Author: Momo Chan

The heir I was arranged to marry was flaunting his new pet project, a canary-bright influencer he’d spoiled into a state of exquisite, irritating vanity. I was on the phone with my lawyer, finalizing the dissolution of our engagement, when a voice whispered in my head. It was the Narrator, the syrupy, all-knowing voice that had taken up residence in my mind for the past few weeks, spinning our lives into a cheap romance novel. 【What has our poor hero done wrong?】 it crooned. 【He’s just trying to get your attention.】 【Don’t call it off, sweet girl! Just shed a single tear and he’ll lay the world at your feet.】 I glanced out the window of the quiet SoHo café. Across the street, the canary, Lexi, was dripping in Cartier, her laughter echoing as she clung to Liam Blackwood’s arm. He looked down at her, his expression a lazy, practiced mask of indulgence. The kind of look that was meant to be seen. I smiled, a tight, bloodless thing, and typed my reply to the lawyer: 【Proceed with the draft.】 1 The moment the thought solidified, the Narrator in my head had a full-blown meltdown. 【How can she be so cruel? Now the poor, heartbroken heir will have to drink himself into a stupor at some velvet-roped club…】 【Sigh. He’s just proud and bad with words. And for that, he loses the love of his life.】 【It’s fine. He’ll just run her family’s company into the ground. Then she’ll have no choice but to come crawling back to him.】 【Imagine it! Her, forced to fight with his other women for a scrap of his attention! He’ll be in heaven!】 I stared at the dregs of my espresso, my jaw tight. A fresh wave of disgust washed over me. When I looked up again, my eyes met Liam’s from across the street. He raised a single, perfect eyebrow. No guilt. No shame at being caught. He let Lexi hang off him, a living accessory. As he registered the cold fury on my face, the corner of his mouth ticked up into a smirk. Liam’s canary was some mid-tier influencer, and together they were a publicist’s dream. The brooding heir and the bubbly blonde. A crowd of phone-wielding onlookers had already formed, snapping pictures. The café had floor-to-ceiling windows; I prayed I was just an anonymous blur in the background. I muttered a curse under my breath, grabbed my Saint Laurent bag, and called my driver. I needed to wait for him somewhere else. But as I pushed through the door, I nearly collided with Liam. He was standing right there. “Weren’t you just walking the other way?” I asked, my voice flat. “You’re keeping that close an eye on me?” He smirked, his eyes lazy and hooded. The girl beside him, Lexi, shot me a venomous look, a territorial glare from a woman who knew her position was precarious. The Narrator’s words echoed in my head, fueling a dull, throbbing headache. I tried to step around them, but his hand shot out, his fingers closing around my wrist. I turned back. “You’re not happy,” he stated, his voice a low murmur. It wasn’t a question. My gaze drifted from his face to the girl clinging to his arm, then back again. “I’m not anything,” I said. “I hope you two are very happy together.” He didn’t let go. Lexi finally found her voice, a high, nasal whine. “Who even are you? Can’t you see you’re interrupting our shopping trip?” She shook her wrist, flashing a ridiculously expensive bracelet. She looked at Liam with a pout. “Is she just jealous that no one buys her pretty things?” I kept my voice even, my eyes on Liam. “Do you know he has a fiancée?” She faltered for a second, then scoffed. “A family arrangement. There are no feelings involved. If Liam actually liked her, would he be with me?” Liam let out a short, humorless laugh. He just stood there, his dark eyes fixed on me, waiting. I gave a small, sharp nod, my expression unreadable. I glanced down at the hand still wrapped around my wrist, his long fingers cool against my skin. “Let go.” He didn’t move. Instead, he said, “The gala is the day after tomorrow. Find another date.” Lexi’s eyes widened, first in shock, then in dawning, smug triumph. She sized me up, and a slow, malicious grin spread across her face. “Oh. You’re the fiancée. Well, so what? Liam is taking me to the gala.” I did a quick calculation. The dissolution agreement should arrive at the Blackwood estate by tomorrow. “Fine,” I said. “Now can you let me go?” His grip tightened. His jaw clenched. “Who are you taking?” My mind cycled through a list of eligible men from families I actually respected—good-looking, well-educated, not emotionally stunted sociopaths. “I haven’t decided yet,” I said honestly. “But I’m sure I can find someone suitable once I get home.” The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the distant sounds of Manhattan traffic. I could feel the stares of passersby. The Narrator was back, practically hyperventilating. 【Oh my god, he’s going to lose it.】 【Liam: Can’t you just look at me with tears in your eyes and tell me you need me? Why must you provoke me?】 【Just flirt with him! Cry a little! Don’t let that beautiful face and his all-consuming love for you go to waste!】 【Seriously, Sloane, just give in. You have no idea what he’s capable of when he snaps… He’ll bankrupt your family and lock you in a tower just to have you.】 “Sloane Sinclair. You’ve got a lot of nerve,” Liam ground out, his voice dropping to a dangerously low temperature. He released my wrist. I started to walk away, then stopped. My eyes landed on the necklace around Lexi’s neck. I looked directly at Liam. “You once told me you were saving that necklace for me.” Then I turned and left. He was beside me in an instant, his tone unreadable. “You remember that?” “Yes,” I said, not breaking my stride. “And I don’t want it anymore.” “She knows how to charm me,” he said, his voice a low growl. “She’s always around… She calls me ‘baby’.” So that’s why he gave her the necklace he’d promised me? A wave of nausea rolled through my stomach. The Narrator swooned. 【He’s telling you what he wants!】 【He’s finally breaking! Just call him ‘baby’ once, Sloane, and he would die for you.】 【He dreams of you calling him that. He wakes up in the middle of the night from it…】 I stopped walking and turned to face him, meeting his intense gaze. I spoke each word with deliberate, ice-cold clarity. “You’re right. From now on, I’ll charm another man. I’ll call another man ‘baby’. And I’m sure he’ll give me anything I want, too.” “Say that again,” Liam hissed, a chilling fury in his voice I had never heard before. His hands clamped down on my shoulders, his grip so tight I felt like my bones might splinter. Just then, Lexi scurried over, her voice a timid whimper. “Liam? What’s wrong?” He didn’t spare her a glance, his eyes still locked on me, burning with a dark fire. She pursed her lips and glared at me. “Did you make him mad? Liam is never unhappy when he’s with me.” The nausea intensified, acidic and bitter. I turned my head away, refusing to say another word. After a long, tense moment, Liam’s hands dropped. He closed his eyes, a muscle feathering in his jaw. A grim shadow fell over him. “She knows better than to make me angry, Sloane,” he said, his voice flat and cold. He turned on his heel and walked away. Lexi immediately rushed after him, her voice a sweet, cooing poison, trying to soothe the beast. Their retreating figures looked like a perfectly matched set. The Narrator sighed dramatically. 【She just refuses to bend. Pushing away the one man who truly loves her.】 【All she had to do was say a few nice words. Instead, she let that little snake win.】 【Oh, for fuck’s sake, check Twitter! Someone already posted the photos and video.】 2 The moment I sank into the leather seats of the Escalade, I pulled out my phone. My screen was already lit up with notifications. 【Oh my God, Sloane, why are you trending? Do you know that girl with your fiancé is an influencer?】 【Are you okay?? My cousin just sent me the pics. Why is Liam parading his mistress in front of you? That absolute bastard!】 【That influencer with him, she’s always on her livestreams talking about some rich guy who is obsessed with her and buys her everything… I guess we know who that is now.】 【I can’t believe this. Liam Blackwood used to be a complete monk. We all thought he was so disciplined. What happened? Why is he suddenly sponsoring an influencer?】 I carefully composed my replies, one by one, before navigating to Twitter. The photos and videos were crystal clear, capturing every second of the tense confrontation. And the comments, almost unanimously, were defending Lexi. 【Can this woman just leave them alone? It’s obvious she’s just jealous of our Lexi.】 【Did you see the way Lexi’s boyfriend looked at her? He was so pissed. Compare that to how he looks at Lexi, he’s always so sweet to her.】 【This chick just lingered around them. Even after they walked away she just kept staring. So pathetic, pretending to be heartbroken.】 【Ugh, get lost, gold digger. Stop trying to steal someone else’s man.】 So. My fiancé was now officially someone else’s boyfriend. I leaned back, closing my eyes and letting my mind go blank. For this to be trending so hard, for it to not have been taken down, Liam had to be behind it. Did he really love me, as that insane Narrator in my head claimed? Was this his idea of love? Allowing the entire internet to get the story backward and hurl insults at me? A knot of pain tightened in my chest. I took a deep breath, and after a long moment, I dialed a number. “Get that trending topic taken down,” I said, my voice hoarse. “Now.” The Narrator piped up, its voice now tinged with a manufactured sympathy. 【Poor Sloane, she can’t take it. If she’d just soften up a little, none of this would be happening…】 【These idiots online just follow the mob. Lexi is the other woman! This makes me so mad.】 【Liam definitely went too far, but Sloane is just too independent. He wants to see her rely on him, to see her fall apart without him.】 【This won’t be easy to kill. People are already trying to dox her. Once the board at Sinclair Corp sees this, it’s going to hit the stock.】 My eyes locked on that last comment. Sure enough, my phone rang a few minutes later. “We’re trying,” the voice on the other end said, “but someone is actively buying engagement to keep it trending. We take down one post, ten more pop up. It’s like trying to put out a forest fire with a water pistol.” I said nothing. He sighed. “Did you piss someone off? This is a major, coordinated effort. A lot of money is being thrown at this. Isn’t your fiancé doing anything? Is he just going to sit back and watch?” Because the person buying the engagement is my fiancé, I thought. Well… not for much longer. My father’s call came next. His voice was a roar of pure fury. “Sloane! What the hell is going on? If people hadn’t been calling me, I’d still be in the dark!” I waited a beat. “Liam is cheating on me. Is that my fault, too?” “Plenty of men cheat! But how could you let this become a public spectacle? How could you let that woman stand in front of you and get away with it?!” his voice boomed, cracking with rage. “Liam bought the trending topic, and he’s the one with the mistress,” I explained patiently. “This has nothing to do with me. I’m already having my team work on taking it down.” My father scoffed. “If you can’t keep your man’s attention, it’s your own damn fault.” He hung up. The car glided to a stop. “We’ve arrived, Ms. Sinclair,” the driver said, his eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror. I moved like a zombie, pushing the door open and stepping out into the evening air. The family townhouse stood before me, dark and imposing. If you can’t keep your man’s attention, it’s your own damn fault. How incredibly noble of him. Those were almost the exact words he used when he cheated on my mother, blaming her for getting older, for losing her charm. He’d conveniently forgotten that it was her dowry that funded his first venture, her tireless work behind the scenes that built his empire. 3 That night, I called Liam. He picked up on the first ring. “What?” His tone was lazy, bored. “Stop buying the engagement,” I said softly. There was a pause on his end, then his voice lifted. “You sound exhausted. Are you upset?” “What is it that you want, Liam?” I couldn’t control it anymore; my voice cracked, a raw edge of despair creeping in. He didn’t answer. “Are you happy now?” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Watching them tear me apart online, revealing my identity, calling me a homewrecker, seeing the Sinclair stock dip? Are you satisfied?” I was shaking, a tremor starting deep in my bones. How could anyone be so senselessly cruel? After a long silence, he finally spoke, his voice smooth as velvet. “Don’t cry, baby. Do you want to see me? I can be there in twenty minutes.” I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I was standing on the balcony, and the cool night air felt like ice against my tear-streaked cheeks. I was a joke. An absolute joke. Finally, I managed to choke out two words. “Don’t come.” He repeated the words slowly, his tone unreadable. “Don’t come?” Then his voice hardened. “What does that mean, Sloane?” “I don’t want to see you,” I said, using the last of my strength to end the call. I stumbled back to bed, my body numb, but sleep wouldn’t come. The topic was still trending, a wildfire raging on my phone. The family group chat was lighting up. Relatives were tagging me, their messages dripping with passive-aggressive blame. Then my younger cousin chimed in. 【Honestly, Sloane, if you can’t keep Liam-ge happy, you should just step aside. Do you have any idea how much damage this is doing?】 That opened the floodgates. The other cousins, my peers, jumped in. 【This is so embarrassing. Letting some cheap influencer walk all over you. If I were you, I wouldn’t be able to show my face in public.】 another posted with a laughing emoji. 【Liam-ge is spending all his money on that influencer. Has he ever bought you anything, Sloane?】 【Maybe they should just give the engagement to someone else. It’s not like Liam likes Sloane anyway.】 The chat fell silent after that last message. A bitter smile touched my lips. I wished they could just give it to someone else. But my father was still in charge of Sinclair Corp, and I was his only daughter. He would never let go of this connection to the Blackwood dynasty. I muted the group chat and numbly scrolled through my Instagram feed. The first post was a group photo from some trust-fund kid. And right in the center… were Liam and Lexi. Liam’s arm was wrapped possessively around Lexi’s waist. He was smirking at the camera, a lazy, arrogant look in his eyes. His circle of friends flanked them, raising their glasses in a toast. It looked like an official announcement. I liked the photo. Then I turned off my phone. The Narrator’s voice flooded my mind, a tidal wave of delusion. 【Don’t be sad, sweet girl! It’s all an act! We know you’re the one he truly loves.】 【You know, after his friend posted that, he’s been checking his phone every minute to see if you liked it.】 【He really wants to see you. When you rejected him tonight, it nearly broke him.】 【Call him, Sloane! Tell him you’re jealous! He’ll drop everything and come running to you!】 I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to banish the voice, to banish all of it. I don’t know how much time passed before I sat up, my body cold and stiff. I sent a text to my lawyer. 【Send the dissolution agreement to me first. I’ll find a way to get it to Liam later.】 I needed one full day to move my assets without anyone noticing. After the gala, I would be on the first flight out of the country. By the time I landed, two copies of the agreement would be delivered: one for my father, and one for Liam. If I stayed, even if I refused to marry Liam, my life wouldn’t be my own. My father would just sell me to the next highest bidder. 4 Everything went according to plan. … I’d even chosen a stunning mermaid-style gown for the occasion. As I stepped into the grand ballroom, a confident smile fixed on my face, my friends immediately flocked to my side. “How are you holding up?” one of them, Maya, whispered, linking her arm through mine. “I see you came alone. Want me to lend you my little brother for the night?” I considered it for a moment. “No, I think I’m fine. There’s nothing shameful about being on my own.” “Damn right,” she grinned. “Besides, a man would only get in the way of our gossip.” Suddenly, a ripple of excitement went through the crowd near the entrance. We turned to see what the commotion was. Liam. He stood there in a custom silver-grey suit, a lazy smile playing on his lips. On his arm was Lexi, who was also smiling, her expression a mix of awe and smugness. Ah. So when Liam said he was spending the day with Lexi, he didn’t just mean a shopping trip. He meant he was bringing her here. To this. My gaze fell to Lexi’s dress. It was the exact same mermaid gown I was wearing. When I’d had mine fitted, I was told it was the only one in the country. He must have had hers flown in overnight from Paris or Milan. Liam was intentionally trying to humiliate me. Sure enough, the moment Lexi saw me, her face fell. She turned, bit her lip, and whispered something to Liam. Only then did he slowly, deliberately, turn his gaze toward me. Lexi marched over, her heels clicking angrily on the marble floor. “Did you have someone spy on me?” she hissed, her eyes flashing. “Did you find out what dress Liam ordered for me so you could copy me on purpose?!” The commotion was drawing a crowd. People were starting to gather, their faces alight with curiosity. “Don’t be ridiculous…” Maya started, stepping forward. “Whatever,” Lexi sneered. “It’s just pathetic jealousy because Liam treats me so well! You’re disgusting, and it doesn’t even look as good on you.” Maya muttered under her breath, “It looks better on her.” Lexi’s face flushed with anger. She spun around and ran back to Liam, shaking his arm. “Liam, look at them!” Liam’s dark eyes were fixed on me, an unreadable expression on his face. He watched me for a long moment, and then, the corner of his mouth curved into a slow smile. The Narrator erupted in my head. 【Ahhhh, he’s smiling! He thinks Sloane wears it better!】 【See? His eyes don’t lie! Liam and Sloane forever! I’ll bet a bag of popcorn on it.】 【But wait… to push her over the edge, to make her finally run to him, broken and desperate, he’s about to…】 Before I could puzzle out that last cryptic thought, the ballroom’s sound system crackled to life. Everyone turned. A senior executive from Blackwood Enterprises was on the stage, holding a microphone and a card. “Thank you all for joining us this evening,” he announced. “We have one very special announcement to make. By a resolution of Mr. Blackwood and the board of directors, two percent of the voting shares in Blackwood Enterprises will be gifted, unconditionally, to Ms. Lexi Vance.” The entire room gasped. I looked up, my heart pounding in my chest. I couldn’t believe it. Liam held a certain number of shares himself, I wasn’t sure of the exact figure. But there was another two percent, held in trust, that was designated for his future wife. Even at just two percent, in a behemoth like Blackwood Enterprises, the annual dividends were astronomical. He gave them to Lexi. And he had it announced here. In front of everyone.

