Author: Momo Chan

The first day of freshman year, a charity case showed up in our dorm room. She was schlepping a battered duffel bag that looked like it had been through a war, and her eyes were glued to the durian on my desk. Just then, I saw the comments pop into my vision, translucent and glowing: 【OMG, poor baby. She grew up in some backwoods town in Appalachia, she has no idea what a durian even is.】 A wave of pity washed over me, a familiar, stupid ache. I immediately offered her a piece. Later, more comments flooded my vision: 【Look at her clothes, they’re literally falling apart. I bet she got them from a dumpster. If only someone would give her a new outfit.】 【She’s staring at her roommates’ skincare products. She’s so envious but she’d never say anything. She’s terrified they’ll think she’s pathetic.】 My sympathy went into overdrive. I didn’t just give her my barely-used designer clothes and La Mer products. I loaded her student dining card with ten grand and told her to go nuts. I never imagined that on graduation day, Maya would stand on stage and accuse me of being her personal tormentor. “She forced me to eat her leftovers, to wear her dirty, blood-stained underwear! I worked two jobs to save up money for my meal plan, and she stole my card to buy thousand-dollar steaks for herself!” “I endured that for four years! Is it a crime to be poor?! Do I deserve to be humiliated just because I don’t have money?!” Overnight, Maya became a viral sensation, a symbol of resilience. I, on the other hand, was doxxed and canceled. It ended when an unhinged internet “crusader” posed as a maintenance guy, got into my apartment, and hacked me to death. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back on the first day of freshman year. 1 It was September. The air in the dorm still hung thick with the last, sticky breath of summer. I stood in the middle of Room 403. The familiar, sterile smell of old linoleum and cheap paint. I dug my nails into my palm. The sharp sting of pain was a welcome confirmation: this wasn’t a dream. I was really back. Back to four years ago. The day the nightmare began. *Creeeak—* The dorm room door swung open. I let out a slow, shaky breath and turned around. A girl was dragging a ridiculously overstuffed, beat-up duffel bag, shuffling into the room like she was trying to make herself invisible. Same faded, ill-fitting clothes. Same downcast eyes that refused to meet anyone’s gaze. Maya. She dropped her bag with a soft thud and timidly looked up. Her eyes, however, were like spotlights, darting around the room, taking everything in. They swept over our other two roommates, already unpacking, and then landed on my side of the room. To be more specific, they landed on the spiky, pungent behemoth on my desk: a premium Musang King durian. Her nose twitched, almost imperceptibly. Her eyes, wide with a kind of raw curiosity, were locked on it. And right on cue, the familiar, semi-transparent text flickered into existence in front of my face: 【My heart breaks for her. Grew up dirt poor in the mountains, probably never even seen a fruit like that.】 【Look how curious she is, but she’s too scared to ask. I’m crying. 😭😭】 【Can’t the rich roommate just offer her a piece? Our girl would be so grateful.】 A tide of hatred and disgust rose in my throat, so powerful it almost choked me. In my last life, it was these comments, dripping with fake sympathy and self-righteousness, that turned me into a complete idiot. They made me nurture a venomous snake that repaid my kindness by sinking its fangs into me, leading to my brutal murder. *”She didn’t just force me to eat her scraps and wear her disgusting, used clothes! She made me use her expired, dollar-store skincare, trying to ruin my face so she’d feel better about herself!”* *”And worse, the second I deposited my hard-earned paycheck onto my dining card, she’d take it and blow it on a hundred-dollar steak! That was my food money for two months!”* *”I lived like that for four years! Just because I’m poor, does that mean I deserve to be someone’s plaything? I was trying so hard, so damn hard just to survive!”* *”I’m sorry… I just can’t take it anymore… I don’t think I can go on…”* Her tear-streaked performance at graduation. The looks of disgust and contempt from the crowd. The frantic, weeping phone calls from my parents after our number was leaked. The dull thud of the blade hitting my bone… The memories exploded in my head. 2 “Hey there.” My own voice sounded eerily calm. Maya jumped like a startled deer, her head snapping down as she nervously twisted the hem of her worn-out t-shirt. “I-I’m sorry, I just… I’ve never seen one of those before…” I smiled, tapping the durian with a manicured nail. “You know what this is?” “Is it… a durian?” she whispered, her gaze still glued to it. She swallowed, a perfectly timed, delicate motion. “I’ve only seen them on TV. It smells… interesting.” 【She really hasn’t! Come on, give her a taste!】 【She’s so precious and shy. My heart can’t take it.】 【The roommate seems nice enough. C’mon, share a little, please! 🙏】 The comments scrolled past. I methodically found a seam and pried the durian open. The golden, creamy flesh was revealed, its potent, sweet-and-funky aroma flooding the room. I picked up the plumpest, most perfect pod. But I didn’t hand it to Maya. Instead, right in front of her, I slowly brought it to my own lips and took a huge bite. The flesh was like a rich, sweet custard. Absolutely divine. “Yep, it’s a durian. A tropical fruit,” I said, my voice bright. “A bit on the pricey side, though. This one was almost a hundred bucks.” I hummed in satisfaction, took another bite, and flashed Maya my most brilliant smile. “It’s really good. I guess I have my parents to thank. They worked their butts off so I can eat whatever I want, whenever I want, without having to stare at other people’s food and drool.” Silence. The hopeful look on Maya’s face froze, replaced by a flash of humiliation and resentment so quick I would have missed it if I wasn’t looking for it. I ignored it, picking up the rest of the durian and walking over to my other two roommates, who had paused their unpacking to watch the awkward scene unfold. “Jess, Lauren, you guys have to try some of this. There’s no way I can finish it all myself.” I smiled and offered them each a piece. They were both from comfortable, upper-middle-class families, but not “drop-a-hundred-bucks-on-a-fruit” rich. “Wow, thanks, Ava!” Jess, the more outgoing of the two, took a piece and nibbled it. Her eyes widened. “Whoa, that’s amazing! It’s so sweet!” “Yeah, it really is,” Lauren added quietly, blushing a little. “I’ve never had the fancy kind before. Thank you.” After I’d shared with them, there was one small piece left on the husk. 【She wants some too… Everyone else got a piece, she’s feeling so left out.】 【She’s never had it before. Just a tiny bite is all she wants. She’ll remember your kindness forever.】 【The rich roommate is so nice, I’m sure she’ll give the last piece to Maya, right?】 3 The comments popped up right on schedule, cheering Maya on from their invisible sidelines. I saw her out of the corner of my eye. She’d taken a tiny step forward. The hurt expression was gone, replaced with one of pure, hopeful anticipation. Her hands were clasped in front of her, like a good little girl waiting for candy. A cold smirk played on my lips. This was the exact innocent, harmless act that lured me into her trap last time. I actually believed my kindness could heal a wounded, insecure soul. What a joke. I picked up the last piece of durian. Maya’s eyes lit up. But just as she was about to instinctively reach for it, I flicked my wrist and popped it into my own mouth. “Oh!” I gasped lightly, as if I’d just remembered something. I gave Maya a deeply apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, I just remembered. You know, some people are really allergic to durian? Like, anaphylactic shock, can’t-breathe kind of allergic. Since you’ve never had it before, it’s probably not safe. It would be terrible if something happened on the first day. Better to be safe than sorry.” I chewed thoughtfully, my eyes crinkling in enjoyment. “Mmm, so good. Yeah, for your own safety, I won’t share this time. Maybe next time. For sure.” The color drained from Maya’s face. She stared at me, her eyes wide with disbelief. Her lower lip began to tremble as her eyes filled with tears, but she fought to hold them back. This was clearly not in her script. “It’s… it’s okay,” she choked out, looking down at the floor. “I… I don’t deserve to eat something so expensive anyway… Thanks for looking out for me.” She looked like the saddest, most pitiful creature on earth. 【What? Why would she do that? Maya just wanted one bite.】 【This is so cruel. Making her watch everyone else eat…】 【Maybe the roommate really was just worried about an allergy… I hope so…】 “By the way, I’m Ava,” I said, briskly changing the subject. “You must be our new roommate, Maya, right? Your bed is over there, the one by the door. You should get unpacked. Let us know if you need anything.” I pointed to the worst bed in the room—the one right by the noisy hallway, furthest from the A/C unit. Maya followed my finger, her lips pressing into a thin line. She shuffled over to her duffel bag and started dragging it across the floor. Jess and Lauren exchanged a look and started to get up, but I shot them a sharp glance and a tiny shake of my head. They hesitated, then sat back down. Seeing that no one was offering to help, Maya had to haul the heavy bag to her bed all by herself. 4 Just then, the zipper on her bag, which hadn’t been closed properly, gave way, and a few items of clothing spilled out onto the floor. They were all old, faded, and frayed at the edges. “Oh!” she cried, scrambling to pick them up. The comments went into a frenzy. 【OMG, LOOK AT HER CLOTHES! The cuffs are torn! They’re full of holes!】 【My heart is shattered. Her face is so red, she must be so embarrassed. It’s not her fault she’s poor.】 【That’s probably all she owns. Three outfits she pulled out of a charity bin. I wish someone would buy our girl a new shirt.】 Last time, it was this little “accidental” spill that had me packing up a huge bag of my own nearly-new designer clothes for her the very next day. Those same clothes she later claimed I forced her to wear, including “dirty, blood-stained underwear.” This time, I just watched, my expression blank. Maya stuffed the clothes back in her bag, her cheeks and the rims of her eyes a blotchy red. “S-sorry, I didn’t pack very well…” “It’s fine,” I said coolly. “It’s move-in day, things are chaotic. But just so you know, the dorm rooms are pretty small, so try to keep your personal stuff contained in your own space, okay? We don’t want to clutter up the common areas.” Maya’s body went rigid for a split second. She mumbled a quiet “Okay,” and went back to unpacking her few meager possessions. A moment later, she pulled out a generic, unlabeled bottle of lotion. She glanced at the collection of glossy bottles and jars on my vanity—the La Mer, the Drunk Elephant, the Augustinus Bader—and heaved a perfectly calibrated sigh of longing and despair. Naturally, the live feed started up again. 【She’s secretly looking at her roommate’s skincare. You can see the envy and sadness in her eyes. I’m dead.】 【She’s probably never used anything but soap and water on her face. This is heartbreaking.】 【And she’d never dare ask for any. She’s too afraid of being judged for being a country bumpkin.】 I felt nothing. In fact, a dark humor bubbled up inside me. The very La Mer cream I’d given her in our last life became “expired, no-name poison” in her sob story. Let’s see how you spin this now, Maya. I picked up my toner, ostentatiously patting it on my face. “Hey Jess,” I said loudly. “Wanna hit the mall this weekend? I’m running low on a few things.” Jess, caught off guard, replied, “Oh, yeah, sure! I need to grab some stuff too.” Maya’s movements slowed to a crawl. She was listening intently, the disappointment on her face becoming more and more pronounced. I paid her no attention. After she finished unpacking, she just sat on the edge of her bed, looking lost and out of place. When dinner time rolled around, Jess and Lauren asked, “Hey, you guys wanna go to the dining hall?” Maya was silent for a few seconds before pulling a small, worn cloth pouch from her pocket. She carefully unfolded it, revealing a few crumpled dollar bills. She counted them, then said in a voice as quiet as a mouse, “I, uh, brought my own food. You guys go ahead.” She reached into her duffel bag and pulled out an old metal tin. Inside was a dry piece of bread and what looked like a few pickles. 【I’m actually crying! That’s all she’s eating?!】 【She’s so used to hardship. Grew up never having enough to eat, probably went a whole year without meat. This is just normal for her.】 【If only the rich roommate had a heart and would just take her to dinner. Our girl would repay her a thousand times over!】 5 Here we go again. The same damn script. Last time, this was the scene that broke me. This, and the relentless stream of pity-party comments. I was so overwhelmed with guilt that I immediately took her dining card, loaded it with ten grand, and told her it was ours to share. And my reward? She accused me of stealing her “hard-earned part-time job money” to buy myself “hundred-dollar steaks.” The truth was, to save her the embarrassment, I gave her the card to use as her own. I mostly ordered takeout anyway. On the rare occasion I ate at the dining hall, I paid with cash. Those hundred-dollar steaks? She ordered every single one of them herself. “Okay, then. We’ll head out,” I said, my face a mask of indifference. “I heard the West End dining hall has a pretty decent grill. I’m thinking of trying their New York strip tonight.” Maya’s head shot up, her eyes flashing with a familiar, greedy light. She was waiting, expecting me to say, “Why don’t you come with us?” I didn’t. I just grabbed my wallet and walked out of the room with Jess and Lauren. As the door clicked shut behind me, I could have sworn I heard the sound of a choked sob from inside. Walking down the hall, Lauren finally broke the silence. “Ava… you seem a little… cold to Maya.” Jess nodded in agreement, looking at me with curiosity. I stopped and looked at them both, taking a deep breath. “Jess, Lauren,” I said, my voice low but firm, carrying a weight they couldn’t possibly understand. “Listen to me, and remember this. No matter how pathetic Maya seems, no matter what sob story she tells you, do not give her anything valuable. Especially not cash. If you feel like you absolutely have to help her, make sure you have a record of it. A receipt. A text message. Something.” “Why?” they asked in unison, completely baffled. “Because some people are not poor in pocket, they’re poor in spirit. And helping the wrong person isn’t just a mistake. It can get you killed.” I glanced back at the closed door of Room 403, my eyes like chips of ice. Your show is just getting started, Maya. And so is my revenge. This time, without my bottomless bank account to fund your “resilient poor girl” narrative, let’s see how long you can keep the act up. You don’t just owe me an apology. You owe me a life.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385492”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I’ve been on TLC’s hit reality show *Last Chance Lovers* twice in one year. The first time, my husband Leo Vance and I tore each other to shreds on national television. When the season wrapped, he became my ex-husband. The second time, I was sitting in the studio as a special guest commentator. My agent, Chloe, had tried to talk me out of it. “Genevieve! You have an Oscar nomination, for God’s sake. Why are you going back to reality TV?” Why? To watch my second ex-husband-in-the-making crash and burn, of course. 1 The show’s director was practically bowing. “Ms. Reed, we’re so honored you could make time for us. Truly. Whatever you need, you just say the word. We’ll build the whole show around you.” I gave him a slight nod. Chloe quickly ushered him out of my dressing room. My, how times have changed. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. A year ago, I was here with Leo, about to film the first season of *Last Chance Lovers*. He was a nobody actor, and I was even less than that—a ghost in the Hollywood machine. Back then, I’d overheard that same director complaining in the hallway. “Tell me about it… the A-lister dropped out last minute… otherwise you think we’d be casting these Z-listers? Ugh. But hey, our show’s a hit. Everyone wants a piece of the clout.” I’d wanted to tell Leo we should just walk away. Why were we killing ourselves to claw our way up in this town? But I remembered a rare moment of tenderness from him. “Gen, being on this show doesn’t mean we actually have to get a divorce. This is a huge opportunity, babe. It’s the last year of my contract. I just want one shot to go viral, to show all those casting directors who passed on me what they’re missing.” “Gen, you’ve always talked about wanting a family, right? Once I’m a star, we can have as many kids as you want.” “Just say yes. You’ve waited for me for this long. It’s finally our time to cash in.” Leo’s eyes were sparkling. I signed the contract, and in doing so, signed myself over to the abyss. On the show, Leo became a different person. He listed my every flaw, waxing poetic about his “depression” within our marriage. He talked about how I had “trapped” him, suffocated his career, how he just needed to be free. I started trending on Twitter, but not in a good way. The comments were brutal. “OMG so THAT’S what happened to Leo Vance. I thought he was pretty good in that CW sci-fi show before it got cancelled.” “This is what happens when women don’t have their own careers. They just turn into bitter, nagging housewives.” “SO TOXIC. If I were him, I’d run for the hills. Is this woman a narcissist?” “My poor baby Leo. He deserves so much better.” Every time I tried to defend myself, Leo would shut me down with an exasperated sigh. “I already told you, it’s all scripted for drama. If you keep making a scene, I really will divorce you.” So I swallowed my rage. I started to wonder if maybe they were right. Maybe I wasn’t enough. It all culminated in the season finale, where Leo made a grand declaration in front of the cameras. “Genevieve, this journey has given me a lot of clarity. We’ve been together for so long, but do we even really know each other? I think it’s time we set each other free. The house, the car, it’s all yours. I’ll walk away with nothing.” And just like that, he divorced me. It’s been 321 days since that day. My phone buzzed. A payment reminder for the mortgage. I looked at Chloe. “Any word from the realtor?” Her face was grim. “Gen, you know the market is garbage right now. A house that big in the Hills, at that price point… it’s a tough sell. And that guy is such a bastard. It sounds so noble, saying he’s leaving you the house. Why didn’t he also mention he was leaving you the crippling debt that came with it?” Yeah. Why was he such a bastard? He never even liked me, but he was desperate to marry me. And when he wanted a divorce, the first I heard of it was when he announced it on camera. Well, now it was my turn to be the bastard. Since the whole world didn’t seem to know that the new wife he brought on this season was the same woman he’d hit on during the *last* season, I figured I’d let them in on the secret. 2 I walked into the studio wearing a floor-length black gown, as if I were attending my ex-husband’s funeral. The lights were blinding, but I could feel every eye in the room on me. An ex-wife showing up to comment on her ex-husband’s *second* televised divorce attempt? That was worth a hundred trending topics. Especially when that ex-wife had, against all odds, landed her first movie role and gotten a Best Actress nomination, staging one of the biggest comeback stories of the year. “Genevieve, what a surprise! We never thought we’d get you back on the show,” the host said, all fake smiles. “What’s more surprising is that Leo is back for a second divorce, this time with someone else,” I replied smoothly. “Who knows if he’s for real this time or not. As an expert witness, I figured I could offer his new wife some… pointers.” “Hahaha, well! Since you’re being so refreshingly honest, I know this is going to be a great show. Shall we get started? This is a live broadcast, you know.” Of course, I knew. That’s why I came. I wanted Leo to see the little surprise I’d prepared for him in real-time. The show’s intro rolled, and the camera focused on me. “Wow, it looks like the viewers are excited! We’ve just gone live and we’ve already broken the network’s streaming record. Let’s see what our viewers are saying.” What did I want to say? I wanted to say: *“Roll up, roll up! This is the ‘good guy’ you all felt so sorry for, the one who just wanted to escape his marital prison. Turns out, he was already promising the world to his next cellmate before he’d even broken out.”* *“And you, Seraphina Stone, you absolute fool. You really fell for a man who was hitting on you before his divorce was even final? Well, look at you now. Karma’s a bitch, isn’t she?”* *“I’m here today to witness the blessed event of your separation. You two better make it official.”* But I needed the money, and my reputation. The network offered me a number I couldn’t refuse, so I couldn’t completely blow things up in the first episode. *At least make it through three episodes*, I told myself. *No, just make it until my dear ex-husband sees me on his TV screen.