Author: Momo Chan

Right before Thanksgiving break, I stumbled onto a post on our college’s subreddit: [Title: AITA for wanting my childhood friend to give me his concert tickets?] The post was about a trip to Savannah. The OP wanted to go with her best friend, but the last two tickets were bought by her childhood guy friend and his girlfriend. I scrolled through the comments, and they were piling up fast. [Top Comment]: > “Dude, it’s his childhood bestie, he should totally let her have them. Bros before… you know.” [OP’s Reply]: > “Ugh, I know, right? But I’m worried his girlfriend will flip out. She’s… let’s just say she’s super possessive.” [Another Comment]: > “Sounds like the perfect test of loyalty! If he picks his GF over you, then you know where you stand. Drop him.” The OP shot back immediately: [OP’s Reply]: > “No way, he’d never do that. We’ve known each other for almost twenty years, we were basically inseparable growing up. He’ll always have my back!” … I frowned, scrolling down. The OP’s tone felt weirdly familiar. Just then, a text message popped up on my screen. It was from my boyfriend, Ryan. [Ryan]: “Hey babe, change of plans for Thanksgiving. Forget Savannah… what do you think about a road trip to Texas?” 1 The day before break, my roommate and I had just gotten back from a vintage shop downtown. I’d found the perfect sundress for walking through the historic streets of Savannah and couldn’t wait to show Ryan. I was fresh out of the shower, about to FaceTime him, when I saw that Reddit post. Since Ryan and I had already—after weeks of waiting on a notification list—snagged tickets for a popular Savannah ghost tour, my curiosity was piqued. I kept reading. [Comment]: > “Wait, are you seriously asking him to cancel his trip with his girlfriend for you?” [Another Comment]: > “I mean, maybe they can talk it out. What if she didn’t even want to go to Savannah that bad?” [Reply]: > “It’s the day before a major holiday break. Who in their right mind cancels a sold-out trip at the last minute? No one.” Ryan and I had practically prayed for those tickets to come through. I couldn’t agree more, so I upvoted the comment. As I did, I noticed the OP had upvoted the comment right below it. [Comment]: > “It’s an unspoken rule. The childhood friend card trumps everything. Just ask him for the tickets, straight up.” [Reply]: > “Seriously! My guy friend and I are the same way. I suddenly wanted to go to Miami for Spring Break last year, but flights were sold out. I called him, laid on the charm, and he canceled the tickets he’d bought for his entire frat group. Me and my sorority sisters snatched them right up. They treat me like a queen now lol.” The sheer audacity of that comment was flooring. It was quickly becoming the most controversial one on the thread. [Reply to the Reply]: > “That’s next-level evil. And you’re proud of it?” [Reply to the Reply]: > “Hope your ‘guy friend’ didn’t get his ass kicked by his frat brothers.” I was getting secondhand rage just reading it, upvoting every single comment calling her out. But then I saw the OP had replied just a few minutes ago: [OP’s Reply]: > “Well, the main issue is his girlfriend getting mad. She’s… ugh… so petty. I accidentally took a sip from his water bottle in front of her once and she threw a fit, threatened to break up with him. It was a whole drama scene. So annoying.” She followed it up with a cat-sipping-tea meme. [Reply to OP]: > “Girl, that just means you have all the power. What’s she gonna do when she finds out you were his first kiss? She’ll probably explode.” [OP’s Reply]: > “OMG for real! We were each other’s first everything back in middle school. He’d never pick her over me.” [Reply to OP]: > “Then go get your tickets, girl! What are you waiting for?~” I felt sick to my stomach by the end of the thread. I remembered my boyfriend’s childhood friend, Hailey, had that same entitled way of talking to him. I was about to screenshot the whole disaster and send it to Ryan for a laugh when his text came through first. [Ryan]: “Hey babe, change of plans for Thanksgiving. Forget Savannah… what do you think about a road trip to Texas?” 2 My heart dropped. The Reddit post flashed in my mind. I deleted the screenshots I was about to send. Then I remembered Ryan swearing up and down that I was his first real love, his first everything that mattered. I’d even jokingly confirmed it with his friends. The doubt subsided, just a little. [Me]: “Why? You know how excited I was for Savannah. I even bought a new dress for it.” I sent him the picture my roommate had taken of me at the shop earlier. I have a curvy figure, and the sundress fit me perfectly. Ryan had always been vocal about how much he loved my body. The three dots appeared, then disappeared. He was hesitating. For a long moment, there was nothing. Finally, a new text came in. [Ryan]: “You know I’m from Texas, babe. I want to show you where I grew up. Besides… my parents really want to meet you.” I frowned at my phone. Ryan and I had met online, in a group chat for incoming freshmen. I was into his abs and his deep voice; he was into my face and my figure. We both thought it would just be a casual hookup. But then we ended up in the same English class, and during freshman orientation week, he was so sweet and protective. He stood up for me when a drill sergeant-wannabe orientation leader was giving me a hard time, and he was always showing up with cold water and a portable fan. I fell for him, hard. The only downside? Hailey. His clingy childhood best friend. But even with her buzzing around, we’d only been dating a few months. We were nineteen. It was way too soon to meet the parents. [Me]: “Meeting your parents is a big step. Why don’t you just tell them I’ll visit some other time? We’re going to Savannah.” In the few months we’d been together, Ryan had been pretty agreeable to whatever I wanted, so I didn’t even consider he’d say no. I put my phone down and started packing. When I picked it up again, my blood ran cold. [Ryan]: “About that… babe, I already canceled the tickets. I bought us two bus tickets to Texas instead. If you don’t want to go, I guess we’ll just have to stay on campus.” 3 The Savannah tour tickets had gone on sale at 8:30 AM. I was in a chem lab at the time and couldn’t use my phone, so I’d left it all to Ryan. When he couldn’t get them, he put us on the waitlist. I never imagined he’d cancel them on his own. A knot of anger tightened in my stomach. Something felt very, very wrong. I went back to the Reddit thread. The original post had been edited half an hour ago. [EDIT]: “Update: Talked to him and we got the tickets! To everyone in the comments hating, you’re probably just jealous you don’t have a guy best friend who adores you~” I scrolled down and saw the angry comments I’d upvoted had all been deleted by the OP. My eyes landed on her comment about drinking from his water bottle. Suddenly, a memory from a month ago clicked into place. I’d seen Hailey drink from Ryan’s water bottle. It was during a campus-wide scavenger hunt, and Ryan’s excuse was that Hailey and her friend had run out of water and were desperate. I was thirsty and miserable too, so I let it slide with a fake pout. I never thought it wasn’t a one-time thing. It was just one of many times, and the only one I happened to witness. Thank God I’m not the type to share drinks. The thought of his childhood friend’s mouth on the same bottle that I might have drunk from was disgusting. Every piece fit. I’m not the kind of person who lets things go. I act. Immediately, I screenshotted everything and fired them off to Ryan. [Me]: “Is this Hailey’s post? So not only did you give her our tickets, but you two were each other’s ‘first everything’? What happened to swearing on your mother’s life that I was your first love? Did you forget that part?” 4 The silence from his end was deafening. Just as I was about to storm over to his dorm, my roommate grabbed my arm. “Chloe, have you seen Hailey’s Instagram? That photo she just posted… it looks exactly like the one I took of you today.” She paused. “And, uh… Ryan liked it.” Hailey was our class president, so almost everyone in our year followed her. I’d never liked her vibe, so we didn’t even follow each other. I snatched my roommate’s phone. It was a classic nine-photo grid. The caption was a lyric from some indie song: “The sky waits for the rain, and I wait for you.” The grid had a screenshot of the Savannah tour confirmation, some aesthetic photos of Savannah’s cobblestone streets, and right in the center, a familiar picture of a girl in a sundress. It was my picture. The one I had just sent to Ryan. Except my face was blurred out, leaving only my body on full display. Practically our entire class had liked it. The comments were mostly from guys. [Comment]:- “Damn Hailey, didn’t know you were hiding all that.” [Comment]:- “Filters doing God’s work lol. Jk jk, you’re a total smoke show! Btw, can we get an extension on that poli-sci paper? I’m dying over here.” [Comment]:- “Whoa, when did you stop wearing your usual edgy stuff? This look is so different for you.” That last comment made my stomach clench. I scrolled down her feed. And there it was. A whole collection of familiar outfits. Because I’m a bit reserved in person but still wanted to feel confident, I’d bought a bunch of trendy, “hot girl” outfits. I rarely wore them out, but I always took pictures for Ryan. Only for Ryan. And he had turned around and given every single one of them to Hailey to post as her own. I saw his username liking every post, commenting “Gorgeous 🔥” under each one. A white-hot rage shot through me. My roommate saw the look on my face. “Chloe… please don’t tell me she’s using your photos to catfish someone or something.” Her voice was laced with worry. “And Ryan… why would he help her do that?” “I’m going to his dorm right now,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. I grabbed my jacket. Then, on an impulse, I shot a text to my own childhood best friend, Jax. His dad had just donated a new library to the university, and he had a whole crew of biker wannabes who followed him everywhere. [Me]: “Get off your damn bike and get back to campus. I’ve got two people who need a reality check.” Hey, who said only guys could have a ride-or-die childhood friend? 5 Ryan came down from his dorm pretty quickly. He’d just showered; a white towel was slung around his neck, and his dark hair was still wet. “Babe, listen, I wasn’t trying to lie to you,” he started, holding his phone up like a shield. “I just know how girls can be about exes and firsts, and I didn’t want you to get upset. I was with Hailey in the study lounge when the ticket notification came through. She grabbed my phone and canceled them. It was her. If you’re mad, I’ll make her switch them back, okay?” I didn’t believe a word he was saying. But it was getting dark, and his dorm was in a more isolated part of campus. I’m just a girl; Ryan was pure muscle. He might act easygoing, but I’d seen his temper. During orientation week, he’d gotten into a fight with three upperclassmen who were hazing freshmen and laid all of them out, not caring about the consequences. Until Jax got here, I needed to play it cool. I kept my voice even. “If Hailey can just grab your phone and do whatever she wants, then I guess nothing of mine is safe with you. That debit card I lent you? I want it back. Now.” I held out my hand. I’m an only child, and my parents spoil me rotten. They’d transferred my entire four-year college fund—fifty thousand dollars—onto a debit card for me. Ryan came from a low-income, single-parent family. Two weeks ago, his mom was diagnosed with cancer and needed emergency surgery. They couldn’t raise the money, so he came to me. Not knowing the exact cost and not wanting to delay her treatment, I just gave him the card. But after the surgery, he never mentioned giving it back. I figured there were still bills for medicine and hospital stays, so I didn’t push it. Now that we were breaking up, I wanted it back. At the mention of the card, Ryan’s face changed. “Do you need it right now?” His hesitation confirmed my worst fear. My voice shot up, the anger finally breaking through. I swung my purse and hit him squarely on the head. “Don’t tell me you gave the card to Hailey! Ryan, are you her freaking dog?!” His strength was way more than mine. He easily grabbed my wrists, his brow furrowed. “You hadn’t asked for it back in weeks,” he said, his tone turning accusatory. “Hailey mentioned she wanted to buy a few things, so I let her borrow it. Don’t worry, she’s really frugal. She survives on like, two hundred bucks a month from her parents. She wouldn’t waste your money.” That last part sounded like he was calling me spoiled and petty. I almost laughed. “Ryan, that card was a loan. To you. What right do you have to give my money to someone else? And Hailey lives on two hundred a month? Is that why she’s constantly posting designer makeup hauls on her Instagram story?” I pulled up the screenshots my roommate had sent our group chat, where we’d been complaining about Hailey’s obvious lies, and shoved the phone in his face. I used to wonder how Hailey, who supposedly grew up as poor as Ryan, could afford such a lavish lifestyle. Now I knew. She was funding it with my money.

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I was scrolling through Reddit when a post from a legal advice forum caught my eye. It was from my cousin, Ashley, who lives with us. [How do I prevent a manipulative cousin from inheriting my parents’ money?] I was confused. Her family lives in a double-wide trailer in Ohio. Why would she think I’d want a piece of that? The comments were what you’d expect: reassuring her that a cousin has no legal claim, that she was worrying over nothing. But then she replied, a little too eagerly: [Are you sure? I mean, we’re first cousins, practically sisters. That’s not a total stranger, legally speaking. Nothing’s ever 100%, right?] And just like that, I understood. The person trying to inherit someone else’s money… was her. 1 Reading the full post from my cousin’s burner account was a gut punch. [I’m an only child (24F). My dad is in international real estate, and my mom is a partner at her firm. We’re in the nine-figure club, so my inheritance is more than enough for several lifetimes.] [The problem is my cousin (23F). She’s lived with us for years. She’s smarter than me, more successful… basically the daughter every parent dreams of. My mom adores her, honestly more than she seems to adore me.] [How do I stop this cousin, who is a huge threat to me, from getting her hands on my family’s estate?] My head was spinning. The family background she was describing was obviously mine. And the “smarter, more successful, more loved” cousin she was pretending to be… was me. She was posting as me to get advice on how she could screw me over. The comment section was a mix of legal advice and common sense: > [OP, you’re probably young. A cousin has zero inheritance rights unless they are specifically named in a will. Relax.] > [Your first priority should be getting her out of your house. She’s freeloading on your family’s resources. The inheritance isn’t a real issue.] But Ashley’s replies were frantic: > [Are you sure? I mean, we’re first cousins, practically sisters. That’s not a total stranger, legally speaking. Nothing’s ever 100%, right?] The commenters were getting annoyed: > [Are you trolling or just legally illiterate? Your parents’ assets have nothing to do with your cousin. This is textbook paranoia.] > [Yeah, the only way is if your parents write her into the will. The chances of that are basically zero.] Ashley kept pushing: > [A will is unlikely. My mom might, but my dad never would. There’s no blood relation. Are there any other ways? Loopholes?] Then, someone posted the comment that changed everything: > [Theoretically, it’s not impossible. In extreme cases, there’s a concept called ‘heir by proxy’ or per stirpes distribution…] Ashley replied instantly: [OMG tell me more! I’m DMing you, please accept. This is urgent.] The thread quickly turned on her: > [Wait a second… it feels like you’re desperately trying to find a way for your cousin to inherit the money.] > [LOL, busted. You’re the cousin, aren’t you?] 2 Across the dinner table, Ashley angrily locked her phone and slammed it face down. My mom finally looked up from her own phone, tapping the table. “Chloe, can you put that away? Look at your cousin. Ashley knows that dinnertime is for family.” I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “You never FaceTime me when you’re at school,” she continued, her voice layered with guilt. “You’re finally home for the summer. Can’t you just be present? Once Ashley leaves for college next year, how many of these family dinners will we have left?” It was just the three of us at a massive ten-person table. Some “family dinner.” Ashley immediately softened her expression, turning to my mom with a syrupy sweet smile. “Oh, Aunt Linda, Chloe and I are different. When I’m in Europe, I’ll be calling you every single day. You’ll probably get sick of me.” She shot a smug look in my direction. “I mean, it’s just undergrad. How busy can you be? If someone doesn’t have time for a single call, it’s because they don’t want to make time.” 3 She was right. I rarely called my mom. She shipped me off to boarding school in the first grade and had me studying abroad before I was even eighteen. We saw each other a few times a year. We weren’t close. Beyond a quick “I’m alive and well,” I never knew what to say to her. Ashley was a different story. Ever since my uncle had another kid—a boy, of course—my mom brought Ashley, then a senior in high school, to live with us. Since then, this house had been filled with their laughter and inside jokes. Maybe I’m just emotionally detached, but their closeness never really bothered me. My mom supported me financially, giving me the freedom to pursue my master’s at an Ivy League school without worrying about loans. So I didn’t care that she gave Ashley the warmth and attention she never gave me. I didn’t even mind that she was footing the bill for Ashley’s entire life, including her new plan to study abroad. As long as it didn’t affect me, I figured it was her money. If Ashley could keep my mom happy, fine. I was even okay with her getting a nice chunk of cash to start her life. But now, seeing that post, I knew she wasn’t satisfied with a few hundred thousand. She wanted it all. A comment from that thread echoed in my head: Your first priority should be getting her out of your house. Damn right. This greedy parasite had to go. And she wasn’t getting another dime. 4 I casually took a bite of asparagus. “Oh, by the way, Mom. You asked me to look into the university Ashley got into. I did.” I paused for effect. “It’s a diploma mill. An unaccredited online university with a fancy name. Her degree won’t be worth the paper it’s printed on. That eighty-thousand-dollar tuition? You might as well just set it on fire.” My mom froze, a forkful of salmon halfway to her mouth. She shook her head with a weary smile. “Chloe, Chloe. Is this really necessary? Ashley is finally following in your footsteps, trying to better herself. Can’t you just be happy for her?” The story was this: Ashley heard I was starting my master’s program on a full scholarship. The very next day, she quit the preschool teacher job my mom had pulled strings to get her and demanded to be sent abroad, too. She found some shady international admissions agent who, for a hefty fee, got her “accepted” to a dozen garbage schools. From that pile of worthless offers, she picked the one that happened to be in the same city as my university. My mom, clueless, was bursting with pride. She threw Ashley a huge “going away” party, telling all her friends how, with the right support, girls could be just as successful as boys. I didn’t have the heart to burst her bubble then. But things were different now. The truth was better for everyone. 5 Ashley’s usual smirk vanished, replaced by a flash of anger. She scrambled for her phone, pulling up the school’s homepage. “Look with your own eyes!” she spat. “It says right here, this is a centuries-old institution, a sister school to Harvard! It’s located right in the heart of America’s capital, New York City, and has produced five First Ladies! It’s the top choice for socialites! What do you know, anyway?” I couldn’t help but laugh. I turned to my mom. “Mom, what’s the capital of the United States? Do you know?” Ashley rolled her eyes, slapping her forehead dramatically. “Chloe, are you for real? Your school is in New York. You don’t know where the capital is? Oh my god!” My mother, at least, wasn’t that ignorant. Her eyes widened as she snatched the phone, reading the poorly translated English description out loud. Her face was a mask of pure shock and embarrassment. 6 My mom, who had always trusted Ashley implicitly, was furious. She was mortified that Ashley had been so careless and, frankly, so stupid. She immediately contacted a legitimate educational consultant to come up with a real plan. The trip to the fake university was off. But with Ashley’s terrible high school grades and abysmal test scores, the consultant said it would take at least a year of hard work at a community college to even have a chance at a decent four-year school. Ashley stomped her foot, her eyes burning with a hatred so intense it was almost shocking. But this time, it wasn’t directed at me. It was directed at my mother’s retreating back as she rushed off to make calls on Ashley’s behalf. 7 Back in my room, I refreshed the Reddit thread. Ashley was spamming the user who mentioned “heir by proxy.” > [Hello? Are you there? This is an emergency, can you please reply?] > [Hey!! Anyone home? I can’t DM you anymore, you didn’t accept my friend request. Is anyone even alive on this site?!] She was panicking. I logged into my burner account and sent her a private message. [Hi there. I’m a paralegal student specializing in family law and estate planning. I saw your post. My family has a leech of a relative too, so I completely understand your situation. Happy to offer a free consultation if you need to talk.] She replied in seconds. No greeting, no pleasantries. [Can my cousin really inherit my parents’ money? Does it have to happen after they die? How does it work?] She quickly backpedaled. [I mean, I need to know so I can warn my parents. To protect our assets.] I sent a smiley face emoji and deliberately let her stew for a while. My phone started buzzing off the hook. > [What the hell? Where’d you go!?] > [Helloooo? I swear, are you a real paralegal or not? Which school do you go to? I’ll report you!] > [Is this how you run a business? I know it’s free, but I’m still the client! You have zero customer service skills!] After enjoying her meltdown for a few minutes, I finally replied. [So sorry, I was in class. Just got free.] She lectured me for another minute before getting back to her point. [Okay, so I’ve been thinking about a scenario. In my family, only my mom is nice to my cousin. My dad and I are pretty cold to her because she’s so perfect it’s annoying. So, could she sue for emotional distress or something? Claiming years of psychological abuse and demand a piece of the estate as compensation?] I had to cover my mouth to keep from laughing out loud. I tweaked an AI-generated response and sent it to her. [Ma’am, legally speaking, being ‘cold’ to someone does not constitute abuse, and it certainly has no bearing on property division. The only way she can legally inherit is if your parents explicitly grant her assets in a legally binding will or trust. Without that, her claim has no basis. You don’t need to worry.] 8 Ashley was furious. [Who are you to say that? You’re not a judge! You’re just a student! You don’t know anything!] I sent a laughing emoji. [You’re welcome to consult with a licensed attorney. I’m confident their answer will be the same.] [So you’re saying there’s no way? That’s insane! She lived in our house for eight years! Eight! Even if she’s not family on paper, isn’t there something like ‘common law family’? How can they just cut her out? No way!] In her rage, she’d completely forgotten her cover story. [Ma’am, please calm down. That specific avenue won’t work, but it doesn’t mean all hope is lost. For example, you saw the other commenter mention inheriting ‘by proxy.’] [What does that even mean? Explain it to me. Now.] [It means that if, for example, your mother were to pass away, her mother—your grandmother—would be entitled to a share of her estate. If your grandmother then passed away, that share would go to her children, meaning your uncle. Your uncle could then gift that inheritance to his own child. It’s an indirect route, but it’s a possibility.] I wondered if she was smart enough to follow the logic. Her reply came quickly. [So if my mom dies, my grandma gets her money. Then if grandma dies, my uncle gets the money. And if my uncle gets it, it’s basically mine. Right?] I sent her three thumbs-up emojis. She was a quick study when it came to greed. [Ugh, why do you have to wait for people to die to get inheritance? So annoying. I have to figure this out.] Her last message sounded like she was thinking out loud. I decided to test the waters. I pasted another AI response. [Under state and federal law, homicide carries severe penalties, including life in prison or the death penalty. Even if you were to inherit, the Slayer Rule would legally bar you from receiving any assets from the person you harmed. I understand your frustration, but I strongly advise against any extreme measures. Please consider the legal ramifications.] Ashley didn’t reply. But later that evening, as if on cue, my mom let out a series of loud sneezes in the living room. That was just the beginning. In the days to come, she would learn the true depths of her beloved niece’s malice.

