Author: Momo Chan

When I was reborn, I dodged every opportunity to bond with the parents who had found me after fifteen years of separation. They decided to hand the family empire to my older sister, Minkie. So, I dropped my business major and applied to a geology program in the rugged wilderness of Alaska. They wanted to throw a lavish birthday gala for Minkie, so I volunteered for a remote field expedition. They bought Minkie a limited-edition sports car as a graduation gift. I “sensibly” walked into traffic, breaking both legs just so I could say I didn’t need a car. In my past life, I starved for my parents’ affection until the day I died, despised by everyone. Even my own son, in my old age, would frown at me and say, “Mom, can you stop competing with Aunt Minkie? Why can’t you just live quietly? You’re embarrassing me in front of my friends.” I died full of resentment, only to open my eyes and find myself back at the moment I was eighteen, just found by my biological family. This time, I’m done fighting. I will let them have their perfect, happy family. 1 Staring at the “Application Submitted” notification on my laptop screen, I calmly closed the browser tab. No one knew this was the second time I had filled out my college applications. In my previous life, I followed their orders. I attended a top-tier Ivy League business school, desperate to stay close to them, desperate to mold myself into someone worthy of the prestigious Vanderbilt name. After all, ever since I—the lost daughter returned after fifteen years—came back, I had been nothing but a stain on their reputation. But in this life, before they could even broach the subject of Minkie taking over the company, I spoke first. “Dad, Mom, I’ve applied to the University of Alaska for Geology.” The silence at the dinner table was deafening. My father, Richard, set down his fork, his brow furrowing deeply. “Geology? In Alaska? What are you going to learn there? How to dig for rocks in the snow?” My mother, Eleanor, let out a soft gasp, her eyes wide with undisguised shock. “Sophia, honey, is it your grades? Did you not score high enough? It’s okay, we can make a donation to…” I had been back for nearly two weeks, yet neither of them knew I was a straight-A student. They simply assumed the girl from the foster system was uneducated trash. “My scores are perfect,” I cut her off. “I chose it because I like it.” Minkie sat across from me, feigning concern. “Sophie, are you under too much pressure lately? That kind of place is brutal. I know you’re used to… hardship… but is this necessary?” I looked at her. In my past life, she always played the saint, yet her words were laced with barbs designed to trigger me. She remained elegant and poised, while I looked like an ungrateful savage screaming at her. But in this life, her hidden thorns couldn’t pierce my skin. “I’ve thought it through,” I said, lowering my head, my voice even. ” The application is in. It can’t be changed.” The air grew stagnant. Richard finally scoffed. “Fine. It’s your choice. Don’t come crying to me when you regret it.” Eleanor sighed, and for the first time, she used her serving chopsticks to place a prawn in my bowl. “Let’s just eat. We can discuss this later.” I didn’t touch the prawn. She didn’t know I was severely allergic to shellfish. Minkie, however, loved seafood, so the family ate it almost daily. Every meal here felt like navigating a minefield. For the rest of the dinner, the three of them chatted happily. I finished quickly and excused myself, abandoning the exhausting effort to fit in that defined my previous life. I knew now that this house never had room for me. 2 Back in my room, I opened my calendar. Forty-three days until the semester began. I took a red marker and drew a small ‘X’ over today’s date. Every day was a countdown to my escape. I looked around the room. Every piece of furniture was expensive, imported, and utterly soulless. It looked like a showroom in a luxury catalog, not a home. To me, it couldn’t compare to the drafty, creaky farmhouse my foster parents owned. That place was freezing in winter and sweltering in summer, but it was filled with the warmth of life. In the fifteen years of my past life, I drained all my passion and hope within these cold walls. I learned etiquette, forced myself to get perfect grades, gave up the major I loved, and even married into a strategic alliance they chose—all to beg for a scrap of warmth from my “family.” And what did I get? My parents’ exasperated sighs: “Sophia, why can’t you be effortless like Minkie?” My sister’s gaslighting: “Mom, Dad, don’t blame Sophie. She just cares too much about what you think.” My husband’s cold indifference: “Sophia, aside from your last name, is there anything about you that actually belongs in this world?” And finally, my son’s rejection. I died of illness caused by decades of depression. I fought for a lifetime, only to be detested by everyone. The phantom sensation of suffocation still lingered in my chest. This time, I won’t fight. Your love, your company, your picture-perfect trio… I want none of it. I only want myself. The next morning, when I went downstairs, the living room was filled with laughter. 3 Minkie was nestled on the sofa, linking arms with Mother, resting her head on Eleanor’s shoulder as they reviewed the guest list in Father’s hand. “Let’s invite all the prominent families from the Hamptons and the City, Mom. I want a big birthday bash this year.” Minkie’s voice was sweet, almost childlike. “Of course, darling, whatever you say.” That was Mother’s voice, dripping with indulgence. “Minkie is a young woman now; it’s appropriate to invite important figures for networking,” Father added approvingly. They were a perfect oil painting of happiness. I was just a stray smudge on the canvas. I walked past them silently, heading to the kitchen for water. “Oh, Sophia, you’re up?” Mother saw me, and her smile instantly dimmed, her tone shifting to polite formality. “It’s your sister’s birthday early next month. We’re hosting a party here. You’ll attend, of course?” Next month. That was exactly when I planned to leave early for Alaska to acclimatize. In my past life, I canceled a crucial internship for this party—my debut as a Vanderbilt daughter. I thought it was my chance to belong. The result? Despite cramming etiquette lessons for a month, I was clumsy. Minkie’s sorority sisters pointed and laughed, and I became the evening’s joke. The fifteen years I was missing created a chasm between me and this glittering world that nothing could bridge. “No,” I heard my own voice, calm and steady. “I signed up for a pre-semester field orientation. I have to leave early next month.” The living room went silent. Minkie reacted first, a flicker of joy in her eyes masked by concern. “Field orientation? That sounds exhausting, Sophie. And dangerous, isn’t it? It’s so much nicer to stay home.” Richard’s brow furrowed again, visibly annoyed. “What kind of orientation is mandatory? Cancel it. It’s your sister’s birthday. How does it look if you’re not there?” Here we go again. My life, my plans, were always the ones that could be sacrificed. I gripped my glass, knuckles turning white, but my voice remained flat. “It’s booked. I can’t cancel.” “You!” Father started to raise his voice. Mother quickly intervened. “Alright, alright, if she doesn’t want to go… It’s good Sophia has her own plans. Just be safe.” I mumbled an acknowledgment and went back upstairs. Behind me, I heard Minkie’s gentle voice. “Mom, Dad, don’t be mad. Sophie just isn’t close to us yet. She’ll come around…” She was always the sensible one. And I was always the ungrateful wolf cub. 4 I tuned out the noise downstairs. In my room, I began to pack. I didn’t have much. The traces of my existence in this house were pathetic. Most of the clothes and items were things Mother had the housekeeper buy in bulk when I returned—expensive, but chosen with zero thought. There was only one small, battered suitcase containing the old clothes I brought from my foster home and a photo album. It held the only picture I had with my foster parents. In the photo, they held a skinny, scrawny me, their faces wrinkled with smiles, their eyes full of love. That was my real warmth. I rubbed my thumb over the photo, my eyes stinging. After I was abducted, the traffickers dumped me halfway because a girl wasn’t “worth much.” My foster parents saved me and raised me. Tragically, they died in a car accident earlier this year. It was the news coverage of that accident that allowed the Vanderbilts to find me. Sometimes, I wished they never had. I carefully tucked the album into the bottom of the suitcase. I took out my bank book. It held the savings from my part-time jobs and the small inheritance my foster parents left me. It wasn’t a fortune, but it was enough to get me to Alaska and cover my first semester’s rent. I didn’t intend to spend a single penny of Vanderbilt money. 5 Dinner that evening was tense. Father ate in sullen silence. Mother tried to lighten the mood, chattering about the menu for the party. Minkie played along, occasionally steering the conversation toward me, trying to bait me into a reaction. “Sophie, I heard the wind in the northwest strips your skin right off. It’s so dry. You’ll need a ton of moisturizer.” “Mm.” “The food there is really heavy and greasy, too. With your weak stomach, you should be careful.” “I know.” My cold, monosyllabic answers made Mother’s attempts at cheerfulness awkward. Finally, she put down her chopsticks. “Sophia, do you have a problem with us?” I looked up. Father glared at me, his eyes judging. Minkie wore her practiced look of worry. It was such a familiar scene. In my past life, any expression of pain or injustice was twisted into me “having an attitude” or being ungrateful. “No,” I said, looking back down at my plate. “I’m just an adult now. I want to walk my own path.” “Your path is running off to the tundra to suffer?” Father’s voice vibrated with suppressed rage. “Did we starve you? Did we deny you clothes? Why are you so desperate to leave this house?” Yes, I am desperate. I answered in my head. Out loud, I stayed calm. “Geology is a critical field for resource development. I find it meaningful.” I gave them a generic, noble answer they couldn’t attack. Father was stumped. His face darkened, but he couldn’t argue with “meaningful.” Mother jumped in. “Okay, okay, ambition is good… let’s eat, the soup is getting cold.” I was the first to set down my bowl. “I’m full. Please, take your time.” I turned and walked to the stairs. Behind me, I heard Father’s hiss. “Look at her! Look at how she was raised! Zero manners!” And Mother’s soothing whisper. “Hush, Richard. She grew up in the country. It’s normal for her to be short-sighted…” I entered my room emotionless. To them, I would always be the unwashed, short-sighted hillbilly. 6 I locked the door. Finally, peace. I opened my laptop and researched rental apartments near the university. Since I was leaving for good, I wouldn’t stay in the dorms. I needed a space that was entirely mine. After booking a small studio, I crossed off another day on the calendar. Forty-two days. Time was moving too slowly. For the next few weeks, I became a ghost in the house. They were consumed with Minkie’s graduation and birthday. No one paid attention to my “rebellion.” My parents bought Minkie a Range Rover for graduation. I happened to be in the driveway when it was delivered. Mother looked slightly embarrassed. “This is for your sister. If you want one…” I immediately cut in, playing the role perfectly. “I don’t need one. I don’t drive well anyway. It would be a waste.” Mother visibly relaxed. “We’ll pick something else for you next time.” There would be no next time. They would forget me the moment I turned the corner. I was used to being forgotten. And that was fine. I didn’t want their gifts. I spent my days at the library, leaving early and returning late. Occasionally, I’d run into employees from Father’s company. They would politely call me “Miss Sophia,” but their eyes held pity or disdain. Everyone knew I was the awkward appendage of the Vanderbilt family. Not like Minkie—the celebrated socialite, the pride of her parents. My existence served only one purpose: to prove the Vanderbilts were benevolent enough to take back the stray dog. How ironic. 7 The day of departure finally arrived. I booked a red-eye train ticket. I told no one. The night before, I dragged my packed suitcase into the living room. The three of them were on the couch watching a reality show Minkie loved, laughing together. The laughter died instantly when they saw the luggage. “Sister? What are you…” “My train is tonight. I’m heading to school.” I kept it brief. “Tonight? In such a rush?” Mother stood up, flustered. “Why didn’t you say so? I’ll have the driver take you!” “No need. I called a cab.” Father’s face was dark. He said nothing. “You child… why are you so stubborn?” Mother stepped forward to fix my collar, but I turned slightly, dodging her touch. Her hand froze in mid-air, her expression hurt. A faint ripple of emotion crossed my heart, then vanished. Some damage is permanent. The touch I craved in my last life was something I no longer needed in this one. “I’ll handle my own tuition and living expenses,” I said, looking at them like I was discussing the weather. “You won’t need to worry about me anymore.” “What nonsense are you spouting!” Father slammed his hand on the armrest and stood up. “Sophia! Do you have to be this dramatic? Has this family mistreated you? Is that why you’re talking like this?” “Richard!” Mother grabbed his arm. Minkie chimed in, “Dad, don’t be mad! Sophie didn’t mean it…” She turned to me, eyes pleading. “Sophie, apologize to Dad. You’re just angry, right?” I looked at them, and suddenly, I felt exhausted. “I’m telling the truth,” I said, gripping the handle of my suitcase. “I’m leaving.” I turned my back on their reactions and walked toward the heavy oak door. “Sophia Vanderbilt! If you walk out that door today, don’t you dare come back!” Father’s roar echoed through the high ceilings. My footsteps paused for a fraction of a second. I didn’t turn around. “Okay.” The word was barely a whisper, yet it took every ounce of strength I had. Then, I opened the door and stepped out.

