Author: Momo Chan

I am rich. Seriously, absurdly rich. Add to that my face that’s always been more than serviceable, and my entire life has been a relentless parade of thirsty suitors and envious whispers. So, when my path was suddenly blocked by a man in an expensive but slightly too-tight suit, my mind went completely blank. I didn’t recognize him. I only registered the fact that he was rude, standing in the middle of a high-end gala without moving. I offered a polite, clipped request: “Excuse me, sir. Could you please step aside?” 1 His brow instantly furrowed into a tight knot. He didn’t just look angry; he looked genuinely incredulous, like I’d just broken a fundamental law of physics. “Are you seriously pretending you don’t know me?” The woman draped over his arm like a drama queen. She covered her mouth, a dramatic performance of shock. “Scarlett Hayes? Is that really you?” Her eyes, predatory and quick, scanned me from head to toe. She zeroed in on the understated, low-key blazer I’d chosen for professional comfort. The smug, gleeful pity in her gaze was impossible to hide. “Oh my God, you actually fell this far? Are you… are you serving tables now?” She stepped closer, dropping her voice just enough to ensure the surrounding circle of guests could still hear. “We’re classmates, aren’t we? If you were in trouble, why didn’t you say anything? This kind of serving-staff work? You, Scarlett? You were the most fragile princess in the whole class.” “If others couldn’t help, you had Ethan Bell. Remember? He was so devoted to you. He worked three months straight just to buy you that gift. He even hurt his hands trying to cook you a meal.” Her voice carried load. A ripple went through the crowd, and dozens of appreciative eyes settled on Ethan. Ugh. There it was—the Hero of Devotion narrative, perfectly executed. A few older, heavy-set executives nearby began to coo. “Not many young men show that kind of devotion anymore. Ethan Bell? Isn’t he the one from Ascend Tech?” “He just landed a major project, I heard. A man of substance. We should get in touch.” The wives and socialites swooned with a collective sigh. “A man that devoted? His current girlfriend must have saved an entire galaxy in a past life.” “Though I wonder, if he was so perfect, what kind of idiot would ever break up with him?” That was the question Chloe was waiting for. She shot a triumphant smirk my way, then pivoted back to the crowd. “Oh, I forgot. Back then, Scarlett threw the necklace Ethan gave her in the trash. She said her dog wouldn’t wear something that cheap. And she poured out the dinner he worked so hard to make, complaining it wasn’t made with imported ingredients.” The air went dead silent. The pitying looks that had been directed at me curdled instantly. After a long, uncomfortable pause, someone finally spoke in a low murmur. “I knew it. No good man like that gets dumped unless the woman is a gold-digging nightmare.” “A waitress? Snuck into a high-society event like this? She’s probably here looking for a ‘special side-gig.’” Finally, Ethan opened his mouth, his voice a low, self-satisfied rasp. “Scarlett Hayes, I told you back then you’d regret it. And now…” He took his time, staring at my basic suit, at the empty hand that had just been steadying a server’s tray. He sneered. “It looks like I didn’t even need to lift a finger. Karma handled the job for me.” A blank finally lifted from my brain. I dug through the forgotten basement of my memories and pulled out the bin file. “You’re… Ethan Bell?” I glanced at the clinging woman beside him. “And Chloe Davis?” Chloe snickered, a high, brittle sound. “I thought you’d keep up the act forever.” “Scarlett, I remember exactly how you humiliated Ethan. How you treated me. You can’t tell me you’re not regretting it now that Ethan is the one who’s made it big?” Regret? Not even close. I simply remembered the persistent, self-appointed Martyr who had stalked me through college, and the jealous hanger-on next to him. The first time I saw him, I’d just stepped out of my family owned Bentley and saw a commotion outside a fancy restaurant. A guy in a faded, washed-out button-up shirt was yelling, his face beet red. “This one dinner cost how much? That’s my whole month’s allowance! This is robbery!” The manager, looking bored, rolled his eyes. “It’s clearly marked on the menu. Why weren’t you complaining while you were eating it? Pay up, or I call the police for dine-and-dash.” That was Ethan Bell. Next to him, shoulders hunched and eyes wide with manufactured terror, was Chloe Davis. Chloe was clutching his sleeve, sobbing into his arm. “Ethan, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. I just wanted to try some fancy meal, but I didn’t know it would be this expensive…” The manager laughed, a harsh bark. “Too late now, kids. Pay the check! And what kind of college students try to play high-roller when they can’t even afford the bill?” Ethan’s fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were white. He glared at the manager. “I’ll give you fifty now. The rest…” A flash of genuine shame crossed his face. “I’ll find a job. I’ll earn the money and bring it back.” I later found out he was the pride of his small town, a first class college student whose family had sacrificed his sister’s tuition to send him out. Grabbiing that check, and under the worshipful gaze of his hometown friend, Chloe, the guy got a little too big for his britches. Chloe gave him the puppy-dog eyes about the restaurant, and his fragile male pride—that damned pride—made him walk straight in. The manager was about to relent when I cut in. Ethan’s face was the color of a plum, but his spine was ramrod straight. The next second, a pale, manicured hand slid a black card between them. “Count it on me.” Both Ethan and Chloe froze, staring at me. I was completely expressionless. I just wanted to get to my table; they were blocking the entrance. “It’s fine. We’re classmates. This one’s on me.” It should have been a non-event. A mild, passing courtesy. Instead, Ethan yelled after me as I walked away, “What’s your name? I’ll pay you back! I don’t accept charity!” Without turning around, I tossed my name over my shoulder: “Scarlett Hayes.” Honestly, my initial impression of him was… fine. Mostly a decent kid with too much pride. Two months later, he cornered me. He was clutching a wad of cash—the thousand dollars, or whatever the bill was—like it was his entire self-worth. “Here. This is what I owed you. I’m paying you back.” His posture suggested that if I didn’t take the money, I was personally committing a felony against his dignity. I didn’t have a habit of crushing people’s egos. Besides, a debt is a debt. I took the money and asked, “Can you move now? I’m late.” He flinched, his face flushing again. “I… I’m Ethan Bell.” I was running to a lunch with my father, so I waved dismissively. “Ethan Bell. Got it. Thanks.” I genuinely thought he was a one-off extra. But apparently, the man had a spectacular inner monologue. Staring at my retreating back, he suddenly inflated with adrenaline. “Scarlett! I love you! May I ask you out?” I was thunderstruck. Buddy, this is the second time we’ve spoken. I was in a rush, so I didn’t give it a second thought. I turned back and said flatly, “No. I don’t like you.” The incident went exactly as you’d expect. Some people laughed: “A scholarship kid trying to date Hayes? What a joke.” Others pointed fingers at me: “Spoiled bitch. Couldn’t even let him down gently. Public rejection like that is cruel.” Wait, what? He proposed in public, but I was the asshole for rejecting him in public? “I try to do a good deed, and I get branded the villain,” I vented to my girls in a private dining room. Just then, the door slammed open. A pristine, ten-thousand-dollar bottle of Cristal, freshly uncorked for us, flew off the table and shattered on the floor, the golden liquid splashing everywhere. It was Chloe Davis, wearing a server uniform. She pointed a furious finger at me, as if she’d caught me molesting a puppy. “That bottle cost over a grand! Do you know how long Ethan had to wash dishes to pay back that thousand dollars? How dare you waste his hard work like this?” I was stunned. My friends were stunned. The manager, running in, looked utterly bewildered and let out a string of expletives. “Are you out of your mind?!” The manager was having a bad run with his staff. He tolerated Chloe’s constant, muttered complaints about customers—”wasteful trust fund kids,” “slutty clothes,” and so on. But this? This was a new level of insanity. She had destroyed client property and insulted the most valued patron. I gave the manager a cold smile. “Manager, your service here is truly… unique.” Manager’s face went white. He apologized profusely and immediately dragged Chloe out. As she was being hauled away, Chloe screamed, “Am I wrong? Scarlett, don’t think your money makes you superior! Poor people have dignity!” “Ethan worked his hands raw to pay you back! And you just throw your money away! Don’t you have a conscience?” I nodded slowly. “You’re right. I made a mistake.” Chloe instantly lifted her chin, radiating the glow of moral victory. “Good! Then send the bill back and go apologize to Ethan!” I gestured to the puddle of shattered glass and champagne. “I won’t be drinking this one. Whoever broke it pays for it.” Chloe’s triumphant expression dissolved into panic. Then I continued. “And based on that quality, please bring me ten more bottles. I’d like to hear them all clink.” “Ten… what ten?” Chloe stammered, horrified. Another server dragging her out had to remind her. “The wine list, remember? That bottle is two thousand a pop.” Chloe’s legs buckled. She was dragged away. My friend, Maya, stared after her. “Who was that psycho?” I rolled my eyes. “A psycho fangirl.” Of course, I wasn’t actually going to smash ten bottles of champagne. My family’s wealth came with strict discipline against that kind of childish, nouveau-riche arrogance. But when we left, Chloe was standing by the entrance, eyes red-rimmed, acting like a fragile heroine. Seeing me, she bit her lip and choked out a grudging, “I’m sorry, Miss Hayes.” With the ice broken, the tears came fast. “I just… I just felt so bad for Ethan. He’s so smart, he’s meant to do the study, but he was washing dishes for a week to pay you back. He only suffered because of you…” “Because of me, what?” I cut her off, my voice ice cold. She looked startled. She expected tears or a softening of my heart. “He did that menial work for you. How can you spend his money with a clear conscience…” “His money? It was a debt he owed me. A transaction. He owed money, he worked, he paid it back. What does that have to do with me?” I examined my freshly done manicure, completely unconcerned. “I didn’t charge him interest. The ten thousand dollar champagne is my choice. My standard of living is my own. Why should I lower it to filtered tap water just to spare his fragile pride?” “You! You!” Chloe was shaking with rage. “How could Ethan ever like someone as vain and cruel as you?” It was laughable. If you can’t afford to date me, don’t ask me out. Was I supposed to pretend to be poor and subsist on fast food just so his ego could feel satisfied? Who did he think he was? The next day, Ethan showed up, Chloe sobbing dramatically behind him. He was shaking with suppressed anger. “Scarlett. I need to talk to you.” “Can you please drop the complaint against Chloe? She didn’t mean it. That ten thousand… we can’t pay it right now.” A crowd of students was already forming. I didn’t even look up. “No.” Chloe’s crying instantly ratcheted up a notch. “Why? That’s nothing to you! Is it because of me? I truly love you!” Ethan roared, trying to force a confession of love into a financial negotiation. “I don’t love you. And as for her…” I pointed at Chloe. “She broke the glass; she pays the tab. I’m not her mom, and I don’t clean up other people’s messes.” Ethan looked devastated, as if my refusal to be financially exploited was a moral failing. “You are just like everyone else. You look down on people who come from my background.” He grabbed Chloe’s arm to leave, but before walking away, he threw a parting shot at me. “Scarlett Hayes, I will prove to you that I love you. Even if you reject me now, I will never give up!” And that was it. The entire university had its newest campus legend: the tormented, dedicated, lovesick hero from the engineering program. And me? I was the greedy, cold-hearted villainess who used her money to crush a noble woman. Everyone said he loved me “into the grave.” He worked three months to buy me a cheap necklace. “I know you usually wear expensive things, but when I get rich, I’ll buy you the best.” His friends were there, chanting. “Say yes! Say yes!” “Scarlett, do you know what Ethan went through for this necklace? Where will you find a man this devoted?” I was so furious I almost laughed. They wanted a show? Fine. I’ll give them a show. Since they already labeled me as an arrogant bitch, I’d play the part. He liked moral grandstanding in public? I’d like to destroy him. I snatched the cheap chain from his hand and slammed it on the ground, grinding my heel into it. “I said I don’t want it! Are you deaf?” “This thing? My dog wouldn’t wear it. She’d get a rash.” Ethan’s face went corpse-white, as if I’d physically slapped him. The cheering instantly died. The proudest “Village Hope” had never been humiliated like this. But he was persistent. The Martyr narrative was strong with this one. A few days later, he brought a Tupperware container to my dorm. “Scarlett, I know you like expensive food. This is a meal I made for you by myself.” In the summer heat, he deliberately showed his hands—they were covered in fresh blisters. I gave a cold laugh and kicked the container into a nearby trash bin. “What trash are you bringing to me now?” “Unless the ingredients were flown in on a private jet, I’m not eating it.” Chloe popped up instantly. “Can’t you see the burns on his hands? He’s never done dishes at home!” I feigned shock, covering my mouth. “Wow, such a huge sacrifice. He definitely deserves a medal. Should I call the president?” Then my face fall. “Now, how is that my problem?” The real turning point came in our year 3. I was leaving campus when a middle-aged woman grabbed me. She looked me up and down. “You must be Scarlett Hayes? Ethan’s girl? You’re not bad looking, but you dress a little loose. Not proper.” “Once you marry into our family, you’ll need to be a decent wife. Ethan spoils you, but don’t push it.” “Little Chloe told me how wasteful you are. Your family is rich, but so what? You’ll be Ethan’s wife, and his money is yours.” “Oh, where is Ethan? I brought my home-made pickles. This one’s half-finished, but it’s still my wish.” She shoved a greasy, half-full jar of cloudy, home-made pickles into my hands. She kept the other, pristine jar—packed full of pickles — clutched tightly to her chest. I stared at the jar, then up to the clear sky. I zoned out for a while and waved to my driver. “Get this person away from me.” My driver, a former Marine, gently but firmly moved the woman aside. Ethan’s mother started screaming, throwing a fit. “What are you doing? Who is this man? You’re cheating on my son with a thug!” “I’m getting my son! He will break up with you!” Ethan rushed over. Seeing the scene, he immediately went to shield his mother, his face a mask of wounded outrage. “Scarlett, how could you treat my mother like this?” Chloe, sensing her moment, fanned the flames. “Mrs. Bell, see? She doesn’t respect you at all.” Ethan’s mother was practically hopping mad. “Break up! You must break up! Unless she gets on her knees and apologizes to me, she’ll never set foot in a Bell home!” I was beyond done. “Did my being your ‘girlfriend’ ever pass by me for approval?” Ethan stiffened. He looked at me, a silent, pleading expression in his eyes. Don’t embarrass me, Scarlett. Don’t ruin the vibe. His mother, taking my silence for submission, leaned in. “What? Cat got your tongue?” I pulled out my phone and dialed the non-emergency police line. Then I answered her calmly. “Ma’am, you have just publicly slandered and physically accosted me. I have the right to press charges.” “And you can tell your son to stay away from me. If he harasses me again, I’d be happy to see your whole family behind bars.” Chloe gasped. Ethan’s mother was frozen, gaping. I got into the car, leaving them in the chaos. In the rearview mirror, Ethan chased the car for a few steps, roaring my name. “Scarlett Hayes! Aren’t you afraid that one day, karma will get you, and you’ll end up poor like me?!” As he cursed. Five years after graduation. He clawed his way up and became the new tech darling. And me? I was the one attending the gala who casually steadied a tray for a hurried waiter—the CEO of a financial empire. 2 Ethan’s face was a study in toxic, triumphant smugness, like he’d just won the lottery and couldn’t wait to spend it all on revenge. He pulled a business card from his jacket pocket, pinching it between two fingers, and offered it to me like a handout to a beggar. “Take it. Ascend Tech. I’m the CEO now. For old times’ sake, if you’re truly desperate, I can give you a janitorial position.” He paused, a cruel smirk twisting his mouth. “Specifically, cleaning the men’s restroom. How about that? Since you were so high-and-mighty, it’s time you experienced how the other half lives.” Chloe dissolved into peals of fake laughter. “Oh, Ethan! Scarlett is so capable, I’m sure she’ll make that restroom sparkle!”