* 3 I saw Leo on the monitor first. He was thinner than the last time I’d seen him, and he had a worn-out, haggard look. Funny how the day he divorced me was the brightest he’d looked in years. I can still picture him standing in the sunlight outside the courthouse, waving that little divorce decree, looking me up and down with a sneer. “For the record, I didn’t cheat on you, Genevieve. Even without her, we were over. Got it?” Right now, the host on screen was asking him that very same question. “Leo, we understand you and Seraphina actually met during the filming of the last season. Is that right? Do you consider what happened to be cheating?” “This past year, that question has been crushing me,” Leo said, his voice thick with fake sincerity. “I don’t get it. When the show aired, everyone agreed that Genevieve and I were a terrible match, that I was miserable. But then, suddenly, I’m the cheater? All I did was meet the love of my life at the exact moment I decided to end a relationship that was already dead.” The rest of what he said was a blur. I didn’t snap out of it until the studio lights came up and everyone was looking at me. “Genevieve, what’s your take on the situation back then?” It was time to act. Chloe had told me once, “Gen, you have a gift. Why are you letting this jerk derail your entire future?” So I smiled, a gentle, sad little smile, directly into the camera as the live comments scrolled furiously. “It all happened so long ago. Why dredge up the past? It seems like my ex is really trying to make things work this time. It wouldn’t be right for me to interfere with their life by talking about our old story. Besides…” I pressed a finger to the corner of my eye, careful not to smudge my makeup. “…I’m doing just fine now.” I glanced at the monitor showing the viewer comments. “‘I’m fine now’ is code for ‘he destroyed me back then’!!!” “Wait, so Leo is basically admitting he got with Seraphina before the divorce?” “Dude, you’re not even divorced and you’re already falling for someone else. That’s called cheating, you moron.” “Go back and watch last season. The editing was so shady. All they showed was Gen’s supposed ‘flaws,’ and most of it was just Leo complaining. Maybe he was the real problem and that’s why she felt so insecure.” “Where’s the other woman? Let’s hear her side of the story.” The producers knew good TV. The next segment was Seraphina’s one-on-one interview. 4 Seraphina sat there, not like a homewrecker, but like a beautiful, proud swan. She wasn’t just any swan, though. She was last season’s on-set host. During the mandatory “couples hike” episode, her job was to interview each couple privately at the summit. But on the way up the mountain, Seraphina was already getting a private interview with Leo. “Oh, this trail is so steep! Can someone help me?” she’d chirped. I was stronger and further up the trail, so I reached down to give her a hand. But Leo, moving faster than I’d ever seen him move in my life, shot past me and grabbed her hand first. The only other time he was that quick was in bed—right after, when he’d roll over and start snoring before I could even ask how his day was. Any other time, I could call his name a hundred times and he’d just grunt, “In a minute,” “I’m busy,” or “Can’t you do it yourself? You’re home all day, what else do you have to do?” Seraphina giggled, and their hands stayed clasped for a solid five minutes. I finally had to whisper, “Be careful, the cameras are still rolling. A scandal is not the kind of viral fame you’re looking for.” He reluctantly let go, then turned on me. “See, Genevieve? This is the problem. In your eyes, even helping someone is a crime. This hypersensitivity is what ruined our marriage.” Of course, none of that made it into the final cut. And it certainly wasn’t mentioned in Seraphina’s interview now. “It’s really hurtful that everyone misunderstands,” she said, dabbing a single tear. “Leo and I only met that one time on the show. We just politely exchanged numbers for professional reasons. I admit, I would occasionally text him to ask about his career, but I was never the ‘other woman.’ I even explained this to Genevieve, you can ask her.” “But none of that matters now,” she declared. “What matters is that I want a divorce.” *You couldn’t even make it to your one-year anniversary?* I thought. *You two should have been shackled together from that moment on the mountain.* On camera, I put on a look of deep sympathy. “Oh, sweetie, you have to be sure. My ex… he can be a handful, I know. But men, they need time to mature, don’t they? To give up so soon? Think of all the pressure you two were under to get together. To divorce this quickly seems like such a waste.” I leaned in conspiratorially. “And if you want to have kids, you have to keep trying. Sometimes, you know, it’s just the mental stress that can cause… issues.” I snapped my mouth shut, feigning a gasp, as if I’d just revealed a massive secret. Heh. I did it on purpose. The comment section exploded. “WAIT. Did Gen just say Leo has performance issues??? IS THAT THE TEA??” The viewers had caught on. 5 After the show wrapped, I checked my phone. One unknown number had called me a dozen times. Worried it was the realtor, I called it back. It was answered before the first ring. “Genevieve, are you insane? Why are you sticking your nose in my marriage?” The voice was both completely alien and painfully familiar. When he was divorcing me, I had been pathetic. I had swallowed my pride and tried to contact him in every way possible. I wrote him long, forgiving emails. I told him I understood it was a moment of weakness, that it was my fault, that I would wait for him to come back. I had waited for him to marry me; I could wait for him to return. Leo had blocked me on everything and changed his number. The only reason I knew when and where to show up for the divorce was because his agent told my agent. And now, here he was, calling me himself. “And what the hell was that comment? Are you telling the whole world I have erectile dysfunction?” “What? You must have misunderstood, Leo,” I said sweetly. “I was just talking about pressure. If your mind went somewhere else, I can’t help that.” “Why are you on that show? Do you have any idea what people are saying about me online right now?” When I was in love with him, I thought he had the most beautiful voice in the world. Now, it was just grating noise. I held the phone away from my ear and let him rant. When he finally paused for breath, I replied, “Well, the network invited me. The show was very good to me, you know. I couldn’t just turn my back on them.” And it was true. The show hadn’t just helped me see the truth about a toxic relationship; it had gotten me seen by a director. I’d come to Hollywood to be an actress. I took a nothing role as the eighteenth female lead in that CW sci-fi show, thinking it was a start. But on set, I met Leo. He was flirting with the famous lead actress, a peacock showing off all his feathers. The sun caught his hair, his perfect nose. He was beautiful. I just wished I was the one he was making laugh. At the wrap party, I finally worked up the courage to sit next to him. He was drunk, schmoozing with a producer. Finally, he turned to me. “Let me give you some advice, kid. This town is tough. If you’re not sleeping with someone important, you’re not gonna make it. I think you should just…” He tilted my chin up with his finger. “…find a nice guy and settle down while you’re still young and pretty.” I was a little drunk myself. “Would you marry me?” I blurted out. He didn’t say no. I know how stupid I was. I made chasing him my career and forgot about my own dream. It was after the reality show, after I’d been publicly humiliated, that a director contacted me. “The role isn’t very glamorous,” he’d said. “Every actress we’ve offered it to has turned it down. The ones who want it can’t act. But I saw you on that show. I think you’ve got it in you. Want to audition?” I needed the money to pay the mortgage, so I went. I played a hysterical housewife who discovers her husband is cheating. The character has a complete breakdown, murders him, and then drives her car off a cliff in a blaze of glory. It was the most cathartic experience of my life. The indie film unexpectedly got into a major European film festival, and I was a nominee for Best Actress. Leo was still screaming on the phone. I’d had enough. “And what about you?” I cut in, my voice sharp. “Is this another fake divorce just to get your name trending again? Give me a spoiler. Are you already lining up your next girlfriend?” “You’re sick, Genevieve,” he spat, and hung up. Damn it. I didn’t get to tell him, *“Actually, according to Twitter, you’re the one with the sickness.”* And I didn’t get to say, *“By the way, Seraphina’s love isn’t as unconditional as you think.”* 6 Before Leo and I officially divorced, Seraphina had requested a meeting. She sat across from me at a cafe in Beverly Hills, twisting the engagement ring he’d already given her. “Gen,” she said, “do you believe in destiny? Leo was on the brink of stardom, you know. But marrying you… it was like you stole his luck. Look at him now that you’re breaking up. He’s all anyone is talking about. Why don’t you just give him his freedom? Let him become the star he was meant to be. I’m sure he’ll even thank you in his awards speech.” “And where do you fit in?” I asked. “Oh, Leo says I’m his muse. He says I don’t need to work. My only job is to be his sanctuary.” I’d heard that line of bullshit before. “Honestly, Gen, Leo and I are so spiritually aligned on this,” she continued. “He just *gets* me. I’ve never felt like my hosting job was my true calling. It’s so exhausting. I mean, you saw me on that hike. I couldn’t have made it up that trail without help.” “It was a two-mile loop with a 500-foot elevation gain. Maybe life itself isn’t for you.” “Gen, sweetie,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. “If you really love him, you should let him go. You can always love him from a distance.” That was the moment I decided to divorce Leo. Not because I was a good person, but because I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. I was sickened that I had let myself fall into this trap. Sickened that I had waited for a man like that. Sickened that he had only married me to squash a nasty rumor about him and a female network executive. “You want to get married, right? Let’s do it now,” he’d said, like it was a business deal. I was sickened that he later used that to manipulate me. “If I hadn’t married you, if I’d just kept my connections happy, I’d be a leading man by now.” He would say things like that, and I would just try to love him harder. After my meeting with Seraphina, I went home and cried. A new article had just been published online with paparazzi photos of me talking to her. The headline read: “Genevieve Reed Confronts Husband’s Female Friend in Desperate Bid to Save Marriage.” And in the comments, I saw a familiar username—one of the anonymous accounts I used to use to defend Leo online. The comment said: “OMG I know Leo, he and Seraphina are just friends! Some women can’t handle their own marriage failing so they go and harass innocent people. It’s disgusting.” That was it. I was done. I didn’t want any of it anymore.

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My mission failed. Right before the System erased me, I asked it one last question. “Can I tell him who I really am now?” “You may.” I slowly peeled off my shirt, standing in front of Liam Blackwood. “I’m sorry I lied to you, Liam. The truth is… I’m a girl.” His eyes went wide. The poor guy. He’d spent years fighting me, his sworn enemy, only to find out I wasn’t a guy at all. As shock washed over his face, I closed my eyes, ready for the end. But I didn’t die. I woke up, back in this world. The System’s voice was apologetic in my head. “After you died, your mission progress bar suddenly shot to one hundred percent. As compensation, we’re giving you a second chance.” “Your new identity is a trophy wife in a powerful family. The kind whose husband is never home and whose credit card has no limit.” I nodded. “Sounds good. My dream life, actually. So, what’s the name of this husband who’s never home?” “Liam Blackwood.” 1 I froze. “Who?!” “Ahem,” the System cleared its throat, sounding guilty as hell. “Anyway, we hope the host enjoys her new life. Goodbye!” It unbound itself and vanished faster than a startled cat. “Ma’am, please, you have to calm down! Don’t do anything rash!” a voice beside me pleaded, pulling me back to reality. That’s when I saw the chaos. I was in a massive house, the kind of place you see in magazines, easily worth millions. But right now, you could barely walk through it. Everything from dinner plates to priceless-looking artifacts from display cabinets was shattered on the floor. “You were upset, I get it. Smash a few bowls, sure, but did you have to go this far? What if you’d cut your hand?” my assistant said, his voice laced with anguish. He wasn’t worried about my hand, though. He was worried about the expensive collection. A housekeeper knelt down to start cleaning. She paused, her eyes fixed on a pile of clay shards. “Oh no.” “What is it?” “I think… I think this was Mr. Cole’s.” The assistant sucked in a sharp breath. The seven or eight people in the room fell into a dead silence. “Quick, clean it up! Forget everything else, get Cole’s stuff out of sight! Don’t let the boss see this!” The assistant’s voice was trembling. “We’re so screwed. Mr. Cole’s things are absolutely off-limits. Nobody touches them! Ma’am, of all the things to smash, why this?” I raised an eyebrow. “Cole?” “Shh! Don’t say his full name! The boss will lose it if he hears!” The words had barely left his mouth when a tall, lean figure stepped into the foyer. “Whose name?” Liam Blackwood’s voice, deep and resonant, echoed in my ears. 2 I was eighteen when I died as Cole. Liam was only seventeen. Now, ten years had passed. At twenty-seven, Liam was taller, his features sharpened into a look of commanding authority. His gaze swept across the floor and landed on the pile of clay fragments. His eyes turned terrifyingly cold. The assistant’s legs went wobbly; he looked like he was about to drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness. “Cole’s stuff, right?” I spoke first. “I broke it. It has nothing to do with them. The guy’s been dead for ten years. Keeping his junk around is just morbid. If you’ve got a problem, take it up with me. Leave the hired help alone.” Everyone bowed their heads, not daring to breathe. Liam’s gaze slowly drifted to my face. “Do you have any idea what you’re saying?” he asked, a faint smile playing on his lips. It wasn’t a warm smile. I threw my hands up. “Cole. Yeah, I know. Cole. Your step-brother you weren’t actually related to. Wait, don’t tell me you actually miss him? That’s hilarious. Everyone knew you two hated each other’s guts. You practically wanted to kill each other.” “That’s true,” Liam mused, his smile widening, becoming even more unsettling. “So, you won’t be mad that I broke his stuff, right?” I asked, though my confidence was wavering. The body’s original owner, Sophia, had died of a sudden brain hemorrhage and heart attack during her tantrum. I’d been dropped into her body at that exact moment. I didn’t break the stuff, but it was my mess to clean up. “Mad? Of course not. You’re right. He’s been dead for a decade. It’s bad luck to keep it around.” I was surprised. The Liam I knew wasn’t this reasonable. The housekeepers quickly cleaned up the mess and scurried away. Just as I thought I was in the clear, Liam’s hand shot out and clamped around my neck. “Sophia, I told you,” he hissed, his eyes like chips of ice. “You can throw any tantrum you want, but you will *never* touch anything of Cole’s.” His grip tightened, and a wave of pure dread washed over me. I couldn’t breathe. “Today,” he said softly, “you and I are going to settle this.” 3 I thought he was going to kill me. He didn’t. Tears of suffocation welled in my eyes. I managed to choke out a single word, drawing it out. “Ouch-ouch-ouch-ouch-ouch-ouch-ouch!” Liam’s hand flew back as if he’d been burned. He stared at me, frowning. “Who taught you to say it like that?” I coughed, gasping for air. “Who taught me what?” “Saying ‘ouch’ exactly seven times, no more, no less… when did you pick up that habit?” “What kind of habit is that? Doesn’t everyone do that?” “Besides Cole,” he said, his voice low, “I’ve never met a single person who does.” “Then you need to get out more.” Liam studied my face, searching for something. Finally, confirming I was still just Sophia, a look of pure exhaustion and disgust washed over him. “This marriage of convenience is over,” he said, his voice flat. “I’ll have my assistant draft the divorce papers and send them to you.” With that, he turned and left without a second glance. Ten years, and Liam Blackwood hadn’t changed one bit. I cursed the System a thousand times in my head. I always knew it was a piece of junk. Back then, it accidentally bound itself to me, a girl, when it was looking for a “villainous male side character.” It forced me to live as a boy for six years. Even going to the bathroom felt like a covert op. Its missions were ridiculous, too. “The male lead has strayed from his path. Your job is to get him back on track to becoming the brilliant, successful man he’s supposed to be, but you must do it while maintaining your identity as his evil step-brother.” See what I mean? No wonder it was just a low-level System. But I had an advantage. After Liam’s parents divorced, his dad remarried a gold-digger. This new stepmom was terrified of Liam inheriting everything, so she’d secretly abuse him when his dad wasn’t looking. And I was her “son,” the evil older brother. To make my backstory seamless, the System concocted a story: my mom was obsessed with having a son and couldn’t accept having a daughter, so she raised me as a boy named Cole. Fine. Whatever. So I worked my ass off. Liam skipped school? I’d sneer, “Can’t even handle school? You’re going to be a total loser.” He improved his grades? I’d mock him, “Is that the best you can do? No wonder your parents don’t give a damn about you. You’re pathetic.” He rode his bike to school? I’d slash his tires. “What are you riding for? Run! You’re skinny as a twig!” Liam hated me. Of course, he hated me. Who wouldn’t after six years of that? One time, a group of bullies cornered me in an alley, trying to shake me down for cash. Liam saw it happen. He walked right by without even blinking. When I got home, I confronted him. “Why did you just pretend you didn’t know me and walk away?” He looked at me with those dark, empty eyes. “Isn’t that what you told me to do? To never admit we were related in public? *Bro*.” He rarely called me that. Only when he was dripping with sarcasm. But in the end, I still failed. At the end of the six-year deadline, Liam suddenly dropped out of high school. He gave up, said he wasn’t going to college. I panicked and went to confront him. It turned into a full-blown fistfight. Liam won, of course. No matter how much I acted like a guy, I was still a girl, and I couldn’t match his strength. The System’s voice was already announcing my failure in my head, but I had to know. “Why did you quit?” “Because of you.” “What the hell does that have to do with me?” “My dad said you’re a genius,” Liam said, a bitter smile on his face. “He said that after you get into a good college, I have to go to the same one the next year. And if I don’t, he’ll beat the crap out of me.” He scoffed. “But he doesn’t know that I hate you more than anyone on this planet. I’d rather not go to college at all than go to the same one as you.” I sighed. It was over. With the System’s permission, I showed him the truth. The bruises on my skin. Fresh, from the fight we just had. As he stared, stunned and confused, I managed a small smile. “Liam, you get to be yourself again. That’s pretty great, isn’t it?” The next day, I left that world. The System faked a car accident. I never expected that after I died, my mission progress would skyrocket. Liam went into beast mode, studied like a maniac, and got into the very university I’d dreamed of—the one he was originally supposed to attend. Because of that, I got to come back to life and enjoy the freedom I’d earned. Except I almost died again the second I got here. Damn you, Liam Blackwood. Being a trophy wife isn’t as easy as it looks. Divorce is definitely the safest option. 