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The wealthiest man in the state claimed I was his biological child. But the moment I was brought home, the nightmare began. My “mother” accused me of trying to seduce my own father, calling me a homewrecker and a slut. My fake sister, the girl I was swapped with at birth, spread rumors that I’d had an abortion and was a sugar baby for old men. My cousin, acting the white knight, pulled the fake sister into a protective hug and roared at me with righteous indignation: “I only recognize Anna as my sister! If you pull any more of these trashy stunts, get the hell out of the Sterling family!” I looked at them, watching their passionate performance with a detached, almost amused expression. Wait a minute. Who told you guys I was a girl? I’m a biological male. A pure-blooded dude. Did you guys skip the gender check when you looked at the DNA test?! 1 The moment I stepped into the Sterling estate, Madeline wasted no time putting me in my place. “You’re Xavier?” I nodded, opening my mouth to call her “Mom,” but she cut me off with a sharp wave of her manicured hand. “Don’t call me Mom yet. Let me make one thing clear: now that you’ve entered this house, you follow the rules. Anna is younger than you, which makes you the big sister. You are not to compete with her for anything. You will not fight for affection, and you certainly will not bully her. Do you understand?” I tightened my grip on the strap of my worn-out canvas backpack. A fire ignited in my chest, but I kept my voice low. “Why am I the older sister? We were switched on the same day. And besides, I…” “Enough with the excuses!” She raised her voice, causing the maids dusting the antique vases in the living room to freeze. “I said you’re the older sister, so you are! Anna grew up by my side; she’s delicate and used to the best. If you let her suffer even a tiny bit of grievance, I won’t let you off the hook.” Just then, a guy in designer athleisure wear jogged down the grand staircase. It was my cousin, Hunter. Chewing gum loudly, he sauntered over to Madeline, eyeing me with open disdain. “So this is the ‘real heiress’ dragged back from the boonies? Let me warn you—Anna is the treasure of the Sterling family. If you touch a hair on her head, you might walk in, but you’ll be carried out.” I stared into Hunter’s eyes and asked, “I’m a Sterling too. Why protect only her? And where is my father? I’ve been back for a while now; why haven’t I seen him?” Madeline rolled her eyes, turning back toward the plush velvet sofa. “Your father is busy running an empire. Do you think he has time for you? Don’t get arrogant just because we let you in. A country bumpkin like you should be grateful just to have a roof over your head.” Hunter sneered, echoing her sentiment. “Exactly. Don’t think just because you have the bloodline, you’re suddenly a princess. In our eyes, you aren’t worth a single one of Anna’s fingernails.” I bit my lower lip, recalling the information I’d paid a private investigator to dig up before I came here. Arthur Sterling, my biological father, was obsessed with male heirs. Because Madeline couldn’t produce a son, they had taken in Hunter, the son of Arthur’s younger brother, treating him as a semi-heir. Since they had all assumed I was a girl, I decided to keep the charade going. I wanted to see just how deep the bias in this family ran. I lowered my head, feigning submission. “I understand, Mom. Hunter. I won’t fight with Anna.” Madeline nodded, satisfied. She waved a dismissive hand. “Mrs. Higgins, take her to the guest room at the end of the second-floor hall. Don’t let her wander around and be an eyesore.” As the housekeeper led me away, I heard Hunter mutter behind me, “Country trash has no backbone. Folded after two sentences.” 2 I had been living in the Sterling mansion for a week, and I still hadn’t met my biological father. One morning, I bumped into Madeline in the dining room. She was meticulously peeling a hard-boiled egg for Anna. “Mom, will Dad be back today?” I asked. Madeline’s hand paused. She looked up with blatant impatience. “Your father is negotiating a merger. He doesn’t have time for you. You’re just a girl; what does it matter if he sees you or not?” Anna looked up from her plate, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “Yeah, big sis. Daddy is so busy. Don’t be a burden. If you need something, just tell Mommy.” I frowned. “But he’s my father. It’s strange that I haven’t seen his face since I arrived, isn’t it?” Madeline slammed the egg down on the plate. Her face darkened. “What is wrong with you? I said he’s busy! Are you trying to start trouble?” I didn’t give up. Over the next few days, whenever I saw Madeline, I asked about Dad. Arthur Sterling was the king of this castle. My future depended on surviving under his rule. I needed to know what kind of man he was—whether he liked me or not—to plan my next move. But there was no news. On the third night, Madeline was in the living room applying a luxury face mask. I approached her. “Is Dad not coming home again? I heard the company has a major project. I studied some finance; maybe I could help.” Madeline ripped the mask off her face. Her eyes were venomous. “Help? I think you have other intentions! Every day it’s ‘Dad this’ and ‘Dad that.’ You’re desperate to see him. Tell me, are you trying to seduce him?” I stood frozen, unable to believe my ears. “Excuse me? He is my father. How could I seduce him? Are you insane?” “Am I insane?” Madeline let out a cold, sharp laugh, standing up to tower over me. “I think you’re the crazy one! You come from nowhere, learned god-knows-what in the gutter, and now you want to use cheap tricks to climb the ladder? You think because he has money and power, you can charm him? Let me tell you something—not a chance! The Sterling fortune is not for a little slut like you to covet!” I was shaking with rage. “If you’re sick in the head, go to a hospital. Don’t project your filth onto me! I’m his child. What is wrong with wanting to meet him? You’re so paranoid you suspect your own child? You call yourself a mother?” “You dare talk back to me?” Madeline’s face turned crimson. She raised her hand to slap me. Instinctively, I dodged. Her hand hit empty air, which only fueled her fury. “Fine! Not only are you twisted, but you’re also rebellious! When your father comes back, I’ll make sure he teaches you a lesson. You’ll learn who the mistress of this house really is!” I scoffed. “Go ahead and tell him. I’d love to see if my father is as irrational as you. And stop calling yourself the ‘mistress of the house.’ If you were actually secure in your position, you wouldn’t be terrified of your husband leaving you, and you wouldn’t need to bully me to feel important.” Madeline was struck dumb. She pointed a trembling finger at me, choking on her words, before finally shrieking, “Get out! Go back to your room and don’t come out!” I turned and walked away, my heart turning to ice. So this was my biological mother? To say something so vile… It seemed that in this house, I could only rely on myself. 3 Since our argument, Madeline began targeting me openly. She would start dinner without me. The driver who took me to school was dismissed on some flimsy excuse, forcing me to take the crowded public bus. My allowance was cut to zero—I couldn’t even buy pens. I didn’t care. The bus was crowded, but it got me to school. I had savings from my past life in the countryside. I could skip breakfast or buy a cheap bagel at the cafeteria. But I didn’t expect Anna to start her own campaign. One morning, I walked into the classroom to find Anna standing by my desk, holding a shredded designer dress. She was sobbing to the surrounding crowd. “I just bought this yesterday… Mom spent thousands on it… and this morning Xavier tore it apart because she said she hated looking at me…” The classmates turned to me, their eyes filled with disgust. I frowned and walked over. “Are you delusional? When did I touch your dress?” Anna cried harder. “I’m sorry, big sis. I know you hate me, but this was a gift from Mom… If you want to vent, hit me, curse at me… but don’t ruin Mom’s gift…” I was about to argue when I heard the whispers. “I didn’t know Xavier was that kind of person.” “It’s just jealousy. Typical trashy behavior.” “I heard that back in the country, she was a sugar baby for some old guy. She even had an abortion. No wonder she’s so vicious.” I froze. These rumors were beyond ridiculous. I just had somewhat delicate features. How could they fabricate something so disgusting? I’m a man, for God’s sake! Abortion? Are you kidding me? I was shaking with anger, ready to confront them, when I caught a glimpse of a smirk flashing across Anna’s tear-stained face. I understood instantly. She was the source. Over the next few days, the rumors grew nastier. People pointed fingers. Someone threw trash in my locker. I endured it. Until one morning, I opened my desk to find a dead rat and a handful of cockroaches inside. That was the breaking point. I grabbed a plastic bag, scooped up the dead rat and the roaches, walked over to Anna’s pristine desk, and dumped the bag right in front of her. “Anna, your pranks are pathetic. Can’t you come up with something original?” Seeing the contents of the bag, Anna’s face went pale. She let out a piercing scream. “Ahh! A rat! Roaches!” She jumped up, tears instantly flowing, and ran out of the classroom. The class was stunned. They stared at the bag in my hand, terrified into silence.

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Victoria is pregnant. The father isn’t me. It’s her assistant. At our ninth anniversary gala, she brought him home, parading him around like a prize. Her voice was cool, detached, as she issued her orders to me. “Felix is a picky eater. From now on, his three meals a day must be prepared personally by you. No repeated dishes.” She didn’t stop there. “And he’s a light sleeper. Your breathing is too loud. Pack your things and move to the guest room.” I didn’t say a word. I simply gripped the handle of the suitcase I had packed hours ago and walked calmly toward the front door. The butler tried to step in, his face etched with worry, but Victoria let out a cold, mocking laugh. “Let him go. He’ll be back crawling like a dog within three days. He has nowhere else.” Hearing this, the guests erupted in laughter. Right in front of my face, they placed bets. Ten million dollars on the table. They bet that before the sun rose, I’d be banging on the door, weeping and begging Victoria to let me back in. But they didn’t know the truth. They didn’t see the Maybach waiting just outside the iron gates. This time, I was actually leaving. 1 Just as I was about to step out of the villa, Victoria’s voice cut through the air. “Sam, leave the Peace Bracelet. Felix has been having nightmares lately.” That bracelet was the only heirloom my parents left me. It was my life. Seeing my eyes redden, the woman I had loved for nine years looked at me with bored indifference. “Name your price.” How much was a marriage worth? A marriage where I was treated like mud for nine years? I was too tired to calculate it. I only remembered the last time I refused a demand—when I wouldn’t give my ski goggles to Felix. Her bodyguards stripped me to my underwear and left me halfway up the freezing mountain. I slid the Peace Bracelet off my wrist and placed it onto Felix’s arm. “I wish the three of you happiness,” I said, my voice hollow. “And peace.” Hearing this unexpected blessing, Victoria softened, offering me a rare, condescending olive branch. “Sam, as long as you’re obedient, my child will be your child too.” The moment the words left her lips, the bracelet slipped from Felix’s wrist. Crash. It shattered against the marble floor. A tiny shard scratched Felix’s leg. A microscopic cut. Victoria rushed over, panic in her eyes. She screamed at the butler to call the family doctor, acting as if Felix had been shot. The guests watched me with amusement, enjoying the show. It was funny. Even I found it hilarious. Last night, when I had a heart attack, Victoria was busy taking Felix to see a meteor shower. Even as I foamed at the mouth and collapsed, she stepped over my body without breaking stride. Before I lost consciousness, I heard her tell the housekeeper, “Disinfect the living room. Felix is coming home tomorrow; I don’t want him smelling anything foul.” I gripped my suitcase handle, turning to leave again. Victoria’s hand clamped around my wrist. Her face was ice. “Apologize.” “Wha—” Before I could finish, she shoved me. I fell hard, landing on my knees in front of Felix. My knee landed on a shard of jade, staining the white floor crimson. Seeing the blood, Victoria released me, her eyes filled with disgust. “You used a cheap trick to break Felix’s bracelet and hurt him. Shouldn’t you say sorry?” Since marrying Victoria Snook, “I’m sorry” had become my catchphrase. The soup is too bland? I’m sorry. I texted you while you were drunk? I’m sorry. I accidentally saw Felix’s sexts to you? I’m sincerely sorry. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper. I straightened my back. I bowed ninety degrees to Felix. I apologized three times. Then, I looked at Victoria with dead eyes. “Is that enough?” Staring at the blood trickling from the corner of my mouth, her chest heaved slightly. “Sam, your grandfather isn’t here to protect you. Who are you putting on this pathetic act for? It’s disgusting.” Before I could answer, the doctor arrived. Victoria shoved me aside, practically carrying Felix to the sofa. While her entire world revolved around him, I walked out the door. Beep-beep. Two sharp honks came from the silver car outside the gates. I quickened my pace. But before the iron gates could open, two massive bodyguards materialized from the shadows, dragging me back into the villa. 2 In the study, Victoria had me tied to a chair. She ordered a nurse to insert a needle—thick as a child’s finger—into my arm. Through the half-open door, I heard the doctor pleading with her. “Ms. Snook, although both Mr. Sam and your assistant have the rare RH-Null blood type, Mr. Sam has a history of heart failure. Forcing a transfusion now could induce acute shock. We should go to the hospital and get a proper blood bank for Felix…” “Don’t lecture me,” Victoria’s voice was frosty. “Your only job is to make Felix healthy. I know what I’m doing.” I heard her footsteps approaching. I closed my eyes. “Does it hurt?” Her voice carried a rare, twisted note of comfort. “Just bear it. It’ll be over soon.” I turned my head away. I didn’t have the energy to speak to her. After they drained 800ml of my blood, my lips turned purple. Suddenly, Felix coughed in the master bedroom. Hearing it, Victoria immediately grabbed the doctor’s hand, stopping him from removing the needle. She ordered him to double the draw. The doctor, sweating profusely, warned her I would die. She hesitated for two seconds. “Felix comes first.” “But…” I interrupted the doctor, my voice a rasp. “Draw it. Just let me leave when you’re done.” Victoria looked at my pale, lifeless face. Anger flashed in her eyes. She opened her mouth to ask if I was done throwing a tantrum, if I was really going to run away over something so trivial. “Vicky…” Felix’s weak voice drifted from the other room. She abandoned me instantly. 3 Two days later. I woke up in a hospital bed, recovering from severe shock. Victoria was there, reviewing documents. We stared at each other in silence. She expressionlessly brought a bowl of porridge to my lips. I turned my head. “I can do it myself.” She watched me eat half the bowl in silence. “Are you uncomfortable anywhere?” I ignored the question. “Please give me my phone.” My tone was distant, unfamiliar. It took her a moment to process it before she signaled the butler to hand it over. Seeing the string of missed calls, she asked abruptly, “Who called you?” She never used to ask questions. A flicker of annoyance crossed my eyes. “No one you know.” She unbuttoned the top button of her blouse, looking down at me with cold arrogance. “Sam, how long are you going to keep up this dog-like temper? I give you an inch, and you want a mile?” In the past, I would have apologized. I would have groveled. Now, I just pointed at her vibrating phone. “Felix is calling.” Her eyes softened instantly. She walked out to the corridor to answer it. The moment she left, my phone rang. I picked up. before I could speak, a frantic voice on the other end shouted. “You said you were coming! Sam, did you regret it?” “I didn’t regret it. There was… an accident.” “An accident? Are you hurt? No, I’m flying back personally…” “No,” I cut her off gently. “Just give me a few more days.” Victoria returned just as I hung up. Seeing the faint smile on my lips—a smile she hadn’t seen in years—she felt a strange tightness in her chest. But she had just promised Felix they would go shopping for cribs. She didn’t have time to interrogate me. She assumed it was my cousin, the only friend I had left after nine years of isolation. She grabbed her files. “Sam, something came up at the company. I’ll come back tomorrow.” Tomorrow came and went. Then the day after. She never showed up. Instead, our mutual “friends” bombarded me with videos. Victoria and Felix at banquets. Victoria and Felix at dinners. She was parading him around like a love-struck teenager. On the day I was discharged, she posted a photo grid on social media. Sunset. A hot air balloon. Her and Felix, locked in a deep kiss. I commented under the post: [Wishing the two of you a long life and an early birth.] Ten minutes later, she called. I didn’t answer. Thirty minutes later, I was walking out of the hospital alone when I saw them at the OBGYN department. The nurse was gushing over them. “Mrs. Snook, your husband treats you so well! He warms the ultrasound gel with his hands before we use it. I’ve never seen such devotion.” The other pregnant women in the waiting room looked on with envy. I subconsciously remembered our child. The one she aborted without telling me. Back then, Felix had sent me a voice note: “Ms. Snook lost a bet to me in a video game. I guess she can only have my babies now?” Before I could reply, Victoria called me herself. She screamed at me for being petty and stupid. “Sam, you spineless waste. What right do you have to demand I bear your child? If I’m going to ruin my body, it’ll be for someone with superior genes!” I shook the memory away and tried to bypass them. But Victoria saw me. She walked over, her face darkening. “Why are you standing there like an idiot?” I lowered my eyes. “I wasn’t stalking you. It’s a coincidence. Sorry to disturb.” “Wait.” As she called out, jealousy flashed in Felix’s eyes. He tightened his grip on her waist and smiled at me. “Mr. Sam! I owe you my life for that blood transfusion. Without you, I’d still be dizzy. Vicky, let’s take Mr. Sam home with us, okay?” Victoria looked at him with adoration. “My kind-hearted Felix. Whatever you say.” I didn’t refuse. I needed to get my passport.