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When I was five, I asked my mom why I didn’t look like anyone else. In our small, isolated town deep in the mountains, everyone had dark hair and dark eyes. Mine was the color of straw. My mother looked at me, her face blank. She didn’t say a word. She just picked up a pair of scissors and shaved my head until it was bare. From then on, I was the only bald kid in town. Two weeks later, I found a slip of paper she’d hidden in the woodpile behind our shack. It had a phone number on it. Barefoot, I ran to the payphone at the town’s only gas station and dialed. That night, a procession of sleek, black cars rolled down our dirt road, their headlights cutting through the darkness. Policemen slammed the man I called ‘Dad’ to the ground. My mother, sobbing, fell into the arms of a man in a clean, sharp suit. They were taking her away. I just stood there, frozen. “Momma,” I whispered to the empty space. “You said if I made the call, you’d kiss me.” 1 It was chaos, but all I could see was my mother. She was being held up by the man in the suit, looking so fragile, like a single gust of wind could shatter her. I instinctively ran toward her, reaching out to grab the edge of her dress. My hand hadn’t even touched the fabric— “No!” She flinched as if she’d been bitten by a snake, her head snapping around to look at me. Her eyes were wide with terror. She pointed a trembling finger at me, her voice a ragged cry to the man in the suit. “Don’t! I don’t want her! Get her away from me! She’s that devil’s child! Leave her here to rot!” I froze, my hand still hanging in the air. The man in the suit pulled my mother into his arms, murmuring softly, “It’s okay, Evelyn. It’s okay. We’ll leave her here. We’ll leave her.” Just then, a man in a driver’s cap looked at me, then stepped forward hesitantly. “Sir, Ma’am… Mr. and Mrs. Ashford… my wife and I, we can’t have children. Seeing this little one… if it’s alright with you… I’d like to adopt her.” My mother nodded instantly, desperately. The suited man—Mr. Ashford—looked from my mother to me, a deep weariness in his eyes. He waved a dismissive hand. “Fine. Yes. That’s for the best.” My mother didn’t look back. She let Mr. Ashford guide her into the fanciest car, the door shutting with a solid, final thud. The engine purred to life. As the car began to move, to take her away forever, something inside me snapped. I tore my hand from the driver’s grip and ran, my bare feet pounding against the sharp gravel of the road. “Momma! Momma!” Pain shot through the soles of my feet, but I didn’t care. I just ran and screamed, tears streaming down my face, blurring the taillights into red streaks. “You promised! You said you’d kiss me! You promised!” The car picked up speed, disappearing around a bend at the end of the road. I stumbled to a stop, doubling over, coughing until my lungs burned. 2 The driver, who told me to call him Leo, parked in front of a house so big and bright it hurt my eyes. It had white pillars and huge windows, grander than all the houses in my town put together. But I didn’t go in through the big, shiny front door. Leo took my hand and led me around the back, to a small, hidden door that opened into the basement. “Kiddo,” he said softly. “This is our home now.” The room was tiny, with a metal-frame bed, a wobbly table, and piles of clutter. The concrete walls were damp to the touch. The only light came from a single, high window, a small rectangle that showed the feet of people walking by outside. I was happy. It was so much better than the shack. And from here, I could see my mother every day. Sometimes, I was allowed into the backyard for a bit of air. I would see her—I learned her name was Evelyn now—drifting through the rose garden. She wore beautiful, silky dresses that shimmered in the sun, like a fairy from a picture book. Mr. Ashford would be at her side, his hand on her arm. She was still pale, but she was slowly gaining weight. Once, I was staring too hard, and her eyes met mine by accident. Her expression froze, then hardened into a look of pure disgust, like she’d just spotted a cockroach. She turned abruptly and hurried back inside. Not long after I moved into the basement, my hair had started to grow back in a fuzzy, blond stubble. The family had guests—Evelyn’s cousin and her daughter, Lily, who was about my age. Lily was dressed in a pink, frilly dress with a big bow in her perfectly curled hair. She looked like a doll. Everyone adored her. Mr. Ashford patted her head gently. Evelyn even gave her a rare, faint smile, telling the housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, to bring out the best cookies and toys. I watched from the top of the basement stairs, hidden in the shadows. Leo had warned me to stay out of sight. But Lily found me. She tiptoed down a few steps, her head cocked. Then she pointed at my head and burst out laughing. “Mommy, look! It’s a bald freak! She’s so ugly!” My face burned with shame. I instinctively covered my head with my hands. Her mother gave a half-hearted tug on her arm. “Lily, that’s not nice.” But the adults upstairs paid no mind, their conversation continuing uninterrupted. Lily took that as permission. Later, while the grown-ups were talking in the living room, she snuck over to my basement room. She snatched the only toy I owned—a one-armed doll Leo had found for me—threw it on the floor, and stomped on it. “Baldies only play with trash!” she sneered. I trembled with rage, tears welling in my eyes, but I bit them back. I remembered my mother’s revulsion. I remembered Leo’s warning not to cause trouble. I bit my lip until it bled, picked up my dirt-stained doll, and wiped it clean with my sleeve. That afternoon, she took a sparkly rhinestone hair clip Evelyn had given her, and hid it under the thin, lumpy mattress on my bed. Then she ran upstairs, screaming. “My hair clip is gone! The one Aunt Evelyn gave me! It must have been the bald girl! She was staring at my hair all morning!” The house erupted. Lily’s mom grabbed her crying daughter, her voice sharp. “Evelyn, really… I know the girl comes from a rough place, but you have to teach her not to steal.” Evelyn’s face turned ashen. Without even asking, she snapped at Mrs. Gable, “Go get her. Now.” I was dragged into the living room. My bare, dusty feet were a smudge on the pristine white carpet. I clutched the hem of my worn dress. “I didn’t… I didn’t take it…” I whispered. “Liar!” Evelyn’s voice was shrill. “Did the clip just get up and walk away? I knew you were no good!” Mr. Ashford, sitting on the sofa, simply frowned at his newspaper. “What’s all the noise? It’s a small thing. If she took it, she can give it back. Just try to have cleaner hands in the future.” “Search her room!” Evelyn commanded. Mrs. Gable found the clip in seconds. From behind her mother’s skirt, Lily gave me a smug, triumphant smile. Evelyn looked humiliated. Her chest heaved as she pointed a shaking finger at me, turning to Leo. “Leo! Is this the good girl you’re raising? A common thief? Lock her in the basement. No food for three days! Let her think about what she’s done! I don’t want to see her face!” Leo opened his mouth, then closed it with a heavy sigh. He took my hand and led me back down the stairs. The door clicked shut, plunging the room into near darkness. I curled up on the cold bed, my stomach aching with hunger, but it was nothing compared to the cold in my heart. I didn’t cry. I just thought, Mommy is even angrier now. I did something wrong again. Maybe if I had hair, they wouldn’t think I was a thief. Maybe if I’d hidden better, Lily wouldn’t have found me. The three days were hard. Leo would sneak me crusts of bread and a cup of cold water. As I chewed the stale bread, a single, anxious thought consumed me: What if Mommy gets sick from being so angry? She’s already so frail. 3 Three days later, when the door finally opened, my legs were so weak I could barely stand. The sunlight was a physical blow, and the smell of food from the kitchen made my empty stomach cramp violently. Leo pulled me into a corner and pressed a small bowl of warm broth into my hands. His own hands were trembling, his eyes red. “Kiddo, eat slow. There’s… there’s something I have to tell you.” I looked up at him, my spoon halfway to my mouth. “The missus… your mother… she’s pregnant.” I froze. The spoon clattered against the bowl. Pregnant? Momma… was having another baby? I remembered back in the shack, my mother’s belly had gotten big once before. I’d hidden and watched as she slammed her own body, again and again, against the sharp stone edge of the hearth, until dark red blood soaked through her pants and pooled on the dirt floor. I had been too terrified to even make a sound. But this was different. Here, in this beautiful house, with Mr. Ashford, she wouldn’t have to do that anymore. From that day on, everything revolved around my mother and the baby. Mr. Ashford was home more, his voice softer, full of a joy I’d never heard. The whole house smelled of rich, savory soups Mrs. Gable was always cooking. Sometimes I’d sneak a glance from the backyard and see new, whimsical wind chimes hanging in the windows upstairs. It was all so beautiful, and so far away, like a story from another world. I could only listen to the muffled sounds of them discussing names, my hand drifting up to touch the prickly stubble on my scalp, a hollow ache in my chest. I still couldn’t help but wonder. Would it be a boy or a girl? Would it look like her, or Mr. Ashford? My longing to see my mother grew stronger. I knew she hated the sight of me, but I couldn’t stop myself. I’d hide behind drying sheets on the clothesline, or in the shade of a large azalea bush, just to catch a glimpse of her. She was gaining more weight, a healthy color returning to her cheeks. Mr. Ashford would walk with her in the garden, and sometimes she would look down at her growing belly, a soft hand resting on it. Once, lost in thought, I wasn’t hidden well enough. She sensed me. Her eyes swept the yard and landed on me. The softness on her face vanished, replaced by a mask of cold fury. She turned and practically ran back inside, slamming the glass patio door shut. The curtains were drawn, a final, definitive barrier. A few days later, I heard her voice from upstairs, hysterical and weeping. “I can’t! I can’t stand it! I have nightmares just knowing she’s here! It will hurt the baby! You have to send her away! Send her so far away I never have to see her again!” Mr. Ashford’s low voice soothed her. “Alright, alright, don’t get worked up. For the baby… whatever you want. I’ll have Leo arrange it.” Leo came down to the basement, his eyes red-rimmed. He silently packed my small bag—two old dresses and my one-armed doll. He kept stroking my head, his voice choked. “Kiddo, you be good, you hear? You take care of yourself… I’m so sorry…” I kept my head down. I didn’t cry. I was being thrown away again. As Leo was leading me towards the back door, a new set of voices echoed from the front of the house. A striking, elderly woman with hair the same natural blonde as mine and eyes like blue jewels was being welcomed in. She was impeccably dressed, carrying a leather handbag, and laughing with Mr. Ashford. We had to cross the hallway to leave, and our paths intersected. The old woman’s eyes landed on me instantly. She stopped, her blue eyes studying me with curiosity. “Oh? And who is this little angel?” she asked in a clear voice with a faint European accent. “Arthur, you didn’t tell me you had such a charming young guest.” The mood in the room shifted. Everyone froze. My mother shrank behind Mr. Ashford. “Aunt Isabella,” Arthur said, his voice strained. “This is our chauffeur’s adopted daughter. From the country. She’s a bit… unruly. We were just sending her back.” The woman, Isabella, nodded thoughtfully. As Leo tried to pull me along, she raised an elegant hand. “Well,” she said, her voice ringing with authority. “If you’re sending her away, you might as well send her to me. I quite adore her.” 4 She looked down at me, her smile gentle. “Oh, my dear little angel, what is your name? How old are you?” A name? The man in the shack had always called me “bastard.” My mother… my mother had always sobbed that I was a “millstone,” a “curse.” I didn’t think I had a name. Just then, Evelyn peeked out from behind Arthur. “Aunt Isabella! She’s just a wild kid from the sticks, no name, no manners! She’s clumsy, she even steals! If you want a child for company, you should take Lily. Lily is smart and polite, you’d…” “Evelyn,” Isabella interrupted her, her tone still gentle but firm. “I was speaking to the child.” She turned back to me, her blue eyes encouraging. I looked at my mother’s pale, desperate face, and clutched my little bag tighter. My mind was a mess. I should go with this lady. It would make my mother happy. If I was gone, she wouldn’t be angry, and it would be better for the baby. But if I left… would I ever see my mother again? Isabella reached out and took my small hand in hers. She then stood and addressed Leo. “Leo, please pack the child’s things. Just the basics. I will buy her everything else new.” And just like that, I was led away like a stray puppy, my hand in hers, walking towards the front door. As we passed my mother, I looked up at her. She buried her face in Arthur’s shoulder, refusing to meet my eyes. Isabella’s car was even fancier than Mr. Ashford’s. She lifted me inside; the seats were like clouds. As the car pulled away, I pressed my face to the window, desperately looking back. The big, bright house grew smaller. Leo was a tiny figure waving from the driveway. Would my mother come out for one last look? No. Everything blurred and then disappeared around the corner. The car was quiet and smelled of lavender. Isabella looked at my bald head and my ill-fitting dress and sighed softly. She took a cashmere shawl from her shoulders and wrapped it around me, cocooning my small body. “Poor little bird,” she whispered. “Don’t be afraid. You’re with Grandma now.” After a moment, she asked again, her voice soft. “Tell me your name, dear. I can’t call you ‘little angel’ forever.” I looked down at my lap. “I’m five,” I mumbled. “I don’t have a name.” Isabella was silent for a long moment. Then, in a voice that was certain and grand, as if she were making a royal decree, she said, “No name? That simply will not do. You came to me in the summer, like the brightest, warmest sunshine. From now on, your name will be Summer. May your life be as brilliant and warm as your name.” Summer? I had a name. My name… was Summer. I repeated it in my mind, over and over, a secret treasure.