4 My marriage to Liam was fake, anyway. A contract. Both Sophia and Liam had their reasons. They signed a prenup, but Sophia, lacking any integrity, tried to change the terms. I can’t blame her. A face and body like Liam’s? Most people wouldn’t be able to resist. She wanted a real marriage. Liam wouldn’t even look at her. He even staged a scandal with another woman just to piss her off. The day I arrived, Sophia had been throwing her epic tantrum because she saw a picture of Liam looking cozy with another woman. None of this was my problem. But that afternoon, my assistant burst in, frantic. “Ma’am, it’s terrible! Mr. Blackwood is…!” “Dead?” “Well, no.” “Then why are you yelling?” I grumbled, rolling over on the couch. “He’s been set up! Ma’am, you wanted to make this marriage real, right? This is your chance!” He practically dragged me out of the house and into a car. On the way, he filled me in. A few days ago, to get a rise out of “me,” Liam had paid a D-list actress to pose for some photos with him. The deal was that after the photoshoot, she’d “leak” the pictures to “me” in a taunting way. The plan worked perfectly. But today, the actress had backstabbed him. She was crying to the media, claiming Liam had an affair with her and then ghosted her. When I got to the scene, it was a media circus. Reporters were swarming Liam. “There are rumors you cheated on your wife and have multiple partners!” “Mr. Blackwood, can you please comment?” Liam’s face was a mask of cold fury. “If you believe lies this pathetic, you should all get your heads checked.” Classic Liam. Snark level at maximum. But that attitude was just throwing gasoline on the fire. Camera flashes exploded around him. He stood there alone, an island in a sea of sharks. Damn it. I couldn’t just stand here and watch. My inner big brother was screaming. I pushed my way to the front of the crowd. Before Liam could say another word, I curled my finger and flicked him hard on the forehead. “Watch your mouth! Stop acting like a spoiled brat!” 5 Liam froze. The noisy reporters fell silent, staring at us. I put a hand on Liam’s back and forced him into a small bow. “I’m sorry, what Liam just said was out of line, and I apologize on his behalf,” I announced. “But we will not accept baseless slander. The burden of proof is on the accuser. If you have questions, go find the person who made these claims and ask them for evidence! If you’re going to condemn him without proof, then you don’t need to get your heads checked… you need to see a proctologist! Did you lose your brains somewhere up your own asses?” I stood there, hands on my hips, in front of Liam, and tore into them for a solid five minutes. The reporters, out-argued and frankly a little scared, finally retreated. When I turned around to get my well-deserved praise, I found Liam just staring at me, a strange look on his face. “Co—” “What?” “Nothing,” he said, looking down. His expression was a mess of confusion. The woman in front of him was Sophia. Not anyone else. I clapped him on the shoulder. “Alright, I know you want to thank me. I’ll give you the chance. Buy me dinner.” He didn’t refuse. He asked if I wanted lobster or caviar. “BBQ,” I said without hesitation. I gave the driver an address. It was my old favorite BBQ spot. Ten years had passed. The roadside stand had become a proper restaurant, but the smoky, delicious smell was exactly the same. The moment we walked in, the owner recognized Liam. “Hey! Long time no see, man.” I was surprised. “He comes here often?” As far as I could remember, Liam hated the smell of BBQ. He hated everything I loved. The owner nodded. “For a few years after his brother passed, he used to come all the time. Wouldn’t eat anything. Just sat at that table by the window for hours. He’d leave five hundred bucks on the table before he left, said it was to cover the space…” “Let’s go in,” Liam cut him off. The owner slapped his own forehead. “Listen to me rambling. This way, please.” When we ordered, I rattled off all my old favorites from memory, but I skipped the super-chewy beef ribs. “Their beef ribs are supposed to be amazing,” Liam commented. “Nah, too tough on the teeth.” He looked up at me, studied my face for a second, then said nothing. I’d been dreaming of this. BBQ and a cold beer—pure happiness. Liam still barely ate. Dressed in his immaculate suit, he looked completely out of place. I didn’t realize how low this body’s alcohol tolerance was. Soon, my head was swimming. Liam frowned, a look of distaste on his face. “We should go.” “Nooo, I can still drink.” “Sophia, you wreak of booze.” “Tsk, why do you always call me by my full name? It’s rude, you know.” “Then what should I call you?” he asked coolly. I grinned, completely oblivious. “Be good now,” I slurred. “Call me bro.” 6 The next morning, I woke up with a pounding hangover. Liam was sitting in a chair by my bed. “You’re awake?” He closed the book he was reading and looked at me. “I have a few questions for you.” He was still wearing yesterday’s shirt and slacks, which meant I probably hadn’t done anything stupidly inappropriate while drunk. I relaxed a little. “Go ahead.” “What’s your relationship with Cole?” “…Huh?” My brain nearly short-circuited. “W-what did you say?” “What is your relationship with Cole?” he repeated. “What relationship could I possibly have with him? He was *your* brother, not mine.” “Have you ever met him?” “He died so young. How could I have met him?” I put on my most bewildered expression. “Liam, are you still drunk? You’re talking nonsense.” Liam didn’t press. He just changed the subject. “I had the maid make some hangover soup. You should have some.” “Thanks.” “Don’t mention it… *bro*.” I froze mid-motion. I could feel his gaze on me, sharp and intense, like a hawk watching its prey. He was testing my reaction. He really hadn’t changed at all. Once he got suspicious, he wouldn’t let it go. I looked up at him and forced a light, breezy tone. “You called me bro? Nice. I’ll take you on as my little brother, then.” 7 Denying it outright would only make me look more guilty. I knew Liam was testing me. I had no idea what I’d done last night to make him this suspicious, but I knew exactly how to throw him off the scent. And I was right. After I jokingly offered to make him my “little brother,” Liam stopped questioning me and just left. I have no intention of telling Liam the truth. Our relationship back then was toxic. If he found out Cole was back, there’s no telling how he’d freak out. After that incident, I started planning for the divorce. Sophia was a shopaholic with almost no savings. Now, not only did I need to save up for living expenses, but I also had to pay back the cost of all those smashed artifacts. Liam hadn’t mentioned it again, but I didn’t want to owe him anything. To raise some cash, I decided to visit an old friend. I went to a high-end law firm. “Hi, I’m looking for Noah Chen,” I told the receptionist. “Do you have an appointment?” she asked. “No.” “I’m sorry, Mr. Chen doesn’t see anyone without an appointment.” “Could you please just let him know an old friend is here?” “I can’t, ma’am. That’s his rule.” “Then tell him,” I leaned in, lowering my voice, not willing to give up. “It’s Cole.” 8 I waited in the lobby. Ten years. I wondered what Noah was like now. I’d found him online; he was a senior partner at this firm. I was genuinely happy for him. I remember our sophomore year, sitting on the bleachers. He wanted to go to law school, become a lawyer. I wanted to go to film school, become a director. “Cole,” he’d said with total seriousness, “when you make it big, I’ll be your legal counsel. I’ll even give you a 20% discount.” “Only 20%?” “That’s the friends-and-family rate, man.” He actually did it. He made his dream come true. That was amazing. The elevator doors behind me dinged open. A man in a sharp suit practically sprinted out, almost slipping on the polished marble floor but not slowing down for a second. “Mr. Chen…” the receptionist stammered, her jaw on the floor. She’d never seen the always-composed Noah Chen in such a panic. Noah didn’t care who was watching. He rushed right up to me and just stared, his eyes wide. “Co—” “It’s me,” I said, making a small gesture with my hand—the secret handshake we always did after winning a basketball game. Noah’s eyes instantly turned red. He led me back to his office. “When my assistant told me your name, I thought I was being haunted,” he said, having regained his composure, a teasing note in his voice. “Never thought I’d see you again in the flesh.” “Never thought I’d be facing you in a dress,” I shot back. We both laughed. “Hey, listen, did I give you a debit card way back when? It had a bunch of my savings in it. Any chance I could get that back?” Noah went silent. “Did you… spend it all?” “Cole, it’s been ten years. You can’t just give someone something and then ask for it back a decade later.” I felt a little embarrassed. “I know, but I just got back, and I’m broke. If it’s gone, it’s gone. It was supposed to be for you anyway.” Originally, I wanted to leave that money for Liam. But the System forbid it; the male lead had to earn his own fortune. So I gave it to Noah. He was my best friend when I was Cole. The only one who figured out I was a girl. He kept my secret for years, always covering for me whenever I was close to being found out. Six years of friendship had given us an unspoken bond. Just like now. He didn’t ask how I was alive or why I looked like this. He just turned, opened a drawer, pulled out a card, and tossed it on the desk in front of me. “Pin’s the same. It’s yours again.” He did it so smoothly, so matter-of-factly. As if he’d been waiting for this day for a very long time. 9 Liam was busy for the next few weeks, often not coming home at all. He was dealing with the fallout from the actress’s betrayal. It wasn’t going well, apparently. The woman had no real dirt on him. Everything she told the media was vague and suggestive—just enough to create a PR nightmare for Liam, but not enough to be sued for slander. She was playing the game too well; someone smart had to be advising her. With Liam gone, I had a lot of free time, which I often spent catching up with Noah over coffee. One day, like usual, he was driving me home. As we pulled up to the house, he asked, “Are you just going to keep Liam in the dark forever?” “Yeah, for now.” “But isn’t it hard on you?” Noah, ever the lawyer, analyzed the situation. “You’re carrying this secret all by yourself, and you have to deal with the weirdness of your little brother now being your husband. That sounds exhausting.” His words made me pause. He was right. It *should* feel weird and uncomfortable. Liam was my husband in name. But I didn’t feel that way. Was six years too short a time? Did I never really see him as a brother? I laughed it off. “It’s not that bad. We’re getting a divorce soon anyway.” “A divorce?” Noah stopped walking. “Yeah. It was a marriage of convenience. It’s time to end it.” I didn’t look at him, so I didn’t see the flicker of something new in his sharp eyes. “Need a lawyer? You’re looking at one.” “Sure. I’ll send you the agreement when I get it. You can look it over for me.” “Look over what?” Liam’s voice cut through the evening air from somewhere in the shadows. My smile froze. It was already dark; I hadn’t seen him standing there. How long had he been listening? What did he hear? Liam walked toward us, grabbed my arm, and pulled me flush against his side. Then, with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, he asked, “Darling, when did you become friends with Noah Chen?” 10 I shot Liam a look that screamed, *Are you insane?* He ignored me, lacing his fingers through mine, our hands tightly clasped. But the look he gave Noah was pure hostility. “Long time no see, Noah. Still single?” Noah returned a polite smile of his own. “I am. Not everyone can be like you, Mr. Blackwood. One at home, and another on the side.” “You know, Noah,” Liam said smoothly, “just because you’ve been single for a while, it doesn’t mean you should be seen getting cozy with another man’s wife.” “You’re right. My mistake.” Noah adjusted his thin-framed glasses, looking every bit the refined gentleman he’d become, but his words were sharp. “I hear you two are getting a divorce, Mr. Blackwood. Congratulations.” Liam’s arm tightened around my waist as he opened the front door. Just before we went inside, he looked back over his shoulder. “Maybe you should worry about the people in your own circle, Noah. Betraying people who trust you at such a young age… I wonder who she learned that from.” Noah’s smile vanished. The door clicked shut, cutting off the silent, vicious battle. I hadn’t said a word. In situations like this, the less you say, the better. But I was curious. Liam and Noah barely knew each other back in the day. What happened in the last ten years to make them hate each other so much? As I was lost in thought, Liam spoke. “How do you know him?” “I was looking for a divorce lawyer and found him.” “Noah Chen is a corporate lawyer. He handles divorce cases now?” “Guess he’s trying to expand his business.” Liam let out a low, humorless laugh. He didn’t push it. Instead, he changed the subject. “Do you know why Noah is still single after all these years?” “Why?” “Besides his family, I’ve only ever seen him close to one woman.” “Who?” “Cole.”

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I was just making polite small talk with my neighbor. “Your grandson is so cute,” I said. “I wish I had one just like him.” I went home for the summer, and my parents presented me with a baby brother. “It was *your wish* that made him happen,” they said. “You have to be responsible for him.” They completely checked out. My brother’s entire life became my problem. From his homework to his job, from his first car to his first house. Eventually, when I couldn’t afford to buy him a house, my brother murdered me. I opened my eyes and I was back on that day, admiring the neighbor’s kid. “Wow, he’s so cute,” I began. “I wish I had…” My parents’ eyes lit up, a predatory glint in them. I paused. “…a mansion!” I finished. “And a yacht!” “And a scholarship to study abroad!” “And ten billion dollars in cash!” 1 Our neighbor, Mrs. Gable, brought her little grandson over to our place. My mom watched my face like a hawk. “Jessie,” she said, testing the waters, “look how adorable he is. If you had a sweet little brother like this, I’d be the happiest mom in the world.” I almost laughed out loud. Having lived this nightmare once before, I knew the truth. It didn’t matter what I wanted. The “brother” was already on his way. This whole song and dance with Mrs. Gable was just a setup, a way to trick me into saying, “I wish I had a brother,” so they could saddle me with the crushing responsibility of raising him. In my last life, I fell for it. I was that naive. Because I said, “He’s so cute, I wish I had one,” my parents became deadbeats the second my brother was born. They dumped him on me, making me responsible for his every need. As he grew up, everything fell on my shoulders: his tutoring, his job applications, his car, and his down payment. If I showed the slightest hesitation, the guilt-tripping would start. “It was *your wish* that brought him into this world! You have to be responsible for his life!” My wish could make someone pregnant? Their excuses for wanting a son were more creative than a sci-fi writer. The tragedy is, they repeated it so often that they completely brainwashed my brother. If he failed a test, it was my fault for not finding a better tutor. If he couldn’t get a job, it was my fault for not having the right connections. If he couldn’t afford a house, it was because I wasn’t working hard enough. It all came to a head when he came at me with a knife, screaming, “Why did you even have me if you’re broke?! This is all your fault! If you hadn’t wished for me, I wouldn’t be in this hellhole! Just die!” The little brother I had raised from infancy murdered me in cold blood. And my parents? They signed a document saying they wouldn’t press charges. I was the only one who got hurt in the end. This time, I wouldn’t make the same mistake. When I didn’t say anything, Mrs. Gable gave her grandson a little nudge. “Go on, sweetie. Say hi to your aunty Jessie. Let her hold you.” The kid just stared at me blankly. “See, Jessie?” Mrs. Gable pushed. “He’s such a darling. You should tell your mom to have one for you.” My mom held her breath, her eyes glued to my mouth. She might as well have had “SAY YOU WANT A BROTHER” tattooed on her forehead. I smiled. “Wow, he is so cute. I wish…” My parents’ eyes lit up with pure joy. They both leaned forward, practically vibrating with anticipation. “…I had a mansion!” I declared. “And a yacht!” “And a full ride to Yale!” “And ten billion dollars cash!” The living room went dead silent. Mrs. Gable’s smile froze on her face. My mom’s mouth hung open in shock. My dad’s hand trembled, and he spilled hot tea all over the coffee table. “What kind of nonsense are you talking?!” my mom finally sputtered, her face burning with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. My dad’s face was grim. He set down the teapot with a thud. “Jessie, don’t joke around. We’re talking about something serious.” I blinked innocently. “What’s serious?” “Mrs. Gable asked if you wanted a little brother. What do you think?” I played dumb. “You mean if I want one, I can just have one?” “Of course,” they said in unison. “Anything you wish for, we’ll do our best to make it happen.” “That’s great!” I beamed. “Okay, so, a mansion, a yacht, a scholarship, and ten billion dollars. Which one are you getting me first?” Silence. I raised my voice. “I said! I want a mansion! I want a yacht—” “Enough!” my mom shrieked. The fake smiles were completely gone. 2 Mrs. Gable mumbled an excuse and hurried out with her grandson. The second the door closed, my mom was in my face, her voice dripping with fake concern. “Jessie, be honest. Don’t you want a real brother?” “No,” I said, flatly. “It’s for your own good! You’ll have someone to look out for you.” She was trying to paint a rosy picture of family bonds. “I have friends. I have a boyfriend. I don’t need a brother messing things up.” I picked up an apple from the table and took a loud, deliberate bite. My dad jumped in, using his authoritarian parent voice. “What do you know! When you get married, you’ll be at a disadvantage if you don’t have a brother at home to back you up!” “Oh, well, then I just won’t get married.” I chewed my apple, my voice muffled but clear. “Just date, no marriage. Way less drama.” “Even better!” my mom blurted out. “Then your brother can take care of you when you’re old!” And there it was. The mask finally slipped. They didn’t give a damn about my happiness. They just wanted a son. “Expecting my brother to take care of me in my old age?” I said with a humorless smile. “I’d rather just drop dead now.” “Even if you don’t think about yourself, think about us,” my dad pleaded. “A son is our security! Without a son, people will look down on us. Your mother and I have been pushed around our whole lives. It’s time we had some respect.” I had an answer for that one, too. “Don’t worry. By the time your ‘security’ is grown up, you’ll be in your seventies. At that age, no one’s going to be pushing you around. You could fall flat on your face and no one would even dare to help you up.” My dad’s face turned beet red. He slammed his hand on the table. “How dare you! Is that how you talk to your parents? It’s our right to have a son! We’ve raised you, fed you, clothed you! It’s not your place to tell us what to do!” Finally. The act was over. I put down the apple core and slowly wiped my hands. “You should have just said that from the start. You want a kid, fine. Why drag me into it? What’s the matter…” I leaned forward, staring into their evasive, guilty eyes. “Were you planning on popping him out and then dumping him on me? Making me a free nanny and ATM for your perfect little family of three for the rest of my life?” Their faces crumpled. He’d hit the nail on the head. My dad was shaking with rage, pointing a finger at me. “You ungrateful brat! We wasted our lives raising you! What’s wrong with a man wanting a son to carry on the family name? You’re the older sister! It’s your duty to help your brother! It’s the natural order of things!” I threw my hands up. “The only way I’m helping him is by preventing him from being born in the first place.” “We’re broke. You two don’t even have retirement savings. Bringing a child into this is just cruel.” Seeing that yelling wasn’t working, my mom switched tactics instantly. She clutched her still-flat stomach, her eyes welling up with tears. “Jessie, look at me, I’m not young anymore. The baby is already four months along, I can feel him moving. And an abortion would be so hard on my body… can’t you have a little sympathy for your own mother?” “Sympathy?” I scoffed, my voice sharp as a razor. “Did you think about how ‘hard on your body’ it would be when you were getting it on? You don’t use protection, you have your fun, and now you want me to feel sorry for you? You deal with the consequences of your own carelessness. Don’t you dare try to guilt-trip me.” They were stunned by my bluntness, their faces a spectacular kaleidoscope of red and white. My dad was practically apoplectic. “We’re having this baby!” The fox was finally out of the bag. 3 Seeing them furious but helpless, I knew my moment had come. I whipped out my phone, hit record, and aimed the camera straight at their shocked faces. “See? All you had to do was admit you wanted him. No need to pin it on me.” “Hey, future-brother, what’s up,” I said to the camera. “Just so you know, for the record, I was completely against this. It was Mom and Dad’s idea. So if your life sucks, you can blame them. Your big sister has nothing to do with it.” “There’s no throne for you to inherit in this family, just a sink full of dirty dishes. You’re being born to be a wage slave, a cog in the machine, another speck of cosmic dust.” “Mom and Dad brought you into this miserable world, but they don’t have the means to give you a good life. You’re on your own, kid.” “Good luck! We’re all just trying to survive out here~” I stopped the recording and calmly hit “save.” On the screen, my parents’ faces had gone from red to purple to a pasty, dead gray. “You… you heartless monster!” my dad finally found his voice, screaming with pure, unadulterated rage. “You say no? Fine! We’re having him anyway!” I raised an eyebrow. “Go for it. Be my guest. Just remember what I said today.” I had my video evidence. In my last life, whenever things didn’t go my brother’s way, he took it out on me, physically. My parents would either pretend not to see or add fuel to the fire. “You’re the big sister. You should be more patient with him.” “If it wasn’t for you wanting a brother, he wouldn’t even be here.” “He has feelings. You need to be his punching bag.” This time, let’s see how “patient” they are when they’re the ones being blamed and screamed at. When winter break ended, the first thing I did back at college was start posting my daily workouts on social media. I’d finish my last sprint, my sweat-soaked tank top clinging to my stomach. It was flat and toned, with zero signs of childbirth. I’d zoom in on my abs and hit record. “Two miles done! Let’s get it again tomorrow!” It was crucial to document my body’s status during my mom’s pregnancy. In my last life, I didn’t know she was pregnant. I came home for the summer and was handed a baby. I was sitting outside with the newborn when a high school classmate walked by. She stared at my puffy, sleep-deprived eyes and the screaming baby in my arms. “Wow, Jessie,” she blurted out. “You’re only a junior and you already have a kid?” My mother didn’t correct her. Instead, a sly little smile played on her lips. “Oh, we just call him her little brother, hehe.” She deliberately let people believe he was mine. No matter how much I tried to explain, no one believed me. This time, I posted everywhere. Every day, a two-mile run. Hiking on weekends. Crunches in my dorm room at night. My roommates thought I’d lost my mind. “Jessie, you’re already so skinny! Why are you trying to kill yourself? You’re making the rest of us look bad!” They didn’t understand. I was doing it to stay alive. The semester flew by. I had killer abs to show for it. I had just posted a new ab-selfie to my Instagram story when my dad called. “Summer break started two days ago. Why aren’t you home yet?” “I just sent you two hundred bucks. Buy a bus ticket. I expect you home tomorrow!” Oh, here we go. They were summoning me home to be their free postpartum nurse. I accepted the $200, then immediately bought a ticket on a bus heading south. [Dad, I got a summer job at a factory with some friends. Won’t be home.] My parents were cheap. Even if I didn’t come home, they’d never pay for a real nurse. And my dad was the laziest man alive. With him in charge of my mom’s recovery, things were about to get very interesting at home. 4 For the first few days