Author: Momo Chan

I got drunk at a company dinner and called my boss “Hubby.” My coworkers laughed. “She’s so desperate to date the boss she’s losing it.” My old boss, Luke, glared at me coldly. “Can’t control your mouth? Then why drink?” In the brief silence, the notoriously difficult client sitting across from us scoffed. “She was talking to me.” “Why are you getting so excited?” Chapter 1 I chased Luke Anderson from college all the way to his company, becoming his assistant. Everyone knew I liked him. Once, while delivering files, I heard people gossiping inside his office. “Ava is such a rich girl. She lowered herself to be your assistant. Can you really bear to see that?” Luke clicked his tongue. “She wanted to come. What could I do?” The others laughed. “True. She always loved sticking to you.” “It’s been years and she hasn’t changed.” “But Luke, are you really not going to date Ava?” “She’s dreaming of being with you.” “Last time her family set her up on a blind date, you called us out to drink late at night. I thought you cared about her.” After that sentence, Luke suddenly sounded angry, his voice turning cold. “Just a clingy nuisance. Why would I care?” Outside the door, my hand, poised to knock, slowly dropped. I grabbed the handle and pushed the door open. The people inside froze for a second because of my intrusion. But only for a second. Soon, someone smiled like nothing happened. “Assistant Ava, bringing breakfast for Luke again?” My daily, rain-or-shine breakfast delivery. Luke didn’t even look up, as if he already knew what I was doing. He just casually nodded towards the desk. “Put it there.” But I shook my head. I placed the files in my hand and a resignation letter on the table. “Not breakfast.” “It’s my resignation letter.” “Mr. Anderson, please review it.” Chapter 2 Everyone was stunned. They swarmed forward, and after reading the words on the letter clearly, they asked in disbelief: “Wait, Ava, are you serious?” Luke finally frowned and looked up. He looked at me. “What’s this about?” I pushed the resignation letter toward him. “I’m resigning.” “I sent the digital copy to your email too. Remember to check.” Luke glanced at the letter on the table and asked impatiently: “Just because I made you work overtime yesterday?” I shook my head: “No.” “I just don’t want to do this anymore.” Luke’s face finally darkened bit by bit. As I turned to leave, he called my name. “Ava.” “If you leave now, there’s no chance of coming back to my side.” It sounded like a threat, and a warning. I didn’t look back. “Music to my ears.” The atmosphere in the room instantly dropped to freezing point. As I pushed the door open to leave, I heard tentative voices behind me. “Luke, she’s just throwing a tantrum, don’t take it to heart…” “Yeah, you know how much she likes you.” “Maybe she’ll regret it this afternoon and beg to come back…” Luke stared at the closed door and sneered. “Who cares about her.” Chapter 3 I threw away all the useless stuff from the company. In the end, nothing was left. Looking at the empty desk, I felt like laughing. My mind replayed the anonymous video I received last night while working overtime. In the dimly lit karaoke bar, Luke had his arm around a stunning woman, listening indifferently to the chatter around him. “Is Ava really obediently doing grunt work at the office right now?” “Of course. Luke has his ways. That rich girl hasn’t joined our parties in ages.” Indeed. I chased Luke for so many years. A wealthy heiress, acting like his servant. As long as he asked, I willingly worked overtime and socialized for him, ruining my health. In the end, all I got was a joke from his bros. “Looking at it this way, Ava really is like the most obedient dog around Luke.” And he stood by, swirling his drink, not denying it. He even chuckled. “What are you saying?” “She’s the only one around me who acts like a dog. Where’s the competition?” The room erupted in laughter. In that moment, it felt like a bucket of ice water was poured over me. It was cold. But I also felt instantly awake. Thinking about it, I silently took out my phone and found the contact of the blind date my family introduced a while ago. I heard he was a top-tier guy. I was just so focused on Luke before that I kept delaying the meeting, wanting to ruin the setup. Now… Although it seemed a bit unethical. But everyone knows the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else—or at least start something new. I tapped the screen. [Want to meet tomorrow?] To my surprise, he replied almost instantly. [Okay.] Chapter 4 The blind date was a gentleman. He offered to let me pick the time, and he’d arrange the place. But previously, when my parents mentioned blind dates, I tuned out completely. So now I knew nothing about this guy. Arriving early at the venue, I hesitated at the door. What if I didn’t recognize him? That would be awkward. While pacing, I accidentally bumped into someone. I looked up. I saw a perfectly tailored suit. And above that, a face so exquisitely handsome it was unfair to humanity. And the owner of this face was looking at me gently. “Why aren’t you going in?” His thin lips, which looked very kissable, moved as he spoke… I subconsciously swallowed. Then I realized my loss of composure. Because I knew this man. Ethan Sterling. A famous tycoon in the industry. I’d seen him countless times on the list of target partners for Luke’s company. But rumor had it he was ruthless, cold, and extremely unapproachable. Not a single collaboration attempt had succeeded. I backed away repeatedly to let him pass. “Sorry, sorry, I’m waiting for someone, got a bit distracted. So sorry, please go ahead…” But the man in front of me chuckled lightly. “Miss Sullivan.” I looked up in surprise. How did he know my last name? His eyes crinkled with a smile. “Is there a possibility that the person you’re waiting for is me?” Chapter 5 I was shook. My family just said they introduced a really great guy. But I never dared to dream it would be someone on Ethan Sterling’s level. Until I was sitting face-to-face with Ethan in the private room he arranged. I kept a smile on my face. Under the table, my hand was frantically texting my mom. [The guy you set me up with is Ethan Sterling?] [Since when is our family powerful enough to marry into his?] [Did you guys secretly become billionaires without telling me?] My mom replied instantly with a question mark. [?] [What are you talking about, honey? Daydreaming?] [It’s a distant nephew of Ethan Sterling.] [Didn’t your aunt tell you clearly?] I glanced at the man opposite me, who was watching me with a smile. Could there be a second face this handsome in the world? Our eyes met. I couldn’t pretend to be busy anymore. I could only stammer. “Um…” “You are… Mr. Ethan Sterling, right?” He nodded, then gave an apologetic smile. “Yes.” “My bad, I haven’t introduced myself yet.” “Hello, Miss Sullivan. I’m Ethan Sterling, your blind date. It’s an honor to meet you.” A concise introduction. It just completely contradicted the info my mom gave me. I was confused. “But, the date my family arranged… wasn’t…” Ethan raised an eyebrow. He took a sip of tea from the cup on the table. “That kid isn’t good enough for you.” “So I came.” He looked up at me. “What’s wrong?” “Does Miss Sullivan prefer him?” I froze. The way he spoke… Why did it seem like he knew me well? My heart drummed in my chest. Ethan remained composed, his calm, deep eyes staring unblinkingly at me, clearly expecting an answer. I had to brace myself and speak. “Of course not… I don’t even know him.” He chuckled. “Then it doesn’t matter if I take his place, right?” I gulped. “No…” Of course it didn’t matter to me. Either way, he was the one getting the short end of the stick, right? But Ethan seemed happy with my answer. He produced a thick book from somewhere, stood up, leaned over, and placed it in front of me. “That’s good.” “This is my resume. It contains my basic info, hobbies, career, salary, and personal assets. Please take a look, Miss Sullivan.” “To be honest, Miss Sullivan, I came to this blind date with the intention of marriage.” “My social circle has no other women. I can guarantee absolute loyalty to the marriage. After marriage, I will fulfill all pre-marital promises and transfer all personal assets to you unconditionally.” “I won’t put any pressure on my partner. Short of divorce, she will enjoy absolute freedom.” “If Miss Sullivan is satisfied with my conditions, I hope my wish…” He paused after the long speech. Those beautiful eyes started sending electricity my way again. “Can be considered.” Ethan’s voice was already warm and magnetic, and that handsome face was staring right at me. I was getting dizzy. Floating. Was this a hallucination because Luke drove me crazy? I pinched my thigh hard under the table. Ouch. It hurt! Not a dream. Maybe my expression was getting too blank. It wasn’t until Ethan’s eyes filled with laughter that I realized I had lost my composure again. I quickly grabbed my cup for a tactical sip of water. Then I pretended to be calm. “Mr. Sterling.” “Do you mean… you want to marry me?” He looked at me. Nodded very seriously. “Yes.” “Miss Sullivan, I hope to have the honor of becoming your husband.”

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The day my childhood sweetheart and I had our worst fight, he slapped me across the face for the girl he loved. In return, I exploded and broke three of his ribs. He screamed for a divorce, but I refused. I thought we’d be stuck in this stalemate forever. But karma comes fast. Three months later, I fell hard for a sweet, innocent younger guy. He started chasing me for a title. So, I had to drag that familiar number out of my blocklist. When I called, a chirpy female voice answered: “Sarah, it’s too late. Even if you come crawling back like a dog, Luke won’t even look at you.” Facing her provocation, I said calmly, “Tell Luke I want a divorce.” The next second, the phone was snatched away, followed by a rustling noise, and then Luke’s voice, trembling with suppressed rage. He said, “Sarah, you wouldn’t dare.” 1 The year I hated Luke the most. I hit the girl he loved most, and he slapped me back, demanding a divorce. For years, all he ever said was that I should learn to be obedient, to be gentle like Chloe. This was the first time he brought up divorce. I didn’t agree. I pinned him to the floor, broke three of his ribs, and choked him until he passed out before he could say another word. Before Luke’s eyes rolled back, I left him with these final words: “Divorce? Not a chance. You want to drive me crazy? Then deal with the consequences. Chloe will be the mistress forever, and you both will live in my shadow for the rest of your lives.” Back then, I had a whole plan mapped out to torture them until death do us part. I hold grudges. Once I bite, I don’t let go. Three years of marriage. Luke turned me from a bride full of hope into a lunatic. That couple ruined me. I swore I’d spend my life making sure they never knew peace. I even bought property outside the city for a long-term war. But fate never tells you what’s coming next. I thought I’d be seeking revenge on Luke forever. But on the third day… I found a starving Liam collapsed on my doorstep. At the time, I heard Luke had woken up in the hospital, cursing me out to a room full of visitors. I excitedly put on my makeup, picked my most stunning red dress, and prepared to go enrage him further. But the moment I stepped out the gate, I tripped over a large, human-shaped object. Dazed, I turned him over and saw a young face. Liam had his luggage stolen, worked as a temp unloading cargo at a supermarket, and got scammed out of three days’ pay. He was delirious with hunger. In his daze, his hand grabbed the hem of my dress. I saw his lips moving and leaned in closer. Then I heard his faint, gasping voice: “Mom…” … After a long silence, I couldn’t help but ask, “…What?” No response. He had passed out from hunger. 2 Later, I learned why. Liam’s “Mom” was purely a hallucination brought on by starvation. When he was little, his biological mother abandoned him in a park. The last time he saw her, she was wearing a red dress just like mine. Collapsing at my door that day, seeing me squat down in my red dress through his blurry vision, he thought his mom had come to take him to heaven. When he confessed this, I threw my head back and laughed. Halfway through, realizing no one was laughing with me, I stopped. It wasn’t funny. Liam was squatting in front of me, his big, wet eyes looking at my manic face. No anger, no shyness, nothing but deep concern. He was tall—6’3″ when standing—very imposing. But his behavior was so harmless. Seeing me look at him, he got nervous, resting his chin on the sofa armrest, looking at me with those watery eyes. He said nothing, yet said everything. Realizing the malice of my laughter towards such a pure soul, I felt a pang of guilt, but I didn’t know how to apologize. Three years of a toxic marriage taught me to use aggression and shouting to mask my fragility. Three years spent entangled with Luke made me almost forget that before marrying him, I was the proudest heiress in the city. The confident, poised woman I used to be seemed buried deep in my memories. Now, I was full of resentment towards the world. I thought I’d be trapped in hate forever. But Liam reached out, pawing at my hand like a puppy. Until my palm opened, and he placed a pendant in it. It was the one Liam always wore. A gift from his parents when he was born. Back when he was loved. Later, his father died in an accident, and his mother remarried and abandoned him. This pendant was the only good memory the world had left him. But now, he took it off and placed it in my palm. He said, “This used to be the most important thing to me. Now, you are. I give it to you, hoping it makes you happy.” With that, he pushed my fingers closed around it and gently kissed my fist. It was the third month Liam had been living with me. I kept him with a mindset of amusement and manipulation, wanting to see what he wanted from me. But he did nothing. He just stood up, put on an apron, and went to the kitchen to cook me a nutritious meal. The spatula he held was the one I bought to use as a weapon against Luke’s head during our fights. In Liam’s hand, it looked small and toy-like, but his movements were agile, not clumsy at all. A smile played on the boy’s lips. Sunlight filtered through, reflecting in his light brown puppy eyes. Like a ghost possessed me, I walked up and asked why he was so happy. “Because I can cook for you.” Such a simple reason. Yet open to so many interpretations. Because someone was eating his food? Because he had a stable environment to cook in peace? Or simply because he liked cooking for me? Facing those eyes that easily saw through me, I suddenly didn’t want to dig any deeper. 3 Under my protection, Liam found a job. No one dared to bully this orphaned, honest, and kind-hearted poor boy anymore. He was nineteen. At eighteen, he got into a good college but couldn’t afford tuition. So he came to the city for work, thinking a big city meant more opportunities, only to be scammed as soon as he stepped off the train. Luckily, despite the rocky start, things were looking up. He got new ID documents, wore the clothes I bought him, and went to work full of energy every day. When he came back, he always carried bags of groceries. He thought I was too thin. When he held my slender wrists, he didn’t know how much strength to use, deep worry etched on his chiseled face. Honestly, I wasn’t petite. I even took boxing lessons to be able to punch that cheating couple, Luke and Chloe. But Liam was just too big. His past part-time jobs were all manual labor. Which meant he ate way more than the average person. So after his bag was stolen, he starved faster too. Now that he was full, he always wore a faint, happy smile. However, compared to his size, he was actually quite shy and sensitive. If I talked to him too much, he’d get embarrassed. According to his colleagues, Liam didn’t talk much at work. But no one found him hard to get along with. Because he worked all day long. His work, other people’s work—if you gave it to him, he did it. Unsurprisingly, Liam was friendly, sincere, and full of sunshine inside. Completely different from me. Current me was a bit too dark, constantly plotting how to torture my cheating husband and his little lover. Just because I missed the chance to gloat at Luke in the hospital didn’t mean I gave up on torturing him. Giving up on the man who was my childhood sweetheart for twenty-seven years, who spent his fiery youth chasing and protecting me, only to tire of me quickly after marriage and fall for a young girl who looked a bit like me. 4 I remembered the last time we met, in Luke’s office. I went to discuss divorce. Three years of marriage, but the honeymoon phase lasted only one. The remaining two years were spent in self-doubt and internal conflict. Eventually, I faced the failure of this marriage and wanted to have a proper talk with Luke. I didn’t expect Chloe to be hiding under his desk… They interacted right in front of me, exchanging glances. Treating me as part of their foreplay. Chloe even thought she was hidden well. Leaning against Luke’s leg, smiling slyly. And I, the moment Luke threw his head back with a satisfied groan, marched over, grabbed her hair, and dragged her out from under the desk. Chloe screamed as I slapped her, her pale face instantly swelling red. Behind