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Three years after walking out of the iron gates, I ran into Lucas at a high-end patisserie. He was there, dripping wet from the rain, picking up a custom cake for his pregnant wife. I was there to pick up a DoorDash order. The shock of seeing each other froze us both for a second. But love and hate had long since burned to ash. I broke the silence first. He asked how I was doing. I told him everything was fine. We stood there, strangers with a lifetime of history. Just as I turned to leave, his voice stopped me. “Scarlett, if things get hard… you can always call me.” My delivery app pinged, a harsh reminder of reality. I stepped forward to hassle the barista for the order, ignoring him completely. Life’s hardships were just the price I paid to keep my belly full. But getting close to him? That would bring a hell I could no longer survive. I was scared. I was tired. And I had stopped loving him a long time ago. 1 The barista was frantically packing the order. All I cared about was grabbing the bag and beating the delivery timer. Lucas seemed to sense that I had no desire to speak, so he stayed silent. That is, until the clerk handed him a pristine, ribbon-wrapped box. Her voice dripped with envy. “Mr. McKenzie, I truly envy your wife. Driving across the city in this storm just to get her favorite cake?” Lucas took the box, a soft, indulgent smile playing on his lips. “My wife… her cravings have been impossible since she got pregnant. She only eats from here.” I pretended not to hear. My order slid across the counter. I grabbed it and bolted out the door. I was just about to kick-start my beat-up electric scooter when Lucas rushed out and grabbed my arm. “Do you have a minute? We need to talk.” I ripped my arm from his grip, shoving my phone screen in his face. The timer was ticking down red. “No time. Customer’s waiting.” “Why didn’t you contact me when you got out?” He stared at me, his voice low, commanding. I strapped my helmet tight and revved the engine. “Didn’t see the point. I don’t want anything to do with you people ever again.” I twisted the throttle and merged into the heavy traffic, drowning out whatever he said next. I didn’t hear him. I didn’t care. In the rush to deliver the final order, I took a corner too fast. The scooter skidded. My jeans tore against the asphalt, exposing the skin beneath. It wasn’t smooth skin. It was a roadmap of grotesque, burn-like scars. They snaked from my calf all the way up my body. Staring at the jagged marks, it hit me. It had been nine years since I last truly saw Lucas. Six years in prison. Three years out. My life was a pile of rubble. His was a golden tower. The only mercy was that I felt nothing. No flutter in my heart. No pain. I limped back to the crumbling apartment complex in the darker side of the city. Downstairs, I saw Mia—my cellmate turned roommate—holding my daughter, Annie’s, hand. Before I could even park, Annie launched herself into my arms, babbling about how much she missed me. Holding her soft little body, the exhaustion melted away. Then, I noticed what she was holding. A dirty, old teddy bear. Mia saw me staring at it. “Hey,” she said softly. “Annie dug this out of your old suitcase today.” She pulled out a faded piece of paper, folded into a heart shape. “There was a letter stuffed inside the bear. I figured it was something you saved on purpose, so I kept it safe.” I took the paper. The past rushed back like a tidal wave. I unfolded it. Lucas’s sharp, confident handwriting stared back at me. Mia leaned in, trying to lighten the mood. “Ooh, let me see. Which ex wrote this? The heartbreaker?” Annie, curious, stood on her tiptoes to look. The signature at the bottom read: Forever loving my Scarlett, Lucas McKenzie. Mia’s jaw dropped. “Lucas McKenzie?” “The tech mogul? The richest guy in the state?” She looked at me, eyes wide with disbelief. “Girl, you never told me your ex was a billionaire.” I picked up my daughter, tore the letter into confetti, and let the pieces fall into the gutter. “I’m Lucas McKenzie’s ex-wife.” The ex-wife who tried to kill his mistress. The ex-wife he personally sent to prison. 2 Annie looked like Lucas. Especially when she slept. Watching her chest rise and fall, the memories I tried to bury began to claw their way out. I met Lucas in high school. He was the school’s golden boy—a genius on a scholarship, an orphan with nothing to his name. Education was his only ladder out of the gutter. I was young, naïve, and dazzled by his brilliance. I envied how easily he solved math problems that made my brain hurt. I pitted him when I saw him shivering in a thin sweater in the dead of winter. So, I convinced my father—a nouveau riche developer—to sponsor him. He started coming over. We grew close. He tutored me. He walked me home every night after study hall. I stopped letting my driver pick me up just to walk with him. Teenage affection is a dangerous thing. It grows quietly, like weeds. With my dad’s money, Lucas never went hungry again. When the SAT results came out, he was top of the state. My parents, however, had plans for me to study abroad in London. The night before I was supposed to leave, Lucas grabbed my hand. His eyes were red, desperate. “Scarlett, don’t go. After my parents died, I thought my life was over. But then you showed up.” “You are the only light I have. I love you. Please, don’t leave me.” I listened to his clumsy, desperate confession, and my heart sank right into his hands. I lied to my parents. A massive, unforgivable lie. I took my passport and suitcase and followed him to his university town. My parents thought I was struggling to adjust in London. In reality, I was in a 200-square-foot studio apartment, learning to cook cheap pasta for a boy who promised me forever. I threw away my future to drown in Lucas’s love. When the lie finally collapsed, Lucas knelt before my parents. “I will spend my life making sure Scarlett never suffers. I will die before I betray her!” My parents were moved. We got married the year he graduated. Lucas was a genius, a shark in a suit. He didn’t break his promise about the money. He took my father’s investment and turned it into an empire. Within three years, he was the new King of New York. But when a man sees the world from the top of a skyscraper, the view changes. And so do the temptations. First, it was the smell of perfume on his shirts. Then, lipstick on the collar. He would hug me and say, “Honey, it’s just business. Showmanship. You don’t understand the corporate world. My heart is yours.” I believed him. I was a high school graduate who had spent years playing house. My world was him. So when the truth hit me, it didn’t just hurt. It destroyed me. Her name was Jasmine. The daughter of a real estate tycoon. It was a winter night. He had missed his own birthday. I had spent all day baking a cake. I wanted to surprise him at the office. The main floor was dark. But a sliver of light bled from under his office door. My heart hammered against my ribs. I pushed the door open. He was naked. Jasmine was straddling him on the leather couch. They were entangled, moving with a primal rhythm. The Lucas who was always so gentle with me was rough with her. He was whispering filthy things, words I didn’t know he knew. His eyes weren’t full of love. They were full of hunger. Of satisfaction. That, I realized, was the real Lucas. 3 I did what any woman would do. I screamed. I charged in. I grabbed her hair. The cake I spent hours making smashed onto the floor, a perfect metaphor for my marriage. That was the first time he hit me. A slap, hard and fast, across my face. He shoved me back and pulled Jasmine into his arms, covering her with his jacket. “Scarlett! Have you lost your mind?” “Do you know who she is? If you touch her again, I can’t protect you!” I looked at him, and I saw a stranger. “Lucas… how could you?” He stared at me, cold and detached. “I told you, you don’t understand business. Jasmine doesn’t affect us. She’s just… necessary.” Jasmine smirked from the safety of his chest. “Scarlett, let’s be real. What do you bring to the table?” “Your family is just new money trash. Lucas is building an empire. Do you think your dad’s little investment is enough to make him King of the city?” “You have a high school diploma. You’re useless. You rely on him for the air you breathe. What right do you have to question him?” “We are a power couple. I can take his company to the next level. You? You’re just a pet.” I fled. After that, Lucas stopped coming home. I was in my twenties, watching my fairy tale burn down. I went mad. I hired a PI. I got photos. Him holding her hand on his old campus. Kissing her in the crowd. Him and her in hotel beds, tangled in sheets. Jasmine beat me in every category—money, education, looks. For the first time, I felt small. Inferior. Jealousy is a poison. I drank it all. I crashed his company’s product launch. I knew how much work he put into it. I wanted to burn it all down. I thought if he failed, he would come back to me. In front of the city’s elite, I put the sex tape on the big screen. I expected outrage. Instead, the room looked at me with pity. With disgust. Lucas looked at me, shaking his head. “Scarlett… you really disappoint me.” “You could have come to me. But ruining this? Hundreds of people worked for six months on this project. You’re so selfish. When will you grow up?” Security dragged me out. The media didn’t side with me. They painted me as the ungrateful, uneducated housewife trying to sabotage the brilliant genius and his “business partner.” I became the city’s laughingstock. I locked myself in the house. One night, in a fit of despair, I lit a match. The fire took everything. I was pulled out, burned and broken. When I woke up in the hospital, Lucas was there. He had come from Jasmine’s prenatal checkup. He stood over my bandages, looking annoyed. “Scarlett, can you just stop?” “Trying to kill yourself just to get my attention? Are you crazy?” “Your dad’s company is bleeding money. I’m the one keeping it afloat. Without me, you starve. Do you want to lose me that badly?” “I told you, you are my only wife. Jasmine agreed. As long as you behave, we won’t divorce.” Jasmine stood by the door, protecting her small bump, looking at me like I was a cockroach. I looked at Lucas. For the first time, I didn’t cry. 4 He took me home. He brushed my hair, avoiding the scars on my neck. “Scarlett, I made mistakes. But I did it for us. For a better life.” “Your parents are old. Do you want to worry them?” “Just be good. Jasmine won’t threaten your position. I promise.” I was a wasteland. My parents had signed everything over to him years ago. He held the leash. I submitted. I became a ghost in my own home. He came home three times a month. The rest of the time, he was with Jasmine. He gave her everything. He learned to cook for her cravings. He took maternity photos and posted them, captioning them with hearts. “My love, Jasmine.” I gave up everything for him. He gave up everything for her. I thought if I stayed quiet, my parents would be safe. But Jasmine wasn’t done. She invited my parents back from Europe for her baby shower. She humiliated them in front of everyone. Her father laughed. “Mr. and Mrs. Reed, you have to be selfish to be happy. Your daughter has the grace to let her husband breed with a better class of woman. You should be proud.” My parents didn’t know. I had sent them away to shield them. The room laughed. My father clutched his chest and collapsed. When I got to the hospital, he was gasping for air. “Sorry… baby girl… I was too soft… I shouldn’t have let you jump into the fire…” He flatlined before he finished. I snapped. I grabbed a fruit knife and went to the venue. Jasmine was toasting with champagne—sparkling water, actually, because Lucas was so careful with her. I didn’t see people. I saw red. I lunged. I aimed for the belly. Jasmine lost the baby. Lucas looked at me like he wanted to rip my throat out. I got six years for aggravated assault. He testified against me. One month into my sentence, I found out I was pregnant. Two years in, my mother died of grief. Because of Lucas, I lost my home, my family, my humanity. I woke up from the nightmare with a start. The sky was turning gray. Mia had already dressed Annie. “Go back to sleep, Scarlett. I’ll drop her at school.” I hugged Annie. She smelled like milk and cheap soap. My lifeline. Then, a knock at the door. Mia opened it. It was Lucas. He was panting, his shirt soaked with sweat, chest heaving. He had run here. His eyes locked onto Annie in my arms. I remembered what he had yelled yesterday as I drove away.