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My grandma’s new boyfriend—a guy young enough to be my classmate—thought I owed him alimony. “I provided your grandmother with months of emotional support,” he said, cornering me outside the hospital cafeteria. “Now that she’s gone, it’s your turn to show some respect. It’s not much, just five grand a month. I’ve already texted you my Venmo. Don’t be late.” I actually laughed, shot him a look of disgust, and turned to walk away. That’s when he started wailing, a full-blown public spectacle. “Hey, everyone, get a look at this!” he shouted, tears streaming down his face with Emmy-worthy speed. “Granddaughter refuses to take care of her elders! She makes over ten grand a month and won’t spare a dime for the man who loved her grandma! This is what’s wrong with kids today! No respect!” I looked at the “elder” in front of me, who couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, and pulled out my grandparents’ marriage certificate. “Actually,” I said, my voice cold and clear, “you can start by paying back every single dollar my grandmother ever spent on you.” 1 In the months before she died, my grandmother, Eleanor, started acting strangely. One day she’d sigh about how she’d never seen the cobblestone streets of New Orleans in the spring. The next, she’d complain that my grandpa, Arthur, was a stoic old bore and she’d never even seen the big sky of Montana. I had already booked us flights to New Orleans. But just before we were supposed to leave, Grandma dropped a bomb: she was in love. My grandpa, a quiet man who spent his life building bridges and speaking in blueprints, just took off his glasses and polished them, his hands trembling slightly. He didn’t say a word, but I could see the tears welling in his eyes. “Grandma, what are you talking about?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. “You’re sixty-five. Grandpa is right here. Have you been watching too much reality TV?” She just glared at my grandpa, her nose scrunched up in a way I’d never seen before. “You don’t need to worry about it,” she sniffed. “I’m going to New Orleans with my new boyfriend. I’ll bring you back some beignets.” And just like that, she grabbed her suitcase and headed for the door. “Grandma, what about your blood pressure medication?” I pleaded, following her. “You can’t just go off by yourself! Do you even know how to use a mobile boarding pass?” She wouldn’t listen. She was a woman on a mission, dragging her little roller bag behind her, deaf to my protests. It was only when we got to the elevator that I saw him. A guy, maybe twenty-five or twenty-six, decked out in flashy streetwear, his blond hair meticulously messy. He stood there, bouncing one leg like he had a nervous twitch. “Yo,” he said, looking me up and down. “You must be the granddaughter. Nice to meet ya. Aren’t you gonna give your new grandpa a little welcome gift?” He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, expertly flicking one into his mouth. When he leaned toward Grandma, she actually blushed, fumbling in her purse for a lighter and sparking it for him. “You look so cool when you smoke, babe,” she cooed. “Babe?” I repeated the word, my voice barely a whisper. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. “Grandma, don’t tell me this is your boyfriend.” Her eyes darted away for a second, but the blond leech just wrapped an arm around her, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “It’s okay, sweetheart.” That was it. I put my hands on my hips, my voice rising. “Grandma, do you have any idea what you’re doing? You’re really going to New Orleans with this… this kid?” With him by her side, her confidence surged. “Yes! I am!” she declared. But he cut her off. “Hey, watch your mouth,” he snapped at me. “It’s not ‘this kid.’ I’m your grandma’s boyfriend. You’re gonna call me Grandpa.” I was about to unleash a string of curses, but Grandma stepped in front of him. “Chloe! What is wrong with you? I expect you to be polite to… to your grandpa! This is my boyfriend. A real, proper boyfriend. And yes, we are going to New Orleans together. Now stop interfering and remember your manners.” I felt like I was going to explode. “Grandma, do you know how old he is? How old you are? What manners? He’s barely older than I am! And can’t you smell that cheap cologne? He’s a gold digger! A leech!” Before I could say more, he planted a loud, wet kiss on her cheek. “You’re so good to me, sweetheart,” he purred. “Don’t listen to her. She doesn’t understand love. Spending money on the person you love is the most romantic thing in the world. Speaking of which, I saw the cutest matching backpacks at the mall yesterday. They’d be perfect for our travel photos. The mall is on the way to the airport…” 2 After the kiss, my grandma was beaming, a goofy grin plastered on her face. I don’t even think she heard what he said. She just nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, of course, darling! I love buying you things. When you look handsome, it makes me look good!” Just then, the apartment door opened again. My grandpa, his bad hip making him slow, had followed us out. He arrived just in time to see the blond kid give my grandma another sloppy kiss, leaving a faint trail of saliva on her wrinkled cheek. “Eleanor…” Grandpa’s voice was a ragged whisper, filled with more worry than anger. The kid glanced at him and sneered. “So this is the old geezer you wasted your life with, huh, babe? Poor you. But don’t worry, you’ve got me now.” Grandma snorted. “You’re right. He’s useless. No romance, no money. Now he’s old and I have to take care of him. Not like you. You just make me happy.” She turned on Grandpa, jabbing a finger in his direction. “Arthur! I’m telling you now, I am sick and tired of you! Stay out of my business!” The kid’s eyes lit up. He showered her face with more kisses. “So, babe, when are you gonna kick this fossil to the curb and marry me? I can’t wait for our honeymoon.” I watched them, my stomach churning. I glanced at my grandpa. The light had gone out of his eyes. His hand, which he’d raised as if to reach for her, dropped to his side. He looked utterly defeated. In that moment, I wanted to wash my hands of the whole thing. My grandma had been complaining about Grandpa for years. She was always yelling at him, claiming she was his caretaker, when in reality, it was him, limping and in constant pain, who looked after her. And now this… bringing this parasite into our home. I sighed and gently took Grandpa’s arm. “Grandpa, let’s go back inside. It’s not worth getting upset over this.” But he wouldn’t budge. He just kept muttering, “I have to bring Eleanor back… What if she gets hurt? She’s never had to fend for herself… What if he tricks her… Eleanor, don’t go…” As he spoke, the elevator doors closed, and my grandmother disappeared with her boy toy, without a single look back. 3 Grandpa suddenly pushed me away and lunged for the elevator, his bad hip causing him to stumble and fall. Even from the floor, he kept jabbing at the call button, his voice cracking. “Eleanor… Eleanor, don’t go… Come back…” The elevator was already on its way down. He tried to scramble toward the stairwell. “Chloe, please… help me get her back. She’ll get hurt out there. She’s never had a hard day in her life. What if he takes advantage of her?” Seeing the tears in his eyes, I finally gave in. But when we found them in New Orleans, she was nestled in the kid’s arms, putting on a public display of affection that made everyone around them uncomfortable. A little kid pointed and asked his mom, “Mommy, why is that grandma kissing her son?” The mother just grabbed her child and hurried away. Grandpa saw them together, and all the fight went out of him. “Chloe… I think she doesn’t want me anymore.” I couldn’t stand to see him like that. I marched over and pulled them apart. “Grandma, we’re going home. You wanted to see New Orleans, you’ve seen it. Grandpa and I will take you around, but you can’t listen to this guy anymore. He’s using you for your money! Can’t you see that?” She shoved me away. “Chloe! Your mother died when you were a baby! Who raised you? I just want to live my own life for once! Why can’t you support me? Are you going to just watch me waste the rest of my years with that boring old man?” She was so angry she was hyperventilating. The kid, whose name I learned was Kyle, just kept kissing her face, murmuring, “It’s okay, babe. You’re my sweet, generous baby. You told me spending money on me makes you happy.” Grandpa finally caught up, just in time to see Grandma pull a thick wad of cash from her purse and press it into Kyle’s hand. “Eleanor…” Grandpa’s hand trembled. “You’re being a fool…” My grandmother didn’t have a pension. She’d never worked a day in her life. All the money she was spending was Grandpa’s retirement savings. “Grandma!” I yelled. “That’s Grandpa’s money! You’re breaking his heart!” But she was beyond reason. “I’ve earned it! I slaved away for that old man my whole life! His money is my money! I’ll spend it however I want, and neither of you can stop me!” She took Kyle’s arm and stormed off. As they left, I heard her say, “Don’t listen to them, darling. Didn’t you say you saw a jacket you liked? I’ve got plenty of money, I’ll buy it for you…” I felt a knot tighten in my chest. All I could do was take my heartbroken grandpa for a walk to try and clear our heads. The next day, I got a call from the police. “Are you the next of kin for Eleanor Miller?” My heart sank. Grandma was dead. She and Kyle had been on their way to a designer clothing store. They had an argument because he wasn’t holding her hand to cross the street. In a fit of pique, she’d stormed into traffic and was killed instantly. Because she had run into the road, the accident was ruled her fault. Kyle, of course, was already trying to spin the story. “I’m telling you, she was just old, you know? Not looking where she was going. If I hadn’t jumped back, that car would’ve hit me too! My heart is still pounding… Can you believe it, officer?” He even had the gall to wink at the female cop who was taking his statement. She was not impressed. “Sir, this is a police station. Please conduct yourself appropriately.” My grandpa just stared at the death certificate, at the name ‘Eleanor Miller’ printed in stark black ink. His face was frozen. His mouth opened, but no sound came out except a strangled “Ah… ah…” Two silent tears rolled down his cheeks, saying more than words ever could. I felt a hollow ache in my chest. As Grandma had said, she was the one who raised me. My father had dropped me off with them after my mom died and then vanished from my life. She was the only mother I’d ever known. I thought she’d be with us for years to come. I never imagined this… this parasite Kyle would destroy our family. And he was still talking. “You know, she promised she’d buy me that jacket. We never even made it to the store. Hey, granddaughter, listen. After you deal with all the funeral stuff, you should do your duty and buy that jacket for your grandpa. And hey, I’ll let the whole ‘no welcome gift’ thing slide. But you’re going to have to start paying my monthly support on time.” 5 Hearing Kyle’s words, Grandpa finally snapped. He lunged at him, dragging his bad leg. “You! It’s all your fault! You killed my Eleanor with your sweet talk! You have to pay! Give me back my Eleanor!” He was aiming for Kyle’s throat, his eyes red with fury. But Grandpa was old and frail. Kyle, young and agile, easily sidestepped him. “Hey, old man, what’s your problem?” Kyle sneered. “Me and my babe had a thing, it was consensual. What’s it to you? Besides, look at you. You’ve got that old people smell. What woman would want you? Eleanor told me all about it! She said you were sloppy, that you never showered, that you stank! She said she was sick of taking care of you, sick of looking at you!” A police officer gently restrained Grandpa. But I couldn’t hold back anymore. I wanted to slap the smirk off Kyle’s face, but I knew, in a police station, that would only give him more ammunition. “Kyle,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “A minute ago you said you and my grandma were just friends. Now she’s your ‘babe’ again? Let me ask you, where were you when she stepped into the road? Why did you let her go?” His arrogant expression flickered. “Wh-what are you talking about? We weren’t anything serious. She was married. She just liked me, you know? Like a grandson. Bought me some stuff. It was no big deal. Don’t you go making accusations! I could sue you for slander! Besides, she was old! What would I want with her? She probably did it on purpose! Maybe she was tired of you two nagging her all the time! Yeah, maybe it was suicide! It had nothing to do with me!” The hypocrisy was astounding. One minute he’s demanding to be called ‘Grandpa,’ the next he’s calling her an old woman who killed herself. Before I could respond, I saw Grandpa clutch his chest, his face contorted in pain, and collapse. “Grandpa!” I screamed. Kyle just pointed a finger at him. “See! I was right! He knows his wife couldn’t stand him! That’s why she did it! He’s having a breakdown! I told you her death had nothing to do with me!”

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I opened my Instagram story, posted a selfie, and typed out the caption: “First time in the back of a cop car. A little nervous, any advice?” After five months of being systematically frozen out by my roommates, I was finally ready to fight back. I was curious to see which of the three of them would crack first. 1 It all started with three hundred-dollar bills. The first day after freshman orientation week, Sophie was crying in our dorm room, claiming that three hundred dollars in cash she’d left on her desk was gone. The mood in the room went from relaxed to tense in a heartbeat. Jenna, who was closest to Sophie, was the first to speak. “Okay, everyone just open your wallets and your luggage. Let’s get this over with so Sophie can check.” Sophie mumbled something about how that felt wrong, that we were all roommates. I agreed. We had a whole year ahead of us; starting it with an interrogation felt like a disaster waiting to happen. So, I made a fatally stupid, bleeding-heart suggestion. “Why don’t we all just leave the room for an hour? That way, if someone… you know… took it by mistake, they have a chance to put it back. No questions asked, we don’t have to make it a big deal.” When everyone agreed, I felt a flicker of pride. I thought I was being so mature, so considerate of everyone’s feelings. I had no idea I had just placed the target on my own back. After we all filed out of the room and came back an hour later, the money was still gone, and the atmosphere had turned weird. I’ve always been a bit of a loner, so I’d spent the hour at the campus gym and then grabbed dinner by myself. When I opened the door to our room, the other three were huddled on the floor, sharing a giant pizza. It was a little weird they hadn’t texted me, but I didn’t think too much of it. They’d invited me to go to a frat party with them the week before and I’d said no. I knew I wasn’t exactly the most social person. So I smiled and said, “Hey guys, looks good. Sophie, did the money turn up?” Sophie glanced nervously at Jenna, who answered for her. “Nope. It’s gone. Probably for good.” Then she looked me up and down, a strange glint in her eye. “We didn’t text you for pizza. Figured you were probably out treating yourself to a nice dinner.” The question was odd, but I just shrugged. “Nah, just the dining hall.” That night, I fell asleep to the lingering smell of pepperoni and a nagging thought. Why did she ask if I’d treated myself to dinner? Then it hit me. A cold, sickening realization. They thought I took the money. Jenna’s comment wasn’t a question; it was an accusation. She thought I’d stolen the cash and immediately spent it so they wouldn’t find it on me. I knew Jenna didn’t like me. The feeling was mutual. A few weeks earlier, I’d woken up to the smell of her cigarette smoke filling the room. I’d tried to be nice about it. “Hey Jenna, would you mind smoking in the bathroom? The smell is a little strong.” She’d glared at me. “I asked everyone at the beginning of the year if they were cool with it. You all said yes.” “I don’t mind that you smoke,” I clarified. “I just… would prefer you didn’t do it right next to my bed.” She didn’t say anything, but the look on her face was terrifying. She did smoke in the room less after that, but every word she spoke to me from then on was laced with sarcasm. Sophie never brought up the three hundred dollars again, saying it wasn’t worth fighting over. On the surface, things went back to normal. But underneath, a silent war had begun. Jenna’s hostility became more and more obvious. If I was hanging my laundry on the drying rack, she’d say, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Isn’t that Sophie’s rack? Careful, don’t burn your hands on it.” “Why would it be hot?” I’d ask. “From all the heat you’re getting,” she’d smirk. Another time, I came out of the shower and she made a big show of sniffing the air. “Smells nice in here. Sophie, is that your new body wash I smell coming from the bathroom?” I didn’t answer. My own bottle had run out, and I had used a little of Sophie’s without asking. It was my fault. I didn’t argue. I went out and bought my own drying rack, my own body wash, my own toilet paper. I kept everything in my closet and carried it back and forth to the bathroom, determined to never use anything that belonged to them again. The theft was the turning point. Before it, we were friendly. After it, I was an outcast. If one of them brought back snacks, they’d share with the other two, pointedly skipping me. If I offered them something, they’d refuse. If they were laughing and talking, the second I joined the conversation, silence would fall. Most of the time, I felt completely invisible. It was suffocating. But I knew confronting them was pointless. If they’d already decided I was a thief, anything I said would just sound like a guilty excuse. You can’t reason with people who have already made up their minds. I told myself it was fine. Roommates are just roommates. I could have a social life outside the dorm and just treat my room as a place to sleep. But Jenna wasn’t going to let me have even that. Her tactics escalated. One night, long after lights out, just as I was drifting off to sleep, the other three suddenly burst into loud laughter. I jolted awake, my heart pounding. They started talking about things I didn’t understand, inside jokes about “glittering disco balls” and how “the real nightlife is just getting started.” I realized they had a group chat without me. They were texting each other, right there, in the dark. I remembered us joking during orientation about how a dorm room of four girls probably has ten different group chats. We’d all laughed and said we’d never be like that. Turns out, we were exactly like that. A wave of sadness washed over me. I’ve always gotten along with people. I’d never been treated like this before. I didn’t know what to do. All I could do was try to ignore it, to not let them see how much it hurt. I rolled over, facing the wall. The room fell quiet. Just as I was about to fall asleep again, I heard Jenna’s sharp whisper cut through the darkness. “Hey, guys… do you hear that? Is someone crying?” Girls know exactly how to hurt other girls. And yes, I wanted to cry. It felt like she knew all my insecurities and was poking them with a stick. But I refused to give her the satisfaction. I took a deep breath, cleared my throat, and said in a voice that was surprisingly loud and steady, “Crying? Who’s crying? I don’t hear anything. You’re starting to freak me out, Jenna.” Silence. No one spoke. I felt a surge of victory. I pushed further, addressing the other two directly. “Did you guys hear anything?” Sophie stayed quiet. But then, a small voice answered. “No. I didn’t hear anything.” It was Jessica. The quietest of the three. It was the first time she’d taken my side in anything. I turned my voice back toward Jenna’s bed. “See? Nobody heard it. Maybe you’re the one who’s hearing things.” I couldn’t see her face in the dark, but she didn’t say another word. I felt like a general who had just won a major battle. Tonight, I could finally sleep. And I had Jessica, my unexpected ally, to thank. 