Author: Momo Chan

A deadly heatwave swept across the city. My husband, ever so compassionate toward the single mother and her child next door, took all the purified water I had carefully stockpiled and gave it to them. When I confronted him, anger burning in my chest, he exploded, stomping his foot like a child throwing a tantrum. “The taps still run, don’t they? Stop being so delicate! Are you really going to fight a kid over water?” Days later, the water supply was cut off. The neighbors, grateful only to him, offered him water but left me out in the scorching heat. Desperate and parched, I ventured out to find water, only to collapse from heatstroke and dehydration. My husband and the neighbor thrived. They used the very supplies I had hoarded, surviving together and eventually building a new life together. But fate had other plans. I woke up right before the heat wave hit. This time, my husband was once again dismissive of my preparations. I smiled sweetly, nodding as if he’d delivered the wisdom of the century. “You’re absolutely right, dear.” But in my heart, I vowed that this time, I wouldn’t lift a finger. Let him see how long they could survive without me.

“Severe heatwaves will continue sweeping the nation over the next two weeks. Residents are urged to stay alert, avoid going outdoors, and take precautions against heatstroke!” The familiar news alert sent chills down my spine. In my last life, I had collapsed from heatstroke and dehydration, left to die under the relentless sun. The memory of my skin burning came rushing back. I shuddered, trying to shake off the haunting images as I wolfed down ten popsicles in a desperate attempt to cool my body and mind. Then my phone rang. My husband, Liam Carter, barked at me before I could even say hello. “Jane! What’s your problem with Clara and her daughter now? Are you seriously picking on a kid who doesn’t even have a dad? How petty can you be?” His relentless accusations, devoid of logic or fairness, momentarily stunned me. No matter the situation, Liam always prioritized the mother-daughter duo next door. He was a doctor, and years ago, a friend had died of a heart attack while he stood helplessly by. Guilt-ridden, he had spent every day since trying to “make up” for it. That was how Clara and her daughter ended up living next door on his dime. Leaky pipes, clogged drains, a crying child… big or small, he was always at their beck and call. In my past life, I had taken the looming heatwave seriously. I had asked Liam to come with me to stockpile food and water. But when the time came, he brushed me off, saying he needed to spend time with their daughter, Mia. “You’re overreacting,” he had said, dismissing my concerns as paranoia. Frustrated, I texted Clara, asking her to let me have my husband for just one day. But my message only made her cry. Liam, ever the knight in shining armor, called me moments later to tear me apart over the phone. Left with no other choice, I went to the supermarket alone, battling the crowds of desperate shoppers for supplies. My arms were bruised and scratched by the time I hauled cartloads of goods back home. But before I could catch my breath, Liam had already ordered workers to deliver everything to the house next door. “Clara and her daughter are too frail to go out shopping,” he explained. “Think of this as a good deed; it’s good karma for you.” When the extreme heat made stepping outside unbearable, he didn’t hesitate to give our last five gallons of purified water to the neighbors. I confronted him, furious. “What about me? Do I not matter to you at all?” He scoffed, rolling his eyes, “There’s still water in the pipes, isn’t there? What are you, royalty? Fighting with a child over water, how selfish can you be?” By the sixth day of the heatwave, the pipes ran dry. When I went to Clara for help, she hesitated, biting her lip. “Jane, I’d really love to help, but we’re running low on supplies, too. It’s not that I’m being selfish, but Liam has done so much for us over the years…” I didn’t let her finish. “Don’t you dare! Those supplies are mine! I bought them!” But Liam didn’t care. He praised her for her “kindness” while berating me for being difficult. “Stop making things hard for her. If you need water, go figure it out yourself!” It was as if they’d both forgotten who had stockpiled the supplies in the first place. Without me, neither of them would have survived. Unable to argue or fight my way through, I left to search for water on my own, only to collapse and die in the suffocating heat. But this time? I wouldn’t be their scapegoat again. I decided to take care of myself. “Liam, you’re absolutely right,” I said sweetly, cutting into his tirade. He seemed pleased with my compliance. “Good. Mia has no dad, so I need to look after them. Don’t make things harder than they need to be.” I nodded along, keeping my tone docile. “Of course, I understand.” The moment I hung up, I wasted no time calling a real estate agent. If he wanted to play hero, fine. But I wouldn’t let him drag me down with him.

Extreme weather lays bare the true nature of people. I urged the real estate agent to quickly secure a villa in the suburbs, assuring them that price was no object. First, a pricier residence meant better security and more refined neighbors, an essential filter against potential threats when living alone. Second, the suburban location promised fewer people and better greenery, a perfect haven from the heat. The agent was efficient. The villa’s owner had settled overseas, ensuring no disturbances to my carefully planned month of survival. With the property secured, I wasted no time. I headed straight to the supermarket to stock up. In my last life, I had died of dehydration. This time, watching barrels of water delivered to the villa, I felt the weight in my chest finally ease. Truckloads of instant food, grains, oils, and meat soon followed, filling every corner of the house. Thankfully, the villa came equipped with large freezers, making food storage much easier. At the time, most people dismissed the importance of fruits and vegetables, deeming them too perishable. When they saw me loading cart after cart with fresh produce, their reactions ranged from scoffs to outright laughter. But I knew better. I turned the vegetables into pickles or froze them in the massive freezers. No one foresaw how vital these would become. Soon, fruits and vegetables would be the last viable source of vitamin C. The relentless heat would wither crops in the fields, leaving nothing but rot in its wake. For six long months, even after temperatures normalized, fresh produce would remain an impossible luxury. Many who survived the heatwave would later succumb to scurvy and its devastating complications, like brain hemorrhages. But food wasn’t my only priority. I also bought out the bulk of the city’s stock of blankets, down coats, hand warmers, candles, lighters, and matches. On top of that, I hauled in charcoal and firewood. While most people assumed that surviving the heatwave meant the worst was over, I knew better. Extreme weather was rarely an isolated event. It often signaled the arrival of other calamities. After my death in my previous life, my lingering spirit had watched as the city erupted in joyous celebration when the heatwave finally ended. But their relief was premature. Nobody saw what was coming next. Without warning, a week of utter darkness descended upon the earth. A once-in-a-lifetime phenomenon caused by geomagnetic disruptions kept the sun from rising. The darkness was suffocating, and the cold was unbearable. But it wasn’t the cold that broke people. It was the endless, maddening blackness that unleashed the ugliest parts of human nature. The city’s electricity grid, already strained from the heatwave, collapsed under the demand for heating. Solar panels and batteries were an option, but their limited capacity rendered them almost useless. Instead, the simplicity of candles and firewood proved far more reliable. I also stocked up on essential medicines from the pharmacy. To avoid drawing attention, I hired different drivers to deliver each truckload of supplies. It had been only two days since I began my preparations. Then, as if he’d suddenly remembered my existence, Liam called from next door, where he was happily playing surrogate father to Clara and Mia. “Jane, are you out partying so much you’ve forgotten your way home? Tomorrow’s going to hit 117°F! You’d better get out there and stock up on food and water for Clara and Mia before it’s too late!”

I found it laughable. Liam, who had spent the past two days practically living at Clara’s house, had the audacity to accuse me of neglecting my own home. Enjoying the bliss of playing husband and father to his “adopted” family, it seemed he had finally realized the looming danger of the heatwave. “Jane! Are you listening? Where are you? Go stock up on food and water before Clara and Mia starve!” His exasperated tone practically dripped through the phone. “Why can’t you be more like Clara? She knows how to take care of a family!” The irony wasn’t lost on me. Clara certainly knew how to “care” for a family, just never her own. And Liam had outdone himself with his double standards. When I prepared for the heatwave last time, I was “overreacting.” When I didn’t buy anything, I was “irresponsible.” It seemed that no matter what I did, I’d always be the villain in his eyes. A walking scapegoat for all his problems. He had probably despised me for long. After all, my existence prevented him from living with Clara and Mia. If that was the case, why not live life on my own terms? I didn’t bother arguing. “Didn’t you see my message? I’m out of town on business and can’t get away. Besides, the stores are almost emptied by now. Why don’t you and Clara try a few more places? You might get lucky.” I figured this would be my last act of kindness. After all, we had been married for years. Tomorrow, the temperature was set to soar to 124°F, hot enough to fry an egg on the pavement. For safety reasons, stores would close, and people would barricade themselves indoors. But Liam couldn’t care less. He was still preoccupied with doting on his “goddaughter.” “It’s Mia’s first Children’s Day since her father passed,” he said stubbornly. “Clara and I promised to spend it with her. If you can’t handle a simple task like this, don’t bother coming home!” “Oh, so I’m still your wife when you need a servant?” I thought. I rolled my eyes, hung up, and unwrapped a popsicle. Let him make his choice. Playtime or survival? I wasn’t about to save someone so determined to dig his own grave. The first day of the heatwave arrived, and the government announced a halt to work and school. Strangely, some people saw this as a cause for celebration. Under the searing sun, they danced and partied in the streets. It didn’t take long for the first person to collapse. Then, the second. And the third. Panic spread. People began to realize this wasn’t something worth celebrating. Animals lay dead on the streets, their bodies bloated and scorched. The stench of decay filled the air, forcing people indoors. By the second day, whispers of prayer and chants for salvation began to echo in the silence. Meanwhile, I sat in the guest room of my well-stocked villa, savoring delicious food with the AC on full blast while watching the surveillance footage. Then, I found out that Clara and Mia had already moved into my house.

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I had proposed to my childhood sweetheart, Brenda Schultz, countless times. It wasn’t until my 99th attempt that she finally said yes. But on that very day, another piece of news shot became a hashtag: “Dexter Greville, the once-proud heir to the Greville family who had fallen to the status of a servant’s son, proposed to Brenda.” In the news footage, my fiancée Brenda covered her lips with trembling hands, blushing as she accepted the ring Dexter offered her. Behind them, their parents and friends were all offering their blessings. What they didn’t know was that Brenda had also agreed to marry me. Later, Brenda shamelessly explained, “Dexter has cancer. I’m just playing along to make him happy.” However, when I left, she draped herself around Dexter’s neck and cooed, “I’ve set my wedding with Kendrick for three days from now. “I only agreed to his proposal, so I could see you try to stop it. Isn’t that romantic?” When I heard that, I finally gave up. I picked up my phone and made a call. “I’m getting married in three days. Are you coming? I need a bride.” On my wedding day, when I was preparing to marry another woman, Brenda lost her mind.

“Kendrick, can you stop being so unreasonable?” Brenda snapped. “Dexter has cancer. He’s dying! This is his last wish. I just want to make him happy! “You already took his place as the Greville heir. I’ve even agreed to marry you. What more do you want?” Brenda rushed back as soon as she got my call. Storming into the room, she yanked off her engagement ring and threw it onto the couch, her frustration spilling out. “Yes, I know you’ve suffered a lot in the past, but what does that have to do with Dexter? “Do you really need to take out all your resentment and anger on an innocent man?” I am Kendrick Greville. Dexter was my non-biological brother, and Brenda was the woman I’d been in love with for many years. When I was born, Dexter’s mother, Laura Ruiz, worked as a servant in my family’s household. Taking advantage of her position, she swapped me and Dexter. I was abandoned in the countryside and grew up as a penniless orphan, while Dexter became the pampered heir to a wealthy family. Perhaps out of guilt, Laura adopted me, but she never treated me kindly. My childhood was a nightmare. She would beat me over nothing, whip me with thorn-covered switches, and in the dead of winter, she would throw me out, bruised and shivering, without so much as a sip of warm water. During those bleak years, Brenda was my only source of light. She was my neighbor. Her mother was a gambling addict, and her stepfather was a violent drunk. Whenever they fought, she became their punching bag. I would stand in front of her to shield her from the blows, and she would often sneak food to me when I was starving. We supported each other through those long, harsh years. When my true identity was revealed, and I returned to the Greville family, I brought Brenda out of that miserable environment, too. I insisted on making her my girlfriend, supported her financially, and provided her with an education. I spoiled her, turning her into a refined and affluent lady. She once cupped my face with tears in her eyes and told me I was the light of her life. She said she couldn’t live without me. That’s why I never understood why she always hesitated and found excuses every time I proposed to her. But now, I finally understood. I realized my fiancée had fallen in love with the servant’s son who had stolen my life.

As I watched Brenda’s impatient expression, a dull ache began to rise in my chest. Instead of answering her questions directly, I reached out and smoothed her disheveled hair. “Do you remember what you said to me when I returned to the Greville family?” Even after regaining my rightful identity, I never truly became part of the family. My parents preferred the son they had raised themselves. When the truth came out, Dexter faced no consequences. They still took him to social events, and the dinner table was always filled with the dishes he loved but would trigger my allergies. Back then, Brenda would hold my hand tenderly and tell me, “It’s okay. Even if the whole world doesn’t love you, I will. I’ll always stay by your side.” But now, even the one person who had stood by me had switched sides. Brenda frowned slightly, avoiding my hand as a flicker of unease crossed her face. “I remember,” she replied reluctantly. “Of course I do, but… “Dexter’s situation is dire. We should prioritize his need.” Perhaps realizing she’d been too harsh, she softened her expression and spoke gently, “Don’t worry. I only said yes to Dexter to give him some comfort. The person I’m marrying is still you.” But I knew she was lying. Even though her words professed love, the impatience in her eyes and her thinly veiled resistance told the truth. I realized that she no longer loved me. Brenda’s phone buzzed on the table. Dexter’s face appeared on the screen, but she quickly covered it up, saying evasively, “It’s probably my parents asking about the wedding arrangements. You should go prepare…” She paused briefly, then added with a meaningful look, “I’ll give you a surprise on our wedding day.” With that, Brenda left in a hurry. I frowned, uneasy. I felt something was off, so I followed her. As I’d suspected, she drove away in a rush and headed to a private suite. When I reached the door, I heard laughter inside. Someone said, “Dexter, are you really planning to crash the wedding that day?”