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The intern my husband hired for Procurement walked in and immediately started telling me how to do my job. “You’ve been bleeding the company dry! Don’t you know how to use AcquiPay?” She tapped her phone, pulling up a discount app — Temu — and flaunting her ridiculous order history from the previous month. I froze, speechless. “Seriously? You’re such a relic, you don’t even know this?” she scoffed. “If I were the Procurement Manager, this company would have gone public years ago!” I swallowed my annoyance, determined not to engage with her nonsensical bravado. “Drew needs help organizing the old invoices. Go see him—” Before I could finish, Skylar Finch slammed her palm flat on my desk. “I’m not here to be a glorified file clerk! I’m here to save this company!” She gave me a dismissive once-over. “Someone like you, who doesn’t even understand basic corporate financing like AcquiPay, should just wait to be replaced by someone who does.” I calm down, slow my breath. Fine, I thought. In that case, let’s make your next paycheck on AcquiPay too. 1 I immediately reached for my phone to call my husband, Ethan Hayes. Where on earth did he find this… creature? The phone rang and rang, but went unanswered. Just then, the office door burst open. Skylar strutted in, clutching two huge plastic bags overflowing with junk food. The plastic rustled loudly. “Come on, everyone, dig in!” she yelled, her mouth full of chips, showering the floor with crumbs. She tossed the bags onto people’s desks. “My treat! You can’t survive a corporate grind without a sugar rush.” The other colleagues swarmed her, grabbing handfuls of snacks and showering her with praise. “Skylar really knows how to play the game!” “She’s got people skills, that one!” Skylar puffed up her chest, brushing the crumbs off her hands with a smug look. “Oh, this? It was nothing. I used AcquiPay for all of it. Didn’t spend a single cent today!” I was about to step out and shut down the unprofessional noise when my phone vibrated. The screen lit up with a notification from the corporate-adjacent market downstairs. [AcquiPay Notification: Your Use First, Pay Later feature was activated this morning. Order total of $999.00 due next month.] The rustle of the plastic bags of chips and the colleagues’ raucous laughter felt miles away, yet Skylar’s triumphant voice was gratingly loud. “It’s the smartest way to stock up! They only deduct the money next month!” I stared at the unfamiliar payment record on the screen, my fingers suddenly cold. I pushed the door open and walked out of the office. The laughter died instantly. Every person in the room froze. Skylar was mid-toss, trying to get the last bag of Doritos to Drew. She turned to me and rolled her eyes for the entire office to see. “Oh, looking for a snack now, are we?” she sneered, her voice shrill. “No way. You don’t get any of mine.” She deliberately shook the empty plastic bag at me—Hssshhh!—the sound echoing in the silence. “Some relics around here,” she announced to the room, “don’t even know what AcquiPay is. Do they really deserve to eat my stuff?” I held up my phone, the glowing screen pointed directly at her. “The $999 payment at the supermarket downstairs. Was that on my account?” 2 Skylar snatched the phone out of my hand, her eyes lighting up instantly when she saw the screen. “Aha! You figured it out!” She shook her head with a triumphant air. “See? Now you know how to use modern tech!” She shoved the phone back into my chest, a look of righteous indignation on her face. “You should be thanking me for setting it up for you!” A few coworkers couldn’t help but chuckle. “It’s so convenient, the payment is only next month,” she said, patting my shoulder like a condescending therapist. “Think of this $999 as a little lesson fee. The dinosaurs have to evolve, after all!” With another plastic hssshhh, she ripped open a bag of cookies, crunching loudly. I felt a surge of cold fury. I slapped the bag of cookies out of her hand, sending them scattering across the floor. “What the hell did you do?!” Skylar shrieked, grabbing a handful of chips from the desk and throwing them straight at my face. “You psycho! You’re wasting food!” A shower of potato chip flakes stuck to my cheek. She was yelling now. “The market only lets employees use the corporate feature! I’m just an intern, so I didn’t have the authority. I just used your name—” She grabbed her own phone, pulling up a screenshot of my pending payment. “The market manager knows you. I had him link the bill to your profile, AcquiPay style. You’re definitely paying that lesson fee!” I grabbed her wrist. “You will pay that money back immediately! And I’m shutting that ridiculous feature down right now!” Skylar ripped her arm free, her voice hitting a high pitch. “Ungrateful! I teach you modern finance, and you want to punish me for it?” Her greasy hand grabbed the lapel of my jacket. “It’s your own fault the company is going to phase you out! Why are you so desperate to pay a bill that isn’t due until next month?” My colleagues were trying to hide their snickers. This fueled her. “I boosted your spending power! You should be bowing to me!” I hauled her toward the door, yelling over the chaos, “You’re fired! Get out!” SMACK! The sound was sharp and shockingly loud. I felt the sting on my cheek before the realization hit me—she’d just slapped me. I stood there, stunned, the fiery pain spreading across my face. She shoved me hard, her voice ragged and loud. “Everyone in this company knows you’re the most useless person in Procurement! You need me to teach you basic tech!” I noticed a few colleagues were discreetly holding up their phones, recording. “What are you looking at?” She stepped closer, spittle landing on my face. “Mr. Hayes personally brought me in! Who are you to fire me?” 3 Skylar raised her chin, radiating confidence. “Go on, try to get Mr. Hayes to fire me. Let’s see who he listens to—you or me!” She gave me a final vicious push, grabbed the pile of snacks off the desk. “Honestly, throwing pearls before swine! I wouldn’t even give this to you to feed the dogs!” Shaking with rage, I pulled out my phone and called to Ethan. Let’s see if I can get rid of you today. The phone rang endlessly. No answer. The collective gaze of my colleagues was a physical weight, pinning me in place. The continuous busy signal felt like a series of slow-motion slaps across my face. I redialed. Still no answer. The third time, the phone was just with cold, robotic beeps. Skylar let out a derisive snort and started cracking cashew nuts, the sound loud and obnoxious. “Trying to hire an actor? Get a professional one,” she drawled, waving her phone, the screen blindingly bright. “What’s the point of calling someone who won’t take the call?” She deliberately turned her phone’s volume to max, then slowly traced a number on the screen. “Watch this,” she said, dragging out the words, then thrusting the phone right into my face. “This is Mr. Hayes’ private line.” I knew the number intimately. It was, undeniably, Ethan’s private number. She tapped the screen and hit speakerphone. Beep… Beep… The line was picked up after just two rings. Ethan’s gentle voice floated out of the speaker: “Skylar, what’s going on?” The office instantly went silent. You could hear everyone’s ragged breathing. Skylar threw me a look of pure, unadulterated malice, then her voice turned sickeningly sweet. “Ethan… Mr. Hayes, darling. Someone’s trying to fire me!” She paused deliberately, waiting for my reaction. I stared at the phone, rigid with shock. A two-second silence followed. “Who?” 4 Skylar immediately switched to a shaky, tearful voice, but her finger was pointing triumphantly at me. “It’s that older employee in Procurement! I saw she didn’t understand AcquiPay, so I tried to kindly show her, and she didn’t just refuse—she called me a busybody!” She sniffled dramatically, her voice trembling. “I told her this could help the company’s cash flow, and she actually said… she said it was just a cheap trick and immediately threatened to fire me!” I lunged for the phone, but she deftly dodged my hand. “Even worse, she tried to hit me just now!” Skylar embellished, her voice reaching a dramatic crescendo. “Mr. Hayes, I came here wanting to do meaningful work. I never expected to face this kind of bullying…” Ethan’s voice immediately softened. “Skylar, you’re a high-level grad. Don’t pay any mind to that old gen.” He paused, then his tone turned ice-cold. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get justice.” “I’m wrapping up this meeting and coming over right now.” His voice suddenly rose, sharp and commanding. “This is a perfect opportunity to finally root out the parasites in this company.” I threw myself toward her to grab the phone. “Ethan Hayes! You absolutely will—” Skylar smoothly cut me off, hanging up the line with a sharp, final click. She slid the phone into her pocket, then pointed a finger at my face. “Such an old Karen. Trying to steal my phone?” She rushed at me, shoving me hard with both hands. I was caught off guard, stumbling backward. My lower back slammed into the sharp corner of the office desk. The jolt of pain was blinding, and I collapsed heavily onto the floor. Before I could even try to get up, Skylar’s high heel came down hard, grinding onto my outstretched fingers. A sharp cry of pain escaped me, but she didn’t flinch. She twisted her foot, applying more pressure. “Everyone look!” she yelled, surveying the silent room. “This company is being dragged down by useless parasites like this one!” I curled up on the ground, whimpering from the agony. She stared down at me, a cold sneer twisting her lips. “Mr. Hayes is right. It’s high time we clear you out.” 5 My colleagues didn’t know the true nature of my relationship with Ethan, but seeing Skylar’s close with him on the phone, they instantly made their choice. They rushed forward, a wave of venom. “Skylar’s right!” Brenda was the first, pointing her finger right at my nose. “Taking up postition and doing nothing! You should have been gone years ago!” “Exactly!” Drew, the younger colleague, crossed his arms and sneered. “She doesn’t even understand AcquiPay! This company is stalled because of old deadwood like her!” “Skylar is a high-level grad! Mr. Hayes personally recruited her! Who are you to challenge her?” “She deserves to be hit!” “Walking around here with that attitude like the company is your personal property!” The insults and accusations were a torrent, practically drowning me. Skylar crossed her arms, a look of complete satisfaction on her face. She spat a disgusted syllable near me. “Hear that, old parasite?” “Start from today, Procurement is getting a massive overhaul under my direction!” Skylar grabbed the stack files of current purchase orders off the desk. “What is this trash?” Her sharp eyes scanned the list, her mouth twisting into a sneer. “You’re trying to save a few pennies by sacrificing the company’s image?” She hurled the entire stack of papers right at my face. The sharp edge of the ream cut my cheekbone, stinging me. “Only instant coffee? No fancy fruits, not even decent snacks for clients?” Her finger practically poked my nose. “We entertain clients with this garbage? No wonder this company isn’t growing!” I clutched my burning cheek as she stomped her foot down on the scattered files. “Starting now, make every single item tripled” she announced to the room. “First, we stock the warehouse up to the ceiling!” “And if the money runs out, we use AcquiPay for everything!” She slammed her hand on the desk. “We pay for the goods after we’ve sold them! That’s called capital management!” I couldn’t take it anymore. I scrambled up from the floor. “You’re out of your mind!” I yelled, pointing a trembling finger at her. “AcquiPay? Capital management? That’s utter bullshit!”