2 I was grateful to Jessica. After the money incident, Jenna led the charge to isolate me. Sophie, true to her name, was gentle, but she clearly avoided being alone with me. In her eyes, I was a thief. Jessica was different. When Jenna was around, she was quiet, probably intimidated. But when it was just the two of us, she was friendly. She loved classic literature, just like me, and would talk my ear off about the dramatic lives of F. Scott Fitzgerald and Zelda. I’d heard the stories a hundred times, but I listened patiently. She was the only friend I had left in that room. I understood why she was cautious. I was the pariah. No one wants to be friends with the outcast for fear of becoming one themselves. Her small moments of kindness when no one was looking were enough. After my late-night counterattack, Jenna backed off for a while. I thought maybe I’d finally gotten through to her. I was wrong. She was just planning her next move. One afternoon, I walked into our room and stopped dead. It looked like a cheap nightclub. A portable disco ball was flashing colored lights on the walls, and a Bluetooth speaker was blasting house music. So that’s what they were talking about that night. The three of them froze when I walked in. Jenna recovered first, starting to dance with an exaggerated swagger. The goal, I assumed, was to make me so uncomfortable that I would just leave. But Sophie and Jessica just looked awkward, their movements stiff and robotic. I watched them for a moment, then nodded approvingly. “Don’t stop on my account. I’m just gonna take a shower.” The music didn’t stop. I have to admit, showering with a built-in soundtrack was pretty great. Jenna had the stamina of a professional club-goer. Long after Sophie and Jessica had given up, she was still dancing by herself in front of the mirror. If we weren’t enemies, I would’ve been impressed. But it was 11 PM on a Tuesday. I sat on my bed, staring at her. She kept dancing, the music thumping through the floor. It was a battle of wills. Sometime after midnight, I passed out. My 8 AM alarm felt like a cruel joke. As I sat in my lecture, exhausted, I knew I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to get out of that room. After class, I went straight to our RA’s office. Mark was a recent grad, and everyone loved him. He tried to act like a serious authority figure, but we all knew he was just a big brother type. I’d avoided bringing him into this, wanting to solve my own problems. But I was at my breaking point. I tried to stay calm as I explained the situation, terrified he would hit me with the classic, “Well, why do you think they’re singling you out?” But he didn’t. He listened patiently, expressed his sympathy, and then firmly rejected my request for a room change. My heart sank. “Why?” “Clara,” he said gently, “I get a request for a room change almost every week. If I said yes to everyone, the whole system would fall apart. You put a bunch of people from different backgrounds in a small space, there’s going to be conflict. The answer isn’t to run away; it’s to figure out how to solve the problem.” “So what am I supposed to do?” I asked, feeling hopeless. “I’ll call a meeting with your roommates,” he said. “We’ll mediate. We’ll try to work this out.” A mediation. That wasn’t just dropping a bomb on the situation; it was detonating a nuke. He must have seen the panic in my eyes, because he added, “Look, if it becomes clear that the situation is impossible to fix, I promise I’ll find a way to get you a new room.” I left his office feeling sick with dread. When I got back to the dorm, only Jessica was there. “Mark called Sophie and Jenna to his office,” she said, not looking up from her book. “That was you, right?” I took a deep breath. “Yeah. Why didn’t you have to go?” “It doesn’t have anything to do with me. I’m not getting involved.” She finally looked at me. “But are you serious about changing rooms?” I didn’t answer. Of course I didn’t want the hassle, but living like this was torture. “Do you all really think I stole that money?” I asked quietly. “Didn’t you?” Her simple question felt like a punch to the gut. The blood drained from my face. All this time, her kindness, her friendship—was it all fake? There’s a reason why, in movies, the person getting bullied just stands there and takes it. You’re too stunned by the cruelty to react. You’re too sensitive to accept that people can hate you for no reason. You’re too scared to fight back because you know you have no one in your corner. I choked back tears. “Even if I said I didn’t, you wouldn’t believe me, would you? There’s no proof.” 3 Jessica almost seemed amused. “It’s just a few hundred bucks. It’s not a big deal.” Her casual dismissal infuriated me. “Then why did you make a secret group chat without me?” “Because you never want to go out with us,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “We made a separate chat so we could make plans without making you feel awkward every time you said no. We were trying to be nice.” And there it was. Bullies never think they’re the bad guys. They always have a justification. They’re never sorry. I pulled out my phone and texted my best friend from home. She’d been my rock through all of this. Her: “Why should YOU have to move? They’re the assholes! They should be the ones to leave!” Me: “That’s not going to happen. The three of them are a package deal.” Her: “I don’t buy it. People like that can’t stay friends for long. There have to be cracks. If I were you, I’d stay put and wait for them to turn on each other. It’s gonna be epic.” Her texts always made me feel better, but the dread of the impending storm returned as soon as I put my phone down. Jenna and Sophie came back from their meeting with Mark. Jenna slammed the door, throwing her backpack on the floor. Sophie and Jessica stood by, watching her silently. “Some people have a lot of nerve,” Jenna spat, glaring at me. “Running to the RA like a little kid.” I knew this was it. I had to stand up for myself. I forced a smile. “That’s right. I asked for a room change. If everything goes well, you won’t have to see me anymore. Happy?” I braced for a fight, but she just went quiet. In that moment, I realized she was just a paper tiger. All bark, no bite. The second I showed a little bit of spine, she backed down. “Go if you want,” she mumbled. “No one’s begging you to stay.” “I don’t want to go,” I said, feeling my confidence grow. “But when you’re blasting music at 2 AM, I can’t sleep. If I stay, I’ll end up in a psych ward.” As we were staring each other down, I heard a small, sharp laugh from behind me. It was Jessica. I whipped around. Jenna was fuming, Sophie looked terrified. Jessica immediately pretended to be busy organizing her desk. Why would she laugh? A cold thought trickled into my mind. Someone is enjoying this. The room change didn’t happen. Mark kept telling me he was “working on it.” As I expected, Jenna didn’t stop tormenting me. In fact, she got worse, furious that I had stood up to her. That night, she called for a “roommate meeting.” The three of them sat on chairs facing my desk, like an interrogation panel. “We never wanted to kick you out,” Jenna began. “We just have a problem with some of your behavior.” “I didn’t steal the money,” I said flatly. “Then why did you make that suggestion about leaving the room?” I cringed, hating my past self. “In high school, a kid stole some money, and the principal handled it that way. It gave the kid a chance to fix their mistake without being publicly shamed. I thought… I thought it was the right thing to do. I never imagined you would think it was me.” “You’re the poorest one here,” she said bluntly. “It’s not a huge leap.” “Excuse me?” The insult stung, but looking around at her designer makeup, Sophie’s collection of expensive anime figures, and Jessica’s overflowing wardrobe, I couldn’t deny that, on the surface, she was right. “First of all, I’m not poor enough to need to steal. Second, being poor doesn’t make you a thief. I didn’t take it. Believe it or not.” Sophie spoke up, her voice soft. “It’s in the past. The money doesn’t matter anymore.” “She’s right,” Jenna agreed. “The point of this meeting is to clear the air. From now on, we solve our problems in here, not by running to the RA.” Jessica, the peacemaker, added, “Let’s just all say what’s bothering us so we can move on.” Fine. If I was stuck here, I might as well try. “Okay,” I said, looking directly at Jenna. “I have a problem with you smoking in the room in the morning. That’s it.” Her face darkened. “Oh yeah? And what about you using people’s body wash without asking? You think that’s not annoying as hell?” Damn it. That stupid body wash. “You’re right,” I admitted. “That was my mistake. You called me out on it, and I won’t do it again.” My apology didn’t pacify her; it emboldened her. “Let me tell you something,” she sneered, leaning forward. “I’m the only one from this city. I know people at this school, a lot of people. You better watch how you talk to me. You push me too far, and my friends and I will be happy to meet you on the quad after class.” Coming from anyone else, it would have been laughable. But from her, it felt real. That night, I was back in Mark’s office, sobbing, telling him how Jenna had threatened me. He was furious, promising me that he would never let that kind of bullying happen on his watch. But when I begged him again for a room change, he just sighed and said his hands were tied. There was no escape. I had to find my own way out. 4 I had a secret weapon stashed in my closet. It was a birthday present I’d bought for Jenna months ago. My own birthday was right at the start of the semester, back when we were all friends. They had all pitched in to get me a nice skincare set. I was so touched that I’d started planning their gifts immediately. For Jenna, I’d chosen a beautiful, vintage-style Zippo lighter. She was always self-conscious about her smoking. I wanted the gift to say, “I don’t like the smoke, but I don’t judge you for smoking.” But after the money incident, I never had the chance to give it to her. It was just collecting dust. Maybe it could buy me some peace. The next morning, as everyone was getting ready for class, I grabbed the gift box, shoved it into her hands, and said, “Happy belated birthday!” before sprinting out of the room like my life depended on it. I was too embarrassed to bring it up again, but I started to notice small changes. Jenna stopped making snide comments. She started smoking in the bathroom without me having to ask. One day in class, she even asked if I wanted to be in her group for a project. It was probably just because she knew I had a good GPA, but I was so relieved I almost cried. The fear of being jumped on the quad finally started to fade. I really was a coward. Things with Sophie and Jessica settled into a polite, distant roommate relationship. My life went back to its quiet routine of classes, gym, and solitude. The room change never materialized, and I stopped asking. The new year was the first pebble that broke the calm surface of the water. Jenna took Sophie home with her for the New Year’s weekend, leaving just me and Jessica in the dorm. On the last day, Jessica went out, and when she came back, she had a small gift bag for me. It was a lipstick from a niche indie brand. It wasn’t expensive, but it was the thought that counted. “I know you don’t wear much makeup,” she said, “so I picked a really natural shade. It’s supposed to look good on everyone, even with no other makeup on.” I’m a sucker for kindness. All my previous suspicions melted away. I was so happy I felt guilty for not getting her anything. That night, my phone buzzed with a text from Jenna. Jenna: “Is that lipstick on your desk shade 307?” My stomach dropped. The word “thief” felt like a curse I couldn’t escape. Me: “It was a gift from Jessica. I don’t know the shade.” Jenna: “Look at the bottom.” I flipped it over. 307. A strange, electric feeling shot through me. It took me a moment to recognize it: the exhilarating thrill of impending vindication. But my first instinct was still panic. How was I going to explain this? Then I realized: if Jenna suspected me, she wouldn’t be texting me. She’d be kicking down the door. This was different. The next time I got her alone, I asked, “What’s with the lipstick?” “I bought Sophie the exact same one for New Year’s,” she said. “Same shade.” A lightning bolt went off in my head. “It was a gift from Jessica,” I repeated, my voice shaking a little. “It wasn’t me.” “I know,” she said, looking me over. “You only use, like, drugstore chapstick.” Her tone was condescending, but right then, it was the sweetest sound in the world. If she’d just seen the lipstick and jumped to conclusions, I would be facing round two of this nightmare. “Are you going to confront Jessica?” I asked. “Not yet,” she said. “The lipstick isn’t the main problem. Sophie’s Yeezys are missing, too.” “Her what?” I asked, confused. Was that more expensive than a lipstick? Jenna gave me a look of profound pity. “Her sneakers. The Nikes.” Oh. Right. That meant they were expensive. A quick Google search told me they were very expensive. Four figures. Easily enough to tempt someone to steal. Jenna and I went to talk to Sophie. “Why didn’t you guys suspect me this time?” I had to ask. Jenna shrugged. “You’re broke, but you’re not flashy. You can barely tell Nike from Adidas. You wouldn’t even know where to go to sell them.” I was a little insulted, but mostly, I was deeply relieved. My simple, uncool lifestyle had just become my best alibi. “And who steals something and then leaves it out on their desk for everyone to see?” Sophie added. I made a mental note to never put that lipstick away. This time, Sophie was determined to investigate. I was right there with her. When Jessica heard that we wanted to search the room again, she looked completely shocked. When she heard about the missing Yeezys, she was the picture of sympathy. She immediately agreed to have her closet searched. The search turned up nothing. “I can’t believe this is happening again,” Jessica said, sighing as she tidied her things. “Why is it always our room?” The three of us exchanged a look. “We shouldn’t tell anyone about this,” she added quickly. “It’ll just cause gossip.” Her words made me think. Back when I was the suspect, had I ever worried about them spreading rumors? No, I’d almost hoped they would, so I could make a bigger scene, prove my innocence, and get my room changed. But they never had. The conflict had always been contained within our four walls. Was that because of Jessica, too? Why was she so insistent on keeping things quiet? After the failed search, Jenna asked if I wanted to grab dinner. For the first time in months, the three of us walked out of the room together. I glanced back over my shoulder. Jessica was alone inside, sweeping the floor. So, this time, you’re the one being left behind. 5 I threw the lipstick in the trash. The pretty lies—that she’d picked the color just for me—were a final, poisoned meal before the execution. She had played me perfectly, using a cheap gift to set me up as the fall guy. Sophie told us that besides the shoes and lipstick, a few of her necklaces were missing too. She had so much jewelry that she hadn’t noticed until she went looking. This was more than three hundred dollars. She wanted proof. She wanted justice. And I wanted it more than she did. I needed to clear my name, not just for them, but for myself. First step: security footage. We went to the building manager, who sent us to our RA. Mark groaned, “What now?” and sent us to the Dean of Student Affairs. The Dean said we needed a form from Campus Security. Campus Security gave us the form but said it needed the Dean’s signature. We were pawns in a bureaucratic chess game. Finally, with a stack of signed and stamped papers, we arrived at the security office. The door was locked. Sophie and Jenna waited outside while I went to find the person in charge. I was possessed. I asked every university employee I saw. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I was directed to a stressed-out-looking man in a suit. He was not interested in my problem. “Kid, do you see those police cars?” he said, pointing out the window. “There was a gas leak in the main dining hall. I’m a little busy. Come back tomorrow.” Police cars. An idea sparked. I saw a group of officers standing nearby and, without a second thought, I ran over to them. “Officer, I need to report a theft!” One of them led me to a sergeant who looked like he’d seen it all. I took a deep breath and told him everything, making sure to emphasize the value of the shoes. “They’re worth over a thousand dollars!” He took it seriously. Within fifteen minutes, two officers were at our dorm. Jenna and Sophie were stunned when I called them. “I thought you were finding the security guy! How did you end up with the cops?” This wasn’t part of the plan. It felt like fate. Facing two uniformed police officers in our tiny room was terrifying. The interrogation was brief and professional. Then, they said they needed to see the security footage. Suddenly, the security guy was extremely cooperative. He led us to his office and pulled up the feeds. The cameras in the lobby and hallways worked fine. The ones on our residential floor? A blank, black screen. He chuckled nervously. “Yeah, to save money, those ones aren’t actually turned on. They’re just for show.” I wanted to scream. All that running around, all those forms, for a bunch of fake cameras. The police said they needed the official complainant to come to the station to file a report. Sophie looked terrified, so I offered to go with her. This was my fight, too. Jenna said she had dinner plans with her mom. Jessica just sat on her bed, scrolling through her phone as if nothing was happening. As we were leaving, our building manager called out to the officers, “You’ll bring our girls back safe, right?” “Of course, ma’am.” It was my first time in a police car. A criminal would want to hide, but an innocent person? An innocent person wants to show off. I scrolled through my contacts, wondering who to tell, when the perfect idea hit me. I turned to Sophie. “You know, this is kind of a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I kinda want to post about it.” “Go for it,” she said. “You don’t mind if people know your stuff was stolen?” “Why would I mind?” she said, a new steel in her voice. “The person who should be worried is the one who stole it.” I smiled. “Exactly.” I opened my Instagram story, posted a selfie of the two of us in the back of the squad car, and typed out the caption: “First time in the back of a cop car. A little nervous, any advice?” I watched the question marks and shocked-face emojis start rolling in, then turned off my phone. Filing the report was boring. It was nothing like on TV. As the officer took our statements, Sophie and I started talking, trying to piece together a timeline. And as we talked, we found something. A discrepancy. A hole in the story. And we knew we were finally on the right track.