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The night Mia was broken, I was there. I watched it all happen. I even filmed it. Eventually, the horror shattered her mind. She was admitted to Mercy General. A few days later, her mother found me. She fell to her knees on the pavement in front of my apartment. “Ethan,” she pleaded, her voice cracking. “Mia said she was going to meet you that night. The night she was… attacked. She said you were nearby. You must have seen who did it. Please.” I looked down at the woman clutching my jeans, her body shaking with sobs. Then I kicked her hand away. “Sorry,” I said, my voice flat. “I didn’t see anything.” 1 Mrs. Miller sprawled back on the concrete, stunned. “You’re lying, Ethan.” Her voice trembled, but she bit down hard, refusing to let the tears fall. “Ever since Mia was admitted, she does nothing but clutch her pillow and whisper your name.” “She says she saw you that night, standing at the end of the alley. She keeps asking why you didn’t save her!” I pulled a cigarette from my pocket. It took three clicks of the lighter for the flame to catch. “Look, I told you,” I said, taking a long drag. “I wasn’t there. Mia’s not… well right now. You can’t take her word for it.” She scrambled to her feet, lunging for my arm. I sidestepped, and she stumbled, catching her balance at the last second. “My daughter has always been honest. She’s never told a lie in her life! Even now, confused as she is, she wouldn’t make up something like that!” My fingers tightened around the cigarette, the heat searing my skin. The sudden pain brought me back. Of course, I knew better than anyone. Mia wasn’t lying. The rain was coming down in sheets that night. I was waiting it out under the awning of the Quick Mart, and I saw them. I saw someone drag her into the dead-end alley next to the store. “I was in my dorm all night,” I said, my voice hard. “I never went near that alley.” I dropped the cigarette and crushed it under my shoe. “Ethan, I’m asking you one last time. Who was it?” Before I could answer, a car pulled up. Mr. Miller got out. He’d taken a bad fall when he heard the news about Mia, and he still walked with a heavy limp. “You and Mia were together for two years,” he said, his voice strained. “She loved you. How can you watch her go through this and not even tell us the truth?” Seeing him like that, frail and limping, felt like a stone in my stomach. But I forced the words out. “I honestly don’t know, sir. If I knew, I would have called the cops myself. I wouldn’t be wasting my time here with you.” “Wasting your time?” His voice erupted in a roar of anger. He shoved me, hard. The force of it threw him off balance, and he crumpled to the ground. Mrs. Miller screamed and rushed to his side. “David! Are you okay? Ethan, you monster!” A small crowd was starting to form. Murmurs rippled through the onlookers. “Isn’t that Ethan? He’s Mia Miller’s boyfriend, right?” “I heard what happened to Mia. Something about a breakdown… So he knows who did it and won’t talk?” “Jesus, what a coward. His own girlfriend gets attacked, and he won’t stand up for her? Then he pushes her dad over?” Mia’s best friend, Chloe, suddenly appeared, pushing her way to the front. She pointed a trembling finger at me. “Are you even a man, Ethan? Do you have any idea how many guys envied you when you and Mia got together?” “She was the girl every guy on campus was in love with, and she chose you! How can you do this to her? Has your conscience been eaten by dogs?!” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. Of course, I knew they envied me. At last year’s Founder’s Day ceremony, Mia gave a speech as the student representative. Every man in that auditorium was glued to her. “What good is envy?” I shot back. “You all saw how good she was to me. You have no idea what I did for her. Now that something’s happened, you all line up to point the finger. Do any of you have a clue what really went down?” “It’s because you’re scared, isn’t it?” Chloe spat. “You’re afraid to piss off her attacker. I heard the guy comes from a powerful family. You’re afraid of what they’ll do to you, so you’re keeping your mouth shut.” Her words hit their mark. A raw nerve. I saw Mia again in my mind, curled on the wet asphalt after it was over, her clothes torn, her face a mess of rain and tears. The look of utter despair in her eyes as she grabbed my arm. Mr. Miller, helped to his feet by his wife, was shaking with rage. “You remember this, Ethan. You refuse to talk today? Fine. But I will search this entire city if I have to. I will find the man who did this. And when I do, I don’t know how you’ll ever face Mia again.” “Do whatever you want.” I turned to leave, but Chloe grabbed my arm. “You’re not going anywhere! We already called the police. They’re on their way. Let’s see you tell your story to them!” I yanked my arm free, sending her stumbling back. The crowd’s muttering grew louder, a chorus of “coward” and “bastard.” I glanced toward the Quick Mart at the end of the street. Next to it was the alley where her life fell apart. Mia used to come here all the time. She’d stand right there by the entrance and call me. “Ethan, I got you something special.” Her smile back then… it could light up the whole damn world. A dry, painful laugh scraped its way out of my throat. Because I knew the truth better than any of them. I was hiding everything. 2 “She’s my only daughter, Ethan.” Mr. Miller’s anger had dissolved, replaced by a raw, aching despair. In front of everyone, the big man started to weep. “Mia was always such a good kid. A straight-A student. Never gave us a moment of trouble.” “And now? She’s in a psychiatric ward. Half the time, the only name she says is yours. The rest of the time, she just holds a pillow and cries. She doesn’t even recognize us anymore.” “As her father… seeing her like this… I don’t even want to live anymore.” The eyes of the crowd on me hardened with contempt. Mrs. Miller sniffled, her voice thick with emotion. “The only reason I’m still going is to find out the truth. To find the person who did this and clear her name. Then, even if I die, I can face her in the afterlife.” “You were with her for two years. Even if you have no feelings left, you can’t just stand by and let this happen without saying a single word of truth, can you?” I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. Just then, my academic advisor, Dean Evans, arrived. After a quick briefing from Chloe, his face grew grim. He turned to me, his voice stern. “Ethan, withholding information makes you an accessory. If the perpetrator gets away because you stayed silent, you could be charged with a crime. Do you understand?” “You’re a university student. Do you know what a criminal record means? It’s a permanent mark on your file. Forget about grad school, forget about a decent job. It’s over.” I met his gaze. “Dean Evans, if you think I’ve committed a crime, then by all means, call the cops.” “When they get here, I’ll tell them the same thing I told everyone else. I didn’t see anything. What are they going to do to me?” My defiance left him speechless, his expression darkening. Mr. Miller, however, trembled with renewed fury. “How can you be so cold-blooded, Ethan? Mia is in the hospital, talking about you day and night. She says you were right there. She couldn’t have been mistaken!” I let out another cold laugh. “Sir, with all due respect, your daughter doesn’t even recognize her own parents right now. Can you really trust what she’s saying?” “Maybe she was hallucinating. Maybe she saw someone else and thought it was me. If you really want to help her, you should be at the hospital, not here harassing me.” My words detonated in the small crowd. “Are you even human, Ethan? Mia’s in that state, and you talk about her like that?” “Yeah, even if she’s not lucid, you don’t have to slander her!” Mr. Miller’s face went white with rage. He lunged forward and slapped me across the face. The sting was sharp, electric. “I’m going to kill you, you heartless piece of scum!” he roared. “Mia must have been blind to ever love you!” The students around us murmured their agreement, that a bastard like me deserved it. I stared back at them, a cold smile on my lips. They didn’t give a damn about helping Mia. They’d always been jealous. From the day Mia and I got together, I’d heard the whispers in the hallways, the talk about how a guy like me didn’t deserve a girl like her. This was their chance to tear me down, and they were loving it. I took a deep breath and let the smile spread across my face. “You think I wanted to be with her?” “The truth is, I’ve wanted to break up with her for a long time.” “She’s a goddamn curse!” 3 The moment the words left my mouth, the murmuring exploded into chaos. Mr. and Mrs. Miller looked as if I’d just stabbed them, their faces drained of all color. Mrs. Miller was the first to react, clawing at my hair. “You ungrateful monster! How dare you! What did my daughter ever do to you but love you?” “When you had that terrible flu, she stayed up all night making you broth from scratch! She knew your family didn’t have much, so she was the one helping you pay for things these last two years!” Mr. Miller landed another punch, this one square on my jaw. I stumbled back, my spine slamming into the brick wall behind me. A sharp pain shot through my back. “I used to think you were a decent kid,” he seethed. “I was happy Mia was with you. Now I see I was blind. You call her a curse? You’re the one who’s an animal in human skin!” I rubbed my aching back. As I started to form a retort, Mr. Miller’s eyes narrowed, a strange look clouding his features. It was a mix of suspicion and dawning horror. He took a shaky breath, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. “Ethan, tell me something. Was it because she wouldn’t sleep with you? Is that why you did it?” I froze. I never imagined he would think that. The crowd quieted, all eyes on me, waiting. “Mia has always been… a good girl,” he continued, his voice thick. “Did you get angry because she said no? She went to meet you that night… and when you couldn’t have her, you took her by force!” Beside him, Mrs. Miller began to sob, nodding frantically. “It must be! Oh, Ethan, you are a devil!” “We already agreed. We were going to let you two get married right after graduation. How could you do this to her?” I looked at them, a feeling of grim, hopeless absurdity washing over me. They would rather believe this insane theory than accept the simple fact that I hadn’t seen the attacker. I fumbled for another cigarette and lit it. “Married?” I let out a puff of smoke and a cold, cruel laugh. “Please. A girl like Mia? Even if you offered her to me for free, I wouldn’t want her now. She’s dirty.” A dead silence fell over the street. Every single person stared at me, their faces a mixture of shock and pure, unadulterated fury. Mrs. Miller was shaking so violently I thought she would collapse. But just then, a weak voice cut through the tension from behind me. “Ethan… why are you saying that about me?” It was Mia. Hearing her voice, my entire body went rigid. 4 Everyone turned. Slowly, I did the same. Mia was standing there, flanked by a relative and a doctor from the hospital. She was so much thinner. Her cheeks were hollowed out, making her eyes seem huge and vacant, all their former light extinguished. A dark, bruised purple shadowed the skin beneath them. The oversized hospital gown hung on her frame like a sheet on a scarecrow, as if a strong gust of wind could carry her away. The sight of her was a punch to the gut. Mrs. Miller ran to her, sobbing, and threw her arms around her daughter. But Mia’s gaze was fixed on me. Tears welled up in her haunted eyes and began to trace silent paths down her pale cheeks. Her voice was barely a whisper. “Ethan… I loved you so much. I was so good to you. Why would you say that? Why would you call me dirty?” I looked at her, and the words caught in my throat like gravel. I wanted to turn and run, but my feet felt nailed to the pavement. Seeing my silence, her tears fell faster. “That night… someone pulled me into the alley,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I saw you. I thought you would save me. Why didn’t you save me?” She paused, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, a new wave of despair washing over her face. “And… I saw you. You were holding your phone. You were filming it.” “Ethan, the proof is on your phone. Why won’t you just admit it?” Her words were like gasoline on a fire. The crowd erupted. “What are you still standing there for, you bastard? Hand over the phone!” “Mia remembers the details! What else can you say?” “He did it on purpose! He has the video and he’s protecting the attacker!” I gritted my teeth, my eyes locked on Mia. It took all my strength to force the words out. “She’s talking nonsense! She’s mentally unstable. How can you believe a word she says?” But the doctor accompanying her immediately stepped forward. “Ms. Miller suffers from intermittent psychosis, not total delusion,” he explained calmly. “During her lucid periods, her logic and memory are intact. What she has just said has a high degree of credibility.” The doctor’s words demolished my only defense. Mr. Miller charged at me, his hands grabbing for my pocket. “Give me the phone, Ethan! Give it to me!” I instinctively recoiled, pushing him away. That was the signal. Several of Mia’s male relatives closed in, their faces tight with rage. “You’re going to pay for what you did to Mia.” A fist slammed into my face. I felt a hot, wet crack in my nose, and blood streamed down my mouth. “Get him! Make him talk!” “Beat the hell out of that bastard!” More people surged forward. Fists and feet rained down on me from every direction. I curled into a ball on the ground, covering my head, my body screaming in protest. Every bone felt like it was about to shatter. Blood filled my mouth, metallic and salty. I tried to shout, but a kick to my stomach stole my breath, leaving me gasping in silent agony. A pool of blood spread on the pavement beneath me. My vision started to blur at the edges. Through the haze of pain, I saw Mr. Miller finally snatch my phone. He grabbed my hand, forcing my thumb onto the sensor to unlock it. But a moment later, as he looked at the screen, he froze. The color drained from his face, leaving it a ghastly, bloodless white. The crowd pressed in, desperate to see what was on the screen. Suddenly, Mr. Miller snapped back to reality. With a guttural roar, he hurled the phone to the ground.

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The day of my son’s christening, I found a sonogram in my husband’s phone. The woman’s texts were arias of despair, a constant drain that siphoned off half of Ethan’s income every month. I didn’t choose quiet acceptance. I laid the phone on the mahogany desk in his study and demanded an explanation. Ethan sat in that leather chair all night. When he finally emerged in the pale morning light, his face was a gray mask. “I admit it,” he said, his voice raspy. “I owe her. But there’s nothing between us. No feelings.” 1 Ten years together, and now he was asking me to sacrifice our family for a child that wasn’t even real to me. I wouldn’t do it. I couldn’t. I put on my dress, a silk sheath the color of cream, and let the christening party begin. And then, in the middle of the reception, his best man, David, burst through the doors of the hall. He was clutching a blood-stained medical transport cooler. “Ethan!” he yelled, his voice echoing in the sudden silence. “It’s Chloe! She saw the pictures you posted of the party… she miscarried at the hospital. The baby’s gone!” The champagne flute in my hand, raised for a toast, slipped from my fingers and shattered on the polished floor. Ethan moved like a lightning strike, a blur of motion toward the door. My voice, sharp with tears, cut through the air behind him. “Ethan, if you walk out that door today, you are no longer this child’s father!” He paused for a single, agonizing beat at the threshold. Then, without a backward glance, he was gone. I stood frozen, our one-month-old son nestled in my arms. Noah was asleep, blissfully unaware that his father had just vanished from his life. The soft jazz music ground to a halt. The murmur of our guests died. The emcee stood on the small stage, microphone in hand, utterly lost. Ethan’s parents rushed to my side, his father’s face livid with rage. “Sophia,” he growled, “that animal! I’ll break his damn legs!” I just shook my head, numb, and handed Noah to the nanny we’d hired. “Let him go, Dad,” I said to my own father-in-law, my voice strangely calm. My own parents hurried over, my mother already weeping. “What is this? At his own son’s christening! He’s humiliated our family!” I stepped down from the dais. “I’ll take you home,” I told them. The grand hall had dissolved into chaos. David, Ethan’s friend, approached me, his face a mess of guilt. “Sophia… I’m so sorry. Chloe… it was an emergency. The baby… it was already formed…” I stared at him, saying nothing. David knew Ethan, but he also knew Leo, the man who had died in prison. And Leo’s sister, Chloe, had become their collective “responsibility.” But responsibility doesn’t choose the middle of a baby’s christening party to make an entrance, holding a dead fetus like a trophy. I grabbed my purse and walked out, leaving the whole farce behind. My phone buzzed in my bag. Again and again. I didn’t look. I knew it was Ethan. He’d be explaining, apologizing, telling me that Chloe was on the verge of death and he couldn’t possibly have stayed. We’d been together for ten years. I knew him. He had a hero complex, a desperate need to be a savior. Leo’s case was the only one he’d ever lost. After Leo died, that guilt became a set of chains Ethan draped around his own neck. He told me he had to take care of Chloe for the rest of his life, to honor his failure. I used to believe him. It was only today that I understood. Some ways of “caring” are just another word for betrayal. Back home, I peeled off the silk dress and changed into sweats. I’m a forensic pathologist. The hospital where Chloe had her… procedure… it was one where I had colleagues. I grabbed my car keys and drove. Outside the OB/GYN emergency room, Ethan was slumped against a wall. His suit was wrinkled, his hair a mess, his eyes shot with blood. A moment later, Chloe was wheeled out of the recovery room, an IV drip taped to her wrist. Her face was bloodless, her eyes closed. Ethan immediately rushed to her side, grabbing her hand. I walked toward them. When Ethan saw me, he straightened up, his eyes swimming with apology. “Soph… you’re here. I’m so sorry about today…” “How is she?” I cut him off, my gaze fixed on the woman in the bed. “The doctor said she hemorrhaged. The baby’s gone, but she’s stable. She’s just… emotionally, she’s a wreck.” I nodded. “Good.” As I turned to leave, Ethan grabbed my wrist. “Sophia, don’t be like this. I lost Leo’s case. I owe them this. I can’t abandon her, not now when she’s lost her only hope.” I pulled my arm free. “I’m not being like anything, Ethan. I’m just realizing that my son’s christening was apparently less important than a woman who just had an abortion.” “That’s not it! You and Noah are the most important things in the world to me! But she was dying! And that was my child, too!” “The doctors said she’s not going to die,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “And another thing. That wasn’t your child.” His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Just then, Chloe’s eyes fluttered open. When she saw me, tears instantly welled. “Sophia,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault. I didn’t mean to, I just… I saw the pictures of the christening, and it made me think of my brother, of Leo, and…” She broke down into ragged sobs. “I lost control. I’m so sorry I ruined everything.” Ethan immediately sat by her side, his voice a soft murmur. “It’s okay. Don’t think about it. It’s over. Just rest.” He looked back at me, his eyes now holding a hint of reproach. “Look at her. She’s shattered. Can’t you have a little compassion?” I didn’t answer. I just turned and walked away. It wasn’t until the cold night air hit my face outside the hospital doors that I realized my hands were shaking uncontrollably. 2 The next day, Ethan came home with a folder in his hand. I opened the door but didn’t let him in, blocking the entrance. He held the folder out to me. “Sophia, I’m apologizing on Chloe’s behalf. She had an emotional breakdown yesterday. She didn’t mean for any of it to happen.” “She can’t apologize for herself?” Ethan flinched. “She’s still very weak.” “Let’s not talk about her,” I said. “Let’s talk about us. What about the christening? What do I tell our friends, our families?” He was silent for a long moment. “We’ll throw another party once this all blows over.” “Another party?” I looked at him, incredulous. “You think this is something you can just… redo?” “What else can we do? It happened, Soph. I know you’re hurt. But Chloe… she lost her brother, and now she’s lost a child. Can’t we just try to be understanding?” There was that word again. Understanding. I took the folder from his hand. It was a share transfer agreement. He was signing over twenty percent of his stake in the law firm to me. “It’s compensation,” he said. “Please, don’t be angry anymore.” Seeing me take the papers, Ethan visibly relaxed, mistaking my action for acceptance. “You’ve always had a soft heart,” he said, a weak smile touching his lips. “Don’t worry. Once she’s back on her feet, I’ll make it all up to you and Noah. I promise.” He left. I tore the agreement into tiny pieces and dropped them in the trash. Then I went to work. I had a colleague pull yesterday’s records from OB/GYN. Chloe Vance. Gestational age, 24 weeks. Procedure: Induction of labor. Not a miscarriage. A scheduled, voluntary induction. An abortion. Then I called a friend in the ER. “Hey, remember that pregnant woman who came in yesterday? Hemorrhaging? Chloe Vance.” My friend thought for a second. “Oh, right, that one. Some guy carried her in, frantic, screaming about a miscarriage.” “And the situation?” “Please,” she scoffed. “It was standard post-induction bleeding. Completely within the normal range. We all knew what was up. The whole drama was for the guy’s benefit.” My heart sank like a stone.