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My voice, naturally high and soft—what everyone called a “baby voice”—was apparently a crime. The campus queen, Delilah, didn’t just call it “fake” or “putting on an act”; she weaponized it, using it to freeze me out. I ran to Lucas, my best friend since kindergarten, crying until my face was blotchy. He didn’t rush to my side. He simply lifted his chin, glanced past me toward Delilah, and the distance between us stretched out, cold and immediate. “Delilah isn’t wrong, Avery,” he said, his voice flat. “Maybe you should stop asking me out for a while.” I froze, staring at him, the tears instantly drying on my cheeks in disbelief. Later. Backstage at the All-Campus Vocal Showcase, the guy everyone called the “Campus King of Chaos,” Jax, cornered me. By the time I could breathe, my carefully applied stage makeup was smeared with tears from a frantic, punishing kiss. That’s when Lucas hammered the door open. His eyes were pure crimson rage. He launched himself across the room, his fist driving toward the boy holding me: “Get your damn hands off her!” 1 I walked into our large History of American Culture lecture and slid into the empty seat next to Lucas. Before I could even open my notebook, a tall, striking girl holding a stack of books approached. She wore a pristine pleated skirt. She stopped in front of me, glanced at Lucas, then gave me a soft, wounded look. “Excuse me, but this is my seat.” I frowned. “It’s a public lecture, seats are first-come, first-served. There’s an empty spot at the back row.” A light breeze from the vent stirred her hair. She bit her lip, her eyes suddenly welling up. She turned to Lucas. “Lucas…” The classic distressed damsel move. I’d seen it a million times. I ignored her, pulling my books and laptop out of my bag. Not only was Lucas and I practically attached at the hip since kindergarten, but he had always, always backed me up. He had never once crossed me for anyone else. Even if I were a stranger, why should I be forced to move for someone who came late? In college, seating rules were simple: Possession is nine-tenths of the law. But then, a long, lean hand tapped sharply on my desk. I looked over. Lucas was giving me a mildly exasperated, almost apologetic half-smile. “This is the spot I saved for Delilah, Ave. You should probably move.” The shock was physical. I stared at him. In a petty fit of defiance, I upended my backpack, scattering my books and pens across the desktop. “I got here first! I’m staying put right here.” Delilah’s voice immediately cracked with a sob. “Just because you have that voice, Avery, and can turn on the coy act, doesn’t mean you can steal someone’s spot and be a bully, does it?” The all people in the entire lecture room went silent under her accusation. All eyes, including the professor’s, swiveled toward our corner. 2 Delilah was the campus’s reigning beauty queen—the “angelic” type, all white skin and delicate, pointy features. When she looked upset, she truly resembled a distressed fawn. Suddenly, a chorus of male voices from the crowd began to protect her. “Avery, that’s too much. Are you just picking on the easier target?” “This is why I hate that childhood-friend stuff. They use that history to team up and intimidate people.” “Lucas seems fine, he’s usually a gentle guy, but his childhood friend… seriously, that voice is so affected. Does she actually think pretending to be cute makes everyone side with her?” The noise level was too high. Our Professor, Dr. Hill, a man known for his sharp patience, walked down from the podium, his expression cold. “What’s going on here? We’re about to start class.” A student chimed in instantly. “Professor, Avery here tried to steal Delilah’s reserved seat and is being totally unreasonable about it!” I opened my mouth to explain, but Dr. Hill’s steely gaze cut me short. He looked to Lucas. “Is that true?” Lucas was the class representative, always level-headed. The Professor was right to trust his version of events. I turned to Lucas, pleading silently with my eyes for him to set the record straight. He barely glanced at me. Then, he simply nodded. “Avery didn’t want to sit near Jax, Professor. She took Delilah’s spot.” I shot up out of my seat. “That is a lie!” “Enough! Seats aren’t assigned in this class, and there’s no such thing as choosing who you want to sit with. Young lady, if you want a good spot, come early next time. Class is starting immediately. Sit in the back or step outside!” The professor slammed his hand on the podium, sending me a look of profound disappointment. “Avery, you’re usually so engaged in class. I didn’t expect this kind of petty behavior from you.” I genuinely loved this course, American History. I always came early, pre-read the chapters, and fought for every chance to contribute. Being misunderstood by a professor I admired felt like a betrayal twice over. As he walked away, I wanted to charge up there, he can check the surveillance feed in need. But all the words caught in my throat, swallowed whole by the sharp, ringing sound of the tardy bell. I sank back down, defeated. 3 The only empty seat was in the very back row, next to a guy who had his face covered with a denim jacket. Jax, the campus legend. The hardest person to cross on campus. Rumor had it his family had just donated an entire wing to the university library, and the time he’d gotten into a fight with a tutor, the President had practically walked him out of the office personally. I sat down tentatively, trying to be silent, terrified of waking him. My phone, resting on the desk, suddenly vibrated twice. I clamped my hand down on it. Jax lifted his head from under the jacket. His narrow, dark eyes, sharp as a predator’s, were staring coldly at me. A chill ran down my spine. I immediately offered a submissive whisper. “S-sorry.” His gaze remained fixed on my face. Just as I braced myself to be yelled at, Jax simply dropped his head back down, pulling the jacket over his face again. I exhaled sharply. I checked my phone. Several unread texts. Lucas: [Ave, I didn’t mean to side with Delilah back there.] [The thing is, she failed her last pop quiz, and she’s already used up all her participation points. If the Professor gets a bad impression of her now, she’ll definitely fail the class.] [Promise me you won’t go talk to the Professor after class? I’ll buy you the latest Pop Collectible Figure—the limited drop just happened, you’ve been dying for one, right?] [Don’t be mad at me, okay?] [Animated GIF: Calming an upset kitten] What struck me as cruelly ironic was Lucas’s profile picture: a simple stick-figure drawing of two cats—one blue, one pink, one large, one small. I had drawn them when I was ten and first learning to sketch. He had used it as his profile picture for nine years without fail. And now, using that profile picture, he was asking me to forgive him for letting another girl publicly humiliate me. My pencil tip snapped under the pressure of my grip. I took a deep, shaky breath and looked out the window. The sky outside was an angry smear of blood-red sunset, swallowing the last blue light. How could he ask me not to be angry, Lucas? How could anyone not be angry after that kind of public betrayal? 4 “Stop the waterworks. It’s a bad look.” The cold, low voice from beside me startled me. I quickly wiped my face, glaring at Jax. He was propped up now, messy dark hair falling lazily over his forehead, his button-down shirt worn carelessly unbuttoned at the neck. The sunset streamed through the window, tracing the sharp curve of his jaw and neck, hitting the desktop like a piece of sweet, golden amber. Honestly. Ignoring the whole terrifying reputation thing, Jax was impossibly good-looking. I must have been staring, because I quickly forced my expression back into tense neutrality, remembering his capacity for violence. “Tch. Looks like a scared kitten.” Jax scoffed dismissively.

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The backlash hit my inbox thirty minutes after I turned down the request to cover the New Year’s shift. I was scrolling through my work feed when I saw it: an anonymous post titled, “Are Pregnant Coworkers Entitled to Special Treatment?” The outrage was immediate. The comments were a firestorm of judgment and self-righteousness. What the thread failed to mention, of course, was that I hadn’t taken a federal holiday off in nearly a year. I was the one who was constantly covering for everyone else. Tara had framed it perfectly—a desperate appeal to the court of public opinion, painting herself as the victim while leading strangers to openly harass me and, sickeningly, even curse my unborn child. I watched the venom spread with a cold, clear focus. So, Tara wanted the New Year’s shift covered? Fine. No problem, then the whole department should come and work with me together. 1 The holiday season was upon us, and the shift schedule was being finalized. Customer service was twenty-four-seven, which meant two people always had to be on the clock, even on federal holidays. It was the company’s way of ensuring we hit those quarterly numbers, and for the overtime pay and compensatory days off, most of us tolerated it. Except for Tara. She was always the exception. The moment her name appeared on the draft schedule for New Year’s Day, she was at my desk, all false humility and cloying smiles. “Chloe, honey, I hate to ask this of you, but…” It was a routine. We had done this dance so many times I didn’t even need to hear the rest of the sentence. She needed me to take her shift. But this time, I wasn’t playing along. I kept my eyes fixed on my monitor, pointing to a flight search page with a sigh. “Ugh, look at these prices. A simple trip home is costing a fortune this year.” Tara’s eyes went wide. “You’re traveling for New Year’s?” I feigned innocence, flashing a bright, fake smile. “I haven’t been back to see my parents in ages. Figured I’d take advantage of the holiday weekend.” “Oh, no, you absolutely can’t,” she blurted out, her saccharine tone immediately dropping. She caught herself, pivoting back to her sickly-sweet voice. “What I mean is, you’re pregnant, Chloe. You should be thinking about the baby. Your hometown will still be there in February, but you shouldn’t be on a plane right now.” When I didn’t argue, she took it as permission to move in for the kill. “Look, you’re not going anywhere, so why don’t you just stay here and cover my shift? My son is finally done with chemo and in remission. School is out for winter break, and this is our only chance to take him somewhere special.” A memory flashed: Tara’s son had been diagnosed with leukemia last year. I had felt genuine pity, not only agreeing to cover her shifts for months but also driving to the clinic to donate blood. It had felt like the right thing to do. It meant I’d missed every major holiday with my own family, but I had genuinely believed I was helping a struggling mother. Now, that same good deed felt like an open invitation for her to exploit me. Her son was healthy, yet she still wanted to cash in on my past kindness. It was maddening. “My tickets are booked, Tara,” I said, my voice ice-cold. “The cancellation fee is significant. Besides, your son is out for the whole winter break. You can go any day.” The smile slipped from her face, replaced by a rigid mask of entitlement. “Chloe, it’s the only time my husband has off. We rarely get a chance to take a family trip. Just help me out.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping into a patronizing stage whisper. “And honestly, is a cancellation fee more important than the safety of your child?” I turned back to my screen, ending the conversation with a line so cruel it almost surprised me. “If I can’t handle a domestic flight, I’m not fit to raise him. Only the strong survive in this world, Tara.” She stood there, speechless, before turning and stalking back to her cube, her face a thundercloud. 2 I thought that was the end of it, a minor clash resolved. I should have known better. It was during my late-morning coffee break that I saw the initial post. At first, I didn’t recognize the user. It was the comments section that gave her away. There, in a thread, was a blurry photo of the back of my head—and the distinct profile of my pregnant belly. The “entitled pregnant coworker” she was dragging through the mud was me. Tara had posted a litany of my fabricated “atrocities,” wrapping it all in a cloak of self-pity and motherhood. “I tried to be the bigger person and cover for her, even with my son only recently recovering from leukemia, but she demanded I cover her shift…” Followed by a string of oversized, weeping emojis. The thread exploded. Thousands of comments poured in, most of them viciously aimed at me. “Who let this little princess out? Didn’t think to consult her coworkers when she was getting knocked up, but now wants them to pay the price?” “One bad apple spoils the bunch. These self-centered jerks are why office culture is so toxic.” “Don’t let her walk all over you, Tara. People like this think niceness means weakness.” The sight of the vile comments sent a white-hot spike of rage straight to my head. I was about to storm over to her desk when Diane, our senior rep, materialized by my side. “Sweetie, Tara has been through a lot,” Diane said, placing a hand on my arm. Her eyes were warm, but her words were the sharp blade of misplaced concern. “Just be a good sport and swap with her. It’s the holiday spirit, right?” I stared at her, stunned. Diane, a woman I had always respected, was taking Tara’s side, sacrificing my peace for Tara’s convenience. It was easy for her to play the magnanimous veteran; she was taking the full week off. Tara, meanwhile, was smiling a smug, triumphant smile at her desk. “Diane has been your mentor since you started, Chloe,” Tara chirped, sensing victory. “She’s stuck up for you countless times. You wouldn’t throw her advice back in her face, would you?” My expression hardened. “I remember everything Diane taught me, and I appreciate her guidance. But this isn’t about loyalty. It’s about a work schedule.” Tara scoffed. “A pretty sentiment from someone who won’t even grant a small favor to her mentor. If you won’t do this, you certainly won’t be around when Diane really needs a favor later on.” The moral blackmail was so blatant it made my stomach turn. Before I could fire back, Brad, the department manager, came stomping in, a new clipboard clutched in his hand. “Last minute change!” he announced, his face tight with annoyance. “This is the final roster. No more modifications, understood?” He slammed the paper down on my desk. I picked it up, and my stomach plummeted. CHLOE was listed for the New Year’s Day shift. I frowned, my tone edged with impatience. “Brad, Tara was scheduled for that. Why am I on this list?” He scowled, his face darkening. “Wasn’t it you who agreed to swap with Tara? I went to bat for you two, pushing this through with HR, and I got a major dressing-down from above! Do you know how much paperwork that takes?” Tara’s smirk deepened. The confirmation I needed. “I never agreed to swap,” I explained slowly, trying to contain the fury thrumming in my veins. “My flights are booked. I cannot work that day.” Brad wasn’t hearing it. He threw his hands up, scattering documents on the floor. “I don’t care! You people treat this office like your personal playground. This is the final schedule. Anyone who doesn’t show up on New Year’s Day is marked as a no-call, no-show and will be terminated immediately.” I couldn’t believe his hypocrisy. Brad was a manager who was routinely saved by me when his quarterlies looked shaky. Last year, when he was in a desperate situation with a bad lease, I had housed him for a month, free of charge, as he sorted out his mess. Now, he was sacrificing me to cover his own managerial mistake, not even bothering to verify the story. Tara gave me a superior, pitying look before settling back at her desk, perfectly content. “Chloe, we all know the pregnancy hormones are spiking your temper,” she said, loud enough for the department to hear. “But you shouldn’t take it out on the rest of us. The company pays us well, and we have to respect their scheduling decisions.” Then, with perfect theater, she pulled out her phone and called her family. “Sweetheart? You know how much you wanted to see the National Mall? Well, guess what we’re doing for New Year’s!” The feeling in my chest was no longer rage. It was a cold, desolate clarity. I was too soft. I let them see me as a mark. 3 Tara didn’t stay quiet. Why would she? She had won a small battle and, true to form, immediately ran back online to gloat to her cheering section. The congratulations rolled in immediately. But then, a new conversation began. “She got what she wanted, but don’t let her off the hook. People like this need a real lesson.” “Right. She thinks the world orbits her belly. She’ll just do it again next time.” A comment buried in the thread caught my eye, and a knot of dread formed in my throat. “I recognize this woman. She works on the floor above us.” “She’s huge, but I’ve never once seen a husband or boyfriend pick her up. It’s probably a textbook single mom situation.” In less than two minutes, the thread blew up with speculation. “That far along and no baby daddy in sight? She probably doesn’t even know who the father is.” “Explains the entitlement. Probably having sex with a senior exec for ‘special treatment.’ Gross.” The slut-shaming and personal attacks were so vile they made my stomach clench. I tried to post a rebuttal, but it was immediately dismissed as a paid attempt to “wash the floor.” Then, Diane’s voice chirped from behind me. “Chloe, sweetie, your bump is getting so big. Why doesn’t your husband ever come get you after work?” I knew immediately she had read the post. Whatever answer I gave, Tara would spin it as a lie. To speak was to give them more ammunition. I stood up and walked straight out of the office. “Just had a coworker ask her. Looks like the rumors are true. She couldn’t even answer the question.” Tara’s latest comment was now pinned to the top of the thread. It was Diane’s betrayal that stung the most. She wasn’t just not helping me—she was actively aiding my tormentor. I had respected her, seen her as a mentor, and showered her with gifts that cost more than her monthly car payment. And for what? For her to join the digital mob? I had been a fool. I walked to the nearest coffee shop, canceled my airline tickets, and messaged Declan about the change of plans. He called me immediately. “The folks are expecting us. They’ll be crushed. Should I call your manager and sort this out—” “No,” I interrupted, cutting him off with a firm finality. “Don’t. If I don’t handle these venomous people myself, I won’t be able to live with it. I need to finish this.” 4 When I returned to the office, Tara and Diane were huddled together, gleefully comparing photos of travel outfits. “Oh, the white puffer is so cute, Tara!” “I know, but the black one is better for traveling. It hides the grime.” The laughter died the second I entered the room. Diane looked briefly embarrassed. “Chloe, hey,” she stammered. “Look, working the holiday isn’t so bad. It’s a good way to show initiative when you’re still young.” Tara jumped in, oozing false concern. “Diane is right. It’s for your own good. It’s icy outside this time of year. What if you slipped and fell? We’re just looking out for the baby’s safety.” I stared at her. A mother who had begged for her own child’s life was now wishing harm on mine. It was a depth of malice I hadn’t expected. My fists clenched. “Working New Year’s is a minor inconvenience,” I ground out, my voice low and dangerous. “But a soul that rotten is a lost cause.” Tara merely tilted her head back, a smug, untouchable expression on her face. “You can keep talking, Chloe. That’s all you’ve got left.” At that precise moment, Brad rushed in, his face serious. The noise in the office died immediately. Tara, convinced she was safe, jumped to the front. “Manager Brad! Happy almost-New Year’s!” Brad ignored the cheap pleasantry, holding up a printout. “New directive from the C-suite. The entire Customer Success department will be on mandatory, all-hands overtime for the duration of the New Year’s weekend. Everyone. We’ll arrange comp time after the holiday.” The announcement landed like a bucket of ice water on Tara’s head. Her smug smile froze mid-stretch. “W-why?” she squeaked, the sound barely a whisper. Brad glared at her. “Since when do company decisions require a consultation with you, Tara?” “No, that’s not what I mean!” she rushed to explain, her voice rising in panic. “It’s just that our call volume is never that high during the holiday. We shouldn’t need a full staff.” “It’s because the call volume is low that we’re doing this,” Brad snapped, spittle flying. “You need to be proactive. If every employee operated like you, we’d all be out of a job by spring. You will work. You will find projects. We need to be seen as indispensable.” The office was silent. Tara, desperate, whispered, “But… but I just booked tickets to back home…” Brad’s stare was a warning. “Tara, if you’re so committed to your vacation, no one is stopping you. Just make sure to drop your letter of resignation on my desk on your way out.” The subtext was clear: Push this and you’re fired. Tara’s face went white. She collapsed into her chair, silent and defeated. “I did all that work,” she murmured, “and I still have to work?” Diane, quick to calculate the changing tides, rounded on her immediately. “You have the nerve to complain? This is all your fault! Now the entire department is paying for your selfish, back-stabbing drama!” 5 Diane was right. Tara was the reason. But she only had half the story. The all-hands order wasn’t Brad’s idea. It was mine. I knew our department was a constant target for corporate cost-cutting. Declan had warned me about it. We dealt in high-end luxury products, and in a slowing economy, the budget axe was always hovering. Brad knew his job was always on the line. My proposal had solved all his problems at once. I had recently seen a viral video—a low-level customer service rep for a popular bread brand who used a clever, funny reference to a viral meme in a customer chat. The video blew up, driving an unprecedented surge in sales. Brad’s eyes had gleamed when I showed him the concept. “This is genius, Chloe. Write up a full strategy. Now.” “The plan is easy,” I replied, feigning hesitation. “But there’s a problem…” “Spit it out, I’ll handle it,” he said, desperate for a win. I leaned in. “Online trends are fleeting. If we want to capture the moment, we need to launch immediately. But New Year’s is next week, and we’re short-staffed.” Brad didn’t even think twice. “Short-staffed? That’s nothing compared to our quarterly goals! It’s New Year’s, not Christmas. I’ll just make the entire department work overtime.” I smiled internally. Tara wanted me to work the holiday? She was getting her wish, and then some. I would have the entire office to myself, watching them all squirm. Diane’s accusations made Tara’s face contort with fury. She shot up from her chair. “What are you talking about? It was management’s decision!” Diane folded her arms and sneered. “Was it? You set Chloe up to cover your shift, which forced Brad to scramble and change the schedule. He was so mad at the department’s instability he had to come down hard on all of us!” The rest of the team instantly saw the logic, their collective anger turning on the true culprit. “Tara, this is because of you!” “Chloe was nothing but helpful to you! She gave you everything you asked for, and you went and did this?” “I knew it. Honestly, it’s probably your bad karma that caused your son’s sickness in the first place.” The final insult was too much. But before the chaos could fully erupt, Brad returned, holding a stapled memo. “Attention, everyone,” he announced, voice clipped. “You will all adhere strictly to Chloe’s new marketing proposal. You will double last month’s performance by the end of this month. If we fail, all of this month’s performance bonuses will be withheld.” The words “all withheld” were a punch to the gut. Our base salaries were barely minimum wage; we all lived off the bonuses. Brad had just put a gun to everyone’s head. Tara, cornered, lashed out at Diane. “Don’t pin this on me! You were happy to take all my little gifts! You’re just as complicit!” Diane’s eyes darted around the room. She was flustered, her face pale. “You stop lying!” she shrieked, before snatching her bag and fleeing the scene. 6 The plan worked. Lowly as the tactic was, the marketing campaign was a massive success. Sales spiked, and Brad was practically giddy, the worry lines around his eyes softening. But in the rush to capitalize on the moment, we made a catastrophic mistake. The price of the newly listed product has been marked with an extra decimal point. A luxury serum priced at 599 was briefly listed for 59.90. It hung there for almost an hour, racking up thousands of orders before it was caught. The profits from the entire successful campaign vanished in a single, careless keystroke. Brad, apoplectic, slammed his hand on the table. “Who did this?! Own up, now!” Silence. Everyone exchanged terrified glances. “Fine. Don’t say anything,” he roared, already moving toward the door. “I’ll go drag it out of the tech department.” “Wait!” Tara suddenly shouted, leaping to her feet. Brad paused. He turned back, lifting his chin, waiting for her to speak. Tara carefully avoided my eyes, adopting a look of profound, reluctant integrity. “Brad, I know who did it. It was Chloe.” She pointed a thin, accusing finger straight at me. I was instantly the object of everyone’s scrutiny. “She’s lying,” I shot back, but Tara was already talking over me. “The new product price tag was supposed to be my job, but my computer crashed that morning. Chloe volunteered to cover it. Everyone here knows my system was down.” She glanced at Diane, soliciting support. Diane, squinting slightly as she recalled the day, nodded softly. “Tara’s computer was acting up. I remember that.” The others mumbled their agreement. I felt a cold rush of disbelief. It was a half-truth, but effective. Her computer had briefly crashed, but Tech Support fixed it hours later. Knowing her malice, I would have sooner set the building on fire than “volunteer” to help her. But everyone was too busy and too stressed to remember the specifics. They only remembered the drama. I knew, in that gut-wrenching moment, that she was the one who did it. The truly guilty person is often the first to point the finger. “It wasn’t me! Tara is lying!” Brad cut me off, his voice heavy with performative disappointment. “Chloe. I thought you were a hard worker. This is unbelievable negligence. Not only that, but you’re trying to pin a major, company-crippling error on a colleague.” He shook his head, relishing the moment of authority. “This is beyond my pay grade. I’m reporting this directly to the owner. Get ready for the termination notice.” He stomped out, leaving me speechless. He didn’t care about the truth; he just needed a fall guy. And I was the perfect, pregnant scapegoat. As he walked out, I caught Tara’s eye. A fleeting flicker of pure, unadulterated triumph crossed her face.

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I became the ‘Cool blood Mom’—the ultimate enabler my daughter always claimed she wanted—right after the car accident. She craved a sugary rush? I ordered her a Venti Caramel Macchiato every single day—full-sugar, extra whip, and enough ice to give her a brain freeze. She wanted to skip school? I called in sick for her, lying easily to the attendance office. Then, on her birthday, as she shoveled a slice of the custom Red Velvet cake I’d bought, I casually asked: “Willow, if Daddy and I decided to split up, who would you choose? Mom or Dad?” My daughter didn’t even look up from the frosting. “Dad, obviously.” She licked her fork clean, finally meeting my eyes. “I like Serena. If I’m with Dad, she can be my new mom.” A chilling silence dropped over the kitchen. Adam’s jaw tightened, and I saw his knee subtly bump Serena’s under the table—a hushed warning. Serena flinched, her soft features tightening. But I just smiled. It was a genuine, unrestrained smile. I reached out and gently wiped a smear of cream from the corner of Willow’s mouth. “Then I hope your wish comes true, sweetheart.” No one knew I had been given a second chance. I had woken up in the hospital, the metallic tang of dried blood in my mouth, the trauma of the past life burned away by the fresh horror of the present. In that first life, I had fought tooth and nail to keep Willow. And for my devotion, she was murdered by her own father. This time, I was leaving nothing behind. Especially not a serpent’s tooth like her. 1 “Clara, I feel like you’ve changed.” The sudden, cold observation sliced through the quiet hum of the dishwasher. I was standing at the stainless steel sink, rinsing the last of the expensive porcelain. I didn’t turn around. “Oh? Like what, Adam?” I replied, my voice flat. “Like… if Willow had said she wanted a new mother a month ago, you would have blown up.” His voice was low, careful—the way men speak when they’re fishing for a fight, not an answer. When I kept my back to him, he plunged ahead. “And you’ve become too lax with her. The doctors were very clear she needs to monitor her sugar intake. You’re giving her those crazy, high-sugar coffee drinks every day. That cake was half-a-pound of sugar.” He paused, his tone hardening into accusation. “Her teacher called me. She hasn’t turned in homework all week. You aren’t even checking on her assignments…” I picked up the final glass bowl. The brittle clink as I set it on the rack cut him off. “Isn’t this what she wanted?” I asked, shrugging, and tilted my head toward the living room. My ‘best friend,’ Serena Wells, was carefully peeling a ripe mango for Willow—a fruit I’d explicitly banned from our house due to the sugar content. Willow was curled into her side, giggling and petting Serena’s arm. They looked like the perfect, effortless mother-daughter pair. “You two always complained I was too strict,” I said, drying my hands with a crisp linen towel. “That I wasn’t as gentle or understanding as Serena. So, naturally, I’m taking notes.” Adam’s expression froze. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, a thousand unspoken arguments trapped behind his teeth. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick with manufactured outrage. “Clara, Serena is your friend. You brought her into our lives. Can you stop with the dramatics? Stop being so insecure.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. “The girl doesn’t connect with you. Instead of poisoning her body, maybe look at why your own daughter prefers the company of others. It’s your fault, not Serena’s.” His words were razor wire twisting in my chest, a familiar pain. Only the people closest to you know exactly where to strike for the deepest wound. But my heart was already a mass of scar tissue. It couldn’t ache anymore. In the past life, this was Adam’s specialty—Gaslighting 101. He told me the distance between Willow and me was because of my rigidity, my inability to be soft, while Serena was the epitome of warmth. So I kept calling her. Every cold war, every family vacation, Serena was there, the “buffer.” I even allowed Willow to call her ‘Mom’ on occasion and use my first name instead of ‘Mother.’ I bit down on the memory. When Willow was sitting for her college entrance exams, stressed and frantic, I was sitting outside in the sweltering heat, waiting for her. Adam, meanwhile, was sweating through the sheets with my best friend. When I found out, I swallowed the bile and the blood. I didn’t say a word, terrified that the scandal would derail Willow’s future. When I finally demanded the divorce, I walked away with nothing but the custody papers for my daughter. I built an entire life from scratch—a successful clothing design studio, long days, zero sleep—all to send Willow to an elite college. And then she was dead. Adam had plunged a knife into her neck. It was only then, as I collapsed over her body, that I learned the rest of the awful truth. Even after the divorce, Willow had secretly been running money and favors to Adam and Serena. When my business flourished, and theirs crashed, Adam’s jealousy turned lethal. I was weeping, howling over the body of my child, and he was laughing hysterically. “I wanted you to feel what it’s like to lose everything,” he cackled. “You think Willow didn’t know I was cheating? She covered for us! She was the one who kept making up excuses to bring Serena over. Give her a few more cakes, let her skip a few classes, and the little brat treated Serena like her real mother. Just as stupid as you are.” My vision grayed. A sharp, unbearable pain ripped through my chest. A silent heart attack. I fell into the darkness, but the truth was finally, blindingly clear. The child I sacrificed everything for was an ungrateful leech. And the love she craved was just cheap, effortless indulgence. A polite knock on the door pulled me back to the present. Willow stood there, holding Serena’s hand, a rehearsed pout on her face. “Mom, I want Aunt Serena to go to the Parent-Teacher Conference tomorrow.” Her eyes, Adam’s eyes, were narrowed in practiced manipulation. “You’re too scary. My friends are afraid of you when you come to school. They won’t come over anymore.” Adam frowned slightly, his face a mask of ‘good father’ disappointment. “Willow, your mother’s discipline is for your own good.” But he turned to me, his gaze testing the waters. “But honey, she has a point. Willow’s social life is important.” I cut him off. “You two go. I have a meeting anyway. I wasn’t planning on attending.” They both froze, caught off guard by my immediate, total surrender. Serena immediately draped an arm over my shoulder, a saccharine smile on her face. “Don’t be mad, Clara. You’re Willow’s only mother. I’m just… running errands for you.” But later that week, a video popped up in the school administrator’s private feed—a quick post from the PTC. In the video, Willow was beaming, holding hands with Adam on her left and Serena on her right, calling them “the best parents ever.” The post vanished almost instantly. I, however, had already captured it on a screen-recorder, which I then sent to my lawyer, Ms. Sterling. Click. Send. “Ms. Sterling,” I wrote. “Does this qualify as evidence of their ongoing marital misconduct?” 