me, Luke’s voice rang out. “Sarah.” I turned instinctively, only to be slapped so hard my vision blurred. It took me a while to recover. He looked down at me arrogantly. “Finally learned to fight for attention? Too bad, you look uglier by the minute.” Cruel words fell one after another. My world plunged into chaos and storms. I remembered when Luke first confessed to me. His eyes shining, he said, “You look like a princess when you hold your head high. I want to protect you forever.” But later: “She knows how to be submissive better than you. She knows how to please me. And you? You have to show sincerity, prove you love me more than she does.” He brought Chloe to important social events, hiding her timidly behind him. Guests whispered as we stood apart. I kept my back straight and head high, the crystal chandelier like a lonely crown above me. But when I took off my ring and walked away without looking back, he chased me, hugging me from behind in a quiet corner. “Really angry? Guess my wife does care about me.” His kisses landed on my neck, his tone lingering and ambiguous. “I just wanted to make you jealous. How can she compare to you? You’re the rose I raised myself.” He buried his face in my neck, laughing low. “You look so cute being stubborn and refusing to yield.” Back then, I thought Luke was crazy. I wanted to leave, but entangled by our families’ business interests, I endured again and again. Until they pushed too far. When I snapped back to reality, I had pinned Luke to the floor, smashing him with an ashtray, screaming, “I gave you too much face! You two hook up in front of me without shame, and you dare hit me?!” Luke’s face was a bloody mess, terrifying to look at. His little girl was huddled in the corner, trying to be invisible, terrified. “Sarah, learn to behave, or we divorce.” Even now, his eyes locked onto me, threatening. He always provoked me, then savored my breakdown from his high horse. Seeing his face twisted in pain, I suddenly laughed with relief. I said, “You know what, Luke? Intentional injury gets a heavy sentence, but domestic violence only gets a warning.” “As long as we’re married, I will torture you for life.” With that, I grinned, showing all my teeth. “Divorce? Keep dreaming.” My smile must have been maniacal because I saw clear fear in Luke’s eyes. As my hands closed around his neck, I admit I thought about dying with him. But was it worth it? Letting him die so easily? No. Yes, hatred for him was the only thing keeping me alive. I refused to look back, refused to admit my life was completely twisted. Now, I was a madwoman, a shrew. My reputation ruined, entangled with a man who didn’t love me. My hands started shaking uncontrollably again. The next second, a gentle touch met my palm. I turned and saw Liam resting his head on my knee. He gently pried open my hands, which I had clenched until my nails dug into the skin. After failing to calm me by massaging my palms or offering water, he pressed his cheek against my hand, finally pulling me out of the emotional storm. The boy stared at me with round puppy eyes, unmoving. I looked down at that face—youthful, tender, with deep features, looking a bit mixed-race. Liam was undoubtedly handsome, but his eyes were too clean, making it hard to have untoward thoughts. His cheeks and ears were red, but concern overrode his shyness. Seeing me look at him, he seemed to gather courage, took a deep breath, and pleaded, “Don’t hurt yourself anymore, okay?” Then he gently lifted my other hand and placed it reverently on his head. When Liam first arrived, his short, stubbly hair felt great to touch. Back then, I joked that the condition for him staying was letting me pet his head whenever I wanted. Now, seeing his clumsy, silly attempt to please me, seeing the clarity in his eyes, I couldn’t help but ask: “Liam, lurking by my side for so long, what do you really want?”

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My daughter wanted a face tattoo—right in the middle of her forehead. I, being a sane mother, stopped her. She listened then, but after she turned eighteen, everything changed. She became a miserable corporate drone, while her old high school friends were becoming TikTok famous and driving Maseratis. She resented me. She was convinced I was the obstacle blocking her path to wealth. The hate festered until today, when she cornered me on the balcony with a knife, intent on stabbing me. I held up one hand to stop her, and with the other, I opened a PowerPoint presentation I’d been compiling since she was a toddler. “Hold on,” I said. “Let’s look at the receipts.” Chapter 1 My daughter, Chloe, is a moron. I’ve known this since she was little. Her favorite hobby is blaming me for her own incompetence. If she got a 50 on a math test, it was my fault for not arranging her breakfast bacon and eggs into a ‘100’. If her crush rejected her love letter, it was my fault for not buying her Sephora makeup. She has the exact same personality as her deadbeat father. Knowing this kid was a lost cause, I dragged her through college, paid her way, and we made a pact: once she graduated, we were done. No contact, dead to each other. I didn’t expect her to show up three years later. She was holding a phone, livestreaming, standing on my balcony surrounded by shattered glass. Her eyes were bloodshot, muttering into the camera: “Mom, if you had just let me be a streamer back then, I’d be driving a Maserati right now.” “Mom, you ruined my life. Do you know that? I’ve spent my whole life trying to heal from my unhappy childhood. I am repressed, I am lost, and I am suffocating.” The livestream chat was flying by, filled with agreement. [Toxic families are the worst. Parents with no vision really ruin everything.] [Talk about extinguishing a fire before it even starts. RIP your potential.] [Ignorant parents really do delay their kids’ lives.] I sighed. As Chloe took a step closer with the knife, I didn’t panic. I just reached out a hand to stop her. “Hold on.” “Why don’t we take a look at the ‘Growth Diary’ I’ve kept for you since you were small?” Chloe froze. She hadn’t expected this reaction. She glanced at the chat. Seeing that her viewers were curious about what I had documented, she decided to humor me. I opened the file. It was so massive it nearly crashed my laptop. It contained every event, big and small, regarding Chloe. I connected the laptop to a projector and threw the PowerPoint onto the living room wall for her viewers to see. “Mom, you destroyed me! Do you feel zero guilt?” Chloe sat on the sofa with me, burying her face in her hands, sobbing and rambling for the camera. She was really acting her heart out. I ignored it and clicked the first slide. Title: Chloe’s Growth Diary. Subtitle: Evidence for when she inevitably denies reality. The chat exploded. [This feels oppressive. Is she gonna invoice her for every cent spent since childhood?] [No wonder the streamer hates her mom.] [Support the streamer! A woman without maternal love doesn’t deserve to be a mother.] I scrolled to the second slide: The Table of Contents. There were over a hundred subheadings. I asked, “Tell me, what exactly are you dissatisfied with regarding your upbringing? Speak up. I’ll answer every point.” Chloe was shocked by my PPT. It took her a while to stammer out an accusation: “When I was little… we went to Grandma’s house. I broke something, and you slapped me in front of all the relatives.” “Do you know how much trauma a slap causes a person?” Chapter 2 The chat immediately started empathizing. [I get it. Once I broke a bowl and my dad nearly broke my arm.] [Don’t cry over spilled milk. I wish parents understood this.] I thought Chloe sounded like a braying donkey with her crying. I dug a finger in my ear, then moved the mouse to navigate to that specific page. The slide was dense with text recording the event. Date: February 9, 1997. Lunar New Year, Day 3. Visiting Grandma. Entry: The child insisted on jumping up and down on the wooden cover of the outhouse cesspit. She fell into the shit. She ruined her new clothes, but seeing as she had already swallowed a few mouthfuls of sewage and was crying hysterically, I held back my temper. The chat filled with “Hahahaha.” I glanced at my daughter’s face. Veins popped on Chloe’s forehead. She slammed her fist on the sofa. “Don’t change the subject! Why did you slap me in front of everyone later?” [Almost got distracted by the mom. She’s posting her daughter’s embarrassing moments just to whitewash herself, right?] [Is it just me, or is this terrifying? Socially executing your daughter with childhood stories.] [Honestly, my heart aches for the streamer. Parents never empathize. No wonder Asian households produce so much depression.] I sighed helplessly and scrolled to the next slide. The text read clearly: We told Chloe to light incense for her late Grandfather. She held the incense and asked why Grandpa had turned into a jar. She asked if Grandpa learned the art of ‘Bone Shrinking Kung Fu’. We laughed through tears at her innocent words and didn’t think much of it. Later, while we were eating, we heard a loud crash. Chloe had smashed my father’s urn. A gust of wind blew through the open door, and my father drifted away in the breeze. He was literally scattered to the winds. She said she ‘wanted to see how Grandpa fit inside.’ My mother passed out cold on the spot. I walked over and slapped her twice. Damn kid. The chat moved beyond “Hahahaha.” [Sis… the fact that you’re still alive is proof of a mother’s love.] [Just a slap? I would have been beaten to death.] Seeing the tide turning against her, Chloe started wailing. “Were you not at fault too? You guys just brushed me off! You didn’t explain it clearly! I was so little, I didn’t know what death meant!” The chat, fickle as grass in the wind, swayed back to her. [True, the adults share responsibility. Kids are just curious.] “Fine! Breaking the urn was my fault! But what about the next year? I was helping Uncle chop firewood, and you beat me again! Just because I was the older sister and didn’t let my cousin play with the axe?” The chat empathized again. [As an older sister, I was always told to yield to my brother. But I was a kid too!] [Why can’t parents ever protect their own children?] I looked at the chat, speechless, then turned to my daughter. “Are you sure you want me to say it?” Chapter 3 Chloe froze for a second, then grit her teeth. “Mom, what else can you twist? If you just apologize to me, I’m willing to forgive you. As long as you stop blocking my streaming career.” [Asian parents will spend their whole lives avoiding an apology.] [I’m crying. I’ve spent my life begging for a ‘sorry’.] I smiled. “Since you put it that way, let me help you recall why I beat you that time.” Date: January 30, 1998. Lunar New Year, Day 3. Entry: I didn’t want to bring Chloe to her grandmother’s, but Grandma missed her. This time, we didn’t let her near the altar. My brother was chopping wood with a large axe. Chloe wanted to try. My brother pushed her away, saying it was dangerous, and told her to go play. Chloe insisted on helping. My brother refused, saying the logs were too big, but promised she could help with kindling tomorrow. Chloe nodded innocently. I let my guard down and went to the kitchen. Suddenly, I heard my mother scream. I ran out to the yard. My mother had fainted (again). My nephew was wrestling Chloe for the axe. And on the chopping block lay my father’s wooden memorial tablet, split perfectly in two. Chloe got a severe beating that day. [Fortune Teller: You have two tribulations after death. Grandpa: Huh?] [Who chops up their grandpa’s spirit tablet for firewood?!] My daughter was losing her mind. She cried, snot and tears flowing freely. Just as I was about to ask if I was being too harsh, she looked up, eyes bloodshot. “These were mistakes I made when I was little! But why did you murder my dog, Buster? Just because Dad gave him to me?!” The chat boiled over instantly. This time, they attacked me. [She’s venomous. Anyone who abuses pets deserves to be struck by lightning.] [I can’t stand this. The mother is psychologically twisted. The daughter’s mistakes were childhood ignorance, but the mother is an adult killing animals? That’s terrifying.] [I had a pet rabbit once. My mom cooked it and forced me to eat it.] Chloe seemed certain I had no evidence for this. She grabbed my hand, stopping the mouse, and screamed, “Answer me! Don’t use your fake evidence to distract everyone! Just answer one sentence: Did you kill Buster? Yes or no!” I looked at my daughter’s sad face, seeing the calculation in her eyes. I nodded and admitted it. “Yes, it was me.” [Holy sh*t, she admitted it. So gross. Some people are just sick. No wonder the daughter wants to kill her.] [An unhappy childhood really takes a lifetime to heal. The daughter is so gentle, only asking for an apology.] Seeing the support rolling in and convinced I had no proof, Chloe’s voice grew firmer. “Mom, you will always be my mom. As long as you admit you wronged me all these years, and call Dad to apologize to him too, I’m willing to let everything go and live with you again.” [The streamer is too kind. A villain like this mom deserves to die, just like the dog she killed.] [So Asian parents only care about grades, not their child’s mental health? They don’t care about anything except achievement.] [She probably killed the dog because it distracted the daughter from studying. Right in front of her face, too.] Chloe’s eyes were swollen red, snot dripping as she yelled, “Mom, is apologizing to me that hard?” I looked at my suffering daughter, my heart as still as water. [God, look at that cold expression. Is that really a mother looking at her daughter?] [The mom doesn’t know how lucky she is to have such a good daughter.] I spoke calmly. “Are you so sure I don’t have evidence from back then?” Chloe went rigid. Her voice trembled. “Your so-called evidence is just you typing on a keyboard! You can type whatever you want!” [True. Text evidence isn’t convincing. Especially regarding animal abuse, text won’t convince me.] [This person isn’t fit to be a mother. She’s an animal.] I smiled faintly, remembering all the losses I suffered with her deadbeat father because I didn’t keep receipts. “Of course I have more than text…” I shook off Chloe’s hand and scrolled to Slide 157. A photo of my daughter and the so-called “puppy.” The word “puppy” obscured the key information. The “puppy” was actually a massive, aggressive breed, sitting as tall as ten-year-old Chloe. When Buster’s photo appeared, the chat jumped. [That… is a puppy? Feels like it could bite my head off.] [Don’t be scared guys, that dog eats people and leaves.] I stared dead at Chloe. “Do you want me to repeat why Buster was euthanized?” She dodged my gaze. But thinking of something, she stared back. “Mom, even if Buster chewed up your purse, you didn’t have to kill him!” The chat was led astray again. [Big or small, abuse is wrong!] [This woman is scary. A few words and a pic almost swayed me, but the point is she killed a pet!] I looked at my unrepentant daughter and dropped the Hammer. I scrolled to the next slide. Chapter 4 Chloe is shrewd. She assumed that since the incident happened in a small county town years ago, even if it made the news, the records would be gone. She was wrong. If I’m building a chain of evidence, I ensure integrity. Text isn’t enough, so I kept the images. I zoomed in on the photo in the PPT. It was a scan of an old newspaper. I moved the mouse slowly to ensure everyone in the livestream could read the text. The bold black headline read: UNLEASHED AGGRESSIVE DOG MAULS INFANT GIRL’S FACE. Below it was a photo of Buster, muzzle covered in blood, staring ferociously at the camera. And a photo of a baby girl, pixelated, but clearly missing a large chunk of flesh from her cheek. I sighed. Even looking at it now, I felt guilt towards that little girl. I had always opposed my ex-husband getting that dog for Chloe. I planned to send it to a friend’s farm to be kept in a kennel. But my ex-husband, while I was at work, secretly told Chloe to take Buster out to “prove he wouldn’t hurt anyone.” And so, the tragedy happened. The next slide showed Buster being euthanized, along with the vet records. [My god. Just euthanasia? If I were that baby’s parent, I would have stewed that dog.] [I actually found the article. The auntie isn’t lying. She paid for the girl’s reconstructive surgery and compensation. The dad who bought the dog went into hiding. Auntie has morals.] [Raising a demon child is exhausting. No wonder she cut contact.] Chloe froze. She hadn’t expected me to keep such complete evidence. She panicked for a moment, stuttering, “You… I… You…” Seeing she had nothing to say, the chat turned on her, calling her a plague, a psycho, trying to pin her sins on her “native family.” Chloe panicked, but after a moment, her eyes lit up. She found an angle. “Mom, that incident was my fault. But why did you read a boy’s love letter to me in front of the whole class?” “Your own daughter is precious, but other people’s sons can be bullied by you?” The comment section exploded again. The netizens couldn’t sit still. [This mom is insane. That counts as abuse, right?] [Taking back what I said about her morals. Publicly humiliating a child is low no matter the reason.] [Die, b*tch. You deserve your daughter trying to kill you.] Chloe avoided my gaze. I looked at her calmly. “Are you sure you want me to say it?”

