad.” “I’m working so hard, trying to balance my job and take care of both of you. Can’t you show a little appreciation?” “We’re about to be husband and wife. I need you to grow up.” He sounded slightly drunk, his voice slurring as he rambled on. I deleted the voice note without finishing it. He was right. He had it so hard. So, I was going to make things incredibly easy for him. I was going to take myself out of his equation entirely. The day before the wedding, Julian finally called me, sounding anxious.

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My startup had finally taken off. I rushed home with gingerbread cookies and gifts to celebrate, only to find my wife, Mila, packing up everything we owned. The moment she saw the gingerbread in my hands, she snatched it and threw it straight into the trash. “I get sick just looking at your stupid cookies! I want a divorce!” She had no idea that the very cookies she just threw away were the hot-selling product that had made me a millionaire. When she finally found out the truth, she actually had the nerve to demand: “You became successful after you divorced me? By what right?” I smiled and replied, “Yeah. I made my fortune with the very gingerbread you despised.” Regrets? Too late. After working non-stop for weeks, I finally closed deals with several major distributors today. But when I arrived at my front door, holding the signed contracts and a diamond necklace I bought for Mila, I found the house completely ransacked. The living room was a mess, and two strangers were carrying my TV out the door. My first instinct was that we were being robbed, until I saw Mila standing there, directing them. Thinking I had been too busy lately with my new gingerbread recipes and investor meetings, I asked, “Mila, what’s going on? Are we moving?” Mila finally noticed me. Her eyes instantly filled with disgust and anger. “Yes, we are. But only I am moving. Because I’m divorcing you!” Since I started my business, we had been fighting constantly. She always nagged that I had no future spending all day baking cookies, and complained about the business loans I took out. Mila continued sneering: “I’m taking all the valuable appliances. At least I get some assets out of this marriage.” “If I wait until your business completely crashes, I won’t get a dime. I might even end up drowning in your debts.” The truth was, the business loans were solely under my name and had nothing to do with her. Plus, I had been giving her my monthly salary to maintain her high standard of living. My startup was never as pathetic as she claimed, even if I wasn’t rolling in cash yet. And now, on the exact day I struck gold, she wanted a divorce. Since the final contracts were just signed and the massive wire transfers hadn’t cleared yet, this money would legally be my post-divorce personal property. She wouldn’t get a single penny.

Her eyes traveled down and landed on the gingerbread box in my hand. She rushed over and knocked it to the floor. “I get sick just looking at your trash cookies!” The necklace box fell alongside the cookies. I knelt down, picked it up, and offered it to her, thinking of it as a final parting gift. Under the dim hallway light, I noticed a gorgeous gold necklace already resting on Mila’s neck. It was brand new. I had never seen it before. Mila looked incredibly smug, and I even caught a flash of shyness in her eyes as her hand gently touched the gold chain. She scoffed, “What kind of cheap junk could you possibly buy with your pocket change? Throw it away.” To give myself one last reason to let go, I asked, “If my business succeeds, will you stay?” She let out a harsh laugh. “Spencer, wake up. How could you ever succeed?” “With your stupid gingerbread? Dream on!” With that, she spun around, grabbed her pre-packed suitcases, and headed for the door. Since things had come to this, there was no point in begging a woman who despised me to stay. On her way out, she kicked the fallen box of gingerbread aside. “Get out of my way, eyesore.” One of the movers picked it up. “Wow, this gingerbread looks so beautiful. It must taste amazing. Why throw it away? Do you guys not want it?” I smiled, happy that my handmade craft was appreciated, and was about to thank him. But Mila cut in. “Take it if you want. He has tons of those trash cookies that he can’t sell anyway.” I choked up, holding back my words. I wanted to tell her that my gingerbread had just received hundreds of thousands of pre-orders. I wanted to tell her that I succeeded, and we could buy a mansion in the suburbs. But clearly, she no longer deserved to share this joy with me.

Mila left in a luxury sports car driven by another man. They were incredibly intimate. I didn’t know him, but the way Mila looked at him was entirely different from the cold glares she gave me. Before leaving, she repeatedly warned me to show up at the courthouse at 9:00 AM sharp the next morning to sign the divorce papers. She was clearly desperate to get rid of me. Since divorce is a major life event, I suggested at the courthouse entrance if we should talk to her parents first. Mila’s face immediately twisted in anger. “Let me tell you, Spencer, don’t try to stall. My parents have been sick of you for a long time.” I didn’t say another word. We walked in, signed the papers, and had the judge sign off on the divorce. The moment she got her copy, Mila smiled wider than she did on our wedding day. Without even looking back at me, she ran toward a waiting car, waving the papers in the air. The man inside rolled down his window, smiling at her. I recognized him. He was the guy who picked her up yesterday. I went back to my empty house and opened Instagram. Mila had just posted a new update. The caption read: “Beginning of our happiness. Happy 600th day anniversary, babe!” The post featured a selfie of them cuddling, next to a massive bouquet of red roses. I remembered giving her roses on Valentine’s Day. She had called them tacky and claimed she hated roses. Turns out, she just hated them when they came from me. I looked around the empty house and told myself: it’s time to start a new life.