2 My biggest regret from the previous life was walking away with only an ungrateful daughter and nothing else. This time, Adam Thorne was going to be the one stripped bare. The lawyer, a sharp-featured woman named Michelle, reviewed the evidence I’d meticulously gathered. A confident smile crossed her face. “Ms. Sterling, your files are remarkably organized. I’m ninety percent certain we can secure the majority of the marital assets for you.” She paused, flipping a page. “I do see, however, that your daughter has Type 1 Diabetes. The medical costs alone are astronomical. Are you absolutely certain you want to forfeit her custody?” I ran a finger over the rim of my coffee cup. The bitter taste of the brew was nothing compared to the acrid memory of the life I’d just escaped. Willow has an aggressive, congenital genetic disorder. Her pancreas was essentially dead by age six, and she’d been hospitalized three times for diabetic ketoacidosis. The doctors warned me: manage her blood sugar, or the complications would destroy her—blindness, amputation, kidney failure. Any of them could kill her. So I became the iron fist. I forced her into a low-carb, low-sugar diet. I demanded two thirty-minute sessions of exercise daily. I bought her the most advanced Continuous Glucose Monitor (CGM) and insulin pump, tracking every reading. Willow was too young to understand the terror of the disease. Every time she cried, begging for ice cream or refusing to run, my heart bled. But I would steel myself, thinking of the grisly photos of gangrene and organ failure, and I made her obey. The consequence: the child I had nearly killed myself to protect grew up to despise me. I recalled her eighteenth birthday. She’d screamed at me over a small slice of cake. “Clara, your need to control me is suffocating! I’m not your daughter, I’m your dog!” Even as her life ebbed out, stabbed by Adam, she instinctively called out for Serena, dying in the other woman’s arms while glaring at me with raw, venomous hatred. The thought of that glare made me involuntarily shiver. She died hating me. She never saw the three jobs I worked after the first divorce to pay for her care. She didn’t see me setting an alarm every two hours at night to check her blood sugar, sacrificing my own rest, watching my hair turn prematurely gray. Michelle watched me with concern. “Ms. Sterling, if you secure the bulk of the assets, the court, in the interest of the child’s well-being, is highly likely to award you the custody.” I shook my head. “That won’t happen.” I was not going to raise Willow again. She was the mosquito, the viper, the leech who had sucked me dry and then gifted my blood to my enemies. I pushed a separate manila envelope across the desk. Michelle glanced at the contents and her pupils dilated instantly. Before she could speak, my phone blared a familiar, piercing alarm. My heart—the muscle I thought was dead—still skipped a beat. The alarm, the high-pitched warning for dangerously high blood sugar, was the signature ringtone for Willow’s CGM. As I drove toward the GPS coordinates, she called. The thirteen-year-old’s voice was full of desperate, theatrical sobs. “Mom, my sugar is spiking, I don’t know why! I’m so dizzy!” I slammed my fist on the steering wheel. “Where is your father? Where is Serena? Weren’t they at the conference today?” Willow’s sobbing stopped for a beat. “Mom, you’re my only mom. I don’t know where they are.” I found the location—a derelict community college building five minutes from her school. By the time I realized the GPS had led me to an abandoned warehouse district, it was too late. A group of hulking men surrounded me. No preamble. No talk. Just the sickening sound of belt buckles being undone. The man in front raised a cheap camcorder and grinned. As he grabbed my hair, I saw her. Willow was standing in the shadows, watching.

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On the 30th day of the online hate campaign against me, my husband unlocked the door to the dark room. His childhood sweetheart, driving drunk, had hit and killed my mother in an empty alleyway. To clear her name, my husband used our child’s life to force me to sign a statement of forgiveness. Then, just to be safe, he lied to the world, claiming I was the one who had drunkenly killed my own mother. He took my phone and locked me in a dark room for a month. By the time I was let out, the media had painted me as a selfish, vicious, cold-blooded monster. I couldn’t take the pressure. I threw myself from our apartment building. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of the accident. This time, I locked my mother in her room and refused to let her leave. But who could have known? His precious sweetheart got behind the wheel and killed another old woman anyway. 1 I had just bolted the door to my mom’s room when my husband’s call came through. “Ella? Where are you?” His voice was a frayed rope of panic and tension. When I told him I was home, I heard him let out a quiet, shaky breath of relief. He was silent for a few seconds before continuing. “Crystal… Crystal hit someone with her car. I just finished dealing with it. I’m coming home now. You have to wait for me.” I froze, the words sinking in slowly. Crystal had hit someone again. But my mom was locked safely in her room. So who did she hit this time? The phone was on speaker, and my mom heard every word Leo said. Through the heavy oak of the door, I spoke to her. “You wanted to know why I locked you in here, why I wouldn’t let you go out.” “Promise me you’ll stay hidden in that room. Don’t make a sound until I tell you it’s okay.” “You’re about to find out why I did all this.” My mom, though confused, agreed. It wasn’t long before Leo returned. The front door flew open and he rushed towards me, pulling me into a tight, suffocating hug. His voice, muffled against the top of my head, was heavy with false sorrow. “Ella, I’m so, so sorry.” “Crystal… she accidentally hit your mother. The paramedics said… she died instantly.” 2 I shoved him away, wrenching myself from his arms. My face was a mask of disbelief. “What did you say? Who did you say she killed?” Leo looked at me with that pathetic, practiced expression of pity mixed with helplessness. “Ella, I know this is impossible to accept right now. Crystal told me everything. It wasn’t on purpose, she just… her eyes played a trick on her in the dark.” “If anyone’s to blame, it’s your mom for not watching where she was going.” “I’ve already given Crystal a piece of my mind. She’s completely traumatized, so I sent her home to rest. But she promised she’d come over in a couple of days to apologize to you in person.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Even if it wasn’t my mother who died today, it was still a human life. How could Crystal take a life and then just go home to rest, her conscience clear? “Leo, do you have any idea what you’re doing? You’re an accessory to a crime!” He sighed, pulling a folded document from his briefcase. A forgiveness agreement. He smoothed it out and held it in front of me. “I know you’re angry, but Crystal is a huge influencer with millions of followers. She can’t have a scandal like this attached to her name.” “Her father saved my life when I was a kid. I promised him I’d protect Crystal for the rest of my life. You’re my wife, Ella. We’re a team. That debt is yours to share, too.” “It was your mother who died. If you sign this, then even if this whole thing comes out later, it won’t affect Crystal.” “Just think of it as… helping me repay a debt.” My hand flew, the crack of my palm against his cheek echoing in the silent apartment. His head snapped to the side. “You’re a monster, Leo. A goddamn monster!” “Is a human life worth less than Crystal’s reputation to you?” The slap ignited a fire in his eyes. He shoved me, hard. I stumbled backward, my head cracking against the sharp corner of the coffee table. A lump, the size of an egg, instantly began to swell. He loomed over me, his face a storm cloud of disgust. “Ella, I’m not asking you. I’m telling you. You are going to sign this paper.” 3 In my last life, I never understood why Leo would throw me under the bus to protect Crystal, why he would threaten me with our own child’s life. Was his wife, his child, really worth less than her pristine reputation? This time, I understood perfectly. It was because Leo never loved me. He never loved our child. The person he loved, the person he had always loved, was Crystal. I clutched my throbbing forehead, staring up at the man I had once loved, my heart churning with a thick, bitter hatred. Hatred for what happened to my mother and me in that other life. Hatred for myself, for being so blind, for marrying a creature who was less than human. My undisguised loathing seemed to pierce through his anger, and a flicker of something like regret crossed his face. He reached a hand down, as if to pull me up. “Ella, I didn’t mean to push you. I was just angry. Let me see your head, is it bleeding…?” He was cut off by the frantic ringing of his phone. It was Crystal. He answered, and her delicate, tearful voice filled the room. “Leo, what do I do? I think someone took a picture of me.” Even though Leo had meticulously cleaned up the scene right after the crash, the alley had been dark. She hadn’t noticed a figure at the other end, phone held up, capturing the whole thing. “I just got an anonymous text with a photo. It’s a picture of our backs, standing over the body. What if they go to the police?” Crystal’s sobs were theatrical. Leo’s brow furrowed in deep concern. The police. Right. It suddenly hit me. I’d been so caught up in the chaos of my second chance that I hadn’t even thought to call them. While Leo was distracted, I pulled out my own phone, my fingers flying towards the keypad. If I could just report Crystal’s hit-and-run immediately, then no matter how well Leo cleaned the scene, the police would find the evidence. But before I could dial 911, he saw me. “Ella, what the hell do you think you’re doing? Are you calling the cops?” he roared. His hand shot out, slapping my phone from my grasp. It clattered to the floor, the screen shattering into a spiderweb of cracks. I didn’t care. I scrambled for it, desperate. The next thing I felt was a blinding, searing pain. Leo had stomped on my hand to stop me, his shoe grinding down on my fingers. He was snarling, a cruel smile twisting his lips as he pressed down, twisting his foot, crushing my bones. “Before I came home, I wiped everything clean for Crystal. The car is already on its way to a scrap yard, and the body… the body is probably being pushed into the incinerator as we speak.” “Even if you call the cops, there won’t be a shred of evidence to prove Crystal killed your mom!” 4 “It looks like you need to be taught a lesson the hard way before you’ll learn to behave.” With that, he grabbed a fistful of my hair and hauled me to my feet. My phone was a dead, black rectangle on the floor. But that wasn’t enough for him. He started dragging me towards the spare bedroom. The dark room. An entire month of my last life spent locked in there like an animal, eating and sleeping and pissing in the same small space. The memory of that bone-deep terror was so real it made my whole body tremble. As the door loomed closer, my heart hammered against my ribs. I looked at him, my eyes pleading. “Leo, please, no. I won’t call the police. Don’t lock me in there. You know how much I hate the dark.” I was trying to appeal to whatever shred of affection, whatever memory of our marriage, still existed within him. For a moment, his expression softened. He looked away. “Ella, I don’t want to hurt you. But I promised Crystal’s father I would protect her. Just sign the damn paper, and I’ll let you go.” “Why does it have to be me?” He said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Because it was your mother who died.” “But, Leo… how are you so absolutely certain that the person who died… was my mom?” He wasn’t expecting that. He froze. His grip on my hair loosened as he answered, almost automatically. “When Crystal called me, I drove to the scene immediately. She… she’d had a few drinks, and she was driving way too fast.” He hesitated, a hint of guilt creeping into his voice. It dropped to a near whisper. “The impact was… horrific. The body was unrecognizable.” “But I checked. She was wearing a silver bracelet on her wrist. I recognized it instantly. It was the custom one you gave your mother last year.” A custom bracelet? In that instant, everything clicked into place. I knew exactly who had died. It was my mother-in-law. Leo’s own mother. 5 Leo’s mother lived in the same complex as us. When I had the bracelets made, I ordered two identical ones—one for my mom, and one for hers. Leo wasn’t just protecting the person who killed his own mother. He had personally destroyed the evidence and sent his own mother’s body to be incinerated. The thought was so grotesquely absurd that a laugh escaped my lips, sharp and humorless. I picked up the forgiveness agreement from the floor, shoved it back in his face, and said with chilling sincerity, “Leo, I’m not qualified to sign this.” “And I’m telling you right now, if you actually force a signature on this, you will regret it for the rest of your life.” “Why?” he asked, a reflex. “Because the person who died wasn’t my mom,” I said. “It was yours.” I thought hearing this would make him pause, make him question, make him try to verify it. Instead, his face contorted with rage. He pointed a trembling finger at me. “Ella, have you lost your mind? How dare you curse my mother?” “You’d say anything to slander Crystal, wouldn’t you? It seems I was a fool to feel sorry for you.” He lunged at me again, ready to strike. I scrambled away. Watching him, a blind fool charging forward for the sake of his twisted love, I suddenly felt exhausted by it all. I sighed, preparing to call my mom out and force him to face the truth. “Leo, I’m telling you the truth. If you don’t believe me, I can…” My words were cut off by the ping of another message on his phone. It was Crystal. “Leo, is everything settled? Someone who claims they have a picture is demanding ten million dollars from me. If I don’t pay, they’re going to the police. I’m so scared.” The flicker of doubt in Leo’s eyes vanished, replaced by a storm of worry and fury. He thought for a moment, then looked at me, a slow, terrible smile spreading across his face. The words that followed were pure poison. “Besides the forgiveness statement, I just thought of an even better way to clear Crystal’s name completely.” “Ella… why don’t you take the fall for her?” “All you have to do is confess. Tell everyone that you were the one driving this morning, that you hit and killed your own mother.” “That way, even if the person with the photo comes forward, I, as your loving husband, can testify against you. I’ll say you paid them to frame Crystal.” It was the exact same plan from my previous life. My eyes burned, and a raw, ragged scream tore from my throat. “Leo, are you even human?” He was already lost in his own twisted logic, nodding to himself. “Don’t worry, Ella. I’ll hire the best defense attorney for you, get you a reduced sentence. While you’re inside, I’ll take care of our daughter, raise her myself. You won’t have a single thing to worry about.” “And when you get out, we can still be a happy family.” I choked out the words, each one tasting like blood. “You can go to hell.” “Leo, I will die before I let you get away with this!”