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My father liked silence. He said noise was a sign of the lower classes, so he installed a decibel meter in our house. Speaking above 40 decibels was a one-dollar fine. Laughing over 60 decibels cost five. Crying was a capital offense: ten dollars a second. When I was four, I broke my arm. I didn’t make a sound. I bit through two of my own teeth and saved my father a few hundred dollars in “noise fees.” My father praised me for being sensible. He called me a “cost-effective” child. I treasured that compliment, carefully maintaining the dead silence of our home. Until that stormy night, when a burglar broke in. The man had a knife. He crept toward my sleeping mother. I was hiding in the closet, watching through a crack in the door. I saw everything. I wanted to scream, to shout, to wake my father. But then I glanced at the decibel meter on the wall, and my hand went to my empty pocket. I didn’t have enough allowance. A single scream would cost hundreds. I couldn’t afford it. … The walls of our house were white. The numbers on the decibel meter were red—the brightest thing in the house. I sat at the dining table, staring at the number: 28. Safe. My father sat at the head of the table, holding a newspaper. The sound of him turning a page was whisper-soft. My mother was in the kitchen, the sound of her knife on the cutting board as delicate as embroidery. I didn’t dare breathe too deeply. Taking too loud a breath also came with a fee. My father had explained it once. The air outside was free, but the air inside our house was contained by the walls he had paid for. Using a resource required payment. A bowl of plain noodles sat in front of me. No meat. Meat cost extra, and my account was in the red. Last week, I had accidentally broken a glass. The glass was fifty cents, the cleanup fee was a dollar, the “startle fee” was two dollars, and the fine for the decibel meter spiking to 80 was twenty dollars. My allowance was now deep in the negative. This week, it was only plain noodles for me. “Arthur, the child is still growing,” my mother said, carrying a dish out from the kitchen. Her voice was a low murmur. The meter twitched: 35. Still in the safe zone. My father lowered his newspaper and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Grace, rules are rules.” “She broke a glass and made a noise. She has to face the consequences. It’s called accountability.” My mother bit her lip, not daring to say more. She placed a dish of stir-fried pork in the center of the table. The aroma drifted over, and I swallowed hard. My stomach betrayed me with a loud gurgle. Grrrrmble— It was a little too loud. I looked up at the wall in terror. 41. I was done for. My father’s chopsticks froze mid-air. He pulled out his phone and opened the black accounting app. “Stomach noise. 1 decibel over the limit.” “One-dollar fine.” “It’s on your tab. You now owe me twenty-four dollars and fifty cents.” I lowered my head, tears welling in my eyes. Don’t cry. Crying costs money. Ten dollars a second. I couldn’t afford to cry. I bit my lip so hard I could taste blood, forcing the tears back. “Eat,” my father said, picking up a piece of pork and putting it in his mouth. “Remember, there’s no such thing as a free lunch. And there’s no such thing as free noise.” The doorbell suddenly rang, a series of sharp, urgent presses. The decibel meter instantly shot to 70. My father’s brow furrowed, his face darkening. “Who could be so ill-mannered?” My mother rushed to open the door. The moment it opened, my aunt Lynn burst in. She was carrying a large cake box and a giant LEGO set. “Anna! Happy birthday!” My aunt’s voice was loud and full of life. The decibel meter danced wildly. 75, 80, 85… My father’s face was as black as soot. “That’s enough! Five-dollar entry fee, thirty-dollar noise fee.” “Card or cash?” My aunt stood there, stunned. She looked from the decibel meter on the wall to me, huddled in my chair. “Arthur, are you insane?” “It’s Anna’s fifth birthday! And you’re charging me a noise fee?” My father stood up, blocking her path. “This is my house. In my territory, you follow my rules. And this cake and toy… did you get my approval?” “There is no spare room in this house for such garbage.” My aunt’s hands were trembling with rage. She slammed the cake down on the table. BANG! The meter redlined. “I’m leaving it right here! Anna, come on, Auntie will cut you a slice!” She took my hand. Her hand was so warm. But I didn’t dare move. I looked at my father. “Anna, it’s your choice,” he said. “Eat the cake, and this week’s debt doubles. Don’t eat it, and I’ll deduct one dollar from your debt.” I pulled my hand back. If my debt doubled, I would owe almost fifty dollars. I wouldn’t even get noodles next week. I’d be drinking plain water. “I… I don’t want any,” I whispered. My voice was barely audible. My aunt stared at me in disbelief. “Anna? What are you afraid of?” “Auntie is here. He won’t dare do anything to you!” I shook my head. She didn’t understand. After she left, my father would add everything to my tab. With interest. I couldn’t afford it. “Did you hear her?” My father sat back down, a cold smirk on his lips. “The child is more sensible than you are. She understands cost-effectiveness.” My aunt took a deep breath and knelt, looking me in the eye. “Anna, tell me the truth.” “Do you want to eat the cake?” “Forget the money. Forget your father. Just tell me, do you want it?” I looked at the cake. It had a beautiful little rabbit on it. The frosting had to be so sweet. I wanted it. I dreamed of things like this. But… I glanced at the number on the wall. “No,” I lied. My aunt’s eyes turned red. She shot to her feet, pointing a finger at my father’s nose. “Arthur, this is abuse! What do you think your child is?” My father slowly wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I am teaching her how to survive. Your kind of spoiling is what will ruin her.” “Now, please leave. You have exceeded the noise limit for far too long. I will send you the bill.” My aunt was shaking with fury. She looked like she was about to smash something, but then she saw the terror in my eyes, and she restrained herself. “Fine, Arthur. Just fine. You’ll get what’s coming to you.” Aunt Lynn left. The moment the door closed, the house returned to its dead silence. 28 decibels. My father nodded in satisfaction. The noodles were cold and congealed. They were disgusting, but I shoveled them into my mouth, not daring to make a sound. I had earned this meal by refusing the cake. It was the cheapest resource for survival in this house. That night, I lay in my small bed, clutching a coin in my hand. My aunt had secretly slipped it into my pocket before she left. “Anna,” she had whispered, “take this. If there’s ever an emergency, use it to buy yourself a chance.” I didn’t know what “buying a chance” meant. But I knew this one-dollar coin was the only money I truly owned. It was my last defense in a world where everything had a price. I woke up in the middle of the night, burning with fever. My throat felt like I had swallowed hot coals, and my head was heavy as lead. I groggily touched my forehead. It was scalding. I was sick. My first thought wasn’t pain, but fear. Being sick meant spending money. Doctor’s fees, medicine, tests. My father said that illness was a failure of self-management. It was negligence. All costs were to be borne by the patient. I curled up under the covers, shivering. I wanted water. But the kitchen was past my father’s bedroom. Walking would make noise. Opening the door would make noise. Pouring water would make noise. If I woke him, there would be a massive fine. I endured it. My throat was parched. I opened my mouth, trying to breathe in some cool air, but even the air felt hot. “Mommy…” I mouthed the word silently, tears running into my ears. I didn’t dare make a sound. If no one found out, I wasn’t really sick. If I didn’t take medicine, it wouldn’t cost anything. With these thoughts, I drifted back into a feverish sleep. Nightmares came one after another. I dreamed the decibel meter was a monster, its mouth wide open to devour me. I dreamed that bills fell like snowflakes, burying me alive. When I woke again, it was morning. My father was shaking me. “What time is it? Get up.” His voice was stern. I tried to sit up, but I had no strength. The world went black, and I fell back onto the pillow with a soft thud. The bedframe creaked. I glanced at the meter. I was still under the limit. My father frowned and touched my forehead. He quickly pulled his hand back. “You’re burning up.” He looked at his watch. “103.1.” “We need to go to the hospital.” He took out his phone and opened the calculator. “Round trip taxi fare, sixty dollars.” “Registration fee, fifty dollars.” “Blood test, eighty dollars.” “Medicine, probably two hundred.” “Lost wages, I’ll have to take a half-day off, that’s five hundred.” “Total, eight hundred and ninety dollars.” He shoved the phone screen in my face. “Your account is in the negative. How do you propose to handle this?” I was delirious with fever, the numbers a blurry mess. “Daddy… I feel sick…” I said weakly. “Feeling sick is not an excuse to default on your debt,” he said coldly. “Sign this IOU. Interest will be triple the bank rate. You can pay me back, with interest, when you grow up.” He took a paper from his briefcase. It was covered in fine print, clearly prepared in advance. “Sign.” He pushed the pen into my hand. My hand was shaking so badly I couldn’t hold it. It fell to the floor with a clatter. He picked it up and forced it back into my hand. My mother rushed in. She had heard the commotion. When she saw my flushed face, she screamed. “Anna!” The decibel meter flashed red. My father glared at her. “What are you shouting for? Fifty-dollar fine.” She ignored him and threw her arms around me. Her tears were cool on my hot skin. “Arthur, have you lost your mind?” “The child is burning up, and you’re making her sign an IOU? Take her to the hospital!” It was the first time I had ever heard my mother speak so loudly. My father sneered. “Are you paying for it?” “I manage your salary. Every penny of your money is budgeted.” “This is an unbudgeted expense. Someone has to cover it.” “Either she signs, or you do.” “Sign it, and I’ll start the car.” My mother held me, her body trembling. She looked at me, limp and feverish in her arms, then at my father’s cold face. “I’ll sign.” In the car, I leaned against my mother. The air conditioning was blasting. My father didn’t speak. He was listening to a financial news station. When a stock went up, the corner of his mouth twitched upwards. When one went down, his brow furrowed. His daughter, delirious in the back seat, was not his concern. As long as I didn’t die, I was a recoverable asset. At the hospital, when the nurse gave me the injection, I didn’t cry. “You’re a brave little girl,” she said. “Not even a peep.” She didn’t know I didn’t dare make a peep. If I cried, it would cost another ten dollars. That was several days’ worth of my mother’s grocery money. I watched the fluid in the IV tube. Drip. Drip. That was money. Flowing into my veins. I felt myself becoming more and more expensive. And less and less worthy of being alive. I was a liability. My father was right. If I hadn’t gotten sick, that eight hundred and ninety dollars could have bought so many shares, earned so much interest. It was all my fault. We got home late that night. My fever had gone down a little, but I was still dizzy. My father posted the bill on the fridge, in the most prominent spot. “Grace, remember to pay this back. I’ll deduct it from next month’s household budget.” I lay on the sofa, staring at the decibel meter. 25. The house was as quiet as a tomb, the only sound the tap-tap-tapping of my father’s keyboard. He was updating his ledger. Every expense was meticulously recorded, including the five-dollar parking fee from today. That, too, went on my tab. I felt my pocket. The coin was still there. Aunt Lynn’s coin. It wasn’t on my father’s ledger. It was my only secret. My only hope. I wondered, if one day I could save up many, many coins, could I buy my freedom from my father? Could I buy the right to cry out loud, to laugh out loud? But for now, I only had one dollar. Not even enough to buy a single scream. The rain was coming down hard, thunder rattling the windows. The numbers on the decibel meter kept jumping. 40, 50, 60… But this was natural noise. My father couldn’t fine God. He could only put in his earplugs and shut his bedroom door. My mother was already asleep. She was exhausted from taking care of me and being berated by my father. I couldn’t sleep. My arm still ached where the IV had been. I wanted water, but I didn’t dare move. The thunder outside drowned out everything—including the sound of a window being pried open. Click. It was a tiny sound. You would have missed it if you weren’t listening. But I heard it. In this house, I was more sensitive to sound than a cat. I opened my eyes. A dark figure was climbing in through the window. A man in a black raincoat, holding a knife. The blade gleamed a ghastly white in the flashes of lightning. My heart seized. A burglar! There was a burglar in the house! I wanted to scream. The word “Help!” was on the tip of my tongue. But then I saw the decibel meter. The living room was dark, but the red number glowed with perfect clarity: 35. If I screamed, it would definitely go over 100. That was a capital offense. A huge fine… My mind raced, calculating. A single scream was ten dollars, minimum. Continued screaming would be charged by the second. If I woke my father, there would be an additional fee for emotional distress. My account was negative. My mother’s budget for next month was already gone. We couldn’t afford it. The burglar crept toward the bedroom. My parents’ room. Was he going to kill them? Or just steal things? If my father’s hidden cash was stolen, he would go insane. He would take his fury out on me and my mother. No. I couldn’t let him go in there. I had to do something. But I couldn’t make a sound. Noise cost money. I was sweating, my body trembling with panic. My hand found the coin in my pocket. The cool, hard metal. My entire fortune. One dollar. What could it buy? Not a piece of candy. Not a sheet of paper. But. It could make a small sound. A sound that wouldn’t go over the limit. The burglar’s hand was on the bedroom doorknob. His knife was raised. There was no time. I took a deep breath, and with a flick of my wrist, I sent the coin rolling across the floor. Ting— The coin spun across the wood, hitting the leg of a table with a clear, crisp sound. It wasn’t loud enough to be jarring over the thunder. The decibel meter jumped to 38. No violation. No fine. The burglar froze. He whipped his head around, his eyes locking on the closet in the corner of the living room. I was hiding in that closet. Through the crack in the door, our eyes met. His eyes were vicious. He abandoned the bedroom and turned toward me. One step. Two steps. His leather shoes made dull thuds on the floor. I clamped my hand over my mouth, my nails digging into my skin. Don’t scream. Whatever you do, don’t scream. He reached the closet. He yanked the door open. I was exposed, a small body curled into a tight ball. The burglar sneered. He hadn’t expected to find a child awake. He raised the knife and lunged. I closed my eyes. I didn’t move. Dodging would mean bumping into the closet walls. That would make noise. That would be a fine. Shhhk. The knife slid into my stomach. A cold shock, then a searing, fiery pain. A hundred times worse than my broken arm. I wanted to scream. A primal urge to release the agony. But I opened my eyes and saw the decibel meter: 32. Good. I hadn’t made a sound. I had held it in. Blood poured out, staining my pajamas, pooling on the floor. The burglar paused. He had probably never seen a child take a knife to the gut without a sound. He must have thought I was mute, or paralyzed with fear. He pulled the knife out. Another wave of excruciating pain. My body convulsed. My teeth bit through my lip, and the taste of blood filled my mouth. But still, I made no sound. The burglar grunted. He wiped the blood from his knife on my pajamas, then turned to ransack the cabinet behind me. That was where my father hid his emergency cash. I watched as he pulled out a small iron box. It was my father’s prized possession, filled with cash and gold bars. The burglar dumped the contents into his bag, zipped it up, and left. He climbed back out the window and vanished into the rainy night. The house was quiet again. Only the sound of the thunder, and the sound of my blood dripping onto the floor.