Inside, Brenda sat beside Dexter. Dexter toyed with her fingers, raising an eyebrow with a smirk. “I always keep my promises. Don’t you think so?” Their friends burst into laughter, chiming in, “We just don’t get it. If you’re going to be together, why make Brenda accept Kendrick’s proposal? Isn’t all this a hassle?” I knew his reason. Because I had taken his place as the Greville heir, Dexter was determined to take away the one person I cherished most. He had fooled my parents with his innocence and deceived Brenda with excuses, but he couldn’t fool me. Of course, Dexter didn’t admit any of this. Instead, he said dramatically, “Crashing the wedding is romantic, isn’t it? “It makes our love story more epic. Don’t you think so?” Their laughter erupted again. Someone turned to Brenda and asked, “Aren’t you worried Kendrick will be furious? Running off with Dexter at the wedding would publicly humiliate him. No man could tolerate that.” Brenda leaned into Dexter’s arms, gazing up at him shyly before replying, “I’ll do whatever makes Dexter happy.” Upon hearing this, I felt my heart sank. Their laughter became a cruel mockery of me. Stumbling backward, I staggered out of place, dazed. Images of Brenda blushing as she accepted Dexter’s ring and their schemes for the wedding flashed through my mind. The cold winter wind cut through me, seeping into my bones. I closed my eyes, but their words echoed in my ears. They said, “Mr. and Mrs. Greville also know about this. “They agreed because they wanted to fulfill Dexter’s last wish. “With Dexter’s parents on your side, what’s there to worry about?” Now I understood why my parents had attended Dexter’s proposal. No one truly loved me. To them, I was merely a steppingstone for Dexter’s happiness. My parents and my friends were all the same. I used to think Brenda was different. But after twenty years together, after all the love I’d given her, she had said, “I’ll do whatever makes Dexter happy.” I thought, “Then let me grant them their wish.” A loud car horn jolted me back to reality. I opened my eyes and found myself standing in the middle of the road. Taking a deep breath, I pushed the ache in my heart aside. Finally, I made a call. “I’m getting married in three days. “Are you coming? I need a bride.”

In order to create the dramatic effect Dexter wanted, my wedding was arranged to be exceptionally grand. My parents even arranged for the media to broadcast the event live. Our relatives and friends, well aware of the underlying tension, were ready to witness the spectacle of a dramatic wedding crash. Everyone assumed I was oblivious to the scheme. Brenda arrived early and changed into her wedding gown. In the private area designated for wedding preparations, she and Dexter enjoyed themselves with passionate sex. When I arrived, she emerged from the room, her face flushed. The sight of me startled her, and she stammered nervously, “The light in the room went out. I was scared of being alone, so I called Dexter to help fix it.” Feigning ignorance, I nodded in acknowledgment. Brenda flashed me a smile and slid her arm through mine. She pressed the wedding ring into my palm. “When we’re up there, kneel down and slip this onto my finger, okay?” I knew this was part of their carefully crafted plan. Dexter intended to burst onto the scene just as I was kneeling to propose. He wanted to snatch Brenda away in the most dramatic fashion possible. That was their idea of romance. I agreed, and as Brenda smiled contentedly, preparing to leave, I stopped her. Looking straight into her eyes, I asked, “You once said I was the light of your life. You said you couldn’t live without me. Was that true?” She froze for a moment. We had been together for so many years that whatever passion we once shared had long since withered. I doubted she even remembered her own promises. Forcing a smile, she replied half-heartedly, “Of course. Now hurry up and get ready. The ceremony is about to begin.” I watched her retreating figure and couldn’t help but smile bitterly. I wondered if her old promises ever held any truth.

The wedding began with elegant music drifting through the venue. Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, Brenda approached me with a smile. But I could tell her anticipation wasn’t to be my bride. Her gaze lingered on Dexter, filled with unspoken anticipation. When it was time to exchange rings, the entire room held its breath. Dexter stared at me intently, poised to step in and execute his plan. Brenda extended her hand to me, the romantic melody shifting into a more suspenseful tune. But I didn’t move. Brenda grew impatient, whispering urgently, “Kendrick, what’s wrong? Put the ring on me!” Still, I said nothing. In the audience, my father stood abruptly, his frustration evident. “Kendrick, what are you doing? Everyone’s waiting!” As I remained motionless, whispers of confusion spread among the guests. Brenda, now visibly flustered, gave me a reproachful look. “Kendrick, what’s the matter with you? Isn’t this what you wanted? Today is our wedding! Everyone is watching. Don’t humiliate me like this!” I let out a weary laugh. So, they were aware that disrupting the ceremony would humiliate the couple involved. Yet they went ahead with their plan, anyway, caring little for my dignity. Once the murmurs of the crowd subsided, I finally spoke, “I’m sorry, but my bride hasn’t arrived yet. Could we wait a little longer for her?” Brenda’s face paled with disbelief. The audience erupted in shock, unsure of what was happening. Just then, the hotel doors burst open. A familiar figure, wearing a dazzling wedding gown, strode in. “Kendrick, I’m here to marry you!”

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It’s 11 PM, and my wife still hasn’t come home. I call her, and she mumbles something about a company party, saying she can’t get away. I don’t call her out on it. I silently watch as my wife of 5 years, whom I’ve known for 9, enters a bar arm-in-arm with another man. “I think it’ll be a few more hours. Don’t wait up for me, go to bed,” she says hurriedly before hanging up. Tonight marks the 11th time this month she’s come home late. It’s also the last chance I’m giving her. At 4 AM, Claire finally returns. For the first time, she rushes straight to the bathroom to shower. The clothes she casually tossed on the couch are missing the stockings she wore when she left. I let out a bitter laugh, grab her clothes, and throw them in the washing machine before preparing some hangover pills for her. “Jack, you’re the best!” Claire suddenly hugs me from behind. Her voice is still sweet and melodious: “You’re up so late and even prepared hangover pills for me. You’re going to spoil me!” I’m not as enthusiastic as I used to be and coldly push her away. “Just take the pills.” “Your stomach isn’t good. If you drink without taking hangover pills, you won’t be able to sleep tonight.” Claire smiles and, like an obedient kitten, leans on the table to drink some water. She rambles on, “Work’s been so busy lately. If it’s not overtime, it’s company events. I probably won’t even get a break this weekend. It’s exhausting…” I remember she said the same thing last week. Worried about her irregular meals, I went to bring her lunch, only to discover she had never worked overtime. Her empty desk had only a photo frame with a picture of her and Zack. Her colleague said she hadn’t changed it in years. “If you’re that tired, just be honest about it.” “Huh? Honest about what?” Claire’s watery eyes suddenly widen. “About you and Zack. Isn’t it exhausting to lie every day? Drinking until this late and still having to come up with excuses for me seems unnecessary.” I point to the pills, telling Claire to remember where they’re kept so she can find them herself next time she drinks. “Jack, stop it!” “What are you doing? Are you leaving me?” Claire grabs my arm and hugs it, her eyes turning red. Years of marriage make me hold back from lashing out: “I can’t keep a woman whose heart I couldn’t warm in 9 years.” “What nonsense are you talking about? I’m not that kind of woman!” Claire lets go of my hand and glares at me angrily: “Haven’t I explained it to you? Zack and I are just friends. He just came back from abroad and doesn’t have a place to stay or a job yet, so I’ve only met him a few times to help him out.” “Can’t you act like a man? Stop being so jealous for no reason. It’s really unattractive!” She frowns, looking disgusted. The last time I caught her lying about meeting Zack, she gave a similar excuse. But if they’re just friends, why does she keep lying over and over? Why does she come home later and later? I let out a bitter laugh, unable to hold back anymore. “Then let’s get divorced. Go find your ‘attractive’ Zack!” Her childhood sweetheart, whom she hasn’t seen in years, is nothing but a deadbeat who lives off his parents and spends his days and nights in bars and clubs. Yet somehow, she’s still drawn to him. “Divorce?” “Jack, stop acting like a jealous woman! Just because I came home a bit late, you’re talking about divorce? This will only make me hate you!” Claire grabs the water glass and smashes it on the ground. “I’m your wife, not your pet. You don’t get to control who I hang out with!” “Instead of watching me like a hawk every day, why don’t you focus on improving yourself?” After shouting, Claire storms into the guest room and locks the door. The heart I thought couldn’t hurt anymore suddenly aches again. She has a weak stomach, so I’ve cooked for her every day for 9 years. She has a princess complex, so I never forget to give her gifts on every holiday. Whatever she wants, I work myself to the bone to get it for her. But even so, I can’t replace her childhood sweetheart’s photo on her desk. “Sigh… Let it be.” I take a deep breath and start packing my bags. “Jack, it’s been so long. Why haven’t you come to comfort me yet?” “In the past, no matter how angry I got, you’d never leave me alone for more than 10 minutes.” “Do you really not want me anymore?” Looking at the messages Claire sent, I can imagine her tear-stained, pitiful face. I think back to last month when she lied about working overtime on a weekend. I saw her cuddling with Zack in a 24-hour bar, intimately embracing. At that moment, I seemed to go crazy and rushed over, grabbing Zack’s collar and demanding to know who he was. Claire panicked and pushed me away, firmly shielding Zack. “He’s my good friend! If there’s anything to discuss, let’s do it at home. Don’t make a scene and embarrass Zack here!” Her determination to protect Zack was just like how I used to protect her. Afterwards, she left with Zack, abandoning me, her husband, on the spot, like a joke watching his love walk away hand in hand with another man. That time, I first thought about divorce. But as soon as I brought it up, Claire locked herself in the guest room, crying and wailing. She said I was the one she loved most, and she only hid her meeting with an old friend because she didn’t want me to be angry. She said she had some drinks and her stomach hurt badly. After 9 years of love, my heart instantly crumbled at her tears. So I believed her one last time. But… There won’t be a second time. “Jack, you know I’m not asleep. Why aren’t you coming to comfort me?” “I really haven’t done anything to betray you with Zack. I won’t hide it from you when I meet him in the future, so you won’t be suspicious anymore.” “My stomach hurts again. Can you bring me another hangover pill?” When Claire came to me with teary eyes, I was writing her a note. It had recipes for her favorite foods. The dates of her menstrual cycle. The location of her stomach medicine and the dosage for each time… She never paid attention to these trivial life details, used to being pampered and cared for by me. “Didn’t I already tell you where the medicine is?” I handed her the note I’d written: “From now on… you’ll have to learn to take care of yourself.” Claire froze, not reaching out to take the note. I simply placed it on the table, stood up, and grabbed my suitcase to leave. Only then did she react, gently pulling at me, her red-rimmed eyes brimming with tears: “You even packed your bags? Do you really not want me anymore? Are you really divorcing me?” Her tears fell. In the past, when she cried like this, I would inevitably soften. But this time, I just calmly said: “Yes, Claire. I gave you chances. But now, I’ve had enough.” With that, I pushed her hand away without a hint of lingering attachment. “Enough, Jack! How many times do I have to tell you? Zack is my best friend. I haven’t betrayed you or done anything inappropriate!” Claire suddenly shouted out of control: “Yes, I’ve been closer to him, and we did have a relationship in the past, but that’s all in the past.” “If I really couldn’t let him go, why wouldn’t I just divorce you and be with Zack?” As she spoke, she angrily pushed me. The broken glass shards from earlier hadn’t been cleaned up, and I stepped on them, unable to react in time. They pierced through my shoe and deeply into the sole of my foot. Blood slowly seeped out, like a mirror reflecting my tall but thin figure. For these 9 years, I’ve treated Claire as the most important thing in my life, working myself to the bone to give her a better life, and taking on all the housework after getting off work. Without realizing it, my back had become slightly hunched from exhaustion. “I guess it’s because you’re used to being taken care of by me, treating me like a housekeeper…” Other than that, I couldn’t think of a second reason. “No, Jack, that’s not it.” “I’m with you because I love you. I can’t leave you…” Claire’s voice trembled slightly as she spoke, crouching down to examine the wound on the sole of my foot. There seemed to be a hint of concern in her eyes. “Jack, I’ll go get the first aid kit and bandage it for you.” Claire stood up and ran to the living room, but just as she opened the TV cabinet, her phone rang. She immediately forgot about my injury and ran to the bathroom to answer. The voice on the other end was loud, and I could tell it was a drunk Zack. “Do you have any money left, Claire? I couldn’t sleep because I missed you so much, so I went to the bar for a few drinks. But I accidentally drank too much and don’t have enough money…” As soon as Zack finished speaking, Claire rushed out of the bathroom, her eyes full of urgency as she ran to the entrance to change her shoes. Opening the door, she remembered me and gave me a casual glance. “Jack, can you bandage it yourself? I have an urgent matter to attend to, something very important.” I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. “Go ahead, remember to drink some warm milk when you come back. You’ve been drinking and haven’t slept all night, your stomach will—” She didn’t even have the patience to listen to me finish and hurried off to Zack. It was clear who was more important in her heart. The blood on the sole of my foot spread again, forming the shape of a blood flower. As if mourning our completely dead marriage. Goodbye, Claire. I pushed my suitcase, waved goodbye to the home we’d lived in for 5 years, and left without any regrets.

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After My CEO Girlfriend Let Her Assistant Take My Project, I Quit, and the Company Went Bankrupt After securing a big project for the company, I received a ring from my girlfriend, Pamela Carlson. Overjoyed, I posted it on Instagram, thinking that she was finally ready to announce our engagement. But then, my girlfriend’s new male assistant, Russell Burnett, slapped me across the face and flipped my desk. He said, “Scott Hebert, you’re the director for crying out loud! Stealing a gift meant for me from my wife, do you have any shame?” Not only did my girlfriend not defend me, but she also said I wasn’t worthy of my position and publicly announced that her assistant would be taking over the project I had just landed. It was then that I realized. The person my girlfriend wanted to announce wasn’t me but him. Soon, the whole company was watching, phones in hand, enjoying the spectacle. But I wasn’t angry. Instead, I calmly shoved my ID badge into the assistant’s arms. I said, “So, you’re the president’s worthy partner now. I’ll consider the director position as my apology. Wishing you both a lifetime of happiness.”