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During the annual awards ceremony, I stepped out for a restroom break. When I returned, my year-end bonus was revoked for allegedly assaulting a new colleague. In my first life, I desperately tried to prove my innocence using my smart bracelet’s motion tracker, but my director refused to believe me. In a struggle, I fell down the stairs and died. In my second life, I avoided the event entirely by calling in sick. Yet police soon surrounded my apartment, accusing me of homicide. The victim’s family stabbed me before I could defend myself. In my third life, I livestreamed from a public square to secure an alibi. Still, police arrested me with security footage showing me stabbing the colleague at the gala. I was executed days later. I’ve lost track of how many lives I’ve lived through this. This time, I walked straight into the gala, held a knife to the new colleague’s throat, and declared, “You’re being kidnapped.” … My sudden move sent a shockwave of terror through my colleagues. The director just chuckled, spreading his hands. “Is this some kind of avant-garde performance for the gala?” He took a tentative step toward me. “Clara, even a performance has its limits. This is going to give people the wrong impression about our company’s culture.” Flashes of a hundred different deaths flickered before my eyes. I could almost feel the phantom pains tearing through me again. A raw scream tore from my throat. “Stay back! One more step and I’ll do it!” To prove my point, I pressed the blade harder. A thin red line appeared on the new colleague’s neck. He let out a pained cry, and the room erupted in gasps of genuine horror. The reality of the situation finally sank in. This was a real kidnapping. Everyone scrambled backward. The director’s face went pale, sweat beading on his forehead. “Clara, calm down! We can talk about this, whatever it is!” But I’d tried talking. I’d tried in my very first life. I had the company’s latest, top-of-the-line sports watch, and I showed them the complete motion trajectory. During the five minutes I was gone from the gala, I had only gone to the bathroom. And yet, every single one of my colleagues swore they saw me beating the new guy to a pulp in those same five minutes. My desperate explanations were useless. Not far away, my director was pacing frantically. “Clara is usually so gentle. And this new guy isn’t even in her department.” “They have no reason to be enemies. What is she doing?” Exactly! I wanted to scream in agreement. I barely knew this guy. Our interactions were limited to polite nods in the breakroom. On top of that, he was a man, and I’ve been so shy my whole life I’ve hardly even spoken to men I wasn’t related to. There was no professional conflict, and certainly no romantic entanglement. So why? Why, in every single life, did another version of me appear out of thin air, hell-bent on killing him? It made no sense! Thinking of this, I looked expectantly at the colleague dialing 911. “Have you called them? Make sure you tell them it’s an emergency.” The colleague on the phone just stared at me, bewildered. “Isn’t Clara the kidnapper?” Once I was sure the police were on their way, I put my menacing mask back on. “Everyone, get back! Or he’s going to get hurt. And turn on the main lights!” Terrified I’d harm their colleague, they did as I said. The colorful stage lights went out, replaced by the stark white of the overhead fluorescents. Now I could finally see the new colleague’s face clearly. He had a quiet, handsome face, the kind that looked utterly harmless. He was currently cowering in front of me, his body rigid, his eyes swimming with tears. “Where are you from?” I asked him. “Where did you go to college?” He choked out the names of two cities I’d never heard of, confirming my suspicions. Our lives had absolutely no intersection. The frustration of countless failed loops washed over me, and my own sense of injustice was just as strong as his fear. “So,” I asked, “why do you think I’m kidnapping you?” He froze, then gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of his head. “I don’t know.” Right! Neither of the people involved could understand it, yet it kept happening, over and over again. In the endless lives that followed, no matter how I tried to hide or run, in that bizarre five-minute window, I would appear at his side and brutally take his life. And there was always unshakable, irrefutable proof that I was the killer. The wail of sirens grew closer. My resolve hardened. This time, I was going to find the truth. I was going to save both of us. The police were already downstairs. The sound of heavy footsteps was approaching. The director was still trying to reason with me. “This is the company gala! Whatever grudge you have, why air it out here?” His words hit me like a lightning bolt. Why at the gala? And in every life, the time the other me killed him was always during that same five-minute window at the company gala. It was always the same. 9:00 PM to 9:05 PM. I turned to the new colleague. “Does the time from 9:00 to 9:05 mean anything special to you?” This time, he didn’t answer right away. He stared into space for a few seconds, then shook his head, his expression strangely unnatural. I knew it instantly. Something was off. There’s more to this! But before I could press him further, the doors burst open. Because the call had reported a knife-point kidnapping, the police were armed with tasers and firearms. I saw the dark, gaping barrels of their guns pointed at me. My mind flashed with the memory of a bullet piercing my skull, a recurring finale in many of my past lives. A violent shudder ran through me. I bit my tongue, the sharp pain barely enough to steady my nerves. “Don’t move! Anyone comes closer, he gets another cut!” The lead officer frowned, his voice firm but controlled. “Ma’am, whatever your grievances are, we can talk about them. You don’t have to resort to extreme measures!” How could I talk? Tell them I’ve been reborn countless times, trapped on the night of the annual gala? They wouldn’t believe me. They’d just see a killer. I took a deep breath, using the new colleague as a human shield, and backed my way onto the awards stage. It was the most visible spot in the entire venue. If running away would never solve the problem, then I would face it head-on. Let’s just see. This time, I’m not leaving. I’m staying right here with him. Let’s see if that other me, the one who appears from nowhere, still comes to kill him. And these police officers would be my witnesses. My heart hammered in my chest. I kept glancing at the clock. In that moment of distraction, a young officer slipped behind the stage curtain. While my eyes were on the time, he lunged. Every officer is professionally trained. He slapped the knife from my hand with expert precision and had me pinned in seconds. “Take the suspect into custody! As for the victim, get him home safely and have a trauma counselor sent over!” My eyes were bloodshot as I screamed, “No! I can’t be separated from him!” The officers exchanged glances, clearly pegging me as some kind of obsessive stalker. I grabbed the lead officer’s arm, my explanation tumbling out in a frantic, desperate torrent. “He’s going to die after nine o’clock! You have to believe me! You need to protect him!” The officer sneered. “The only danger to him here is you.” “Cuff her. Take her away!” Cold metal snapped around my wrists, and I was completely powerless. The stares and whispers of my colleagues were a crushing weight. But then, with a thud, I dropped to my knees in front of the officer. “Someone who looks exactly like me is going to appear and kill him. I’m begging you, please, believe me…” I was sobbing, a deep, hopeless sound. The experience of death is a terrible, terrible thing. And I had experienced it more times than I could count. A female officer seemed moved by my despair. She tried to soothe me. “There’s no such thing as a perfect double. You’ll be at the station. You won’t be anywhere near him.” “Even if something did happen to him, we would be your alibi.” But would they? I slumped to the floor, my eyes vacant with despair. “No. You won’t.” In one life, to clear my name, I’d gotten myself arrested for shoplifting. But the moment the clock struck 9:00 PM, the officers on duty at the station all passed out, and the security cameras malfunctioned. Miles away, at the gala, the other me appeared. And now, these officers were dragging me out, pushing me toward the door. Knowing that I had failed to change his fate again, a wail of utter despair escaped me. But then, a voice cut through the noise from behind me. “Wait. You can’t take her.”

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1 My background is a secret. My knowledge of the law is not. No matter who you are, if you break the law in front of me, I will report you. On the first day of my reunion with my wealthy birth parents, they tried to lock me in the basement to “reflect on how to be a proper lady.” I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. “Hello, officer? I’d like to report a case of false imprisonment.” My fiancé, a domineering CEO, wanted to have my corneas transplanted into his childhood sweetheart. On the operating table, I calmly addressed the surgeon. “Doctor, removing an organ against a person’s will carries a sentence of over five years, ten if it results in serious injury. Would you like to stop now, or would you prefer to do hard time?” The doctor’s hand trembled. My fiancé, Julian, was enraged. “In this city, I am the law. What’s the big deal about taking your eyes?” I pulled a recording pen from my pocket. “Excellent. That’s solid evidence of involvement with organized crime. The RICO task force is always looking for textbook cases like you.” … I pressed the stop button and waved the pen at him. “Mr. Polson, that part where you said ‘I am the law’? The audio quality is crystal clear.” “You—!” Julian Polson couldn’t believe I’d dare to threaten him at a time like this. He lunged for the pen, his face contorted with fury. “Give that to me!” I vaulted off the operating table in one smooth motion. “Robbery, defined as the taking of property from another by force, is a felony punishable by up to three years in prison.” At that exact moment, the doors to the operating room were kicked open with a tremendous crash. BANG! The sound was followed by a voice of righteous authority. “Freeze! Police!” Detective Miller, the officer who’d taken my call, burst in with three other cops. The dark, unblinking lens of a body camera was aimed squarely at Julian and the surgeon still holding his scalpel. “Officer, thank God you’re here!” I feigned innocence and ducked behind Miller, pointing at Julian. “This man claims to be the law of this city. He was threatening me with a weapon, intending to forcibly harvest my organs for that woman over there, Tia Harrington. The doctor is his accomplice. I have the entire conspiracy recorded on this pen.” Julian froze, staring at the uniforms. He’d lived a life of privilege and power; he’d never been in a situation like this. “This is a misunderstanding! It’s a family matter! I’m Julian Polson, the CEO of Polson Industries…” Miller let out a cold laugh and produced a pair of handcuffs, snapping one onto Julian’s wrist with a sharp click. “Polson, is it? I don’t care if you’re a CEO or the King of England, you answer to the law. And there’s no ‘family matter’ exemption in the Penal Code. Take him away!” As I looked at Julian’s face—a bruised, disbelieving mess—I straightened the collar of my hospital gown and offered a polite, educational smile. “Mr. Polson, be sure to study up while you’re inside. I’ll send you a copy of the complete Penal Code. Prime delivery, on the house.” It was late by the time I finished giving my statement at the station. Julian’s team of high-powered lawyers managed to get him out on bail, citing “medical distress” and posting an exorbitant bond. But his reputation was in tatters, and for now, he was holed up in a hospital, too busy licking his wounds to bother me. That didn’t mean I was safe. The moment I pushed open the door to the Harrington family mansion, a bone china teacup came flying at my head. CRASH! It shattered at my feet, sending shards skittering across the marble floor. My birth mother, Mrs. Harrington, stood in the foyer, her perfectly preserved face twisted into a grotesque snarl. “You ungrateful little witch! You’ve been back one day and you’ve already sent your fiancé to jail? You’ve dragged the Harrington name through the mud!” On the sofa, my birth father, Mr. Harrington, ground out his cigarette in an ashtray, his expression grim. “What are you waiting for?” he barked. “Lock the doors!” With an audible click, four hulking bodyguards emerged from the shadows, blocking my only exit. Mr. Harrington rose to his feet, looking down his nose at me. “In this house, I’m your father. That makes me God. Since you love calling the police so much, you can spend the rest of your days rotting in the basement. Men, take her phone, her recorder, any electronic devices she has. And then teach her a lesson she won’t forget.” Two of the guards grabbed my shoulders, their meaty hands digging into me as they forcibly emptied my pockets. My mother snatched my phone and smashed it on the floor, grinding it into pieces with the heel of her stiletto. “Go on, record that! Call the cops now! Let’s see you try!” Faced with this suffocating violence, I didn’t cry or scream. I remained calm, even taking a moment to mentally appraise the shattered phone. “That was a custom model. Worth about twenty-five hundred dollars. The recorder was three hundred.” I lifted my head, my gaze sweeping coolly over my parents and their hired muscle. “Right now, in a confined space, you are forcibly seizing my property through violent means. According to the Penal Code, that’s called home invasion robbery. It carries a ten-year minimum sentence.” “Ha! Robbery?” Mrs. Harrington shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at me. “I’m your mother! What’s wrong with taking something of yours? I have every right to discipline you! In this house, family law is the only law that matters! Do it!” A bodyguard raised his hand to strike. I ducked my head, bit down on a black button that looked like a simple decoration on my collar, and yanked it hard. “WEEEEEE-OOOOOO-EEEEEE!!!” An ear-splitting, high-decibel alarm shrieked through the house, piercing enough to be heard across the entire wealthy neighborhood. It was a military-grade personal alarm, audible from a quarter-mile away. The bodyguard recoiled, clutching his ears in pain, his grip on me slackening. I seized the opportunity, lunging for the floor-to-ceiling window and grabbing a chair. CRASH! Standing in the shattered frame, I took a deep breath and yelled out to the neighboring mansions. “HELP! HOME INVASION! THEY’RE GOING TO KILL ME!” My scream was bloodcurdling. The man living next door was none other than retired Supreme Court Justice Albright, a man famous for his zero-tolerance policy on crime. In that instant, the color drained from my parents’ faces. Five minutes later, the familiar squad car pulled up, and the familiar Detective Miller stepped out. He looked at me, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Miss