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The seventh year Sophia was abroad, the year her heart, which I’d shattered, finally healed enough for her to bring a new boyfriend home to meet her parents, was also the year the hospital gave me my final verdict. Seven years of fighting cancer, and I had lost. I could go home to die. When she saw my mother wheeling me out, Sophia’s lips twisted into a sneer. “Well, well. Seven years. You look like hell. Can’t even walk on your own two feet now?” Her voice dripped with contempt, but I just calmly tugged the sleeve of my puffer jacket down, hiding the dense constellation of needle marks on the back of my hand. “It’s nothing. I took a bad fall, just a fracture.” Another smirk. “Since you’re so fragile, you can be a groomsman for my fiancé. I’m getting married soon, you know.” I managed a weak, placid smile. “I can’t. I have to go somewhere… very far away.” With that, I patted my mother’s hand, a silent plea for her to wheel me home, now. 1 Back home, my mother had just helped me into bed when Sophia’s mother showed up at our door. She stepped inside, her eyes darting toward me, her words hesitant. “Liam, I… I have a favor to ask. An improper one.” Her face was flushed. She didn’t have to say another word. I knew. It was the same look she’d worn seven years ago. I remembered it perfectly. The moment she’d learned about my diagnosis, she’d burst into my hospital room, frantic, a shadow of guilt in her eyes. I hadn’t even processed the word ‘cancer’ myself. I was terrified, sobbing like my life was already over, and she just dropped to her knees in front of me. “Liam, I’m begging you. Don’t drag Sophia down with you. She just got her acceptance letter. If she finds out you have cancer, she’ll never leave.” “You and Sophia grew up together, you’ve been in love for so long. Please, for my sake, don’t ruin her future. Break up with her. Please.” “I’ve already worked it all out. I’ve arranged for a girl to help. All you have to do is pretend to kiss her downstairs. Let Sophia ‘catch’ you. Then you just have to pretend to break her heart.” Because of her words, the first thing I did after my diagnosis wasn’t to seek treatment. It was to stage a cold, cruel betrayal. I forced a breakup, and with it, I forced Sophia out of the country. Just as I expected, Sophia’s mother finally got the words out, her voice thick with feigned remorse. “Liam, don’t blame me. I have no choice. Sophia’s fiancé now… he was with her through grad school and his PhD. They’re a perfect match in every way. I just… I can’t let anything ruin such a perfect marriage.” She wrung her hands. “You know how attached she’s always been to you. If… if she found out the truth about what happened back then, I’m afraid… I’m so afraid…” Her eyes hardened. “So, can you just avoid seeing her for a while? You’re… you’re dying anyway, aren’t you? It’s not like you should be going out much. Right?” At the word “dying,” my mother snapped. She slammed a pack of my adult diapers onto the bed, her body trembling with rage. Seeing she was about to explode, I quickly grabbed her arm, then turned my calm gaze to Sophia’s mother. “Ma’am, I can promise you I won’t tell Sophia the truth about seven years ago. But I can’t promise not to see her.” I couldn’t. For seven agonizing years, there wasn’t a moment I didn’t think of her. When the chemo became unbearable, I would clutch an old photo of us, the faded image giving me the strength to endure. I’d gone through dozens of surgeries, big and small. A few times, I was rushed to the ER, slipping away, unable to wake up. It was my mother’s voice, raw and desperate at my bedside, that pulled me back. “Liam, don’t you remember? You promised you would live! You said you’d go find her, clear up the misunderstanding yourself!” “You promised that when you were better, I would take you to find her! If you die, you’ll never see Sophia again!” Her cries, always laced with Sophia’s name, were the lifeline that dragged me back from the brink, time and time again. But in the end, I still lost the fight. And Sophia had a new life, a new love. She was getting married. Still, just to be near her for a little while, in my final days… that would be enough. It was why, when the doctor said leaving the hospital meant certain death, I still forced myself out of that bed. I had to see her. 2 I didn’t expect it to be so soon. Just after Sophia’s mother left, I drifted into an exhausted sleep. When I woke, I heard her voice outside my room. Sophia’s voice. In my home. I was stunned. Seven years ago, she hated me with every fiber of her being. She’d stood outside my door for three days and three nights, her face streaked with tears, demanding to know why I betrayed her. When I coldly told her I didn’t love her anymore, she slapped me, her hand shaking, over and over again. After that, she couldn’t even stand the sight of me. If she saw me in the hallway, she’d turn and walk the other way. Passing my apartment, she’d physically cringe. She stopped going to the corner store we used to visit together. The mere mention of my name was enough to make her snap at whoever said it. “Why are you talking about Liam? You might not find it disgusting, but I do.” The day she left for the airport, I ran out in a downpour, desperate for one last look. When she saw me, she just scoffed, took off the matching ring we’d bought together, and smashed it on the ground at my feet along with the phone that held all our photos. Then she walked away without a backward glance. But now, seven years later, she was here. It only took a moment, peering through the crack in my bedroom door, to understand why. She was holding her fiancé’s hand tightly. “Auntie, are you still upset about what happened seven years ago? Is that why you don’t want Liam to help us pick a wedding planner and rings?” She sounded so reasonable, so detached. “I’m over Liam. We grew up together, after all. If we can’t be lovers, we can at least be friends.” The man beside her, Ryan, chimed in smoothly. “It’s alright, Ma’am. Sophia told me all about her history with Liam. I know he cheated back then, but they were young. It takes two to tango, I’m sure Sophia wasn’t perfect either.” He smiled, a perfect, charming smile. “Besides, I should thank him. If he hadn’t let Sophia go, I never would have met such an amazing woman.” He put his arm around her. “So really, there’s no need to dwell on the past. It was my idea to ask Liam for help. We’ve been out of the country for seven years, we’re out of touch. We can’t just let the older generation decide everything, their sense of style is… a little dated.” Seven years ago, my greatest wish was for Sophia to forget me, to move on. But hearing her speak of our past so calmly, hearing her share our story with another man… a thousand tiny needles pricked at my heart. My mother, however, was focused on Ryan’s words. Cheated. Let her go. Her eyes flared with rage. Her lips trembled, and she finally roared at Sophia. “You’re just as shameless as your mother!” My heart seized. I forced my weak body to sit up. “Mom,” I called out, my voice strained. “Come in here. Help me into my wheelchair. I’ll talk to them.” 3 My mother came in, her face still a mask of fury. But I just reached out and hugged her. “Mom, please. Let me do this. Think of it as… my dying wish.” Her eyes instantly welled with tears, but she nodded. She went to the closet, got my wig, and helped me into my jacket. The moment she wheeled me out, Sophia’s brow furrowed. “What is wrong with you? You were lazy as a kid, and you’re even lazier now. It’s just a broken leg. You’re making your mother wait on you hand and foot at her age.” Her disgust was a physical blow. I forced a smile. “The doctor said it’s a bad break. I have to stay off it for a while.” Ryan stepped forward, his expression all sympathy. “Don’t mind Sophia, Liam. She got used to being blunt overseas. She’s like this with everyone.” He grinned, adding, “Except me, of course.” A fresh wave of bitterness washed over me. Sophia was cold to everyone, it was true. But with me, before… I pushed the thought away and looked at Ryan. “Are you sure you want me to help you pick a wedding planner?” “Of course, of course,” he said, nodding eagerly. I nodded back. “If you really need me, I’ll go with you.” After a few more minutes of strained pleasantries, they left. That night, my phone rang. It was Sophia. She told me to be ready tomorrow. We were going to the wedding planner’s office. My fingers gripped the phone so tightly my knuckles turned white. I was greedy for the sound of her voice, but my stomach was in knots. It had been seven years since I’d heard her speak to me like this, one-on-one, over the phone. We used to do it every night, tucked into our beds, her voice lulling me to sleep. As I was lost in the memory, a man’s voice echoed faintly through the receiver. “Sophia, come on. Let me dry your hair…” The sound jolted me back to reality. “Okay,” I managed to choke out. The second she heard my reply, she hung up. The dial tone droned in my ear. A familiar sting pricked my eyes, and I fought to swallow the tears back down. I’d prepared myself for this. But seeing it, hearing it—the girl who was once my entire world now belonging to someone else—it still hurt more than I could have imagined. 4 Sophia had told me to be ready at 10 a.m. Anxious, I had my mom wheel me downstairs at 9:30, just to be safe. But by noon, she still hadn’t shown up. The calls I made went straight to voicemail. My mother tried to coax me back upstairs several times, but I refused. It had taken so much of my dwindling strength just to get out of the apartment. This might be my last time outdoors. I wasn’t going to waste it. Finally, at 1 p.m., my phone rang. It was Sophia. They were on their way down. My mom was visibly upset, and it took all my effort to convince her to put on a neutral face. Once I was settled in the back seat of their car, Ryan turned to me with a sheepish smile. “Sorry about that, Liam. Sophia and I… well, we were up a little late last night. We both overslept this morning. Hope we didn’t keep you waiting too long.” My hand clenched into a fist in my lap. From the driver’s seat, Sophia glanced at me in the rearview mirror, her expression cold. “Why are you explaining anything to him?” she said flatly to Ryan. The words were like a shard of ice in my chest. I said nothing, just turned and waved a final, weak goodbye to my mother on the curb. Sophia drove fast, erratically. The car lurched and swayed, and a familiar wave of nausea rose in my throat. I gritted my teeth and held it down. I couldn’t help but remember. Seven years ago, when she first got her license, she would drive me everywhere in her dad’s car. She knew I got carsick easily, so she always drove with painstaking care, smooth and steady. I always got sick in taxis and buses, but never, not once, in Sophia’s car. Suddenly, she slammed on the brakes. My weak body, unable to brace itself, was thrown hard against the seatback. A violent heave convulsed my stomach, and a soft whimper escaped my lips before I could stop it. Sophia heard it. A cruel laugh echoed from the front seat. “What, Liam? Did you really think I’d still drive carefully for you? No sudden stops, no sharp turns?” I silently wiped away a tear that had escaped and traced a path down my temple. “No,” I said, my voice steady. “You should be careful for Ryan now. He’s the one you’re with.” She laughed again, a sharp, bitter sound. “You’re damn right about that.” Then she floored it. My body slammed against the seat again, a sharp pain radiating through my back. But this time, a small, sad smile touched my lips. Hate was better than indifference. At least in her heart, while I was still alive, I still held a place. 5 The agonizing drive didn’t last much longer. We arrived at our destination. Ryan helped me out of the car while Sophia unfolded my wheelchair. For a fleeting second, as she leaned over me, I caught the scent of her hair, that familiar, light fragrance. My eyes burned, and for a moment, I thought I would break down. I used to love burying my face in her hair, kissing the top of her head. The moment was gone as quickly as it came. They settled me into the chair and immediately stepped back. Sophia pulled two wet wipes from her purse and began scrubbing her hands with a frantic energy. Ryan gave me an apologetic look. “Sorry about that, Liam. She’s a bit of a germaphobe. Can’t stand being touched by any man… except for me.” I looked down, my jaw tight, pretending I hadn’t seen her disgusted scrubbing, pretending I hadn’t heard his words. I let them wheel me into a Chinese restaurant, their hands linked together. At the table, Sophia took charge, ordering several spicy dishes without even glancing at the menu. I recognized them immediately. My heart sank. I never ate spicy food. She never used to, either. It was painfully obvious who they were for. I wasn’t about to torture myself. These days, even eating was a struggle, let alone something so harsh. I quietly asked the waiter for a simple, clear vegetable soup. For some reason, this set Sophia off. “You’re already thin as a ghost, and now you’re eating like a rabbit.” Her sudden, sharp concern sent a wave of bittersweet warmth through my chest. But it vanished as quickly as it came. I smiled faintly. “Jessica likes me lean. Says I’ll look better in a tux when we get married.” Jessica. The name Sophia’s mother had fabricated for my affair. The girl I hadn’t seen since Sophia left the country. Sophia’s face went pale with rage. Ryan immediately jumped in, laughing it off. “Don’t mind her, Liam. Sophia’s a doctor now, so she gets worked up whenever she sees someone dieting. She used to yell at me about it all the time back in the States.” He turned to her, his smile unwavering. “Right, Sophia?” But Sophia wasn’t looking at him. She shot to her feet, shoving her chair back with a screech. “I’m going to the restroom.” Without another glance at either of us, she stalked away. Watching her retreating back, a familiar ache spread through me. Had I screwed it up again? Ruined her new life, sabotaged her new love? Guilt churned in my stomach. Across the table, Ryan’s smile vanished. He picked up a glass of hot water and, in one swift motion, flung it directly in my face. “You think I’m an idiot, Liam?” he hissed, his voice low and menacing. “Playing the victim, trying to win my fiancée back with your little pity party.” The hot water stung my skin, but I just clenched my fists, my voice filled with genuine remorse. “I’m sorry. If I gave you the wrong impression, I apologize.” He scoffed and stood up, circling the table to loom over me. He grabbed the collar of my shirt, twisting it tight. “You think faking a broken leg is going to make her come running back to you?” “Let me tell you something. Sophia is mine for life. Don’t think you can just waltz back in and snatch her away because you were her first love.” His grip tightened, cutting off my air. I could tolerate the water; I deserved it for indulging my selfish desire to be near her. But I didn’t want a public scene. I just wanted a few peaceful moments. I tried to stay calm, patting his hand weakly. “Ryan, I’m sorry. I really am.” But then he let out a short, sharp laugh. Before I could react, he released my collar and slammed his fist into my nose. A blinding flash of pain, and blood gushed warm and sticky down my face. On instinct, I shoved him back. “What are you doing? Touch me again and I’m calling the police.” But as my hand made contact, something bizarre happened. Ryan stumbled backward as if hit by a truck, crashing into the wall behind him. His head hit the plaster with a sickening thud, and he slid to the floor, blood trickling from his forehead. “Help!” he screamed, his voice filled with theatrical panic. “He’s trying to kill me! Someone help!” I stared at my hands in disbelief. I’d been sick for seven years. Getting dressed was exhausting. Sometimes I couldn’t even hold a glass of water steady. There was no way I had the strength to push him that hard. My shove had been defensive, a desperate attempt to create space. While I was still reeling, Sophia reappeared. She saw Ryan on the floor and rushed to his side. “Ryan! Ryan, are you okay?” He clutched her hand, his face a mask of pain and fear. “Sophia… it was Liam. He’s trying to kill me.” His words came out in ragged gasps. “The moment you left, he started insulting me. He said you were just trash he threw away, that he could have you back anytime he wanted and you’d come crawling back. I couldn’t take it… I threw some water on him.” “But that just made him angrier! He called me a worthless piece of crap, a loser who picks up his sloppy seconds! I lost my temper and I hit him. And then… then he just shoved me. He threw me against the wall.” I listened, frozen, as