Seeing my unexpected reaction, a colleague shocked me by pulling me aside and whispering, “Don’t act impulsively. It’s just one project. We can always negotiate another.” But he didn’t know I wasn’t acting on impulse. The day before, I had overheard my girlfriend’s assistant talking to her in her office. He said, “Pamela, I want to make a name for myself. If you hand me this new project, I’ll make sure it succeeds, and you’ll be impressed.” At the time, I didn’t think much of it. I had been Pamela’s secret boyfriend for seven years. I turned down offers from big companies to help her start this one. I was the one who brought in 90% of the projects for the company, and she knew how hard it had been for me. She was a principled person and would never mess with something as serious as a project. Besides, she had once lost a project to people who used flattery to climb the ranks. She hated that kind of behavior. So, when I received the ring from Pamela, I thought she had finally realized that I was the one for her and was ready to settle down with me. I had no idea that Russell would turn the tables on me, accusing me of stealing and humiliating me in front of everyone. I also never imagined that Russell, who had only been with the company for a few months, could make Pamela abandon all her principles for him. At that point, I figured I had nothing left to stay for there. Pamela still didn’t realize that their childish plan had been exposed. She thought I was just being jealous. She suddenly furrowed her brow and looked at me. “Why are you acting so dramatic?” Ever since Russell came into the picture, she had started looking at me with suspicion. I didn’t bother to argue anymore. I simply said, calmly, “I really did give it to him.” I had given him both my girlfriend and my position. I wasn’t planning to stay any longer. Just as I was about to leave, Pamela coldly grabbed my arm and pulled me into her office. The company was not large, and the office soundproofing was not good, either. As soon as she closed the door, the employees outside, who had been watching, started chatting excitedly, praising Russell and asking when they’d be getting married and having kids. Russell shyly replied, “Having kids is tough on the woman. I can’t decide when that’ll happen.” He acted like he was Pamela’s real boyfriend, and with her tacit approval, the employees believed it without question. Pamela, sensing my silence, paused while pouring water. Realizing that she owed me an explanation, her usual strong tone softened as she said, “Russell’s just kidding. He doesn’t know any better. He was just joking around, don’t take it seriously. He has relatives at Nebula Group, and it’s thanks to him that we got this project.” I looked at her, speechless. What a joke! Nebula Group, the main client, had its own professional technical department and never needed to outsource. From the start, they had rejected the collaboration. It was me, stubbornly insisting and trying everything I could, sending gifts, begging for meetings, that finally got a chance to talk with the project manager. He generously gave me thirty seconds to present our product. After seeing my capabilities, he offered me a high price but couldn’t poach me, which was when he agreed to the deal. I had been working overtime, running around day and night for the project, but she saw none of it. Russell casually mentioned his relatives, and she believed every word. If she had just thought for a second, she would have understood clearly that if Russell really had those connections, he wouldn’t be working as an assistant in this small, rundown company. Or maybe she understood everything but was just pretending to be clueless. Seeing that I didn’t speak for a while, Pamela looked down for a moment and then stood up and made me a cup of coffee. She leaned in close and whispered in my ear, “We’re just acting. The person I’m really going to marry is you.” In the past, every time we argued, when she softened her tone and made promises, I always forgave her. So, she probably thought it would be the same this time. With a casual wave of her hand, she said, “Get back to work. I’ll take care of the project.” But what she didn’t know was I no longer wanted her. I pushed my chair back, stood up, and said, “No need to make a big deal out of it. I’ll just leave.” With that, I pulled out my resignation form, quickly filled it out, and, without hesitation, turned and walked out of the office.

When Russell saw me leaving, he rushed over, blocking my way, and said with a pretend look of grievance, “Scott, I know you’re an expert. You’re right, I’m not fit for the position of tech director. I’ll give it back to you.” He grabbed his ID badge and tried to push it towards me. I just gave him a light push, and he stumbled, falling over the chair and knocking over the computer, causing a commotion among the colleagues around us. Russell quickly got up. Facing the concerned looks from his coworkers, he waved his hand with a smile, saying it was no big deal. Pamela, startled by the noise, hurried over in her four-inch-high heels. After confirming that Russell was fine, she furrowed her brows and glared at me. “Scott, don’t think you can do whatever you want just because you’re an old employee.” The colleagues around us immediately started to chime in, “Yeah, Scott, the changeover is for the company’s growth. Don’t use your seniority to bully the new guys.” The harshest words came from Alan Jordan, whom I had trained. “It’s just a few projects. Do you really think you are the boss now? You’ve gotten addicted to forming cliques, huh? You can’t even respect a genius like Russell?” We had worked together for many years, and I was the top sales performer. In the past, everyone would respectfully call me Scott whenever they saw me. Now, they all watched me with glee, hoping I would leave right away. It didn’t matter. Let them say whatever they wanted. I wasn’t going to play along anymore. I left the company without saying a word. Pamela hurried after me. When she saw that there was no one else around, she rubbed her forehead and said, “You’ve just been working too hard lately. I’ll approve some time off for you. Take a break. Today is the seventh anniversary of our relationship. Stay home and wait for me. I’ve prepared a surprise for you.” As she finished speaking, the elevator arrived, and I stepped in without saying a word. At home, I made myself something to eat. I didn’t wait for her, and she didn’t come back until it was dark. I put on my shoes and tidied up before heading out to meet the client. On the way, I ran into a colleague. The boy was a bit slow on the uptake, so he didn’t distance himself like the others. He greeted me cheerfully. “Scott, you’re going to Mr. Burnett’s promotion party thrown by Ms. Carlson, right? Let’s go together. We’ll split the cost of the ride.” He was excited about not having to take the subway anymore, but I shook my head and said, “No.” He gave me an awkward glance and asked, “Didn’t Ms. Carlson invite you?” I shook my head indifferently and walked away. I faintly heard him muttering, “Pamela really does protect her men.” But I didn’t turn around. She never defended anyone except Russell. For Russell, she would do anything, even stand me up, which wasn’t a one-time thing. When I was hospitalized with pneumonia, she said she would visit after a meeting, but I waited until morning before she finally showed up. She claimed she had been working late, but in reality, she had been watching a movie with Russell. Not long ago, we had planned to take a couple’s photo shoot. I waited in my suit until the store closed, and then she casually strolled in, saying work had delayed her. In fact, she had been shopping with Russell, picking out some clothes for him. There were countless similar incidents. Every time I questioned her, she would scold me, saying, “Work is more important.” This kind of relationship was just exhausting. At the café, the head of the client team looked at the progress I had submitted and couldn’t stop praising it. “Scott, have you ever thought about switching jobs? Your salary could multiply tenfold.” This time, I didn’t refuse. The client head was happy to hear my response and said we could discuss any conditions I had. After the meeting, I went home. Pamela had already packed the food and was sitting on the sofa waiting for me. Once again, she was late. In the past, she would offer excuses, but this time, she didn’t say a word. After a brief silence, she pushed the food box toward me. “You must be tired, don’t cook. Just heat this up and eat.” I looked down at the food. The plastic container held a mix of different dishes, unappealingly thrown together. There were stir-fried and boiled dishes and even a piece of pie soaked in soup. It was obvious that they didn’t finish the food, and she packed it up carelessly. She hadn’t even bothered to pack the food separately, just shoved everything into one big box. It was so unappetizing. I waved my hand. “No need, I’ve already eaten.” Pamela gave me a long, deep look. Her usual coldness gave way to a rare moment of softness as she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around my waist. “Sorry. He just got promoted, so I had to make an appearance as his boss. I know you’ve had a tough day, so let’s go get our marriage certificate this weekend.” Ha! It sounded so sweet. But when I got promoted to director, I was so happy that I threw a celebration for myself. I eagerly sat in the private room, waiting as the waiter reheated the dishes five times. By the time the restaurant closed, none of my colleagues had shown up. The messages I sent out were met with silence. Some kind-hearted colleagues quietly asked if I had offended the CEO. I was confused at the time, but later, I found out. While I was away from the office, she coldly scolded every colleague who had planned to attend the dinner. “Is the workload too light for you? Got too much free time? Always thinking about food, drinks, and fun. Are you all that useless? You’re just wasting the company’s money. You’d be better off leaving now!” Thinking back on it, I pushed her hand away from my waist, which had been groping me, and said coldly, “No need for that, Pamela. Let’s break up. ”

The atmosphere in the room instantly froze. Pamela gasped, her controlled emotions finally spilling over. “I’ve sacrificed all this for the company’s growth. Other people’s boyfriends would be happy, but you just don’t get it!” I didn’t bother with her twisted logic. She continued talking about how important the company’s development was, and how, once the company went public, I’d have a place in it. I was sick of hearing it, so I raised my hand to interrupt her. “I don’t need that. I’m packing up and moving out now.” Pamela had been the boss for so many years, and it was the first time her words were interrupted. Her face turned bright red with anger. She glared at me for a long while before letting out a cold snort. “No need. I’ll just leave!” With a bang, she slammed the door behind her. I didn’t chase after her. I quietly packed my things. The client had arranged a free, luxury single dorm room for me, and I could move in at any time. Just as I finished packing, I called the moving company. By the time most of my stuff was moved, I happened to run into Russell dropping Pamela off at home. They walked side by side, fingers interlaced, chatting and laughing. Pamela, usually cold and distant, was now looking down with a soft smile, standing next to Russell with the look of someone who was relying on him, the image of a gentle and obedient woman. Russell was the first to notice me and deliberately tightened his grip. Pamela, sensing something was off, followed his gaze and saw me. She quickly pulled her hand away. She walked up to me, ready to explain as usual, but when she saw me loading my things into the car, she froze for a moment before asking, “Where are you going so late?” Really? Couldn’t she see the moving company’s big sign on the side of the van? I was about to continue moving my things when Pamela blocked my way, suddenly shoving a bag of clothes into my hands. When I didn’t move, she took the clothes back and held them up to me. “I know you’ve been busy and haven’t had time to buy clothes. I passed by the mall and picked these up for you.” Bought for me? I wore XL sizes, but this brand of shirt was an M. On the receipt from the bag, the last four digits of the card used to pay were Pamela’s, and the total came to over ten thousand dollars. This wasn’t just a casual buy, was it? She probably picked it out for me while shopping with Russell. She was really generous. Just two days ago, I bought a 200-dollar shirt and asked her if it looked good. She’d scolded me for wasting money and lectured me for over an hour about how hard it was to make money. She even said no matter how nice my clothes were, they weren’t as important as real ability. So, what was this now? Money was easy to make, huh? I shoved my hands in my pockets and looked at them coldly. “No need. As the saying goes, a person is judged by their clothes, a horse by its saddle, and a dog runs happily with a bell. You can keep such an expensive gift for Mr. Burnett.” Russell paused when he heard this, and after a long moment, he suddenly threw the shirt down in anger. “You dare insult me?” His eyes were red as he glared at me and rushed toward me, ready to strike. I stayed where I was, and with one slap, he fell to the ground. “Not just that, I’d dare to hit you, too.” Russell was as thin as sticks. The only reason he could hit me earlier was because I was caught off guard. Now, I gave him a slap right back. Pamela screamed and rushed to hold Russell her face full of concern. “Scott! Let’s talk this out! Why are you hitting him? If you’re leaving, then leave, but don’t come back!” She didn’t need to say more. I wasn’t planning on returning. I turned around, got into the moving truck, and drove off toward a new life.

After I left, I directly joined the client’s company and was entrusted with an important role. Back at Pamela’s company, as the client, I was welcomed by the receptionist. As I walked into the office area, I saw Russell, now wearing a director’s badge, walking confidently between the employees’ desks, giving orders. “Make this logo a bit bigger but shrink that part. I didn’t say pure black. I meant the kind of iridescent black like a crow’s wings. “After looking at it again, the first version is still better overall. But I like the font from the seventh version, and the color from the sixteenth. Get it to me by the end of the day.” The office was filled with tension and frustration. Someone couldn’t hold back and retorted, “This design was approved by the client a long time ago. The main issue now is the program’s stability.” Russell snorted, “The client is just a nouveau riche. Does he even understand what true art is? I’m the one overseeing this, with my top-tier aesthetic sense. The client will definitely be satisfied. Maybe if he’s happy, he’ll even give us a bonus.” Please! Our company developed a new system just to make life easier for users, not to host an art exhibition online! And besides the colorful, illegible text, were they trying to contribute to the ophthalmology department at the hospital? With Russell’s level of work, it was no wonder the results were getting worse. The program crashed as soon as it started, and the quality had drastically fallen apart. A colleague spotted me, and the hostile glares I once received were now replaced with looks of desperation. As for Alan, the employee I had trained who used to talk big, he had been kicked out of the core team and was now relegated to fetching coffee with his own money. Russell gave me a contemptuous glance. “I guess I should recommend to Ms. Carlson that we need a security position. Otherwise, anyone and everyone will just waltz in.” The receptionist bent over, about to remind him to be careful with his words since I was representing the client. But before she could say anything, Pamela strutted by in sky-high heels, clearly thinking I had come to apologize. She scoffed, “Well, well, if it isn’t Mr. Hebert! Realized how tough it is to find a job now, so you’re back, huh?” Russell let out a chuckle and said in a seemingly kind tone, “I’ve always believed in Scott’s abilities. I think we can offer him a supervisory role. If he works under me, it won’t take long before he’ll make a name for himself.” Pamela crossed her arms, looking at me with disdain. “A supervisor? He’s not even close to being worthy of that! He can come back, but he’ll have to start from the bottom as an entry-level employee, with half the salary and no performance bonuses.” The other colleagues gasped, quickly distancing themselves from me, afraid the bad luck would rub off on them. I couldn’t hold back a laugh. Pamela still had no idea that I had transformed into her client, no longer that obedient little follower. Pamela raised an eyebrow, curious. “What are you laughing at?” I quietly pulled a contract out of my briefcase and slapped it onto the table. “Let me reintroduce myself. I’m Scott, the Director of the Technical Department at Nebula Group. I’m here to inform you project suspended, and contract terminated.”