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I walked away from a partnership track at a top Wall Street firm and flew back to the States to slave away for my boyfriend’s startup for three years. Finally, the day came. We rang the NASDAQ opening bell. At the celebration gala, under the crystal chandeliers, my boyfriend made an announcement. He pulled a junior developer—a girl I had hired—into his arms. She was his true fiancée. She leaned into him, fragile and triumphant, raising her champagne flute at me. “Elena, thanks for every line of code you wrote over the last three years. Your work is now registered under my name on the patent filing.” “Oh, and that historic brownstone you sold to keep the company afloat during the seed round? That’s going to be our wedding venue.” Jacob, the man I had loved for seven years, looked at me with a sickening mix of pity and arrogance. “Elena, what we had was gratitude, not love. Here’s a check for half a million. Take it. Go start your own life.” I took the check. Under the gaze of the city’s elite, I tore it into confetti. I built you up to the IPO. I can certainly tear you down to bankruptcy. 1 The hangover headache was splitting my skull, but my phone vibrating against the nightstand was worse. I swiped the screen. Dozens of news alerts clogged my notifications. The headlines were variations on a theme, linking my name with Jacob Thorne’s. I tapped the trending article. It went live at 3:00 AM. I had left the gala less than four hours ago. Jacob’s PR team was nothing if not efficient. The press release was a masterclass in corporate gaslighting. “Due to differences in strategic vision, co-founder Elena Shand has voluntarily stepped down and received a generous severance package.” “CEO Jacob Thorne stated: ‘Though it is difficult, we appreciate Ms. Shand’s contributions. This company will always be her home.’” The photo was curated perfectly. One of me looking cold and detached during a board meeting. Another of Jacob at the bell-ringing ceremony, looking teary-eyed and exhausted. He painted himself as the sentimental, burdened entrepreneur. I was the cold-hearted exec taking the money and running. Generous severance? You mean the check I shredded? Hilarious. I ignored the phone and walked barefoot into the bathroom. The cold tiles grounded me. The woman in the mirror looked tired, but her eyes were sharp, burning with a cold fire. Jacob, you think a few press releases can scrub the slate clean? I threw on a blazer and drove to the office. It was rush hour. The lobby was buzzing. Employees who used to bow and scrape now avoided eye contact, parting around me like I was contagious. I walked straight to the turnstiles. BEEP. The light turned red. The screen flashed two offensive words: ACCESS DENIED. I tried another lane. ACCESS DENIED. In the security booth, Old Hank, who I used to bring coffee to every morning, buried his head in a logbook. I tapped my knuckles on the glass. “Hank.” He hesitated, then stood up slowly, forcing a pained smile. “Ms… Ms. Shand.” “What’s wrong with my badge?” “Well…” Hank’s eyes darted around. “Orders came down. Your clearance… it was revoked at midnight.” He lowered his voice. “It’s not just the doors. Your email, internal accounts, Slack… everything’s been wiped.” So much for “this company will always be her home.” I couldn’t even get past the doormat. I drove back to my apartment. It was a high-end loft only ten minutes from the HQ. Jacob had “thoughtfully” leased it for me, saying, “Elena, you work so hard. I hate seeing you commute. Live close so you can rest.” In hindsight, it was just so I could spend more hours coding. My landlord was waiting in the lobby, arms crossed, tapping his foot. “Ms. Shand, finally!” He shoved a printout in my face. “Look at this! Your company just emailed. They stopped the automatic rent payments as of today!” “The lease says the corporate entity pays. If they stop, you go.” He looked me up and down with a sneer. “You have three days to vacate.” “Or I call the Sheriff to toss your stuff on the curb.” I stared at him until he flinched. “Three days,” he barked, retreating to the elevator. “I’m not running a charity.” I walked into the empty loft and collapsed onto the sofa. Locked out of the company. Kicked out of my home. Jacob was systematically erasing me. I pulled out my phone. Over the last three years, I had mentored dozens of engineers. They called me “Master,” “Mentor,” “Boss.” I dialed Marcus, my first protégé. Three rings. Declined. I tried Kevin. Straight to voicemail. I tried a third, a fourth… Radio silence. Just as I was about to throw the phone against the wall, a text popped up from a burner number. “Elena, it’s Sarah, the intern.” “Don’t call Marcus or the guys. Jacob called an all-hands meeting at 8 AM. He said anyone caught talking to you gets fired immediately and blacklisted from the industry.” “They’re scared… take care of yourself.” The number went dead immediately after. My finger hovered over the screen. Good. Burn the bridges. Salt the earth. I packed the few things that mattered—clothes, some cheap toiletries, and an old, battered laptop. It was a brick I’d bought at a pawn shop during the lean startup days. Once the funding came in, I’d tossed it in a closet. I sat on my suitcase, looking around the apartment I’d lived in for three years. Jacob, you stole my company, my patent, and my home. You cut my network. You think you’ve won? You think unplugging my ethernet cable stops me? I opened the old laptop and blew the dust off the keyboard. Power on. The screen flickered, and a familiar command line interface greeted me. You revoked my admin privileges. You locked the front door. But you forgot one thing. I wrote the kernel architecture of that entire building. I wrote the foundational code of the platform. My fingers flew across the keyboard. Lines of green text cascaded down the black screen like a digital waterfall. I hit Enter. ACCESS GRANTED.

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1 I took a bullet for my boyfriend of ten years. He survived, unscathed, and in the heat of the moment, he promised he’d do anything for me. Everyone assumed I would seize the opportunity to demand marriage. After all, I’d proposed to him multiple times before, and I was three months pregnant with his child. But to everyone’s shock, I looked him in the eye and dumped him. Right there. Then I turned my back on him. Someone told him to chase after me. But he just scoffed, his expression dripping with disdain. “Why bother? Everyone knows Jacqueline is desperate. She’s pathetic. She’s carrying my kid; she’s just playing hard to get. If I chase her now, I’m just falling for her little game.” He didn’t know that I had already died once. In my past life, my proposal was successful. But Lyla, the young girl he had ‘saved,’ slashed her wrists and screamed for him. Blaming me for her distress, he locked me in our house like an animal. He broke my legs—the legs I used to dance with. On the day I went into labor, he strangled our newborn with his own hands, leaving me to bleed out in agony. Heaven had mercy. I was back. And this time, I was going to give him exactly what he wanted. … My thigh burned like it was being branded with a hot iron. A sharp jolt of pain snapped me back to reality. The nurse was gently wrapping gauze around the wound, her voice soft. “The antiseptic is going to sting a bit, honey. Just hang in there.” Standing nearby, Jax let out a cold, mocking laugh. He was handsome, with that sharp jawline that used to make my heart race, but now his eyes were full of contempt. “Oh, now you feel pain? What happened to all that bravery earlier? If you hadn’t gotten in the way, I would have caught that dealer. You’re useless, Jacqueline. You ruin everything.” I looked down at my legs, smooth and unbroken. I stayed silent. In my last life, to avenge Lyla’s imaginary grievances, Jax had shattered these legs with a baseball bat. It had been so long since I’d seen them whole. The other officers in the room exchanged uncomfortable glances. They had been there during the raid. Two hulking drug traffickers, one with a loaded piece. If I hadn’t thrown myself in front of Jax, that bullet would have buried itself in his heart, not grazed my leg. Seeing that I wasn’t fighting back, Jax’s mood darkened. He kicked a metal stool, sending it skittering across the linoleum floor. “Enough with the silent treatment, Jacqueline! You stalked me to a crime scene and interfered with police work. Do you have any idea how stupid that was? And now you have the nerve to give me attitude?” He paced, agitated. “Look, I said I’d grant you a request for saving me. So? Spit it out. What do you want?” He looked like he was seconds away from hitting me. Time is a cruel thief. It stole the passionate, devoted boy I fell in love with and left this violent, bitter stranger in his place. He had forgotten that he once swore to protect me with his life. No, he hadn’t forgotten. He just found someone else to protect. My gaze drifted to his hand. The silver band we bought together years ago was gone. In its place, on his ring finger, sat a cheap, hand-woven string ring with a tacky plastic puppy charm. I knew who made that. Lyla. The eighteen-year-old orphan Jax met six months ago. The “innocent” victim. I let out a dry, bitter chuckle. “Anything? You’ll agree to anything?” Jax paused, his eyes flickering to the cheap ring on his hand. A shadow of guilt crossed his face, quickly replaced by annoyance. He gritted his teeth. “Yes.” A few rookie cops shuffled closer, grinning. They knew our history. Ten years is a lifetime. “It’s a life debt, boss! Might as well offer yourself in marriage,” one joked. The room erupted in laughter. “Yeah, Jax! Jacqueline said last year she wanted to be married before thirty. Tick tock!” “Count me in for the bachelor party!” I was about to shut them down when the door burst open. A breathless nurse rushed in. “Officer! It’s bad. The girl you brought in—she’s trying to slash her wrists!” Again. I couldn’t count how many times Lyla had pulled the suicide card. Just like in my previous life, she knew exactly how to steal the spotlight. Jax’s face drained of color. Without a glance at me, he sprinted out the door. I scoffed, ignored the pain in my leg, and limped after him to the second floor. By the window, Lyla looked frail and tragic, wrapped in Jax’s oversized police jacket. Her face was pale, her large eyes swimming with tears. When we left the scene earlier, Jax had carried her to the ambulance like she was made of glass. I remembered now—when the dealer aimed the gun, Lyla had stood there in silence. Only after the criminals fled did she collapse into Jax’s arms, sobbing and fainting on cue. Seeing me in the doorway, Lyla’s expression shifted minutely before she ramped up the hysterics. “I know Jacqueline took a bullet for you, Jax! You promised her anything. You’ve been together ten years. She wants to marry you, so you have to say yes, right?” She held a fruit knife to her slender wrist, pressing just hard enough to dent the skin. “But Jax… I’m an orphan. I’m just a stray dog nobody wants. You gave me a home. You saved me. The thought of losing you… I’d rather die!” “Put the knife down, Lyla! Please! I can explain everything,” Jax pleaded, his voice trembling with a tenderness he hadn’t shown me in years. It was almost funny. Lyla had some kind of dark magic. From the moment he saved her, Jax became obsessed with “fathering” this homeless girl. He gave her a credit card. He moved her into his apartment—our future apartment—claiming she needed warmth and safety. Whenever she cried, he ran. When I nearly died in a car wreck last year, he screamed at me over the phone for interrupting his time comforting Lyla after a nightmare. If you’re hurt, call an ambulance. What the hell am I supposed to do? You’re so dramatic. That was the moment my heart began to shatter. Jax saw a helpless eighteen-year-old in Lyla. He conveniently forgot that his twenty-nine-year-old fiancée had also grown up in the foster system. He forgot that he was the one who dragged me into this love story. In my last life, jealousy and unwillingness to let go led to my destruction. But this time? He could keep her. I was done. Jax lunged forward and wrestled the knife from Lyla’s grip. He pulled her into a crushing hug, kissing the top of her head repeatedly. “Don’t ever scare me like that again! You hear me?” Lyla buried her face in his neck, sobbing theatrically. “But you’re going to marry Jacqueline… and I’ll be homeless again. Why did you even save me?” I watched from the doorway, fighting the urge to vomit. It was such a clumsy performance, yet Jax bought every second of it. He glared at me over her shoulder, eyes filled with resentment, before looking back down at Lyla gently. “I promise you. Married or not, your place in my heart won’t change.” He sighed, as if forced to reveal a burdensome truth. “I have no choice, Lyla. Jacqueline and I have been together for a decade. Everyone knows she’s desperate to marry me. When my dad died, she paid for the police academy. She took care of my mom for years. It’s a debt. I have to pay it back.” The room went silent. The other officers looked awkward. Before Lyla, we were the precinct’s power couple. Now, he made me sound like a loan shark collecting dues. I did pay for his academy. I did nurse his sick mother. I did it because I loved him, not because it was a transaction. If I had known he would turn into this, I would have walked away years ago. “You said you’d agree to any request,” I said, my voice cutting through the soap opera. “Ready to honor that?” Jax stiffened. He patted Lyla’s head and stood up, adjusting his jacket with arrogant pride. “So eager to lock me down? Fine. You have no dignity anyway. When do you want to go to the courthouse?” “I want to break up.” Jax froze. The arrogance slid off his face, replaced by confusion, then anger. “Excuse me?” “I said I want to break up. Right now. Today.” “Quit the drama, Jacqueline,” he snapped. “Everyone knows you’ve been chasing me for ten years. You’d crawl over glass to marry into my family. Now I finally say yes, and you’re playing hard to get? Don’t treat me like an idiot. You’re still wearing our ring!” He pointed at my hand triumphantly. I calmly slid the silver band off my finger and tossed it into the medical waste bin. Clink. The sound was small, but in the silent room, it sounded like a gavel falling. “I’m not wearing it anymore,” I said, my voice eerily steady. “Can we break up now?” He had given me that ring when he was eighteen, fresh out of high school. He worked three jobs to buy it. He had presented it to me with shaking hands. Jacqueline, I know you don’t have family. I’ll be your family. I will protect you with my life. I’ll be the best man you’ll ever know. I believed him. I wore that cheap silver ring for ten years. Once, I dropped it in the ocean and nearly drowned diving for it. He knew what that ring meant to me. Now, it sat among the bloody gauze and used needles. “You think this threatens me?” Jax’s face turned red. “I’m warning you, Jacqueline. I’m keeping my word to marry you, but if you keep acting like a lunatic, don’t expect a warm welcome in my house!” I laughed. I actually laughed. “Good. Who wants to be in your house anyway?” I looked him in the eyes one last time. “Jax, this is your notice. We’re done. Don’t come looking for me.” I turned and walked away. “Aren’t you going to chase her?” someone whispered to Jax. “Chase her?” Jax sneered loud enough for me to hear. “She’s a clinger. And she’s pregnant with my kid. This is just a game. If I chase her, she wins. Let her cool off.” He was right about one thing. I was pregnant. Three months ago, he had shown up drunk, forcing himself on me, mumbling about how we were going to get married anyway. The next morning, he accused me of drugging him. Shameless! You trapped me! I should have left then. But the ten years of history weighed me down. I wanted a family. In my past life, that desire killed me. Lyla eventually committed suicide for real, and Jax blamed me. He turned my life into a horror movie. You killed Lyla! You don’t deserve happiness! I touched my slightly swollen abdomen. I knew what I had to do. The next day, I got a text from Jax. Passed out on duty near the old industrial park. Come pick me up. It was his usual rude tone. But I knew it wasn’t him. Only Lyla had access to his phone and would bother mimicking him. Jax had told me a month ago he’d never call me first. His ego was too big. I knew it was a trap. A “Hongmen Feast.” But I grabbed my keys and went anyway. The location was a derelict factory on the outskirts of the city. As soon as I stepped through the rusted doors, someone kicked the back of my knees. I hit the concrete hard. Crack. Pain exploded up my legs. Laughter echoed in the vast, empty space. I looked up. Lyla stood in the center, flanked by three rough-looking men. Her innocent mask was gone, replaced by a sneer. “Why did you have to follow him, Jacqueline? Why do you have to be so pathetic? Nobody wants you. Don’t you have any shame?” I stayed silent, kneeling on the dirty floor. Lyla strutted over, grabbed a handful of my hair, and yanked my head back. “Tell me,” she whispered, her breath smelling of peppermint, “if you lose this baby… do you think Jax will still marry you?” I stared into her eyes and smiled. “Why don’t you find out?” Smack. She slapped me across the face. “You think I won’t? Jax doesn’t love you! He told me you’re just a glorified maid. You’re disgusting! This is what you deserve!” She shoved me backward. Then, she started kicking. She aimed specifically for my stomach. “Bitch! Trying to steal my man! Blocking my way! You deserve to die!” I curled into a ball, screaming as the blows landed. I felt something warm and wet spread between my legs. My vision began to blur. Lyla laughed, breathless and manic. She grabbed a metal pipe from a pile of debris and raised it high. “Whoa, stop!” one of the thugs yelled. “She’s bleeding! That’s a lot of blood!” Lyla didn’t care. She swung the pipe down, smashing it into my ribs. The pain was blinding. Darkness swallowed me whole. I woke up to the chaos of a hospital corridor. White lights. Shouting. “We can’t operate without a signature!” “The emergency contact isn’t picking up! Check her phone for anyone else!” “Stay with us, honey! Stay with us!” … At the precinct, Jax was filling out paperwork. His phone rang. Lyla. She sounded terrified. “Jax! Help! Some men are following me!” Jax dropped everything and raced home. He found Lyla curled up in bed, shivering. “I was so scared,” she wept, clinging to him. “They said they wanted to have fun with me… I ran so fast…” “Shh,” Jax soothed her. “I’m here.” His phone began to ring. A jarring, persistent sound. He saw my name on the caller ID and frowned. He hit ‘decline’.