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I snapped a selfie and posted it to my Instagram story. The caption: “First time in the back of a cop car. Kinda nervous, what do I do?” Five months into being frozen out by my roommates, I was finally fighting back. I couldn’t wait to see which one of the three would crack first. 01 It all started with three hundred-dollar bills. The day after freshman orientation week, Ashley was crying in our dorm room, saying three hundred bucks she’d left on her desk was gone. The vibe in the room went from chill to ice-cold in a second. Jess, Ashley’s closest friend and our resident queen bee, was the first to speak up. “Everyone just open your wallets and luggage, let Ashley check. Let’s get this over with.” Ashley mumbled something like, “I don’t know, that feels weird, we’re all roommates…” I agreed. We’d just met. Starting the semester with an accusation like this would poison the well for the next four years. So, I said something incredibly naive, something straight out of an after-school special. “Hey, what if we all just leave the room for a while? If someone… you know… took it, this gives them a chance to put it back. No questions asked, we don’t have to make a big deal out of it.” When everyone agreed, I felt a little proud of myself, thinking I was so considerate of everyone’s feelings. I had no idea that when we all walked back into the room a little later, everything had changed. I’ve always been a bit of a loner. I went to the campus gym by myself, then grabbed dinner at the dining hall before heading back. When I opened our door, the other three were huddled around a little electric skillet, making hot pot. The smell of spicy broth was overpowering. It was weird they hadn’t invited me, but I kind of got it. They’d asked me to go clubbing with them before, and I’d said no. I wasn’t really part of their scene. So I just smiled and acted normal. “Smells good! Hey, did Ashley find her money?” Ashley glanced nervously at Jess. Jess answered for her. “Nope. It’s gone. Probably for good.” Then she looked me up and down, a weird glint in her eye. “We didn’t text you for dinner. Figured you treated yourself to something nice, right?” It was a strange question, but I didn’t think much of it. “Nah, just the dining hall.” That night, I fell asleep to the thick, greasy smell of hot pot that just wouldn’t go away. In my dreams, I kept replaying what Jess said. Figured you treated yourself to something nice. Could they… could they possibly think I took the money? Was she implying I stole it and spent it on a fancy dinner so there’d be no evidence? I wanted to grab her and shake her. What did you mean by that? I knew she didn’t like me, which was fine, because the feeling was mutual. We’d clashed a couple of weeks earlier because she loved to smoke in the room. I woke up one morning choking on the smell and asked her, as nicely as I could, if she could maybe smoke in the bathroom or outside. Her face went cold. “I asked everyone when we moved in if they minded me smoking, and you all said it was fine.” “I don’t mind you smoking,” I said. “I have no problem with it. I just… wish you’d do it in the bathroom.” The look she gave me was terrifying. I dropped it. But I did notice she smoked in front of us a lot less after that. She barely spoke to me, and when she did, her words always had an edge. I had a sinking feeling she was the one whispering in Ashley’s ear, telling her I was the thief. Ashley never mentioned the three hundred dollars again, saying it was just money and she’d let it go. Since the victim wasn’t pushing it, nobody else brought it up. The room seemed to go back to normal, but it was like a calm lake with a monster swimming just below the surface. I could feel Jess targeting me more and more. Like, when I was hanging my laundry on the rack, she’d say, “Isn’t that Ashley’s drying rack? Your hands must be burning.” “Why would they be burning?” I’d ask. “From the sun, obviously,” she’d smirk. Or when I got out of the shower, she’d sniff the air dramatically and say to Ashley, loud enough for me to hear, “Wow, that body wash smells amazing. How’d your scent get all the way from the bathroom, Ash?” I didn’t say anything. My own body wash had run out, and I had used a little of Ashley’s without asking. It was my bad. This time, I didn’t fight back. I quietly bought my own drying rack, my own body wash, shampoo, even my own toilet paper. I stopped sharing anything. Every time I showered or did laundry, I’d lug my own stuff with me and lock it back in my cabinet afterward. The missing money was the turning point. Before that, we were friendly, laughing and joking around. After, the air between me and everyone else was thick with unspoken tension. I could feel them shutting me out. If one of them brought back snacks, they’d offer them to the other two, pointedly skipping me. If I offered them something, they’d refuse. If they were all chatting and I tried to join in, the conversation would just… die. I was a ghost in my own room. It was suffocating. I wanted to ask them what was going on, but I knew it was pointless. If they’d decided I was a thief, nothing I could say would change their minds. Any explanation would just sound like a guilty excuse. The people who believe you will always believe you. The people who don’t will twist every word you say. Roommates are just roommates, I told myself. It’s okay if you don’t become best friends. I could find friends elsewhere and just use my dorm as a place to sleep. But life is rarely that simple. Jess escalated things. One night, after lights out, we were all in bed. Just as I was drifting off to sleep, the other three burst out laughing at the same time. It jolted me awake. My heart started pounding. They started talking about things I didn’t understand, whispering about “flashing disco balls” and how “the real nightlife is just getting started.” I realized they must have a group chat without me. They were all lying in their beds, texting each other, making me the butt of the joke. I remembered back at orientation, we’d laughed at that meme about how a dorm room of four girls has twenty-five different group chats. We all thought it was so ridiculous. Now, here we were. Art imitating life. A wave of sadness washed over me. We had all gotten along so well at first. Why did it have to turn out like this? I’d always had friends, I’d never been treated this way before. I had no idea what to do, how to handle it, so I just let it happen. The only thing I could do, it seemed, was to not let them see they were getting to me. I rolled over, facing the wall. I heard their whispering stop, and the room fell silent for a moment. Just as I was about to fall asleep again, I heard Jess’s sharp, taunting voice cut through the darkness. “Hey, you guys hear that? I think someone’s crying.” Leave it to a mean girl to know exactly where to stick the knife. I did want to cry. It was like Jess could sense my insecurity, my sensitivity, and she was deliberately poking at my fragile self-esteem. But I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction. I’m stronger than you think, I told myself. I forced myself to wake up fully, cleared my throat, and said in a voice that was surprisingly loud and steady, “Who’s crying? I don’t hear anything. You’re gonna freak us out in the middle of the night.” Silence. Complete silence. I felt a surge of victory. It was like a tiny trumpet blast in my head, urging me on. I pushed further, speaking clearly to the other two silent onlookers. “Did you guys hear anything?” Ashley stayed quiet. But then, another voice answered. “Nope. Didn’t hear a thing.” It was Chloe. Quiet, low-key Chloe, who usually stayed out of the drama. She had answered me. I turned my head in Jess’s direction. “See? Nobody heard anything. Maybe you’re hearing ghosts.” I couldn’t see her face in the dark, but she didn’t say another word. I was so happy. I felt like a general who had just won a major battle. Tonight, I could sleep soundly. And I owed a small thank you to my unexpected ally, Chloe. 02 I was really grateful to Chloe. After the money incident, Jess had led the charge in freezing me out. Ashley, while not as openly hostile, clearly wanted nothing to do with me. In her eyes, I was probably a thief, and I couldn’t blame her for avoiding me. Chloe was different. When Jess was around, Chloe didn’t talk to me much, probably because she was afraid of getting on Jess’s bad side. But when it was just the two of us, she was incredibly friendly. We both liked to read, and she’d go on and on about classic American authors and their crazy lives. I’d heard most of the stories before, but I listened patiently. She was, for all intents and purposes, my only friend in that room. Even if she ignored me whenever Jess was there, I understood. I knew my situation. I was that one kid in middle school that everyone picks on. Even if someone feels sorry for you, they’re too scared to be seen with you, afraid the bullying will spread to them. All they can offer is a small bit of kindness when no one else is looking. I was grateful for that small bit of kindness. After my late-night comeback, Jess backed off for a while. I naively thought I’d scared her straight. I should have known she was just planning her next move. One day, I came back to the dorm and stopped dead in the doorway. Our drab, boring room had been transformed into a makeshift nightclub. Music was pulsing, the kind of beat that makes you want to dance even if you don’t want to. A cheap disco ball, plugged into an extension cord, was spinning on the floor, throwing colorful spots of light all over the walls. So this was the “flashing disco ball” they were whispering about. Who else but Jess would buy a disco ball and a speaker to throw a rave in a dorm room? The three of them must have been going wild before I walked in, because the moment I opened the door, they all froze. Jess recovered first, of course, and started dancing again with a defiant look on her face. I think her goal was to make me so uncomfortable, so annoyed by the noise and the lights, that I’d just give up and leave. But honestly, Ashley and Chloe looked way more awkward than I felt. They tried to keep dancing, but they looked like zombies doing the robot. I watched for a second, then nodded approvingly. “You guys have fun. I’m gonna take a shower.” The music didn’t stop while I was in the bathroom. I don’t know if they were having fun, but having a soundtrack for my shower was pretty great. I almost started singing. Jess, I had to admit, had the stamina of a professional club-goer. Even after Ashley and Chloe gave up, she was still dancing by herself in front of the full-length mirror, probably filming a TikTok. If we weren’t enemies, I would have been seriously impressed by her dedication. But we were enemies, and it was now 11 PM. I sat on my bed, staring at her. She kept dancing, blasting music from the speaker on the floor below me. It was a battle of wills. Who would break first? I don’t know who won, because I eventually passed out. But my alarm for my 8 AM class woke me up bright and early. They were chronic class-skippers and could sleep in, but I actually cared about my GPA. Sitting in lecture with massive bags under my eyes, I knew I couldn’t go on like this. As soon as class was over, I marched straight to our RA’s office. Our RA, Mike, had just graduated a couple of years ago. All the students liked him. The guys treated him like a brother, and the girls saw him as this cool older-brother figure. I’d been trying to handle this dorm drama myself, but I was at my breaking point. When I saw him, I almost broke down. I resisted the urge to grab his hand and cry, “Mike, you gotta help me!” Instead, I remembered he liked to be taken seriously, so I respectfully called him Mr. Thompson. I tried to stay calm as I explained everything. It’s hard to talk about being ostracized without sounding pathetic or crazy. I was terrified he was going to hit me with the classic, “Well, have you thought about what you might be doing wrong? Why are they picking on you and not someone else?” Thankfully, Mike wasn’t like that. He listened patiently to my whole story, expressed his sympathy, and then firmly rejected my request to switch rooms. I felt my heart sink. “Why?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “Lily,” he said gently, “you have no idea how many students come to me asking to switch rooms. If I said yes to everyone, we’d have chaos. You get people from all over the country, with different habits, different personalities, all thrown together. Clashes are normal. The answer isn’t to run away from the problem. It’s to try and solve it.” My eyes glazed over. “So what am I supposed to do?” “I’m going to call your other roommates in for a chat,” he said. “We’ll try to mediate this and solve the problem within the room.” If things in the dorm were a cold war before, Mike’s plan was to drop a nuclear bomb on it. All the secret tensions and resentments were about to explode. He must have seen the panic on my face, because he added, “Look, I promise, if things really can’t be worked out, I’ll find a way to get you a new room.” I left his office and stress-ate a massive burrito bowl at the campus cafe, my stomach churning with anxiety. When I got back to the room, only Chloe was there. She looked at me, her expression unreadable. “Mike called Ashley and Jess into his office. Did you go talk to him?” Wow, Mike worked fast. I took a deep breath. “Yeah. How come you weren’t called in?” “It doesn’t have anything to do with me,” she said, shrugging. “I’m not getting involved. But… do you really want to switch rooms?” I didn’t answer. Of course I didn’t want the hassle, but living here was making me miserable. I finally asked her the question that had been haunting me for months. “Do you all think I was the one who stole the three hundred dollars?” “Well, didn’t you?” Chloe’s casual reply felt like a punch to the gut. The air left my lungs. All this time, with her friendly chats and kind words, I thought she was on my side. I thought she believed me. I once saw an interview with an actress who said that when you’re being bullied, and someone throws a ball at you, you just freeze. You can’t even move. I never understood that until this moment. I’d been so sheltered my whole life, I was genuinely shocked that people could be this cruel for no reason. I was too sensitive, too fragile to accept the reality of being an outcast. I didn’t fight back because I knew, deep down, I had no one in my corner. When you’re surrounded, it takes a rare kind of courage to fight your way out. I fought back tears, looked down, and let out a bitter laugh. “Even if I said I didn’t, you wouldn’t believe me, right? There’s no proof either way.” 03 Chloe seemed almost amused by my reaction. “It’s just a few hundred bucks,” she said dismissively. “It’s not a big deal.” Her attitude pissed me off. “Then why did you guys make a group chat without me?” I demanded. “Because every time we asked you to hang out, you said no. So we just made our own group to plan things.” So the group chat existed long before the money went missing. My “not fitting in” had already gotten me kicked out of their circle. The missing money was just the catalyst. It didn’t matter if it happened or not; I was never going to be one of them. “We were trying to be nice, actually,” Chloe added. “We figured it would be more awkward to plan things in front of you when we knew you wouldn’t want to come.” That day, I learned a valuable lesson: bullies never feel guilty. Don’t ever expect the villain in your story to have a sudden change of heart. That only happens in movies. I pulled out my phone and texted my best friend from back home. She’d been my rock through all of this. When she heard I was trying to switch rooms, she was furious. “Why the hell should YOU have to move?” she texted back in all caps. “They’re the assholes! They should be the ones to leave! Why do you get punished for being bullied?!” “They’re not going anywhere,” I replied. “The three of them are a package deal.” “I don’t buy it! I bet they’re not as tight as you think. Awful people can’t stay friends for long. They’ll turn on each other eventually. If I were you, I’d stay put and wait for the drama. Grab some popcorn.” My best friend. She always knew how to make me feel like I could take on the world. But when I put my phone down, I was back in reality, bracing for the storm. Mike’s little chat with my roommates was over. Jess stormed into the room, slamming her books on her desk and making as much noise as possible. Ashley and Chloe stood by, watching her silently. I took a deep breath, ready for battle. “Some people are just amazing,” Jess sneered, staring right at me. “Got a little problem, and boom, they go running to the RA!” I was terrified of confrontation, truly. For months, Jess had been playing mind games, with passive-aggressive comments and organized isolation. This was the first time she’d come at me directly. I knew I had to push back. I forced my voice to sound steady, a fake smile plastered on my face. “That’s right. I asked for a room change. If all goes well, you won’t have to see me anymore. Happy now?” I was ready for a screaming match, but the second I snapped back, she fell silent. For a split second, I had a thought: maybe she was just a paper tiger. Every time I showed the slightest bit of backbone, she seemed to back down. Her tone softened a little. “If you want to go, then go. No one’s begging you to stay.” I wasn’t as scared anymore. “I don’t want to go,” I said calmly. “But when you’re having a rave in the room until 2 AM, I can’t sleep. If I stay, I’ll end up in a mental hospital.” As we were locked in this standoff, I heard a soft chuckle from behind me. It wasn’t loud, but it was sharp and clear. It came from Chloe. I was sure of it. I spun around. Jess was fuming, Ashley looked terrified, and Chloe… the moment I looked at her, she immediately pretended to be busy with something on her desk, as if nothing had happened. What was so funny about this situation? I looked back at her, a new thought forming in my mind. It seemed like someone was really, really enjoying watching Jess and me go at each other. The room change wasn’t happening. Days turned into weeks, and I never heard back from Mike. And just as I expected, Jess didn’t stop her antics. In fact, my fighting back seemed to make her even more determined to put me in my place. She decided we needed to have a “room meeting.” That night, it was like a scene from a movie. I sat alone on the cheap papasan chair I’d bought, out on the tiny balcony. They sat facing me in a row of desk chairs, like an interrogation panel. Jess started. “We never wanted to kick you out of the room. We just have a problem with some of your behavior.” “I didn’t steal the money,” I said flatly. “Then why did you say that thing about giving the thief a chance to put it back?” Every time I thought about my “after-school special” speech, I wanted to slap myself. “In high school, a kid stole money, and that’s how our teacher handled it. She let him return it anonymously. I thought it was a good way to protect someone’s dignity, give them a chance to fix their mistake without ruining their life. I never thought… I never thought you’d think it was me.” “You’re the brokest one in the room,” she shot back. “It’s not that big of a leap.” “Excuse me?” That was just plain rude. I wanted to argue, but I looked at Jess’s desk overflowing with makeup, Ashley’s shelves of expensive collectibles, Chloe’s closet bursting with clothes and bags… and then at my own sparse corner. Objectively, I probably did look like the “poorest” one. “First of all,” I said, my voice shaking slightly, “I’m not poor enough to need to steal. And second, being broke doesn’t make you a thief. I didn’t do it. Believe me or don’t.” Ashley, true to her gentle nature, chimed in softly. “It’s in the past. The money doesn’t matter anymore.” “Right,” Jess agreed. “The point of this meeting is to clear the air. From now on, we solve our problems in here, not by running to the RA.” So, that’s what this was about. My talking to Mike had worked, in a way. Chloe, playing the peacemaker, said in her most reasonable voice, “Let’s just get it all out. Whatever issues we have, let’s put them on the table now so we can move on.” I figured a room change was a lost cause, so clearing the air was the next best thing. I looked straight at Jess. “Fine. It bugs me when you smoke in the room in the morning. That’s it.” The mention of smoking made Jess’s face darken. “Oh yeah? And what about you? You think using someone’s body wash without asking isn’t annoying as hell?” The damn body wash again. I wanted to facepalm. Why did I have to be so careless? I felt a flash of shame but knew I had to own it. “You’re right. That was my mistake. You called me out on it, and it won’t happen again.” I thought admitting fault would de-escalate things, but Jess was the type to pounce on any weakness. My apology only fueled her fire. “Let me tell you something,” she said, leaning forward. “I’m the only one here from this city. I know people at this school. Don’t mess with me. If you really piss me off, I’ll have my friends meet you on the quad. You get me?” If anyone else had said that, I would have laughed. But coming from Jess, I believed her. The smoking, the drinking, the tough-girl act… she wasn’t just playing a part. That threat, whether it was real or not, terrified me. That same night, I was back in Mike’s office, this time with actual tears streaming down my face, telling him how Jess had threatened to have people jump me on campus. Mike looked horrified. “Not on my watch,” he said, puffing out his chest. “I will not let that happen at this university!” Then I begged him again to change my room. The puffed-out chest deflated. He said he was still working on it, but there were no open spots. If I couldn’t find a way out, I had to make my own. If I was stuck in this room, I had to find a way to survive. 