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After my son went off to college, I gave him $2,000 a month for living expenses. Once he started dating, he’d always come to me, complaining, “Mom, how can I date with so little money? If you want a grandson, you better send me another $2,000!” To support his extravagant university lifestyle, I downloaded every loan app available and took out loans in his name. I did all this because I had sacrificed so much for him in the past. After graduating, he refused to get a job, insisting he needed to tackle life’s big milestones, like marriage and having kids. My husband and I reluctantly made the down payment when housing prices were at their highest. But when he couldn’t keep up with the mortgage payments, he turned violent towards me and his father, accusing us, “If you hadn’t bought me such an expensive house, would I be feeling this much pressure?” “I can’t repay it. You go earn money to pay it back for me, or I’ll hand this house back to you!” I was forced to work three jobs daily and eventually collapsed from exhaustion at work. This time, I made sure to damage his credit report first. Let’s see how he plans to secure a loan for another house now.

“Mom, I’m out of money this month. Could you send some more?” “Send a thousand, no, make it two thousand. The cafeteria food is awful and has given me diarrhea for three days. Eating out is expensive, but at least it doesn’t make me sick.” It’s only the 10th, and my son is already calling again. He’s a sophomore this year. Initially, his living expenses were $2,000, but in less than a year, he complained it wasn’t enough. It went up to $3,000, and even that barely lasts ten days now. In the past, I would have lectured him for ten minutes about saving money, reminding him how hard we work to earn it. But this time, I didn’t say anything. I calmly replied, “Okay, hold on. I’ll go get some cash for you.” I went to the app store, downloaded over ten loan apps, entered his ID, and borrowed $5,000. I sent him $2,000. He didn’t say a word, just a cold transaction on the screen. I took out a journal and noted the first loan for today. All of this because, in a previous life, I worked hard to put him through university. He insisted on getting married and brought home a pregnant Emily. The first thing he said was, “We need $30,000 for the bride price and a $200,000 house.” We didn’t have that kind of money, but seeing the young girl’s tearful face and my son’s pleading, I softened. We borrowed from every relative, scraping together $120,000—$30,000 for the bride price, the rest for the house’s down payment. My son was deeply moved. “Thank you, Mom and Dad. I’ll be a good son to you for life. You can relax at home and enjoy your grandchildren.” We couldn’t relax. We hustled to repay the relatives. Just as we thought we could catch a breath, my son came crying again. “Mom, help me. The mortgage is too much. I have a family to support. I just can’t keep up.” “Would you really let your son, grandson, and daughter-in-law be homeless?” “You and Dad work hard for a few more years, and once prices go up and salaries increase, the pressure will ease.” So, my husband and I went out again, financially supporting their little family. But after two years, not only did his salary not increase, but housing prices dropped, and the job market tightened. Someone in his neighborhood sold a similar house for $80,000. Worried about their pressure, I suggested selling our big house and moving to a smaller one. The difference could help pay his mortgage. But that led to him lashing out at us. “If you hadn’t bought such an expensive house for me, I wouldn’t be under this much pressure!” “I can’t pay it back. You go earn the money to pay it off, or I’ll just give the house back to you!” I took on another job. While washing dishes, I blacked out and collapsed.

As I watched my body fall, a colleague found me, and the boss immediately called an ambulance. But I knew I was dead. I saw my husband’s hair turn completely white overnight. He held my photo every day, not cooking or going to work, no matter how much our son berated him, he wouldn’t leave the house. Our son was busy. He dragged my body to the boss’s shop and left it there for two days. When the boss didn’t give in, he put up banners and made a ruckus every day. I watched as my son took the $50,000 the boss scraped together and left happily. He used it to eat and drink with his wife and son. No one cared that my body was still on the street. A young man finally informed my husband to retrieve me. After cremating and laying me to rest, my husband bashed his head against my tombstone and died. I woke up again, back to my son’s sophomore year. He had just secretly started dating a girl, doubling his living expenses. But at this point, our family still had some savings, and my husband and I hadn’t retired. We lived frugally, and things were manageable. I wasn’t that cruel. I just wanted to ruin his credit score so he couldn’t take out loans for a house. After he graduates, I won’t care about his life or death. After my son graduated, I put the house up for sale online. But three months before graduation, he brought Emily home. Emily, with a slightly bulging belly, timidly looked at me. “Hello, Auntie~” My son entered with a large bag of baby supplies. “Mom, Dad, this is Emily, your daughter-in-law.” “Hurry, call her Mom. This is your Dad. Don’t worry, my parents are really nice people.” Just as she was about to speak, I stopped her. “No, you haven’t even married yet. If word gets out, people will say we don’t have manners and bully young girls.” “Girl, sit down. I’ll get you some fruit.” At the dining table, I saw Emily repeatedly giving my son glances and occasionally making retching noises. I pretended not to notice, but eventually, my son couldn’t hold back. “Mom, I came back this time to get married. Emily is already carrying your grandson.” I rolled my eyes. In my past life, that grandson never called me Grandma. Whenever he saw me, it was like seeing trash—not a kick or spit. I thought he was just a kid, and I was too busy earning money to take him out to play like other grandmas, so I didn’t mind. Now that I think about it, this Emily, who gave such a great first impression, might not be as simple as I thought. “You’ve always taught me to be responsible as a man. You see if you can quickly contact Emily’s parents and set a date.” Yes, I taught him to be good to his wife and kids, and he did that. But I also taught him to be filial, yet he wouldn’t even take care of my corpse. “When are you and Dad available? I’ll talk to Emily’s parents.” “I’m free anytime. You decide and let us know.”

Emily got anxious but was too embarrassed to speak up, tugging at Michael Green’s sleeve. Michael Green looked at me, and I sipped my tea. “Mom, about the bride price, Emily said it’s quite high where she’s from.” I said, “Oh~” “If it weren’t for Emily being pregnant, I wouldn’t rely on you for everything.” “Don’t worry. Consider it a loan from you. I’ll repay it once I start working and earning.” I sighed. “Oh, Michael, let me be honest. Your university expenses were high these years, and we have no savings left.” He immediately changed his expression. “How much could I possibly spend each month? Are you just making excuses not to give?” “What kind of parents don’t prepare a house and car for their son, only caring about themselves?” “If I can’t marry, don’t expect me to support you in retirement.” “Go live in a dump!” I chuckled inside. This is my good son. If his parents don’t serve him as slaves, he shows his true colors. My husband couldn’t stand it and was about to speak, but I held his hand. “Son, it’s not that we’re not helping. We originally saved $50,000 for you.” “But look at how much you’ve spent over these years in university. Your monthly expenses are around $20,000. From sophomore year, for three years straight.” “And once, you said you broke your leg and needed surgery, so I transferred $5,000 to you. In total, it’s $52,000.” “Your marriage fund was spent by you. Where can we find money for the bride price now?” He was speechless, his face red. “If you don’t want to give, don’t. Why make so many excuses? How could I possibly spend over $50,000 in college?” “I’ve never seen parents like you. Since you don’t care, my son won’t acknowledge you. My son doesn’t have stingy grandparents. You don’t deserve it!” “Emily, let’s go! I can support you on my own!” “You both can keep your measly money to yourselves!” He slammed the door and left. Only Emily, looking pitiful, glanced back at me every few steps. After my son left, my husband was a bit upset with me. “Honey, don’t we still have savings? Why are you doing this to our son?” “Besides, nowadays, having a son means preparing a house and bride price for him.” “I’ve never met parents like you. Since you don’t care, my son won’t recognize you anymore. He won’t have stingy grandparents like you! You don’t deserve it!” “Lila, let’s go! I can take care of you myself!” “You two just hold onto your money and live your own lives!” With that, I slammed the door and left. Lila kept turning back to look at me, looking pitiful with every step she took. After our son left, my husband expressed his frustration. “Dear, we still have savings. Why are you making things hard for our son?” “Besides, it’s normal now for parents to prepare a house and wedding money for their sons.” “Look at what’s happened. He doesn’t want anything to do with us, and we won’t get to see our grandchild. When we’re old and sick, who will look after us?” I looked at my soft-hearted husband and asked, “Do you really think we can rely on a son like this for our care?” He didn’t have a reply, and after a while, he sighed. “Forget it. It’s fine with just the two of us. At least we won’t have so many worries.” 0

Isn’t it just a mess? In my previous life, he didn’t even claim my body, treating me only as a tool to extort money. We raised him for over twenty years, and he was less helpful than a dog. Just to be safe, I transferred most of the money to a card that neither my son nor my husband knew about. On the street, I saw a young man selling balloons in the cold wind. I was taken aback. It was the same young man from my past life who took care of my body after I died. Spring had just started, but it was still cold. He was wearing a thin black jacket. His face and nose were red from the cold. Since I wandered for a long time after my death in the last life, I know he has no parents. He only has an elderly grandmother at home, who is often sick and frail. So, he has to use all his time working. I took some free time, found his school, contacted his tutor, and quietly supported him. His name is Ethan, and he is currently a sophomore. He excels in his studies, receives a scholarship every year, and his tuition is waived. But because of his grandmother’s health, life is still challenging. I knew James wouldn’t let this go. After all, he hasn’t even graduated yet, so how could he support a wife and child? But I didn’t expect him to change so quickly. Within a week, he invited us to dinner at a hotel on Sunday night. I refused, but my husband is soft-hearted since we raised him ourselves. Parents can’t ignore their children’s major life events. I couldn’t convince him otherwise, so I had to go and let him see our son’s true nature. As soon as we entered, there was a strong smell of cigarette smoke. A young man, about twenty years old, with slicked-back hair. His feet were on the table, holding a cigarette. A heavily made-up middle-aged woman saw me but said nothing to me. Instead, she spoke to the boy. “Sit up; someone’s here.” After a while, our son came in. A woman’s voice rang out. “Let’s be clear, our family wants a $30,000 bride price, not a penny less.” “After all, we didn’t raise our daughter for free. Thirty thousand is not much.” “She’s carrying your family’s grandson now.” “And you can’t skimp on a house. My daughter won’t live with her in-laws! You need to prepare a big house, at least a hundred square meters.” “Otherwise, we won’t be able to stay when we visit her.” “Just write their names on it. If you agree, pay the bride price first, then we can discuss the wedding date.”

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Twenty-five years ago, the nanny secretly swapped me with her daughter, but my six-year-old brother discovered the trick and quietly swapped us back. Now, 25 years later, the nanny showed up at my door with her daughter, claiming I was the fake heir of Wales Group. Even the janitor at the company started whispering behind my back, criticizing my lipstick as cheap. My boyfriend, Collin Ross, even joined in to humiliate me. “You really thought you were the Wales family’s daughter? You’re not even worth a single strand of Erika’s hair!” After the paternity test results came out, everyone was stunned. Collin begged me, “Jessie, I was manipulated by that bitch! Please forgive me. Give me another chance.” I shot him a cold glance. “What kind of chance? You mean the chance to clean the toilet?” Just as I entered the company restroom, I ran into the new janitor, Erika Waston. Her gaze lingered on my lipstick. In a mocking tone, she said, “Ms. Wales, I didn’t expect someone of your status would use such cheap products. This lipstick is only 19.9 dollars for three with a gift box!” I didn’t believe her words. The lipstick was a special gift from Collin, personally selected by him through a luxury personal shopper. He said it cost 2,000 dollars for three. Seeing my face fall, Erika seemed to realize her mistake and hurriedly left. As I stepped out of the restroom, I saw Yolanda Hall standing at the baby care room door, looking furious. It was rare to see her so angry, so I gently asked her what happened, and she immediately vented her frustration. “I went to change a diaper in the room, and who would’ve thought I’d find a used condom on the changing table! Who’s that shameless? Doing that kind of thing in the baby care room! I’m so pissed off! I don’t even know if there’s some dirty disease involved!” As the VP of the company, my anger surged. I immediately called the security office to review the surveillance footage and find out what happened. After giving those instructions, I headed to Collin’s office to complain this to him. When I walked in, I saw Erika, now wearing a slightly transparent deep V-neck shirt, mopping the floor. Her cleavage was practically spilling out. Collin glanced up at me, his face turning pale as he wiped away some nosebleeds. “The weather’s been dry lately. You need to drink more water, Jessica. I didn’t hear you knock because I was busy working.” I didn’t question him. After all, we’d been together for eight years since college. “Did you forget it? I never knock when I come in here,” I replied. Collin visibly tensed up, and I was about to ask what was going on when Erika interrupted. She shot a sly remark. “Ms. Wales, when you buy cosmetics, you should really go to a counter. Don’t buy those cheap things online. After all, you’re putting it on your face; you can’t afford to skimp.” I froze for a second, realizing she was talking about my lipstick. That lipstick was a Valentine’s gift from Collin, not some cheap knockoff. I was about to clarify with Collin, but before I could speak, he quickly said, “Jessica, that proposal you mentioned earlier was good, but I think it still needs some adjustments.” His words distracted me, but I couldn’t find my pen. Erika, eager to help, volunteered to grab one for me. As she reached for it, she tripped and fell straight into Collin’s arms. Her tight deep-V shirt couldn’t contain the fall, and her buttons popped open, revealing a stunning view. Collin, flustered, tried to help her rebutton, but the more nervous he became, the harder it was to fix. Erika, equally flustered, struggled to fasten her shirt, but instead, she ended up gasping for breath.