after the baby was born, my mom’s Facebook page was a highlight reel of a perfect life. Close-ups of the baby’s tiny hands. A loving portrait of their happy family of three. She posted nine-picture collages eight times a day. The captions were triumphant. [It just had to be a son. Now that I have a son, even the air I breathe is sweeter!] [Finally did right by our ancestors. The family name won’t die with us.] [The happiest family of three!] Too bad their perfect life didn’t even last a week. My dad called me in the middle of the night, his frustration practically sizzling through the phone. “Your mother is impossible! I close my eyes for two minutes, and she’s whining that her head hurts, her back hurts, her bones are falling apart, and I need to give her a massage. Who doesn’t hurt after having a baby? Back in my day, women were back in the fields the next day!” “I wake up before dawn to make her oatmeal, and she complains it’s bland! I buy the best pork hock for a soup, slave over it, bring it to her, and she says it’s too greasy! She’s acting like a damn princess just because she had a C-section!” “It’s one thing after another, I swear to God! I’m done! I’m not waiting on her hand and foot anymore!” My mom was even worse. She sent me a flood of tearful voice messages, with the baby wailing in the background. “Your father is a useless idiot! He’s going to be the death of me! Your brother is screaming his head off from hunger, I tell him to make a bottle, and he uses boiling water! The formula just clumps up! A pig could learn how to do it, but I’ve told him a thousand times and he still can’t remember!” “He sleeps like the dead at night. I have to shove him just to wake him up. I finally get him up to change a diaper, and he just wipes the baby’s butt with a wet wipe and shoves him back into a new diaper without drying him off! It’s been five days! Five days! And the baby’s butt is already raw!” It was like they’d coordinated. One after another, they gave me my royal decree. “You have to come home! We can’t handle this!” In my last life, when I was the one taking care of her, she called me an ungrateful brat if I did the slightest thing wrong. If the water was one degree too cold, I was useless. If the chicken soup wasn’t hot enough, I was trying to poison her. When my dad came home, she’d tell him exaggerated stories, and then they’d both scream at me. Now that they had to do it themselves, they couldn’t stand each other after less than a week. I’d rather be a wage slave in a factory than go home and face the three of them. Go home? Only if I had a death wish. [I don’t want to get in the way. It’s better if you three just work things out and have a happy life!] I really hoped they’d just forget I existed. And stop trying to drag me down with them. 5 After a long day at the factory, I checked my phone and it had exploded. In the family group chat, my parents and the entire extended family were putting on a real show for me. It started with a video my dad posted. In it, my mom was curled up in bed, looking pale as a ghost. The sheets beneath her were stained with blood. Her moans were faint but constant. He wrote: [Your mother’s C-section incision is infected, she has a 102-degree fever, and her daughter is out having the time of her life. What a disgrace to this family!] The rest of the relatives immediately piled on. Aunt Carol: [Your mother risked her life to give you a companion, and this is how you repay her? You ungrateful brat, get your ass home and take care of her!] Aunt Sue: [How did you raise such a daughter? You never should have let her go to college! Education makes women wild!] Uncle Bob: [Get home and do your duty! If a girl doesn’t learn how to keep a house and raise kids, what man is ever going to want to marry you!] … Wow, they were really laying on the guilt. Fine. Two can play at that game. [@Aunt Carol, didn’t you stick Grandma in a nursing home and not visit for three years? Don’t pretend you’re some great saint now.] [@Aunt Sue, isn’t your son-in-law cheating on your daughter and beating her? Maybe you have bigger things to worry about?] [@Uncle Bob, did your son ever pay back that $30,000 he owes the loan sharks? Next time they show up at my door, should I tell them where you’re hiding?] The group chat exploded again. When they couldn’t win with logic, they pulled rank. [We are your elders! How dare you speak to us that way!] I ignored them. [Yeah, yeah, you’re all saints, and I’m the monster. Since you all feel so sorry for my mom, why don’t you take turns taking care of her?] [First person to volunteer, I’ll pay for your Uber.] The chat went dead silent. The profiles that had been so self-righteous just a second ago all went quiet. I see these relatives once a year, if that. I wasn’t afraid of burning bridges. They wanted to guilt-trip me? Not a chance. Finally, my mom jumped in, playing the victim. [Jessie, please. Your brother cries all night, your dad can’t even make a bottle right. We need you. Please, have pity on me. The pain from my incision is so bad I want to jump off a roof!] So now she feels the pain. We’re just getting started. In my last life, I was her slave that summer. At 3 AM, I’d be pacing the balcony with a screaming baby, and she’d yell from her bed, “Hold him tighter! If you drop my son, I’ll skin you alive!” I washed so many cloth diapers that my hands were raw and cracked. I helped her get up and walk around every day until my own back ached constantly. After a month of non-stop work, my mom was fully recovered, healthy and strong. I looked like I’d given birth to octuplets and developed chronic joint pain. And all I got for it was, “The pain you feel is a sweet pain. Your brother will repay you when he grows up.” This time, all the pain of childbirth was hers to bear. So I gave her own words right back to her: [Pain is good. It’s the ‘sweet pain’ of motherhood. You brought a son into this world, you’ve brought honor to the family. It’s all worth it! I’m sure your son will repay you when he grows up!] And how will he repay you? By screaming at you, by hitting you, and eventually, by coming at you with a knife. Now that’s a repayment that really hits deep.

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I accidentally video-chatted with my future self from ten years from now. I excitedly asked her who I end up with. After a moment of silence, she said the name of my mortal enemy. I burst out laughing. “Wow, I didn’t know I’d still have such a great sense of humor in ten years.” Just then, someone walked into the frame. “Honey, who are you talking to?” I stared at my nemesis’s slightly more mature face and turned to stone. 1 The scene was surreal. My eyes met Leo Vance’s, and we both saw the same shock mirrored in each other’s expressions. Leo, wearing nothing but a bathrobe with the collar wide open, had his arm half-wrapped around Future Me. After a full minute of stunned silence, I let out a piercing shriek. Leo just raised an eyebrow, seemingly more intrigued than anything. Then, he leaned in and planted a kiss on Future Me’s cheek, shooting me a smug, triumphant look. My world just collapsed. Seeing that I was on the verge of a full-blown meltdown, Future Me quickly jumped in. She started listing off all of Leo’s good qualities, trying to explain why on earth she would marry him. It was horrifying. It was like she’d been possessed by a demon and didn’t even know it. I couldn’t take it anymore. After a few minutes, I cut her off. “I am so disappointed in you. You know how much I hate him right now.” “I just finished the SATs and I can finally get away from him, and you’re telling me that in ten years, we’re *married*?!” “That’s like telling me in ten years I’ll be in a mental institution!” Maybe living in blissful happiness for so long had made her forget, but my reminder finally jogged her memory of just how much Leo and I were at each other’s throats. The second we saw each other, we were rolling our eyes so hard it’s a wonder they didn’t get stuck. She gave me an awkward smile, suddenly at a loss for words. Leo, standing beside her, just smirked. “You’re probably going to be even more disappointed,” he said slowly. “We go to the same college.” His eyes were glinting with pure, unadulterated glee. The hits just kept on coming. I was grinding my teeth so hard I was surprised they didn’t shatter. Ten years, and he was still the same arrogant jerk. One look from him was enough to make my blood boil. I shot him a glare, which only made him smile wider. Future Me saw the look of utter despair on my face and pushed Leo aside. “Even though we end up together,” she said, trying to console me, “you have some other romantic adventures along the way.” Now *that* got my attention. “Like what?” She thought for a moment, then her eyes lit up. “The guy who helps you with your luggage on move-in day! The super tall, handsome one, the president of the student council? You two start dating pretty quickly.” We got so caught up in gossiping about my first love that we completely forgot about the man standing behind her. You know, my future husband. Her current husband. It wasn’t until I caught Leo’s half-smiling, half-menacing expression that I remembered the gravity of the situation. “Um…” I whispered, trying to get Future Me’s attention. “You might want to look behind you.” Confused, she turned around and was met with Leo’s wounded, puppy-dog eyes. Her smile froze. Her brain went into overdrive, and she immediately started backpedaling. “Well, I mean, he was just okay. And he was really emotionally unavailable later on. Definitely not as good as your future husband.” Seeing it happen in real-time, I realized just how obvious I am when I’m lying. Every nervous little fidget screamed guilt. Leo just scoffed, took the phone from her, and said to me, “That’s enough for today. Future You and I have some things to… discuss.” He hung up. But not before I saw him sweep Future Me off her feet and carry her away. I stared at the black screen, my mind flooded with horrifying images and suspicions. I was going to lose my mind. 2 Thanks to my future self, I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was Leo Vance. To make matters worse, we had a class reunion the next day. And to make matters even worse, Leo was going to be there. I took a few deep breaths and walked into the karaoke room, which already sounded like a pack of howling animals. The moment I opened the door, the music stopped. Everyone saw me, then, as if on cue, all heads turned to look at Leo. Our rivalry was so intense that we were practically a package deal. The expressions in the room were a mix of amusement, barely suppressed laughter, and, weirdly enough, a few people who seemed to be shipping us. Normally, I wouldn’t care. It was pure, unadulterated hatred between us. We were nemeses. But last night, I found out my nemesis becomes my husband. That was a little hard to swallow. The couches were all full, except for one empty spot right next to Leo. I sighed and resigned myself to my fate. As I sat down, Leo glanced at me. His eyes lingered on the dark circles under mine, and he frowned slightly before his usual smirk returned. “Rough night? Don’t tell me you were dreaming about me and couldn’t sleep.” Normally, I would have told him to get a life and stop being a creep. But this time… he was right. I felt my cheeks flush and turned away, muttering, “You’re insane.” I grabbed an ice-cold Coke from the table, trying to cool down. Leo noticed something was off. He dropped the act and looked at me with a serious expression. His stare made my skin crawl, and I pointedly avoided his gaze. The other people in the room, oblivious to the weird tension between us, dragged Leo up to sing. The moment he stood up, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. But my relief was short-lived. My phone buzzed with two new messages. From Future Me. [If I remember correctly, you should be at the reunion right now.] [Just a little secret for you… Leo’s singing this next song for you.] Those two sentences sent a tidal wave through me. The phone suddenly felt like it was burning a hole in my hand. My heart was pounding like a drum. I instinctively looked up and met Leo’s eyes from across the room. At the same time, the song title appeared on the screen. *Daylight.* The two words hit me like a ton of bricks. Our classmates started cheering and catcalling. Leo just stood there, looking at me, until the music started. 3 Leo had a great singing voice. I had to admit it. The room fell silent, filled only with his voice. Maybe it was because of the texts, but I felt like every glance he sent my way was aimed directly at me. In the dim light, his eyes held an emotion I couldn’t quite decipher. When the song ended, everyone erupted in applause. A few of the more gossipy people cornered him, asking if he’d sung that for someone in the room. He didn’t confirm or deny it. He just smiled. Leo sat back down next to me, looking a little nervous. His hands were clenched in his lap, like he was trying to psych himself up. As I was wondering what was going on, my phone buzzed again. It was Future Me. [This idiot really thought that after he sang *Daylight*, you’d magically realize he has a crush on you. But you’re just sitting there with a blank expression.] [He’s trying to work up the nerve to ask you if you got the hint, but he’s been trying all night and hasn’t managed to say a single word.] [If you look closely, you can see he’s actually shaking.] I casually glanced over at Leo. Sure enough, his hands were trembling slightly. A smile tugged at the corner of my lips. I leaned in a little closer. “Leo,” I said, my voice laced with amusement, “are you shaking?” His head snapped up, and he reflexively scooted away. It wasn’t until he saw the mischievous glint in my eyes that he realized I was teasing him. A flicker of disappointment crossed his face before he masked it with his usual nonchalance. “What are you talking about? I’m not shaking.” He was such a terrible actor. Normally, I would have been silently judging him from head to toe. But now, I just found it… kind of funny. I noticed the tips of his ears were turning red, and it was like discovering a new continent. I had him right where I wanted him. I wasn’t about to let this opportunity slip by. I looked at him, a playful smile on my face. “You know,” I said, my tone half-joking, half-serious, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you have a crush on me.” I didn’t miss the way his expression changed. I saw his eyelid twitch, his pupils dilate. His ears were now a shade of crimson, and his fingertips trembled. “No way!” he blurted out, turning his head away so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. He raised his voice, trying to sound casual. “You’re imagining things.” I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. I immediately sent a report back to Future Me. [I went for it. I asked him if he has a crush on me.] She replied instantly. [You did?!] [What did he say?!] It was weird, being this invested in my own ten-year-old drama. [He got all flustered and denied it.] She sent back a single eye-roll emoji. I could feel my own exasperation from across the decade. A few minutes passed, and Leo still hadn’t recovered. His ears were still bright red, and his movements were stiff and unnatural. He was clearly distracted. I secretly snapped a picture of him and sent it to Future Me. A moment later, a voice message came through. I meant to have it transcribe, but my thumb slipped and I hit play. Future Leo’s voice boomed through the room. “Was I really that obvious?” Every head in the room whipped around to look at me. Leo was staring at me from point-blank range. I fumbled with my phone, trying to turn it off, but I accidentally hit the next voice message. “No wonder I couldn’t get a girlfriend.” “I can just picture it now. Him, wanting to say something but being too scared, so he just acts like he doesn’t care.” Seriously? This guy was even roasting his past self. After a frantic scramble, I finally managed to shut my phone off. I looked at the curious faces around me and had to come up with something, fast. “My brother,” I said, forcing a laugh. “He was just telling me about a friend of his who had a crush on a girl for ten years but was too stubborn to admit it.” It wasn’t even a hint anymore; it was a neon sign. And sure enough, the moment the words left my mouth, Leo guiltily turned away. No one else thought much of it. The music started up again, and people went back to fighting over the microphone. Except for Leo. He was actually thinking. After about half an hour, he suddenly turned to me and asked, “So what happened?” I looked at him, confused. “What about?” “Your brother’s friend. Did he end up with the girl?” “Of course… not.” “My brother’s friend was a jerk, kind of like you. He spent the whole time picking fights with the girl he liked. Why would she ever like him back?” Yes, I was being deliberate. Even though I knew we’d end up married, I still couldn’t stand him right now. He couldn’t just have everything go his way. When he heard that, his face fell. I sighed dramatically. “You know,” I said, “sometimes you just have to be direct. Otherwise, you could miss your chance and regret it for the rest of your life.” Leo didn’t say anything. His lips were pressed into a thin line. Then, he suddenly looked up, his eyes meeting mine. “I like you.” 4 I think the music was too loud. It must have been so loud that it made me hear things. The moment he said it, my heart stopped. I held my breath, completely unsure of how to react. Why was he being so direct all of a sudden? For the first time, I felt flustered in front of him. This was not a good situation for me. I had to say something. Just as I was about to open my mouth, Leo’s tense expression relaxed. “See?” he said, a little too casually. “Those three words aren’t so hard to say. Your brother’s friend is a real loser.” He was full of contempt for this imaginary person, but he still couldn’t look me in the eye. It finally clicked. He was messing with me. Using a real confession as a joke. I was so mad I had to laugh. I couldn’t resist sending a text to Future Me. [Is it too late to get a divorce?] A string of ten question marks came back. [What did that idiot do now?] From the tone, I could tell it was Future Leo. [Can you please give the phone back to your wife? I’m trying to have a conversation with her, not you.] [You know, I haven’t heard you talk to me like that in a long time. I kind of miss it.] I… had no words. I didn’t know who was more messed up, him or the me who ends up marrying him. As if having one Leo sitting next to me wasn’t enough, the Leo on my phone kept sending me messages. My future was looking bleak. After the party, as I was leaving the karaoke bar, my friend Maya, who was on vacation and couldn’t make it, called me. “So I hear Leo sang *Daylight* to you tonight?” she said, her voice full of gossip. I tried to deny it, but she immediately sent me a picture. It was a blurry photo of Leo and me, our eyes meeting across the room. On the screen behind us, the lyrics were frozen on “Someone’s been loving you for a long time.” I only looked at him for a second. The fact that someone managed to capture that one second… these people should have been paparazzi. Maya took my silence as a confirmation and got even more excited. “I would bet my entire life savings that Leo Vance is totally into you.” Thanks, but no thanks. I couldn’t take that bet. I couldn’t afford to lose. 5 When I got home, I showered and collapsed into bed. My phone buzzed. It was a picture from Future Me. A screenshot of a Twitter account. [This guy is so good at hiding things. For ten whole years, I had no idea he was keeping a secret crush diary on this account.] I shot up in bed and immediately switched to my burner account to look it up. When I found the profile, the latest tweet was from ten minutes ago. [Paid a lot of money for this candid shot my friend took. I guess this counts as our first picture together, right?] The picture attached was pixelated, but I recognized it instantly. It was the one Maya had sent me. That’s when I noticed he had hundreds of thousands of followers. This tweet alone already had hundreds of comments. They all affectionately called him “Crush Guy.” The comments were all teasing him. [Crush Guy’s latest masterpiece.] [Whoa, big moves! Crush Guy actually sang *Daylight* in front of Daisy? That’s basically a confession!] [This picture is so blurry, who knows if that’s even Daisy.] [Daisy probably rolled her eyes at him and he thought she was blowing him a kiss.] [He sings one song and suddenly he’s planning the wedding again.] My name is Daisy Miller. If I’m not mistaken… I’m Daisy. Leo seemed used to their comments and just ignored them. The only one he replied to was a comment wishing us a long and happy life together. Even though I already knew we had a… complicated future, that comment still felt incredibly malicious. No one wants to spend forever with their mortal enemy. The further I scrolled, the more I understood why they called him Crush Guy. Every single tweet was about me. Every little interaction, every look, every word we exchanged. I felt a strange fluttering in my chest. But before I could get too emotional, a video call request popped up on my screen. It was Future Me, bawling her eyes out. She looked completely overwhelmed with emotion. I was about to say something comforting when Future Leo walked over and pulled her into his arms, patting her back soothingly. Like he’d done it a million times. …Did I just get PDA’d by my own future self? “Excuse me,” I said, a little annoyed. “Could you two please remember there’s a newly-minted adult present?” Future Leo looked a little displeased with my attitude. “You saw all of that, and you’re not even a little bit moved?” Of course I was. But I was never going to admit that. I stubbornly turned my head away. Future Leo just smiled. “Daisy-chain,” he said, using a stupid nickname he’d given me, “Leo’s been messing with you for a long time. Don’t you want to get him back?” I frowned. “Do you have a problem with yourself?” “Of course I do. Because of his stupid pride, I missed out on years with you. Don’t you think that’s a problem?” His logic was flawless. I was speechless. “Just do what I say,” he said, a sly grin spreading across his face. “I guarantee, he won’t know what hit him.”