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The call came in on Memorial Day. An accident at the MegaWorld Fun Park. A child, a fall, a severed artery. Halfway there, siren screaming, the Head of Emergency Medicine told the driver to pull over. She wanted to take a picture. I begged her to keep going. A child was bleeding out. She gave me a look cold enough to freeze blood. “Don’t think that fancy degree gives you the right to question me, Maya. In this department, my word is final.” I couldn’t force her. All I could do was sit there, my own heart bleeding with every tick of the clock. When she finally got back in, I thought we were leaving. Then she told the driver to open the gas cap. “Siphon some into the canister for me,” she said. “My personal car is running on fumes.” 01 “Lauren, the father’s called three times already. If we don’t get there soon, that little boy might…” My voice trailed off. A cold sweat was starting to prickle my neck, but Lauren Pierce, my new boss, looked as relaxed as if she were on a Sunday drive, aiming her phone at a ridiculous, newly erected statue of a superhero. “What’s the rush?” she snapped, her face tightening as she glanced at me. The phone, however, didn’t lower. “Maya, don’t think because you waltzed in here from some Ivy League medical school that you can tell me how to do my job. Let’s get one thing straight: I run this ER.” “Dr. Pierce, Lauren, that’s not what I meant at all,” I pleaded, my voice softer than I wanted. “It’s just… the kid can’t wait. The last call, the dad said he was unconscious. It has to be massive blood loss.” She cut me off before I could finish. “‘Massive blood loss’,” she mocked. “You have no idea. People like that always exaggerate. A tiny cut becomes a gaping wound.” She finally lowered her phone, but only to sneer at me. “It’s a manipulation tactic. They think if they sound hysterical, we’ll magically teleport there. They don’t get that we’re doctors, not gods.” She shook her head, a world-weary sigh escaping her lips. “I’ve been doing this for fifteen years. You’re a rookie. You’ll learn.” “But…” I tried to interject, but she put up a hand, a final command. “One more word out of you, Maya, and you can find your own ride back to the hospital. You’re my subordinate on this call. Act like it.” The words hit me like a slap. I bit my lip, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth, and slumped back into my seat in the ambulance. Today was my first official day on the job. And this is how it was starting. Lauren and I weren’t just colleagues. We’d been in the same pre-med program years ago. My rival, she’d called herself. She competed with me over everything, from grades to lab placements. She even competed for my husband, Alex. He was the one that got away for her; the guy she’d spent three years trying to win over in college. After graduation, she’d used family connections to land a cushy residency at Providence General. I’d gone on to get my M.D.-Ph.D., and by a twist of fate, had been assigned to the same hospital for my fellowship. Her department. As if on cue, my phone buzzed again. An unknown number. “Doctor! Are you here yet? My son… Oh god, my son… I don’t think he’s breathing…” The father’s frantic, choked sobs sent a fresh wave of ice through my veins. From the first call, I knew the situation was dire. The boy had fallen from the Ferris wheel. Multiple lacerations, and the gushing blood suggested a major artery—likely the femoral. The park wasn’t far from the hospital, a ten-minute drive at most. But we’d been on the road for twenty-five minutes, twenty of which had been spent parked here so Lauren could get a snapshot of the new Marvel Universe exhibit for her own son. My insides felt like a tangled knot of wires. I’d tried urging her along at least ten times, each attempt met with a glare of pure contempt. I had no choice but to try and calm the father. “We’re almost there, sir. It’s the holiday traffic. In the meantime, find a piece of cloth—a shirt, a towel, anything—and press down hard on the bleeding point. As hard as you can. We’re coming.” I clicked off the phone, my scrub top now damp with sweat. This child was going to die. He was going to die right here, on the phone, while we sat less than a mile away. I didn’t think. I just moved. The side door of the ambulance slammed open as I jumped out and stalked over to Lauren, snatching the phone from her hand. “Lauren, are you coming or not?” my voice was shaking, but it was loud. “Because if you don’t get in this vehicle right now, I swear to God I will report you for criminal negligence.” 02 I stood there, trembling, pointing a shaky finger at the ambulance. My shout had attracted attention. Passersby were starting to slow down, their curiosity piqued. “Hey, isn’t that an ambulance?” someone muttered. “What’s a paramedic doing taking pictures?” “Right? They blast their sirens for us to get out of the way, run red lights, and then they stop to admire the view? Talk about abusing their power.” “Guess their emergency wasn’t so urgent after all. Next time I hear a siren, I’m not pulling over.” The murmurs grew, a chorus of judgment aimed directly at us. Lauren’s face flushed. She hadn’t expected me to push back this hard. She wanted to put me in my place, but the growing crowd of onlookers made that impossible. To save face, she swallowed whatever venomous retort was on her tongue. Honestly, I didn’t want to cause a scene. But when I pictured that child, bleeding out on the pavement, I knew I had no other choice. It didn’t matter if this was some power play, some attempt by Lauren to sabotage my first day. A life couldn’t be the price of her pride. Pressured by the stares, Lauren finally stowed her phone and climbed back into the ambulance. I checked my watch. We had wasted nearly thirty minutes. But we were moving. A few more minutes and we’d be there. The boy still had a chance. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. But my relief was short-lived. Lauren, her face a mask of resentment, barked a new order. “Rick, pull over at the corner up ahead.” My heart seized. I didn’t know what fresh hell she had planned now. The driver, a man I now recognized as her cousin, didn’t question it. He steered the ambulance to the curb. I looked out the window. It was a fish market. Before I could process it, Lauren spoke to the driver, her eyes deliberately avoiding mine. “Wait here. I need to pick up some shrimp. My son wants garlic shrimp pasta for dinner tonight.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. With a child’s life hanging by a thread, she was thinking about dinner. I thought the public shaming had gotten through to her, but I was wrong. Her connections ran deep; a complaint from a rookie fellow meant nothing. As she started to get out, I grabbed her arm. “Lauren, the boy is unconscious. His blood pressure has probably bottomed out. We don’t have any more time to waste.” My voice was raw with desperation. I tried a different tactic, appealing to the one thing I thought we might share. “Lauren, you have a son. Imagine if it was your boy lying there. Wouldn’t you be frantic?” It was the wrong thing to say. My attempt at empathy ignited her rage. “Shut your mouth, Maya!” she shrieked, her face contorted with fury. “First you yell at me, then you threaten me, and now you’re cursing my son? Is that it?” “Let me tell you something,” she spat, her voice low and dangerous. “My son is perfectly fine. My husband has him at the fun park right now, having a wonderful day.” She leaned in closer. “And you? You just want to steal the spotlight, same as you always did in school. Well, not this time. Not a chance.” With that, she wrenched her arm free and disappeared into the market. As I watched her go, a cold dread settled deep in my stomach. After a few seconds of stunned silence, I made a decision. I climbed into the back of the ambulance. “Let’s go, Rick! Now!” It was a long shot. I didn’t have years of field experience, but I’d graduated at the top of my class. I’d run dozens of trauma simulations during my residency. I could handle this. I had to get to that child, with or without her, because if I waited any longer, he would be gone. But the driver didn’t move. He stretched, yawning, and didn’t even bother to look back at me as he picked up his phone to scroll through videos. And then he said two words that sealed the child’s fate. “Not moving.” 03 The two words echoed in the small space, each one a stone thrown at my hope. They landed with a thud, shattering what little composure I had left. I stared at the back of his head in disbelief. “What did you say? Why won’t you go? Didn’t you hear me? That child is dying!” My voice cracked, rising to a desperate shriek. He just kept scrolling, his thumb flicking across the screen. “I heard you,” he said, his tone flat and bored. “But the department head didn’t give the order. I’m not moving this vehicle.” He finally glanced at me in the rearview mirror, his eyes cold. “Something goes wrong, who’s responsible? Not me.” A fragmented conversation I’d overheard in the breakroom earlier that morning clicked into place. Two nurses gossiping. The new driver, Rick? That’s Lauren’s cousin… Of course. He wasn’t just an employee; he was family. He would never defy her. I wiped a bead of sweat from my temple. My chest felt tight, like it was packed with cotton, thick and suffocating. My phone rang again. “Doctor! He’s gone cold… My whole shirt is red, it’s all blood… We have ten minutes, maybe. Please…” The man’s voice dissolved into ragged, desperate sobs. Each gasp was a knife twisting in my gut. I paced the small confines of the ambulance, a caged animal, wishing I could sprout wings and fly there myself. I tried to calm him down again, walking him through the basic steps of applying pressure, my own voice trembling. After I hung up, my first instinct was to call the hospital dispatch, to beg them to send another ambulance. Maybe there was still time. Just as I raised my phone, the side door slammed open. Lauren was back. For a split second, I saw a savior. I rushed toward her, the words spilling out of me in a torrent. “Lauren, the situation is critical, the father said…” But she wasn’t listening. Her attention was on the plastic bag in her hand. A small, satisfied smile played on her lips as she passed the shrimp to Rick, watching intently as he placed it carefully on the passenger seat. Only when her precious cargo was secure did she deign to look at me. “Dr. Pierce, the child is in critical condition. Based on the father’s description, it’s almost certainly a femoral artery bleed. He’s likely in hypovolemic shock. We have ten minutes, tops.” I was on the verge of tears. To my horror, Lauren just chuckled. A small, condescending puff of air. “Maya, you haven’t changed a bit,” she said, patting my shoulder with mock sympathy. “Still so desperate to be the hero.” She gave me a look a seasoned general might give a terrified new recruit. “I told you, people exaggerate. Especially parents.” “No,” I said, my voice firm. “I don’t think this is an exaggeration. I think the reality is probably much worse.” Lauren just shook her head, a placid, infuriating calm on her face. “Well, if it is, then that’s just fate, isn’t it?” she said breezily. “You know what they say: life and death are preordained. If he doesn’t make it, I guess it was just his time to go. Who are we to argue with that?” I stared at her, my jaw slack with disbelief. The words, coming from the Head of Emergency Medicine, were so monstrous, so utterly devoid of humanity, that my blood ran cold. The sweat on my back felt like ice. But this wasn’t the time to argue philosophy. The ambulance engine finally roared to life. A tiny spark of hope rekindled within me. We were close. Five minutes, maybe less. I watched the seconds tick by on my watch, each one a lifetime. The iconic silhouette of the MegaWorld Fun Park’s roller coasters appeared in the distance. My heart hammered against my ribs. I closed my eyes, offering a silent prayer. Hang on, little boy. Please, just hang on. We’re here. But just as hope began to bloom, the ambulance slowed. And then, it stopped moving altogether. 04 “Rick, what’s going on? Why did we stop?” “Are you blind?” he grunted. “It’s a traffic jam.” I looked up and saw it. Of course. Memorial Day weekend. The main road to the amusement park was a parking lot. A solid, unmoving river of cars stretched out before us. I threw the door open and peered ahead. We were so close. I could see the main gate. Thinking of the child inside, waiting, bleeding, I turned to Lauren. “Dr. Pierce, he’s just up ahead. We can’t drive through this, but we can walk. Let’s get the gurney and…” Before I could finish, Lauren ignored me completely and called Rick out of the driver’s seat. And then, she said the words that shattered my entire understanding of medical ethics, of human decency itself. “Rick, my car is on empty. Grab the canister. Since we’re stuck here anyway, let’s use the time to siphon some gas. I need to fill up when I get home.” My hand, which had been gesturing toward the park, froze in mid-air. My whole body went rigid. I couldn’t process it. At this moment, with a child’s life extinguishing just a few hundred yards away, Lauren Pierce was worried about stealing gas from the hospital. Her mind wasn’t on her patient. It was on herself. It had always been on herself. She didn’t see the small life hanging in the balance. She didn’t see the family on the verge of being destroyed. A tremor of pure rage shot through me. I stood there, paralyzed by it. Rick, ever the loyal cousin, obediently retrieved a plastic canister from a storage compartment. From the looks of it, this wasn’t the first time it had been used for this purpose. “Lauren! What the hell are you doing?” I finally found my voice. “We have wasted forty minutes! That child has no more time! If he dies, his parents… how will they go on?” I was losing it, screaming at her, wanting to physically drag her toward the park entrance. But she stood her ground, immovable, a smirk playing on her lips as if she were enjoying my breakdown. Finally, I gave up on her. I turned back to the ambulance, deciding to go alone. I grabbed the trauma kit and the oxygen tank. The moment my fingers closed around the kit’s handle, a shadow fell over me. The world exploded in a flash of white-hot pain as something heavy slammed into my forehead. A warm, sticky liquid began to pour down my face. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Lauren’s voice was a venomous hiss. “Always have to be the star. The hero. You are the most pathetic, attention-seeking bitch I have ever met.” Before I could react, another crushing blow landed on my back. The pain was sickening, my legs turned to water. The world tilted, spinning into a dizzying vortex of black. As I fell, my fading vision caught a figure running toward us from the direction of the park. He was shouting, his voice a distant, desperate cry. “Help! Doctor! Please, help my son!” It was the father. He was here. And then, everything went dark. … When I came to, my head was throbbing with a dull, heavy ache. I was lying on the hot asphalt of the road. The dried blood on my face had formed a tight, cracking mask. A sharp pain radiated from my lower back. The street was no longer clogged. Cars moved in an orderly flow, the earlier chaos vanished as if it had been a dream. I struggled to my feet, my head swimming. A jolt, like an electric shock, shot through me. The boy. The child who needed me. Was that man his father? Had they found him? Was the boy okay? A thousand questions flooded my mind. My eyes darted around frantically, searching. And then a horrifying realization dawned on me. The ambulance, which should have been parked right beside me, was gone. 05 Had they left me here? Panic seized me. I fumbled for my watch, my hands shaking. The display showed that I’d only been unconscious for three minutes. Three minutes. For the child on the brink of death, each of those one hundred and eighty seconds was an eternity. If the father had found Lauren and they had gone to help, there was still hope. But if not… My mind spiraled. I was a desperate, frantic mess, scanning the street for any sign of the vehicle. I ran to a man walking by, grabbing his arm. My voice trembled. “Please, did you see an ambulance? Where did it go? There’s a child, he’s badly hurt, we have to find him!” The man recoiled, pulling his arm away as if I were diseased. “How should I know?” he snapped, glaring at me. “You’re the paramedic. You can’t even keep track of your own vehicle?” Ignoring his scorn, I stumbled toward another pedestrian. “Ma’am, please, the ambulance… a little boy’s life is at stake!” She just gave me a wide-eyed look and hurried away. Sweat poured down my face, mingling with the blood. My heart felt like a fist clenched tight in my chest. I weaved through the crowd, a ghost in a blood-stained uniform. Finally, a street vendor pointed down a side road. “Saw it pull in there a minute ago.” I ran. I ran with everything I had left, my only thought that the vehicle held the supplies, the equipment, the last chance that boy had. I rounded the corner, gasping for breath, and saw it. The ambulance. Through the back window, I could see Lauren’s form, bent over a small figure. A wave of relief washed over me, so powerful it almost buckled my knees. “Thank God,” I whispered. “They found him.” But as I got closer, the relief curdled into confusion, then into cold, hard dread. The boy Lauren was attending to… he had a few scrapes on his knees, maybe a bump on his head. He was crying, but he wasn’t dying. There wasn’t a drop of blood on him that wasn’t his own. This wasn’t the child from the fall. Overhearing their conversation, the truth hit me with the force of a physical blow. This was the son of Dr. Coleman, the Deputy Chief of Medicine at our hospital. I froze, the world narrowing to a single point of nauseating clarity. The hope that had flared just moments before was extinguished, leaving nothing but ash. Anger, despair, a profound sense of helplessness—it all crashed over me at once. I stood there, my mouth opening and closing, but no words came out. I had thought, for a moment, that I had misjudged her. That her humanity had finally won out. But this… this was worse than anything I could have imagined. Somewhere, not far from here, a little boy was dying, and she was putting a cartoon band-aid on a VIP’s son. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I wrenched open the ambulance door. “Lauren!” I yelled, my voice raw. “There is a child over there who is bleeding to death! We’ve been here for almost an hour! He’s not going to make it!” Without looking up, she waved a dismissive hand. “Can’t you see I’m busy? This is Dr. Coleman’s son. If something happens to him, do you want to be the one to explain it?” “His life is a life, too!” I screamed, my control shattering. “This is all because of you! He could have been saved by now!” Lauren shot me a venomous glare. “Don’t interfere, Maya. If the Chief gets angry, we’ll both be out of a job.” A woman who looked like the boy’s nanny chimed in. “Exactly. We need to take care of the child right in front of us.” I looked from their faces to the scraped knee, and I wanted to tear my hair out. The crowd that had gathered, drawn by the commotion, began to murmur. They didn’t know the context; they just saw a hysterical doctor and a calm one. “What’s wrong with her? She’s a doctor, she should be helping.” “Look, she doesn’t want to treat the kid just because it’s not a big injury. What kind of person is that?” “Someone should get her name. Report her to the hospital.” Phones came out. Cameras were pointed at me. I was being judged, condemned by a jury of strangers who had no idea what was happening. I was dizzy with anger and helplessness, tears stinging my eyes. But I couldn’t back down. If I gave up now, the boy had no one. “Lauren, I’m not asking you again,” I said, my voice low and shaking with fury. “Either we go to that child right now, or I’m calling the police. And when this blows up, we’re all going down with it.” 06 A flicker of panic crossed Lauren’s face. She knew I wasn’t bluffing. But just as she seemed to waver, a fresh wave of cars surged down the street, locking us in place. The holiday gridlock had returned with a vengeance. The ambulance was trapped. Lauren’s confidence instantly returned. “Well, look at that,” she said with a triumphant sneer. “Even if I wanted to go, I couldn’t. Now will you please shut up? Your whining is giving me a headache.” I stared through the windshield at the park entrance, less than five hundred yards away. It felt like it was on another planet. I could almost feel the boy’s life slipping away, and a wave of despair and guilt washed over me. Just then, a car door slammed nearby. Dr. Coleman, the Deputy Chief himself, had arrived. His eyes scanned the scene and landed on me, on the blood caked on my forehead. “Warren,” he said, his brow furrowed. “What happened to your head?” I instinctively touched the tender wound, my throat tight. “I… I fell, sir. But Dr. Coleman, I have an urgent situation to report…” Before I could continue, Lauren’s voice cut through the air, sharp and false. “That’s right! Dr. Coleman, you won’t believe it. She insisted on stopping to buy groceries on the way here, said she needed to make soup for her mother in the hospital. Then she tripped and cracked her head open. Utterly unprofessional!” She jabbed a finger into my back, her nail digging into my skin through my uniform. I spun around, met by the triumphant malice in her eyes. People in the crowd started whispering again. “So selfish. Thinking about her own family at a time like this…” “Totally irresponsible.” I gripped the handle of the trauma kit, my knuckles turning white. “Dr. Pierce, you were the one who insisted we treat your son’s scraped knee first, while the other child has been waiting for forty-five minutes!” “And what if he has?” Lauren suddenly snatched the clipboard with the dispatch report from my hands and slapped it against my chest. She leaned in, her voice a venomous whisper. “Dr. Coleman could have us both fired with one phone call. Is that what you want?” She lowered her voice even more. “Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing, trying to climb the ladder by impressing the brass. It’s pathetic.” “That’s enough!” Dr. Coleman’s voice boomed. He looked at me, his expression stern. “Warren, where is this other injured child you mentioned?” I fumbled for my phone. “He’s inside the park, sir, near the Ferris wheel. His father called, he said he fell and now he’s…” “He’s fine now!” Lauren snatched my phone out of my hand. “That’s not true!” I tried to grab it back, but she shoved me away. “Sir,” Lauren said, her voice a model of calm professionalism. “I already checked on that child myself. The parents took him home. It was a false alarm.” She said it with such conviction, but I knew she was lying through her teeth, desperate to cover her tracks. Suddenly, a voice cut through the crowd. “I saw him! I saw the kid! His insides were… they were coming out!” It was the delivery guy from earlier, the one who had pointed me toward the ambulance. He was clutching his helmet, his hand shaking. Lauren scoffed. “Oh, and who’s this? Some random busybody?” She raised an eyebrow, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “What’s your connection to Maya here? Is this some kind of scam to shake us down for money?” That was it. To be slandered, to be publicly humiliated while a child was dying… I snapped. I lunged forward and grabbed the front of her white coat. “Lauren! We are going over there. Now. It will take two minutes!” I turned to the Deputy Chief. “Sir, once we’re there, you’ll see the truth!” I grabbed the trauma kit and tried to pull her with me. The slap was so hard my ears rang. I tasted blood in my mouth. “A thief who steals medical supplies has some nerve,” she hissed. The next thing I knew, she had stomped on the latch of the trauma kit I’d dropped, popping it open. “You see, Dr. Coleman? She’s lying about everything. Her real goal was to steal these imported hemostats!” “You… you are insane!” A hot, coppery rage filled my throat. “You tried to steal medication earlier, Maya,” she said loudly for the benefit of the crowd. “I stopped you then, but I guess you just can’t help yourself.” As the onlookers gasped, I felt the buttons of my uniform pop as she yanked on my coat. At that exact moment, my phone, still in my pocket, began to vibrate violently. It was the father. With trembling hands, I answered it. The man’s scream, a sound of pure, unadulterated agony, tore through the speaker. “Doctor! Help my son! He… he’s not moving! His body… it’s getting cold!” Lauren’s eyes widened. She snatched the phone from my hand. “Sir, please calm down…” She spoke only a few words before her own voice died in her throat. Her pupils dilated, her face draining of all color. The hand holding the phone began to tremble violently. She was listening to the faint, gasping sounds from the other end, and a flicker of something incomprehensible crossed her face. “That voice…” she muttered to herself, her own voice barely a whisper. “It sounds so much like my husband…” She shook her head, as if to clear it. “No, it couldn’t be…”

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September 8th The day I divorced my cheating husband. The final, signed papers felt hot in my hands. As we stepped out of the courthouse, into the unforgiving sunlight, I turned to Grant Emerson. “I’m pregnant.” He stopped dead, feet bolted to the pavement. He stared at me, his eyes churning with something I couldn’t decipher. His voice was a tremor. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” “Tell you,” I said, my gaze level with his, “and let you use a child to chain me to you?” “Grant, remember this.” “This baby is mine. Mine alone.” 1 My marriage to Grant Emerson was a hand-me-down from my sister. Poppy was effervescent and impulsive, a firefly in a jar who refused to be pinned down by something as archaic as a family alliance. So, she took a check for two million dollars and vanished. My mother, Eleanor, doting on her youngest while simultaneously terrified of losing a son-in-law like Grant, shoved me forward to take her place. She acted as if any daughter from the Pierce family would suffice, as if we were interchangeable parts. And Grant Emerson? In a city like New York, where old-money names are carved into library walls and hospital wings, his was etched the deepest. Poppy jilting him was a public humiliation. And now they were offering him… me? It was delusional. But I met with him once anyway. I made my pitch, a business proposal in the guise of a life partnership. And to my unending shock, he agreed. This year marked our fourth anniversary. To the outside world, we were a model couple. In private, we were courteous strangers who shared a bed with the same polite distance we shared a dinner table. Even sex was an exercise in decorum. My mother was constantly in my ear, nagging me about children, about my “uselessness.” If I didn’t secure him with an heir, she’d hiss, what was to stop him from running off? I always wanted to say, Grant isn’t a dog. And even if I wanted to leash him, did she really think he would allow it? But I never said that. I would just nod, my expression placid and agreeable. My meekness always infuriated her. She’d roll her eyes, her lips pursed in disgust, and sweep out of the room. The irony, then, was that I actually did get pregnant. 2 My period was late. First by a week, then two, then a month. Last night, I took a test. Two stark blue lines. This morning, I went to a clinic for a blood test to be sure. The doctor held the report. “You’re nine weeks along. Are you planning on keeping it?” “I think so.” But I hesitated. Grant didn’t know. This child was never part of our meticulously crafted agreement. I had to ask him. So I took the report and went straight to his office downtown. Grant was in a board meeting when I arrived. His assistant, a man of impeccable poise, showed me into the sweeping corner office, furnished me with a coffee and a plate of delicate pastries, and told me it wouldn’t be long. I lifted the porcelain cup to my lips, then paused. Could I drink coffee while pregnant? I had no idea. A quick search on my phone said it was fine in moderation. Good enough for me. I took a small sip, the rich, bitter warmth a familiar comfort. I let out a soft sigh of satisfaction, but it was cut short by a commotion from the reception area—a rising tide of voices and a woman’s sharp, piercing cry. I opened the office door a crack and found myself looking directly at a woman being held back by security. Her eyes, red-rimmed and furious, locked onto the space behind me. “Get Grant Emerson out here!” she screamed. “He knocks someone up and thinks he can just ghost them? Is he going to take responsibility or not?” The volume. The spectacle. The sea of staring faces. The humiliation was a physical blow. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. This has nothing to do with me, I wanted to scream back. And then Grant was there, a sudden calm in the storm. He moved through the crowd, his face a cold mask, and his eyes found me peeking through the doorway. In two long strides, he was in front of me, his large, elegant hand covering my eyes, blocking out the scene. I flinched back instinctively. With a soft click, he closed the door, shutting me inside. I blinked into the sudden quiet. Wait. My husband cheated on me, got another woman pregnant, and the woman was now staging a coup in his lobby. And I wasn’t supposed to be involved at all? 3 As it turned out, I was to be involved. Just not in the way I expected. Grant dismissed the crowd with a single, cutting glance. He murmured something to the woman, then opened the door and ushered her into the office, right in front of me. Watching his cool, unruffled demeanor, I had the absurd urge to applaud. To have an affair and handle the fallout with such brazen composure was, in its own way, a masterpiece of audacity. The woman was striking. Dressed in simple sweats, her hair pulled back in a high ponytail under a baseball cap. She dropped into a leather armchair, crossed her legs, and radiated an aura of “don’t mess with me.” She was also undeniably beautiful, with sharp, exquisite features and a cool, defiant gaze. It was the kind of beauty that made her hard to hate. A shame she had to open her mouth. “So this is your wife?” She didn’t even look at me. Her words were for Grant. “Divorce her.” “I’m pregnant. You have to take responsibility for me.” I felt a wry smile touch my lips. Well, I’m pregnant too. Who’s going to take responsibility for me? By all societal logic, as the wife, I should have had the upper hand. But when a marriage becomes a battlefield, it’s often the one with the least morals who shouts the loudest. “Sigh.” I sighed out loud, reaching for a small, buttery cookie from the plate. It was perfectly crisp, with a hint of vanilla. Delicious. “Want one?” I offered, holding it out. The woman stared at me, her expression one of pure disgust. She pointed a finger in my direction. “Is she insane?” she asked Grant. For the first time, a flicker of something—annoyance? frustration?—crossed Grant’s perfect facade. He frowned, took my hand, and pulled me into the adjoining private lounge. He lit a cigarette and smoked it down to the filter in tense silence. “It was one time,” he said finally, his voice low and gravelly. “I was drugged at a fundraiser. It was an accident.” “Audrey.” He met my eyes then, his gaze unnervingly direct. “This is my fault,” he said. “Completely. So you get to decide what happens next.” “If you can forgive me, we’ll move past this. We’ll make it work.” “If you can’t, we’ll get a divorce.” The word, divorce, hung in the air. My heart skipped a beat, then began to hammer against my ribs. I dug my thumbnail into the soft flesh of my palm, an old, grounding habit. “It’s your fault, right?” I asked, my voice small. “If we get a divorce, you’ll admit that it was your fault, won’t you?” 4 Grant watched me, his expression unreadable. He was a handsome man. More handsome than any man I’d ever met. I liked looking at him. Especially in bed, from below, watching the way his eyes would glaze over with pleasure, listening to the raw, unguarded sound of his breathing. Moments like that, I could forget everything else and just feel. A divorce. It was a shame. But it wasn’t impossible. “So, your choice is divorce?” he asked, his voice flat. I nodded, gesturing vaguely toward the office beyond the door. “After all that? It doesn’t seem like there’s much of a choice, is there?” “It’s just… my mother. You’ll tell her it was your fault, right?” I needed to hear it again. His expression shuttered. A cold, unfamiliar distance crept into his eyes, and it made my chest ache. But I was an expert at managing that particular ache. A deep breath in. A slow breath out. And it was gone. Grant stood, brushing invisible dust from his tailored suit. “Don’t worry,” he said calmly. “I’ll handle it.” Phew. That was a relief. “About the divorce,” I began, my mind already shifting gears. “I don’t need much, but I want Helios Pharmaceuticals.” “Fine.” “And a house would be nice. If it’s not too much trouble.” “Okay.” “Could I also have, say, fifty million?” Grant turned back, his eyes narrowing. “You want everything, and you still want a divorce?” He took a step closer. “Don’t divorce me, and it’s all yours anyway.” I looked away, suddenly fascinated by my own shoes. That’s a nice sentiment, I thought. But you’re the one who cheated. If you hadn’t cheated, we wouldn’t be getting a divorce. If we weren’t getting a divorce, your wife and your child would both be yours. …Wait. Even with a divorce, he’d still have a new wife and a new child waiting for him. Damn. He really was a businessman. He’d done the math. No matter what, he came out ahead. 5 Grant took care of the woman. What they said, what he promised her, I never found out. By the time I emerged from the lounge, she was gone. The delicious pastries were gone too. Not a single crumb left. I eyed the empty plate mournfully. As we were leaving, I couldn’t help but grab his assistant’s arm. “Those little cookies from earlier,” I whispered. “Could you possibly pack some for me?” His expression was a masterclass in controlled bewilderment. Behind me, Grant let out a short, cold laugh. “Pack them for her,” he ordered. The scandal was too big to contain. By evening, my mother’s name was flashing on my screen. The first call, I ignored. The second, I let ring out. On the third, I stared at the screen for a long moment before walking to the kitchen and dropping my phone into the sink full of water. Finally. Peace. In the silence that followed, a single thought crystallized in my mind: I was going to have this baby. This child, a being formed from my own body, nourished by my blood, would grow into a new life. A life inextricably linked to mine. My own flesh and blood. My family. Why wouldn’t I keep him? Yes. I was going to keep him. The decision filled me with a giddy, unfamiliar excitement. I went to the wine cellar and opened a bottle of Screaming Eagle I’d been saving. Could you drink while pregnant? Probably not. But the internet said moderation. So, cheers. 6 At eight o’clock, my mother descended. The pounding on my front door was loud enough to be a public disturbance, but in this neighborhood of sprawling, isolated houses, there was no one to report it to. I put on my headphones and turned the stereo up, letting the music wash over me. Still, I could faintly hear her muffled shrieks through the bass. I couldn’t make out the words, but I knew the script by heart. It would be a familiar tirade: “The Uselessness of Audrey” and its companion piece, “The Pointlessness of Audrey’s Existence.” No new material, nothing innovative, yet still profoundly exhausting to hear. After what felt like an eternity, the pounding stopped. Some time after that, the door to my study opened. Grant stood there. He plucked the headphones from my ears. In one hand, he held my waterlogged phone. In the other, a brand new one, still in its box. His face was impassive, his voice cold. “Put your SIM card in this.” “The lab couldn’t reach you, so they called me. Call them back.” I tilted my head back to look up at him. “You know, Grant, you weren’t wrong.” “What?” “You cheated, and that’s why we’re getting a divorce. And my mother still came here to blame me.” He stared down at me, his jaw tight. He took a deep breath. “I know. I’ll handle it.” Grant’s method of “handling it” was, to put it mildly, a catastrophic failure. I was tempted to leave him a one-star review. My mother stormed his office building and was stopped by security in the lobby. I had just come from the lab, having pulled an all-nighter on a sample that was yielding disappointing results. My whole team was demoralized. Grant would say this was a moment for encouragement, for a rousing speech about hope and perseverance. “But they’re human,” I’d argued. “It’s normal to be frustrated.” “Anyone who chooses this work has the courage to fail a thousand times and start over.” It was that resilience that I found so captivating. But my thoughts were interrupted by Grant’s secretary informing me that my mother had arrived, demanding to see me, and vowing not to leave until she did. The truth was, if I didn’t want to see her, she couldn’t make me. I took the private elevator down to the garage, got in my car, and was about to make a stealthy exit when she materialized in front of my vehicle like a phantom, her eyes glaring with feral intensity. There was no escape. I resigned myself to buying her a coffee. As we sat in a sterile cafe, I did a quick mental calculation. It had been 372 days since we had last seen each other. We were so close to a new record. A shame to have it broken. “You’re divorcing Grant Emerson?” she began, no preamble. “Yes.” “Are you mentally ill?” The attack came out of nowhere, a zero-to-sixty of maternal rage. The tirade continued. “Do you have a single functioning brain cell in your head? Who do you think you are, Audrey? What makes you so special? Every man strays, every single one. What, you think you’re different? You’re going to throw this all away over some trivial little thing? You’re not just embarrassing yourself, you’re embarrassing me.” “It’s your fault, you know. You couldn’t hold on to him. You couldn’t manage him.” “I told you, being smart isn’t enough! You have no social graces, no common sense. You’re stubborn, inflexible…” “Everyone always said I favored Poppy, but if you were even half as considerate, half as thoughtful as she is—” “You would still favor her,” I cut in, finishing her sentence. She froze, speechless for a second, before her voice rose to a shriek. “Audrey, must you always be so contrary?” No. I was just tired. I wanted to sleep. I was pregnant, and the tiny cluster of cells inside me needed to grow. I stood up to leave. But it was like I had flipped a switch. She lunged, grabbing my arm, her face contorted with rage. Just as she had done countless times when I was a child, she raised her hand to strike me. In that instant, a cold terror seized me. I could have dodged. I could have blocked her hand. I could have even fought back. But my body refused to obey. It was as if my neural pathways had been severed. I just stood there, frozen. A statue. A puppet with its strings cut. I couldn’t even breathe. 7 “Mom!” The voice was bright and musical. My mother’s hand stopped mid-air. She turned, her angry expression melting into one of delighted surprise. Standing in the doorway was a girl so full of life she seemed to vibrate. Even out of breath, her smile was radiant. “Poppy?” “When did you get back? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” Poppy bounced over and squeezed between us, linking her arm through our mother’s and leaning her head on her shoulder. “I wanted to surprise you! Oh, Mommy, I missed you so much.” Eleanor preened, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes deepening with pleasure. I took a small, subtle step back, giving them ample space for their mother-daughter reunion. My back hit something solid and warm. A wall of muscle. “Poppy, how did you get here? Who picked you up from the airport?” “Grant, of course!” Both of them turned their gazes to the man standing behind me. He had a steadying hand on my back. “Are you okay?” he murmured, his voice low. I took a shaky breath. “When exactly,” I asked, my voice tight, “did you reconnect with your former fiancée?” A muscle feathered in Grant’s jaw. “Right now, she is still my sister-in-law.” “Oh, my mistake. How did you reconnect with your sister-in-law?” He didn’t like that. I could see it in the clench of his jaw. Someone else didn’t like it either. Poppy pouted, stepping between us to take Grant’s arm. “Grant, what are you guys talking about? I called your name and you didn’t even answer.” She clung to her brother-in-law’s arm as naturally as she had clung to her mother’s. Eleanor’s eyes darted between them, a speculative gleam entering her expression. “Poppy, you two…” Poppy’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink before she even spoke. She stamped her foot playfully. “Mom, don’t be ridiculous.” “Grant and I, we’re just… we’re…” “Oh, I can’t talk to you people, you’re so annoying!” The unspoken words, the flustered denial—it was classic Poppy. A slow smile of dawning realization spread across my mother’s face, deepening the wrinkles around her eyes into canyons of delight. “Wonderful, wonderful!” “This is a happy day. Grant, you come with Poppy. We’ll all go home and have dinner together.” Everyone in the room was suddenly very busy. Only Grant spared me a final, fleeting glance. But in the end, he allowed himself to be led away by Poppy. And my sister, from the moment she arrived to the moment she left, never once looked at me. 8 With Poppy’s return, everything suddenly accelerated. That evening, my mother found the time to send me a text. [If you’re so determined to get this divorce, then get it over with.] [But since you’re the one asking for it, you’ll leave with nothing. Don’t be greedy. Our family can’t afford that kind of embarrassment.] At ten, Grant came to the lab. He brought late-night food for the team, and we had a short debrief. As he was leaving, I stopped him. “Is the divorce agreement being drafted? Helios Pharmaceuticals—that’s the one thing I won’t budge on. You can promise me that, right?” “Is there nothing else you want to ask me?” he said, his voice quiet. Actually, there was. “Are you about to be demoted to my brother-in-law? And what happens to the mother of your one-night-stand baby?” Grant let out a cold, humorless laugh. “What’s this? Divorcing me but still concerned about who’s taking your place?” I pursed my lips. He was clearly angry. “I’m just giving you a heads-up.” “If Poppy has her sights set on you, you’d better protect that woman and her child. When my mother gets desperate, even Poppy is afraid of her.” He didn’t respond. I turned to leave, but his voice stopped me. “Audrey.” “Yes?” He looked like he wanted to say something more, but he hesitated. After a long moment, all he managed was: “She has a name. It’s Sloane.” … “Oh.” 9 I never imagined that just hours after learning Sloane’s name, I would run into her. After deciding to keep the baby, I had my first official prenatal visit and a battery of tests at the hospital. As I was leaving, I got a frantic call from a former mentor who now ran a private clinic. “Your mother just dragged someone in here, trying to force an abortion. Do you know anything about this? She’s threatening to ruin my career!” What is the absolute limit of a person’s cruelty? This. This was it. To completely disregard another person’s will, their fundamental human rights. Because my family were major donors to that clinic, my mother believed she held the power of life and death in her hands. I didn’t hesitate. I called the police. Then I called Grant. No answer. After a moment’s thought, I turned my car around and headed for the clinic. The scene I walked into was pure chaos. Two groups of people were in a standoff, one restraining my mother, the other holding back Sloane. “You shameless homewrecker!” my mother screeched. “Destroying my daughter’s marriage, carrying a bastard child! If your mother didn’t teach you how to be a decent human being, I will!” “Who the hell do you think you are?” Sloane shot back, her voice dripping with contempt. “Yelling at me? I’m terrified. I was bitten by a rabid dog once as a kid.” “Who are you calling a dog?” “You, old woman! Get over here and I’ll show you what I can do!” “Ha! You seduce a married man and you think you’re righteous? Why don’t you just strip naked and put on a show for the whole street?” “Is that what you did? Speaking from experience?” … My mother was a storm of fury. Sloane was a hurricane, matching her blow for blow. If not for the people holding her back, she would have launched herself across the room. Then the police arrived. And so did the patriarch of the Pierce family, my father, Arthur, a man perpetually too busy for anything. The police tried to mediate. My mother and Sloane continued to trade insults. My father, ever the decisive executive, strode forward and slapped my mother across the face. “Shut up,” he snarled. “Haven’t you made enough of a scene?” Instantly, Eleanor fell silent, shrinking like a frightened bird. He turned to Sloane. “Ms. Sloane, I apologize for this incident. Name your terms. I only hope we can resolve this quietly. I’m sure none of us want this to escalate.” Sloane, her hair disheveled, looked ragged but unbroken. She let out a cold laugh. “Resolve it quietly? Not a chance. I’m pressing charges. I’m suing her. I want—” Crack. Another slap, this one on my mother’s other cheek. “Is that enough?” my father asked Sloane, his voice dangerously calm. “If not…” Everyone froze. Especially Sloane, her lips pressed into a thin, white line, her face pale with shock. And me, standing just outside the circle of chaos, my feet felt rooted to the floor. The hand at my side clenched into a fist so tight my nails dug into my palm. One slap. “Is that enough?” Another slap. “How about now? Is this enough?” My mother was dragging me by the hair, forcing me to face the little girl and her parents. “If you’re still not satisfied, how about this?” Another slap. It was that girl. She had torn up my test paper. I had pushed her. She fell and started crying, claiming I’d hit her. My mother arrived and slapped me without asking a single question. Asking them, is that enough? Did it hurt? I don’t remember. I just remember a wave of dizziness, a sudden, warm, spreading wetness. In front of everyone, I had wet myself. 10 When I was little, I could never understand why my parents didn’t like me. I got straight A’s. I learned everything quickly. Teachers praised me, and other adults complimented me. But never my parents. My father acted as if I were invisible. My mother’s gaze was always cold. “So you got another A? Are you showing off? Get out of my sight. The sight of you annoys me.” My accomplishments were never acknowledged. But my mistakes were magnified, scrutinized under her relentless lens. She was a quality inspector looking for flaws, and any tiny error on my part was cause for a festival of her scorn. I was lying on the living room rug, my mind drifting, when Poppy appeared above me, looking down. “Did you see my texts? I called you, too. You ignored me!” she said, her voice accusatory. “That’s really rude, Audrey.” I closed my eyes and rolled over. She plopped down on the rug beside me anyway. “When Dad got home, he laid into Mom. Told her if she lost Grant as a son-in-law, he would bring Rhys home for good.” Rhys. My father’s illegitimate son. Two years older than me. “Mom went ballistic. Smashed everything in the house. Now she’s insisting I have to be the one to marry Grant.” She let out an exasperated sigh. “When are you two finally getting divorced?” I didn’t want to talk to her. I started to get up, but she grabbed my arm. “Play chess with me.” I couldn’t hold back a scoff. “You? Play what? Tic-tac-toe? You’re terrible at chess.” Poppy just grinned, her eyes curving into crescents. We played two games. Each one lasted over forty minutes. She would study the board for a minute or two before every single move. Finally, not even halfway through the second game, I drifted off to sleep. Poppy noticed quickly. She waved a hand in front of my face. Then, moving with uncharacteristic quiet, she found a blanket and carefully draped it over me. She tiptoed out of the room, pulling the door gently shut, leaving me in peace. 11 Poppy had asked a good question. When were Grant and I getting divorced? He’d been away on business for a few days. He flew back today and went straight to the office from the airport. As soon as I heard, I drove over. But I was a step too late. His assistant intercepted me, his expression pained. “Dr. Pierce, the president’s office is… occupied at the moment.” “By who?” “Ms. Sloane.” Ah. She was probably here to settle accounts after the ordeal at the clinic. Nothing to do but wait. I waited for thirteen minutes. Grant did not emerge. Instead, Poppy and my mother arrived. The moment they appeared, I saw the assistant’s shoulders tense. He was going to need a raise. Three different women, all here to see the CEO about a divorce. The instant my mother saw me, her brow furrowed in disapproval. “What are you doing here?” Her face was still slightly swollen, a faint bruising that no amount of makeup could fully conceal. I looked away. “The divorce.” She let out a dismissive huff and sat down opposite me, pulling Poppy down with her. Poppy was absorbed in her phone, oblivious. “You’re the one who wants this divorce,” my mother hissed under her breath. “Besides, Grant was always meant for Poppy. You were just keeping her seat warm.” “And this is all your fault anyway. If you had managed Grant properly, none of this mess with the other woman and the illegitimate child would have happened.” “Audrey, did you do this on purpose?” Deep breath in. Slow breath out. I’d rather deal with the mistress. I stood up and, ignoring his assistant’s panicked expression, pushed open the door to Grant’s office. Behind me, I heard him trying to block my mother. “Mrs. Pierce, you really can’t go in there.” If the reception area was a warzone, the office was the bloody aftermath. Sloane had Grant pinned against the wall, her hands fisted in his collar, her body pressed against his. Grant’s eyes were smoldering with anger, but the edges were red. Whether from rage or something else, I couldn’t tell. I stopped in my tracks. They both turned to look at me, their expressions equally ferocious.

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The divorce proceedings between Grant Harrison and his society-arranged wife finally concluded in their eighth year. I was carrying a thermos of chicken soup that had been simmering for five hours when I went to Grant’s office. The ultrasound picture was folded carefully in the pocket closest to my heart. As I reached his office door, the voice of his best friend leaked through the gap. “Grant, this farce has been going on for seven years. When are you finally going to sign the papers?” “Audrey was twenty when she got with you, you dated for three years, and she’s waited another seven through this sham of a marriage. She’s almost thirty now. If you have no feelings for your wife, then end it and give Audrey the life she deserves.” The smile on my face hadn’t yet faded when Grant’s voice reached my ears. “His wife is pregnant.” I froze. He was talking about the other woman. The one he was divorcing. His friend’s voice shot up, incredulous. “Pregnant again? Your first kid is already five, and you’ve been hiding him from Audrey this whole time, terrified she’d find out.” “You’re about to be divorced, and now there’s a second on the way. What the hell are you going to do?” Grant was silent for a moment. “I’m having her keep the baby. I won’t have children with any other woman. That was one of my conditions for agreeing to the divorce.” My hand clenched the thermos, the searing metal edge digging into my palm. So this is what it felt like to have your heart carved out. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I hadn’t called in a very long time. “Aunt Helen? I’ll go to Africa with you.” 1 After hanging up, I hailed a cab and went home. The cityscape blurred past the window, a frantic retreat mirroring the absurd decade I’d spent with Grant. He had said, “Leah, our families are worlds apart. My mother will never approve.” He had said, “Leah, it’s just a strategic marriage. There are no feelings involved, I swear.” On his wedding day, he even brought me before his new wife, Audrey, to lay the cards on the table. That brilliant, vivacious woman swirled a glass of red wine and smiled at me. “Miss Evans, please. Don’t feel burdened by any of this.” “I have someone I love, too,” she’d said. “Grant and I are just… mutually beneficial. A means to an end.” “We’ll divorce when the time is right. You just have to be patient.” And I waited. For seven years. Looking back, there were countless opportunities for them to divorce. Perhaps it wasn’t that they couldn’t. It was that they didn’t want to. I dug my nails into the soft flesh of my thigh, hard enough to break the skin, but I felt nothing. Tears streamed down my face in silence. The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror and passed back a tissue. “Hey, whatever it is, you’ll get through it. Don’t give up on yourself.” “You’re young. You should be out there seeing the world.” I looked out the window, repeating his words in my mind. You’ll get through it. It’s time to go find yourself again, Leah. When I got home, the sound of the shower was running. Grant was home. I turned on the television. My aunt was on a live broadcast from Africa, the great wildebeest migration unfolding magnificently behind her. It was the first time I’d watched her photojournalism segments since college. Seven years ago, Aunt Helen had offered to pay for my graduate studies abroad, to have me join her, flying across the globe. I was tempted, but I couldn’t leave Grant. He held me and cried the entire night, then had my name tattooed over his heart. The Harrisons were an old-money dynasty with strict rules; tattoos were forbidden. He broke the cardinal rule for me. And for that, I loved him with a devotion that left me defenseless. A single gesture from him, and my world would fall apart. 2 Grant walked out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist. He came up behind me, and a cool chain settled against my neck. He leaned in, his warm lips pressing against my skin. “Do you like it?” It tickled. I tilted my head away. “I’m a little tired today.” He paid my comment no mind, his hands landing on my shoulders, kneading them gently. “She’s signed the papers. Just three more months, and I’m a free man.” “Then, I’ll take you to Iceland to see the Northern Lights. We’ll go on vacation in Hawaii. We’ll exchange vows at the foot of a snow-capped mountain. A lifetime together, Leah. What do you say?” His voice was light, filled with a palpable sense of relief. I forced a smile. My own voice was calm, flat. “Congratulations.” I wasn’t sure if I was congratulating him on the impending divorce, or on his second child. My detached response seemed to throw him. He turned me around to face him, his handsome brow furrowed. “Leah, aren’t you happy? You’ve waited seven years for this day.” I reached up, smoothing the lines on his forehead, my voice returning to its usual softness. “Of course, I’m happy. Grant, do you remember what you promised me when you first told me you loved me? You promised you would never, ever lie to me.” His arms, wrapped around my waist, went still. I could feel his gaze avoiding mine. He let go of me, kissed my forehead, and said, “Leah, I love you. Everything I do is for you, for us. You have to believe that.” I pushed him away gently, gave him a small smile, and walked into the bathroom. Staring at my reflection in the mirror—a woman nearly thirty—I felt lost. From the prime of my youth, my entire world had revolved around Grant Harrison. I never doubted his love for me. But the thirty-year-old Grant couldn’t have a world that contained only love. He had family obligations. He had the responsibilities of a father. Even after ten years, it was clear we could never truly be on the same path. 3 That night, I was scrolling through my phone in bed when Grant wrapped himself around me from behind, his breathing steady and even. A message from my best friend popped up. “OH MY GOD! LEAH! That necklace, ‘The Titan’s Tear,’ that Grant paid an insane amount for at the charity gala the other night… did he give it to you?!” Attached was a high-resolution photo. In the picture, a massive sapphire necklace glittered under the lights, practically blinding. I thought of the one Grant had just placed around my neck. It was exquisitely made, but nowhere near as breathtaking as the one in the photo. So, that one wasn’t for me. A sour, hollow feeling spread through my chest, my limbs beginning to feel numb. I bit my lip to keep a sob from escaping, but the small movement woke the man behind me. Sensing my silent tears, Grant sighed with that familiar, indulgent tone. He turned me over, his lips brushing against my cheek. When he tasted the salt, he apologized instinctively. “I’m sorry. I made you cry again.” That was Grant’s way. Right or wrong, he was always the first to back down, to soothe me. The next morning, the space beside me was empty. A courier delivered a small white cocktail dress. Then his call came, his deep voice on the line. “Morning, sleepyhead. Did you get some rest? I need you to come with me to a gala tonight.” I hesitated. He laughed softly, reassuring me. “Don’t worry. It’s just a birthday party for a friend’s daughter.” I ended up wearing the dress. That evening, as Grant led me from the car, countless probing eyes landed on me. Whispers buzzed around us like flies. “So that’s the one who waited seven years?” “She’s pretty enough, I guess. Must be almost thirty, though. Suppose she finally made it.” My nerves got the best of me, and I nearly tripped. Grant’s hand shot out to steady my waist, his touch firm. He gave me a reassuring smile. I took a deep breath and straightened my back. Grant was quickly pulled away by a few business associates, leaving me standing awkwardly with a glass of champagne. Suddenly, a small commotion rippled through the crowd. I looked up and saw Audrey walking toward me, her arm linked with a handsome man I didn’t recognize. She was wearing a fiery red gown, her pregnancy not yet showing. And around her neck, the massive sapphire from the photo burned my eyes. She stopped in front of me, her gaze dropping to the necklace I was wearing. “Leah, that necklace really suits you. It seems I have good taste, after all.” I was frozen solid, the blood turning to ice in my veins. She continued as if she hadn’t noticed my expression, her tone deceptively sweet. “Grant is hopeless with these things. A complete brute when it comes to style.” “I heard he wanted to get you a gift, so I offered to help him pick this one out.” “You don’t mind, do you?” Mockery, ridicule, pity. A kaleidoscope of expressions flashed before my eyes from the faces around us. I turned and fled. 4 My phone vibrated in my palm, Grant’s name flashing on the screen. I let it ring, and ring, and ring. After the fiftieth missed call, I finally answered. It was his way. He would never stop calling until I picked up. “Leah! Where are you? I’ll come get you.” “I’m so sorry. I had no idea Audrey would be there.” I stood in the middle of a public square, watching the people come and go, my voice as light as the wind. “It’s fine. It just got a little stuffy, I needed some air. I’ll be back soon.” After hanging up, I stood there, letting the evening breeze dry the tear tracks on my face. Leah, this is the last time you will ever cry for him. The moment I pushed the door open, a warm embrace enveloped me. Grant’s chin rested on the crown of my head as he repeated the words over and over. “I’m sorry, Leah. I promise, this is the last time.” “I will never, ever let you face something like that alone again.” He held me so tightly it felt like he was trying to merge me into his very bones. The familiar scent of sandalwood surrounded me. For ten years, this embrace was the only thing I had ever craved. In the middle of the night, I was awakened by a rustling beside me. Grant was tiptoeing out of bed, his phone cupped in his hand, his voice a hushed whisper. “Don’t be scared. I’m on my way.” He threw on his clothes, and his footsteps disappeared out the door. I grabbed my coat and followed him. Outside the emergency room, Grant was draping his suit jacket over Audrey’s shoulders, his movements as gentle as if he were handling a priceless treasure. I hid in the shadows at the end of the hall, holding my breath. Audrey, her face pale, leaned against his chest. “You don’t have to be so tense. I just slipped. The baby’s fine.” Grant’s brow was knitted with worry, his voice thick with a tenderness he couldn’t hide. “You need to take care of yourself. Don’t overdo it.” “I told you I’d handle your family’s business. Even after the divorce, we still have our children.” His hand moved gently to rest on her still-flat stomach. “You had such a difficult birth with Noah, lost a fallopian tube. We have to be so careful now that you’re pregnant again.” Noah. So that was their son’s name. Noah. Audrey shook her head. “The vultures in my family know you’re divorcing me. They’re all circling. I can’t afford to rest.” Grant made a decision on the spot. “Then we’ll wait until after the baby is born.” Audrey looked up at him, her expression unreadable. “And what about Miss Evans?” Grant was silent for two seconds. Two seconds that stretched into two centuries. “I’ll talk to her. She can be childish sometimes. I can calm her down. It’ll be fine.”