04 Tucked away in the back of my closet was a small, gift-wrapped box. I’d bought it for Jess’s birthday months ago. My own birthday was right at the beginning of the semester, back when we were all friends. They had all chipped in and gotten me a nice skincare set. I was so touched that I immediately started planning what to get them for their birthdays. Jess’s gift was the first one I decided on. She smoked, and I knew she was self-conscious about it. I’d noticed she always used cheap, plastic lighters. So I bought her a beautiful, sleek Zippo. I wanted to show her that I didn’t judge her for smoking; I just didn’t like the smell. The two things were separate. But then the whole money thing happened, and the gift just sat in my closet, gathering dust. It was useless sitting there. Maybe it could buy me some peace. One morning, as everyone was rushing to get to class, I grabbed the box, walked over to Jess, and shoved it into her hands. “Happy belated birthday!” Then I bolted out of the room like my life depended on it. It was so awkward. I didn’t want to see her reaction, and I was too embarrassed to ever bring it up again. But slowly, I noticed a small, subtle shift. Jess pretty much stopped snapping at me. The passive-aggressive comments died down. When she smoked in the morning, she’d go to the bathroom. The room started to smell like a normal dorm room again. Once, during a group project, she even asked if I wanted to be in their group. It was probably just because I had good grades and she wanted me to do all the work, but I was so relieved I almost cried. I could finally stop worrying about getting jumped on the quad. God, I was such a coward. Ashley had never been openly hostile, and now she treated me like a normal, distant roommate. We’d exchange a few words here and there. Chloe was the same as before, too—when we were alone, we’d chat about books and our dreams. It was as if our big confrontation, and that chilling little laugh, had never happened. Mike never came through with a new room, so I just stayed. I still kept to myself, eating alone, walking around campus alone. Sometimes I’d see pictures of the three of them on Instagram, having fun without me, and I’d feel a pang of loneliness. But mostly, I preferred the quiet freedom of being on my own. Life settled into a calm, predictable routine. Until New Year’s. That’s when the first stone was tossed into our placid little pond. We had a three-day weekend. Jess, being the only local, took her new bestie Ashley home with her. That left just me and Chloe in the dorm. On the third day, Chloe said she was bored and went out, leaving me to my own devices. I didn’t mind; I’d recently started writing a novel, and I loved having the room to myself. To my surprise, when Chloe came back that evening, she had a New Year’s gift for me. It was a liquid lipstick from a niche indie brand. It wasn’t expensive, but it was the thought that counted. “You don’t wear a lot of makeup,” she said, “so I picked a really natural color for you. It’s subtle, so you can wear it even without any other makeup and it’ll look great.” I’m the kind of person who forgets all grievances the moment someone does something nice for me. I was so happy I completely forgot all our past issues. I even felt a little guilty for not getting her anything. But the happiness didn’t last long. Later that night, I was lying in bed listening to music when I got a text from Jess. “Is that a Rare Beauty lipstick on your desk? Shade 307?” My stomach dropped. The word “thief” felt like a curse that was destined to follow me forever. I texted back immediately: “Chloe gave it to me. I don’t know the shade.” Jess replied: “Flip it over. The number is on the bottom.” I looked. It was 307. My brain hadn’t caught up yet, but my body was buzzing. A strange energy started in my feet and shot through my entire body. Looking back, I realize it was the exhilarating premonition of long-overdue justice. But at that moment, all I felt was panic. How was I going to explain my way out of this one? Then it hit me. This wasn’t Jess’s style. If she thought I’d stolen something again, she’d have already dragged me out into the hallway for a public shaming. Texting me privately like this was… different. The first chance I got to talk to her alone, I asked, “What’s up with the lipstick?” Her answer was short and to the point. “I bought Ashley the exact same one for New Year’s. Same shade.” A lightning bolt shot through my brain. I started stammering, “Chloe gave it to me, I didn’t…” “I know,” she cut me off. “You only ever use, like, drugstore chapstick.” It was a snobby thing to say, but in that moment, it was the most comforting sentence I’d ever heard. If Jess had just seen the lipstick on my desk and jumped to conclusions, I’d be facing another round of dorm hell. The fact that they asked me first meant something had changed. Maybe their suspicion of Chloe wasn’t new. My best friend’s words echoed in my head: Wait for the drama. Grab some popcorn. “Are you going to confront Chloe?” I asked. “Not yet,” Jess said. “The lipstick isn’t the main problem. Ashley’s Yeezys are missing.” “Her… what?” “Her sneakers,” Jess said, looking at me like I was an idiot. “Nike Yeezys.” Oh. That meant they were expensive. A quick Google search confirmed it. A pair of sneakers that could sell for four figures, sometimes even five on the resale market. Yeah, someone would definitely steal those. Jess took me to talk to Ashley. I had to ask them. “Why didn’t you suspect me this time?” Jess shrugged. “You’re broke, yeah, and you don’t care about fashion, but you’ve been that way since we met. You probably can’t even tell the difference between eyeshadow and blush, right? Or Nike and Adidas? Even if you stole the shoes, you wouldn’t even know where to get them authenticated to sell them.” I felt slightly insulted, but mostly, I was relieved. My simple, unfashionable life had an unexpected upside. “And who steals something and then just leaves it out on their desk for everyone to see?” Ashley added. I broke into a cold sweat. I had almost put the lipstick away in a drawer. This time, Ashley was determined to search the room. I was one hundred percent on board. When Chloe heard we were searching the room again, she looked completely shocked, as if she had no idea what was going on. When she heard Ashley’s Yeezys were missing, she asked what style they were. Hearing they were the super popular model, she was full of sympathy. She was a master at faking empathy. She agreed to the search without hesitation. Having my messy closet rummaged through was embarrassing, but at least my name was finally in the clear. The search turned up nothing. As she was tidying her closet, Chloe said, “Why does this keep happening? Why is it always our room?” The three of us exchanged a look but said nothing. “We shouldn’t tell anyone about this,” Chloe continued. “We don’t want people talking.” Her words triggered a memory. Back when they all suspected me of stealing the money, did I ever worry they would spread rumors about me outside the room? No, never. In fact, I kind of wished they had. It would have given me a reason to blow the whole thing up, clear my name, and get that room change. But strangely, they never did. The bullying was always contained within our four walls. Was it Chloe who had told them to keep it quiet back then, too? Why would she do that? After we finished cleaning up the mess, Jess asked me to grab dinner with her and Ashley. This time, the three of us walked out of the room together. I glanced back and saw Chloe, alone, sweeping the floor. So this time, Chloe, you’re the one left behind.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385367”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I took my sister for a routine check-up, and we walked out with a Stage III cancer diagnosis. I decided to drain my entire savings account to pay for her treatment, but my fiancé, Mark, stopped me. “Let’s make a bet,” he said, his voice serious. “Pretend it’s you who’s sick. Let’s just see if your parents are willing to do the same for you.” On a strange impulse, I agreed. The moment my parents found out, their advice was swift and clear. “Honey, a disease like that is a bottomless pit,” my mom said, her voice laced with pity. “Sometimes, you just have to accept your fate.” “Your sister’s wedding is just around the corner,” my dad added. “We really can’t afford any extra expenses right now.” My eyes started to burn. 1 The moment I saw my sister’s test results, my hand started to shake. I couldn’t imagine how my parents would take the news. My sister, Tessa, was getting married in two weeks. Her life was just beginning. Fate has a cruel sense of humor. I forced myself to stay calm as I rushed home to grab my bank book. The doctor said it was treatable, but between the surgery and the chemo, it was going to be expensive. I had about fifty thousand dollars saved up—my down payment for a house. But a life was more important than a house. I was about to run out the door when a hand clamped down on my wrist. It was Mark. My eyes were red with panic. “Don’t stop me!” I cried, trying to pull away. “My sister needs this money to live!” Mark sighed, pulling me into a firm hug. “Taking the money out can wait five minutes. Just listen to me first.” He reached over my shoulder and produced a bank card. “There’s a hundred thousand dollars on this card. It’s the money my mom gave us for the wedding.” I stared at him, confused. “I’ll give it to you for Tessa’s treatment,” he said, his eyes filled with a complicated emotion I couldn’t read. “But first, you have to make a bet with me.” “Tell your parents that you’re the one who’s sick,” he said. “If they agree to spend the money to treat you, then this card is all yours for your sister. No strings attached.” What kind of bet was that? My parents had two daughters. They’d never played favorites. Whatever Tessa got, I got. It didn’t matter which one of us was sick; they would move heaven and earth for either of us. Mark was basically just giving me the money. But for Tessa, I agreed. A hundred thousand dollars would be a massive relief. I made a silent promise to myself to pay him back one day. “You’re on,” I said with a smirk. “Prepare to lose.” Mark’s gaze flickered away. He couldn’t meet my eyes. “I hope I do,” he murmured. At that moment, I had no idea how devastating his words would prove to be. 2 According to Mark’s rules, I had to record the conversation with my parents as proof. “No problem,” I’d said. I hit record on my phone before I even knocked. As I raised my hand, their voices drifted through the door. “Are you sure about giving Tessa that extra twenty thousand for the wedding?” my dad asked, his voice hesitant. “Do you think Maya will have a problem with it?” “If we don’t tell her, how will she know?” my mom replied confidently. “Besides, Maya and Tessa are different. Maya can pull ten or twenty grand out of her own account without blinking. The only people Tessa has to rely on are us.” Then I heard my sister’s sweet voice. “I knew you guys loved me the most!” I felt like I’d been rooted to the spot. A month ago, after Tessa’s fiancé’s family had come over to finalize wedding details, she had pulled me onto the porch, crying about how my parents couldn’t afford to give her a proper wedding gift, how she’d be shamed in front of her new in-laws. My heart broke for her. I went to the bank the next day and gave her ten thousand dollars from my savings. And now I was hearing that on top of my ten thousand, my parents had secretly given her another twenty? They had told me they could only afford to give her a few handmade quilts. My temples throbbed. I pushed the door open and walked in. “Hey guys. What was that about twenty thousand dollars?” 3 The living room went silent. The looks on their faces were a mixture of guilt and panic. My mom was the first to recover. “Oh, twenty thousand!” she laughed, a little too loudly. “Your sister was just saying that the things we’re giving her for the wedding are so special, she wouldn’t trade them for twenty thousand dollars.” Tessa nodded eagerly, grabbing my arm. “Yeah! Mom’s quilts are so soft and cozy. They’re priceless!” I frowned, my eyes drifting to my mom’s hands. She’d spent her life doing housework, her knuckles were rough, but I’d never once seen her sew. “Since when does Mom know how to make quilts?” Tessa’s smile froze on her face. She slowly let go of my arm. I stared at her, then at my parents, who were suddenly fascinated by the carpet. The small doubt in my mind sharpened into a painful spike. I walked towards Tessa’s room, each step feeling like I was walking on broken glass. I went straight to her closet and threw open the doors. 4 Inside, stacked neatly, were several beautiful quilts. They weren’t store-bought; they were made of a soft, pale pink fabric, with tiny, meticulous stitches along the edges. In the corner of one, her name, ‘Tessa,’ was delicately embroidered. I reached out and touched the fine needlework. And then I remembered: Tessa had always had quilts like these. When we were little, I’d begged for one just like hers, but my mom had always said Tessa’s were too heavy and mine were much more comfortable. So, all these years, my mom had been hand-making quilts just for her. And I had never noticed. My mom rushed in behind me. “Tessa has very sensitive skin,” she explained, her voice flustered. “She’s been allergic since she was a baby. The store-bought blankets have synthetic fibers, they give her a rash.” Her words were another stab to the heart. I’d had rashes my whole childhood. Red, itchy patches on my arms and legs that kept me up at night. My mom had always dismissed it as seasonal allergies. It wasn’t until I moved in with Mark, and he bought me a high-quality, hypoallergenic silk comforter, that the rashes finally went away. I’d thought it was just the change of environment. I finally understood. I had the same allergies as my sister. “Mom,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Did you know I was allergic too?” 5 “Alright, alright, our little girl is getting jealous,” my dad said, stepping in to break the tension. “Your mom will make you a new quilt tomorrow.” My mom muttered under her breath, “What for? She has money now, she can buy whatever she wants.” My dad shot her a look, and she went quiet. I took a deep breath, pushing down the hurt. “Mom, Dad,” I said, my voice steady. “I came here today to tell you that I’m sick. The treatment is going to cost a lot of money.” The smiles vanished from their faces. A chill ran down my spine, but I pressed on, clinging to a sliver of hope. “It’s late-stage cancer. You’re not going to just let me die, are you?” The air in the room felt thick enough to suffocate me. 6 My mom pulled out her phone, her fingers flying across the screen. “I’m looking it up online… it says here late-stage cancer can cost hundreds of thousands of dollars!” She looked up at me, her eyes filled not with sympathy, but with calculation. “What about Mark? His family is well-off. They won’t just abandon you. We really don’t have that kind of money.” My hand clenched the fabric of my dress. “He broke up with me,” I lied, my voice hollow. “The second he found out.” I saw the tension leave my father’s shoulders. My sister looked relieved. My mom grabbed my arm, her voice urgent. “Maya, you have to go back to him! You’ve been together for years, he still loves you. He’s a good person, he wouldn’t let you die!” Her next words were a punch to the gut. “Even if you’re really broken up, he owes you. Talk to him, get some money out of him. It’s better than nothing!” My own mother. My own family. They wouldn’t help me. They wanted me to go beg my “ex-boyfriend.” I turned to my sister, my last hope. 7 “Tessa,” I said, my voice shaking. “Your fiancé’s family gave you a thirty-thousand-dollar engagement gift, right?” If she offered it to me, I would give her all of my fifty thousand, right here, right now. But she recoiled as if I’d slapped her. “That’s my money! It’s for my future! How could you even ask for it?” Her face was pale, a stark contrast to her furious eyes. “Besides, with a disease like yours, it’s not a matter of if you die, but when!” The cruelty of her words was stunning. But it was her face… that same unusual pallor she’d had for weeks. She’d been crash-dieting for the wedding, eating almost nothing. I had been so worried about her that I had dragged her to the doctor for the check-up in the first place. I had been thinking only of them. And they had been thinking only of themselves. Why did my sister get handmade quilts? Why did she get twenty thousand dollars when they claimed to be broke? Why, when I was facing death, was their first reaction to protect their money? Tears welled up in my eyes. My phone buzzed in my pocket, a reminder from the real world. This wasn’t real. The person who was sick wasn’t me. 8 I finally found my voice, calm and distant. “Do you guys even love me? You have twenty thousand dollars for Tessa’s wedding, but nothing for my life?” My mother’s voice rose, shrill with indignation. “Of course we love you! Have you ever gone without food or clothing?” She pointed a finger at me. “Your sister is different! She needs our help! And here you are, being petty and jealous! You get sick, and the first thing you do is blame us? How can you be so selfish?” My father tried to calm her down, but she shook him off. “Even if I did give her the money, it’s our savings! She’s getting married, she needs to have something of her own! You have a good job, you have skills! Why can’t you figure this out for yourself?” In her eyes, my sister’s wedding was a priority. My life was “my own problem.” “If Tessa were the one who was sick,” I asked, cutting her off, “would you just watch her die, too?” My mother froze. But my sister exploded. “How dare you say that?!” SLAP. The sting on my cheek was sharp and shocking. “If I were sick,” she spat, her eyes blazing, “I would never be a burden to my family. Not everyone is as selfish as you are.” Good to know. 9 I stumbled out of the house and collapsed onto the curb, sobbing until I couldn’t breathe. It was all a lie. The idea that they loved us equally was a story they told me, a story I desperately wanted to believe. Their love was a pie, and my sister had always gotten the bigger slice. I remembered when I first started working. The stress gave me such bad anxiety that I developed painful cysts in my breasts. I called my parents, terrified, and they just told me I was being “too sensitive” and “overdramatic.” But when Tessa was diagnosed with mild anemia a few years later, my mother took a three-month nutrition course just to learn how to cook for her. Mark had joked about it then. “Your family really plays favorites, huh?” I’d gotten so angry at him, defending them. “Tessa’s always been fragile! Of course they worry about her more!” How stupid I had been. After what felt like an eternity, I finally pulled myself together. I remembered the report still in my bag. As much as I hated them in that moment, I couldn’t be as cruel as they were. They deserved to know the truth about their favorite daughter. I walked back to the house. As I approached the door, I heard their voices again. 10 “You shouldn’t have been so harsh with her,” my dad was saying. “She’s given us a lot of money over the years. We can’t afford to alienate her completely.” “How was I supposed to know she’d show up and start demanding Tessa’s wedding money?” my mom shot back. “Cancer is a money pit. Giving her cash is like throwing it into a black hole!” “You don’t get it!” my dad hissed. “She has savings. We play our cards right, we can get her to hand it all over. We could even buy Tessa a condo!” “But she’s angry now,” my mom fretted. “It’s easy,” my dad said, his voice dripping with cunning. “You call her, you cry, you tell her we’re going to sell the house to pay for her treatment. Get her to hand over her savings first. Then, it’s our money. Hell, we can even take out a life insurance policy on her. When she dies, Tessa will be set for life. It’s the least she can do for the family after all we’ve given her.” A wave of nausea washed over me. This conversation, this cold-blooded scheming, shattered the last remnants of my love for them. 11 I had pulled strings to get Tessa’s results back early. The doctor said with cancer, every day counts. But now? Who cares. I thought about all the times I had bailed Tessa out. The three thousand dollars she’d racked up on her credit card for a designer bag. The two thousand I’d given her for a custom wedding dress because the one she had wasn’t “special enough.” Mark had called me a doormat. He was right. I went home and texted Tessa. I told her I wanted my ten thousand dollars back. She didn’t reply. Minutes later, my phone rang. It was my mother. 12 “Maya, sweetie, I’m so sorry!” she wailed into the phone. “I was wrong, I said horrible things! We would never abandon you!” It was a pathetic, transparent performance. She wasn’t worried about me; she was worried about my money. “Your father and I had a long talk,” she continued, her voice thick with fake tears. “We’re selling the house. We’ll do whatever it takes to get you the best treatment. I’ve already called a realtor. We’ll have the money soon, I promise.” Then, the real question. “But Maya, just in case the house doesn’t sell right away… how much do you have saved up right now? We don’t want to delay your treatment.” I let a cold, dead smile spread across my face. “Mom, stop acting. I heard everything you said in the house. The plan to sell the house is just a scam to get my money. Let’s be honest. My life isn’t worth as much as your cash, is it?” The crying stopped instantly. 13 A few seconds of silence, then her voice, sharp and venomous. “What are you talking about? I think you’re the one who’s sick in the head! We try to help you, and this is the thanks we get?” “I’m not confused,” I said, my voice flat. “I heard you say you were going to ‘get me to hand over my savings.’ I heard you talking about the life insurance money after I die.” I finally asked the question that had been buried in my heart for years. “Why? Why her and not me? I’m your daughter too. Why was everything for her, and for me, you were just leeches, sucking me dry?” She was speechless. All I heard was the sound of something smashing in the background. “Fine! Have it your way! You’re so tough, you don’t need us! See who comes to your funeral!” My dad got on the line. “Maya, how could you speak to your mother like that? Apologize!” “Apologize?” I laughed, a bitter, broken sound. “Why should I apologize? For not being a good little sheep and letting you fleece me before you sent me to the slaughter?” My mother snatched the phone back. “We gave you life! You owe us! And if you’re going to die anyway, what’s wrong with us thinking about your sister’s future? You know what? Don’t call us. Don’t bother us. As of today, we don’t have a daughter named Maya!” 14 The line went dead. Mark came out of the bedroom, his face etched with a mixture of pity and anger. “You won,” I whispered. “I told you,” he said, pulling me into his arms. “I would have given anything to lose.” And then I broke. All the years of suppressed pain, of feeling second-best, of being used and unloved, came pouring out in a flood of tears. “Why don’t they love me?” I sobbed into his chest. “They’re blind fools,” he said, holding me tight. “But I see you. I love you. Ten times, a hundred times more than they ever could.” He pulled back and pressed the bank card into my hand. “Tomorrow, we’re going house hunting. We’re buying a place, in your name. You’re going to have your own home.” Through my tears, I managed a small smile. Then, a thought struck me. “You knew, didn’t you?” I asked. “You knew they wouldn’t help me.” He sighed. “Sometimes, when you’re in the picture, you can’t see the frame.” I finally understood.