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After I filed for divorce from Evan, I posted a picture in my lingerie on Instagram. “Husband’s not home, all alone and lonely. Looking for a good time. Any takers?” My feed exploded. While everyone was still reeling, his new girlfriend posted a picture of a sonogram. “For you, Mommy and Daddy will clear away any obstacles.” Oh. I was the obstacle. I looked at the flood of “OMG, what happened?!” comments and replied to them all with the same three words. “He can’t get it up.” A ‘like’ notification popped up instantly. It was from Evan. 1 I was the one who asked for the divorce. Evan and I had been married for three years, and our relationship was always polite, almost formal. His company kept him busy; he was always out early and home late. I had been a stay-at-home wife for those three years, playing the part of the perfect, supportive partner. Three years, and we still didn’t have any kids. The older relatives, especially his mother, went from being patient and understanding to pushy and annoyed. His mom dragged me to countless specialists. The result was always the same: I was perfectly healthy and capable of getting pregnant. “Then why hasn’t it happened after all these years?!” she’d demand. One doctor finally sighed. “Pregnancy is a two-person job. You can’t put it all on the woman. Maybe you should have the husband come in for a check-up?” His mom slammed her hand on the table, her face turning to ice. “Impossible! There’s nothing wrong with my son!” Then, the suspicion turned back to me. “Ashley, are you and Evan secretly using birth control?” I wanted to scream. She’d rather believe I was lying to her than entertain the thought that her precious son might be the problem. “Mom, we both know how much everyone wants this. Why would we use birth control?” But the truth was, she was right. In our three years of marriage, Evan and I had never slept together. My mind went back to our wedding night. We both had too much to drink. I don’t even remember what happened. When I woke up the next morning, Evan was already asleep in the guest room. And just like that, we silently agreed to sleep in separate rooms for three years. I tried. I really did. Countless times, I worked up the courage to invite him to bed. But he would always get this grim look on his face, like he was thinking of something deeply unpleasant, and then he’d turn me down. 2 About a year ago, his mom started sending over supplements and herbal teas every day. “Ashley, you’re not working anyway. You might as well just focus all your energy on getting pregnant.” Every day, I forced down the bitter concoctions under immense pressure. I complained to Evan when he got home late. “This stuff is so disgusting. I really don’t want to drink it anymore.” I looked at him, hoping for some support. But he just turned and walked into the guest room, tossing a single sentence over his shoulder. “If you don’t want to drink it, then don’t.” I *wanted* to just pour it down the drain, but his mother’s obsession with me getting pregnant was relentless. She always had someone watching me, waiting until I’d finished the last drop. I bit my lip and tried one more time. “Are you sleeping in the guest room again tonight?” The invitation was obvious. The only answer I got was the sound of the guest room door clicking shut. One attempt at intimacy, a lifetime of rejection. What was the point of all this medicine? Could I have a baby by myself? His mom called the next day. “Ashley, if you don’t want to drink the medicine, you can just tell me. You don’t have to have Evan pass along the message.” I listened to her angry accusations. “Mom… that’s not what I meant…” She hung up on me. 3 The moment I decided to divorce him was a month ago. A story broke online. “SHOCKING: Young Starlet and Her Sugar Daddy.” The starlet, Chloe Vance, was a college classmate of mine. She’d had a small hit with a fantasy show right after graduation, then faded into obscurity. About six months ago, she suddenly made a comeback, landing a string of amazing roles. I was just casually scrolling through the gossip, but then I saw the pictures. The man with her, the one whose back and profile were all too familiar… it was Evan. Based on his clothes, it had to have been the night before. They were coming out of a high-end hotel, and Chloe was holding a bouquet of flowers, a blissful smile on her face. I was stunned. I refreshed the page, and in the time it took for the comments to load, every single post about the scandal had vanished. My hands trembled as I opened my Instagram. When Evan and I got married, I’d posted our wedding photos. Chloe followed me; she had to have known Evan was my husband. Evan’s own profile was completely blank. But Chloe had, in fact, posted a picture from a hotel restaurant the night before. The caption was just a single heart emoji. I quickly sent Evan a text. “Come home early tonight. We need to talk.” I rarely texted him. The last time was over a year ago. It took him a long time to reply with a simple “Ok.” Evan and I met on a blind date. At the time, I was struggling to make it as an actress. Graduating at the top of my class from a prestigious acting program hadn’t done me much good. My looks just brought me a lot of unwanted advances and sleazy comments. After one small role, I quit the business and agreed to my parents’ matchmaking. 4 It was love at first sight for me. Evan was exactly my type. He had this cool, untouchable vibe. On our date, he wore a perfectly tailored suit that screamed “off-limits.” And he was direct. The first thing he said to me was, “Will you marry me?” I was taken aback, thinking it was some kind of flirty line. I played along. “Sure. When are we going to the courthouse?” We moved so fast it shocked both our families. A few days later, his mom showed up at my parents’ house with a prenuptial agreement. “Ashley, don’t think I’m being difficult, but this is just a precaution.” I knew what it was. A way to protect his assets. It was all about the money. “Was this his idea?” His mom nodded. “If you two are going to get married, you have to sign this.” I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t even read the details. I signed it on the spot. I wasn’t after his money. I was after him. Evan and I only saw each other twice before the wedding: the blind date, and the day we got our marriage license. My friends all thought I was wasting my life. “Ashley, you’re so gorgeous. You could have been a huge star.” “Getting married like this is such a waste.” But I was giddy with the thought of being a bride. I was convinced Evan loved me. Why else would he propose on the first date? I didn’t pay any attention to their warnings. I threw myself into being the perfect Mrs. Evans, taking care of his every need. But after that wedding night… he grew colder and colder. My confidence slowly eroded, and with it, my faith in our marriage. 5 Evan would occasionally take me to social events. The men would talk business while I played mahjong with the other wealthy wives. I was terrible at it. Every time we went out, I was just giving away money. Evan didn’t care, of course. But I did. They invited me to every game because they knew I was an easy win. It wasn’t about the money; it was about the thrill of victory. And I was the one who made that thrill possible for them. Still, I forced myself to try and fit in. Until one day… I was on a winning streak. For the first time ever, I was actually winning a lot. I turned to Evan, who was sitting nearby. “Evan, I’m finally winning!” I called out. The other wives all smiled and teased, “Ashley’s on a roll today! We can’t beat her.” I was so happy. I went to the restroom, and on my way back, I overheard them talking. “Evan, why did you marry a woman like that?” “I know, right? Look how excited she gets over a little money.” “An actress is an actress. No class. She’ll never be one of us.” Evan took a slow sip of his tea. “Then I won’t bring her to play anymore. It’s too annoying.” I felt numb as I sat back down at the table. My mind was a million miles away. I quickly lost all my winnings and then some. Everyone was laughing and joking, but my own face was grim. There was a bitter taste in my mouth. “Oh dear, Ashley’s not happy about losing. Evan, you’d better comfort her when you get home.” On the drive home, I didn’t say a word. I felt drained. Evan glanced at me. “It’s just a little money. Don’t be a sore loser. People will think you can’t handle it.” 6 I’d asked Evan to come home early. He was usually home by eight on the dot. Tonight, I waited until eleven. He broke his promise. When he finally walked in, I was sitting on the couch, waiting. “You’re home.” He looked exhausted and mumbled a reply. “Why aren’t you in bed?” I forced a smile. “Don’t you remember? I told you we needed to talk.” His expression finally turned serious. I was about to speak. “Today…” His phone rang, cutting me off. He answered it immediately. We weren’t far apart, and I could hear the woman’s voice clearly. It was Chloe. “I’m free now. You can come over… the hotel… room number is…” Evan hung up and turned to leave. “I have something to do. We can talk some other time.” I called out to his retreating back. “Are you going to see Chloe?” I can’t keep things in. I had to say it. He stopped and turned to look at me. “You know?” I stood there, frozen. “It was on the news. It’s hard not to.” His phone rang again. “Hello… Be careful on your way over. Avoid the paparazzi… Okay.” His voice was gentle. I bit my lip. “Don’t you have anything to say to me?” He walked out the door. “There’s nothing to explain. It is what it is.” Evan didn’t come home that night. In three years, no matter how busy he was, he always came home to sleep. This was the first time. 7 The next day, Evan still wasn’t back. But Chloe was. She showed up at my door with a triumphant smile. “Ashley, long time no see.” She walked in without waiting for an invitation. “Married all these years, and you never invited me over.” That was rich. We were classmates, but we were never friends. And given her current relationship with Evan, she was clearly here to gloat. “How do you know where I live?” She wandered around the room. “Evan told me, of course.” She walked up to me, a smug look on her face. “Where’s his room? I’m here to pick up some of his things to take to his office.” My face was a mask of cold fury. “You were with him all last night?” She nodded, completely unconcerned. “Obviously.” The audacity. “When did this start?” Chloe pretended to think. “Let’s see… about six months ago.” Six months ago. When she suddenly made her comeback, showered with amazing opportunities. No doubt, all thanks to Evan. She smiled at me. “Don’t worry, Ashley. You’ll always be Mrs. Evans. I’m just here to grab a few things.” I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “I’ll have his things sent to his office. You can leave now.” Chloe just shrugged. “Fine. I’ll go. Evan said I’m not supposed to overexert myself lately.” She deliberately placed a hand on her stomach. I clenched my fists. A flash of memory: me, choking down that bitter herbal medicine, the taste coating my tongue. As she was leaving, Chloe offered some “friendly” advice. “You know, Ashley, you were the star of our class. And look at you now. A woman needs her own career. If you rely on a man, you’ll end up with nothing.” 8 I had the divorce papers sent to Evan’s office. Then I sent him a text. “Sign them. It’s for the best.” I packed my things, found a new apartment, and moved out. While I was moving, his mom called. “Ashley, a friend of mine told me about this amazing psychic…” “I’ll take you to see him.” It wasn’t a question. It was a command. For years, I had dutifully accompanied her on her quest for a grandchild, seeing countless doctors, drinking endless concoctions. I was under so much stress, and Evan didn’t seem to notice or care. And even now, his mom still thought it was my fault, never once considering that the problem might lie with her son. “Mom, Evan and I are divorced.” I hung up. It was for the best. He never loved me anyway. I was the only one trying. Now he had a new girlfriend, so why should I keep trying? After I moved into my new place, I posted a sexy mirror selfie in my lingerie on Instagram. “Husband’s not home, all alone and lonely. Looking for a good time. Any takers?” I rarely posted, and when I did, it was usually set to “close friends only.” And never a lingerie pic. The comments flooded in. “??? What’s going on? You two broke up?!” “Ashley, are you okay?!” “Hey there 😉 can I take you up on that offer?” I replied to them all with the same message. “Divorced. His loss.” My phone immediately started blowing up with calls. The first was from my best friend, Gina. She was a film director’s assistant. When I got married, everyone was happy for me. Except her. “I don’t approve!” she’d yelled. “Ashley, you’re supposed to be the star of my first movie! You can’t get married!” While I was on the phone with her, complaining, I refreshed my Instagram feed. I saw a new post from Chloe. A picture of a sonogram. The baby was healthy. The caption: “For you, Mommy and Daddy will clear away any obstacles.” I laughed and went back to my own post. The comments were full of nosy questions. “Why the sudden divorce?” “OMG, this is so out of the blue!” I typed out the reason. “He can’t get it up.” A second after I posted it, a ‘like’ notification popped up. It was from Evan. 9 The divorce papers went unanswered. After I spread the rumor about his impotence, besides that one ‘like’, he didn’t even call me. He didn’t care that I was acting out. He didn’t come looking for me. It was as if I never existed. Gina stayed on the phone with me all night. “I may not be a big shot, but I’ve been in this industry for three years. There’s a supporting role in a new movie auditioning in a few days. I can get you a spot.” Chloe was right about one thing. With no man in my life, I was free to focus on my career. Even though I hadn’t acted in three years, I still had the skills. I was auditioning for a minor role, and Gina was in the room, cheering me on. “You were amazing, Ash! You nailed it!” The casting director looked over my resume, frowning. “We’ll let you know,” he said, a note of regret in his voice. As I was leaving the building, I ran into Chloe, surrounded by her entourage. She was wearing sunglasses, a smug smile on her face. She stopped in front of me. “Well, well, Ashley. Long time no see. Auditioning?” “What do you want?” I said, my voice cold. Chloe glanced at the script in my hand. “You don’t actually think you’ll get the part just because you can act, do you?” She shook her head, amused. “This is a big production. Every single role is already bought and paid for. There’s no room for you.” Everyone knows how Hollywood works. Today’s audition was just a formality. Gina shot her a dirty look. “What, are you here to audition too, Ms. Big Shot?” Chloe scoffed. “Of course not. I’m the second female lead. I’m here to sign my contract.” I forced a polite smile. “Congratulations.” She grinned, enjoying her victory. “Are you mad? Top of the class, and you’re still just an extra.” She leaned in closer. “Or… you could beg me. I could probably get the director to give you a small part. After all, you were Mrs. Evans… past tense, of course.” 10 A few days later, I got the call. “I’m sorry, Ms. Miller. You didn’t get the part.” I was silent. I already knew this was coming. “Okay, thank you.” I was about to hang up when she said, “The role you auditioned for has been filled, but we do have another, smaller role available. The director saw your audition tape and really liked you. Would you be interested?” My spirits lifted. A role was a role. I wasn’t going to be picky. “Yes, absolutely. When do I start?” My part wasn’t big, so I didn’t join the production until a few weeks into filming. The set was tense. Gina, in her role as the director’s assistant, snuck over to me. “You’re late, Ash. You missed the drama.” Just then, I heard someone yelling from across the set. “Who ordered this lunch?! It’s so greasy! How am I supposed to eat this?!” It was Chloe again. I hadn’t even been on set for an hour and there was already gossip. She threw her lunch on the ground and started screaming at a young production assistant. Gina clicked her tongue, feeling sorry for the PA. “You have no idea. It’s only been a few weeks, and Chloe and Maya are already at each other’s throats. They’ve been fighting nonstop, and it’s making the set a nightmare.” Maya was the lead actress. She also had powerful backers, but she was a talented actress. She’d won a major award for a supporting role right out of college and a best actress award a few years later. I’d met her once before, at one of those mahjong games. She was the younger sister of one of the wives. An ice queen, with the awards to back up her arrogant attitude. Today, I had a scene with her. I was in costume and makeup, ready to go, but Maya was nowhere to be found. The director was fuming, glaring at the producer, who looked equally uncomfortable. “I’ll go get her,” he said, scurrying off. An hour later, Maya finally emerged from her trailer and slowly made her way to the set. She’d obviously heard about what had happened. The PA who’d been yelled at was hiding in a corner, crying. Maya looked over at Chloe, who was sitting next to the assistant director. “Can’t fight your own battles, so you take it out on the little guys? How pathetic.” Chloe ignored her. “Some people think they’re so great, but they’re just like me, riding on someone else’s coattails.” Everyone on set knew they both had powerful connections. The Chen family and the Evans family. No one wanted to get on the wrong side of either of them, so they just stayed out of it. But to be as blatant about sleeping your way to the top as Chloe was… that was something else. Maya took off her sunglasses and finally noticed me standing there. A wicked smile spread across her face. She called out to Chloe. “Isn’t that Evan’s precious little trophy wife? Are you the one I’m working with today?”