his lies filled the air. My lips trembled, and it took several tries before I could form words. “Sophia, listen to me… it wasn’t like that.” “I… I didn’t.” Her face contorted into a mask of pure fury. “You are the most vile person I have ever known, Liam!” she shrieked, her voice echoing through the restaurant. “Seven years ago, you shamelessly cheated on me with another woman. And now that I’m about to get married, you decide you want me back? You attack my fiancé?” She marched over to me, her hand flashing out, slapping me hard across the face, once, twice, three times. Then, with a furious scream, she grabbed the back of my wheelchair and shoved it with all her might. The chair slammed into the table. Dishes shattered on the floor. The table overturned, and my wheelchair tipped with it. My head struck the corner of the table with a sickening crack, and the world exploded in a flash of white. My ears rang, my body convulsed. Through a blurry haze, I saw Sophia ignore me completely. She was on the floor, cradling Ryan, kissing his forehead as he moaned about his head hurting. “Ryan, honey, are you okay? I’m taking you to the hospital right now.” She helped him to his feet, and without a single glance back at me, they left. As they disappeared through the door, I saw Ryan look over his shoulder, a triumphant, mocking smile on his face. And I… I started to laugh. A wet, broken laugh that turned into tears. I remembered my senior year of high school. I’d taken a job as a busboy at a bar to save up for Sophia’s graduation present. One night, a customer with certain… tastes… wouldn’t leave me alone. I fought him off, throwing a dozen punches, but he left my face a swollen, bloody mess. When I got home, Sophia took one look at me and burst into tears. She kissed every bruise, every cut on my face, sobbing into my chest, asking me why I would be so stupid, why I would get so hurt over a stupid gift. Back then, her world revolved around me. Now, her world revolved around another man. My heart ached with a pain that felt like it was tearing me apart, but underneath it, there was a strange sense of relief. It was good. The girl I loved more than life itself would have someone else to cherish her, to love her with that same intensity, long after I was gone. The world was spinning. Blood and tears mixed, dripping from my face. Restaurant staff were gathering around me. I could feel my life draining away, a familiar sensation from all the times I’d almost given up. But I couldn’t close my eyes. I had to protect her. I couldn’t let the girl I loved get in trouble because of me. Staying conscious was agony, but I held on. I had to. Finally, the flashing lights of an ambulance, the uniforms of paramedics and police. Strength gave out. I grabbed an officer’s arm, my grip surprisingly tight. “Tell my mother… not to press charges,” I rasped, each word a monumental effort. “Tell her… this was my choice.” “Tell her… I’m sorry. I… I can’t be with her anymore.” My heart felt hollow, but strangely, there were no regrets. I had fought cancer for seven years, waited for seven years, all for one dream. To see Sophia one last time. I had seen her. My dream was fulfilled. It was enough.

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It wasn’t until the wraith came to claim him, shattering his arm, that my brother finally felt a shred of remorse. He knelt on the floor, weeping and begging for my forgiveness. In my last life, in his desperate haste to share a night of passion with a younger student—a natural-born spiritual beacon—my brother, Hank, had taken the family’s Warding Amber. When the vengeful spirits came for us, I called him for help. My sister-in-law and my little niece were saved. But his precious student, Monica, was consumed by the wraith and died. Hank had calmly collected her hair tie, assuring me everything was fine. Then, on the day my sister-in-law gave birth, he pushed me off a cliff. “If you hadn’t called me back, Monica would still be alive! You owe me a life for a life!” Now, my eyes snapped open again. The lights in the villa flickered and died, and the gurgling, sinister laughter of a wraith echoed through the halls.

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Eighteen years after our divorce, I saw Aiden again at my daughter’s parent-teacher conference. She was a senior in high school. The homeroom teacher asked the two of us to stay behind. She slid a letter across her desk, stopping it in front of him. “Mr. Griffin,” she said, her tone crisp, “this is a love letter your son wrote to Lily. We’re in the final stretch of senior year. A romance now is a serious distraction. I trust you’ll have a firm talk with him when you get home.” Aiden just stood there, his eyes locked on me, completely frozen. He didn’t say a word. The teacher had to clear her throat impatiently before he snapped out of it, stammering apologies. After the meeting, he caught me in the stairwell. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. “Lily… she’s your daughter?” he finally managed. I gave a polite, tight-lipped nod. His brow furrowed in disappointment. “But you said… you told me you’d never remarry after we divorced.” … He was right. On the day we divorced eighteen years ago, I swore I would never marry again, never have another child. And I hadn’t. Lily was adopted. She wasn’t my biological daughter. But I didn’t feel the need to tell him that. “Mr. Griffin, my life is no longer any of your concern.” My voice was sharper now, laced with an impatience I didn’t try to hide. Eighteen years had transformed the dashing boy I once knew into a poised, mature man. But in his eyes, still as handsome as I remembered, a flicker of something I’d never seen before—shame, maybe even regret—crossed his features. “I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant. I… I just wanted to ask if you’ve been okay all these years…” “I’ve been fine,” I cut him off. My gaze shifted past him to the classroom door down the hall. A boy was gently pulling a girl aside, whispering something to her. My frown deepened. Ignoring the voice at my ear, I strode toward them. When Lily saw me, she flinched and called out a flustered, “Mom,” tucking her head down like a turtle. The boy, however, was surprisingly composed. He straightened up and bowed slightly. “Hello, ma’am. My name is Leo Griffin.” Leo Griffin. A fine name. The perfect fusion of Aiden Griffin and Isabella, I presumed. I whispered the name to myself, then offered a faint smile. I remembered when I was pregnant. Aiden had been ecstatic. He spent an entire night at his desk, poring over names for the two-month-old life inside me. If it’s a boy, he’d said, we’ll call him Julian. If it’s a girl, Julia. Back then, I’d dreamed that our child, boy or girl, would have his looks and his spirit. And now, looking at his son, I could see the resemblance was uncanny. The boy, Leo, had his father’s easy charm and seemed eager to talk, but I had already taken my daughter’s arm and was steering her into the river of students flowing down the stairs. I could feel a burning gaze on my back, but I never once looked back. On the drive home, Lily was quiet and withdrawn, her eyes fixed on her lap. She knew the teacher had kept me and Leo’s father behind. She could guess why. “It’s not going to work out between you two,” I said, breaking the silence as we waited at a red light. “End it. I don’t want you seeing him anymore.” Lily’s head snapped up, her eyes wide and already shimmering with tears. “Mom, I promise, it won’t affect my grades…” “This isn’t about your grades.” The light turned green. I pressed the accelerator gently, my voice remaining steady and calm. “At your age, a love like this doesn’t last. It never ends well.” “How can you say that?” Her voice cracked, but for the first time ever, she argued back with such force. “Grandma told me the man you married… he was your high school sweetheart. Your first love.” “If you could do it, why can’t I?” I fell silent. The rest of the drive passed in a heavy quiet. I never answered her question. She never asked again. It wasn’t until we were home that Lily found her courage again, ready to plead her case. “Mom, Leo is so good to me, and I really, really like him. Can’t you just stay out of it? I swear I won’t let it affect my schoolwork, and I won’t do anything reckless.” She looked at me, her eyes shining with conviction. “And I know… I know we have a real future together.” Girls blinded by their first love all sound the same. Her desperate need to prove the purity of her feelings reminded me of myself, all those years ago, saying the exact same words to my own mother. That Aiden was good to me. That I loved him more than anything. That we would, without a doubt, have a wonderful future together. That I was willing to bet my entire life on him. But I lost that bet. I lost everything. “Don’t be naive. I was just as idealistic as you are now, and you see where it got me.” “I just don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did.” I sighed, then walked calmly into the kitchen to start dinner. As I rolled up my sleeves, the faint, silvery line of a scar from eighteen years ago appeared on my wrist. Lily’s eyes fixed on it, her expression instantly softening with pain. “Mom… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought up the past.” “You’ve never told me about what happened back then,” she said softly. “You never wanted to date anyone else or start a new family. I’m older now. Can you tell me what really happened?” “I want to know.” She’d asked me this so many times over the years. I always brushed it off, saying I’d forgotten, that it was all a distant memory. But as she asked again today, I realized that every detail, every word from eighteen years ago was etched into my mind as if it were yesterday. After a moment’s hesitation, I began to tell her the story I had locked away for nearly two decades. Aiden and I met during our senior year of high school, too. Young love is a wildfire. Back then, Aiden was even more reckless than his son. He was relentless, bringing me breakfast every morning, throwing a punch when anyone dared call me poor, and shamelessly slipping me love letters he’d stayed up all night to write. His craziest stunt was grabbing the microphone from the principal during a school-wide assembly and declaring his love for me in front of everyone. The sun was blinding that day, and he seemed to glow under it. Just like that, Aiden and I were a couple. A week before our final exams, Aiden got into a fight with a boy from another class. It was in a blind spot for the security cameras. When the boy turned his back, Aiden lunged and broke the guy’s leg. When the police came asking questions, I gritted my teeth and confessed. I said I did it. I was detained for ten days, and I missed my college entrance exams. Hearing this, Lily’s face flushed with anger. “So that’s why you only have a high school diploma? You took the fall for him and missed your finals.” “And him? He just went off and took the exams without a second thought?” I shook my head gently. When Aiden first found out I’d confessed for him, he wanted to turn himself in. But his parents threatened to kill themselves, forcing him to stay. He had no choice but to take the exams. The day he visited me in detention, he swore to God that he would get into a great university, make something of himself, and give me a life of happiness. Aiden was a decent student, and with a bit of luck, he did get into a good university. To be closer to him, I gave up on the idea of retaking my exams. I moved to his college town alone, working odd jobs to support us both while he studied. The year he graduated, I got pregnant. A shotgun wedding. In those days, it was practically a scandal, a source of shame. But I ignored my parents’ fury and their pleas, and with a heart full of joy, I married into the Griffin family. There was no dowry, no limo, no ceremony. Not even a proper wedding reception. At this, Lily’s eyes flickered. “Mom, I’ve never heard you talk about having a baby. Was… was the baby given to him after the divorce?” My baby? I instinctively brought a hand to my flat stomach, tracing the space where a life once grew, just as I had done so carefully eighteen years ago. A bitter smile touched my lips. “She’s gone.” “She was gone before she was ever born. When I was seven months pregnant.” She was a girl, just like Lily. If she had lived, she would be in college by now. Lily’s brief shock melted into a deep, aching sympathy. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me, holding me tight. “Mom, don’t be sad. You still have me.” She pulled back slightly. “But she was seven months along. How could you lose her? What happened?” I pulled my sleeve down, covering the ugly scar on my wrist. My voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “It happened the day I found out he was cheating on me. He pushed me.” “I fell and lost her.” “Cheating?” Lily gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “You took the fall for him, missed your finals, gave up your own future… you did all that for him, and he cheated on you? And he killed your baby?” “Who was she? Did you know her? Was she beautiful?” The barrage of questions pulled my mind back into the autumn haze of eighteen years ago. Just like Lily, my first reaction when I suspected Aiden was cheating was disbelief. The woman’s name was Isabella. She was a department head at Aiden’s company. She wasn’t exceptionally beautiful. In fact, she was seven years older than both of us. Lily’s brow furrowed even deeper. “Seven years older? What was he thinking? He had a young, beautiful wife like you and cheated with a woman seven years his senior?” I gave a small, humorless laugh, the knife in my hand never stopping its rhythmic chop against the cutting board. The memory of the moment I saw his betrayal flashed through my mind. The knife slipped. A bright red bead of blood welled up on my finger. Lily rushed to find a bandage for me, her voice thick with concern. “Mom, you’re bleeding. That must hurt.” I smiled to reassure her. “It’s just a scratch. It doesn’t hurt.” Compared to the wounds of eighteen years ago, a cut like this was nothing. Back then, Aiden and I were newlyweds, still in the honeymoon phase. His marketing department had weekly celebrations for successful projects, and he often took me with him. That’s how I met Isabella. Knowing I was pregnant, she went out of her way to sit with me and take care of me. We exchanged numbers and chatted about girl talk. She was as warm and gentle as an older sister. I actually liked her a lot. After every party, I’d tell Aiden how kind and wonderful she was. But every time I mentioned her, he would frown. “What’s so great about her? She’s average-looking, has no figure, and she’s thirty and still not married.” “If it weren’t for her master’s degree and her family connections, she never would’ve made department head so quickly.” “You should stay away from her. She’s not as nice as she seems.” I didn’t argue with him, but I kept talking to Isabella behind his back, sharing little bits of my life with her. But then, he stopped taking me to the parties. ‘Your belly is getting too big, it’s not convenient,’ became his go-to excuse. At first, I didn’t mind. But slowly, I noticed he was coming home later and later. The “overtime” at work became more frequent. Fueled by pregnancy hormones, I became a bundle of anxiety, terrified he was going to leave me. When I told Isabella my fears, she promised me with utter confidence: “Chloe, you just focus on staying healthy for the baby. I’ll keep an eye on him for you at the office. I won’t let any other woman get near him.” “And stop overthinking things. We really are busy at work right now. He’s working late, but so am I. You don’t have to worry about him messing around.” I still trusted Aiden, deep down. Her words put my mind at ease. Until I was seven months pregnant. It was the sixth consecutive night he was “working late,” and I couldn’t stand it anymore. That night, I brought him a thermos of chicken soup I’d made myself and went to his office, my hand supporting my swollen belly. It was almost ten o’clock. The skyscraper was nearly deserted. I explained who I was to the security guard, and he let me up. The office floor was dark and silent. Aiden wasn’t at his desk. But from one of the offices, the door slightly ajar, a sliver of light escaped, and with it, the faint, intertwined sounds of two people panting. The sounds were… familiar. I froze, feeling like I’d been struck by lightning. I took a few steps closer, and through the crack in the door, I saw them. Two faces, lost in a passionate kiss. I rushed in without thinking. In that moment, I had no dignity, no reason. I was a madwoman, screaming at the top of my lungs. I shrieked at Aiden, demanding to know why he would betray me. He didn’t offer a single word of explanation. He just grabbed a jacket, frantically covering Isabella and shielding her behind him. The look he gave me wasn’t guilt. It was cold, furious anger. “What are you doing, making a scene at my office!” “If anyone sees this, how is Isabella supposed to face anyone at work again?” Something inside me snapped. I hurled the heavy thermos at Isabella. But Aiden shoved me aside. I stumbled backward, my body slamming hard against the sharp corner of a desk before I crumpled to the floor. He carefully helped a shaken Isabella out of the room, leaving me there on the cold ground. An agonizing pain seized my abdomen. I was losing strength. I looked down and saw blood seeping through my pants, pooling around me in a grotesque, crimson halo. The last thing I remember before losing consciousness was the security guard finding me in a pool of my own blood and calling 911. By the time I reached the hospital, I was hemorrhaging and going into shock. The hospital tried to call Aiden for surgical consent, but his phone was off. In the end, I had to use the last of my strength to sign the consent forms myself before they wheeled me into the operating room. My seven-month-old fetus had suffocated, stillborn. And I had bled so much that my uterus was severely damaged. They had to remove it to save my life. I told the story calmly, but Lily’s eyes were already red. She sniffled, her voice thick. “What happened then?” Then, my mother came to the hospital to take care of me. She kept the hysterectomy a secret and forced Aiden to sign a written promise. He swore he would never see Isabella again. Lily looked at me, her expression tense. “Did he change?” Change? A leopard can’t change its spots. Of course he didn’t. Just then, there was a knock on the door. Lily wiped her eyes and went to open it. “Mom, someone sent you flowers. And a big box of pastries from Marilyn’s Bakery.” She carried the items inside, but as her gaze fell on the card tucked into the bouquet, she froze. “Aiden Griffin?” The card read: Chloe, I thank my lucky stars that we met again after eighteen years. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive the man I was. Aiden In telling my story, I had only referred to him as ‘he.’ Lily’s eyes widened in disbelief, her lips trembling. “Mom… your cheating ex-husband… he’s Leo’s father?” I hadn’t realized she knew Leo’s father’s full name. My fingers curled into a fist. “Yes. He is.” The color drained from Lily’s face. Right in front of me, she took the bouquet and the box of pastries and threw them both into the trash. Then she went to her room and locked the door, skipping dinner entirely. One missed meal won’t hurt her, I thought. She’ll come to her senses. I left her alone. The next morning, Lily emerged from her room with puffy, red-rimmed eyes. It was clear she hadn’t slept.

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1 For three years, my husband and I tried for a baby—not one positive test. Everything changed one afternoon when my best friend, a doctor, saw me take my “folic acid.” She snatched the bottle, crushed a pill, and said grimly: “Maggie, this is birth control.” Lab tests confirmed it—I’d been on birth control for three years, pushed by Chadwick before intimacy every time. I was about to confront him with the report when Mia, an old college friend, posted in a group chat: A positive pregnancy test photo. “Hubby, let’s bet—will it be a little Chadwick or a little Mia? My money’s on Chadwick.” Two minutes later: “OMG wrong chat! Can’t unsend—please pretend you saw nothing.” A cold laugh broke from me. All my remaining restraint vanished. I texted the one I’d never truly forgotten, the ache of my youth: “In one month, I’ll go with you.” … The group chat fell silent. Then, someone broke the ice: Well, congratulations are in order! When did you two get married? You should have said something! We would’ve all come to celebrate. A notification popped up—a digital cash gift, the note reading “For the wedding fund.” One by one, others followed suit. Mia sent a series of shy emojis. Thank you all for the good wishes, but please don’t make a big deal out of it. Just ignore it, really. How could we? Even if we missed the wedding, we can’t forget our friends. Exactly! You and Chadwick finally made it. We have to celebrate that. This was Chadwick’s old college friend group. He’d added me after we got our marriage license. “These are my closest friends,” he’d said. “It’s time you met them.” When they’d asked who I was, Chadwick’s only reply was: A friend. If she’s a friend, introduce her! Set her up with one of the single guys here. Chadwick went silent. So I did too, lurking in the chat for years. Back then, it was Mia who had jumped to my defense: Can you guys not act like you’re dying of thirst every time you see a woman? Find your own dates. Our families, the Fangs and the Guans, were legacy families. They had always pushed for a lavish wedding. But Chadwick always brushed them off. “I’m in a critical growth phase in my career right now,” he would say. “I don’t have time for a simple wedding, let alone a grand one. Let’s talk about it later.” “Later” stretched into five years. I’d long since given up hope for a grand wedding. It didn’t matter anymore. Chadwick’s friends never knew he was married. And they certainly didn’t know he’d married someone other than Mia, the woman who had been his other half, the “golden couple” of their university days. My phone buzzed incessantly, the screen a constant, cruel glow in my hand. I stared at it, my soul feeling detached from my body as tears streamed down my face, one after another. There was no outlet for the searing cocktail of grief and fury brewing inside me. For a fleeting moment, I hoped Chadwick would jump in and deny it all. But as the chat lit up with activity, the man of the hour, the one everyone was tagging, remained silent. Mia gracefully accepted the cash gifts. Thank you, everyone. We’ll consider it a welcome present for the baby. Once the baby is born, we’ll have to get all you guys together for a real celebration. You all have to come! The little one would want to thank you in person~ It was clear. They were keeping the baby. A suffocating weight pressed down on my chest. I threw open the balcony doors, gasping for air, my heart feeling like it was about to seize. The cold wind bit at my skin, slowly bringing me back to my senses. I took screenshots of the entire chat history, then quietly left the group. I was still sitting in a corner of the balcony, lost in a daze, when Chadwick came home—uncharacteristically early. He pulled me up from the floor and shut the window. “It’s the middle of winter. Are you trying to get sick, sitting on the cold ground with the window wide open?” I stared at him. He was fussing over my clothes, his expression one of concern, but he felt like a stranger. Different from before. Was it guilt? Did he actually feel a shred of remorse for what he’d done? A wave of revulsion washed over me. I sidestepped, moving away from his touch. “Don’t touch me.” He froze, then finally met my eyes. His gaze was dismissive, as if I were the one being unreasonable. “This is about the group chat, isn’t it?” he said, his tone light. “Maggie, didn’t we agree before we got married? This was just to make our parents happy.” “They’re satisfied with how things are. I’m satisfied. What more do you want?” My marriage to Chadwick was a transaction, born of necessity, not love. The Guan and Fang families were allies, friends for generations. I had spent my teenage years studying abroad while Chadwick stayed here. We barely knew each other, our connection a pale shadow of our parents’. When I returned, our families orchestrated a campaign to force us together. There were tears, threats, and dramatic pronouncements. “The two of you together is the perfect match.” “We’ve paved this golden road for you, and you refuse to walk it.” “And that boyfriend you’ve been seeing? I will never, ever approve of him. Not unless your father and I are dead.” For a time, their entire existence revolved around us. They confiscated our phones and credit cards, stationed security outside our doors, and did nothing but watch us. I had no choice but to break up with my boyfriend and submit to their will. Right before we signed the papers, Chadwick told me coldly, “We’re soldiers in the same war. Just play the part for them. Don’t take any of it seriously.” I knew he was still in love with Mia. I just never imagined he would be so blatant in his betrayal. Or that he would feed me birth control pills for three years to make sure I never conceived his child. It may have been a sham from the start, but five years is a long time. It would be a lie to say I wasn’t hurt. And it would be a lie to say I wasn’t disgusted. “So,” I asked him, my voice flat, “you want to keep this child?” Even as I asked, I knew the answer. Mia would never have accepted those gifts without Chadwick’s permission. She wasn’t one to set a trap for herself. Chadwick clenched his jaw. “Maggie, I want a child.” I couldn’t stop myself. I slapped him across the face. The absurdity of it all hit me at once. Laughter and tears erupted from me in a hysterical torrent. I stormed into the bedroom. The lab report from the pharmacy was lying on the desk, right next to the diagnostic report from my doctor. I snatched them up and threw them at his face. “Chadwick, read it yourself.” “The ‘folic acid’ you’ve been giving me… it’s birth control, isn’t it?” A flicker of panic crossed his face. He fumbled with the papers, his eyes darting between them. His voice trembled when he spoke. “Maggie…” “You fed me birth control for three years, and now you have the nerve to tell me you want a child?” “If you were so desperate to have a baby with Mia, you could have just told me. I would have helped you hide it from our parents.” “But instead, you disguised poison as medicine and tricked me into taking it.” “I can accept anything, Chadwick. But I cannot accept you hurting me.” Looking back on our five years of marriage, it all felt surreal. Most of the time, we were polite strangers coexisting. But there were moments… moments of intense connection. Sometimes, when he drank, he would melt against me, his voice thick with alcohol, whispering, “Wife… are you happy? I’m so happy.” Then he would pull me into a bone-crushing hug. I’d get up to make him soup to sober him up, but he’d pull me back down. “Nothing sobers me up like having you here,” he’d slur. “Just stay with me.” At first, I wondered if he was mistaking me for someone else. But over time, I grew to accept it, to willingly breathe in the cloying scent of alcohol on his breath. He would surprise me with small romantic gestures. On holidays, he charmed both sets of parents flawlessly. He’d often stand in my family’s living room with an arm around my waist and say, “Don’t worry, Mom, Dad. Maggie is wonderful. Marrying her was the best decision I ever made.” Even though a part of me always knew it was an act, in those moments, I would get the dizzying feeling that fate really had bound us together for life. If not as lovers, then as family. How could he be so cruel? How could he watch me take those pills for three years and say nothing? If Chloe hadn’t noticed, I would still be taking them. The reports trembled in his hands, his gaze distant. The words sounded like they were clawed from his throat. “I was afraid you’d be upset.” “You won’t have to take them anymore.” Two short sentences. No apology. No concern. Just the cowardly evasion of a man caught in the act. I scoffed. Was he afraid I’d be upset, or was he afraid that if he told the truth, he wouldn’t get what he wanted? His selfishness and hypocrisy were suffocating. I felt sick. “You make it sound so simple, Chadwick. Do you have any idea how much I suffered? The sleepless nights I spent, convinced something was wrong with my body?” I gently took the doctor’s report from his hand and pointed to a line on the page. “The doctor said I’ve taken so much birth control that my hormones are a wreck. It’s very likely I’ll be infertile.” “You were so focused on having a child with the woman you love. Did it ever occur to you that I deserved the right to be a mother, too?” “Well, you must be satisfied now. You don’t have to drug me anymore. I can’t get pregnant anyway.” My voice broke, and the tears came faster now, my body shaking with uncontrollable sobs. “But there’s no ‘us’ anymore. Chadwick, I hate you.” After the lab results came back, I had immediately made an appointment to get myself checked out. The truth was stark and unavoidable. I hadn’t escaped the damage. The moment the doctor told me I would have trouble conceiving, a deep, cold hatred for Chadwick took root in my heart. Now, that hatred was in full bloom. I would never forgive him. I went into the bedroom and locked the door. On my laptop, the screen glowed. Another message from Leo. He had been waiting for me, all this time, on the other side of the world. Ever since we were forced apart, he had sent me an email every single week. Today’s had arrived right on schedule. I hastily wiped the tears from my face and forced myself to focus. Attached was a blurry photo of a black hole. Observed another collapsing star today. How have you been, Maggie? I miss you. When I retire, to keep myself from becoming a sad black hole, I swear I’ll come back and spend the rest of my days with you. But that’s so far away. Missing you is breaking my heart. Leo grew up in the States, and his humor had a dry, Western edge to it. Over the past five years, his emails had filled my entire inbox, a mountain of correspondence. The photos he sent, the words of love he wrote—I saved them all in a separate folder, terrified they might one day disappear. But I had never once replied. It had been a one-man show for five long years. Unlike Chadwick, I knew my place. I was a married woman, bound by duty and honor. I always believed that with time, Leo would move on. But he never did. I sat there, scrolling through his old messages, the memories flooding back. For a second, two versions of me were at war inside my head. My phone pinged. A transfer notification from Chadwick. Ten million dollars. The message read: I was wrong. This is for you, as compensation. When I realized that ten million dollars couldn’t even begin to touch the hatred I felt, I knew. For the rest of my life, I had to live for myself. The decision was made. A thrill of excitement shot through me. I opened my email and replied to Leo. It’s not far away. Give me one month. I’ll go with you. After our fight, Chadwick and I had unspokenly started sleeping in separate rooms. I took the master bedroom, he took the guest room. Often, when I got up in the middle of the night, I would see the door to his room open, the bed empty. He was probably spending the night at Mia’s. But it no longer mattered where he spent his nights. I began to pack my things, shipping them out in small batches. Leo would receive them on the other end. One day, Chadwick brought home a gift. It was an ornate, vintage-style tiara I had admired in a shop window for ages. He also opened a bottle of his finest red wine and cooked an entire dinner for me. “Maggie,” he began, “Grandpa’s birthday is in a few days. Can we call a truce until then?” It was about keeping up appearances for the families again. We were well-practiced actors at these grand occasions. “Fine,” I agreed. Ever since my grandfather-in-law turned seventy, his birthday had been a massive affair. We went to one of the city’s most exclusive restaurants, which had been booked out entirely for the event. My family, Chadwick’s family, and a sea of business partners and friends filled the space. Before we went in, Chadwick held out his hand. As usual, I placed mine in his. But this time, he pried my fingers apart and laced his through mine, his grip firm. I tried to pull away, but he only squeezed tighter, the pressure making my knuckles ache. When I finally stopped struggling, he gave me a satisfied smile and led me into the restaurant. Mia was there, of course. She was bustling about, helping the Fang family with arrangements. The smile vanished from Chadwick’s face, replaced by a flicker of anxiety. During dinner, the inevitable topic came up: babies. My mother and my mother-in-law began their tag-team interrogation. “Are you two lying to us? You’ve been married for five years and trying for three. Why is there still no news?” “Maybe you two should get checked out by a doctor.” “Yes, a check-up is a must. I’ll schedule it for them tomorrow. I want to know what’s really going on.” My smile felt frozen on my face. The thought of what Chadwick had done brought a fresh wave of tears to my eyes. I looked down, quickly flicking one away with my pinky finger.