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1 Before I turned fifteen, I lived like a weed growing in the cracks of the pavement—trampled, grey, just barely holding on. Then I met Asher and Summer. The first birthday cake I ever tasted was baked by Summer. The first pretty dress I ever wore, she bought with her allowance. The first time anyone celebrated the day I was born, it was because she spent weeks planning a surprise party. She was the one who applied ointment to my frostbitten hands in winter, tears in her eyes. She was the one who told everyone, loud and proud, that I was her best friend. And Asher? He was the one who pulled me out of a circle of laughing thugs when I was sixteen. He was the one who kicked down the door and carried me to the ER when my fever hit 104. He was the one who punched my drunk stepfather in the face right before the bastard could hit me again. On the day he confessed his feelings to me, his hands were shaking, and his heart was pounding so hard I could hear it. I cried when he said it: “I swear, Elara, I will protect you for the rest of my life.” I used to think, in the dark, quiet moments, how lucky a girl like me was to have found them. Until my twenty-third birthday. I heard Asher shouting at Summer, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t control my heart, Summer! So what if I’ve fallen in love with you? You feel the same way, don’t you?” The beautiful girl looked into the man’s red, tormented eyes. Finally, she broke, sobbing as she collapsed into his arms. “But… what about Elara?” I hid in the shadows around the corner, a sour, bitter smile twisting my lips. What about Elara? There was only one answer. You were both the people I loved most in this world. I couldn’t bear to make this difficult for you. I dialed my academic advisor’s number. My voice was calm, steady. “Professor? That twenty-year Antarctic research expedition… can I still apply?” The rain came down in sheets, soaking me to the bone, but I didn’t move. I stood outside the bistro, staring through the glass wall. Inside, the two people who had pulled me from the ruins of my childhood were embracing. He was handsome; she was gorgeous. The chemistry between them was palpable. A match made in heaven. It was such a beautiful picture, I almost didn’t want to ruin it. I stood on the corner for fifteen minutes, shivering, until the clock struck seven. Then, I wiped the water from my face, plastered on a smile, and walked into the private booth. “Ugh, you won’t believe it,” I announced, shaking out my wet hair. “My Uber broke down halfway here, and I couldn’t get another one. I had to run the rest of the way! I’m freezing!” Summer didn’t hesitate. She whipped off her expensive Chanel cardigan and wrapped it around my wet head. “You idiot,” she scolded, though her eyes were soft. “Why didn’t you call us? We would have picked you up! Do you want to get pneumonia?” Asher, usually the first to panic if I so much as got a papercut, hesitated. He didn’t rush to hug me like he did when we were seventeen and I’d been locked out in the storm. Instead, he stood three feet away, looking guilty. “I’m sorry, Elara. It’s your birthday, I should have picked you up from campus… I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry you got soaked.” I was shaking from the cold, but I kept the goofy grin on my face. “It’s fine! Seriously, don’t worry about it.” Maybe my nonchalance pricked his conscience. He finally stepped forward, taking my freezing hands in his and blowing warm air onto them. Summer, who was drying my hair, froze. A shadow of pain crossed her eyes. Asher noticed it instantly. He dropped my hands like they burned him and stepped back. He turned to the waiter. “Bring us a hot cocoa. Extra hot.” He smiled at me, a mask of normalcy. “Drink something hot. It’ll warm you up.” I pretended not to notice a thing. I sat down, loud and cheerful, but I could feel the heat of his gaze. It wasn’t on me. It was on the girl standing behind me. The cocoa arrived. Summer blew on it carefully before handing it to me. Usually, I found it too sweet, but tonight, the sugar tasted like ash. I drank every drop. “I’m starving,” I said, rubbing my stomach. “Can we eat?” In previous years, my birthdays were chaotic and loud. They would fight over who got to smudge icing on my nose for good luck. They would fight over who got to stand next to me in the photo. But in the final pictures, it was always the three of us. Asher holding me tight, looking at me like I was the only girl in the world. Summer leaning on my shoulder, eyes crinkled in laughter. This year, everything had changed. The cake was expensive. They were sitting right there. But the air felt thick, like we were trapped in drying cement. Summer ate quietly. Asher picked at his food, his mind clearly elsewhere. I took a deep breath and tried to inject some life into the room. “Why so quiet? You guys planning a prank? Are you going to smash the cake in my face when I’m not looking?” Summer forced a smile. “No way! We just figured you were tired from the library. Eat up.” “Alright, time for the main event!” We lit the candles. Our glasses clinked together. My best friend and the boy I loved spoke in unison. “Happy Birthday, Elara!” “Make a wish!” Baby, I swear I’ll spend every birthday with you. Whatever, lover boy. Elara only wants me. You’re just an accessory. Don’t be unreasonable, Summer. I’m her boyfriend. And I’m her soul sister. Floods couldn’t separate us… The memories of their playful banter from years past echoed in my head. I opened my eyes and blew out the candles. The smoke curled up, blurring their faces. This wasn’t my eighteenth birthday. This time, no one laughed. No one fought over me. They just toasted and sat back down. Summer seemed distracted. As she set her glass down, her wrist knocked against the table edge. She hissed in pain. Asher shot out of his chair. “Are you okay?” He froze, realizing his reaction was too intense. Two pairs of anxious eyes turned to me. I stared blankly at the cake. Every year, Summer baked me a cake. This one was no exception. On top, two fondant figures of little girls held hands. Just like when I was fifteen. I had gotten my period at school and didn’t have money for supplies. The other girls pointed at my stained jeans and laughed. Summer, the new transfer student, had tied her jacket around my waist, grabbed my hand, and glared every single bully into silence. From that day on, she was the spring breeze that blew through my desolate winter. I thought of the wish I had just made in silence. I smiled, and a tear slipped out. “Wow, getting old makes me sentimental,” I laughed, wiping the tear. “Let’s cut the cake.” I wish for the people I love to get what they want. To be happy forever. As for me… it’s okay. It really is okay. Seven days after my birthday, I received the acceptance letter for the Polaris Project. I studied Environmental Science, and while I loved the idea of uncovering nature’s secrets, I never imagined signing away twenty years of my life to the ice. But this time, I signed my name without hesitation. Just before I hit send on the final file, I hesitated. Panic fluttered in my chest. I closed the chat with my professor and aimlessly tapped my phone screen. My thumb accidentally opened an app I hadn’t used in ages. It had a heart background with little silver stars. It was an app Asher had coded for me years ago. “Night Whispers.” It was a digital diary for lovers. A place for his late-night thoughts, viewable only by me. He said once that when we were old, we’d read it all together—a poem of his enduring love. My wish: That my baby and I both ace our finals and get into the same university! Haha, I can’t sleep. You told me you loved me for the first time today. The way you blushed… I swear, I’m going to love you forever. The noodle place closed down. Don’t worry, I learned to cook your favorite chicken stew. It tastes exactly the same, I promise. Elara, you’ve been at the training camp for five days. A day feels like a year… The sweet memories washed over me, and the corners of my lips turned up. Then I scrolled to the recent entries. My smile froze. I used to think Summer was just Elara’s annoying friend. But watching her on stage today… she was glowing. I felt something strange in my chest. God, what is wrong with me? The date… five months ago. I thought this app was broken? I scrolled down frantically. We had dinner tonight. Summer sat across from me. I couldn’t stop looking at her. She has dimples when she smiles. How did I never notice? Summer’s grandmother died. I went with Elara to comfort her. Seeing her cry… I just wanted to hold her. I can’t stop thinking about her. I’m a scumbag. I touched Summer’s hand today. She blushed. She wouldn’t look at me. Does she feel it too? I feel guilty, but… I’m so happy. I’m so slow. She’s been avoiding me for a year. The girl who used to threaten to chop me into bits if I hurt Elara is now hiding from me. It all makes sense. Elara kissed me today in front of everyone. I felt nothing but panic because I saw Summer’s face fall. I can’t do this. I have to tell her how I feel. A wave of acid rose in my throat. The dazed look at the dance competition. The distracted dinners. The intense concern at the funeral. It all made sense now. Asher fell for her during the dance competition. Summer… she must have fallen for him much earlier. I was the only blind one. I scrolled to the bottom. The last entry was from an hour ago. Since Summer and I have confessed our feelings… now that Elara’s birthday is over, I have to end it. I know the truth will destroy Elara, but I have no choice… The phone buzzed in my hand. I curled my trembling fingers into a fist. Cold sweat trickled down my back. I finally understood why I had been fleeing. Why I left dinner early seven days ago. Why I was avoiding them. I was terrified. I was afraid Asher would come to break up with me. I had seen the look of pure love on his face when he confessed to me under the fireworks at seventeen. I didn’t know how to face him telling me, point-blank, that he loved Summer. But the call was coming. Desperate, I hit send on the email to my professor. Don’t tell me. Please, don’t tell me. I will never, ever be an obstacle to you. Let me leave quietly, and you can be together without guilt. Okay? The phone kept ringing. I buried my face in the duvet. The ringtone faded, but the pain in my heart sharpened into a physical ache. I cried until I had no tears left. For five days, I didn’t answer Asher’s calls. My paperwork was done. My professor expedited everything. In two days, I would be gone. But I underestimated Asher’s resolve to “clear the air.” He was in a hurry to start his new life with his true love. I saw him waiting outside my dorm. I gave a weak, resigned smile. He looked the same as always—tall, handsome, patient. In the past, he waited here to take me on dates. Or to bring me snacks. Or just to say “I miss you.” Today… I knew I couldn’t run. I walked up to him. “Hey. What are you doing here?” He looked up, concern flashing in his eyes. “Why are you wearing so little? It’s getting cold. You’ll get sick.” He reached out, his long fingers buttoning the top of my thin coat. His other hand moved instinctively to pull me into a hug. For a second, I almost let myself believe he was still mine. That he was still the boy who fought his parents for a year just to date me. But then, reality hit us both. Six years together creates habits. The tenderness was just muscle memory. Before I could step back, he froze. He pulled his hand away. My heart throbbed. He cleared his throat, voice raspy. “Why haven’t you been answering your phone?” I forced a casual smile. “It broke. I’ve been drowning in my thesis, haven’t had time to fix it.” He studied my face for a moment, then looked away. “…Oh. Okay.” Silence stretched between us. The wind cut through the hallway, biting at my skin. He didn’t speak, and I stubbornly stayed silent. Finally, when the windburn on my cheeks became too obvious to ignore, he whispered, “Elara, there’s something I have to tell you…” His phone rang. The ringtone… it used to be me singing. Now, it was “Lonely Whale.” Summer’s favorite song. A bitter smile tugged at my lips. He really hadn’t changed. When he loves someone, he changes every detail for them. “Hello?” “Asher? Where are you? I couldn’t reach Elara. Summer was in a car accident. She’s stubborn, she won’t tell her parents, and she didn’t want Elara to worry, so she’s lying in the hospital all alone…” It was Ryan, Summer’s childhood friend. Asher’s face went pale. “Is it bad? Which hospital?” I heard the voice on the other end say, “Not life-threatening, just a broken leg,” but Asher’s frown deepened. “I’m on my way.” He hung up. He hesitated, looking at me, and lied. “Elara… a relative is sick. It’s an emergency. I have to go.” I pretended I hadn’t heard the phone call. I nodded quickly. He noticed the redness on my face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tube of ointment—the kind he always carried specifically for my sensitive skin. “Here. Put this on. Go inside.” Then he turned and ran. I stared at the tube in my hand. It was still warm from his body heat. Ants seemed to be gnawing at my chest. From now on… he wouldn’t need to carry this anymore. I don’t know if I went to the hospital because I was worried about Summer, or because I wanted to see, one last time, how much he loved her. The smell of antiseptic filled my nose. The door to Summer’s room was ajar. She was lying in bed, pale, her leg in a cast. She looked fragile and exhausted. And beautiful. Asher stood over her, his voice trembling. “Why didn’t you tell me?” “Why should I? You’re my best friend’s boyfriend. You…” “Summer!” Asher shouted. “Stop saying that! We already confessed how we feel! You know…” “Stop.” Summer closed her eyes. “That night was a mistake. I was emotional. Please… forget it. Elara is the most important person in the world to me. I can’t hurt her. I won’t let you hurt her. Go back to her. Fix your mindset. We act like nothing happened.” Her