Lawton… have we met before tonight?” I calmly pointed to the wreckage of my phone on the floor, then to the bodyguards. “Detective, your timing is perfect. These men physically restrained me and violently robbed me of my personal property, valued at over two thousand dollars. I have reason to believe they are part of an organized criminal enterprise. Oh, and by the way, the micro-camera hidden in my cufflink recorded the entire incident. It’s automatically backed up to the cloud.” I rolled up my sleeve, revealing the tiny lens, which glowed with a faint blue light. Mr. Harrington’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he fainted on the spot. After my eventful evening, Mr. and Mrs. Harrington weren’t arrested, but after a stern lecture from Detective Miller, they were forced to sign a domestic violence injunction. The stress sent them both to the hospital with heart palpitations. I thought I might get a moment of peace, but trouble, it seems, never sleeps. The next morning, my brother, Leo, kicked over my suitcase, grabbed my black laptop, and smashed it on the ground before stomping on it for good measure. Tia, the girl who was supposed to be waiting for a cornea donation, rushed to his side, feigning concern. “Leo, don’t! She just came from the countryside. I know the computer is old, but she saved up for it for so long by doing odd jobs…” “So that’s what that weird smell is. You think this piece of trash she bought with garbage money belongs in our house?” Leo smirked, satisfied with the shattered screen, and tossed a wad of cash in my face. “Ten thousand dollars. That’s enough to buy ten of your broken computers. Take the money, and go kneel and apologize to Mom, Dad, and Tia.” Tia covered her mouth, a little giggle escaping. “He’s just looking out for you, sis. Out with the old, in with the new, right?” My lips twitched into a smile. I applauded. “Impressive, Leo. World-class computer-smashing technique.” I knelt and picked up the remains of the laptop with a sigh. Leo frowned. “Cut the crap. Is the money not enough?” I held up a finger. “This was a custom, military-grade workstation. The hardware alone cost eighty-eight thousand dollars. More importantly, it contained three years of core research data I was running for a national laboratory. It was the only copy. No backup.” I flashed him a bright, white smile. “According to legal precedent, the destruction of scientific data is assessed by its replacement cost. The value of this data set is… approximately seven hundred thousand dollars.” Leo’s smirk froze on his face. “Seven hundred thousand? Who are you trying to scam?” “The Economic Crimes Division and a state appraiser will determine whether it’s real or not.” I pulled out a backup phone and dialed 911. Because the amount was so substantial and the act so malicious, Leo wasn’t even eligible for bail. As he was led away in handcuffs, Tia screamed. The family butler, who had just arrived, looked like he’d seen a ghost. A family, after all, should stick together. My fiancé was out on bail, my brother was in jail, and my parents were in the hospital. The scorecard was looking pretty good. The Harrington family was in ruins, but Tia’s resilience was truly something to behold. Minutes later, she was live-streaming from the hospital hallway, tears streaming down her face like a soap opera star. “Everyone, my sister just got here and she’s already sent my brother to jail and put my parents in the ICU… Why would she do this to us? Do people who grow up poor all have hearts of stone?” The comment section exploded with people calling me a monster. Donations started rolling in. Tia seized the moment, displaying a QR code. “To save my brother and pay for my parents’ medical bills, I’m willing to accept any help you can offer…” I stood in a corner, recording everything. Once I had enough evidence, I walked up and tapped her on the shoulder. “Great performance. The Academy owes you an Oscar.” Tia jumped, then shrieked into the camera. “It’s her! Everyone, this is the woman who’s trying to destroy our family!” Facing the vitriol of millions of viewers, I calmly held a payment receipt up to the camera. “First, Mom and Dad’s medical expenses are fully covered by their insurance. You don’t need to fundraise.” “Second, my brother was arrested for destroying national scientific data. The evidence is conclusive.” “And third,” I said, pointing to the personal account number that was rapidly accumulating funds, “you are fabricating a story to fraudulently solicit money from the public. According to the Penal Code, that’s called felony fraud. I took a quick look, and it looks like you’ve already passed the fifty-thousand-dollar mark. That’s a minimum of ten years. Congratulations.” “This… these are gifts! Not fraud!” Tia stammered, her face pale. “You can explain that to the police.” Right on cue, Detective Miller appeared with his colleagues from the Economic Crimes Division. They escorted a stunned Tia away for fraud and slander. As she was placed in the police car, the tide in the live stream turned instantly. The screen was flooded with comments: “The Law Queen is a badass!” And with that, the entire Harrington family was neutralized. I had just left the hospital after dealing with Tia when I felt a sharp, sudden pain in my neck. A taser. As I slipped into unconsciousness, I heard Julian’s cold, menacing voice. “You had your chance to do this the easy way. Take her.” I woke up to a bucket of ice-cold water splashing over my head. The salty tang of sea air, the blinding glare of a spotlight, and an endless expanse of black ocean. My hands and feet were bound to an iron pole with heavy-duty zip ties, tied so tightly they cut into my flesh. We were in international waters. On Julian’s private yacht. “You’re awake?” Julian sat on a leather sofa, swirling a glass of red wine. Behind him stood two dozen burly mercenaries, the bulges at their waists indicating they were armed. And next to him, fresh out of the ICU, sat Mr. and Mrs. Harrington. Mrs. Harrington saw my predicament and burst into triumphant laughter. “You little bitch, you love calling the cops, don’t you? Go on, call them! We’re in international waters! Twelve nautical miles out, nobody’s laws apply to us!” Mr. Harrington’s face was a mask of pure hatred. He slapped a file against my cheek. “Sign this ‘Property Transfer Agreement’ and this ‘Psychiatric Guardianship’ form. Sign over all your shares to Tia, then jump overboard and feed the sharks. If you do, we might even give you a proper memorial!” They had searched me thoroughly. No phone, no recorder, even the alarm button on my collar was gone. They had learned their lesson and cut off all my lifelines. Julian sauntered over, tilting my chin up with the toe of his expensive leather shoe, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Zoe Lawton, don’t even bother. This yacht is equipped with a full-spectrum signal jammer. Right now, there are no police, no cameras, and no laws.” “In this lawless place, what are you possibly going to fight me with?” It was a hopeless situation. Utterly and completely hopeless. It was so perfect, I couldn’t help but laugh. “What are you laughing at? Have you gone mad?” Julian frowned. I slowly lifted my head, my eyes glinting with excitement. “Thank you, Julian.” My voice was raw, but it carried a bone-deep chill. “Ever since I came back, being forced into this ‘long-lost daughter’ role… it’s been exhausting.” “Dealing with scum, I had to cite the law. Facing violence, I had to call the police. I had to maintain this ‘law-abiding citizen’ persona, even calculating the force of my self-defense so I wouldn’t cripple you and have to pay damages.” Julian froze. “What are you talking about?” “You said it yourself. These are international waters.” “No signal. No cameras. No police.” I took a deep breath, savoring the taste of freedom. “That means… whatever I do to you… isn’t illegal, right?” “You’re insane! Get her! Kill her!” Julian scrambled backward, his voice cracking with fear. The two dozen mercenaries surged forward, brandishing iron rods. With a sharp snap, I broke the nylon zip ties. I took off my broken glasses and tossed them into the sea. I rolled my wrists, producing a series of loud, popping cracks. Looking at the thug leading the charge, I offered a standard-issue smile. “I forgot to introduce myself properly.” “Before I took up studying the Penal Code, my day job was… a combat instructor for mercenary units in North Africa.” “Since the law can’t touch you here…” I exploded into motion, a phantom blur, and sent the first man flying ten feet with a single punch. “…tonight, I am the law.” THUD! The 250-pound man crashed onto the deck with a sickening crack of breaking ribs that echoed across the water. The air went dead silent. Julian stared at me, his face a mask of disbelief. “You… how is that possible…” He waved frantically at the other thugs.

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My stepmother loathed me. As a child, I’d left our yard gate open while playing at a friend’s house. My younger brother wandered out, was hit by a car, and died. My father, who adored him, shattered with grief and accused me of leaving the gate open on purpose. He locked me in the basement and raised me like an animal. Years later, starving after days without food, I crept upstairs and overheard my stepmother with her lover. “If you hadn’t left the gate open,” she whispered, “I wouldn’t fear my husband learning we killed Michael.” It was them all along. She saw me, panicked, and threw me down the stairs. I woke up again on the day my brother died. This time, I pointed upstairs and sweetly told my father, “Daddy, I did close the gate. The man in Mommy’s bedroom left it open.” 1 “Lily, did you really see a man leave the gate open?!” My father stood just outside the yard, his bloodshot eyes boring into me. A cold sneer formed in my mind. Look at him. So broken up over his precious son. In my last life, I explained over and over that I’d closed the gate, but he only listened to the venom my stepmother whispered in his ear. He was utterly convinced that I had murdered his only son. My own mother died bringing me into this world. Before her memorial was even over, he brought my stepmother—already pregnant—into our home. That woman, Charlotte, secured her position as the lady of the house with a premature baby boy, a birth that ruined her body and left her unable to have any more children. So Michael became the center of my father’s universe. After Michael died, Dad treated me like a dog. I ate from a dog bowl, slept in a cage, and was forced to bark to appease his impotent rage and his guilt towards Charlotte. This time, I wouldn’t be so stupid. I would use his masculine pride, his all-consuming love for his son, to drag that wretched pair through the mud. So the first thing I did after being reborn was to head straight home to catch my stepmother in the act. But I never made it. As I turned back, I saw him—Michael, standing right in the middle of the road. In the distance, my father’s face was a mask of horror. I was closer. Wanting to make a good impression this time, I lunged forward and pulled Michael back just as the car screeched past. I saved him, but not entirely. He didn’t die instantly like before, but the tires crushed his legs, leaving him crippled. “Honey!” Charlotte’s shriek tore through the air. She scrambled over, snot and tears streaming down her face, and clung to my father’s arm. “Don’t listen to this little bitch’s lies! Her mother died, and she’s always hated us! She opened the gate on purpose! She wanted to kill Michael!” Before Dad could react, I scurried over on my little legs and threw my arms around his thighs. I tilted my grimy face up, looking at him with the purest, most innocent eyes I could muster. “No, Daddy, I didn’t!” My voice was small and thick with tears, overflowing with injustice. “I want a mommy to love me too, but she doesn’t. I thought… I thought if I was nice to Michael, you would both love me…” I squeezed out a few fat tears as I spoke, my little hand pointing towards my brother, who was wailing in pain from his shattered legs. “I give Michael my milk every day, and I let him play with my favorite teddy bear… Just now, if I hadn’t pulled him back, he would have flown up to heaven and couldn’t play with me anymore. My teacher says we have to be kind and look after the young. I did that, Lily is a good girl. You have to believe me, Daddy.” Since I had always acted sweet to Michael to please my father, the words flowed from my lips without a hint of shame. I hugged his leg tighter, clinging to him with all the desperate strength a child could possess. Then, I cast my line. “If you don’t believe me, you can go upstairs right now and find that man! I bet he hasn’t even left yet!” 2 My father’s face darkened, twisting into a thunderous mask. He reached down and pinched my cheek, his voice a low growl. “Daddy believes you.” With that, he spun around and stormed towards the house, moving not like a man about to catch a cheater, but like a soldier heading into battle. Charlotte’s face went white. She tried to grab him but missed, stamping her foot in desperation. “Honey! The most important thing right now is getting our son to the hospital!” But my father could tolerate many things, but not betrayal. Not this. His son’s legs were nothing compared to his pride. He didn’t even look back as he charged upstairs. Of course, he found nothing. The man was long gone. But the cloying scent of a strange men’s cologne hung heavy in the air, a scent so thick it was suffocating. Charlotte, ever the actress, burst into fresh tears. She fumbled in her purse and pulled out an exquisitely packaged bottle of men’s cologne, her voice choked with sobs. “Honey, this was a gift for you. I wanted it to be a surprise…” It was an excuse a ghost wouldn’t believe. But my father had no proof. An ambulance wailed in the distance, arriving to take Michael away. Before he got in, my father stared hard at Charlotte, hissing through his teeth, “If I find out some bastard was the reason my son’s legs were broken, I’ll make sure his entire family pays.” I was frantic but powerless. I knew Charlotte was cunning, that she had prepared for this. I couldn’t beat her in one move; I’d have to find another chance. At the hospital, Michael wouldn’t stop crying from the pain. I immediately rushed to his bedside, grabbing his small hand. “Don’t cry, Michael,” I choked out. “Big sister is here.” He must have been dazed from the fall, or maybe my false kindness over the years had actually worked. He instinctively burrowed into my side. “Lily saved me,” he mumbled. My father, standing nearby, praised me for being so mature. But then his gaze fell on Michael’s cast-covered legs, and he sighed heavily. “Thank God,” he muttered, “it wasn’t worse.” With no proof, the mystery of the open gate remained just that. My father could only eye Charlotte with suspicion, while she played the part of the devoted, gentle wife to perfection, insisting the old gate latch had simply given way. And so, the matter was quietly dropped. Back home, Charlotte’s kindness towards me became almost suffocating. She cooked my favorite meals, bought me beautiful new dresses, and even tucked me in at night. She was so tender, you’d think I was her real daughter. My father saw all of this, and his suspicions began to fade. He probably figured that even if a woman had strayed, she’d come back to her senses for the sake of her child and her family. But I knew better. The nicer she was, the more it proved her guilt. She was desperately trying to wash the filth off herself so she could dump it all back onto me. I was waiting. Waiting for the fox to show its tail. But for all my planning, all my caution, I had underestimated her venom. One Saturday morning, Charlotte sent me upstairs to my room to do my homework. She then wheeled a sleeping Michael out onto the second-floor balcony to get some sun. I looked up from my workbook, a knot of dread tightening in my stomach. And then it happened. Just as my father pushed open the front door, a loud crash, followed by Charlotte’s bloodcurdling scream, echoed from the stairwell. “Aaaah! Lily! How could you push your brother!” My father, just stepping inside, froze. He looked up and saw me, standing in the second-floor hallway. And below, at the bottom of the stairs, Michael lay tangled in his overturned wheelchair. 