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All because of two thousand dollars in phone credit, sent to my number by mistake. It ended with me cornered in my own home, my head split open, needing eight stitches to close the wound. It all started with a phone call at six in the morning on a Sunday. A woman’s voice on the other end of the line was already barking orders. She’d made a mistake topping up her phone credit. Not only had she typed the wrong last digit, but she’d also keyed in two thousand dollars instead of twenty. Now, she was demanding I transfer the money back to her immediately. As for the two grand in credit—enough to cover my phone bill for the next sixteen years—well, that was just my lucky day, I guess. Are you kidding me? My phone plan is ten dollars a month. I took a deep breath and tried to explain. “You can just call your service provider. They can reverse the transaction for you.” Her response was a direct threat. “What’s that supposed to mean? You’re trying to keep my money? You think I can’t find you? I’ll cave your head in, you hear me?” At first, I didn’t believe her. But when I found myself backed against my own front door, with eight stitches crisscrossing my scalp, I believed her then. 1 As a corporate drone trapped in the 9-to-5 grind, sleeping in on a Sunday is my only solace. That Sunday, however, a series of calls at 6 AM shattered that peaceful dream. I irritably swiped to answer, and a torrent of abuse immediately assaulted my ear. “What the hell is wrong with you? Are you dead? Took you long enough to pick up!” I pulled the phone away, confused, and looked at the screen. It was an unknown number. “I’m sorry, who is this?” “Never mind who I am. I sent phone credit to the wrong number. I need you to send it back to me, right now. The account number is…” A flicker of annoyance sparked within me. Disturbing someone’s sleep is a cardinal sin. And to do it with such arrogance after making a mistake yourself? She was really stacking her rudeness buffs to the max. Fueled by a week’s worth of early mornings, I asked impatiently, “How much?” “Two thousand dollars.” “How much?” The last remnants of sleep vanished. I was sure I had misheard. “Two thousand! What, are you deaf?” the voice on the other end shrieked. Two thousand dollars? Who in their right mind tops up their phone with that much money? They must be loaded. My first thought was that this had to be a scam. As if reading my mind, the woman on the phone started to explain. “I meant to put in twenty, but I hit the zero key too many times, and before I knew it, I’d entered my PIN. And on top of that, I typed the wrong number. Just send me the money, and you can keep the credit for yourself.” Two grand in phone credit? That was completely useless to me. My plan was a bare-bones, ten-dollar-a-month deal. Two thousand dollars would last me for over sixteen years. I work out to keep from dying of a heart attack at my desk, but I’m not confident I’ll live another sixteen years, let alone need a phone for all of them. Besides, my monthly salary is only three thousand. Who would be stupid enough to dump nearly a full month’s pay into their phone? “That’s way too much,” I said. “I’ll never be able to use that. You should contact your service provider and have them reverse the charge.” “Why should I? It’s my money! Why won’t you give it back to me?” I patiently explained again. “I have no use for that much credit. But you can go to one of their stores with your transaction record, and they’ll cancel it for you.” The woman was relentless. “I don’t know how to do that. The money went to your number, so you have to give it back to me. If you don’t, I’ll call the cops on you. Two thousand dollars is enough to put you in jail for a few years, you know.” I had to laugh. This lady knew a little bit about the law. Very little. “Do what you want,” I said, and hung up. Woken up at the crack of dawn, and then yelled at for no reason. Even a saint would lose their temper, let alone a sleep-deprived wage slave like me. After hanging up, I blocked the number. She made the mistake. Why should I be the one to pay for it? I tossed my phone aside, pulled the covers over my head, and went back to sleep. 2 When I woke up again, six hours had passed. I pulled back the curtains, and the bright noon sun flooded my bedroom. A full night’s sleep and a dose of sunlight-induced serotonin had me feeling refreshed and clear-headed. My stomach rumbled. Time for lunch. A corporate drone with only one day off doesn’t venture outside. I picked up my phone to order some food. My blood ran cold when I saw the screen: ninety-nine-plus missed calls. And with them, an endless stream of profanity-laced texts that would make a sailor blush. Just as I finished placing my order, another unknown number called. Furious, I answered, ready to strike first. “Are you insane? If you made a mistake with your phone credit, call the provider! Why do you keep harassing me?” The person on the other end was even angrier than I was. “Are you f*cking dead? I’ve been calling you all morning and you don’t pick up? You think I won’t use that two grand to buy you a coffin?” This time it was a man’s voice, probably the woman’s husband. My good mood for the day was completely ruined. I’d been living and working on my own for three years since graduation. I always made a point of only sharing good news with my family back home, never the bad, so they wouldn’t worry. With that in mind, I took a deep breath, determined not to cause trouble, and patiently explained the situation one more time. “I have a ten-dollar-a-month plan. That two thousand dollars will take me over sixteen years to use. If you’re in a hurry, you should contact customer service. They can refund the money to your account.” The man didn’t hesitate for a second. “Cut the crap. So what if it takes sixteen years? You can leave it to your grandkids. Customer service will take at least a week to process the refund, and I can’t wait that long. You need to transfer the money to my account right now, or I’ll find someone to cave your head in. You hear me?” Unbelievable. They couldn’t wait seven days, but they expected me to accept a phone credit balance that would outlive my cat. How could they even say that with a straight face? Since six this morning, it had been a nonstop barrage: a mistaken transaction, a rude awakening, verbal abuse, and now a death threat. Did they think they were kings of the world? A volcano of anger erupted inside me. “Can’t wait seven days? Are you in a hurry to get to your own funeral? Why should I have to pay for your mistake? Either you call customer service and get your money back the right way, or I’ll send you ten dollars a month until you die, and then your grandkids can inherit the rest.” I slammed the phone down. To ensure I wouldn’t be disturbed again, I popped the SIM card out of my backup phone and tossed it in a drawer. 3 When my food arrived, I forced myself to put the whole incident out of my mind. I put on my favorite show on my tablet and settled in for a nice, relaxing lunch. After eating, I watched a bit of a new series with my favorite actor, did some laundry, and tidied up the apartment. The day slipped away quietly. I was just about to head to the supermarket to pick up some groceries for a nice home-cooked dinner when my phone rang again. It was my main number this time. I thought it might be my parents or a friend. But when I saw the number on the screen, I froze. It was the police. They told me someone had filed a report, claiming I had defrauded them of two thousand dollars, and that I needed to come down to the precinct immediately. I gritted my teeth, a fresh wave of anger rising in me. Was this ever going to end? I looked up the address the officer gave me. It wasn’t far, about a twenty-minute cab ride. I sighed in frustration. So much for my nice dinner. I might as well get this over with. The constant harassment was ruining my only day off. Half an hour later, I arrived at the precinct. As soon as I gave my name at the front desk, a man and a woman lunged at me, pointing and shouting. “So you’re the deadbeat bitch from the phone?” “Officer, arrest her! She should be executed!” “So young and already a damn criminal. Doing things that’ll make her ancestors turn in their graves.” “Scamming people out of two thousand dollars? Are you that desperate?” An officer quickly stepped in to restrain them. “What do you think you’re doing? This is a police station, not your living room. If you’re so tough, why did you call us in the first place?” The man gritted his teeth, clearly defiant. “Officer, you can’t just let her off the hook because she’s pretty. She’s a con artist.” The officer shot him a glare. “You want to wear this uniform and do my job?” Seeing the officer was serious, the man reluctantly shut his mouth. The officer gestured for me to sit down. “Alright, tell me what happened.” I calmly and objectively recounted the events of the day. The officer looked at the couple, his expression one of sheer disbelief. “This is what you call getting defrauded out of two thousand dollars?” The man’s face flushed with anger. “Of course it is! That two thousand dollars is ill-gotten gains, isn’t it? If she doesn’t give it back, that’s illegal possession of property. In other words, it’s fraud.” The officer frowned. “You’re the ones who made the mistake. What does that have to do with her? Besides, she already told you to contact customer service or go to a store to get the money back. How is that illegal possession?” The woman started arguing illogically. “I did call them! But the customer service agent said because the amount was so large, we had to go to a store in person with our IDs to handle it. And even then, it would take at least a week to get the refund. It took one second for my money to go in, why should it take a week to come out?” “Even if that’s the case, what does it have to do with this young woman?” the officer reasoned. “If you have a problem, take it up with the phone company.” “The credit went to her number! All she has to do is transfer the money to me, and it’s over. Why make it so complicated? It would save everyone a lot of trouble. We’ve been arguing about this all day. I think she just wants to keep the money for herself. So young, and already so rotten.” The officer shook his head, looking exhausted. “It saves you trouble, but it dumps all the risk onto her. You send two thousand dollars of credit to someone on a ten-dollar-a-month plan? If it were me, I’d suspect you were trying to launder money.” The woman shot the officer a dirty look and then plopped down in the chair across from me. “Are you going to transfer the money or not?” she demanded. 4 I couldn’t help it; I rolled my eyes. “Ma’am, have I not been clear enough? I don’t want your money, but I’m not going to be your scapegoat either. If you want your money back, I will cooperate with the phone company through the proper channels. But there is absolutely no way I am paying for your mistake by transferring money directly to your account.” The man’s eyes were dark with malice. He glared at me, his jaw clenched. “Fine. You just wait. I swear you’ll regret every word you said today.” I looked at the officer. “Does that count as a threat?” The officer’s voice was stern. “Rick, what do you think you’re doing? Do you want me to detain you right now?” So the man’s name was Rick. The woman who’d made the mistake was Brenda. Rick sneered. “Forget it. If you cops can’t solve this, we’ll just leave.” The officer’s face was grim, but he said nothing. The woman taunted them as they left. “What, we can’t withdraw our complaint now? Are you going to arrest us for that?” The officer just shook his head wearily. “Well, we won’t trouble you any longer. We’re leaving.” As Brenda reached the door, she muttered just loud enough for everyone to hear, “I always heard the cops these days were useless. I guess it’s true. We shouldn’t have even bothered coming.” Her words left every officer in the room with a thunderous expression. After they left, I said my goodbyes to the police as well. I checked my phone when I got outside. It was already nine o’clock. I took a cab back to my neighborhood and stopped at my favorite noodle shop. On the walk home, I had the unsettling feeling that someone was following me. But when I turned around, the street behind me was empty. I figured the day’s events had just left me on edge. Normally, I would go for a run around my complex in the evenings to clear my head, but after the day I’d had, I just wanted to go home and sleep. I collapsed onto my beanbag chair. Vaguely, I heard the doors of the neighboring apartments opening and closing. A moment later, there was a knock on my door. Thinking it was the building manager making their rounds, I opened it without a second thought. Rick was standing there. He took advantage of my shock, lunging forward and grabbing me by the throat. “You bitch. I finally found you. I’m going to ask you one last time. Are you going to transfer me the money or not?” From six in the morning to nine at night. Fifteen hours. My one day of rest, completely ruined. And the police at the station had made it perfectly clear. How could they be so dense? I shoved him back with all my strength. “Are you insane? You’ll get your two thousand dollars back in a week! Who’s the desperate one here?” Brenda slapped me hard across the face. “Think you’re tough, huh? All you had to do was transfer the money, and this would all be over. But you had to make it difficult. I guess you just like getting hurt.” I staggered back, clutching my cheek, my entire body trembling with rage. Tears welled in my eyes as I choked out, “What right do you have to hit me? You’re the one who made the mistake. I didn’t ask you to send me anything. Why should I have to pay for your stupidity?” Rick sneered. “The credit went to your number. That means you owe me the money. I’m doing you a favor by letting you pay me back.” He pulled out his phone and brought up a payment QR code. “Send me the money now. Otherwise, starting tomorrow, I’m charging interest. A hundred bucks a day. You’re short a single penny, and I’ll break your legs.” “In your dreams,” I sobbed, fumbling for my own phone. “911? I’m being attacked. They’re threatening me. My address is—” Enraged, Rick grabbed a ceramic flowerpot from my neighbor’s doorway and smashed it over my head. The world exploded in a shower of ceramic and dirt. A curtain of crimson fell over my eyes. My neighbor, hearing the commotion, rushed out of his apartment. “What are you doing? Is this a home invasion?” His shout brought other neighbors out into the hall. The men from the other apartments didn’t hesitate; they tackled Rick and pinned him to the ground. “Call 911! Now! Tell them someone is trying to commit murder!”