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Another cold war with Noah. I was just about to type out a long, rambling apology text when a line of text scrolled across my vision, like a live-stream commentary only I could see: 【Here we go again. The male lead’s buddies egged him on to give the female lead the silent treatment. So dumb.】 【Watch him step out from under his friends’ umbrella only to realize it isn’t even raining. LMAO.】 【Keep it up. The second he actually breaks up with her, his ‘buddies’ will be lining up to take his place.】 【Hey, female lead, look at his best friend, the one who supposedly hates you. If you even smiled at him, he’d give you his life.】 I froze. Half-skeptical, half-intrigued, I typed out a different message instead. A picture of a cocktail with the caption: Happy single life to me. The next second, my Instagram story blew up with likes. 1 It happened again. Another fight with Noah. This time, he accused me of being too controlling. “What’s the big deal if I grab a drink with the guys? Why do you have to make everything into such a huge fucking deal?” Noah’s voice was frayed with annoyance. It was already 11:30 p.m. “You have a sensitive stomach, you can’t drink too much.” Clearly, Noah didn’t care. I could faintly hear the jeers from his friends in the background. “Dude, how old are you? Still getting called home by the warden.” “Just go, man. Don’t want to make the missus mad. We all know who wears the pants in your house, haha.” The mockery was a direct hit to Noah’s pride. Humiliated, he snapped and hung up on me. When I called back, he immediately declined it. I was about to try a third time when the text feed appeared again: 【LMAO, his bros talked him into fighting with her again.】 【He secretly loves it when she calls him home, but he’s too proud to admit it.】 【Bet he’s staring at his phone right now, waiting for that third call. His thumb is probably raw from refreshing.】 I stood there, stunned. Was this… about me? Was I the female lead? And Noah was the male lead? It sort of made sense. Noah was stubborn and emotionally constipated, always resorting to the silent treatment. But if I took the first step, made the first move to reconcile, he would usually accept it with a carefully constructed air of reluctance by the third try. The comments were urging me on, telling me to call again. But my attention was snagged by that first comment. Talked him into it? Noah’s friends. My lips thinned. A spark of anger lit in my chest, and I dialed another number. “Why do you always drag Noah out drinking? Don’t you know he has someone waiting for him at home?” There was a pause on the other end, then a cool, detached voice answered, “When did I take Noah out for a drink?” Ethan. Noah’s best friend since childhood. And the one who hated me the most. He never gave me the time of day, never had a kind word for me. My anger was boiling over, and I didn’t care about our past friction. “Who else would it be? You know he has stomach issues. What’s your game, dragging him to a bar every night?” There was a beat of silence, then Ethan let out a dry, almost amused laugh. “I just got home from a business trip. Haven’t been to any bar.” A photo notification popped up on my screen. It was a selfie from Ethan. He looked like he’d just showered, his expression lazy, a hint of abs visible below the towel slung around his neck. A new text followed. “And for the record, I have a personal curfew. I have to be home by ten.” His next message felt pointed. “I’m not like other people. If I had a girlfriend, I’d actually listen to her.” 2 “I’m sorry,” I texted back, then quickly turned off my phone, my face burning with embarrassment. The mix-up was so awkward that I completely forgot to call Noah a third time. When Noah came home the next day, his face was a thundercloud. I asked if he wanted breakfast. He ignored me, treating me like I was part of the furniture. The cold war lasted for a whole week, right up until a college reunion dinner. At the table, Noah and I sat at opposite ends. The couple that was usually inseparable now looked like strangers. Chloe, Noah’s childhood sweetheart, leaned intimately against his shoulder and giggled. “Noah, fighting with your girlfriend again? You’re a grown man, don’t be so petty with her.” Chloe. In the days before me, she had also been Noah’s on-again, off-again girlfriend. They had a messy history that spanned years before they finally settled into being “just friends.” We had fought about Chloe more times than I could count, but Noah always dismissed my concerns with an impatient wave. “We tried, it didn’t work. If we were meant to be, would you even be in the picture?” His friends would laugh and tell me I was overthinking it. “You’re the first girl Noah’s ever talked about marrying. For a player like him to settle down for you? That’s love, right there.” Watching them now, whispering and laughing together without a care in the world, I had to take a deep breath and tell myself it was just normal friendly interaction. When the food arrived, the main dish placed in front of me was a pineapple fried rice. Chloe gasped, as if she’d just remembered. “Oh, I completely forgot your girlfriend is allergic to pineapple! Noah, why didn’t you remind me?” She made a show of offering me her seafood risotto, her voice laced with reluctance. “The waiter said this was the last portion. Oh well… since your girlfriend loves it so much, she can have it.” Her words painted me as some kind of tyrant, snatching the last plate of food from a starving child. It was just risotto, for God’s sake. I was about to refuse when Noah cut me off. “You eat yours. She doesn’t need it. Who does she think she is, anyway?” A sudden hush fell over the table. Chloe tugged on Noah’s sleeve, her brow furrowed as she chided him softly. “What are you doing? Just let her have it. It’s no big deal, I can eat the pineapple rice.” Noah didn’t budge. His voice was loud enough for everyone to hear. “What girlfriend? We’re not married. And even if we were, people get divorced. We’re just dating.” One of his friends chimed in, half-joking, “Whoa, what’s this? You thinking of breaking up, Noah?” Noah’s immediate reply was defensive. “No.” The friend smirked, his tone deceptively casual. “That’s what I thought. Ava has you on such a short leash, you have to report in every time you have a drink. You might give her the silent treatment to throw a little tantrum, but you’d never actually dare to break up with her.” The taunt hit its mark. Noah’s face flushed with anger. “Who says I wouldn’t? I’ll do it right now…” The words “break up” were on the tip of his tongue, but he stopped short, changing course mid-sentence. “But I’m not going to stoop to her level. Ava’s petty, but we’ve been together for a while. I’ll give her one last chance to apologize.” A flicker of disappointment crossed the friend’s eyes, but Noah didn’t see it. Chloe linked her arm through Noah’s, her voice playful. “Well, if you do break up, you can always date me again. Don’t let some outsider get the prize.” Noah’s lips curved into a smirk as he ruffled her hair. His gaze swept over to me, cold and dismissive. “Of course. Some people are just too much drama. You’ve always been the easy one.” 3 Everyone left. I was the only one left stranded on the curb. The restaurant was in a remote part of town. Getting a cab here had been easy; getting one back was proving to be a nightmare. Noah had refused to give me a ride and had actively stopped anyone else from offering. The text feed flickered back into existence. 【She’s so dumb. All she had to do was say something nice and he would’ve kicked the childhood sweetheart out of the car and driven her home himself.】 【He’s just stubborn, still pissed about the other night at the bar. If she had just called him that third time, he would’ve come home. He waited at the bar all night, fuming. It was her fault to begin with, why can’t she just suck it up and apologize?】 【He’s actually still driving around the area. He knows this place is sketchy and he’s worried something might happen to her. He does love her.】 【Oh my god, this protagonist is so annoying. Why can’t she just give in? Is saying sorry that hard?】 I pulled out my phone, my thumb hovering over Noah’s contact. I knew if I called, he’d probably turn the car around in a heartbeat. But my fingers wouldn’t move. I put the phone away. I couldn’t help it. I crouched down by the side of the road and started to cry. I didn’t understand what I had done so wrong. Noah was always like this, using the silent treatment again and again to force me to be the one to surrender. I used to think it was just his personality. But it wasn’t. I’d seen him, more than once, coaxing and soothing Chloe with a gentle voice when she was upset. He had patience and tenderness; he just never gave them to me. Every time he got angry, he would dangle the threat of a breakup over my head. He did it because he knew I would always be the one to back down. But this time, he was wrong. I walked for an hour before I finally found a cab. I was so exhausted I could barely stand. But I never made that call to Noah. 4 When I got back, I started packing. I moved my things out of our apartment. For the next three days, I didn’t send Noah a single text. Then, for the first time in a long while, he called me. “Hey. Wear something nice tonight. You’re coming with me to a gala.” His tone was as stiff as a board, but for Noah, this was the equivalent of extending an olive branch. But I refused. “I’m not going. Find someone else.” There was a stunned silence on the other end. “Find someone else?” Noah’s voice was laced with disbelief. “Everyone’s bringing their girlfriend. Who am I supposed to bring?” “Anyone,” I said. “Chloe, or whatever other girl is around.” “Ava, how many times do we have to go over this? We’re just friends. Are you seriously going to bring up old shit again? Is that all you know how to do?” “You’re the one who said you’d get back with her if we broke up. Do you need me to repeat your exact words back to you?” His breathing on the other end became heavy, ragged with fury. “Fine. Then we’re done. Let’s see who comes crawling back like a dog, begging for a second chance.” Noah was confident. Our friends didn’t know that we had broken up once before. He had never mentioned it, as if always leaving himself an escape route. For him, the words “let’s break up” were just code for: “I’m mad. You need to fix it. Once you’ve begged enough, we can get back together.” But one person can only be the first to apologize so many times. No matter how much love there is, it starts to feel like a burden. “Fine. Let’s break up,” I said. Maybe it was the night at the bar, or maybe it started long before that, but I was just tired. I finally understood that in Noah’s world, my concern was being controlling. My calls were an embarrassment. My love was a cage. If that’s how he saw it, then I would let him go. Here’s your freedom, Noah. 5 After Noah and I officially broke up, the text feed went wild. 【Wait, I haven’t checked in for a few days, how did they break up?】 【Ugh, it was definitely his toxic ‘friends’ again. They can’t stand to see anyone happy just because they’re single.】 【Watch him step out from under his friends’ umbrella only to realize it isn’t even raining. LMAO.】 【Keep it up. The second he actually breaks up with her, his ‘buddies’ will be lining up to take his place.】 【Come on, girl, get it together. If he can run around with his childhood sweetheart, you can find yourself a hot younger guy. Why should guys have all the fun?】 To say I wasn’t hurting would be a lie. A multi-year relationship doesn’t just vanish overnight. But I couldn’t let myself spiral. I had my own life to live. I didn’t believe a word the comments were saying about his friends. They had always treated me poorly, warning me in hushed tones that I wasn’t good enough for Noah, pressuring me to leave him. The worst was Ethan. He once cornered me against a wall, demanding to know what I saw in Noah. I thought he was just being an overprotective friend, so I said the most obnoxious thing I could think of. “His money. I have a thing for rich guys.” From that day on, Ethan started wearing a different luxury watch—sometimes multiple—on his wrist every day. I thought he was trying to mock me, so I sniped at him, calling him a peacock. I asked if his family had gone bankrupt and he’d been forced to become a watch model. He was so pissed that he showed up the next day with a bare wrist. But now, reading the comments, I hesitated. As a test, I posted a story on my Instagram: a simple text post on a black background. 【Officially single. Here’s to new beginnings.】 It was two in the morning. I didn’t think anyone would see it. The next second, my phone started vibrating nonstop. It was an avalanche of likes. The names were all familiar—people who had never once interacted with my posts before. It was Noah’s entire circle of friends. I refreshed my feed, and a new post popped up at the top. It had been posted one minute ago. It was from Ethan. Ethan: 24, 6’3″, grad degree, no childhood sweetheart baggage, 10 p.m. curfew, dislikes arguments and the silent treatment, a good listener. Currently single and available. I thought about the comment telling me to find a hot younger guy. I tapped on Ethan’s profile and sent a message. Me: 【Hi.】 He replied instantly. Ethan: 【Yes. I’ll post that we’re official right now.】 Me: 【?】 Me: 【But I wasn’t asking you out.】

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My husband wasn’t just bankrupt, he was cheating—the cheap, sordid kind. I’d had enough. The moment he walked through the door, coated in the dust and exhaustion of a day on a construction site, I let the words hang in the air between us, cold and sharp. “I want a divorce.” Leo stared at me for a moment, the fatigue on his face settling into a kind of calm resolve. “Okay,” he nodded, his voice flat. “I’ll take a half-day tomorrow. We can file the papers.” And just then, a strange, childlike voice echoed in my mind. Oh, my clueless mommy. Dad didn’t cheat. And he’s about to make a huge comeback. This is all a trap set by the Transmigrator. She wants you to divorce him so she can swoop in. After the divorce, you get scammed out of your money and your dignity, and you end up dead on the street. Two bodies, one grave. Meanwhile, she helps Dad through the hard times, becomes the enviable Mrs. Archer, and gets spoiled by him for the rest of her life. I waited in line for decades for a chance to be born, and I fought like hell to be reborn this one time. For the love of God, Mom, get your act together! The voice faded. The shock hit me like a physical blow, and a raw sob tore from my throat. “You don’t love me at all!” I wailed, the accusation tasting like ash in my mouth. “I say divorce and you just agree? You don’t even try to stop me? You bastard!” 1 Leo, who had probably never witnessed such a shameless, whiplash-inducing reversal, just stood there, stunned. After a long moment, he spoke, his voice laced with weary resignation. “You don’t have to worry. You can have whatever money we have left. I won’t let you take on any of my debt.” He wasn’t taking the bait. I wiped at my non-existent tears, my voice full of righteous anger. “The only reason I want a divorce is because you cheated!” The weariness in his expression deepened. “If you want out, just say it. I won’t drag this on. You don’t have to make up excuses.” A knot of panic tightened in my stomach. If I didn’t handle this perfectly, right now, it would become a thorn between us forever. A permanent splinter that would seriously impact how much money he’d be willing to… spend on me in the future. “I have proof!” I scrambled for my phone, ready to show him the video a stranger had sent me—of him at a seedy massage parlor. But when I opened the message thread, the video was gone. It had simply vanished. “Huh? Where did it go?” I looked up, my eyes wide with a frantic, helpless energy. “I’m not lying, Leo. Someone really sent me a video of you… getting a happy ending!” Leo’s brow furrowed slightly, but he remained silent. I couldn’t read his expression, which only fueled my panic. “I don’t care if you believe me or not,” I declared, my voice shaking. “I’m not getting a divorce!” At least, not right now. If we were going to split, it would be after he made his comeback, and I could walk away with a very comfortable settlement. Leo’s face was still a mask. He started toward the bathroom, his voice devoid of emotion. “Whatever you want. I’ll be ready whenever you change your mind again.” I knew he was angry with me now. I stomped my foot in frustration. The… baby in my belly was just as agitated. An old saying goes, ‘A harsh word is like a winter wind in June.’ Dad’s heart must be completely frozen over. We’re screwed! But Dad is loyal. As long as Mom shamelessly refuses to leave, his personality won’t let him force a divorce. The biggest problem is still that Transmigrator. If Mom and Dad don’t split up, she’ll definitely keep making trouble. That witch! Transmigrator? Who is she? I was about to whisper the question out loud, but then I felt a mental yawn from my unborn son. So sleepy… time for a nap… And just like that, he was gone. 2 The way Leo and I met was like something out of a movie. A very strange movie. He was a self-made small business owner. I was just a regular girl with a nine-to-five. One night, I was drowning my sorrows after my college sweetheart dumped me for some trust-fund kid. I was drunk and looking to do something reckless. As it happened, he’d just escaped a business meeting where someone had drugged his drink. We ran into each other on the street. We were a perfect storm of desperation and bad decisions. The next morning, he said he had to take responsibility. He was tall, handsome, surprisingly wealthy, and I was his first. What reason did I have to say no? We were at the courthouse by noon. Leo was quiet and his work kept him busy, so I never felt that all-consuming kind of love from him. But he was generous with his money, and that was a language I understood. I didn’t fuss over the love part. Then, the market turned. His company went under, and he was left with nothing but a mountain of debt. Still, he shielded me from the worst of it, never letting me go without. That, plus the fact that he was still gorgeous, meant I hadn’t seriously considered leaving. Until this afternoon, when a random number sent me that video. That’s what triggered my demand for a divorce. As for the little guy in my belly, I had no idea he even existed until I heard his thoughts. Leo must still care about having a child, right? The thought gave me a sliver of reassurance. He was quick in the shower, emerging in under ten minutes wrapped in a single towel. Water droplets clung to the hard lines of his muscles, his skin a warm bronze. For a second, my mouth went dry. Then I remembered the tiny passenger I was carrying, and the heat fizzled out. “Is pasta okay for dinner?” My mood had been so foul I hadn’t bothered to cook. Leo dried his hair with a towel, his tone cool. “I’ll make it.” He walked into the bedroom without another look at me to change. I could tell he was still stewing over the divorce comment. I honestly thought he’d cheated, that’s why I’d said it. Now, thinking about the baby, a strange wave of self-pity washed over me. My nose prickled, and tears started to well up. When Leo came out, he glanced at my face but said nothing, heading straight for the kitchen. I wanted to tell him I was pregnant, but my pride was still smarting. Besides, we’d just slept together last night. The thought made me decide to slip out to the pharmacy for a couple of pregnancy tests first. 3 When I got home, Leo was sitting on our worn-out sofa, lost in thought. He looked up the second I walked in, his eyes lighting up for a fraction of a second before the hope flickered out, leaving them dull again. “The pasta’s ready,” he said quietly. I looked at the two bowls on the table, one larger than the other, then back at his cold, distant face. My appetite vanished. “I’m not hungry. You eat.” I clutched the small plastic bag and disappeared into the bathroom. As I expected, no second line appeared on the tests. It was too soon. Even a blood test at the hospital wouldn’t show anything yet. I’d have to wait a few more days to tell him. I washed my hands and came out. Leo was still on the sofa, a storm cloud of gloom hanging over him. He looked utterly alone. I sat down cautiously on the other end of the couch, and we lapsed into silence. Both of us came from unhappy families; it was part of what had propelled us into such a hasty marriage. In the two years since, he’d spent two-thirds of his time on the road for work. We were together so little, and we never found a common language to bridge the distance. To be honest, we communicated more in bed than we ever did out of it. I knew he was under immense pressure, but I didn’t know how to help. I’m not the motivational speaker type, so the best I could do was try not to bother him. For some reason, I felt particularly fragile tonight. Before I knew it, tears were silently tracking down my cheeks. Leo glanced over, then quickly looked away. His voice was tired, resigned. “With my situation now… it might be like this forever. Leaving me is the right choice. I won’t blame you. You don’t need to feel guilty.” He really was hung up on what I’d said. The thought made my chest ache. I couldn’t take it anymore. I stood up and went back to the bedroom. The apartment was silent for a long, heavy half-hour before I heard the faint rustle of movement. About ten minutes after that, the front door opened and closed. A single thought seared through my mind: He’s leaving me. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. A gut-wrenching sob broke from me, and I started to howl, burying my face in the pillow. I was so lost in my grief that I didn’t hear the door open again. Suddenly, the bedroom door swung open. Leo stood there, pinching his nose, holding out a container of takeout ramen. The pungent, savory smell filled the room. “Eat something,” he said. “Don’t starve yourself.” I stared at him, dumbfounded. It took me a moment to process. I grabbed a tissue, scrubbed at my tear-streaked face, and mumbled, “Thanks.” “You’re welcome.” See? That’s how we were. So formal, so polite. Like strangers. 