I watched the awkward scene between the two of them and cleared my throat. Collin suddenly snapped back to reality and pushed Erika away. “Jessica, I was just trying to help her with her buttons. It wasn’t intentional,” he stammered. Before he could say more, I interrupted him. “Enough. Go get me a coffee.” I’d known Collin long enough to understand his character. I suspected Erika, the scheming woman, was behind this, and since we were alone, I’d finally get some answers. To my surprise, Erika got up and walked out ahead of Collin. “Ms. Wales, let me get it for you.” She returned quickly with a cup of coffee. I didn’t even need to look to know it was instant coffee, while I only drank freshly brewed. I frowned and didn’t touch the cup. Erika’s voice quivered as she said, “Ms. Wales, you don’t like the coffee I made? I washed my hands really well before making it.” Collin, who usually indulged me, chimed in, “Jessica, don’t be so hard on Erika. She’s never made coffee before, and she doesn’t know how to grind it. Just drink a little, for her sake.” Still, I didn’t respond, and Erika began apologizing, her voice filled with emotion. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Wales. I come from a poor family. I’ve never had enough to eat or warm clothes, and my mom was always beating or scolding me. I’ve never had anything as nice as coffee. Please don’t laugh at me.” I was stunned by her sudden emotional outburst, and though I didn’t understand, it seemed to have an effect on Collin. His tone grew sharp as he said, “Jessica, I didn’t expect you to be so heartless. It’s just a cup of coffee. Why make a fuss over it and make things difficult for a young girl? You’re a VP now. Don’t make things harder for your subordinates!” Without another word, he grabbed the coffee and drank it all in one gulp. I couldn’t believe his reaction. But what shocked me more was Erika’s: she lunged forward, snatched the cup from Collin, and shouted, “Mr. Ross, don’t drink it! Please don’t!” Collin and I both stared at her in confusion. Her eyes darted around, obviously guilty. I immediately checked the surveillance footage. As I suspected, Erika had used toilet water to make the coffee. Fuming, I demanded, “Why did you do this? You better explain yourself, now!” I was about to call the police when Collin snatched my phone away. “Jessica, Erika’s young and ignorant. You don’t need to make a big deal out of this. You didn’t drink the coffee, and I’ve already had some without saying anything. Let’s just let it go.” Collin’s response only made my anger grow. “Why should I let it go? She looks older than my mother, and you’re saying she’s ignorant? She wanted me to drink it, but you drank it by mistake. If she’s willing to use toilet water to make coffee today, who’s to say she won’t poison me tomorrow? Why shouldn’t I call the police?” Realizing I was serious about calling the police, Collin tried to slam my phone down, but I snatched it back just in time. Before I could do anything else, Erika suddenly shoved Collin away and screamed at me, “You fake woman! Why are you stealing my place and my man?” Before I could process her words, my phone buzzed with a video from the security room. It was about the baby care room. I clicked on the video, which clearly showed Collin and Erika entering the room and staying there for almost an hour. After they left, Yolanda entered with a child and stormed out in anger. It was clear that the condom found in the room was left by Collin and Erika. I couldn’t believe it. The boyfriend I trusted most had been fooling around with a janitor behind my back. No wonder he’d been defending Erika so fiercely. Before I could even react, Collin stopped pretending. “The truth is, I like Erika, not you, the fake daughter! Erika’s gentle, kind, and considerate, while you just act like you’re on a pedestal all the time. You probably didn’t know, did you? The real heir to Wales Group is Erika, not you. You’re just an imposter!”

Just then, the office door creaked open, and my parents walked in, followed by a group of shareholders. My dad spoke first, “Collin, you said you had an urgent matter. What’s going on?” My mom added, “Yeah, what could be so important that it could affect the survival of Wales Group?” Collin glanced at me before answering, “Mr. Wales, Mrs. Wales, if you didn’t come, Wales Group might be taken over by outsiders!” The shareholders were shocked and immediately turned to me, asking what was happening. I could only force a smile and shake my head because I had no idea either. Erika walked up to my parents and suddenly collapsed in front of them. “Mom! Dad!” My parents froze, instinctively stepping back. My dad reacted the most strongly, pointing at Erika and shouting, “Who are you?! I’ve never betrayed my wife. I have only two children—Jessie and William!” Through her sobs, Erika said, “Dad, Mom, I was swapped with Jessica by the nanny, Mary. I’m your real daughter! Ever since I was little, Mary would hit and scold me whenever she was unhappy. I often went without food. I didn’t understand why my mom was so harsh with me, but one day I saw the footage from the old maternity center and realized I wasn’t even her biological child.” Many people in the room had red eyes, moved by her story. But my dad, having weathered many storms, wasn’t so easily swayed. “Do you have any proof of this?” Erika quickly pulled out her phone and cast the video onto the screen. The video was from over 20 years ago when my mom stayed at a high-end maternity center with cameras in every room. The video showed a nanny entering my mom’s room and taking one child out, then returning a short while later with another child dressed identically. The footage was over 20 years old, so the quality was poor, and it was impossible to tell if the two children were the same. After watching, my mom collapsed on the sofa, sobbing, “How could this happen? This can’t be true! I watched over my child day and night. How could she have been swapped?” My dad didn’t speak, but his face turned pale. Collin saw they were wavering but still unsure, so he tried to push further. “Mr. Wales, Mrs. Wales, now that we know the mistake, we need to correct it right away. We can’t let outsiders take advantage of the situation. Erika has suffered all these years. We need to make it up to her.” He then looked at me. “And those who shouldn’t be here—they need to be cleared out.” Several shareholders whispered to each other. “It makes sense. Since Jessica isn’t the Wales family’s biological daughter, she can’t keep her position as VP.” “Exactly, she’s an outsider. Who knows when she might turn against us?” “Before we deal with Jessica, we need to bring Erika in and train her properly.” I wasn’t interested in their conversation, though. I was focused on watching the video again. Something about one of the people in it seemed familiar. Seeing me replaying the video, Collin sneered, “Stop watching. Even if you study that video a hundred times, it won’t change the fact that you’re an imposter. The truth is right in front of you; how can you still sit here with any dignity?” Erika quickly interjected, “Collin, don’t say that. Mary is the one at fault, not Jessica. Let her have some time to accept the truth, and she’ll leave on her own.” I gave them both a cold look and ignored their words, instead asking, “Who’s the little boy standing behind Mary in the video?” Everyone froze in shock upon hearing my question.

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Our family business goes bankrupt, and my father decides we need to flee the country. As we approach the airport, a sleek black Maybach suddenly cuts us off, blocking the road completely. “Trying to skip town without settling your debt?” The cold, menacing voice comes from inside the car. Stepping out is Julian Knight, our largest creditor. A burly bodyguard in black drags my father out of the driver’s seat, forcing him to his knees with a harsh kick. My father crumples to the ground in front of Julian, bowing his head desperately. “Please, sir, have mercy. I… I have no way to repay the debt.” Julian presses the tip of his polished shoe against my father’s chin, lifting his face. “No money? Then give me your daughter. That will clear your debt.” Relief flashes across my father’s face. Without a moment’s hesitation, he scrambles to his feet, yanks me out of the back seat, and shoves me toward Julian. “This is my mute daughter, Celeste,” he says eagerly. “From now on, she’s yours. Do with her whatever you want.”

I stumbled backward, panic flooding through me as I looked at my father with pleading eyes, begging him not to do this. But he remained unmoved. “I’ve let you live a privileged life for years, even though you’re mute. I’ve fulfilled my duty as a father. Now it’s your turn to repay me.” As if afraid Julian might change his mind, my father hurried back to the car, threw one last cold command my way—”Make sure you serve him well!”—and slammed his foot on the gas, speeding off with the rest of my family without a backward glance. “Come with me,” Julian said, his cold fingertips brushing against my wrist. A shiver ran down my spine, and before I could stop myself, I bolted, running after my father’s car as it disappeared into the night. A bodyguard in black effortlessly tripped me with a subtle nudge of his foot, sending me crashing to the ground. My head hit the pavement with a sickening thud, and the rough asphalt scraped against my elbows and knees, leaving patches of raw, bloody skin. The same bodyguard hauled me up like I weighed nothing, tossing me into the back seat of the Maybach. The driver started the car, heading straight for Knight Estate. The night deepened, and in the dim glow of the car’s interior, Julian sat in the front seat, his expression cold and unreadable. His voice, low and laced with irritation, broke the silence. “Didn’t you have a crush on me in college? You should be thrilled to marry me now. But instead, you’re trying to run away? Hah. Women really are fickle.” His words pierced through me, and tears began to stream down my face uncontrollably. Yes, once, I had loved Julian deeply. He was the only person who had ever treated me like an equal. But I never imagined that love could have nearly killed me.

Back in school, I was the outcast. My classmates couldn’t stand me, insisting that someone like me—a mute—didn’t belong in a normal school. They said I should’ve gone to a “special” one, far away from them. No one wanted to sit next to me. Julian, however, willingly offered to take the seat by my side. To me, it was like a drowning person finding a lifeline. I was overwhelmed with gratitude for his kindness, and before I knew it, I had started to develop feelings for him. His friends teased him relentlessly for his “odd taste,” laughing that he’d chosen a mute girl as a desk partner. But Julian just shrugged, his tone light and dismissive. “The other girls are all too noisy. At least she lets me focus.” Quietly, I began showing my affection in small ways. I’d leave breakfast in his locker every morning, and when he missed class because he was sick, I’d meticulously write up notes and slip them into his bag. I knew I didn’t deserve him. I never dared to dream of having him. All I wanted was to see him happy, and I was willing to do anything for him. Then Julian got a girlfriend. Her name was Victoria Hale—beautiful, vibrant, and utterly ruthless. From the very first day of their relationship, Victoria launched what she called her “clean-up campaign,” targeting every girl who so much as glanced at Julian. And as his desk partner, I became her first victim. After school one day, Victoria cornered me with a group of girls. They pushed me to the ground and yanked my bag away, rummaging through it until they found the one thing I feared most—a thick blue notebook filled with pages and pages of my written confessions, all dedicated to Julian. Victoria’s expression darkened as she flipped through the pages. She grabbed my chin and slapped me hard across the face. Then, she tore the notebook apart, plastering five of its pages on the school bulletin board for everyone to see. The next day, the entire school was whispering, laughing behind their hands. A mute girl in love with the school’s most popular guy? It was unthinkable. “Can you believe it? Celeste Whitmore? A mute! And she thinks she has a chance with Julian?” “Julian’s girlfriend is Victoria Hale. What the hell is Celeste thinking?” The laughter stung worse than the slap. Victoria stood at the center of it all, smug and triumphant. I couldn’t even tear the pages down that night. Victoria and her friends had dragged me into the girls’ restroom, drenched me in ice-cold water, and locked me inside until morning. When I finally got home, I came down with a fever that no amount of medication could break. A week later, I was still bedridden, struggling to recover. The doctors eventually diagnosed me with fulminant myocarditis, caused by the cold. I spent a month in the ICU, teetering on the edge of death. When I was finally discharged, the thought of returning to school made my entire body shake. In the end, I had no choice but to take a leave of absence. By the time I mustered the courage to return a year later, Julian and Victoria had already graduated. Only then could I finally finish my studies in peace. Julian’s words about how “women are so fickle” weren’t just meant for me—they were also a jab at Victoria. Victoria was supposed to marry him next week. But just days before the wedding, she vanished. Julian eventually found out where she was—partying overseas with her friends, surrounded by handsome, blond strangers. She’d ignored his calls, turned off her phone, and thrown herself into a whirlwind of wild hedonism. Julian had been livid. To teach Victoria a lesson, he decided to replace her as his bride. And who better to spite her with than me—the one girl Victoria had always loathed most? I’d overheard my father gleefully gossiping about it one evening. “Julian’s had everything handed to him his whole life, and now he’s finally hit a wall with that Victoria girl.” He’d laughed as if Julian’s humiliation somehow eased his own failures. Now, I was to be part of Julian’s revenge. Marrying me was the cruelest way to mock Victoria. But for me, just thinking about Victoria’s face made my heart pound with dread. A sinking feeling settled in my gut. This marriage wasn’t going to be a fresh start. It was going to be the beginning of my end.

My first night at Knight Estate was sleepless. I tossed and turned until dawn, only to finally drift off for a brief moment before being abruptly woken up by Julian’s appointed stylists and makeup artists. They apologized profusely as they informed me of an urgent change: Julian had decided to move the wedding up to today. Unwilling but unable to resist, I was ushered into the dressing room. Julian was already there, his eyes glued to his phone. From the moment I entered to the moment I sat down, he didn’t spare me so much as a glance. The stylist retrieved a mermaid-style wedding gown from the wardrobe. It was stunningly beautiful but tailored for someone else—Victoria. The dress slid off my frame with the slightest movement. It was obvious that it had been designed for Victoria’s curvaceous figure. On my frail and petite body, the dress hung awkwardly, like a child trying on an adult’s clothes. Clutching the edge of the ill-fitting gown, I approached Julian, trying to communicate that the dress didn’t fit and pleading for the wedding to be delayed until a proper gown could be found. I stammered incoherent sounds, gesturing with my hands to express my thoughts. Julian let out an irritated click of his tongue and slammed his phone onto the table. “I thought you were quieter than other women,” he said, his voice cold. “But now I see that your little noises are even more grating. Stop flailing around like a monkey. I don’t understand sign language, and I don’t care to. Just do as you’re told. I don’t have time for your opinions.” My knees wobbled, and my eyes brimmed with tears. The stylist quickly stepped in to diffuse the tension. “We can adjust it, Miss. Don’t worry, it’ll be fine,” she said softly. She took out a needle and thread, pinching the gown tighter to make it fit. The once-beautiful wedding dress now bore obvious folds and stitches on the back—a stark reminder of how this wedding, much like my marriage to Julian, was cobbled together out of necessity rather than love. Once my makeup was done, it was time to head to the venue. But before we could leave, the dressing room door was abruptly kicked open. Victoria had arrived. Julian’s face lit up with triumph. He had deliberately leaked the news about the wedding and my role as the substitute bride, ensuring Victoria would find out. The fact that she showed up now meant his plan had worked. In his mind, this was a victory. Victoria stormed toward me, and in an instant, memories of her past torments flashed through my mind: the blue diary she tore to shreds, the ice-cold water she poured over me, and the nights she locked me in the school restroom while hurling insults from the other side. Did loving someone quietly, from afar, warrant such cruelty? I clenched my fists in defiance. Victoria raised her hand, ready to slap me, but I grabbed her wrist before it could land. My nails dug into her skin, and for the first time, I fought back. “What gives you the right to hit me?” I screamed internally. “Julian was the one who chose to marry me. Why aren’t you taking this up with him?” Victoria winced in pain. “You wretched mute! How dare you fight back!” she spat, her free hand rising for another strike. This time, Julian intercepted her. He stood between us, his expression colder than I’d ever seen. “Get out,” he said, his voice flat but final. Victoria’s fury morphed into desperation as she softened her tone, pleading with Julian. “Julian, please! I just wanted to clear my head before the wedding. I’m back now, and I won’t leave you again. Don’t be mad, okay?” “No,” Julian replied, his tone unwavering. He gestured to his bodyguards, who wasted no time dragging Victoria out of the estate. “Julian, no! Please, I’m sorry! Forgive me!” Victoria’s cries echoed through the hallway. Julian’s lips curled into a smirk. He had no intention of forgiving her so easily. Letting her off now wouldn’t satisfy his need to teach her a lesson. He planned to break her completely before considering reconciliation. The wedding went on as planned, but Julian’s empty gaze as he stood before me made it clear that this was no celebration. His thoughts were miles away, tethered to Victoria, leaving behind only a hollow shell to go through the motions.