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I got home late from work, and my wife told me she was in love with someone else. “I just want to divorce him and be with him.” “Even if it means walking away with nothing.” My eyes fell to the divorce papers already laid out on the table. Suddenly, a wave of relief washed over me. “Fine,” I said. “I agree.” It’s human nature to be drawn to the new and tired of the old. I’m no different. 1 Tina stared at me, dumbfounded. “You… you’re just agreeing?” A cold laugh escaped my lips, thick with sarcasm. “What else am I supposed to do?” “Oh, right. I’m supposed to fly into a rage and demand to know who he is, aren’t I?” “I should probably break down, beg you not to leave, plead with you not to do this.” “You’re willing to walk away with nothing just to divorce me, but you also want me to beg you to stay.” “So which is it? Do you want a divorce or not? Is your left brain at war with your right?” Tina was speechless. I ignored her, picking up the papers and scanning them carefully. Satisfied, I reached for my briefcase, which was still on the floor where I’d dropped it when Tina had anxiously pulled me inside. I’d just come home from a long day of overtime to find this waiting for me instead of a hot meal. She hadn’t even asked why I was so late. She’d just launched straight into the divorce. I was done with this cold, empty life. I pulled a fountain pen from my bag and signed my name decisively on both copies. Capping the pen, I stared at its faded, worn barrel. It was a gift for our first anniversary. Tina had used half a month’s salary from her part-time job to buy it for me. After nearly twenty years, it was battered and old. It was time for a new one. I tossed the pen into the trash can. “We can get the paperwork filed tomorrow morning.” Then I walked out of the room without looking back. 2 I went to my son Toby’s room. He was facing away from me, buried under his comforter. I sat down on the edge of his bed. “Don’t pretend to be asleep. I know you saw everything.” After a long moment, he finally turned over and sat up, his eyes red-rimmed. “Dad,” he whispered, “is Mom leaving us?” I sighed inwardly. At nearly forty, I’d seen my share of life and loss, so I could process a separation. But Toby was only twelve. In his world, his parents were his entire sky. When Tina and I separated, no matter who he ended up with, half of that sky was going to collapse. But he was a part of this family. He had a right to know about the changes happening to it. I told him the truth. “Yes. Mom asked for a divorce, and I agreed.” “But that just means we won’t be husband and wife anymore. We will always, always be your mom and dad who love you more than anything.” Toby looked at me, and tears streamed down his face like a broken dam. “Dad… I’m sorry…” He covered his face with his hands, tears seeping through his fingers. I was confused. Shouldn’t I be the one apologizing? I gently pulled his hands away and wiped his tears. “What is it? Why are you sorry?” Toby’s shoulders shook with sobs. “The other day… when Mom picked me up from school, she was with another guy.” “She said he was her assistant, but when she was driving, he kept leaning against her, and his hand… his hand was on her leg.” “I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t want to lie to you, I just… I didn’t know how to tell you…” My hands clenched the bedsheet. A cold fury crept through me. How dare she. To flaunt her affair in front of our son. I let out a long, slow breath and pulled him into a hug, my heart aching for him. “Toby, this is not your fault.” “Anyone would be confused in that situation. If I were you, I would have done the exact same thing.” Toby pulled away, his tear-filled eyes looking up at me pitifully. “Dad… do you still want me?” I paused, then gently stroked the back of his head. I smiled. “I think the question is, do you want to stay with me?” Toby sniffled and nodded so hard his head bobbed. I squeezed his cheek gently. “Alright. You have school tomorrow. Time to get some sleep.” He obediently lay down. After I tucked him in and waited for him to drift off, I turned off the light and quietly left the room. 3 The next day, Tina and I went to the courthouse and filed the divorce papers. When we got back, she started packing her things. Neither Toby nor I asked if she needed help. We moved around each other like ghosts. But that evening, as I came home from work, Tina called out to me. “Your father called me today.” My heart leaped into my throat. “He said Sean lost his job and he wanted me to help him out, give him a position at my company.” “It’s not a big deal for me, so I agreed. But I thought I should let you know.” Before she could say another word, I had my phone out, dialing my father’s number on speaker. He picked up almost immediately. “Dad, about Sean’s job—tell him to figure it out himself.” “Tina and I are divorced. Don’t bother her again.” “Divorced? When did this happen? Why?” “Leo, you can’t—” I knew what was coming. He was going to try to talk me out of it. He’d always liked Tina more than he liked me. I cut him off. “Tina is seeing someone else. We’re divorced. It’s over. Do you understand?” There was a moment of stunned silence on the other end. I used it to hang up. When I looked up, Tina’s face was flushed red. She clearly hadn’t expected me to be so blunt with my father. My phone buzzed. It was him again. I declined the call and stood up to leave. If we were going to argue, I didn’t want to do it in front of Tina. But she grabbed my wrist. “Leo, it’s just a job for Sean. It’s a small thing. You don’t have to refuse my help and fight with your dad over it.” My relationship with my father was strained, and I hated arguing with him. But I hated the idea of being indebted to Tina even more. She used to be my wife. We were family. Now, she was just the mother of my child. Nothing more than a stranger. I yanked my arm free. “I’ll handle this myself. Stay out of it.” She blocked my path, her voice laced with confusion and a hint of anger. “You’d rather fight with your father than accept my help? Why?” I sighed, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “Do I need to remind you that we’re divorced?” The color drained from Tina’s face. “Yes, we’re divorced,” she stammered. “But we were together for twenty years. If we can’t be husband and wife, can’t we at least be friends?” The idea was so absurd I had to laugh. “Friends with your ex-husband? Have you asked your new boyfriend how he feels about that?” Tina’s pale face seemed to crumble. She just stood there, frozen. 4 The phone was still ringing. I needed to take the call, so I left Tina standing there and stepped out into the stairwell. The moment I answered, my father’s shrill voice nearly pierced my eardrum. “Leo, tell me right now, are you really divorced from Tina?” “Yes. We are.” My father’s voice cracked with desperation. “How could you divorce her? She’s the owner of a huge company! You’re divorced and almost forty, where are you going to find another woman with that kind of success?” “Besides, plenty of women fool around on the side. You just have to suck it up and get over it, right?” “Look at me, that’s what I did. Listen to your old man, don’t get divorced. If you do, you’ll have nothing.” For a moment, I wanted to cry. I could almost see my promiscuous mother standing before me again, looking down with cold indifference at my father as he begged her to stay. I had pleaded with my father to divorce her. But he hadn’t worked since they got married. If he left, he couldn’t even support himself, let alone my brother and me. So he stayed, begging for money like a dog, refusing to divorce her and let some other man benefit. He let himself be ground down by that rotten marriage until the day she died. A sarcastic laugh bubbled up in my throat. “So I should just put up with it for the rest of my life, just like you?” The other end went silent. When he spoke again, his tone was agitated. “What else are you going to do? That’s just how life is. You endure.” “And if you divorce Tina, what’s going to happen to your brother?” There it was. I knew it. It always came back to Sean. Tina, the successful daughter-in-law who made him look good, had helped Sean out of more than a few jams. He wasn’t about to let that go. “Then let Sean go live with Tina,” I snapped. “I’m out of the picture. The position of husband is vacant. He can make a play for it.” “You—” I had no patience for his lecture, and even less for an argument. I cut him off. “I’m not you. I don’t have to endure anything. I can support myself and my son just fine without her.” “I’m telling you about the divorce, not asking for your opinion. And don’t worry, it won’t affect the two hundred dollars a month I send you for your expenses.” “You can spend it however you want. But that’s all you’re getting.” I hung up the phone. I leaned back against the cool wall, tilted my head back, and let out a long breath. But the tears came anyway. I wiped them away before going back inside. That’s just how it is when you’re an adult. Even when you cry, you have to do it in secret. 5 My father called a few more times after that, always bringing up Sean’s need for a job. But Sean was a grown man with two hands and two feet. He wasn’t going to starve. I wasn’t going to help him. Seeing my firm stance, my father finally gave up. Tina moved out. The night she left, I heard Toby crying in his room. I didn’t go in. Kids have their own worlds, their own emotions they need to process in private. The days of the cooling-off period ticked by. Tina and I had no contact. Until one afternoon, after a long meeting, I checked my phone to find dozens of missed calls, all from her. And a text message. [I’m downstairs at your office. Come down when you see this.] For Tina to come all the way to my office, it had to be serious. I hurried downstairs. As I reached the lobby, I saw her pacing anxiously by the entrance. “What’s wrong?” I asked as I approached. She started to speak, but a colleague walking in interrupted her. “Afternoon, Mr. Hayes.” Tina froze, her eyes wide. “You… when did you become a Director?” My voice was flat. “Last year.” “Why didn’t you ever mention it?” I looked down. A few years ago, when I was promoted to manager, I had rushed home, ecstatic to tell her. Her only response was a lukewarm “congratulations.” I remembered when I’d been promoted to assistant team lead, years before that. She had been more excited than I was, insisting we go out to celebrate. Tina, who never spent more than a few dollars on a meal, had splurged on a massive seafood dinner for us that night. When did it all change? When did promotions stop being a cause for celebration? When did our anniversary become nothing more than a perfunctory bouquet of flowers? When did we stop even saying “happy birthday” to each other? We no longer went out for walks or to the movies on weekends. Even sharing a meal became a silent affair. We stopped asking about each other’s work. Besides our son, it felt like there was nothing left for us to talk about. In a reality like that, what difference would it have made if I’d told her? 6 A wave of exhaustion washed over me. I didn’t have the energy to get into it with her. “You were in such a hurry to find me,” I said, changing the subject. “What is it?” Tina hesitated, swallowing hard. After a moment, she finally spoke. “My mom just called. It’s her birthday this weekend. She wants the family to get together for dinner.” I raised an eyebrow. Her mother’s birthday dinner. That’s why she’d rushed all the way down to my office? I didn’t know what game she was playing, and I didn’t care enough to ask. “Fine. I’ll tell Toby. You can pick him up then.” I turned to leave, but she grabbed my arm again. I glanced at her, then down at the hand gripping my wrist. She let go, looking embarrassed. “What I meant was… I want you to come too.” I frowned. “What are you talking about? You haven’t told your mom we’re divorced?” Tina looked uncomfortable. “Well…” “Can we just… not tell her yet?” Her voice was almost a plea. “She has high blood pressure. I’m afraid the shock…” “And you didn’t think of that when you asked for a divorce?” Tina fell silent, looking down in shame. I sighed. When Toby was born, I was working myself to the bone to re-establish my position at the company. Tina was pouring all her energy into her startup. It was her mother who had stepped in to help with the baby, saving us. A few years ago, her health had started to decline, and not wanting to be a burden, she had moved into an assisted living facility. She had always been good to me. I respected her deeply and didn’t want anything to happen to her. “I’ll agree to this, just this once,” I said. “But you need to find the right time to tell her yourself before we finalize the divorce.” Tina let out a huge sigh of relief. “Leo. Thank you.” I just nodded and went back upstairs. That weekend, I took Toby to the retirement home. Tina was already waiting for us at the entrance. We went in together. Her mother was overjoyed to see us. She fussed over Toby, pressing a red envelope into his hands, then took my arm and asked how I’d been. The atmosphere was warm and happy. Until a voice cut through the cheerful chatter. “Happy birthday, Mom!” We all turned. A young man was standing in the doorway. He looked like he’d just graduated college, full of youthful energy. Tina looked horrified. She rushed to the door to block his path. “Evan! What are you doing here?” Toby suddenly tugged on my sleeve. His face was pale. He leaned in and whispered, “Dad… that’s the young guy from Mom’s car. The ‘assistant’…”

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