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My boyfriend and I both got acute appendicitis after a bad meal. His parents drove 300 miles overnight to be with him. His mom sat by his bed, crying, while his dad rushed around paying bills and picking up prescriptions. My parents, who live in the same city, finally called the next day. Their voices were full of concern. “Oh, sweetie, you scared Mommy to death! How did this happen? You poor thing. “Is the surgery over? That’s good! Well, honey, we’re not going to come down. Your brother is a senior this year, and we can’t leave him. Insurance should cover most of it, right? “Do you have enough money? If not… maybe you could ask a coworker for a loan?” 1 I was on a video call with my boyfriend, Michael, when a pain like a power drill shot through my stomach. On the other end of the line, his voice was weak. “Jenna, my stomach is killing me. I think I need to go to the hospital…” “Me… too…” The pain made me break out in a cold sweat. I could barely hold my phone. We both ended up calling 911 and, in a strange twist of fate, were admitted to the same floor of the same hospital. Michael was in room 308, I was in 312. The surgery went well. When the anesthesia wore off, I felt like I’d been hit by a truck. The nurse said I needed someone to stay with me, at least for the first night. “Should I call your parents?” she asked kindly. I shook my head and fumbled for my own phone. “Mom…” my voice was as faint as a whisper. “Jenna! What happened?! Your aunt said you were in the hospital? You had surgery?” My mom’s voice was frantic. A lump formed in my throat. At the end of the day, she was still my mom. She still cared. “Yeah, acute appendicitis. They operated last night. I’m feeling a lot better now.” “Oh, my God, you scared me to death! What happened? Did you eat something bad? Oh, my poor baby girl, you’ve been through so much!” She went on and on, her voice full of worry. The self-pity I’d been feeling washed over me, and I almost started crying. “Mom…” “Well, as long as the surgery is over, that’s all that matters! Oh, you kids… you’re giving your father and me a heart attack!” she continued. I gathered my courage. “Mom, the nurse said I need someone to stay with me tonight…” I was hoping she’d say, “We’re on our way.” But her tone shifted. “Jenna, honey, look… the surgery’s done, you’re fine… It’s just… it’s a real hassle for us to get down there. And your brother, Tyler, has his SATs coming up. This is a critical time for him. We can’t even let him eat out for a single meal. We’re just… we’re swamped.” My heart sank. “Oh… it’s okay. You guys are busy.” My own voice sounded hollow. “Oh, good! I’m glad you understand! Oh, by the way,” she said, as if just remembering, “the surgery, insurance will cover it, right? Do you have enough money? If not, maybe you could ask a friend or a coworker for a loan to tide you over?” After I hung up, I stared at the ceiling, the tears finally falling. The woman in the bed next to me looked over, concerned. “Honey, you don’t have anyone to stay with you? I can call for a private nurse if you want.” I shook my head, my voice hoarse. “Thank you, ma’am, but I’ll be fine.” Just then, the door creaked open. It was Michael, slowly making his way in, pushing his IV stand. “Jenna, how are you feeling? My parents are here. They brought a ton of food. Want some?” Behind him stood a middle-aged couple. The woman was carrying two insulated containers, and the man had a bag of fruit. “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Davis…” I struggled to sit up. “Oh, honey, don’t move!” Mrs. Davis rushed over and gently pushed me back down. “Michael told us you both got sick at the same time! What are the odds? How are you feeling? Still in pain?” I shook my head, my nose starting to sting again. “I made some chicken soup,” she said, opening one of the containers. A rich, delicious aroma filled the room. “I simmered it all morning. It’s very nourishing. You should have some.” “Thank you, Mrs. Davis. You really didn’t have to.” “Nonsense! Michael told us you’re here all by yourself, with no family nearby. It’s our pleasure to help.” She ladled some soup into a bowl, carefully blew on it to cool it down, and handed it to me. My hand trembled as I took the bowl. Through the steam, I saw the genuine concern in her eyes, and I wanted to cry. “You’re so kind,” I whispered. “Silly girl. When your parents aren’t here, we’re your parents.” She patted my head. “If you need anything, just let us know. Don’t be shy.” Mr. Davis was peeling an apple, expertly cutting it into small slices. “It’s tough for you young people, working so far from home. It’s when you’re sick that you need someone the most. Michael’s mom took a week off to take care of him, and I’m using my vacation time.” I listened, a mix of emotions churning inside me. We were both their children, in a way. Michael’s parents could take a week off to care for their son, but mine couldn’t even be bothered to visit. 2 That afternoon, my mom called again. “Jenna, have you eaten? What did you have?” I looked at the chicken soup and rice Mrs. Davis had just brought me. “Yes,” I said quietly. “The family of the patient next door brought me something.” “Oh, that’s wonderful!” Her voice brightened. “See? There are still good people in the world! Make sure you thank them properly!” “I will.” “By the way, how much did the surgery cost? How much will insurance cover?” “The deposit was $10,000. I’m not sure how much will be reimbursed yet.” “$10,000?!” Her voice shot up. “Why is it so expensive?! Isn’t it a minor surgery?” “It’s laparoscopic now,” I explained. “The equipment is expensive, and so is the anesthesia.” “That’s highway robbery!” she said, her voice full of indignation. “Do you have enough money? If not, you need to let us know. I’ll have your father borrow some.” A small flicker of warmth ignited in my chest. “I have enough for now. I should get a lot of it back from insurance.” “Oh, good, good,” she said, relieved. “Your brother was just saying he wanted to video call you, but he was afraid of bothering you.” “It’s okay. I’m feeling much better.” I actually wanted to see my brother. When the call connected, Tyler’s face appeared on the screen. “Hey, sis. You feeling better?” “Much better. Thanks for asking.” I was touched. He was finally showing some concern. “Hey, sis,” he said, leaning closer to the screen. “Check out my new kicks. The new Kobe retros! They’re limited edition!” I stared at the shoes on his feet, which had to have cost at least $200. I didn’t know what to say. “Aren’t they sick?” he asked, still showing them off. “They’re nice,” I said, my voice flat. “Mom bought them for me!” he said proudly. “A reward for my mock SAT scores!” From the other side of the screen, I heard my mom’s voice. “Tyler, your sister is sick! Why are you talking about that now? Jenna, honey, you get some rest. We won’t bother you.” The call ended. I stared at the black screen, a heavy feeling in my chest. Mrs. Davis came back, this time with a bowl of congee. “Jenna, have some of this for dinner. It’s easy to digest.” “Thank you, Mrs. Davis. You’re going to so much trouble.” “No trouble at all!” she said with a smile. “Michael’s dad is with him. I’m just sitting around anyway.” She watched me eat, then asked, “Jenna, when are your parents coming? Do you need me to help you contact them?” I shook my head. “They’re… not coming. My brother has his SATs soon. They can’t get away.” Mrs. Davis paused for a second, then patted my hand. “Of course. That’s a big deal. Well, if you need anything at all these next few days, you just let me know. Don’t you hesitate.” That night, the pain from my incision kept me awake. I pressed the call button for the nurse. It took a while for her to come, and the pain was making me sweat. The woman in the next bed saw my distress and pressed the button again for me. “There’s only one nurse on duty at night. She’s swamped. Are you sure you don’t have anyone coming to stay with you?” I shook my head, biting my lip to keep from crying out. Just then, the door creaked open. It was Mrs. Davis. “Jenna, you’re still awake? I heard a noise.” “The incision hurts,” I said weakly. “I called for the nurse, but she hasn’t come yet.” “Oh, dear. You wait right here. I’ll go find her.” She left, and a few minutes later, she returned with the nurse. “Come on, dear, this child is in a lot of pain.” The nurse gave me a painkiller, and the pain slowly started to fade. Mrs. Davis sat by my bed, holding my hand. “Feeling better? Does it still hurt?” I shook my head, the tears starting to fall again. “Much better. Thank you, Mrs. Davis.” “Silly girl. You don’t have to thank me.” She wiped my tears away. “Go to sleep now. I’ll stay here with you for a while.” In that moment, I wished so badly that she was my mother. 3 The next morning, the phone woke me up. It was my mom. “Jenna, feeling better? Did you sleep well?” I looked around the empty room. “Much better,” I said quietly. “That’s good,” she said, her voice cheerful. “Guess what? Your father bought a huge fish for your brother yesterday and made soup to help his brain! Tyler loved it!” I was silent, not knowing how to respond. “By the way, did you find out how much insurance will cover? If you get a lot back, you can just use that money for now. If it’s not enough, let us know.” “Okay.” “Alright, well, you get some rest. I’m going to make your brother some lunch!” The call ended. I stared at the ceiling, a cold feeling spreading through me. Michael came to visit, pushing his IV stand. “How are you? Better?” I nodded. “Much better. Where are your parents?” “My dad went back to work, and my mom went to the grocery store.” He sat down in the chair by my bed. “When are your parents coming?” “They’re not,” I said quietly. Michael frowned. “Why not? You still need someone to take care of you.” “My brother has his SATs. They can’t get away.” I said the words, but I didn’t even believe them myself. “The SATs are important, but you live in the same city. One of them could have stayed home, and the other could have at least brought you a meal.” I forced a smile. “It’s okay. I can take care of myself.” “Take care of yourself?” Michael pointed at my hand, still connected to the IV. “You can barely even eat by yourself.” Just then, Mrs. Davis returned with a big bag of groceries. “Jenna, you’re awake! I bought you some fruit and snacks. For when you get hungry.” She pulled out a fancy-looking container. “This is protein powder. For post-op recovery. It helped Michael recover really fast.” “Mrs. Davis, that’s too expensive. I can’t take it.” “Take it!” she insisted. “I already bought it, and I can’t return it. It’s hard for you young people, all alone out here. We have to look out for each other.” I took the container, my eyes welling up again. At lunchtime, while Mrs. Davis was serving us food, my parents video-called. “Jenna, have you eaten? What are you having?” my mom’s face appeared on the screen. I showed her the nutritious meal Mrs. Davis had made. “The family of the patient next door made it for me.” “Oh, that looks delicious! See? There are still good people in the world!” my mom said with a laugh. “Tyler is having a feast today! Your dad made him lamb stew! It’s very nourishing!” The camera turned to their dining table, which was laden with food. In the center was a large pot of steaming lamb stew. My brother was stuffing his face, grease dripping from his chin. “Hey, sis, look how tender this lamb is!” he said, showing off to the camera. A wave of resentment washed over me. “Mom, I could use some nourishment too…” “Oh, honey, you have the patient’s family taking care of you!” my mom said dismissively. “This is a critical time for your brother. He needs to eat well! Okay, gotta go! The lamb will get cold!” The video ended. I stared at my phone, my hand trembling. Mrs. Davis had seen the whole thing. She sighed and patted my shoulder. “Jenna, honey, I’ll make you lamb stew tonight.” 4 That afternoon, the pain in my incision got worse, and I started running a low-grade fever. The doctor said it was a post-op infection and that I needed a stronger antibiotic, one that wasn’t well-covered by insurance. The nurse brought me the bill. “You’ll need to make another deposit of $5,000.” I didn’t have that much cash, and my credit card was maxed out. After a lot of hesitation, I called home. “Mom, my incision is infected. I need a different antibiotic, and insurance doesn’t cover much of it. I need to pay another $5,000… I don’t have enough. Could you… could you lend me some?” I asked, my voice small. There was a moment of silence on the other end, then my mom’s frantic voice. “How much? $5,000? Why do we have to pay again?! Didn’t we already pay $10,000?” “It’s a better antibiotic. I have an infection…” I explained. “An infection? How could you be so careless!” Her voice was accusatory. “Did you not listen to the doctor? Did you move around too much? Did you eat something you shouldn’t have?” “I didn’t…” I said, my voice full of hurt. “You kids are so much trouble!” she complained. “And now we have to spend more money! I swear…” My dad seemed to take the phone. “Jenna, it’s not that we don’t want to help, but we just paid for Tyler’s SAT prep course for next semester. It’s a lot of money. Can you… can you figure something out? Ask a coworker? Or maybe talk to the hospital about a payment plan?” My mom added from the background, “Yeah, talk to the doctor! Can’t you just use a cheaper antibiotic? You’re young, you’re not that fragile!” My heart turned to ice. “Dad, Mom, I’m your daughter. I’m sick. I need your help…” “We know you’re sick, but what do you want us to do?!” my dad said, his voice full of irritation. “You’ve been working for years. You don’t even have $5,000 saved up? How do you manage your money?” “I send money home every month…” I said quietly. “And how much is that?! Do you think your brother’s education is free? Do you think the household runs on air?” his voice grew angrier. “Look, we’ll see what we can do. We’ll call you back later!” He hung up. I clutched my phone, the tears streaming down my face. Michael was standing in the doorway. He had obviously heard everything. He walked in, his face grim. “Jenna, your parents…” “They’ll call back later,” I interrupted, trying to fool myself. “They just don’t have the cash on hand. They need some time to get it.” Michael sat on my bed and took my hand. “Jenna, wake up. They’re not going to send the money. Did you hear what they said? Is that how parents are supposed to talk to their sick daughter?” I shook my head, the tears falling faster. “No, they’re just… they’re just worried… Tyler really does need the money…” “Tyler needs money, but you don’t?” Michael’s voice was full of frustration. “You’re lying in a hospital bed with an infection and a fever! You need this medicine! This is life or death!” “It’s not life or death, it’s just an infection…” I was still making excuses for them. Michael took a deep breath, trying to calm down. “Jenna, I know you don’t want to face it. But look at how my parents have been treating me these past few days, and how your parents have been treating you. Isn’t the difference obvious?” I was silent. I knew he was right, but I didn’t want to admit it. “Okay, how about this.” Michael took out his phone. “I’ll call your parents and tell them I’m lending you the money, and that I’ll pay them back. Okay?” “No!” I said quickly. “That will just make them angrier…” Michael looked me in the eye. “Jenna, let’s just try it. Just once. You call them one more time. Tell them the hospital is demanding the money, and that you can’t get the medicine without it. Let’s just see what they do. Please?” I hesitated, my mind at war with itself. I knew he was right, but I was terrified of confirming the horrible truth. “I’m scared…” I whispered. “You have to face it, Jenna,” Michael said, his hands on my shoulders. “Otherwise, they’ll keep treating you like this forever. You deserve better. You deserve to be loved, and cared for, and valued.” I looked into his determined eyes and finally nodded. “Okay. I’ll call.”