The contract was finalized, and the first wave of payments cleared. I had never seen so much money in my bank account before. I immediately distributed holiday bonuses to my workers. Making gingerbread for Christmas meant they had to work overtime while everyone else was on vacation. I put the old house on the market with an agent and bought a brand-new, modern condo for myself. I had no time to wallow in the divorce. With Christmas just around the corner, I was busy 24/7. My handmade gingerbread was selling like crazy. The only reason it hadn’t before was a lack of marketing channels. Now, we had to expand the factory. My distributors called constantly to restock, and multiple major corporations reached out for partnerships. Watching the numbers in my bank account grow daily gave me endless energy. One day, I personally went with my delivery team to drop off a massive order. The address looked incredibly familiar, but I couldn’t place it. It wasn’t until I stood at the office building’s entrance that I realized—it was Mila’s company. To ensure our VIP clients received their holiday gift boxes in perfect condition, I always personally supervised large deliveries. The CEO of her company had ordered these gingerbread gift boxes for all the employees. Everyone was lining up in an orderly fashion to get theirs. It was very professional and quiet. Until someone recognized me and broke the silence. “Wait! Aren’t you Mila’s husband? I remember you used to bring her lunch all the time.” Mila walked over, following the voice. The moment she saw me, her face fell as if she had just seen a plague. “Why is there always gingerbread wherever you go? Do you have to stalk me?” Her colleagues quickly chimed in, smiling. “Mila, did your husband deliver these just to see you? That’s so sweet! You have such a loving husband.” “By the way, this handmade gingerbread brand is so famous right now. Can you ask your husband to get us a few more boxes?” I watched as Mila clenched her jaw, snatched the box from her hand, and threw it at her colleague. “We are divorced! He’s just a low-level delivery guy! Stop talking about him!” To make her point clearer, she pointed at me with utter disgust. “Look at him. Does he look like he’s even in my league?”

Mila’s screeching voice was so loud that it drew everyone’s attention in the lobby. The colleagues fell into an awkward silence. Realizing she had made a scene, Mila quickly turned and ran back to the elevators. After completing the delivery, the final payment cleared instantly. Looking at my casual clothes, I decided it was time to upgrade my wardrobe. I had been invited to an elite industry Christmas gala, and I needed some high-end suits. While driving, my business partner called. “Spencer, check your Snapchat. I sent you a screenshot of a new product.” I opened it and saw a product image. It looked exactly like my handmade gingerbread, with only a tiny, barely noticeable tweak in the design. The brand name was “SWEET.” It was a blatant, shameless copycat designed to mislead consumers. Although copycats are common in the food industry, I would never allow someone to steal my hard work. I drove to a high-end shopping mall and walked into a luxury boutique I had never set foot in before. Because I was wearing simple casual clothes, none of the sales associates came to greet me. Meanwhile, a young couple nearby was surrounded by three attentive staff members. The woman turned around, and our eyes met. It was Mila. She was shocked to see me there. With my past income, I could never afford to step into a place like this. After her brief shock, she turned to the sales associate and said, “Does your store just let anyone walk in these days?” She fanned her nose in disgust. “I smell trash.” The man beside her was the guy from her Instagram post. Once he realized who I was, he walked up to me with a provocative smile and extended his hand. “Hi. I’m Alex, the owner of SWEET.”

I stared at him and nodded. Small world. I had met the plagiarist face-to-face. Just as I reached out to politely return the handshake, he suddenly pulled his hand back, leaving mine hanging in the air. “Excuse me, staff? Why is there trash standing in your store? Can you sweep him out?” He laughed, looking at me like I was a joke. The sales associate walked over to me, looking uncomfortable. “Sir, if you aren’t buying anything, please leave.” I pointed at the entire row of suits behind them. “Who says I’m not buying? Pack all of these in my size. I’ll take them.” Mila and Alex laughed even harder. “Babe, did you hear him? He said he wants to buy all of them! That is hilarious!” Mila sneered, “Do you think this is a thrift store where everything is ten dollars? A single jacket here costs more than your monthly salary!” None of the staff moved. They obviously didn’t believe I could afford them. “Is this how you treat customers?” I said coldly. “I can easily file a complaint with your corporate office.” Fearing a complaint, the staff finally started moving. Mila scoffed, “Keep acting, Spencer. I can’t wait to see how you pay.” It took an hour to pack all the clothes. When it came time to pay, they all gathered around, waiting to watch me embarrass myself. Even the cashier looked ready to unpack the bags. A few seconds after I tapped my phone, the card reader beeped: Transaction Declined.

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