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My mother-in-law deliberately fed my toddler something he was deathly allergic to. When I stopped her, she threatened to leave, to go back home and never watch him again. She wanted me to grovel and apologize, just like I always had. This time, I packed her bags, drove her to the Greyhound station, and wished her a safe trip. 1 The moment I walked through the door after work, my one-year-old son, Leo, came toddling towards me, crying. “Itchy, Mommy, itchy,” he sobbed. I looked down and saw his little body covered in angry, red hives. My mother-in-law, Carol, was sitting on the sofa, scrolling through TikToks on her phone as if nothing was wrong. “Mom,” I said, my voice tight. “What happened to Leo? Why is he breaking out again? Did you give him peanut butter?” Leo has had a severe peanut allergy since he was a baby. Even a small amount makes him break out in hives. A large amount could close his throat. Carol didn’t even look up from her phone. “A little,” she said, her tone defensive. “I just mixed a spoonful into his oatmeal. He needs the protein. He’ll never grow big and strong if he doesn’t eat peanuts.” I took a deep breath, trying to control my anger. “Carol, we’ve been over this a hundred times. He’s allergic. A minor reaction is hives. A major one could kill him.” Since his diagnosis, I’d been meticulous. Our house was a peanut-free zone. And Leo hadn’t had a single reaction. Until my mother-in-law came to live with us. No matter how many times I explained it, she refused to listen. For every one of my sentences, she had ten in return, her face a mask of stubborn defiance. Right now was no different. She didn’t think she was wrong; she thought I was attacking her. “You’re young, you don’t know,” she snapped, finally looking at me. “Mark was the same way with shellfish when he was a kid. He’d break out in hives. You just have to feed it to them a few times, and their body gets used to it.” “I’m his grandmother,” she added, as if that was the final word. “Would I ever do anything to hurt him?” Meanwhile, Leo was scratching himself raw in my arms, whimpering. I looked at her, immovable on the couch. “I don’t care how Mark was raised,” I said, my voice cold. “This is my son. And you will not do this again.” Besides, my husband Mark is still allergic to shellfish. What the hell was she talking about? Carol’s face hardened. “Fine. If that’s how you’re going to be, then I can’t watch him for you anymore. Find someone else. I’m packing my bags and going home.” There it was. The threat. Anytime I disagreed with her, anytime I pushed back, this was her trump card. And this was the ninth time she’d played it. 2 My husband Mark and I met in college. We stayed in the city after graduation, got married, and a couple of years later, had Leo. My own mother passed away when I was young, so she couldn’t help with childcare. That left Carol. And Carol knew she had me cornered. She knew I had no other family to turn to. For the past year, if I so much as breathed in a way that displeased her, she’d threaten to leave. Honestly, the first time she did it, I was stunned. All I did was suggest that maybe Leo didn’t need to wear a snowsuit indoors. She burst into tears, accusing me of disrespecting her, and started dramatically throwing her things into a suitcase. What was I supposed to do? Mark and I both worked full-time. Who would watch our son? So, I apologized. I begged her to stay. And she did, magnanimously. After that, I just looked the other way. If she wanted to dress him like he was about to summit Everest to watch cartoons, fine. What else could I do? I thought it was a one-time thing. But once she knew it worked, it became her go-to move. She started testing my boundaries constantly. My words became suggestions, then just background noise she ignored. It felt like she was disagreeing with me just for the sake of it. I’d say, “The pediatrician said no salt before he’s one.” She’d scoff. “Nonsense. How can he get strong without salt?” And then I’d find her sneaking it into his baby food. I’d say, “Please, no grapes or hard candies. He could choke.” She’d roll her eyes. “This is how I raised Mark, and he turned out fine. You young mothers are all so paranoid.” Then she’d add the kicker: “If you want me to be one of those new-age, helicopter grandmas, then I can’t do this. You can hire someone else.” And every single time, I caved. Every single time, she grew bolder. The allergy thing was the worst. He’d had at least five or six reactions since she arrived. And her excuse was always the same: “He’s just being picky. He needs to get used to it. It’s good for him.” Thinking back on it now, I was such an idiot. So young, so afraid of confrontation, so worried about money that I never even considered hiring a nanny. I kept telling myself I was protecting my husband from being caught in the middle. I wasn’t protecting anyone. I was a coward, and I was failing to protect my own child. All of that was about to change. Because this time, when Carol threatened to leave, I wasn’t going to stop her. 3 I took Leo straight to urgent care. He cried the whole way, scratching at his skin. The doctor gave him a shot of epinephrine and looked at me sternly. “You have to be more careful. Allergies can be fatal. We just had a kid in here last week who went into anaphylactic shock. He had to be intubated.” By the time I got everything sorted and Leo was calm and asleep in his car seat, it was after 8 PM. As I walked up to our front door, I could hear Carol on the phone with one of her sisters. “I work my fingers to the bone for them, and this is the thanks I get? You just wait. If she doesn’t get on her knees and beg me to stay this time, I’m really leaving,” she said, her voice dripping with self-satisfaction. “These kids today are so fragile, so precious. We never had these problems, did we? I tell you, I’ve spoiled her. Letting her think she can talk to me like that. I’m gonna teach her a lesson she won’t forget.” Her sister must have said something cautious, because Carol laughed. “Oh, please. Who else is she going to get? Her mother is dead. She has no one. You watch. In an hour, she’ll be back, crying.” I pushed the door open. Carol immediately hung up, her face setting into a hard mask. She sat on the sofa like a queen on her throne. Next to her was her old, beat-up suitcase. She didn’t even ask about Leo. “I can’t do this anymore,” she announced. “I’m going home. It’s a thank you to watch your child, not an obligation. Since you think I do such a bad job, you can find someone else.” She stared at me, chin up, waiting for the usual apology. Instead, I walked past her, put the sleeping baby in his crib, then came back, picked up her suitcase, and walked towards the door. Carol shot up from the sofa. “What are you doing? Put that down! You think you can stop me?” I turned, my face calm. “I’m taking you to the bus station. If we leave now, you can catch the last bus out tonight.” She froze, her mouth slightly open. The bus station? Tonight? The last bus? It took her a second to recover. “It’s too late!” she sputtered. “There won’t be any connecting buses to get back to my town! You want me to sleep at the station?” “Don’t worry,” I said smoothly. “I’ve already booked you a car service. It will be waiting for you when you arrive to take you the rest of the way. I’ll text you the driver’s number.” The color drained from her face. She finally understood I wasn’t bluffing. After a long pause, she scoffed, “Fine! Thank God! I can’t wait to be done with this!” I didn’t waste any more words. I called Mark and told him to leave work and get home immediately. Then, I put her suitcase in my car and drove her to the station, doing 80 the whole way. At the drop-off lane, I handed her the suitcase. “Have a safe trip, Carol. Text us when you get there.” Then, without waiting for a reply, I got back in my car and drove away, leaving her standing on the curb, her face a thundercloud of fury. 4 I was barely two blocks from the station when Mark called. “Sarah? Where’s Mom? I just got home and no one’s here. Where are you?” I kept my eyes on the road. “Your mom? I just dropped her at the Greyhound station. She said she wanted to go home, so I took her.” Silence. Then, “What do you mean she went home? Did you get into another fight? Why didn’t you talk to me about this? Who’s going to watch Leo now?” His voice was rising with panic. “Sarah, come on. Whatever it was, couldn’t you just say you were sorry?” The fire I had just managed to extinguish roared back to life. “Sorry? Why should I be sorry? Did I murder someone? Your mother fed our son peanuts again. He was covered in hives, the doctor said it could have killed him! Then I heard her on the phone, bragging to your aunt about how she has me under her thumb because my mom is gone. You think I should apologize for that?” Mark went quiet. After a moment, he said, weakly, “But what are we going to do for childcare?” “We’ll hire someone,” I said coldly. “Hire someone? With what money? Nannies cost a fortune! Five, six thousand a month…” I was done with his whining. “That’s your problem now. Instead of complaining like a child, why don’t you figure out a way to earn more money?” That shut him up. 5 When I got home, Mark was on the phone with Carol, who was clearly on the bus. Her voice was so loud I could hear it from across the room. “It’s not my fault, son, it’s that wife of yours. No respect. So the boy had a little rash. I’m old, I forgot, I put a little peanut butter in his oatmeal. And she just went crazy. You need to get her under control. I’m not coming back until she learns her place.” Mark saw me and quickly tried to end the call. “Okay, Mom, calm down. Just rest for a few days, and I’ll come get you.” “Don’t bother!” she squawked. “I meant what I said!” He hung up, looking stressed. “Sarah, I’m only going to say this once,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “Your mother is never setting foot in this house again.” His face darkened. “She didn’t mean it. You’re blowing this out of proportion. He just had a little rash. Boys can’t be so coddled.” He tried to put his arm around me. “Look, let her cool off for a few days. I’ll go pick her up, you’ll apologize, and we can all move on. We’re family.” I laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. “Apologize? Not in this lifetime. I’ve already called a nanny service.” His expression changed. “A nanny? We can’t trust a stranger! Sarah, don’t be ridiculous.” He sighed. “It’s just an allergy. It’s not that big a deal.” I didn’t argue. I just went into the kitchen and started making dinner. Mark, thinking he had won, relaxed. He even got back on the phone with his mom. “It’s okay, Mom, I’m handling it. Just get yourself a snack on the bus, don’t worry about the money… I’ll make sure she apologizes properly when you get back.” I served dinner. Mark ate happily. About twenty minutes later, he started shifting in his chair. Then he started scratching his arm. “What the heck?” he muttered. “I’m so itchy. I’m gonna go take a shower.” A few minutes later, he burst out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist, his chest and back covered in red welts. “Sarah! What’s happening? I’m breaking out in hives! Am I having an allergic reaction?” He was scratching furiously now, making it worse. I tapped my chin thoughtfully. “Oh my god, honey, I’m so sorry. I completely forgot you were allergic to shellfish. I used oyster sauce in the stir-fry.” He stared at me, his eyes wide with dawning horror. “Sarah,” he said, through gritted teeth. “Did you do this on purpose?” I gave him a cool smile. “Yes. I did. What’s the matter? I thought boys shouldn’t be so coddled. It’s just a little allergy, Mark. Don’t be so dramatic.” He was furious, but he knew he had no ground to stand on. He spent the entire night itching and miserable. I slept like a baby. 6 The next day, I hired a nanny. Mark didn’t say a word. Her name was Maria, a kind, no-nonsense woman in her fifties. I explained all of Leo’s needs, especially the allergy. She listened intently and remembered everything. Within two days, our house was calmer and happier than it had been in a year. Leo adored her. He was cleaner, his smile was brighter, and our home was filled with peace instead of tension. I kicked myself for not doing it sooner. 7 Of course, Carol wasn’t going to go quietly. At first, Mark tried to hide the fact that we’d hired a nanny. He’d only video chat with her when Maria was out with Leo at the park. “So, is the house a total disaster without me?” Carol would ask, smugly. “I bet you two are at your wits’ end. Don’t come begging me to come back, though. I won’t do it.” She was setting the stage for her triumphant return, imagining us drowning in dirty diapers and takeout containers. But Mark would just mumble noncommittal answers, which only confused her. This wasn’t going according to her script. She never considered we’d hire help. In her mind, we were too cheap, too dependent. So she decided to wait. She’d give us a little more time to suffer. Then we’d come crawling back.