That night, in our bridal suite, I grabbed a pen and paper and carefully wrote, “Now that you’ve had your revenge on Victoria, can’t you let me go? Please let me leave.” Julian’s brow furrowed as he grabbed my chin, forcing me to meet his icy gaze. “I married you to erase your family’s one-billion-dollar debt,” he said, his voice low and venomous. “And now you think that debt only buys me one day with you? Like father, like daughter. You’re both delusional.” He leaned in closer, his words biting. “I’ll let you go when I’m done. When I’ve fixed Victoria, when I’m ready to move on—then, and only then, can you leave. Until that day, you’re mine. Don’t even think about running.” Before I could react, Julian’s lips crashed down on mine. His kiss was fierce and punishing, stealing the air from my lungs. I tried to push him away, but it was useless. He ripped the dress from my body, pinning me beneath him. Then, the phone on the bedside table buzzed. Julian smirked, reaching for it. I shook my head frantically, trying to stop him, but he paid no attention. Grabbing my wrists, he pinned them above my head, his movements growing more brutal as he answered the video call. “No!” Victoria’s scream rang out from the other end of the call. “Julian, please stop! Stop torturing me!” she cried. Julian’s voice dripped with mockery. “Couldn’t handle it, could you? Did you ever think about how I felt while you were partying overseas, fooling around with those men?” “I’m sorry!” Victoria sobbed. “I was wrong! Please, tell me what I have to do for you to forgive me. If not, I’ll just end it. I’ll jump!” A sudden gust of wind roared through the phone’s speaker. Victoria stood on a rooftop, her face pale with despair. For the first time that night, fear flickered in Julian’s eyes. He quickly threw on his clothes and left the room without another word. I lay there on the bed, tears streaming down my face. Four years ago, Victoria’s torment had nearly driven me to death. But nothing she did back then compared to the humiliation Julian inflicted tonight. He had stripped me bare—not just physically, but emotionally—offering up my pain as entertainment for Victoria. At that moment, I stopped caring about my father or Julian’s threats. No one had ever asked if I wanted any of this. I wasn’t a commodity. I was a person. I deserved to live, and I deserved my freedom. With the estate guards relaxed after the wedding, tonight was my best chance to escape.

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On our wedding day, Jason’s ex-girlfriend sent him her terminal diagnosis. She said her only dying wish was to wear a wedding dress one last time. To fulfill her request, Jason locked me in the bridal suite and prepared to marry her instead. From behind the door, his irritated voice rang out: “Can you stop being so heartless? She’s dying. What’s the harm in letting her have this moment?” Later, the boy-next-door—who had been secretly in love with me for years—climbed up to the rooftop of the venue, threatening to jump unless I agreed to marry him. Jason, his eyes red with desperation, fell to his knees and begged me: “You’re really going to throw away seven years of our relationship for him?” I brushed his hand away and replied coldly: “What else should I do? Watch him die? It’s just signing some papers. Don’t be so heartless.” One hour before the wedding was set to begin, I sat at the vanity, staring at my phone. On the screen was a photo Jason’s ex-girlfriend had sent me. She was wearing my wedding dress—the one I had painstakingly chosen—and had her arm wrapped around Jason’s. She was smiling radiantly, while Jason gazed down at her with a tenderness he’d never shown me. Her accompanying text read: “He said I look better in it than you ever could.” Then another message followed: “If you want your wedding to happen, you’ll have to beg me.” I turned off my phone and looked at the makeup artist in the mirror. My voice was cold but steady. “The wedding dress I ordered—is it really unwearable because of a fitting mistake?” The makeup artist froze, avoiding my gaze. This was the same boutique that had handled my dress, my makeup, and my photography. I had gone above and beyond to ensure every detail of my wedding was perfect, sparing no expense and holding countless meetings with their team. Her silence told me everything I needed to know. I thought back to when Jason accompanied me to my dress fittings—half the time, he was on his phone or laptop, handling “work.” Yet, when he was with her, the photos showed him laughing, his entire face lighting up. I clenched my phone tightly in my hand and exhaled slowly. “Can someone fetch Jason for me?” I said, my voice calm but firm. The makeup artist’s assistant scurried off to find him. I glanced at myself in the mirror. The bodice of the replacement dress felt suffocating, the fabric digging into my ribs. Perhaps clothes that don’t fit should never be worn in the first place. The first person to enter wasn’t Jason—it was the officiant. He looked nervous, guilt written all over his face. “I’m sorry, Miss Carter,” he said hesitantly, “but… you don’t need to attend the ceremony anymore.” “Don’t need to attend?” I asked, the absurdity of the statement almost making me laugh. “Are you telling me that I, the bride, am not needed at my own wedding?” The officiant opened his mouth to explain, but before he could, Jason walked in. “It was my decision,” Jason said, cutting him off. He was wearing the white tuxedo I had chosen for him, but the bow tie wasn’t the one I had picked. My gaze lingered on it for a moment. Jason noticed and awkwardly tugged at his collar, coughing lightly. “Rebecca has surgery in a few days,” he began, his tone almost defensive. “The hospital issued a terminal notice. She said her only wish is to wear a wedding dress—just once.” I let out a cold laugh. “And she wants to do it at our wedding?” I knew Rebecca. In the third year of my relationship with Jason, I found out about her: his childhood sweetheart, the girl-next-door, the ex-girlfriend who had lost all her hair from chemotherapy. Their families were close, and even after their breakup, their lives remained intertwined. She had moved away for treatment, and her parents had asked Jason to look after her while she was in town. At first, I respected her. I felt sympathy for a young woman whose life had been derailed by illness. But then came the late-night calls, asking Jason to bring her soup after our dates. I had tolerated it, time and again, because she was sick. Jason had always reassured me, prioritizing my feelings and only going to her when it was truly urgent. Sometimes, he even brought me along. Until today. When had he started trying on wedding dresses with her? When had he decided to give her my dress and let her take my place in our ceremony?

The air conditioning in the room suddenly felt too cold, chilling me to the bone. Jason stepped forward, reaching for my hand, but I pulled away. “Bring the dress back,” I said, my voice low but firm. “I don’t want her wearing it.” Jason frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous, Carol. It’s just a ceremony. We can always have another one.” The irritation in his tone, the way his lips tightened—like I was the one being unreasonable—stabbed at me. I stared at him, my voice sharp. “She can have the dress. But does her ceremony have to include you as the groom?” Was this her wielding her illness to manipulate him? Or had Jason already checked out of our relationship, using this as an easy way to slip away? My words hit a nerve. Jason’s face darkened, and he turned toward the door. “You’re impossible to deal with,” he snapped. “You never care about my image. You always have to make everything a spectacle.” The door slammed shut behind him, and I heard the lock click. I stared at the door, stunned, before the reality of the situation hit me. He had locked me in. I threw the skirt of my dress aside and banged on the door. “I don’t agree to this! I’ve spent months preparing for this wedding, and it’s not just some meaningless ritual to me—” His voice came from the other side, cold and impatient. “Can you stop being so heartless? She’s dying. What’s the harm in letting her have this?” I froze, my hands still on the doorknob. She’s dying. Because of her illness, I had already given up so much. Now I was expected to hand over my wedding, my husband, my dignity. But was it my fault she was sick? I took a deep breath and steadied my voice. “Jason, think carefully. Don’t do something you’ll regret.” There was a pause, then the sound of his footsteps fading away. I sank to the floor, my dress pooling around me like a cage. My mind was blank, my heart hollow. She had done it. Rebecca had destroyed my wedding. My phone buzzed on the vanity. It was my parents calling. Before I could answer, the call disconnected. The bridal suite was just behind the main hall, separated by a single door. From here, I could hear the commotion outside—the sound of a crowd murmuring in surprise, followed by applause. Another message from Rebecca popped up. It was a video. The camera panned to the screen in the hall. All the engagement photos Jason and I had spent hours taking had been digitally altered—my face replaced with hers. Every outfit, every smile, every moment of discomfort in the blazing sun—given to her. I trembled with rage, but I still tapped on the next video. This time, I saw Rebecca walking down the aisle, the spotlight following her as she approached Jason. In the shadows behind her, I saw my parents—faces pale, frantically searching for me—held in place by two security guards. Tears blurred my vision and fell onto the screen. Why had I chosen Jason? Why had I dragged my parents into this humiliation with me? I didn’t watch the rest of the videos. As the sounds of celebration continued beyond the wall, I stood in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection. Slowly, methodically, I removed the ill-fitting wedding dress. I wiped away the makeup. I changed back into my own clothes. For the first time that day, I felt relief. At least I had seen Jason’s true colors before signing the marriage certificate. Better late than never.

The ceremony was finally over. The door to the bridal suite opened, and Jason stood there, rubbing his temples. He looked just as drained as I felt. “I’ll make it up to you,” he said, his voice heavy. “I’ll also explain everything to our parents. I’ll go to their house myself—” I cut him off. “No need. They’re my parents, not yours.” This had nothing to do with him anymore, so why should he bother? Jason looked stunned for a moment, then sighed, his exhaustion showing on his face. “Can you stop being so stubborn? You know Rebecca has been through so much with her illness. What’s the big deal about giving her this one thing?” Even now, he still didn’t think he was wrong. He still defended her. For a moment, I couldn’t even find the words to respond. “Fine,” I finally said, my voice calm but resolute. “Call it stubborn if you want. I’ll pack my things and move out tonight. As for the house, I’ll have someone put it on the market. If you don’t want to sell, just transfer the money my family contributed to my account.” I didn’t wait for his reply. I spotted my parents standing nearby, surrounded by relatives, and walked toward them, leaving Jason with a curt, “That’s it.” When I reached my parents, I overheard one of the relatives whispering, “So, she got dumped at her own wedding, huh?” My second aunt chimed in, shaking her head in disapproval. “Girls like her are too headstrong. That’s why this happened. Imagine the shame—getting replaced on her wedding day.” I felt a sharp pang in my chest as I saw the embarrassment on my parents’ faces. Ignoring the fact that she was my elder, I stepped forward and snapped back. “Are you my aunt or Jason’s?” I asked, my tone cold. “It was his decision to replace the bride, not mine. That’s on him—his lack of responsibility, his inability to respect me, and his failure to communicate. This has nothing to do with me being ‘too headstrong.’ If I’d known even one day earlier, he wouldn’t have been the groom today.” My aunt’s face flushed with embarrassment, and she muttered something under her breath before scurrying away. My mom reached for my hand, her worry clear in her eyes. I gave her a small smile and said softly, “It’s okay, Mom. If the wedding’s off, so be it. I don’t need it anyway.” After making sure my parents got into their car safely, I headed to the house Jason and I had prepared as our marital home to pack my things. I was composed, logical, and determined to get everything over with. But emotions don’t always follow reason. Before I even started packing, tears began streaming down my face, completely out of my control. This house was full of memories of Jason. The small ceramic pot he bought me when he found out I had bad cramps, promising to make me herbal soup every week. The walk-in closet he designed for me after seeing a video I’d liked of a “shoe ferris wheel” for high heels. I had laughed at the colorful LED lights he installed, joking that it looked too over the top. He had just pulled me into his arms and asked for a kiss as a reward. We met in college, then spent a year in a long-distance relationship when work pulled us apart. Jason had chased me relentlessly back then, going out of his way to win me over. He once told me he fell for me after watching me hold my own in a debate competition, saying I was “like a force of nature.” Back then, I was a shining light in his eyes. And now, that same light had become too much for him—he called me “too strong,” as if it was a flaw. I packed in silence, pulling myself out of the memories piece by piece. By the time I had finished, all that remained of our seven years together was a single cardboard box, barely reaching my waist. I stared at the box, wondering how I would haul it out and where I would even put it. That’s when the door burst open, and Stephanie stormed in, her fiery energy filling the room. The moment I saw her, all the strength I had been clinging to crumbled, and my nose started to sting as fresh tears welled up. Stephanie pulled me into a tight hug, squeezing me like she was trying to hold me together. “I knew I should’ve been your maid of honor,” she said fiercely. “If I’d been there, you wouldn’t have had to face this alone.” Stephanie had never liked Jason. She hated his indecisiveness, his inability to let go of Rebecca, and she had refused to attend the wedding because of him. She’d even warned me before: ”If you marry him, you’ll regret it.” She hadn’t minced words either: ”Rebecca being alive is bad enough, but if she dies, you’ll never win against a ghost.” Her words had caused a huge fight between us. We stopped talking for months. But now, looking back, I realized she’d been right all along. I was so grateful she came back. Stephanie had purposely scheduled a work trip to avoid my wedding, but as soon as she heard what had happened, she dropped everything and rushed to find me. She even took time off to stay with me, refusing to let me wallow alone. With her around, the days didn’t seem so unbearable. A week later, she was already trying to set me up with new people when Jason showed up at my door. I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. A scumbag coming back to grovel? Well, I wasn’t about to let him walk all over me again.