voice cracked at the end. Asher wept. “Summer, please… don’t do this.” Summer turned her head away. “I’ve made my decision. Leave.” Asher’s shoulders shook. Then, he took a deep breath. “Fine. You’re hurt. We won’t talk about this now. But I am staying. I fired the nurse you hired. If you hire another, I’ll fire them too. If you don’t let me feed you, you starve.” He sat down. He scooped up some porridge, blew on it, and held it to her lips. She refused. He persisted. Finally, Summer swatted the spoon away. “Asher! Are you crazy? I said get out!” He paused, spoon in mid-air. His voice was soft but unyielding. “You can fight me all you want. I’m not leaving.” He reached out and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. Then he picked up an apple and started peeling it with meticulous care. I stood in the shadows of the hallway. A statue. I had never seen this side of him. This gentle, stubborn determination. He really loved her. Summer’s eyes filled with tears. Her resistance crumbled. “Asher… you don’t have to do this.” “I know.” He sliced the apple. He looked at her with an intensity that burned. “I know I don’t have to. I want to.” In that gaze, the sterile hospital room vanished, replaced by a field of wildflowers. I knew then, with absolute certainty, that the boy who sang love songs to me until he lost his voice was gone. The boy who promised to love me forever was dead. I couldn’t watch anymore. I turned and walked away in silence. Love is fluid. It flows where it wants. I understood that. Two days later, I was at the airport. Alone. I didn’t shed a tear. The taxi window was down, the night breeze cooling my face. My life flashed before my eyes like a film reel. One year old: Mom died. My stepfather, who only took me in for the inheritance and reputation, hired an aunt to watch me. Three years old: The aunt left. I learned what hunger felt like. Five years old: I didn’t buy the alcohol fast enough. I learned what a belt felt like. I knelt in the snow all night. Eight years old: Social services got me into school. The other kids called me a ghost. Ten years old: A stray dog mauled me. No one came. I dragged myself home, bleeding. Fifteen years old: I met Summer. Color flooded my grey world. She said she wanted to be nice to me, just because. Sixteen years old: Asher saved me from the thugs. He held my hand and we ran, and I felt like a princess being rescued by a knight. Seventeen years old: My first red roses. A confession. Twenty-three years old: I am going to the South Pole. Everything changes. People leave. Elara—my name means “cheerful,” but I was weeping before I began. But you two… you gave me a grand, beautiful spring. Now, I just want you to be happy. Forever bright, forever happy. So, I leave willingly. I’m glad I could do one last thing for you. Goodbye, Summer. Goodbye, Asher. Never again.

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My neighbor diverted the raw sewage from his hog operation directly into my wheat fields. The foul, black sludge swallowed the waist-high stalks, destroying an entire year’s harvest overnight. My dad was ready to grab a shovel and commit murder. My mom was on her knees, sobbing, begging me to run to the Councilman for help. I stopped them both. I didn’t say a single word. The next day, I silently drained the toxic mess and planted hundreds of willow trees in the mud. The whole town laughed, calling me an idiot. My neighbor smirked, convinced I was a coward who had accepted defeat. Three years later, a convoy of EPA agents pulled up to his front gate. 1 The August wind should have carried the scent of ripening wheat, the sweet, dusty promise of harvest. But standing on the ridge of my family’s land, all I could smell was the gut-churning stench of rot and ammonia. The golden waves I had nurtured were gone. In their place was a horizonless hellscape of black water. My waist-high wheat stalks were drowning in a thick, dark sludge. The heavy heads of grain drooped into the filth like the heads of drowning victims. Sunlight hit the surface, reflecting a sickly, iridescent oil slick. Swarms of bluebottle flies buzzed in a frenzied, chaotic cloud above it. This was my family’s only field. My entire savings. My hope. My name is Mason. I have a degree in Agronomy. I spent two years burning out in a city cubicle, getting laid off, and growing sick of the rat race. In the end, watching my parents age over video calls broke me. I chose to come back to the small, dying town where I was born. I brought my degree and every cent I had to my name, determined to use scientific farming to give my parents a better life. My crop was the best in the county. The stalks were sturdy, the kernels full. Everyone who drove past stopped to say that my college degree hadn’t been a waste of time. My dad, Frank—a man who’s spent fifty years working dirt until his hands looked like tree bark—had been happier these past few months than I’d ever seen him. He’d walk the perimeter three times a day, hands clasped behind his back, chest puffed out, grinning like a fool. He told me that once we sold the harvest, he’d bank the money for my future wedding. Now, it was all gone. Overnight. Our neighbor, Bubba Vance, had expanded his hog operation. To save money on a septic system and waste treatment, he dug a trench straight from his pits to the lowest point of the valley: my field. Hog manure, urine, wash-water, and the chemical sting of industrial disinfectant surged down the hill, effectively drowning our livelihood in toxic waste. “Vance! You son of a bitch!” My dad’s eyes went bloodshot instantly. Veins bulged from his neck to his temples. He looked like an enraged bull seeing red. He roared, spinning around to grab the heavy iron shovel leaning against the fence post. He was going over there to kill Bubba Vance. “Frank! Don’t do it!” My mom, Martha, threw her arms around his waist, her knees buckling into the mud. Her wail was a sound of pure, jagged heartbreak. “Don’t go, Frank! If you hurt him, we lose everything! You’ll go to jail!” “A whole year of sweat and blood! Oh God, why are you doing this to us?” She pounded the ground, her hands splashing into the toxic muck, sobbing until she choked. I grabbed my dad from behind, locking my arms around his biceps. His muscles were hard as iron, shaking with adrenaline. He fought against my grip. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by a giant hand, crushed, and tossed into that cesspool. Rage, nausea, and injustice bubbled in my chest like magma, threatening to erupt. But my face remained a mask of stone. I leaned in, putting all my strength into holding him back, and whispered into his ear. “Dad. Stop.” My voice was cold. It sounded alien, even to me. “Let go of me!” He whipped his head around, glaring at me with wild eyes. “Mason! Are you a man or not? He’s destroying us, and you want to play the coward? Did all those books you read turn your spine to jelly?” Mom was screaming now. “Mason, go find Councilman Higgins! Ask him to help us! How are we going to survive this?” Councilman Higgins? He was Bubba Vance’s first cousin. Asking him for help was like asking a wolf to guard the hen house. Just then, a horn blasted. A rusted-out, lifted pickup truck rolled to a stop on the gravel road nearby. Bubba Vance, a man whose neck had long since been swallowed by layers of fat, rolled down the window. He looked at our flooded field and hawked a thick glob of spit onto the ground. “Well, look at that, Frank. Checking the crops?” He grinned, revealing teeth stained yellow by tobacco. It was a blindingly arrogant smile. “Consider that free fertilizer. Don’t thank me, that’s what neighbors are for. Next year’s crop is gonna be huge!” The woman beside him in the passenger seat cackled, her voice shrill. “That’s right! Saved you a fortune on chemicals! You college boys better learn to do the math!” Humiliation. Naked, unadulterated humiliation. My dad was shaking so hard I thought he might have a stroke. My mom’s wailing stopped, replaced by hopeless, gasping sobs. I didn’t respond to their taunts. I just slowly lifted my head. Across the fifty yards separating us, I locked eyes with Bubba. There was no anger in my gaze. No pleading. Nothing. Just a dead, icy silence. Bubba’s laughter cut short, like a radio suddenly switched off. He shivered, unsettled by the look, muttered “freak” under his breath, and stomped on the gas, leaving us in a cloud of black diesel smoke. I supported my father, who could barely stand, and pulled my mother out of the mud. “Let’s go home,” I said. That night, the lights in our house burned until dawn. Dad didn’t eat. He lay in bed, chest heaving, his blood pressure spiking dangerously high. Mom sat on the edge of the mattress, eyes swollen shut, tears leaking silently as she muttered, “What are we going to do? What are we going to do?” The air in the house was heavy enough to crush a man. I sat alone in my room, a fresh notebook open on my desk. Outside, the crickets and frogs were silent, as if terrified by the death radiating from our land. I didn’t turn on the lamp. In the darkness, I wrote. I drew diagrams. The scratching of my pen against the paper was the only sound in the void. When the sky turned gray with dawn, I closed the notebook. I looked out the window. The anger, the pain, the despair—it was all gone. Replaced by a calm that felt cruel. Bubba Vance. You like dumping filth on people? Fine. I’m going to show you exactly what it feels like to drown in your own waste. 2 I left the house early the next morning. I didn’t go to the Councilman. I didn’t go to argue with Bubba. I went into town. Using the last of my savings and a loan from an old college buddy, I rented a high-capacity industrial water pump. My parents thought I was going to drain the sewage to try and replant a late-season crop. They knew it was hopeless, but seeing me do something stopped them from screaming at me. The pump roared for two days and two nights. I drained the black sludge into an abandoned drainage ditch nearby. The field lay exposed—a expanse of black, necrotic mud covered in a layer of rotting wheat stalks, smelling worse than a corpse. My family waited for my next move. But I didn’t buy seeds. I made a call to a friend working at the State Agricultural Research Center. I ordered several hundred saplings. Not just any trees. I ordered a specific hybrid of Willow—Salix matsudana crossed with White Willow. A bio-engineered variety known for its hyper-tolerance to heavy metals and organic pollutants. Three days later, a delivery truck dropped the root balls at the edge of the property. Under the confused and mocking gazes of the entire town, I rolled up my pant legs and waded into the toxic muck alone. Digging holes. Planting saplings. Packing soil. Watering. Sludge splattered my face. Sweat mixed with the filth running down my neck. The smell made me gag every ten minutes. But I didn’t stop. The locals gathered on the road like they were watching a circus freak. “Did the college boy lose his mind?” “Good farmland ruined. He’s planting trees? Can’t eat willow bark.” “He’s cracked. The boy is broken. Shame about Frank and Martha… a lifetime of work gone.” Their whispers were like needles pricking my parents’ hearts. My dad’s face went from red to gray. He stormed down the embankment, pointing a shaking finger at me. “Mason! Get out of there! I have never been so embarrassed in my life! Are you trying to kill me?” He hadn’t eaten a full meal in two days. His voice cracked. Mom stumbled after him, tears flowing again. “Son, please. Stop this madness. Let’s just accept it. I’ll go beg Bubba. I’ll beg him to have mercy next year so we can eat.” I stopped digging. I straightened my aching back and looked at their weathered, desperate faces. My heart bled for them. But I couldn’t explain. Not yet. Any explanation would sound like insanity to them right now. I looked them in the eye and spoke with a firmness they hadn’t heard since I left for university. “Dad. Mom. Trust me. Just this once.” I turned back around, bent down, and planted another tree. My silence broke them. Dad collapsed onto the dirt, clutching his chest, gasping for air. Mom’s weeping turned into a low, keening wail of defeat. Bubba Vance drove by in his truck. He stopped to admire my “work.” He walked the perimeter, then threw his head back and laughed—a loud, booming sound that echoed off the hills. “Hahaha! Alright, kid! I gotta hand it to you! Creative!” He walked up to the edge of the field and slapped my muddy shoulder hard enough to make me stumble. “College brain, right? You know you can’t beat me, so you’re changing careers! Not bad. When those willows get big, I’ll need firewood for scalding the hogs. They burn hot!” His wife shouted from the truck. “At least he knows when to quit! Unlike some old stubborn fools!” Every word was salt in my father’s open wounds. I could feel Dad’s murderous gaze burning into my back. But I didn’t react. I was a machine. I planted the last sapling. When I packed the final mound of earth, I stood up and looked at the rows of spindly, fragile sticks protruding from the black mud. They looked weak. A strong wind could knock them over. But to me, they weren’t trees. They were soldiers. They were the first pawns on the board. A three-year game of chess had just officially begun. 