4 Leo never went to college; he’d been working since he graduated high school. After his logistics company went bankrupt, he went back to his old job: manual labor on construction sites. I’d tried to find work three times, but each time, after just a few days, I’d end up dealing with some disgusting creep hitting on me. Leo eventually told me to just stay home. So my days were spent doing chores and filming faceless style-transformation videos for social media. I’d build up a small following and make a little pocket money selling clothes through my affiliate links. I took the ramen to the living room and ate it between sobs. While I ate, Leo quietly cleaned the apartment, washing the clothes and tidying up. When he was done, he walked over to me with a small suitcase in his hand. “My boss just called. He wants me to manage a project out of town. I’ll be gone for a few days. Be careful while you’re here alone.” He’d been coming home every night lately. I’d gotten used to it. The thought of him leaving sent a jolt of panic through me. “How many days is ‘a few’?” “A week, if it goes fast. Two weeks at the most.” “Oh. Well, try to come back sooner.” “Okay.” He hesitated for a moment. “About the divorce… think it over seriously. Whatever you decide, I’ll accept it. I won’t hold it against you.” Just hearing the word “divorce” made my teeth ache. “It was just something I said because I was angry. If you don’t believe me, fine.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but just sighed and nodded. “Okay. Take care of yourself. Call me if you need anything.” “Mhm.” … After Leo left, it felt like a piece of me went with him. I was on edge every day. My baby’s inner voice appeared twice more during that time. I tried talking to him, and to my surprise, he could hear me. I asked him who the Transmigrator was. He said he’d died too young in the previous timeline and didn’t know much. Everything he knew about my death and his father’s future came from things he overheard other “souls” talking about while he was waiting to be reborn. He didn’t know her specific identity. Leo texted me a few times a day to make sure I was okay. There was no sweet talk, but knowing he was thinking of me was enough. That lasted until the day before he was due back. After three in the afternoon, his messages stopped. I figured he was busy, or maybe just slacking off since he was about to come home, so I didn’t worry too much. I knew he was coming back the next evening. I even went out and bought groceries to cook a special meal for him. But I waited until almost ten, and he still wasn’t home. I couldn’t wait any longer and sent him a text. No reply. I called him. The phone rang for a long time before someone picked up. It was Leo’s voice, but it was cold. “What’s up?” The anxiety in my chest intensified. “When are you coming home? There’s something I need to tell you.” There was a long pause before he answered. “I’ll be home in an hour.” I let out a small breath of relief. Talking in person was better anyway. “Okay. I’ll wait for you.” “Alright.” 5 Leo arrived exactly one hour later. But he seemed to be in a terrible mood, radiating a chill that had nothing to do with the night air. I thought maybe something had gone wrong at work and was debating whether this was the right time to tell him about the baby. He spoke before I could. “Let’s go file for divorce on Monday. I just got a three-thousand-dollar bonus. You can have that, plus the rest of our savings.” He pulled a thick envelope of cash from his bag and set it on the table. I froze. I thought we’d agreed not to get divorced. Why had he suddenly changed his mind? My nose tingled, and my eyes instantly filled with tears. “What are you talking about?” Leo turned his face away, refusing to look at me. “I know you’ve had a hard time since I lost everything. This is all I have right now. If things get better for me down the line, I’ll give you more.” The dam broke. Tears streamed down my face, my mind a complete blank. I couldn’t even begin to wonder if there was some kind of misunderstanding. My son woke up and started wailing in my womb. Well, my world is officially ending. It’s okay, Mom, it’s okay. Just have me, and when he gets rich again, we’ll sue him for child support. A lot of it. We can still live the high life, and you won’t even have a man telling you what to do. It’ll be great! He actually had a point. If that was the plan, I shouldn’t burn the bridge completely. “I’ll only take half the money.” Leo’s tone was firm. “You don’t have to leave any for me. I can earn more. The rent is paid for the next five months. You stay here, I’ll move out.” “Fine, whatever!” I spun around and stormed into the bedroom, burying my face in the pillows and letting out small, choked sobs. Leo stayed in the living room for a while before coming in to pack his things. I pulled the covers over my head, muffling my cries. He didn’t have much, so it didn’t take long. I heard every sound: his footsteps leaving the bedroom, crossing the living room, and the final, definitive click of the front door closing. Once he was gone, I couldn’t hold back anymore. I cried until I was exhausted, finally drifting into a restless sleep. I don’t know how much later it was when I woke up, feeling awful. I was burning up with a fever. We had cold medicine and fever reducers in the cabinet, but I was afraid to take anything that might harm the baby. From experience, I knew if I could just push through the first three days, it would get better. But those three days were hell. The fever wouldn’t break, and my whole body ached. When you’re sick, everything feels fragile—your body and your mind. I couldn’t stop thinking about the other times I’d been sick when Leo was home. He was never one for sweet words, but he would take care of me, quietly and meticulously. The memory made the ache in my heart even worse. At my lowest point, I broke down and called him. The phone rang and rang. Finally, someone answered, but it was a sweet, feminine voice. “Hi, Leo is pretty drunk right now. Can he call you back when he sobers up?” “Never mind,” I snapped, and hung up. I collapsed back onto the bed and cried myself to sleep. In that hazy space between waking and sleeping, I felt a cool cloth on my face, gently wiping my forehead. I forced my eyes open and thought I saw Leo’s face floating in the dim light. I must have been hallucinating. I remember babbling, sometimes begging him not to go, other times cursing him for being a bastard. After what felt like an eternity, the agonizing ache finally subsided, and I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. 6 I slept until I woke up naturally. As my eyes fluttered open, I saw a figure sitting by my bed. The sight shocked me fully awake. I pushed myself up, my gaze cold and hard. We sat in a tense silence for a few seconds before Leo finally broke it. “Is it mine?” I looked down. He was holding the pregnancy test I’d thrown in the trash three days ago. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I snarled, my voice raw. “Are you accusing me of cheating on you?!” I was ready to explode, but then I saw his eyes. They were red-rimmed and glistening. My anger instantly deflated, getting stuck somewhere in my throat, making it hard to breathe. It just made me want to cry again. Tears spilled over and streamed down my cheeks. “We’re getting a divorce anyway, what does it matter if it’s yours?” I said, lashing out with a newfound malice. “And I’ll tell you this: whether I have this baby or not is my decision. You have no say in it!” A dark thought took root in my mind. I wouldn’t just have this baby and demand a fortune in child support. I would make sure to parade our child in front of him and that Transmigrator every chance I got. Just to twist the knife. Leo stared at me for a few moments, his voice thick. “Someone sent me a video from an anonymous number. It was… of you and your ex-boyfriend. At a hotel.” I blinked, then I saw red. “I haven’t left this apartment in a week! Even my groceries are delivered! When the hell was I supposedly meeting my ex at a hotel?!” He watched me, his gaze intense, trying to decipher the truth from my expression. “The video wasn’t a fake. It was you. Unless there’s someone in the world who looks exactly like you.” “Impossible!” I shrieked. “I’ve been here the whole time!” Wait a minute. This whole scenario felt eerily familiar. “The video. Let me see it.” I snatched the phone from his pocket. I knew his passcode, so getting in was easy. But I wasn’t used to his phone’s layout, so I shoved it back at him. “You do it.” Leo took the phone and slowly scrolled through his messages. But there was no video. “It’s gone,” he said, frowning in thought. I let out a cold, bitter laugh and collapsed onto the bed, starting to sob dramatically. “Fine! If you think I cheated, then I cheated! We’ll go file the papers tomorrow! Whoever doesn’t show up is a spineless coward!” About ten seconds passed. Then, strong arms wrapped around me, lifting me from the mattress and pulling me into a hug. Leo’s voice was a low murmur against my hair. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have doubted you. It’s all my fault.” I had only been pretending to cry, but his words broke something open inside me. All the pent-up grief and hurt came pouring out, and my fake sobs turned into real, gut-wrenching tears. “I got a video of you at that massage parlor, too,” I choked out. “But when you said it wasn’t true, I believed you.” “I believe you, but you don’t believe me! We can’t live like this!” “I don’t want a divorce. I’m the spineless coward. It’s all my fault. Please, baby, don’t cry.” Baby? He’d never called me that before. The thought only made me cry harder.

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The October layoffs sent me packing, crawling back to my hometown with my tail between my legs. That’s when I heard the voice, a strange, raspy thought that wasn’t my own. Such a pathetic two-legs. The first one to charge into the inferno, saved so many, yet he died the worst death of all. Seven years, and his body’s still buried under this pile of rubble. Caw-caw. My head snapped up. An old crow was perched on the edge of the ruins next to the first-floor skeleton of a collapsed building, tilting its small, black head. Mrow! You said it! A calico cat was digging through the broken bricks nearby, hunting for mice. They never found his body, so everyone assumed he ran scared from the fire. The humans called him a coward, threw filth at his house. No good deed goes unpunished, meow. I froze, my blood turning to ice. My fingers fumbled for my phone as I dialed 911. “Hello, police? I need to bring a hero home!” 1 The dispatcher’s voice was calm, practiced. “Ma’am, have you found a missing elderly person?” “Not an old man, a firefighter! A hero!” I said, my voice tight. “The Sterling Port disaster, seven years ago. A firefighter died saving people, but his remains… they’re still buried under the rubble.” The dispatcher’s tone sharpened. “You’ve located human remains?” “No, but I have witnesses. A crow and a calico cat, they’re always around the ruins. They said the hero is still crushed under there.” There was a long pause on the other end of the line. I could practically picture the officer’s expression. “Ma’am,” he said slowly, “are you currently under a doctor’s care?” “You have to believe me! I’m not sick!” I was practically tripping over my own words, trying to explain. “I’m a survivor of the Port Sterling fire. After I made it out, I… I could understand what animals were thinking. My house was destroyed, so I’ve been away at college. Today’s the first day I’ve been back.” I took a shaky breath. “The crow and the cat told me the hero who died was vilified, that people threw trash on his family’s lawn. I have a strong feeling it might be Captain O’Connell—the one they called the ‘deserter,’ the story that went national.” “It’s possible he didn’t run,” I pleaded. “It’s possible he died on the front lines and was just… lost. Please, send someone to check. Give a hero back his name. Bring him home.” The officer clearly decided I was a lost cause. He hung up. I had no idea if he’d take any of it seriously. The Sterling Port Disaster was a national tragedy. 231 people dead, including 36 firefighters. The official story was that most of those firefighters died because Captain Mike O’Connell deserted his post, causing a catastrophic loss of water pressure. Everyone in the country knew his name. Mike O’Connell, the only firefighter to ever run from a fire. He was a symbol of shame, an object of national hatred. I used to believe it, too. After all, they’d recovered the bodies of every other fallen firefighter. His was the only one missing. He must have run. But now… I clenched my fists, went to my grandfather’s old shed, and came back with a shovel. Under the moonlight, the old crow watched me. Is this two-legs going to dig up the ruins? What is she doing? “I want to bring the hero home,” I said, hoisting the shovel. “Help me.” To my astonishment, the bird seemed to understand. It let out a series of calls, and soon, a small army of animals emerged from the shadows. The calico cat began pawing at loose bricks. “The human wants to help the sad human get home! Come on, everyone, help!” A stray dog started digging at the dirt with its front paws. Woof! For the hero! Dig, dig, dig! A few sparrows fluttered down, carrying away small pebbles in their beaks. Gently! Don’t wake the hero~ Even the crow, usually so aloof, joined in, using its beak to pry at loose bits of rubble. At three in the morning, the shovel hit something hard with a loud clang. I dropped to my knees, my flashlight beam cutting through the dark. There, in the shallow pit, was a charred section of a leg bone. Caw-caw-caw! We found him! the crow shrieked, flapping its wings. “It’s the hero’s bone!” I didn’t hesitate. I called the police again. Soon, the entire ruin was cordoned off with yellow tape. When the complete, blackened skeleton was carefully lifted from the earth, a collective gasp went through the assembled officers. The adult skeleton was curled into a protective posture, and held tightly in its embrace was the tiny skeleton of an infant. “Adult male. And the little girl in his arms. Both died of asphyxiation.” A cool, female voice cut through the silence, filled with a mixture of regret and admiration. “The deceased likely tried to use his own body to shield the child, to give her a pocket of air. But… the child was probably already gone.” A woman in a medical examiner’s jacket was kneeling by the pit, her eyes dispassionate, almost chillingly calm as she took notes. Just then, I heard the calico cat’s thought from near my feet. Mrow, so sad. Her own husband, right in front of her, and the two-legs doesn’t even recognize him. My heart skipped a beat. The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. “That man… the adult male… he’s your husband.” 2 The medical examiner, Dr. Evelyn Reed, shot her head up, her gaze slicing through me like a scalpel. “What did you say?” “This skeleton… it’s Captain O’Connell’s,” I repeated, my voice trembling. “You and Captain O’Connell… you were married, weren’t you?” Evelyn tore off her surgical mask, revealing a pale, drawn face. A bitter, sarcastic smile twisted her lips. “Are you mocking me? Everyone in this city knows my ex-husband was Mike O’Connell. And he was a deserter.” “Ma’am, he wasn’t a deserter. He was a hero!” I gestured desperately at the animals gathered in the shadows. “They all saw it. If you just run a DNA comparison with his… with your daughter’s…” Before I could finish, Evelyn’s voice cracked like a whip. “Enough! Mike abandoned his post right before the second explosion. The water pressure failed because of him, which caused the main flare-up that killed thirty-six of his own men!” “That’s thirty-six lives, thirty-six shattered families. He was too much of a coward to face the consequences, so he fled the country. A man like that would never die trying to save someone!” Her eyes were filled with a profound, aching disappointment. “And more importantly,” she added, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper, “there was a witness. An eyewitness from the fire who saw him run.” “Mike O’Connell better hope he never shows his face again. Because if he does, and if one of those families doesn’t tear him apart first, I will.” Her words hit me like a physical blow. I stood there, stunned. An eyewitness saw him run. Could the animals have been wrong? The remains were taken to the morgue, and I had no authority to follow. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that the body belonged to Captain O’Connell. For days, I interviewed old residents around the ruins and sought out more animal witnesses. The humans still hated Mike’s name with a passion, so I learned to stop asking them. From the animals, however, I began to piece together a mosaic of the truth, and it only made my heart heavier. That afternoon, I found the hero’s daughter, Lily O’Connell, outside of Northwood Elementary. I needed to get a DNA sample from the little girl to run a match against the remains. Lily was holding the hand of a man with glasses, smiling sweetly up at him. The school’s resident stray, a scruffy terrier mix, grumbled from his spot by the gate. Woof! I hate that glasses guy. Kicked me once when I was sleeping. He bullies all the animals around here! Not like Lily’s dad. He’d always scratch our heads, give us treats. We all loved him. A shame we’ll never see him again. I frowned and walked over, my focus on the small girl. “You must be Lily. I’m a friend of your dad’s.” The girl glanced at me shyly before the man, Ken Thompson, pulled her protectively behind him. His eyes were cold and wary. “I know all of Mike’s friends. Who are you?” I met his gaze directly. “We met on the day of the fire, seven years ago. Did you hear? They just dug up an unidentified body from the ruins a couple of days ago.” Ken’s face darkened instantly. “He was a coward. And if you met him on that day, you’re probably the same. Get the hell away from us.” He grabbed Lily’s hand and walked away at a brisk pace. I didn’t follow. Instead, the next day, with a little help from the terrier, I slipped onto the school grounds. Lily was sitting alone on the swings. “My daddy was a deserter,” she mumbled, her head hung low. “That’s what all the kids say. They all hate me. No one will play with me.” I knelt in the wood chips in front of her, meeting her eyes. “Lily, what if I told you I could understand what animals say?” Her eyes widened slightly. “The swallows under the eaves remember how your dad would leave a dish of water for them on the windowsill every spring. The stray cats on the corner remember how he always kept treats for them in his pocket. Even the dog next to the old firehouse says Captain O’Connell was the bravest man he ever knew.” The light in the little girl’s eyes began to flicker back to life. “All the animals say your dad wasn’t a deserter,” I continued softly. “They say he was a true hero. He charged back into that horrible fire to save the children in the daycare center. He just… he didn’t make it back out.” “I knew it! I knew my daddy wasn’t a bad man!” The little girl looked up, her eyes swimming with tears, and grabbed my sleeve. “When he came home, he used to pat my head and say, ‘Don’t you worry, sweetie. Daddy’s the Captain. The fire knows to walk around me.’” “He saved so, so many people. He never ran from anything. But nobody believes me…” 3 Her words were a key, unlocking a memory I had buried for seven years. The fire, the smoke so thick I couldn’t breathe. Trapped in my house, I was sure I was going to die. Then, a figure in orange burst through a wall of flames, and a pair of strong arms swept me off my feet. “It’s okay, little girl, I’ve got you!” a steady voice said from behind a mask. When he handed me off to another firefighter outside, I clung to his sleeve, which was already blistering from the heat. “Mister, it’s too dangerous. Please don’t go back in.” He patted my head. “It’s okay. I’m the Captain. The fire knows to walk around me.” The man who saved me… it was Captain O’Connell. Shaking, I knelt and wrapped my arms around this little girl who had been without her father for seven years. My voice was thick with emotion. “I promise you, Lily. I will make sure your father comes home with his head held high. I will make sure everyone knows he was a true hero.” Just then, a sparrow perched on the swing set began to chirp frantically. I remember now! That day, Captain O’Connell was already safe! He only ran back in because he heard crying from the daycare! The old crow from the ruins landed on the fence, flapping its wings. Caw! That’s right! And right before the second explosion, Captain O’Connell pushed that glasses guy out the window! My head shot up. “The man with the glasses?” The calico cat slinked out from under a bush, tail held high. Meow! The same one who picked her up from school yesterday. He was a real mess back then. Tore his pants on a piece of rebar. The hero even gave him his own safety line to get him out. He owed his life to Captain O’Connell. He knew Mike was saving people right up until the end, yet he called him a coward. My teeth ground together in anger. I managed to get a few strands of Lily’s hair. I was about to take them to a private lab for DNA testing myself when the officer who took my first call found me. He hadn’t believed me then, but the discovery of the body had changed his mind. “Look, the whole ‘talking to animals’ thing is… unbelievable. We can’t use it,” he said, looking at me with new respect. “But the possibility that the remains belong to Captain O’Connell is real. I’m putting in a request with the lead detective on the case to get a DNA comparison. We should have the results by tomorrow, fastest.” The next day, before the results were in, the news broke that Ken Thompson was proposing to Dr. Evelyn Reed. A sparrow hopped on my windowsill. The hero’s life is so sad, chirp-chirp. He’s been dead for so many years, and no one believes he was a good man. Now the bad guy is stealing his wife. She’s all dressed up to go meet him… Ken was going to propose to the hero’s wife on the anniversary of the hero’s death? The sheer audacity. My expression hardened. I logged onto a livestreaming platform and created a channel. After a moment’s thought, I typed in the title: 【FINDING THE BURIED TRUTH】—The Fire Captain Who Vanished 7 Years Ago Wasn’t a Deserter. He Was a HERO. I aimed the camera at my face, the familiar ruins of the disaster site stark in the background. Taking a deep breath, I began. “Hello everyone. Seven years ago, a fire captain named Mike O’Connell was branded a deserter, blamed for the deaths of his colleagues, and hated by the nation.” “But a few days ago, guided by the animals who live here, his remains were found in these very ruins. He was found shielding the body of a child.” “The evidence shows he wasn’t a coward. He was a hero who died seven years ago, and whose story was buried. Today, I’m going to take you with me to uncover the truth.”