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### My sister-in-law has an unhealthy obsession with dramatic, over-the-top “tragedy fiction.” After giving birth, she refused to breastfeed the baby because the baby smiled at the nanny. She claimed the baby was an ungrateful little backstabber who would never love her. When my brother had to leave for an emergency meeting, he reminded her to take care of herself and not catch a cold while recovering postpartum. The moment he left, she filled the bathtub with cold water, sank herself into it, and stayed there until she was bleeding uncontrollably. She ended up in the hospital. One day, my brother’s assistant dropped by the house to deliver some documents. My sister-in-law sat calmly on the couch, her face a mask of sorrow and resignation. “You don’t have to flaunt your victory,” she said with a tragic air. “If you want this man, take him. I’ll step aside.” At the baby’s one-month celebration party, a family friend—a woman who grew up with us—came to congratulate them. My sister-in-law threw a glass of red wine at her, staining her expensive dress. “A mistress with no shame,” she sneered. “No designer gown can hide the ugliness of your soul.” My brother and I tried to reason with her, speaking as kindly as we could. But that night, she left without a word, vanishing into the darkness. All she left behind was a signed divorce agreement. “I don’t want you or the baby,” it read. My sister-in-law, Claire, has always been a fan of fiction. When she got pregnant, she stopped going out much, and reading novels became her favorite pastime. I’d even introduced her to the reading app she used, where friends could see each other’s bookshelves. One day, I opened the app and was hit with a flood of tragedy fiction recommendations: “Your Friend is Reading: ‘After Mom Faked Her Death, Dad Finally Regretted Everything.’” “Your Friend Just Reread: ‘Divorced and Abandoned, But Now My Ex-Husband and Son Begged Me to Come Back.’” “Your Friend Liked: ‘My Husband and Son Saved His First Love During the Flood, Leaving Me to Die.’” I only had one friend on this app—Claire. When I clicked on her bookshelf, it was packed wall-to-wall with these melodramatic, soap opera-style tragedy novels. My first reaction? My brother cheated on her! I immediately called my brother, Dylan. “Hey, what did you do to Claire?! Did you cheat? I swear, if you did, I’m calling Mom and Dad to break your legs!” Dylan sounded completely panicked. “What are you talking about? I would never cheat on Claire! I’m loyal to her, 100%. The only women I even talk to are you and Mom! Who’s been spreading these rumors?” My brother has always been a terrible liar, so I knew he was telling the truth. I relaxed a little. “Oh, okay,” I said casually. “I was just testing you. Congrats, you passed. Keep being a good husband, alright? Bye!” Maybe Claire just liked these kinds of novels. Maybe I was overthinking it. But it wasn’t long before I realized her obsession with tragedy fiction was way more intense—and way more concerning—than I’d thought. It all started after Claire gave birth. Thanks to Dylan’s constant attention during her pregnancy, everything went smoothly. On the day she went into labor, Dylan noticed her contractions were more frequent than usual. Without missing a beat, he grabbed the pre-packed hospital bag, alerted the medical team, and had their driver speed to the private hospital owned by our family. Since Claire didn’t have any parents of her own, my parents and I rushed to the hospital to support her and cheer her on during delivery. The birth itself went perfectly. Claire had been cared for so meticulously during her pregnancy that both she and the baby were in excellent shape. Before long, the sound of a baby’s cry filled the delivery room. Claire had given birth to a healthy baby boy. Following Dylan’s “support guidelines” for family members, we disinfected ourselves thoroughly before entering the room. We barely glanced at the newborn, instead gathering around Claire, who looked pale but radiant. My mom grabbed her hand, tears in her eyes. “Claire, sweetheart, you did such an amazing job. We’re so proud of you.” My dad, as always, was quieter with his affection. He simply slipped a black AmEx card under her pillow without a word. Dylan, on the other hand, was an emotional wreck. Gone was the ruthless businessman who dominated boardrooms—he was now a teary-eyed, doting husband. Claire, her voice soft and weak, said, “Let me see the baby.” A nurse gently brought over the tiny bundle, placing him in Claire’s arms. Claire leaned in close to the baby’s face, her eyes filled with warmth and love. “It wasn’t easy,” she whispered, “but it was worth it to bring you into this world.” The doctor, who had been monitoring the situation, smiled and reassured her. “You’re being too hard on yourself, Mrs. Stone. Your delivery went exceptionally well. Your family’s quick response, combined with the support of our team, made everything as smooth as possible. You didn’t even need stitches—no tearing, no complications. You did great.” But instead of looking relieved, Claire’s expression darkened. The warmth in the room evaporated. My parents, Dylan, and I all exchanged nervous glances. Claire’s voice was icy. “So what you’re saying is, it was easy for me to give birth? That my child will grow up thinking his mom didn’t even suffer for him? That I didn’t make any sacrifices?” The doctor froze, sweat beading on his forehead. “Mrs. Stone, that’s not what I meant at all!” I jumped in, trying to defuse the tension. “Claire, you carried him for nine months and brought him into this world. Of course, he’ll know how much you’ve done for him!” But Claire just frowned and leaned back against the bed. “Hmph. Who knows? Maybe one day he’ll grow up, call someone else ‘Mom,’ and forget all about me.” What?! None of us knew what to say. Seeing how exhausted she looked, we decided not to push the conversation further. To make sure Claire had the best postpartum care possible, my mom had started interviewing potential caregivers months in advance. She ended up hiring four top-tier postpartum nannies, a chef, and a nutritionist to take care of both Claire and the baby. We even had thick carpets installed throughout the house to reduce noise, and Claire’s bedroom was equipped with soundproof walls to ensure she could rest undisturbed. Dylan canceled all his work-related social events and delegated most of his responsibilities to his assistant so he could stay home and take care of Claire full-time. My parents were fully on board with this. “The company will be fine without you for a while,” my dad said. “Right now, Claire and the baby need you more than anything.” “The doctor said postpartum hormones can make emotions unpredictable,” my mom added. “You need to keep an eye on her and make sure she stays in good spirits.” Even I tried to help, scouring every store I could think of to find snacks and little gifts that might cheer her up. But no matter what we did, Claire remained distant and melancholy. 2 Under the care of the nanny, the baby grew more lively and adorable with each passing day. His big, sparkling eyes and soft, porcelain-like skin made him look like a little doll—impossible not to love. One afternoon, I was playing with the baby alongside the nanny, holding up toys and making silly faces to get him to laugh. He giggled nonstop, his tiny mouth spreading into the sweetest smile. That’s when Claire, my sister-in-law, walked into the room. She froze in the doorway, her face pale, her lips trembling. “He’s never smiled at me like that—not once. But he’ll laugh so easily for a stranger. In the end, he’s just an ungrateful little traitor…” The baby, unaware of the tension, blinked his wide, innocent eyes at us, confused. I couldn’t hold back anymore. “Claire, he’s just a baby! He doesn’t even know what’s going on. How can you say something like that?” But Claire only shook her head, looking heartbroken. “You don’t understand.” Dylan, my brother, rushed over with a blanket, draping it over her shoulders. “Claire, don’t overthink it. The baby loves you the most—of course he does!” Claire gave a faint, bitter smile. “Better to let go now than wait for him to resent me later.” From that day on, she made up her mind. She took medication to stop producing milk and refused to breastfeed the baby again. “It’s fine,” Dylan said through gritted teeth, watching the nanny prepare formula. “The baby will grow up healthy on formula. Claire’s mental health is the most important thing.” But the baby cried inconsolably, his tiny face red with tears, unable to understand why the comforting warmth of his mother’s arms and milk was suddenly gone. Claire, unmoved, glanced at him coldly. “See? Just like the novels said—pain teaches regret.” She turned to the nanny, her expression indifferent. “Take him back to the nursery. I need to rest.” I clenched my fists, struggling to contain the anger that had been building inside me. Finally, I pulled Dylan out of the room. “Don’t you think Claire might have postpartum depression?” he asked, running a tired hand through his hair. “She was fine before the baby was born, but now… she’s like a completely different person.” My anger instantly faded, replaced by a pang of guilt. He was right—Claire wasn’t herself anymore. It had to be the hormones, and she was likely struggling more than any of us realized. “You’re right,” I admitted. “She’s at her most vulnerable right now. We need to help her through this.” “By the way,” I added, “you might want to take her phone away for a while. Those novels she’s reading aren’t helping. The last thing she needs is more drama from those over-the-top tragic stories.” It didn’t take long for my warning to come true. One day, Dylan’s assistant called to say there was an urgent issue at the company that required his personal attention. Dylan spent hours trying to resolve the problem remotely, but nothing worked. “Claire,” he said gently, “I have to run to the office for a few hours. I promise I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Claire barely looked at him. “Go ahead. Don’t worry about me.” Dylan leaned down and kissed her forehead, tucking the blanket snugly around her. “You’re still recovering—make sure to stay warm. I’ll bring back that cake you like from your favorite bakery.” With that, he hurried out the door. When he returned a few hours later, cake box in hand, the house was shrouded in darkness. “Claire?” he called out, his voice tinged with panic. After searching every room, he finally checked the security footage and confirmed that she hadn’t left the house. Following the sound of running water, we found her in the bathroom. Dylan flipped the light switch, and there she was—sitting in the bathtub, fully clothed in a thin white dress, her body submerged in ice-cold water. Her expression was distant, her eyes glassy, like she wasn’t even there. “Claire!” Dylan shouted, rushing to pull her out of the tub. The icy water shocked him so badly he shuddered, but he didn’t pause for a moment. “Claire, what are you doing? You’re still recovering! You can’t expose yourself to cold like this—it’s dangerous!” Claire slowly blinked at him, then let out a bitter laugh. “Dylan, stop pretending. If you really cared, you wouldn’t have left me alone when I needed you most.” “You chose your company over me,” she added, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “So why does it matter what happens to me?” Dylan’s face turned pale, his lips trembling, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he called the hospital, his voice cracking as he demanded an ambulance. The red velvet cake he’d brought back for her lay discarded at the bathroom door, crushed and forgotten. Claire spent the next seven days in the hospital. The prolonged exposure to cold during her postpartum recovery caused her to develop a fever and relentless bleeding. She lost so much weight during her stay that she was almost unrecognizable when she was finally discharged. Dylan stayed by her side the entire time. He didn’t shave. He barely slept, dozing off in a chair by her bed, terrified she might disappear if he looked away. When my parents learned what had happened, they both sighed heavily. None of us could find the right words to say. As they walked out of the hospital room, Claire watched them go with an unreadable expression. Then, she said quietly, “I knew this day would come.” “When I’ve accumulated enough scars from all of you, I’ll leave, too.” “No one in this world truly needs anyone else.” I couldn’t hold back anymore. “Claire, what the hell are you talking about?” I snapped, pointing an accusing finger at her. “This family bends over backward for you! We’ve done everything to support you, to make sure you’re happy and healthy. And what do you do? You ruin your own body, push everyone away, and act like we’re the ones to blame. What’s your goal here?!” 3 Claire stubbornly turned her head away. “Your so-called concern, arriving late as always, is worth less than dirt. I don’t need your cheap sympathy.” “Claire, what are you talking about—” My parents, who had just returned to check on her, froze in the doorway, stunned by what they’d overheard. Claire’s expression faltered for a moment, a flicker of panic flashing in her eyes as she looked at them. But my mom simply sighed, her tone heavy with disappointment. “Claire, just rest. Your health is what matters most. We’ll leave now.” Claire pressed her lips together tightly, saying nothing. Seeing the pleading look in Dylan’s eyes, I swallowed my frustration and left with my parents. After that incident, Claire must have realized she’d gone too far. She quieted down for a while, and things between her and the rest of the family started to ease up. With Dylan’s encouragement, we gradually let go of the tension and resentment. When their baby boy, Nathan, was finally named and started to grow, the house slowly returned to its once-harmonious atmosphere. That is, until the day a new intern from Dylan’s company showed up to deliver some documents. To avoid any unnecessary misunderstandings, Dylan had been working from home, arranging for his male assistant, Jack, to deliver paperwork that needed his signature. Jack would drop off the documents, Dylan would handle them, and Jack would take them back to the office. But on this particular day, Jack called in sick, and the task fell to a new intern. The intern, a young woman who’d just graduated, arrived at the front door in a professional-looking suit and carrying a large work bag. She politely handed the documents to Dylan, who silently signed them without saying a word. Not a single unnecessary exchange occurred between them. Unfortunately, Claire happened to walk in at that exact moment. The intern, sensing the tension, immediately greeted her politely. “Good evening, Mrs. Stone. I’m so sorry to intrude. I’m an intern at the company—my name is Lily. I was just here to deliver these documents for Mr. Stone.” But something twisted in Claire’s expression. It was as if she’d been struck by lightning. Her face darkened, and then, like a storm rolling in, she wore an expression of grim certainty. Dylan, noticing her look, quickly explained, “Jack couldn’t make it today, so Lily had to bring the paperwork over. She’s leaving as soon as I’ve signed them.” Claire, however, didn’t seem to hear him. She gave Lily a strange, almost pitying smile, and then calmly dropped a bombshell. “There’s no need for you to leave. I’ll step aside for the two of you.” Lily froze, completely confused. “I’m sorry… step aside? What do you mean?” I immediately sensed disaster brewing and quickly stepped in, grabbing Claire’s hand. “Claire, let’s not joke around like that! Dinner’s ready—it’s your favorite fish soup. Let’s eat, okay?” I shot Dylan a look, silently begging him to step in. Dylan caught on and shoved the papers into Lily’s hands. “I’ve signed everything. Take these back to the office right away.” But Claire pulled her hand from mine, her face filled with tragic determination. Her voice trembled as she spoke. “You don’t have to pretend anymore. Isn’t this exactly what you wanted? You’re here to flaunt your victory, aren’t you? Fine. Take him. He’s yours.” Lily looked horrified. “Mrs. Stone, I think there’s been a misunderstanding! I have a boyfriend—I’m just here to deliver paperwork!” But Claire wasn’t listening. She was lost in her own spiraling imagination, her lips curling into a bitter smile. “Oh, sweet girl. I was young once, too. I remember those promises of eternal love, those grand gestures. Don’t get too comfortable—you haven’t won anything. The only things you can take are the things I no longer want.” Dylan finally lost his patience. “Claire, stop this nonsense! Lily is just an intern! She has nothing to do with me!” Claire stared at him in disbelief, tears spilling down her cheeks. “You’re yelling at me? For her? What’s next? Are you going to call me irrational and accuse me of making things up?” Her voice broke, trembling with a mix of anger and heartbreak. “I knew it. Those novels I read—they were right. They’re all just reflections of reality! If I hadn’t walked in on you tonight, how much longer were you planning to keep this a secret from me?”