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The shove was what woke me. Greg was shaking my shoulder in the dark. “Leah,” he whispered, his voice urgent. “Aiden got into some trouble. We need sixty thousand dollars.” I blinked, the fog of sleep slowly clearing. “Who’s Aiden?” His face was a mask of shamelessness in the moonlight. “I didn’t want you to go through another pregnancy, so… I had Tiffany carry him for me. He’s not yours by birth, but he’s still your son. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of in the future.” *Crack.* The sound of my palm connecting with his cheek echoed in the silent bedroom. “Greg,” I seethed, “what the hell did you just say?” He grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron. “Don’t be hysterical! He’s my son, and you’re my wife. It’s your duty to help raise him.” He stormed out, slamming the door behind him, leaving me shaking in the darkness. Twenty years of marriage, all culminating in this casual, entitled betrayal. In the end, I made him lose everything. And he begged me, on his knees, to take him back. 1 The next morning, I was at the local police precinct, slapping our marriage certificate on the counter. “I need to see any records of dependents listed under my husband, Greg Miller.” The officer looked up. “Ma’am, I can’t release that information without his consent.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. He didn’t ask for my consent when he demanded the money last night. “Officer,” I said, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands, “I’m his wife. A child he had with another woman is in trouble and needs a payout. Don’t I have a right to know the truth?” The officer conferred with his partner, then typed something into his computer. He printed a document and slid it across the counter. My fingers trembled as I picked it up. Greg’s name. Another woman’s name—Tiffany Bell. And a birth certificate for their son. The world went fuzzy. The officer steadied me. “Ma’am, are you alright?” “I’m fine,” I lied, pushing down the rage. “I want to report my husband for dissipation of marital assets. And I need to file an emergency motion to freeze our joint accounts.” The officer nodded. “You should calm down first, ma’am. You still have a shared legal responsibility in this case with the boy, Aiden. And for the financial claims, you’ll need evidence of him spending marital funds on her.” Evidence? Wasn’t a secret child enough evidence of everything? I walked out of the precinct in a daze. A moment later, my phone buzzed. It was Greg. “Where’s the money? Get it to me now! Sixty grand! Don’t make me ask again!” “I want to see her,” I said. “Who?” “The cheap homewrecker. You want the money? Bring her to the Starbucks on Main Street. I want to see the face of the woman shameless enough to sleep with another woman’s husband.” “Leah, I swear to God, don’t push me…” I hung up. Just hearing his voice made me want to commit a felony. I looked down at my phone’s lock screen—a picture of my daughter, Maya. Her smile blurred through my tears. Maya, who was always so considerate it broke my heart. Never asking for anything, wearing her school uniforms until they were faded and worn. Every dollar we saved, every sacrifice we made… that bastard had been funneling it to his other family. I turned and marched into the nearest jewelry store and cashed out the emergency fund I’d kept in a separate account. “I’ll take these three gold bracelets, please.” Holding the heavy, solid weight in my hand, a small measure of control returned. What kind of life had I been living? Pinching pennies so that animal could live it up with someone else? 2 I spotted them the second I walked into Starbucks. Greg and Tiffany. She was young, of course. Perfect skin, blonde hair, the kind of beauty that makes you feel invisible. In the reflection of the window, my own tired face looked like a different species. Greg saw me and dropped her hand like it was hot. “Leah… you’re here.” I sat down, my eyes fixed on her. “Let’s cut the crap. What exactly did your bastard child do?” Her smile froze and shattered. Greg cleared his throat nervously. “Leah, keep your voice down. Let’s not make a scene.” “A scene?” I laughed, loud and sharp. “You’re here with your mistress to demand money for your love child, and you’re worried about *my* image?” I turned back to Tiffany. “Honey, I almost feel sorry for you. You throw away your youth and your reputation for this? And now you’re begging his wife for sixty grand? You’re really driving down the market rate for girls in your line of work.” “Enough!” Greg slammed his hand on the table. “Stop with the sarcasm! Aiden is our collective problem now, and we need to solve it!” Tiffany immediately started dabbing at her eyes. “I know you hate me, Leah… but the child is innocent. He’s been at the station for a whole day. He’s always been so sensitive, he can’t handle this…” Greg grabbed my arm. “Just transfer the money, goddammit!” I calmly pulled my arm free. “I know you’re in a hurry. But first, you should slow down. Tiffany here is young enough to be your daughter. Are you sure Aiden is even yours? It’d be a shame to get played for a fool at your age.” “You—!” Greg’s face turned crimson. He looked around the crowded cafe and forced himself to swallow his anger. Perfect. That little hesitation told me everything. They hadn’t done a paternity test. He took a deep breath. “Leah, I know you’re just saying things to hurt me. But we can’t wait on this. Their lawyer said if we don’t pay by tomorrow, they’re pressing charges.” I stirred my latte, taking my time. “If you’re so sure he’s yours… let’s get a paternity test. I know the head of forensics at County General. We could have the results by tomorrow if we rush it.” “No!” Tiffany blurted out, knocking over her coffee. 3 “Greg, we can’t use a hospital she knows!” Tiffany said, frantically mopping up the spill. “What if she tampers with the results? We’ll go to an independent lab. A professional one.” Greg stared at her for a long moment, then slowly pulled away. “Leah’s right. We need a test. I’ll be damned if I’m raising another man’s kid.” I picked up my purse. “Let me know how it goes. In the meantime, I’ll need to liquidate some investments. Sixty thousand isn’t exactly pocket change. I need to be sure.” As I walked away, I heard Tiffany’s tearful voice. “Greggy… you don’t actually doubt me, do you? After all these years…?” The glass door swung shut, and my phone rang. It was Greg. “Leah, I’m not coming home for a few days. Tiffany’s a wreck. Can you pack a bag for me? I’ll swing by and get it later.” I clenched the phone, said nothing, and hung up. At home, I went straight to his closet. I stuffed his old, pilled t-shirts, faded boxers, and holey socks into a duffel bag. After dropping it with the doorman, I sent a text: `Bag’s at the front desk. Maya’s coming home tomorrow. Stay away.` His reply was instant: `Okay. We’ll talk when this is over. I miss Maya.` I laughed out loud. You miss her? No. You don’t deserve to. I spent the rest of the evening taking pictures of his prized possessions—his vintage vinyl collection, his signed baseball memorabilia, his expensive bourbon, his camera gear. I listed everything on eBay and Facebook Marketplace. Prices were slashed in half. Within an hour, buyers were swarming. I moved on to his designer jackets, his belts, his ski gear. Even his ratty old hoodies and sweatpants. Fine. He wanted me to take responsibility for his son. I would. Using his own assets. 4 It took three days, but I sold enough of his personal junk to raise the money, with a little extra. Using the information from the police report, I found out what Aiden had done. The six-year-old was playing with fireworks and set fire to a neighbor’s restored classic Mercedes. No one was hurt, but the sixty-thousand-dollar figure was accurate. Six years old. The number hit me like a physical blow. Greg’s affair had been going on for seven years. It started right after Maya started middle school. “If he gets into trouble again, am I still on the hook?” I asked my friend, a lawyer, sitting in her office. She adjusted her glasses. “During a marriage, debts incurred by one spouse are generally considered a joint responsibility. It’s hard to avoid.” “So what about my daughter? If something happens to her, is Tiffany responsible?” “Unfortunately, no. She’s not bound by marital law. In a legal sense, the affair gives her a twisted kind of ‘freedom.’” The irony was staggering. The loyal person is shackled by responsibility, while the one who caused all the pain walks free. All this marriage had given me was a piece of paper that could indebt me for the rest of my life. How was I supposed to protect Maya’s future? 5 Three days later, my phone rang before dawn. It was Greg, his voice electric with excitement. “Leah! The report’s back! Aiden’s my son! The Miller name will continue! You don’t have to worry anymore!” I bit my lip until I tasted blood. “Is that so? Then let’s meet.” “The money… you have it, right?” he asked, a hint of caution in his voice. “Don’t worry. I have it.” After hanging up, a wave of nausea washed over me. For twenty years, every cent in our accounts was a result of my careful planning. Ever since Greg started his ‘business venture’ a few years ago, he’d barely contributed. Maya took the bus to school to save on gas money. And now this parasite was demanding the savings we’d scraped together, to bail out another woman’s child. How could a person be so utterly without shame? We met at the same Starbucks. The first thing Greg did was demand I transfer the money. I stirred my coffee, looking at them both calmly. “The money isn’t the issue. But first, we need to discuss custody.” “What custody?” Greg frowned. Tiffany sat bolt upright. “Aiden is six and causing sixty thousand dollars in damages. Clearly, Tiffany isn’t equipped for the job. As the primary wife, I’m willing to legally adopt the boy and raise him properly.” Tiffany shrieked. “What? Are you insane? Adopt him? Who the hell do you think you are?” I ignored her, my gaze fixed on Greg. “You came to me when your secret son got into trouble. It’s time for you to show some good faith.” Tiffany panicked, grabbing Greg’s arm. “Honey! Aiden is my life! You promised you’d protect us! I swear I’ll be a better mother!” Greg wrung his hands. “Leah… can we discuss this after he’s out?” “No,” I said, my voice like steel. “If you insist on maintaining two households, that’s financial fraud against your primary family. I’m willing to overlook that, for Maya’s sake. But Aiden’s upbringing is not negotiable. What if next time it’s not a car he sets on fire, but a gas station?” I smiled faintly. “Greg, you’re forty-eight years old. What will you pay with then? Your life?” Tiffany’s face went white. “No! It won’t happen again! It was just… an accident…” “It was an accident because you were playing poker with your friends instead of watching your son, right?” She looked at me in horror. “You’ve been following me?” “Please,” I waved a dismissive hand. “You’re not worth my time. The police report mentioned it. It proves you’re not a capable parent. So…” I looked at Greg with mock affection. “Honey, thank you for being so considerate of my age and finding a young, simple-minded surrogate. I’ll forget the past. Your choice is simple: I press charges, or I adopt the boy.” 6 “Screw you!” Tiffany kicked her chair back. “Greg, are you mute? What about the divorce? You were supposed to divorce her!” I raised my eyebrows in fake surprise. “Divorce? Why would we divorce? Is my six-figure salary not enough to support this family? Or have I not been patient enough with you?” The entire cafe went silent. Greg’s eyes narrowed. “Leah… are you serious?” I swirled my coffee. “Of course. Tell me, do I qualify as a mother for your son?” My salary wasn’t quite that high, but I knew Greg. On the scale of money versus feelings, he would always, always choose money. Tiffany might be young, but seven years of her spending habits and a problem child had worn him down. The seven-year itch was a powerful thing. *Smack!* Greg hit the table. “If you’re so rich, then sixty grand is nothing to you! I’m asking you one last time, are you paying or not?” “I am,” I smiled, opening my banking app. “As soon as you both sign the adoption papers, the money is transferred.” Before Tiffany could explode, I delivered the final blow. “With me, the boy gets a legal home, a spot in the best school district, and I’ll send him to a private international academy. When he turns eighteen, he inherits one of our properties.” I looked straight at Tiffany. “And you? You not only shed the ‘mistress’ label, but your son becomes a legitimate heir. After all, you wouldn’t want his future to be tainted by a background check showing his birth mother was a homewrecker, would you?” Tiffany’s face was ashen. It’s funny. When the masks come off, it’s never the betrayed who panic the most. With the upper hand secured, I pulled a business card from my purse. “This is a client of mine who does private loans. If you need a bridge loan, give her a call. I can even co-sign.” I walked out. I knew Greg was too paranoid to use someone I recommended. But my trap was already set. I’d already sent his contact information to every high-risk lender in the state. Soon, a friend who worked in finance called me. “Leah, it’s not looking good. Greg has already leveraged every asset in his name. Getting a three-million-dollar loan is going to be tough.” *Three million?* The number stunned me. But then it clicked. He wouldn’t have come to me unless he was truly desperate. “Here’s the plan,” I said. “Convince him to sign our shared properties over to Maya. As her legal guardian, he’ll then be able to use her assets as collateral.” “Tell him our main house can secure a five-million-dollar loan. Inflate the value of the other two as well.” My friend paused. “I understand.” For years, Greg had been trying to mortgage our three properties. But my name was on every deed. Without my signature, he was powerless. Now, I was giving him a new path. The board was set. Let’s see if he’d make the big gamble. 7 Late that night, a text from Greg popped up: `Honey, I’ll be home later to talk about the adoption. I have to put on a show for her during the day, otherwise she makes a scene.` I replied without emotion: `Okay. I’ll wait.` Then I turned on the security cameras. He rushed in less than thirty minutes later, pulling me into a tight hug. “Leah, I’m so sorry you’ve had to go through this. I wouldn’t have spent any time with her if it wasn’t for Aiden… It was a moment of weakness. My heart is only with you and Maya, you have to believe me!” I watched his performance, feeling his shallow, anxious breaths against my cheek. “I’ve thought about it,” he continued. “Aiden’s problems shouldn’t be your burden. Tiffany and I will handle the sixty grand. But Maya is my daughter, too. I want to sign the houses over to her, as my way of making it up to her. What do you think?” I feigned a wave of emotional relief. “As long as your heart is with this family, that’s all that matters. Maya and I will always be here for you.” He looked like a man who’d just been granted a pardon. As he reached for the closet, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and immediately grabbed his jacket. “Uh… emergency at work. Don’t forget to pick up Maya tomorrow. I’ll see you at the title office!” I smiled as he left. He couldn’t wait another minute. Neither could I. The next day, we were the first ones at the county clerk’s office. The transfers were done in under an hour. The second the ink was dry on the third deed, his phone rang. He glanced at it, then scooped up the new deeds. “Something came up at the office, I have to run! Thanks for everything!” He was gone before the words finished echoing. I watched him go, a cold smile on my lips. The final act was about to begin.

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A parent was three hours late, so I bought her son a Happy Meal. I accepted her Venmo payment for it. That’s when she went on the attack. “You know, you’re not very savvy, are you?” she texted. When I sent back a “?”, she continued. “First, looking after my son is part of your job as his teacher.” “Second, you didn’t even send me a receipt.” “And finally, who knows how many of those chicken nuggets *you* ate?” I immediately sent the $12 back. And later, whenever another parent was running late and asked me to watch their child, I would point to Leo Vance’s mom and say: “I can’t. And it’s because of her.” 1 Sharon Vance was a very busy woman. The first week of school, she was half an hour late because of a “team welcome mixer.” The second week, an hour late for a “department dinner.” The third, another half hour for an “important client meeting.” It wasn’t that I hadn’t tried talking to her. School lets out at 3:15 p.m., which is an awkward time for most working families. We offer an after-school program until 5:00, but even that was too early for Sharon. I tried to suggest coordinating with her husband or another family member. She just crossed her arms, looking at me like I was a naive college kid. “Emily, you’re new to this. You probably don’t understand the pressures on a modern career woman.” Her voice dripped with a faint, unearned superiority. “No serious company lets its employees leave at three. I’m building a career, achieving my potential. I’m a woman who’s leaning in, not a 1950s housewife tied to a stove.” She paused, as if lecturing me. “You need to be more understanding. You’re young now, but one day you’ll have a family, and you’ll realize how hard it is to balance it all.” Her logic was dizzying. “What about… the child’s father?” I asked patiently. “Can’t he pick Leo up sometimes?” Sharon scoffed as if I’d told the world’s stupidest joke. “Since when do dads do school pickup? A man’s job is to be the provider. He brings home the paycheck; that’s his part. The day-to-day stuff? That’s for us women to handle.” I stared at her, speechless. One second she was a trailblazing feminist, the next she was quoting from a dusty, traditionalist playbook. She was a Schrödinger’s independent woman—whatever definition suited her in the moment. The conversation went nowhere. She didn’t see a problem with her behavior, only with my lack of “real-world” understanding. After that, her lateness only got worse. 2 And today, right on cue, my phone buzzed at 3:05 p.m. Sharon’s face popped up in a text. `Emily, we’re on a hard deadline for a huge project. Can’t get away. You’ll have to watch Leo for a bit. Thx.` I stared at the message, a vein throbbing in my temple. I really didn’t want to do it again. Every time she “inconvenienced” me, it meant another one or two hours of my own unpaid time tacked onto the end of an exhausting workday. I started typing a refusal, a polite message about having my own plans. But my thumb hovered over the send button. I remembered the last time I’d tried to say no. `What do you mean, you can’t? It’s your job to look after your students. Is this the kind of person the school district is hiring? I have half a mind to file a formal complaint about your lack of professionalism.` A bald-faced threat. She knew that as a new teacher, a mark on my permanent record was my biggest fear. I closed my eyes, took a long breath, and deleted my message. I typed two words back. `Okay.` As I put my phone down, I looked out at the kids playing on the lawn, a wave of sadness washing over me. Leo, the quiet little boy who always sat in the corner, what did he do to deserve a mother like this? 3 The final bell rang, and children exploded from the classroom like confetti. Leo didn’t move. He just calmly took out his homework and started working at his desk. He was used to waiting. But today was different. Today, Sharon outdid herself. By 4:00, the last of the parents were gone. By 5:00, the after-school program kids had all been picked up. The huge campus was eerily quiet, leaving just me and Leo. The setting sun cast long, lonely shadows across the empty classroom. No word from Sharon. I texted her: `Sharon, do you have an ETA?` A minute later, my phone lit up. Her reply was a single number: `1`. That was it. No explanation. Did it mean she’d received the message? Or that she’d be one hour? I waited. At 6:00, the sky was dark. The campus lights flickered on, illuminating the deserted playground in a pale, ghostly glow. The night janitor, a kind old man named Sal, was starting his rounds to lock up. He poked his head into my classroom. “Ms. Carter? Still here?” I gave him a weak smile and pointed at Leo. “Waiting for a parent.” Sal sighed. “Kids these days… Well, you be safe. I’ll lock this building up last.” After he left, the silence was even deeper. Then, a loud growl broke the quiet. Leo was clutching his stomach, his face red. “I’m hungry, Ms. Carter,” he mumbled. It hit me then. It had been hours since the 11:30 a.m. lunch period. Of course he was starving. I grabbed my phone again. `Sharon, your son is hungry. When are you coming?` This time, not even a `1`. My message disappeared into the void. I called her. It rang and rang, then went to voicemail. I called again. She declined the call. 4 Rage, hot and sharp, shot through me. What kind of parent just abandons their kid at school, ignores messages, and hangs up the phone? I looked at Leo’s pale, hungry face, and the anger was replaced by a surge of pity. I couldn’t let him sit here starving. “Leo, what sounds good to eat? My treat,” I said, forcing a cheerful tone. His eyes lit up. “McDonald’s? Can we get McDonald’s?” “You bet.” I took his hand and we walked out into the cool night air. I bought him a Happy Meal and watched him devour it, a knot of complicated emotions in my chest. Afterwards, we went back to the school. I couldn’t take him to my apartment; if Sharon showed up and we weren’t there, it would just be another nightmare. We waited in the main office lobby. Sal brought us a couple of chairs. The clock on the wall ticked by. 7:00… 8:00… 9:00… My phone battery was at ten percent. I had sent Sharon over twenty texts and called a dozen times, all unanswered. My patience was completely gone. Just as I was about to call the police, a white BMW SUV screeched to a halt at the curb, its high beams blinding. A stiletto heel clicked on the pavement. Sharon had arrived. A cloud of expensive perfume and stale wine washed over me as she approached. Her face was flushed. She didn’t look like she’d been closing a deal; she looked like she’d just left happy hour. She saw us, and instead of apologizing, she scowled. “Emily, what is your problem? I told you I was busy! Why were you blowing up my phone? I was in the middle of a multi-million dollar negotiation! You almost cost me everything!” Her voice was sharp, accusatory, as if I had committed some terrible crime. I looked at her, then at the terrified boy beside me, and at the vast, silent darkness of the school. The fury I had suppressed for five hours finally erupted. “Sharon!” I stood up, my voice shaking with anger. “It is nine o’clock! Nine! It has been almost six hours since school let out! You left your seven-year-old son here, ignored every call and text, and you have the nerve to be angry with *me*?” “Is your multi-million dollar deal more important than your child’s well-being? Do you know he was so hungry his stomach was growling? Do you know the janitor has been waiting for us to leave so he can go home to his own family? Do you know that I, a person who is not related to you in any way, have been sitting here in the cold with your son for hours?” The words tumbled out of me, leaving me breathless. 5 Sharon was taken aback by my outburst, but she recovered quickly. “Don’t you yell at me. Is that how a professional educator behaves? I leave my son at school, and it is the school’s responsibility to keep him safe. You’re his teacher. Looking after him is your *job*. What, did a little overtime hurt you so much?” Her audacity was stunning. “I am his teacher, not your personal nanny!” I said, my voice low and dangerous. “And I’m telling you right now, this is the last time. Starting tomorrow, I will not be working one minute of free overtime for you. If you are not here at 3:15, I will leave your son with the front office staff and I will go home. I have forty other students. I also have a life!” “You…” She was sputtering, her face pale with rage. “That’s a dereliction of duty!” “It’s a statement of fact.” I was done arguing. I put Leo’s hand in hers. “Here is your son, safe and sound. Goodbye.” I turned and walked away, not wanting to look at her for another second. Long after I’d left the school grounds, I could still hear her shouting. I thought I heard her hiss at Leo, “Did that teacher at least help you with your homework while you were here?” I heard Leo’s faint “no.” Then her voice, dripping with contempt: “Useless kid. Can’t even take advantage of a perfect opportunity. You have to learn to work the system!” I stopped in my tracks. A chill ran down my spine. I had thought she was just selfish and irresponsible. Now I understood. The woman was a bottomless pit of shameless, transactional ego. In her world, every person, every situation, was just something to be exploited for her own benefit. 6 When I got home, I showered and collapsed onto my bed. My phone buzzed. It was Sharon. `Emily, Leo said you took him to get dinner?` My stomach clenched. What now? `How much was it? I’ll reimburse you.` I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. A flicker of decency, finally. I texted back: `12.` A Venmo notification for $12 popped up. I accepted it. Fair is fair. A second later, a new message from her. `?` Followed by: `You actually accepted it?` `Wow, Emily. I thought you’d have a little more class than that. You’re not very savvy, are you?` I was dumbfounded. What did she mean, *actually accepted it*? I bought her son food, she paid me back. What was the issue? Before I could even formulate a reply, she sent a string of voice memos. I clicked play, and her shrill, condescending voice filled my room. “You know, I really have to set you straight. As a teacher, you are failing miserably. First, looking after a student in need is your professional obligation. It’s part of the job description. Second, you say it was $12. Where’s the receipt? The screenshot from your bank app? You just throw out a number and I’m supposed to believe it? And finally, even if you did buy it, who’s to say you didn’t eat half of it yourself? How do I know you’re not padding the bill? For twelve dollars, you make this big a deal. What happened to professional courtesy? I can’t believe I entrust my son to someone like you.” The final memo ended with a dismissive snort. 7 My hands were shaking. I had never encountered this level of malicious entitlement in my life. My kindness, my patience—in her eyes, it was just weakness to be manipulated. I took a deep breath. Arguing with someone like this was pointless. I didn’t reply with words. I opened Venmo and sent the $12 back to her. Then, I went into my banking app, found the charge from McDonald’s, screenshotted it, and sent it to her. Finally, I muted her contact. I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling. The anger faded, replaced by a profound, bone-deep weariness. I remembered what my mentor teacher told me when I graduated. “Emily,” she’d said, “you’re going to meet hundreds of angel children. But you’re also going to meet parents who will test the limits of your understanding. Stay true to your heart, but learn how to protect it.” I finally understood what she meant. I thought that would be the end of it. I was wrong. I had severely underestimated her capacity for vindictiveness.