3 My “Willow Field” became the town’s biggest joke. I was the punchline of every conversation at the diner and the feed store. “The boy who studied himself stupid.” My parents gave up on me. Except for meals, they stopped talking to me. The house felt like a tomb. Bubba Vance was the victor. He became even more arrogant, bragging to everyone that I had rolled over like a dog. He preached his gospel that money and connections could crush anyone. A week later, Councilman Higgins finally decided to make an appearance. He summoned my parents, me, and Bubba to the Town Hall. Inside the peeling office, Higgins sat behind an old desk, nursing a coffee, his belly pressing against the wood. He started by slapping Bubba on the wrist. “Now, Bubba, that wasn’t right. We’re all neighbors here. You can’t just dump water wherever. It looks bad.” Bubba hung his head, feigning shame, but I saw the smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. Then, Higgins turned to us. “But, Frank, Martha… you can’t hold a grudge. Bubba is contributing to the local economy. Accidents happen. It wasn’t intentional.” Not intentional? Did the trench dig itself? Bubba reached into his pocket and pulled out five crumpled hundred-dollar bills. He slammed them onto the table. “Cousin… I mean, Councilman is right. Frank, take this. Buy some medicine. Let’s call it even.” Five hundred dollars. He destroyed a crop worth twenty thousand dollars, wiped out our savings, and offered five hundred bucks. It wasn’t compensation. It was a slap in the face. I saw my dad’s face turn purple. His fists clenched at his sides. My mom stared at the money, her lips trembling, humiliation washing over her. Higgins pushed the money toward my dad. “Alright then. Bubba apologized. He showed good faith. Frank, let it go. We all have to live here.” He looked at me, his eyes patronizing. “Mason, you’re an educated man. Be the bigger person. Go pull up those weeds you planted and start over next year. I’ll make Bubba write a promise note that he won’t do it again.” A promise note? From a man like that? It was worth less than toilet paper. I had been silent the whole time, a spectator to this farce. Until now. I stood up. Under everyone’s surprised gaze, I reached out. With two fingers, I picked up the stack of bills and slid them slowly back across the table to Bubba. The movement was gentle, but final. I looked Councilman Higgins in the eye and spoke. My voice was quiet, but it filled the room. “Councilman, first: My losses—not counting labor or emotional distress—are at least twenty thousand. Five hundred is a joke.” “Second: My land is a willow grove now. What I grow is my business. It’s not up for debate.” My words hit the room like a brick. Higgins froze. Bubba exploded. He slammed his hand on the table and jumped up, pointing a sausage-like finger in my face. “Mason, you ungrateful little shit! You trying to blackmail me? You want to play hardball?” I looked at his red, screaming face and smiled coldly. “I don’t want to play anything.” “Water can be cleaned. But a dirty soul? That’s harder to fix.” I turned to my stunned parents. “Dad, Mom. Let’s go.” I walked them out, ignoring the shouting behind us. Outside, the sun was blinding. My parents were silent, but I felt my dad squeeze my hand. His grip was warm. For the first time, he was doubting his conclusion that his son was a coward. 4 Autumn arrived quickly. Miraculously, the willow saplings survived. They rooted into the poisoned soil, shooting up green branches, growing at a supernatural rate. More importantly, the stench began to fade. The willows were drinking the filth. One afternoon, I was pruning branches when a voice called out. “Excuse me? Are you Mason?” I looked up. A girl in a white t-shirt and jeans stood on the ridge. She had a high ponytail and bright, intelligent eyes. “I am. And you are?” “I’m Elena. I’m the new Soil Conservationist with the Extension Office.” She smiled, revealing dimples. “I was driving by and saw this… it’s incredible.” She didn’t look at me like I was an idiot. She looked… fascinated. She squatted down, examining the soil. “This land… it was contaminated, right?” I nodded. She stood up, eyes shining. She lowered her voice like we were conspirators. “Phytoremediation? You’re using a willow-microbe consortium to degrade the organic pollutants and sequester heavy metals?” My heart skipped a beat. For months, I had been an island. She was the first person who spoke my language. “Exactly,” I said, grinning for the first time in forever. Elena became a regular. We tracked pH levels and growth rates. She brought me professional testing kits from the university. She was the only bright spot in a gray world. Our friendship didn’t go unnoticed. Bubba Vance watched from his porch, eyes narrowing with jealousy and suspicion. To a man like him, a “college boy” conspiring with a “government girl” meant trouble. A week later, on a moonless night, disaster struck. I arrived at the field to find the row of trees closest to the road hacked down. Clean cuts. Sap bleeding onto the ground. My blood boiled. It was Bubba. It had to be. My dad saw it and grabbed a machete. “I’m going to kill him! Mason, get out of my way!” I blocked his path again. “Dad! Proof? Where is the proof?” Dad faltered. “So we do nothing?” “No,” I said, staring at the stumps. “He did it once. He’ll do it again.” That night, I borrowed money from Elena and ordered four military-grade trail cameras with night vision. Bubba, you like working in the dark? I’m going to give you an audience. 5 I hid the cameras in the foliage, angled to cover every approach. Then, I set the trap. I went to the general store with my mom and spoke a little too loudly. “Mom, Elena said because of my innovation, the state is giving me a ‘Green Initiative Grant.’ It’s a few thousand dollars. Should be here next week.” Mom, bless her, played along. “Really? That’s wonderful!” The rumor spread like wildfire. Bubba heard it. I knew he would. He destroyed my land, and now I was going to profit from it? His ego couldn’t take that. Three nights later, my phone buzzed. Motion alert. The feed was grainy and green, but clear. Bubba Vance. Holding an axe. And he wasn’t alone. He had brought his teenage son, Junior. “Dad, why we doin’ this?” Junior whined. “Shut up and chop,” Bubba hissed. “This little punk thinks he’s gonna get free money? Not on my watch.” They went to work. Bubba swinging the axe, Junior pulling up saplings. They laughed. They cursed my family. And the four cameras recorded every second of it in 4K resolution. I didn’t run out there. I let them finish. I needed a felony amount of damage. When they left, I retrieved the SD cards. I played the footage on the living room TV. My parents watched in silence. Dad shook with rage, but when it was over, he looked at me with new respect. “I’m going to the Sheriff,” Dad said, grabbing his keys. “No,” I said gently. “Not yet.” “Police means a slap on the wrist. A fine. He’s rich, he’ll pay it and laugh.” I looked out the window into the dark. “I don’t want to fine him, Dad. I want to bury him.”

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I went on the reality show The Perfect Partner with my wife, Sophia. Knowing her stomach is sensitive in the mornings, I woke up before dawn to slow-cook a nutrient-rich bone broth. My father-in-law, Arthur, just scoffed. “Stop pretending. It’s just performative nonsense for the cameras.” later, when we hit traffic on the way to our date, I rented a tandem bicycle. I pedaled us toward the restaurant, trying to recreate the carefree days of our youth, laughing the whole way. My stepdaughter, Lily, rolled her eyes when she saw the footage. “So fake. You can tell he’s desperate for attention.” My wholehearted devotion was met with a zero-star rating from my wife’s family. It wasn’t until the production crew, in front of millions of viewers, aired a montage of Sophia and her late husband, Lucas. The scenes were natural, overflowing with love. That was the moment I finally understood why my careful, tiptoeing attempts to please them never made the grade. It wasn’t that I wasn’t good enough. It was simply because I wasn’t Lucas. Nothing more. 1 The massive LED screen on the soundstage lit up. They were playing home videos of Sophia and Lucas. No one had warned me. I just stood there, in front of a national audience, watching my wife be deeply, madly in love with a ghost. On screen, Sophia stood on her tiptoes, pulling Lucas down for a kiss. It was intimate, electric. With me, she refused to even hold hands on camera, claiming she wanted to “maintain boundaries.” She left the porch light on for Lucas when he worked late. She peeled oranges for him, removing every bit of the bitter pith because she knew he hated it. Every frame dripped with a passion I had never tasted. My chest ached, a physical tremor running through my heart. But the red “ON AIR” light was blinking, so I kept my face composed. When the clip ended, Sophia and Arthur were wiping away tears. I dug my fingernails into my palms, grounding myself so I wouldn’t interrupt their grief. The host turned the microphone to Arthur. “Arthur, it seems you’re quite moved. If you had to score Lucas and your current son-in-law, Ethan, out of ten, what would you give them?” The studio fell dead silent. It was a trap, obviously designed by the producers to stir up drama. Arthur didn’t hesitate. He held up the ’10’ paddle. “I give Lucas a ten.” Then, he turned to me and raised a ‘0’. A ripple of awkward murmurs tore through the audience. A producer off-camera prompted him, asking for the reason behind the zero. Arthur’s voice was cold steel. “Because he doesn’t even have the right to be compared to Lucas.” The audience gasped. The directors’ eyes lit up; they had their viral clip. Not a single person stepped in to smooth things over. I was a joke, left hanging out to dry in front of the entire country. I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat and endured until the director yelled, “Cut!” Walking back to the cast house, I realized my palms were sticky. I had dug my nails in deep enough to draw blood. Sophia walked beside me, her voice light. “Don’t take it to heart. Dad just speaks his mind. He didn’t mean any harm.” My heart froze over. She didn’t say, “He was wrong.” She didn’t promise, “I won’t let him do that again.” She just excused it as “speaking his mind.” I pulled the corners of my mouth into a dry smile. “Yeah. He speaks his mind.” “So when I make soup, I’m performing. When I give you a massage, I’m showing off. Sophia, what exactly do I have to do to get a passing grade from you and your father?” Sophia fell silent. She wasn’t used to me pushing back. Since we married three years ago, I was always the one apologizing, the one smoothing things over. We walked a bit further until she suddenly jogged to the roadside and picked a small bouquet of wildflowers. She shoved them into my hands, a peace offering. “I remember you love Cornflowers. Let’s put them in a vase when we get back… don’t be mad, okay?” I looked down at the flowers in my hand. Blue Cornflowers. Specifically, the flowers Lucas loved most in the video clip we just watched. After all these years, her subconscious was still wired to Lucas’s preferences. I had told her at least ten times in three years that my favorite flowers were Sunflowers. She just never remembered. Those with a heart don’t need to be taught; those without one will never learn. I didn’t correct her. I let Sophia carry the blue Cornflowers back to the house. She stood by the window, humming a tune as she trimmed the stems, the unpleasantness of the studio already forgotten. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a message from Abby: I saw the show. Why do you let them humiliate you like that? If you want out… I’m always here. Two lines of text, and my nose stung. Even she couldn’t stand watching it. She felt my pain from a distance, yet my wife couldn’t remember my favorite flower while standing right next to me. I stared at the screen for a long time before turning it off. The front door burst open. My stepdaughter, Lily, was back from her segment. She screamed “Mommy!” and launched herself into Sophia’s arms, clutching her ragged teddy bear. She saw me sitting near the door first, but she didn’t even blink. She looked right through me. Three years. She had never called me “Dad.” She barely even called me “Ethan.” I was just furniture to her. “Cornflowers! Daddy’s favorite color!” Lily pointed at the vase, delight in her voice. Sophia’s hand froze mid-snip. She realized her mistake. She glanced at me, panic flickering in her eyes. When I didn’t say anything, she quietly took the vase down and hid it in a corner where I couldn’t see it. Lily pouted immediately. “Mom, why are you moving them? Put them back!” I felt a wave of exhaustion so heavy it nearly crushed me. I didn’t want to hear Sophia’s excuse. I stood up and walked out to the patio. The production crew had set up a fire pit for a barbecue dinner. Embers glowed in the twilight. I crouched down, warming my hands over the heat. Sophia, sensing the tension, came out carrying a few foil-wrapped sweet potatoes. “Let’s roast these together.” Habit kicked in. I didn’t want her to burn her fingers, so I took them from her. We sat side by side, the silence between us thick and heavy. Lily ran out, her tone filled with nostalgic wonder. “Daddy used to double-wrap the potatoes so they wouldn’t burn! That’s how they get super sweet!” My hand, in the middle of turning a potato, paused. I said nothing. She kept going. “And when they were done, Daddy would always break them in half and give me the sweet middle part first.” Sophia sensed the shift in my mood and whispered, “Lily, that’s enough.” Lily looked genuinely aggrieved. “But Daddy did do everything better! I’m not lying!” Pop. A spark from the fire pit snapped, landing squarely on the back of my hand. The skin turned red instantly. The physical sting drilled straight into my heart. My eyes burned. The accumulated grievances of three years—the insults, the comparisons, the invisibility—surged up like bile. My voice came out raspy. “But the person roasting them right now is me.” “And your dad isn’t coming back. Is he?” Lily wailed. She clutched that faded bear to her chest and sprinted into the house. Sophia looked at me in disbelief. “How could you say that? She’s just a child!” She started lecturing me, her voice rising, but my ears were ringing. I couldn’t stop the trembling in my voice. “A child? She’s twelve years old! Her father has been gone for five years!” “I can accept that she doesn’t like me. But you? Are you really going to watch her drag that bear around everywhere she goes, trapped in a shadow she can’t escape for the rest of her life?” “Sophia, are you loving her, or are you ruining her?!” My words were needles, popping the bubble of denial Sophia had lived in for half a decade. Her face flushed crimson. In her panic, she lashed out. “This is a matter between my daughter and me! I don’t need an outsider telling me what to do!” I froze. Sophia froze, too. It was their family matter. Then what was I? I nodded slowly, my voice terrifyingly calm. “Right… I’ve always been the outsider to you people.” Panic flooded Sophia’s face. She reached out, trying to grab my hand. “No, Ethan, wait, I didn’t mean it like that—” From inside the house, Lily’s screams tore through the air. I sidestepped Sophia’s touch. “Go comfort her.” Sophia looked torn. But the screaming got louder. “I don’t want him! Mom, kick him out!” “Daddy promised he’d bring us to the beach! Why is he here?!” “Make him leave! I want Daddy!” Sophia turned and ran inside. Soon, her soft, cooing voice joined the chaotic sobbing. I stood alone on the patio. The ocean was just a few hundred yards away. The night wind was wet and biting. God, it was cold. When we were selecting locations, I told them I hated the coast in winter. It aggravated my joints. But mother and daughter had been adamant. Now I knew why. This was where they had made memories with Lucas. This was their shrine. I was just the extra body. The fool trying to squeeze into a picture frame that had no space for him. The last tiny flicker of hope in my chest sputtered and died. I smiled. It was a smile of pure relief. I pulled out my phone and opened my chat with Abby. I typed three words: I want to leave. 