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My in-laws were so biased. Three years ago, when I married Ethan, my in-laws claimed they had no money. They couldn’t afford a house or even a wedding gift. So Ethan and I simply registered our marriage, hosted a small dinner for our friends, and called it a wedding. But the following year, when Ethan’s younger brother, Ryan, got married, things were drastically different. My in-laws bought him a three-bedroom apartment. Not only that, they gave his wife a wedding gift worth 180 thousand dollars and a lot of gold. I was furious. “How can you treat your daughters-in-law so differently?” I demanded. Their response left me speechless. “It’s not the same,” they said. “You and Ethan fell in love and got married out of feelings. Talking about money would tarnish that. “But Ryan met his wife through an arranged marriage. Without a house and a wedding gift, no one would agree to marry him.” Their words felt like a slap in the face. I exploded, arguing with them until they couldn’t defend themselves anymore. And when they ran out of excuses, they turned nasty. “Our money, our choice,” they spat. “We can give it to whoever we want. “We love Ryan more because he’s obedient and considerate. “And honestly, you’re shameless. You practically paid to marry Ethan!” I was stunned and burst out crying. All the understanding and generosity I’d shown them suddenly felt like self-degradation. That night, I packed my things, and went back to my parents’ home. From that day on, I refused to speak a single word to Ethan’s parents. It was Ethan who eventually coaxed me into returning. He made a promise. “From now on, it’s just the two of us. Anything you didn’t get before, I’ll make up for it. I’ll make sure you never feel wronged or unloved. I’ll always protect and cherish you.” I was naive and deeply in love, so I believed him. To his credit, Ethan kept his word. He treated me well, and slowly, my resentment eased. But I could never fully forgive his parents. I didn’t stop Ethan from maintaining contact with them, but as for me? The idea of honoring and respecting them was out of the question. Last year, when I gave birth to our daughter, Ethan called them to share the news. But they didn’t even bother to check on me or their granddaughter. It was my mom who traveled from out of town to take care of me during my recovery. Later, I found out that Ryan’s wife was also pregnant. My in-laws doted on her like she was royalty. Everything she or the baby needed was top-quality, and they paid for all of it. Sometimes, I genuinely wondered if Ethan was adopted. Why else would they treat us so differently? But over time, I let it go. Whatever they did to me, I would do the same to them.

I never expected it, but Ethan’s father fell ill. Even worse, his parents wanted to live with us, claiming that our place was closer to the hospital. It started with Ethan casually bringing it up during dinner the night before. “Zoey, we have an extra room. Can my parents stay with us for a while? It’s closer to the hospital,” he said, testing the waters. I refused without hesitation. After all, Ryan’s place was also in the city. The only difference was that it was an hour away from the hospital, whereas ours was just thirty minutes. But Ryan and his wife had a spacious three-bedroom apartment, while Ethan and I were crammed into a small one-bedroom unit. Plus, that extra room wasn’t meant for guests; it was for our nanny. Ethan and I both worked full-time, and my parents, given their age and health, couldn’t help with childcare. So, we hired a nanny to look after our daughter, Lily, during the day. If Ethan’s parents moved in, where would the nanny stay? And more importantly, who would look after Lily? I certainly didn’t expect his parents to lift a finger. “Why can’t they stay at Ryan’s?” I asked pointedly. Ethan hesitated before mumbling, “It’s Ryan and Emma… They don’t agree. Emma’s worried about Dad’s illness being contagious. Little Josh is just over a year old, and his immune system is still developing.” Josh was Ryan and Emma’s precious son. Hearing that made my blood boil. “Oh, so their child can’t risk getting sick, but ours can? Ethan, have you forgotten how they treated us? “Why is it that they get the comfort and we’re left with the burden? Are we just here to be taken advantage of?” I couldn’t hold back my anger and let Ethan have it. He eventually apologized and promised he wouldn’t make any decisions without my agreement. That managed to soothe me for the moment. But I had a gut feeling this wasn’t over. Sure enough, the very next evening, I came home from work to find three unexpected figures in our living room: Ethan’s parents and Ryan. For a moment, I thought I was seeing things. After all, it had been years since I last laid eyes on them. But a closer look confirmed it, and they were indeed here. Ethan looked up as I entered, clearly uncomfortable, and tried to play it off. “Zoey, you’re home. My parents and Ryan are here.” I nodded curtly, my mind racing. Did they just show up uninvited? Or did Ethan neglect to tell me? As I debated whether to greet them or not, my gaze landed on his parents, sitting on the couch like royalty, clearly expecting me to bow and scrape like a servant. Remembering all the times they treated me poorly, I simply turned on my heel and headed into the nursery. Inside, our nanny was putting Lily to sleep. She looked up as I entered and couldn’t help but vent. “Zoey, your in-laws are something else. That’s their granddaughter out there, and they didn’t even glance at her.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Lily didn’t recognize them and started crying. Your mother-in-law even complained about it being bad luck. I had to bring her in here right away. “Don’t worry. I’ve sanitized the room.” I didn’t tell her about Ethan’s father’s sickness. She probably overheard it when they discussed it this afternoon. My heart sank further when the nanny added, “I overheard them talking earlier. Sounds like they’re planning to stay here for a while.” I felt even more irritated. Before I could respond, Ethan walked in. “Zoey, can you make dinner? My parents and Ryan haven’t eaten yet.” The nerve of it all pushed me over the edge. How dare they ask me to cook for them? “Order takeout,” I snapped. The sharpness in my tone made me regret it immediately. It wasn’t polite, not in the slightest. But Ethan just blinked and replied, “All right.” That wasn’t good enough for Ryan, though. “What’s her problem?” he sneered. “Doesn’t seem like we’re welcome here. What kind of attitude is that? Who does she think she is? “Honestly, Ethan, how do you let her walk all over you? “No wonder Mom and Dad don’t like her.” I hadn’t planned to argue, but hearing Ryan’s increasingly obnoxious remarks, I couldn’t hold back anymore. “Oh? And who exactly do you think you’re talking about?” I stormed out of the nursery. “You came here to stir up trouble, didn’t you? Did I invite you? If you don’t like it here, you’re free to leave!” Ryan bristled. “This is my brother’s house. What does it have to do with you?” I laughed in disbelief. “And whose house do you think this is, genius? My husband’s house is my house. So yeah, it has everything to do with me.” Before I could unleash more, Ethan stepped in. “Zoey, that’s enough.” Enough? I wanted to scream. Why should I stay quiet while they disrespected me in my own home? But one look at Ethan’s conflicted face made me bite my tongue. Then, Ethan’s father cleared his throat and started theatrically lamenting, “What a disgrace. Truly a disgrace. Ethan, how could you let your wife behave this way? We’re your parents, not your enemies.” His mother chimed in, “If we’re not welcome, we’ll leave.” “By all means,” I thought. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.” But Ryan, as always, played the loyal son. “Come on, Mom, Dad. Just endure it for now. Emma’s worried about Josh getting sick with you both going to the hospital every day. Once you’re better, I’ll come get you right away. “Ethan, take care of Mom and Dad.” And with that, Ryan bolted, leaving Ethan and me to deal with the fallout. I looked at them and felt utterly speechless. Ethan eventually managed to pull his parents back to the couch, promising them they could stay. His mother even threw me a pointed look and said, “Ethan, you wouldn’t turn us away too, would you?” “Of course not, Mom,” he assured her. Meanwhile, I turned and walked back into the nursery. Out of sight, out of mind.

Eventually, Ethan ordered takeout for his parents. I brought a separate portion to our nanny in the nursery. I wasn’t hungry. I’d already eaten at work, so I sat on the bed, mulling over the situation. I was not a heartless person. Sure, I had a sharp tongue, but I couldn’t bring myself to kick two sick, elderly parents out of my home. Even though they had treated me poorly, they were still family, and his father was seriously ill. If I turned them away now, my conscience wouldn’t let me sleep at night, and it might even put a strain on my relationship with Ethan. Because as much as Ethan’s parents had shown blatant favoritism, and as much as it had created distance between him and them, he was still their son. He was softhearted, and I knew he couldn’t bear to see them suffer. But our home was just too small. It was barely 850 square feet. Ethan and I shared one room, and the nanny occupied the other. What was I supposed to do, ask his parents to sleep in the living room? I decided to discuss the matter with Ethan. Maybe we could rent an apartment for his parents near the hospital. But there was no way I’d shoulder the cost alone. Ryan and Emma would need to split the rent with us. However, things took an unexpected turn. Ethan’s father was diagnosed with kidney failure. I looked it up online. It was not an easy illness to manage. The treatments were expensive, time-consuming, and grueling. He’d need dialysis three times a week, each session lasting four hours, a stopgap at best. The only real solution was a kidney transplant. And that would cost hundreds of thousands, not to mention the challenge of finding a suitable donor. For an average family, it was a devastating blow. A sense of dread settled in my chest. I had a sinking feeling that our household was about to be thrown into chaos. On the day of the diagnosis, Ethan was unusually quiet. That night, he stood on the balcony, chain-smoking. By the time he came back inside, his eyes were bloodshot. “Zoey,” he started, his voice trembling. “What am I supposed to do? My dad… he’s sick.” And then, before I could respond, the tears came. It was the first time I’d ever seen him cry. I didn’t know what to say, so I simply wrapped my arms around him and held him close. The idea of renting an apartment for his parents suddenly felt impractical. I sat down with our nanny and worked out a compromise. She would continue to come during the day to help with Lily but would sleep at her own home at night.

Ever since Ethan’s father fell ill, they’d been staying at our place. Three times a week, without fail, he’d go for dialysis. Ryan showed up a handful of times at the beginning, but his visits grew less frequent as the weeks went by. By the end of the first month, he had barely been around. He was clever, though, always sending sweet messages to their parents, keeping them smiling and in good spirits. But when it came to money, there was only dead silence. Neither Ethan’s parents nor Ryan brought up finances as if they had a tacit agreement to play dumb. Two months in, every single expense for Ethan’s parents, their food, shelter, and medical bills, had fallen squarely on us. I calculated it: we’d spent over 100 thousand. That was basically everything we had. After all, we’d only been married for a few years and had no financial support from anyone else. On top of that, we had to pay for our mortgage, car loan, and the nanny’s salary. With our daughter now in the picture, we also had to buy formula, diapers, and other baby essentials. We were barely breaking even each month. If this continued, we’d go broke. I told Ethan to ask his parents for money. He hesitated. I told him to ask his brother for help. He hesitated again. Watching him hem and haw, I snapped. “Are you going to ask them or not? If you don’t, I will. “This is ridiculous! All the assets went to Ryan, and now the burden of their illness is dumped on us? “Is your whole family just pretending not to notice because they think they can take advantage of us?” Despite Ethan’s protests, I called Ryan myself. As expected, the moment he realized I was asking for money, he started playing the victim. “You know Josh is only a year old. This is such an expensive time for us. My wife and I just aren’t as capable as you and Ethan. Can’t you two cover Dad’s medical costs for now? We’ll pay you back when we can.” I was speechless at the sheer audacity. “Ryan, let me remind you: your dad has two sons, not just one. When you got married, your parents bought you a house and a car, while we got nothing. Are you seriously suggesting that we bear all the responsibility now that he’s sick? “Since he fell ill, you haven’t contributed a single cent. Ethan’s the one taking him to every hospital visit. “If this is how it’s going to be, I’ll tell Ethan to drive his dad back to your place tomorrow.” That got him. “Please don’t! My wife will kill me if Dad comes back here. And you know how fragile Josh is. What if he catches something from the hospital germs? We can’t take that risk.” Unbelievable. How could these two be so selfish and stupid? So, only their child deserved protection while mine didn’t? I stood firm: no money, no deal. Ryan eventually transferred 20 thousand dollars. It wasn’t much, but at least it covered immediate needs. I thought I’d done a good deed. But instead, I ended up on Ethan’s parents’ blacklist again. It turned out Ethan’s parents were upset with me for asking Ryan for money. How had this become my fault? When I got home from work, Ethan’s father was sitting on the couch, his face dark as a thundercloud. His mother was pacing and sighing dramatically. “Oh, poor Ryan. He’s already struggling, and now he had to scrape together 20 thousand. What’s he going to do? “They don’t even have proper jobs. How could they possibly afford this? “It’s been so long since I’ve seen Josh. I hope the little boy is doing alright.” I ignored her muttering, but my silence seemed to embolden them. Their behavior only escalated as if they thought I was someone they could walk all over. That evening, I didn’t have time to stop by the store, so dinner was simple: two vegetable dishes, one meat dish, and some sliced sausage. I thought it was perfectly reasonable given the circumstances. But Ethan’s father didn’t agree. The moment he saw the table, he threw his fork down in disgust. “If you want us gone, just say so! No need to starve us with this garbage.” I was stunned. What was going on? “Can’t you cook something else? These taste awful, and they’re barely nutritious. You did it on purpose, didn’t you?”

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