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I was the “accident” my parents had when they were too young and too reckless. They dropped me off with my grandparents and disappeared, each starting a new life, a new family, without me. Eighteen years later, I was the state’s top scholarship recipient. They fought through a crowd of reporters to reach me. “See?” my father said, beaming. “If I hadn’t been tough on you, you never would have learned to be so independent.” My other relatives showed up with bags of bruised, overripe fruit from the discount grocery store. “Poppy,” they cooed, “don’t you forget who your family is.” I smiled and looked them straight in their eager, guilty eyes. “The ‘family’ you’re talking about? I stopped needing it a long time ago.” 1 I was different. The other kids had moms and dads, sometimes in the same house. All I had was Grandpa and Grandma. One day, after Grandpa came home from a long shift at the factory, I tugged on his sleeve. “Grandpa, where are my mom and dad? Why don’t they even come for Christmas?” My voice was small. “Is it because I’m not good? Is that why they don’t come back?” He pulled me onto his lap, his calloused hands wiping away my tears. “Don’t you cry, Poppy. You’re Grandpa’s treasure.” “Your mom and dad just went somewhere far away, and it’s hard to get back. Nobody could ever not want our Poppy.” But Grandpa, you were lying. I asked Mrs. Gable down the street. She sat on her porch swing, cracking sunflower seeds and spitting the shells into a coffee can. “Oh, honey, you came to the right place,” she said, her voice raspy. “My Jim and your grandpa were the ones who drove out to get you and your folks after you were born. You were just a little thing, three months old.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Your mom and dad, they had the reception all planned at the VFW hall. Then, couple weeks later, poof! Your mom took off. Your dad followed soon after.” I didn’t wait to hear the rest. I ran home, my chest tight with a secret I couldn’t understand. The next day, I told my best friend, Tina. Our small town elementary school didn’t have a cafeteria, so we’d eat our packed lunches under the big oak tree by the playground. “It’s a secret,” I whispered, after I’d told her everything. “I only told you. You can’t tell anyone.” She put down her sandwich and hugged me. “I won’t, Poppy. I promise.” The very next day, I was taking out the classroom trash with a boy named Kevin. He shoved me, and I fell onto the dusty floor. “Teacher!” he yelled. “I don’t want to take out the trash with an orphan.” Every head in the class swiveled to look at me. I looked at Tina. She was staring intently at a hangnail on her thumb. Our teacher just sighed. “Kevin, that’s not nice. Fine, someone else go with Poppy.” From then on, I was the class orphan. Every look felt like it was laced with pity or disgust. At lunchtime, the student helper in charge of doling out the hot lunch always gave me the smallest, soggiest piece of pizza. After two months of being hungry, I finally worked up the courage to tell the teacher. The next day, the lunch helper, a boy named Mark, shot me a hateful glare. When it was my turn, he loaded up my tray with three slices of pizza, burying them under a mountain of tater tots. “That’s too much,” I whispered. “I can’t eat all that.” He slammed the serving spoon down. “What’s the matter? Weren’t you complaining to the teacher you were starving? Today, I’m gonna make sure you’re full.” His friends surrounded me, laughing, and started shoving food into my mouth. I started to gag. He stood over me, arms crossed. “Learned your lesson, Poppy? You gonna go snitching again?” My throat was clogged, but I stared right at him, forcing back the tears that burned my eyes. I didn’t cry. I didn’t beg. “You’re a nobody,” he sneered. “Who do you think you are, tattling to a teacher?” “Get on your knees and apologize, and maybe we’ll leave you alone.” As they tried to force me down, I locked my knees and braced my neck, my forehead hovering an inch from the grimy linoleum floor. I wouldn’t let it touch. In my peripheral vision, I saw Tina watching. When they finally let me up, I touched my forehead. It was cold and sticky. Red. Then, everything went black. 2 I woke up at home. Grandma was sitting by my bed with a bowl of warm soup. Grandpa didn’t come home until late that night. I found out later he had taken his old pickup truck into the city and driven straight to the district superintendent’s office. He got back on the third morning. The truck had a flat, and he’d had to walk the last five miles, his pants caked in mud. I watched from the window as he bent over the tire, his spine curved like a fishing rod under a heavy catch. “Grandpa.” I opened the door. The bandage on my forehead scraped against the frame, and I flinched. He whipped his head around. His eyes were shot with red. “What are you doing up? Doctor said you need to rest.” “Grandpa, where did you go?” His hands tightened on the tire iron, the veins standing out. “Next time someone at that school lays a hand on you,” he said, his voice a low growl, “you fight back. You hear me? You fight back like your life depends on it. I’ll handle the rest.” That afternoon, the principal came to our house with a new teacher. The new teacher’s name was Ms. Liu. She had a kind smile and a gentle way about her. “Poppy,” she said, “I’m so sorry. I should have been paying closer attention.” She pulled a small, tin pencil box out of her tote bag. “This is for you. If you ever need anything, you come to me.” I stared at the little rabbit painted on the lid but didn’t take it. Grandma wrung her hands. “She’s just shy, Ms. Liu. Thank you.” When I went back to school, Grandpa drove me in his newly-repaired truck. I saw him in the rearview mirror; there were new streaks of gray in his hair. As we pulled up, I saw Mark’s father yelling at him by the flagpole. Ms. Liu moved my desk to the front row. There was a little sticky note on the corner that said, “You got this.” But I was still scared. Tina slipped a piece of candy onto my desk between classes. The wrapper was crinkled, like she’d been holding it for a long time. “I’m sorry, Poppy,” she whispered. I didn’t answer. At the end of fourth grade, I got the highest test scores in the class. Ms. Liu gave me a certificate in front of everyone. When Grandpa picked me up, he folded it carefully and put it in his breast pocket, patting it every few minutes all the way home. Just when I thought things were getting better, a new girl transferred from the city. Her name was Nicole. Our small town had so few students in the upper grades that we sometimes had to board at the school during the week. One morning, I went to grab my washbasin from under my bunk, and it was full of pee. Nicole was watching me, a smirk on her face. “Wow,” she snickered. “No wonder you don’t have parents. You’re so gross you have to pee in a bucket.” It had to be her. I thought of Grandpa’s words. I wasn’t going to take it anymore. I picked up the basin and threw its contents all over her. “You peed in my basin,” I said calmly. “I figured you must want to wash your face with it.” She shrieked, sputtering and spitting. As she ran off, she screamed, “You are so going to regret this!” My stomach dropped. Nicole was the mayor’s granddaughter. 3 The walk home felt like wading through cement. The setting sun stretched the shadow of the old sycamore tree across the road. I heard Grandma’s panicked voice before I even reached the yard. “Please, ma’am, she’s just a little girl, she didn’t mean any harm…” “A little girl?” a sharp voice shot back. “She threw urine on my Nicole! My daughter has never had a harsh word said to her, let alone this!” I peered through a gap in the fence. The mayor’s wife was standing in the middle of our small living room, hands on her hips. Nicole was hiding behind her. Grandpa was squatting by the cold wood stove, a cigarette burning down to his fingers. “Grandpa.” Everyone turned. The mayor’s wife glared at me. “There you are, you little savage!” Grandpa shot to his feet, the cigarette dropping from his lips. “You talk to me,” he said, stepping between us. His back seemed even more bent than before. “Talk to you? Your granddaughter is a menace! My Nicole is a delicate flower from the city, and she was assaulted!” “Either she gets down on her knees and apologizes, or you pay us five thousand dollars for emotional distress!” Five thousand dollars. My breath caught. Grandpa made maybe a hundred dollars on a good day at the factory. “I won’t,” I said, my voice shaking. “I threw it. But she peed in my basin first.” “You little liar!” the woman shrieked, raising her hand to slap me. Grandpa caught her wrist. “The girl said your granddaughter started it.” “You old fool, you’re defending her? This isn’t over! I’ll have her expelled by tomorrow!” She stormed out, Nicole making a face at me over her shoulder. Grandma helped Grandpa sit down. “Why do you have to fight them? We can’t afford to make an enemy of the mayor.” Grandpa didn’t answer. In the dim light, his eyes glowed. “Poppy, come here,” he said, his rough hand stroking my hair. “You did the right thing.” “But…” “We’re poor, girl. But we don’t let people walk all over us.” He knocked the ash from his pipe. “I’ll go to the school tomorrow.” 4 The next morning, Grandpa walked me to school. As we passed the mayor’s house, I saw a curtain twitch. In the classroom, Nicole was sobbing at her desk. Ms. Liu looked exhausted. “Poppy, my office. Now.” Grandpa followed. The mayor was sitting there, sipping coffee from a mug. “Well, Bill,” he said to my grandpa, “your granddaughter has caused quite a stir.” Grandpa pulled a small paper bag from his coat. “Mr. Mayor, the kids had a spat. Here are some fresh eggs from our hens for Nicole.” “We don’t want your charity eggs!” the mayor’s wife snapped, snatching the bag and throwing it on the floor. Yolks splattered across Grandpa’s worn work boots. I ran in front of him. “She peed in my basin first!” “I did not!” Nicole wailed. “I saw her,” a small voice said from the doorway. It was Tina. “I saw Nicole take Poppy’s basin into the bathroom this morning.” A stunned silence filled the room. Nicole went pale. Ms. Liu sighed. “Everyone just go home. I’ll handle this.” As we left, Tina tugged on my sleeve. “Poppy, I’m sorry. Before…” “It’s okay,” I said, watching Grandpa bend down to pick up the broken eggshells. That afternoon, Nicole was transferred to another school. The mayor never bothered us again, but the looks we got in town were colder. Some said Grandpa was stubborn; others said I was trouble. “Grandpa,” I said on the way home, “maybe I should just quit school and help you work.” He stopped and knelt to tie my shoelace. “Don’t be silly, girl. You stay in school until the day you can be your own boss.” That fall, during the harvest festival, I saw Grandpa crying behind the barn. Grandma told me the mayor had cut our family from the town’s heating assistance program. “It’s fine,” Grandpa said, wiping his eyes. “Poppy, don’t you worry.” That night, I scrubbed the dried egg yolk from his boots. The moonlight was bright. I suddenly understood that Grandpa’s spine wasn’t bent from a lifetime of hard labor. It was bent from the effort of holding up the sky for me. On my final report card, I had the highest grades in the county. Ms. Liu pulled me aside. “There’s a scholarship spot at the county high school,” she said. “I put your name in for it.” I clutched my report card and saw Grandpa waiting for me by the curb. The wind blew his graying hair into a messy halo. “Grandpa,” I said, running to him, “I’m going to high school.” He grinned, the wrinkles around his eyes crinkling. “That’s my girl,” he said. “That’s my Poppy.” 5 For the first time, it felt like things were really looking up. The mayor was investigated for corruption and lost his office, and the county scholarship covered my tuition. The high school dorm was a cramped room with four bunk beds. On move-in day, Grandpa carried my bedding in a huge plaid duffel bag, stopping twice on the stairs to catch his breath. “Wow, Poppy,” he panted, “this building’s as tall as a skyscraper.” The other parents wore new-looking shoes and carried brand-name luggage. Grandpa was in his worn-out work boots. I saw some of them glance at him. I pulled him over to my bunk and said loudly, “Grandpa, look! I got the top bunk by the window!” The bus ride from our town to the county seat was over an hour. One Sunday, as Grandpa was driving me back to the dorm in his truck, I watched his gray hair flutter in the wind. “Grandpa,” I said softly, “thank you.” His shoulders tensed. “Poppy, we’re family. No need for thanks.” “I’m going to study hard, Grandpa. I’m going to make enough money so you and Grandma can have a good life.” His voice was thick when he answered. “I’ll be waiting for that day, Poppy. You can bet I’ll live to see it.” “You better,” I said, my own voice catching. “You’re going to be the oldest, most stubborn old man in the whole county.” 6 During my sophomore winter break, I went with Grandpa to the recycling center. The bed of his truck was overflowing with cardboard he’d collected. A bitter wind whipped snow into our faces. He stomped on aluminum cans, crushing them flat with an efficiency born of long practice. “You stand back, Poppy,” he said. “Don’t want you getting dirty.” When he straightened up, his back cracked audibly. He pulled a baked potato from his coat pocket. “Got this from the vendor on the corner. Still warm.” I broke it in half and offered him a piece, but he waved it away. “You eat. I’m not hungry.” I found out later he’d only had a piece of dry bread for breakfast that morning, to save enough money to buy me a new textbook. In my junior year, a boy asked me out. I found a pink envelope in my locker. The whole class was watching me. A boy from the basketball team, Ryan, was leaning against the wall, his face red. “Well?” he said. “You gonna read it?” I walked over and pushed the envelope back into his hands. “Ryan,” I said quietly, “I’m sorry. I’m focused on my studies right now.” He stared at me, clearly not used to being rejected. “I can wait until after finals,” he said. “Don’t,” I said, turning back to my locker. “I don’t have time for this.” During gym class that day, Ryan, who was the team captain, made me run extra laps. “What’s the matter, Poppy?” he taunted. “Can’t keep up?” I was never a great athlete, but I could endure. But on the second lap, a sharp pain shot through my ankle. Someone had thrown a rock onto the track. I stumbled. Ryan just blew his whistle. “Last one to finish runs three more!” My ankle swelled up like a softball. I ran the three laps, my teeth clenched against the pain. I didn’t say a word. 7 The next day, during the school’s “service period,” Ryan assigned me the filthiest job: cleaning behind the dumpsters. He threw a broom into a puddle of muddy water. “That’s your area. Don’t come back ’til it’s spotless.” I was picking up slimy garbage when a piece of broken glass sliced my finger. Ryan and his friends were playing basketball nearby, occasionally yelling insults in my direction. When I finally finished, I walked back into the classroom covered in grime. “Whoa,” Ryan shouted, “did someone forget to flush?” The boys roared with laughter. A quiet girl in the back of the class stood up. “The only thing that stinks in here is you, Ryan.” She gave me a small, conspiratorial wink. Just then, the principal and my guidance counselor walked in. My grades were too good for them to let this kind of thing slide. I limped home that weekend and told Grandpa everything. For the first time, he got angry with me. “Poppy, why didn’t you tell a teacher sooner? Why do you always wait until you’re hurt?” He insisted on carrying me on his back to the town’s small clinic. I could feel the thin fabric of his shirt, damp with sweat, and the frailness of his frame. The stars were bright that night. Grandpa’s laughter echoed in the quiet street. “Well,” he said, “I better hang on. I’ve got to live to see that good life you promised me.” 8 But you broke your promise, Grandpa. The last day of my final exams, I walked out into the sunshine, scanning the crowd for his old truck. He wasn’t there. My guidance counselor ran up to me, her face pale. “Poppy, there was an accident. Your grandfather… he’s at the hospital.” The world tilted. The trees lining the road blurred into a green smear, just like they did from the window of Grandpa’s truck. “After he dropped you off this morning,” she explained, her voice trembling, “I think your father called him, asking for money. He was on his way to meet him when a truck ran a red light…” The word “father” was a ghost from a forgotten language. I didn’t hear the rest. All I could see was Grandpa that morning, waking up at 5 a.m. to boil me two eggs for good luck. He’d waved as I went into the school. “When you’re done,” he’d said, “we’ll take these bottles to the recycling center and get you a new pen to celebrate.” The hospital smelled of antiseptic and fear. I changed into scrubs and went into the ICU. He looked so small in the big bed, like a fallen tree. I choked out his name. “Grandpa, it’s Poppy. I’m finished with my tests. Wake up, Grandpa…” He didn’t move. For the first time, there was no one to wipe away my tears. The steady beep of the heart monitor was the only sound, a dull, rhythmic torture. On the third morning, it became a single, piercing drone. I lunged for his hand, but for the first time, he didn’t squeeze back.

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