计费点 The reply came instantly. I’ve been waiting for you to say that. Don’t worry. I’ll handle everything. I knew she could. But this relationship started with me, and it had to end with me. No, I typed back. I’ll handle the production team. I pocketed the phone and walked toward the editing bay. The lights were blazing; the editors were pulling an all-nighter. I stood in the doorway, watching the monitors. They were reviewing the solo interview segments. The crew saw me but didn’t stop me—drama is content, after all. I watched Sophia’s “Chemistry Test.” The producer asked: “What is Ethan’s favorite color?” Sophia sat in silence for a long time before guessing wrong. “What is Ethan’s favorite movie?” Sophia frowned, thinking hard, then shook her head apologetically. “What food does Ethan hate?” She listed three things. All of them were wrong. Those were things she hated. Finally, the producer, sensing the disaster, threw her a softball question. “Okay, then when is Ethan’s birthday?” This time, Sophia didn’t hesitate. She rattled off a date immediately. My stomach dropped like a stone. That was Lucas’s birthday. My birthday is in winter. She gave a date in the middle of summer. I stared at the screen, waiting for the anger. But it didn’t come. There was only a vast, hollow sadness. I didn’t have the energy to be angry anymore. I found the showrunner. When he heard I was terminating my contract, his face twisted. “Ethan, look, the contract is signed. We’re halfway through filming. If you walk now, it’s a breach. It’s huge damages.” I understood. Without the clown to be kicked around, where would their ratings come from? “Calculate the penalty,” I said flatly. “I’ll pay it. I have one condition: I leave tonight.” The director opened his mouth to argue, but his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and snapped to attention. His face went pale. “Yes… yes, ma’am. I understand. Absolutely.” He hung up, looking at me with a mix of shock and newfound fear. My phone buzzed. Abby. I know you hate confrontations. It’s handled. The car is waiting. I put a bag of roasted chestnuts in the back seat. See you soon. I unclipped my microphone and handed it to the director. “But… what if Sophia asks?” he stammered. I glanced back at the beach house. Mother and daughter were probably hugging right now, crying over Lucas, bonding over their shared grief. There had never been any room for me in that house. “She won’t care,” I said. I turned around and walked into the dark, endless night. I didn’t look back.

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I thought I would never see him again. But I never expected that the next time our paths crossed, he would be standing there with his arms crossed, watching his wife beat my son. 1 I received a frantic call from the kindergarten teacher. She told me Leo had gotten into a fight with another classmate and urged me to get there immediately. She mentioned the other child’s parents were already on their way and we needed to negotiate a resolution. I dropped my work instantly and rushed over. But the moment I reached the door of the principal’s office, I heard a woman’s shrill, abusive screaming. “You little mongrel! How dare you hit my son? You really are a bastard with no upbringing. I’m going to teach you a lesson you won’t forget!” Smack. Smack. Two sharp slaps rang out, followed immediately by a heart-wrenching wail. That was my son, Leo. She had slapped him across the face. I heard the teacher’s voice, trembling but trying to intervene. “Mrs. Miller, you can’t just hit a child! Leo’s mother will be here any minute. We need to talk this out civilly. Please, stop!” The woman hadn’t vented enough anger yet. She turned and snapped at the teacher. “I pay a fortune to send my son here, and this is how you protect him? Letting him get beaten by trash? My son is precious royalty compared to these peasants. Today, I’m not just going after this little bastard’s parents; I’m coming after your school too!” I couldn’t listen to another second. I kicked the door open and stormed in. Leo was sitting on the floor, clutching his face, sobbing uncontrollably. Standing over him was a chubby kid with a smug, malicious grin. Beside the fat kid was a woman dressed in gaudy, expensive clothes, waving her manicured claws and berating everyone in sight. The teacher stood to the side, looking awkward and helpless. And then there was the man. He stood against the wall, arms folded across his chest, watching the scene with a face devoid of emotion. “Leo!” I shouted, scooping my son up from the floor. Leo buried his face in my chest, his cries growing louder as he choked out, “Mommy, Mommy…” I looked up, my eyes locking onto the woman. She didn’t back down. In fact, seeing me seemed to fuel her rage. She pointed a finger right at my nose. “So, you’re the mother of this little animal? How exactly are you raising him? Look at my son’s face! He scratched him! I demand an explanation right now, or I swear I won’t let you leave this room.” I stared at her, my eyes burning with such intensity that she actually faltered and took a step back. “Honey!” she shrieked, turning to the man. “Look at this bitch! She’s glaring at me! Get over here and beat her up for me!” The man was staring at me. Intently. He hadn’t said a word. When I finally turned my gaze to him, I froze. I hadn’t recognized him in my rush to get to Leo. His hair was styled differently, he was wearing a suit I’d never seen, but there was no mistaking him. I instantly understood the dynamic in the room. That was my ex-husband, Mark. 2 I had only glanced at him when I burst in, but now the reality settled in. I stood up slowly, pulling Leo behind me, and looked straight at the woman. “Did you just hit my son?” Emboldened by her husband’s presence, she puffed out her chest. “That’s right, I hit him. He dared to touch my son, so I touched him. A little bastard born to a slu—” Smack! Before she could finish the word, my hand connected hard with her cheek. The room went dead silent. Everyone froze. No one expected me to get physical. The woman’s face twisted in shock, and she opened her mouth to scream a stream of profanities. Smack! I backhanded her across the other cheek before she could make a sound. “You gave my son two slaps,” I said, my voice shaking with adrenaline but icy calm. “Now I’ve returned them. We’re even. Now, we can talk about what actually happened.” The woman hadn’t expected me to be this ferocious. She was too scared to hit back, so she turned to her husband, screeching, “Mark! Kill her! Beat this bitch to death! She hit me! Even my mother has never hit me!” But Mark didn’t move. His expression was a storm of conflict, his eyes darting between me and the floor. I ignored them both and turned to the teacher. “Ms. Hayes, what exactly happened?” Ms. Hayes exhaled a long breath and explained the situation. Leo and the woman’s son, Tyler, were playing separately. For no apparent reason, the chubby kid, Tyler, walked over and shoved Leo hard, knocking him to the ground. Leo landed on his tailbone and started crying from the pain. Instead of apologizing, Tyler pointed and laughed, chanting that Leo was a “bastard with no daddy” and that he deserved to be bullied. He ran around the classroom clapping his hands and announcing to everyone that Leo didn’t have a father. Leo, pushed to his limit, chased him down and scratched Tyler’s face in retaliation. It was a conflict between toddlers. But for a child that young to use such specific, hateful language meant he heard it at home. The parenting was clearly rotten to the core. Because Tyler’s family was wealthy, this woman—Tiffany—had stormed in with her nose in the air. She didn’t ask questions; she just slapped my son. After hearing the full story, I turned back to Tiffany. Seeing the look in my eyes, she flinched and took another two steps back behind Mark, terrified I would strike again. Finally, Mark stepped forward. 3 “Sarah… Leo’s mom,” Mark stammered, correcting himself. “This… this was definitely Tyler’s fault. I apologize on his behalf. Kids will be kids, they don’t know any better. We adults shouldn’t take it too personally. Look, you’ve hit her, she hit him… let’s just call it even and move on, alright?” Tiffany couldn’t believe her ears. She grabbed Mark’s arm. “No way! She assaulted me! I’m calling the police. I want her arrested!” Mark grabbed her wrist and yanked her down. “Enough! Stop making a scene. Haven’t you embarrassed yourself enough today?” Tiffany looked at her husband, then at me, her face contorting with jealousy. “Oh, I see. She’s pretty, isn’t she? You see a pretty face and suddenly you lose your spine? She slapped your wife right in front of you and you do nothing? Are you even a man?” Mark shook her hand off his arm with disgust. He walked over and crouched down in front of my son. “Hey there, little guy. You’re Leo, right? Does it still hurt?” I grabbed Leo by the shoulders and yanked him back. “Don’t touch my son.” Mark stood up, looking weary. “Sarah, let’s just drop it. Dragging this out won’t be good for anyone. The kids are watching.” I held Leo’s hand tight. “I hope this is the last time. If anything like this ever happens again, I won’t let any of you off the hook—adults or children.” I turned and walked out with Leo. Behind me, I could hear Tiffany’s wailing. “Mark, you coward! You can’t protect your own wife! You’re staring at her ass as she walks away, aren’t you? You cheater!” Then Mark’s voice, sharp and angry: “You are completely irrational. Hopeless. Get in the car before you humiliate us further.” I never imagined my son and Mark’s son would end up in the same preschool. I had cut all ties years ago. Running into him like this was a nightmare. The next day, I pulled Leo out of that school and transferred him to a new one across town. I thought that would be the end of it. But ten days later, Mark found me. 4 I was at the gate of Leo’s new kindergarten when Mark appeared, stepping out of the shadows as if he’d been waiting for me. I frowned instantly. “What do you want?” He sighed, a sound meant to evoke pity. “Sarah, why did you transfer him?” “We’re divorced,” I snapped. “Don’t call me Sarah like we’re friends. It makes me sick. If people hear you, they might misunderstand. Since we cut ties, stay out of my life. Where I send my son to school is none of your business.” “Sarah, are you still blaming me?” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I know I wronged you back then, but I had no choice. It was the situation. But look at me now. I’ve recovered. Everything is under my control. I can divorce Tiffany. We can get back together.” I laughed, harsh and dry. “Stop right there.” “I have self-respect. Once a traitor, always a traitor. We have no destiny together. I don’t care how much money or control you have now. If you keep harassing me, I’ll call the police.” “Sarah, do you really have to be this cruel?” He reached out to grab my arm. I shook him off violently. “Mark, watch yourself! There are people everywhere. Don’t make me beat you up right here on the sidewalk.” Mark sighed and stepped back, raising his hands in surrender. Then, he asked the question that had clearly been burning a hole in his mind. “Is Leo my son?” My heart skipped a beat, but I kept my face like stone. “You’re delusional. Would I have a child for a man who betrayed me? He’s my son. Not yours.” “I don’t believe you!” His eyes narrowed. “His age matches up perfectly with Tyler’s. You must have been pregnant when you left me. Leo is mine, isn’t he?” “Don’t flatter yourself,” I sneered. “I admit, I was heartbroken when we split. But that heartbreak didn’t make me want your baby. It made me reckless. I went to a club that night and slept with a gigolo. That’s how I got Leo. So no, he isn’t yours.” Mark shook his head frantically. “You’re lying just to hurt me. You have emotional OCD. You wouldn’t even date a guy who had too many ex-girlfriends, let alone sleep with a random hooker. You would never stoop that low.” I looked him dead in the eye. “People change. You changed into a cheater. Why couldn’t I change into someone who enjoys a one-night stand?” Mark looked at the resolve in my eyes. He realized he wasn’t getting anywhere today. He slumped his shoulders. “I’ll come see you and the boy again.” “If you dare show your face in front of me again,” I warned, “I won’t hold back. I’ll knock your teeth out.” Mark didn’t reply. He turned and walked away. He left, but my mind was in chaos.

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