3 I clenched my fists. Stay calm, Lily. You have to stay calm. “Daddy, I didn’t push him,” I said, my voice trembling just enough to sound like a terrified child. “I was in my room doing my homework. Mommy was on the balcony with Michael.” My father was holding my unconscious brother, his bloodshot eyes fixed on me like a predator about to pounce. Charlotte immediately jumped in. “I told Lily to watch Michael on the second floor while I went next door to borrow some scallions from Mrs. Gable! She can prove it!” A cold smile touched my lips. A perfect alibi. She had timed my father’s return perfectly, deliberately finding a neighbor to be her witness. Sure enough, Mrs. Gable, who had always been friendly with Charlotte, squeezed through the crowd of onlookers, her face a mask of righteousness. “It’s true, Daniel. Charlotte was just at my place getting scallions for that braised fish you love so much! I saw her walk back into her yard with my own two eyes!” She wasn’t finished. She pointed a finger at me, her voice dripping with condemnation. “But your daughter here, when we came over, we saw her just standing on the second floor, staring down at the scene without a single reaction! Honestly, Lily, how can a child be so cruel? I bet it was you who left the gate open last time, wasn’t it?” Her words were like a stone tossed into a pond, sending ripples of gossip through the neighbors. “She’s right, that girl’s always had a mean look about her.” “So jealous at such a young age. She’ll be real trouble when she’s older.” Seeing her advantage, Charlotte covered her face and began to sob, her body slumping weakly against my father. “Honey, don’t blame Lily. The gate incident was probably just an accident, and maybe… maybe this wasn’t on purpose either…” Her feigned defense only sealed my guilt. My father’s gaze turned to ice. He had seen it. He had seen Charlotte rushing in from the yard in a panic, while I stood on the second floor like a cold, detached spectator. Seeing is believing. “Last time, I saw you pull your brother back with my own eyes, and I believed you,” my father’s voice was hoarse, terrifying. “Now, I see you push him down the stairs with my own eyes! What else do you have to say for yourself!” The trust in his eyes shattered, replaced by a disgust so thick it was palpable. “You don’t even look scared. Lily, that rescue last time… was that all an act for me too?” Tears instantly welled in my eyes. “It wasn’t me!” I screamed, crying. “It was the man Mommy brought home! The same man from before! That’s why Mommy had time to go see Mrs. Gable!” “Daddy, don’t you believe me?” Through my sobs, I yelled with all my might, “Call the police! We have to call the police! On TV, they say to call the police when you’re in trouble! Let the officers check the wheelchair for fingerprints. They’ll prove that Lily is innocent!” I saw my father’s arm, wrapped around Charlotte, loosen slightly. I knew my words were working. I choked back a sob, my eyes fixed on my unconscious brother. “Daddy, if there’s really a bad person in our house who wants to hurt Michael, what’s going to happen to him?” That question was a needle, piercing straight into his most vulnerable spot. Charlotte’s face went deathly pale. She bit her lip, then, as if making a decision, she lifted her head, her eyes swimming with tears as she looked at my father. “That’s what I should be saying to you! The three of us were happy. If it wasn’t for this little monster, would our family ever know peace?” Her voice was thick with emotion, every word torn from her soul. “Honey, I gave up everything to be with you, to give you a son. How could I possibly harm our own flesh and blood? I cook for you every day, I keep this house perfect, have you forgotten all of that?” “It doesn’t matter if you misunderstand me, but I’m scared for you! I’m scared you’ll be blinded by this ungrateful viper and live to regret it!”

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After the miscarriage, my husband, a psychiatrist, erased my memory. He did it so he could take his patient, a young woman suffering from “depression,” on a therapeutic retreat. For the next three months, he and our son traveled with her, living a carefree life. When they had their fill of fun, he finally deigned to restore my memories. I was a wife and mother again. Except now, I didn’t care. I wasn’t a bother. They thought I was sulking, playing hard to get, trying to make a point. They didn’t pay it much mind. Not until they saw the post I made online. [HELP! My memory is back but my feelings aren’t. What do I do?!] [I can’t even empathize with my past self. Living under the same roof with my husband and son feels so tense and awkward now. Help!!!] … I was fast asleep, buried under the covers, when the lights flicked on with a sharp click, flooding the room with a hazy brightness. My eyes flew open. A tall figure stood by the door, his handsome face, framed by silver-rimmed glasses, was a mask of cold indifference. I blinked, my brain slowly catching up. It was my husband, Larry. His voice was steady, utterly devoid of emotion. “Why are you sleeping in the guest room?” I sat up, clutching the duvet to my chest, and forced a dry laugh. “My memory just came back. I’m still getting used to things.” “Let’s just sleep separately for a while, give me some time to adjust.” He nodded, as if it didn’t matter to him at all. “Suit yourself.” Then, as if it were an afterthought, he asked, “You didn’t call me today.” I looked at him, confused. “Call you about what? I didn’t need anything from you today. Why would I call?” The temperature in the room seemed to drop. “Before, if I came home after ten, you’d blow up my phone.” I cringed, the memory of my old behavior making my toes curl in embarrassment. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “It won’t happen again.” Looking back on those memories was like being a professional and stumbling upon your cringey high school social media page. The secondhand embarrassment was physically painful. The whole reason he’d hypnotized me in the first place was because I had called his patient at midnight. I had screamed at Serena, calling her a slut, accusing her of faking depression to seduce other women’s husbands. I told her if she was really sick, she should be taking medication, not stripping naked in a man’s bed. My tirade had left Serena sobbing. When Larry took the phone, his voice was as calm as ever, simply telling me he’d be home soon. I had been smug, thinking I’d scared off the homewrecker. But when Larry came home, he told me something else entirely. “I’m taking Serena to a cabin in the mountains for three months. Getting close to nature is part of her therapy.” Our son, Bobby, who was standing nearby, jumped up and down excitedly. “Me too, I wanna go! Serena gave me candy last time! I want to go with her!” I couldn’t believe it. “What about our anniversary trip? I’ve been planning it for two weeks. We were supposed to go as soon as Bobby was on vacation.” “We’re not going. Serena’s condition is serious. I need to be there for her treatment.” “I want to go to the mountains! I don’t want to go on a boring trip with Mom. I like Serena better anyway.” Of course, I refused. I screamed, I fought, I became hysterical. Larry shoved me away impatiently. Bobby rammed his head into me, pushing me back. A sharp, searing pain shot through me. A gush of warm, sticky blood pooled beneath me. I lost the baby we had been trying for for six months. And he, afraid I would cause more trouble, used a risky, experimental hypnotic procedure to erase my memory and left me in the hospital. “I promise,” I said, my voice firm, “I will never bother you with pointless calls again.” Larry’s expression only darkened. After a long moment, he stated with cold certainty, “Claire, you’re just sulking.” He turned to leave, tossing one last comment over his shoulder. “Throw your tantrum if you must. Just remember to tidy up my study.” I opened my mouth to say something, then closed it. Instead, I picked up my phone, yawning as I started searching for a good housekeeper. I couldn’t do it. I really couldn’t. I had to admire my past self. Waking up at six every morning to prepare a special breakfast for my son with his minefield of allergies. At seven, making a separate meal for Larry’s sensitive stomach. After grabbing a quick bite for myself, I’d start cleaning the entire house. Larry was a neat freak and couldn’t stand a speck of dust. His study, in particular, had to be immaculate. I had tried to replicate my old routine today and nearly passed out from exhaustion. I’d just shoved the files in his study into random drawers, which was probably why he’d made a point to remind me. I drifted off to sleep, but what felt like minutes later, a loud banging on the door jolted me awake. “Are you going to get up and make breakfast or not? I’m going to be late for school!” It was Bobby, yelling impatiently from the hallway. Time for breakfast. Good thing I was prepared. “I scheduled a delivery from that café you like,” I called out. “It’ll be here soon.” I rolled over and fell back asleep, vaguely hearing Bobby kick the door in frustration. “Dad never should have brought you back. Serena always makes me breakfast. You’re useless.” I was ripped from sleep again when Larry violently pulled me out of bed. “What did you feed Bobby!” I stared at him, completely bewildered. He dragged me to where Bobby stood, covered in red hives and struggling to breathe. “Even if you’re angry, you don’t take it out on our son! He has severe allergies. If I hadn’t found him when I did, he could have suffocated.” An ambulance rushed our son to the hospital. I ran after them, trying to explain. “I honestly don’t know what happened. I sent the café a list of his allergies when I ordered, I double-checked with them, and they promised they’d be careful. I never thought he’d still have a reaction.” Larry shot me a look of pure disgust. “Stop making things up. You’re the one who drove away the two nutritionists I hired. You’re the one who obsessively controls his diet. He said a few nice things about Serena because you suffocate him, and this is how you punish him.” “No, that’s not it, it’s because—” “Save it. Don’t make me regret giving you your memory back.” His icy words cut me off. I controlled Bobby’s diet because his body was incredibly sensitive. He was allergic to almost everything. And those two nutritionists? They quit after less than a week because they said dealing with his dietary restrictions was too much of a hassle. Whatever. It was too complicated to explain. Once the new housekeeper arrived, none of this would be my problem anymore. The doctor said it was a mild reaction to honey. Not a big deal. One IV drip and he’d be fine. I called the café. The manager explained that the honey sticks were a free promotional item, packaged separately and clearly labeled with an allergen warning. So, Bobby must have snuck it. He always had a sweet tooth, but he was allergic to honey, chocolate, and so many other things. The old me would have been watching him like a hawk. The new me… didn’t. And this was the result. “Claire!” I turned to tell Larry what I’d learned, but a small, warm body suddenly latched onto my legs. “Cece? What are you doing at the hospital?” I broke into a smile, crouching down to hug the little girl. She had been my friend during my amnesia. In the hospital, I had been lost and terrified, a huge, hollow emptiness where my heart should have been. I wandered through the days in a fog, a rudderless ship tossed in a storm, with no idea what to do. I didn’t even remember basic things. It was Cece who, like a patient teacher with a kindergartener, taught me everything again. She stayed with me, her presence a small, bright light in that cold, sterile place. “She got a little too ambitious on the swings and fell, bumped her head. Just getting it checked out,” a man’s voice said. It was Cece’s uncle, Alex. His eyes lit up when he saw me, a genuine warmth spreading across his face. “Oh no! Are you okay? Does it hurt?” I fussed over Cece, gently touching her head. She hugged me tight, rubbing her cheek against mine. “I’m okay, Auntie Claire. I just missed you so much.” “I missed you too, sweetie.” Alex watched us, his handsome face etched with concern. “What about you? What are you doing here? Is everything alright?” “I’m fine. It’s my son, he had an allergic reaction.” “Oh, good.” He breathed a sigh of relief, then immediately backtracked. “Uh… I didn’t mean it like that—I mean, is your son okay?” I couldn’t help but laugh. “He’s fine. Just needs some medicine.” He was about to say something else when Larry’s voice, laced with anger, cut through the air. “Claire—” I turned. His gaze shifted from Alex to me, my smile seeming to irritate him. He frowned. “Bobby is crying.” I quickly looked over at my son. The swelling on his face had gone down, but tears were streaming from his eyes, probably from the discomfort of the allergic reaction. He pointed a trembling finger at Cece, his voice choked with anger and hurt. “Who is she?” “This is Cece. She kept me company when I was in the hospital.” “Don’t cry now,” I said softly. “The tears will make your face itch. Besides, you’re the big brother. You have to set a good example for her.” For some reason, that only made him angrier. He started screaming, thrashing around. “She is not my sister! Go away! I don’t want you here!” He had never liked me much, and this wasn’t the first time he’d told me to leave. I saw the blood backing up into his IV line from his agitation and quickly stepped out of the room. I didn’t see his little face crumple as he started to cry even harder. After offering a significant amount of extra money, I finally found a housekeeper willing to come for a trial run. I gave them a heads-up. “I’ve hired someone. She’s coming over this afternoon. I’d like you both to be here to see if she’s a good fit.” Bobby, who had been uncharacteristically quiet since the hospital incident, spoke up in a small voice. “Mom… I thought… you didn’t like having other people in the house.”

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