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My boyfriend has always been… adventurous. In that way. So, after we first slept together, it didn’t take long for him to start coaxing me into trying things. Toys, mostly. But when he pulled out a ring box, and I thought my moment had finally come, I was the one who ended it. He slammed the car to a stop on the shoulder of the road, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “Say that again.” I closed my eyes, the words a lead weight on my tongue. “We’re done.” “Get out. I don’t make a habit of driving strangers home.” He popped the locks, and just like that, I was on the side of the road, watching his taillights disappear into the night. I had to find a new apartment, a new job. Start a new life. Tearing someone out of your life, piece by piece, is an agony. But the first lesson of adulthood, I’m learning, is this: You have to learn to accept loss with grace. Months later, at a dinner party, news got back to him that I’d gone home to let my mom set me up on dates. Leo’s eyes went red, and he shattered the glass he was holding. “Quinn,” he seethed, his voice a low growl that cut through the chatter. “How fucking dare you.” 1 Leaving our friend’s wedding, my mind was buzzing. I couldn’t help it. What would my wedding with Leo be like? “Will you marry me?” The words slipped out, surprising even me. A ghost of a memory, a scene that felt like it had played out a hundred times before. “Leo, marry me!” “When are you going to marry me?” “Do you think you’ll ever marry me?” The questions echoed in my mind, a timeline of my own hope decaying. From the confident demands of early love to the desperate, whispered pleas of a woman terrified of the answer. Leo kept one hand on the wheel, reaching into the back seat with the other and dropping a heavy shopping bag into my lap. My breath hitched. My heart fluttered with a nervous, hopeful tremor. A ring? God, it wasn’t romantic at all, but who cared? A grin I couldn’t contain spread across my face. Carefully, I pulled apart the layers of crisp, expensive tissue paper. But what I saw inside wasn’t a velvet box. It was one of his new toys, nestled on top of a black lace teddy. I froze. Leo let out a low chuckle. “Latest model. I bought the whole collection,” he murmured, his voice husky. “Tonight. Let’s try them all out. Hmm?” It was like he hadn’t heard me. Like he hadn’t heard me talk about getting married in a church, the sunlight streaming through stained glass. Like he hadn’t seen me, just an hour ago at the reception, closing my eyes and making a wish for us, for a forever that felt more and more like a fantasy. 2 “Is that honestly all you ever think about?” Leo couldn’t understand why my mood had suddenly curdled. He was obsessed with the physical side of our relationship, the constant pursuit of a new high. After we first started sleeping together, he’d gently pushed me into trying his toys. I’d gone from blushing and hesitant to… compliant. But tonight, the chasm between what I’d hoped for and what I’d received felt too wide to cross. The disappointment was a physical ache in my chest. “What the hell is your problem?” he snapped. “Who else am I supposed to talk to about this stuff with, if not you?” “Then talk to someone else. We’re done.” The screech of tires was deafening. The seatbelt locked hard across my chest, knocking the wind out of me and making my heart pound with a pain that had nothing to do with the sudden stop. The car jerked to a halt. Leo’s voice was dangerously low, laced with fury. “You say that again.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “We’re done.” “Get out,” he said, the words clipped and cold. “I don’t make a habit of driving strangers home.” Strangers. Just like that. A stranger. Five years of my life, of our life, erased in a single word. He said it, but he didn’t unlock the doors. The streetlights outside were dim, casting long, menacing shadows. He knew I was terrified of the dark. He was waiting. He was always waiting for me to be the one to back down, to apologize. But tonight, an exhaustion so profound it felt like it was in my bones washed over me. It wrapped around my throat, tight and suffocating. Just as the panic began to set in, I heard my own voice, raw and raspy, but laced with a resolve I hadn’t known I possessed. “Unlock the door.” A humorless, chilling laugh escaped his lips. “You’ve got guts, Quinn. I’ll give you that.” Then, the sharp click of the locks disengaging. I didn’t hesitate. I pushed the door open and stepped out into the cold night air. The second I slammed the door shut, I heard him curse, a muffled “fuck” from inside the car. His night ruined, Leo stomped on the gas. The engine roared, and the car shot away from the curb, leaving me standing alone. The streetlights flickered, a weak, inconsistent glow. And in that moment, the suffocating feeling in my chest began to ease. The darkness didn’t feel so terrifying anymore. Not compared to the feeling of drowning. A memory surfaced, unbidden, from a lifetime ago. Him, so nervous and hopeful, stopping me on the campus quad. “Quinn? I’m… I’m a huge fan of your videos,” he’d stammered. “Can I… can I get your number?” 3 Leo was a year behind me in college. The moment he stepped on campus, he became an instant legend on the university’s anonymous “Crush Confessions” page. I was, at the time, a moderately well-known campus creator, famous for my goofy, slice-of-life videos. That’s how I ended up hosting the Welcome Week talent show, and how he ended up on stage as the freshman class representative. That was the night the gears of our fate began to turn. During rehearsals, he’d show up with two brown sugar boba teas, claiming they were having a two-for-one special. When I was out sketching near the art building, he’d just “happen” to be walking by. “Quinn! Hey, what a coincidence!” I’d looked up from my sketchbook, shielding my eyes from the sun that haloed his head. “Are you following me, Leo?” He nodded instinctively before his eyes widened and he shook his head violently. I saw the tips of his ears turn a deep, tell-tale crimson. I picked up my charcoal pencil and, with a few quick strokes, captured the flustered, handsome boy in front of me. As he stood there, shifting his weight, not knowing what to do with his hands, I tore the page out and handed it to him. “That boba place never has a two-for-one special,” I said. “Here. Payment.” He stared down at the sketch of himself, a slow smile spreading across his face. He carefully folded it and tucked it into his pocket like it was a winning lottery ticket. Later, he would call it our first love letter. He slung my heavy art portfolio over his shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and we fell into step beside each other. He told me my videos had been his escape during the soul-crushing pressure of senior year and college applications. “You mean those stupid comedy skits? I’m glad they made you laugh.” He stopped walking, turning to face me with an almost shocking intensity. “They weren’t stupid,” he said, his voice earnest. “They were… warm. Full of life. They made me feel like I wanted to get closer to the person making them.” As he spoke, he took a half-step closer. He told me I was the reason he’d chosen this university. The summer breeze drifted between us, carrying the scent of cut grass and distant traffic. I thought I could hear a heart beating, fast and unsteady. Maybe it was his. Maybe it was mine. On my birthday, he showed up at my dorm with a cake he’d baked himself, his face lit with a smile so pure it almost hurt to look at. “Happy birthday, Quinn,” he said softly. “You made it another year. You’re doing great.” That night, there was still a smudge of frosting at the corner of his mouth. On impulse, I leaned in and kissed it away. A light, feather-soft touch. Leo froze, his eyes widening in shock. In the silence that followed, his body betrayed him. We both looked down. He looked away, mortified, tugging at the hem of his hoodie to cover himself. “Oh, God. I’m… I’m so sorry, I…” Seeing him so flustered, his ears glowing red as he tried to explain himself into a hole, I couldn’t help but laugh. My laughter made his entire face flush. He bit his lip, humiliated, and pulled his hood up over his head, hiding everything but his mouth. I knelt, resting my hands on his knees, and found his lips again. His almond-shaped eyes, shimmering with a desperate, restrained need, met mine. “Is this… is this okay?” he whispered. I smiled and nodded, and my answer was lost in a soft cry… He held my face in his hands, kissing me from my forehead to the tip of my nose. He was clumsy and inexperienced, but so achingly eager. “I’ll take responsibility,” he whispered against my skin, his voice thick with emotion. “We’ll get married. Right after graduation. Quinn, baby, we’ll get married right after graduation, okay?” Eventually, I graduated. And then, so did he. But that wedding, our graduation ceremony, never came. 4 I squatted by the side of the road, waiting for a ride. An hour passed. My legs were completely numb by the time a cab finally pulled over. The driver asked me where I was going. I paused, then just named the closest hotel. Inside the sterile room, I stared at the empty chat window with Leo. My heart felt just as hollow. I was the one who said it was over. So why was I the one who felt like this? I sniffled, my thumb hovering over his name before I finally removed him from my “pinned” contacts. As I did, his profile picture lit up. A new post. The caption: Single and loving it. The likes were already pouring in. A screenshot popped up on my phone from Maya, my old college roommate. [Saw the post. Are you two really done?] [Yeah.] The three dots appeared and disappeared for a long time. Finally: [So… if you’re broken up, is it okay if I try to ask him out?] [To be honest, I had a huge crush on him back when he was a freshman.] [But you got to him first. Now that you’re not together, it’s not like I’d be stepping on any toes.] I thought back to college. How she’d always claim she was bored and tag along on my movie dates with Leo. He could never stand her. “That friend of yours,” he used to mutter in my ear, “she’s bad news.” “Why do you say that?” I’d ask. He’d get irritated. “Just… stay away from her!” I’d always brushed it off as him being jealous, not wanting a third wheel. I never took it seriously. Later, our RA told me Maya was going through a tough breakup. She was withdrawn and quiet, crying in her room all the time. She started avoiding me, and if we passed in the hallway, she’d give me an icy glare. I never understood why. Now, I was starting to get the picture. Maya sent a few more texts, probing for information. [What kind of stuff is he into?] [Does he like spicy food?] I didn’t reply. I just shut my phone off. I slept badly, caught in a tangle of disjointed dreams I couldn’t remember. All I knew was that when I woke up, my pillow was damp with tears. I turned my phone back on. A string of missed calls. All from Leo. A moment later, his name flashed across the screen again. I hesitated, then swiped to answer. His voice was lazy, with the rough, sandpaper edge of someone who’s been up all night. “Your little friend told me you were giving her pointers on how to get with me,” he said, without a hello. “Quinn, you’re a fucking saint to your friends, you know that?” “Honestly, I was getting a little bored of you anyway. What was her name? Maya? Not much to look at, but she has a great body. Thanks for the hookup, ex-girlfriend.” 5 He hung up before I could say a word. I stared at the number, a number I knew by heart, for a long, long time. Then I moved it to my blocked list. Maya’s Instagram story updated. A mirror selfie, wearing nothing but a towel. I laughed, a dry, humorless sound. A single tear tracked a cold path down my cheek. Because I recognized the bathroom behind her. The marble, the fixtures. I’d picked them out myself. It was the apartment Leo and I had shared for two years. The home we’d built together, piece by piece, memory by memory. The emotional backlash was violent, a physical clenching in my chest. It was almost funny. It had been less than six hours since I’d ended things. And he’d already moved someone else in. He’d moved her into our home. Into our memories. He’d taken our past and simply… turned the page. Our five years together had been closed like a book, and he hadn’t even bothered to dog-ear a favorite chapter. I was the one who pushed him away. Yes. I was the one. So I shouldn’t be the one crying. I shouldn’t be the one in pain. But I couldn’t stop the question from tearing through me. Why? Why would he do that? How could he so casually bring her into the space that held so much of us, so many of our beautiful moments? His nonchalance made me question everything. All those promises, spoken with such conviction, such certainty. Were they all lies? Didn’t our five years mean enough to deserve even a little respect? But I was forgetting. Promises made in love have an expiration date. And ours had just passed. I forced myself to take a breath, but my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Maybe I should get drunk. If I’m drunk, the tears will stop. If I’m drunk, I won’t be able to think. This is a celebration. A rebirth. Tearing someone out of your life is an agony. But the first lesson is learning to accept loss. You have to understand. Some people are just chapters, not the whole story. 6 I stayed in that hotel room for three days, a ghost in a tomb of empty bottles. Then, my mom called. Just the usual small talk. I gave her the usual report, telling her I was fine, reminding her to make sure Dad was taking his blood pressure medication. But just before we hung up, she sighed, a soft, weary sound. “Honey, if you’re not happy there… you can always come home.” That’s when I realized. The news reports about Leo and Maya attending some gala together, smiling for the cameras. My parents had seen them. They had seen the man who stood in their living room and swore he would cherish me for the rest of his life, now with another woman on his arm. They knew exactly what it meant. The dam I’d built inside myself finally broke. “Mom,” I choked out, “I miss you guys.” I could hear the smile in her voice, but it was trembling. “This morning, I saw your father looking at one of your baby pictures. He said, ‘My daughter is so beautiful. No one is good enough to marry her. I could just keep her with me forever.’” The sound of her laughter, a little watery, came through the phone, and I found myself laughing through my own tears. The shared sound hung in the air for a moment before fading back into silence. “If you’re not happy out there,” she said again, her voice soft, “just come home. Your dad and I… we miss you too.” “Okay,” I whispered. After I hung up, I noticed a single sliver of sunlight had forced its way through a gap in the heavy blackout curtains. The dark room seemed a little warmer. I pulled myself up from the floor, my bare feet navigating the minefield of empty bottles. I walked to the window and threw back the curtains. The light flooded in, painfully bright. I raised a hand to shield my eyes, and as they adjusted, I saw it. It was a beautiful day. Not a cloud in the sky. 7 I started sending out my resume. Everywhere. But a two-year gap in my work history made things difficult. During my senior year internship, I’d been followed home by an obsessive fan. It escalated until the police had to get involved. Leo was terrified. He held me, begging me not to go back to work, promising he would take care of me. Truthfully, I was terrified too. If Leo hadn’t shown up when he did… I don’t know what would have happened. So I shut it all down. I deleted the account, cut off all my social media. I put down my paintbrushes and picked up cookbooks. My life became a revolving door of nutritional recipes and home-making projects. My world shrank until it was just Leo, my moods rising and falling with his. And for a while, it was good. It was happy and sweet. But then… His work got busier. He came home later and later. There was always the faint, unfamiliar scent of women’s perfume clinging to his clothes. The worst fight we ever had was after his stunningly beautiful secretary brought him home, completely drunk. There was a pale pink lipstick smudge on the inside of his collar. That was the first time I tried to leave him. He sobered up instantly, promising to fire anyone who tried to come between us. The secretary was gone the next day. It felt like a victory, but I knew, deep down, I hadn’t won anything. Because after that, we stopped fighting about other people. But we never stopped fighting. It could be about the soup being too salty. It could be about the pothos plant on the windowsill that had finally died. Shaking myself from the memories, I sighed. I opened the social media app I hadn’t touched in years and posted for the first time. Hey, guys! Guess who’s back?! I watched the likes and comments start to trickle in. I looked out the window, at the vast, open sky. You can’t stumble forever, I told myself. My luck had to turn eventually. I would allow things to be as they are. 8 I had two interviews that afternoon, so I grabbed a quick lunch at a convenience store. And of course, that’s when it happens. You always run into the last person on earth you want to see when you look your worst. Leo was leaning against the wall outside, a cigarette pinched between his fingers. He looked thinner. The weight loss had sharpened his jawline, making him look more intense, more handsome. He was waiting for someone. Maya, who emerged from the designer boutique next door. I tried to turn away, to disappear into the crowd, but she spotted me. “Quinn! Over here!” she chirped. “I told you it was her, see?” She tucked her arm possessively through Leo’s. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes swept over me, and a small frown creased his brow. “Quinn, what are you eating?” Maya said, pointing at the half-eaten rice ball in my hand with theatrical disgust. “All those cheap carbs will make you bloated.” She turned to Leo, her voice syrupy sweet. “Honey, Quinn is my best friend. Without her, there’d be no us. You have to treat our matchmaker to a proper meal!” Before I could refuse, Leo let out a dry, humorless laugh. “She’s right. We should thank my ex-girlfriend for being such a generous matchmaker.” He bit down on the last two words, making them sound like an insult. Maya’s smile faltered for a second, but she recovered, grabbing my bag and pulling me along with them. The entire meal was a performance, with Maya as the star, showcasing their perfect relationship. “Oh, by the way, Quinn,” she said, setting down her wine glass. “Leo and I are getting married. You know I don’t have many friends, so I was hoping you would be my maid of honor.” She looked at me, her eyes wide and innocent. “You have to come! I mean, since you and Leo have history… you being there would prove that you’ve really moved on, that you’re genuinely happy for us. It would stop people from gossiping, you know? We don’t want any… misunderstandings.” I drained my glass of red wine and met her gaze. “Misunderstandings about what?” I asked, my voice dangerously calm. “That you two started things the second we were over?” Maya sat up straight, her face flushing. “Don’t look at us like that. We got together after you broke up with him. We don’t owe you anything. Honestly, you’re being really petty. Can’t you just be happy for us?” Leo remained silent, a passive observer in our war of words, but his silence was its own form of agreement. Seeing that he wasn’t going to defend me, a triumphant smirk played on Maya’s lips. I was now officially the bitter, pathetic ex-girlfriend, slandering the happy new couple. The boy who once made eighteen separate burner accounts to defend me against online trolls, the boy who swore he would always have my back, was now sitting across from me, his expression soft as he watched another woman tear me down. I managed a small, tight smile. “When’s the wedding?” Maya froze for a second, caught off guard. Leo answered without missing a beat. “Next month.” He looked at me, his eyes cold and arrogant. “From what I hear, you haven’t found a job yet. So, you should have the time, right, Quinn?” A cold shock went through me. I remembered something he’d once said, boasting about crushing a rival company. “Anyone who pisses me off,” he’d bragged, “I’ll make sure they can never work in this city again.” Ever since his long-lost father—a ridiculously wealthy CEO—had found him and brought him into the family business, Leo’s power and influence had grown exponentially. He could do it. He really could. All my recent job-hunting frustrations suddenly clicked into place. The endless rejections, the HR managers who seemed promising on the phone and then suddenly went cold, their vague, apologetic emails. It all made sense now. Something inside me, the last fragile thread connecting me to him, snapped. I had followed him to this city right after graduation. Now, there was nothing left for me here. I looked up, meeting Leo’s mocking gaze. “Sorry,” I said, my voice even. “I can’t. I have to go back to my hometown next month.” Leo’s brow furrowed, an automatic, almost instinctual question escaping his lips. “For what?” “My mom’s setting me up on some dates.”

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