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On my birthday, my wife’s childhood sweetheart crashed the party, holding a child. He kicked over the table in front of me, sending champagne flutes and plates scattering across the floor. “Jenna,” he roared, “give us an answer, me and my son. How much longer are you going to make us wait?” It was then that I learned the truth. My wife, who claimed to be allergic to male proteins, had secretly had a child with him. No wonder she never let me touch her. No wonder she refused to have a baby with me. She already had one, and now, he had come knocking. “Jenna, you’re going to explain yourself today, or so help me God. Why did you do this to me?” Jenna’s brow furrowed, but her tone was unapologetic. “It’s my body. I’ll have a child with whomever I please. This is the 21st century. How can anyone still be so backward?” I laughed, a cold, sharp sound, and slapped her across the face. “This is not a burden I will bear. We’re calling a lawyer. Now. We’re drawing up divorce papers.” 1 A hush fell over the room. Every guest held their breath, their eyes fixed on the unfolding drama. Leo, my wife’s lover, jabbed a finger in my face, his voice raw. “You listen to me, Mark. Jenna doesn’t love you. She has always loved me!” “She’s not allergic to anything! That was just an excuse to keep you away from her!” “You’re the one who cheated! You manipulated her father, forced her to marry you!” “You tore us apart! You condemned us to this half-life, leaving Jenna miserable and my son without a mother in the daylight. Do you have any idea how much he’s suffered? Have any of you ever been parents? Do you know what it’s like for a child to grow up without their mother?” His voice boomed through the banquet hall. I saw my mother clutch her chest, her face pale. She tried to speak, to tell them it wasn’t true, but the pain was too much. I saw her distress, and a wave of panic and frustration washed over me. After Leo’s tirade, the guests turned on me, their eyes filled with contempt. I didn’t understand. I was the husband. My wife had a child with another man, and I was the one being judged? “I can’t believe this is the real story. He broke up two people in love.” “How tragic. No wonder they had to sneak around.” “So Mark isn’t the man we thought he was. He’s a monster.” “What a hypocrite. All that charity work he does, probably just to wash away the guilt from his dirty secrets.” Dirty secrets? My vision went red. “What crime did I commit?” I roared at them. “Did I murder someone? Did I burn down your houses?” My outburst silenced them, but only for a moment. I turned back to Jenna, to the face that had lied to me for years, and felt nothing but weariness. “Jenna, tell them. Tell them the real reason I married you.” She hesitated, her eyes darting between me and Leo. The child in his arms began to cry, and her resolve crumbled. She rushed over and took the boy from him. Seeing them together, the rage in my chest burned hotter. I had once believed that child was a distant relative’s. When Jenna had brought him home, asking me to help care for him, my mother and I had treated him like a grandson. And now, I was being told this boy, whom I had cherished, was the product of my wife’s affair. The humiliation was a wound that would never heal. To protect Leo, to shield her son, Jenna looked at me with cold indifference. “You’re the one who slandered Leo to my father,” she said, her voice flat. “That’s why my dad forced me to marry you.” 2 Jenna had no idea the damage her words would cause. Suddenly, all the blame was on me. I was the villain. “What a sham. This party is a joke!” “Let’s tear this place apart! Teach him a lesson!” The room descended into chaos. I saw Leo signal to a few of his friends, who started flipping tables. Soon, others joined in, a wave of destruction sweeping through the hall. My mother, struggling against the pain in her chest, forced herself to stand. “Stop this! All of you!” But no one listened. They were on Leo’s side, eager to see me punished. I lunged toward Jenna, but Leo stepped in front of her, his voice booming. “What do you think you’re doing, Mark?” “Thinking of hitting her to vent your anger? Not while I’m here!” “You’ll have to go through me first. You’ll have to kill me and step over my dead body to get to her!” His dramatic declaration earned him a round of applause. “Now that’s a real man,” someone shouted. “A real man?” I laughed, the sound bitter and incredulous. I was the victim here, yet I was being treated like the home-wrecker. “Step over your dead body?” I challenged. “Who the hell do you think you are? Have I laid a hand on anyone? Has anyone seen me raise a fist?” Silence. “I’m telling you, Leo, slander is a crime. And you, Jenna—was I the one who forced this marriage, or was it your family who came to me, begging for help?” Before I could finish, the boy, clearly coached by Leo, ran over to my mother, pretending to help her. Then, he dramatically threw himself to the ground. “Grandma!” he wailed. “I was just trying to help you because you looked like you were in pain! I’m sorry! It’s all my fault and Daddy’s fault for hurting you!” Then he turned on her. “But I’m innocent! Why did you pinch me and push me down?” My mother’s eyes widened in disbelief. This child she had doted on, this boy she had treated as her own grandson, was a practiced liar. Before she could utter a word of defense, the crowd lost control. They screamed insults at us, someone threw a centerpiece at my mother, calling her a shameless old woman. She had never endured such humiliation. The shock was too much. She collapsed. Panic seized me. I scooped her into my arms, trying to fight my way through the mob to get her to a hospital. But they blocked my path, accusing her of faking it to escape. I yelled for security, but as they tried to clear a path, guests started recording, twisting the scene to make us look like the aggressors. Within minutes, the videos were online, and a storm of digital hatred was unleashed upon me. 3 I had no time to deal with the online mob. I told my assistant to handle it. As my mother was rushed into the emergency room, I got a video call from Jenna. “Mark, is your mom okay?” After all these years of marriage, she had never once called her “our mom.” What truly enraged me was her background. She wasn’t at home. On the wall behind her hung a family portrait: Leo, Jenna, and the boy, smiling together. She noticed my gaze and quickly moved to block the picture. “Mark, listen to me. What I said at the party… I didn’t mean it.” “I thought I didn’t love you, but after all these years… I do have feelings for you.” “Can you understand? It’s all happened. You just have to accept it…” “I will not accept it! If you didn’t love me, why did you propose? Why did you wait until after we were married to feed me that ridiculous lie about being allergic to male proteins?” “And me? I loved you, so I gave in to your every whim. My own mother was desperate for a grandchild, but I never even mentioned it in front of you, afraid it would make you feel bad.” “And all that time, you were having a child with Leo, and then you let him crash my birthday party and destroy my life!” “Jenna, you’ve gone too far!” My accusations hardened her expression. “Because I loved Leo!” she screamed. “My family’s company was on the verge of bankruptcy! Marrying you was the only way to get the capital to save it!” “Mark, what’s done is done! What more do you want?” Her words extinguished the last flicker of affection I had for her. If she had shown even a shred of remorse, a hint of an apology, perhaps I wouldn’t have been so ruthless in the days to come. “I’ll have my lawyer send you the divorce papers. Be ready to sign them.” I hung up before she could respond. A few moments later, a video file from Leo appeared on my phone. My anger, which I thought had peaked, surged anew. As if the public humiliation wasn’t enough. I forced myself to watch. Jenna, who had always been so frigid with me, was a different woman with him. The things they did, the intimacy they shared… it was a level of passion I had never known. She was the teacher, he was the student. The scenes were so graphic, so explicit, that my hatred for her solidified into something cold and permanent. She had played me for a fool, cheating on me while I endured the whispers and rumors about my supposed infertility. Then came a voice message from Leo, dripping with arrogant satisfaction. “Hahaha, see that? Jenna’s not allergic to men, Mark. She’s just allergic to you. We have a child, after all.” “And let me tell you something else. For the past three years, every night, she would come to me before going home to you. After a round with me, of course she had no interest in you. It was easy to make you believe her little story.” “Oh, and one more thing. She’s promised to give our son her entire inheritance.” His words didn’t fuel my anger anymore. Instead, a chilling, exhilarating desire for revenge took its place.

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I was working a dead-end job at a fried chicken joint when a delivery driver’s wife started a vicious rumor that I was sleeping with him. All because I’d given him an extra Coke on the house. I thought she was insane, so I just ignored it. But then she posted a secretly-shot, revealing photo of me changing in the locker room, and it went viral, racking up a million comments. Men started lurking outside the restaurant late at night. One night, they dragged me into an alley and assaulted me. I called the police, but the internet just called me a slut who was asking for it. My spirit broken, I threw myself off the Blackwood Bridge. The next thing I knew, my eyes shot open. I was back at the restaurant, on the exact day the delivery driver came to pick up his order. 1 “Hey, sweetie, is that order ready? How about you toss in an extra Coke for your favorite driver…” A delivery guy pushed open the door, phone pressed to his ear, shouting over at the counter. “Unbelievable,” my coworker, Tim, muttered beside me with a sarcastic laugh. “The nerve of some people, always trying to get something for free.” “He’s calling for you, sweetie. You handle it,” he said, nudging me. “I’ll go get the Coke. Better than getting a one-star review from this jerk.” He turned and grabbed an empty cup. A jolt shot through me. My eyes locked onto the familiar face walking toward us. It was him. The driver’s name was Kevin. His route was in our area, so he was a regular. And in that instant, it hit me. I had been reborn. In my past life, on this very day, Kevin had flirted with me while picking up an order. I felt sorry for him, sweating in the summer heat, so I gave him an extra Coke. I never imagined his wife would storm into the store, screaming that I was trying to steal her husband. I’d thought she was crazy and refused to engage. But then she pulled out the photo—the one she’d somehow taken of me changing into my uniform—and claimed I was a waitress by day and a prostitute by night. The post exploded online. The cyberbullying was relentless. Then came the assault in the alley. The crushing weight of the world’s malice broke me, made me doubt my own worth, and stole my will to live. Hopeless, I’d leaped from the bridge. The suffocating sensation of the cold river water filled my lungs all over again. “No!” I lunged forward and smacked the paper cup out of Tim’s hand. “We have to follow the store policy! The combo comes with one Coke, so he only gets one!” Tim’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Annie, what’s gotten into you today? You’re acting nuts.” He gestured vaguely. “You were just spacing out a second ago. It’s just a Coke. We’ve given them out before.” I watched Kevin’s approaching figure, taking a deep breath to calm the storm raging inside me. “Tim, I heard corporate is sending secret shoppers around. If we get caught, they’ll dock our pay.” I fabricated an excuse, my mind racing. “Besides, what if every driver starts demanding free stuff?” Tim just shrugged, bending down to toss the fallen cup in the trash. “Ugh, if my mom wasn’t sick, I’d be so out of this place. All these targets, all this ‘customer is always right’ crap. I’m not just worried about complaints anymore, now I’ve gotta worry about pissing off the delivery guys, too…” He grumbled for a bit before moving to pack the next order. I ignored him, carefully placing Kevin’s meal into the delivery bag. “God, it’s hot as hell out there,” Kevin said, leaning against the counter. He looked me up and down, a smirk playing on his lips. “That last one was for me. Did you sneak an extra Coke in there?” He leaned closer. “A pretty thing like you, I can tell you’ve got a good heart. We should get bubble tea after your shift.” He clicked his tongue. “Seriously, a total waste of those long legs, slinging chicken.” I pretended not to hear him and turned to the prep station to bag an order of nuggets. His phone was on speaker, and a woman’s sharp voice cut through the air. “Who are you talking to, honey? I’m warning you, if you’re messing with some little tramp… Full house! I win!” “It’s nothing, babe. Just grabbing the food. I’m on my way back,” he cooed into the phone. Through the front window, I saw him snatch the bag from the counter and head for the door. A wave of relief washed over me. This time, I was in the clear. The lunch rush was over, leaving only a couple of occupied tables. At one of them, a stylishly dressed girl had her phone propped up, live-streaming a foodie review. Our place had a trendy, artsy vibe and our signature snacks were popular with the younger crowd, so we often had influencers filming here. In my past life, Kevin had lingered at the counter, chatting me up, and I’d been too flustered to notice the streamer. On impulse, I walked over to the girl’s table, refilled her lemonade, and made a bit of small talk. The moment I returned to the counter, Tim leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, “Hey, while you were busy, I felt bad for the guy. Looked like he was having a rough day. I threw in that extra Coke and repacked the bag for him.” My body went rigid. I shot up from my stool. “Tim, are you trying to get me killed?” My voice was so sharp it made him flinch. He stammered, “W-what’s the big deal? Why are you freaking out?” There was no time to explain. I bolted out the door, desperate to get that damn Coke back. If he left with it, history would repeat itself. I would die again, and Tim would lose his job. But it was too late. The street was empty. Kevin was gone. “What is wrong with you?” Tim demanded when I walked back in, looking completely defeated. “It’s one soda. You don’t have to make a federal case out of it.” I looked up at him, the words caught in my throat. I felt an invisible force pushing me back onto the same dark path I’d walked before. “Ding-dong! You have a new order…” The bright chime of the order system pierced the silence. An idea sparked in my mind. “The system has his contact info,” I muttered to myself. “I can call him. I’ll just tell him the Coke was from you, Tim.” I rushed to the terminal and started scrolling through the recent orders. Tim’s face darkened. “You’re sick,” he grumbled. “Fine, I’ll pay for the damn Coke myself.” I couldn’t explain something as insane as being reborn, and I couldn’t think of another lie. All I could do was offer him a weak, apologetic smile. “Tim, it’s… it’s not what you think.” But Kevin didn’t answer. I called again and again, but it went straight to voicemail every time. The rest of the afternoon, I was a wreck, completely out of it. Tim was getting annoyed. He pointed out it was just the two of us on shift, and he couldn’t do all the work. I forced myself to snap out of it and went with him to the walk-in freezer to prep for the dinner rush. On the way, I brushed past the main power panel and my hand instinctively flicked a switch. “Weird,” Tim muttered, picking up a loose plug from the floor. “Didn’t the manager just fix the security cameras before she left for the weekend? How is the power cord busted again?” His words struck me like a bolt of lightning, unlocking a forgotten memory. In my past life, I had tried to pull the security footage to prove my innocence, to show I’d only exchanged a few harmless words with Kevin. But the cameras had been broken. A seed of suspicion took root in my mind, but before I could process it, the landline on the counter began to ring, shrill and insistent. “Hello, is this The Crispy Coop? You shameless little homewrecker, you think you can get away with seducing my husband? You just wait! I’m coming down there to rip your face off!” Tim had barely lifted the receiver when a screeching female voice erupted from the earpiece. It was Kevin’s wife, Brenda. “Ma’am, I think you have the wrong…” Before Tim could finish, the line went dead with a loud click. My heart hammered against my ribs. I didn’t remember Brenda calling to threaten me last time. The script had changed. Was it because I was reborn, or was it something else? Then I remembered the frantic calls I’d made to Kevin’s phone. Brenda must have checked his call log, seen my number, and taken it as proof. Damn it. I slapped my forehead in frustration. Tim looked bewildered. “Annie, who was that?” He slammed the phone down. “I swear, the crazies are out in full force today. I’m so done with this job.” “Tim,” I said, my voice low and serious, “if someone comes here looking for a fight, you have to stop her.” The inevitable was coming. If I tried to run from it like last time, I’d only be feeding the flames of that madwoman’s rage. Tim frowned, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “Did you get into some kind of trouble? You’ve been acting strange all day.” I shook my head. “How could I? I’m here all day. It’s about that delivery driver from earlier…” Just as I was about to explain, a group of customers walked in. The conversation was cut short as we scrambled to take their orders. The minutes ticked by. The dinner rush hit, and I moved on autopilot, taking orders, serving food, a practiced smile on my face. But beneath the surface, a primal fear was clawing its way up my throat. Memories from my past life flooded back. The venomous online comments. The slimy feel of a stranger’s hands forcing their way under my clothes in that dark alley. The bone-deep despair as I stood alone on the edge of the bridge. I’d had no family since my parents died. I worked hard, I was kind to everyone, I smiled even when I didn’t feel like it. All I wanted was a small, quiet place in this city where I could support myself. But no one ever told me that kindness without a spine is just weakness. No one told me my good intentions would only feed someone else’s malice. “Welcome to The Crispy Coop!” The door swung open again. A woman in a red dress and heavy, garish makeup stormed in. Even with the caked-on foundation, I recognized her immediately. It was Brenda. She stalked toward the counter, her head held high, the sharp clicks of her heels echoing through the quiet restaurant. The few customers still dining shot her annoyed glances. “You!” she shrieked, her bloodshot eyes locking onto me. “You’re the one! You feel proud of yourself, you little slut, chasing after another woman’s husband?” I was holding a tray, about to deliver an order, and her shove sent me stumbling backward. Tim stepped between us. “Ma’am, let’s all just calm down…” I quickly set the tray down and looked her straight in the eye. “I think you have the wrong person.” “The wrong person?” Brenda’s voice climbed to a hysterical pitch, spit flying from her lips. “You look so innocent, don’t you? But you’re nothing but trash! You thought my husband was hot, so you decided you’d just climb into his bed, is that it? Let me tell you something, you little bitch, I see trash like you, and I take it out!” It was happening again. The exact same words she’d used before. I took a deep breath and stepped forward. “Ma’am, if you don’t stop, I’m calling the police. You can have your husband come down here right now and we can sort this out. But you will not stand here and slander me.” Brenda just laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. “You have the nerve to call the cops? You’re the one who was flirting with him, giving him free Cokes! I don’t see you giving free drinks to any other drivers, do I? Shameless whore!” Understanding finally dawned on Tim’s face. He realized this was the wife of the driver from earlier. He jumped to my defense. “It was your husband who was begging for free stuff! He’s the cheapskate! This has nothing to do with Annie!” Brenda sneered and pulled a stack of photos from her purse. She slammed them down on the counter with a loud smack. “Everyone, look! Here’s the proof!” she yelled to the gawking customers. The photos scattered across the floor. A few curious onlookers picked them up. Most were of a young woman’s back, dressed in shorts and a tank top. But one photo was perfectly clear. It was me. In the employee locker room, changing out of my uniform. Someone had taken it a few days ago. Brenda pointed a trembling, crimson-nailed finger at the photo of me. “No wonder my husband’s been coming home so late,” she wailed, her voice thick with fake tears. “No wonder he’s been giving me less money. I knew something was wrong when I heard about that Coke, and then I find out you asked him to get bubble tea with you… You all know what ‘getting bubble tea’ really means! It’s just a code for doing that!” A murmur went through the crowd. “No way. I come here all the time. She doesn’t seem like that kind of girl.” “But a wife wouldn’t just show up and make a scene for no reason, right?” “What would she want with a delivery driver, though? That doesn’t make sense.” Brenda shot a glare at the person who’d spoken. “What’s wrong with a delivery driver? He’s handsome, that’s what! This bitch will spread her legs for anyone! She needs to be exposed for the trash she is!” With that, she advanced on me, her eyes wild. Suddenly, she reached into her handbag and pulled out a black plastic bag. I knew what was inside. In my last life, I hadn’t seen it coming. She’d thrown it right in my face. The image of myself, standing there humiliated, covered in rotting food scraps and stinking like a garbage can, flashed before my eyes. #FriedChickenHomewreckerGetsTrashed Someone had filmed it, and the video went viral. To the world, I was the villain. Not this time. I wasn’t going to be a victim again. SMACK! My hand cracked across Brenda’s face, the sound echoing through the stunned silence. “Who is this lunatic?” I yelled. “Somebody call an ambulance, I think she’s having a breakdown!” The slap caught her completely off guard. She stumbled back, losing her grip on the bag. It burst open, and a wave of rancid, foul-smelling kitchen slop splattered all over her red dress. The stench was overwhelming. Her face contorted in a mask of shock and rage. A piercing scream tore from her throat as she lunged at me. “You hit me? I’m going to tear you apart!” I joined the other onlookers, pinching my nose and backing away in disgust. That one slap had been for all the pain, all the humiliation, all the despair she had caused me in my past life. “Y-you just wait! I’ll destroy you!” Brenda gagged, finally retreating. She shot me one last venomous glare and stormed out, leaving a trail of filth and fury in her wake. The next day, she showed up at the restaurant bright and early. She didn’t yell, she didn’t break anything. She just ordered the cheapest item on the menu—a lemonade—sat at a table by the door, and started a live stream. With tears streaming down her face, she told her phone camera all about me, the “homewrecker,” and how I had destroyed her perfect, happy family. Our business plummeted. A few days later, the manager pulled me aside outside the restaurant. She sighed, her face etched with worry. “Annie, you’re a good kid. I believe you,” she said. “But look at the situation. The store is going under.” I said nothing, just watched her. She hesitated, then finally spit it out. “Why don’t you… take a few days off? Go home and rest.”

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