Author: Momo Chan

On the day Leigh’s first love returned to the States, I set fire to our home. I left with nothing but the twin kids she’d given me. When she was gravely ill and needed a kidney, I didn’t hesitate to donate mine. Yet she believed I had done it all to marry her, blaming me for breaking up her romance with her first love. Now I’ve finally given up, faked my death, and left for good. But when she heard of my supposed death, she completely fell apart. Content ### Chapter 1 The Harvest Moon Festival is a day for family reunions and, for us, it’s also the kids’ birthday. After they begged Leigh over and over, she finally agreed to come home for once. She’d casually mentioned wanting a home-cooked meal, so despite being feverish, I pushed through and made a full spread of dishes. The food is long cold now, and the kids are still up, holding onto their cake, refusing to go to sleep. Leigh still hasn’t shown. My head is swimming, and after popping a handful of painkillers, I step outside. I know where she is. Whenever she’s restless, she always goes to her girlfriends to vent. I find her at The Estate; soft lights glow from the yard where she’s clinking glasses with her friends. “So Chase Maddox is back in town,” one of them says, laughing. “What’s your plan for Max Caldwell—the one you brought in to help your family—and those twins of yours?” I reach up to knock but freeze mid-air, my hand stopping in midair as I hear Leigh’s response. “I’ll divorce him. He can take the kids. No need to make Chase uncomfortable.” Her answer is cold, decisive, and just as I expected. After all, if it hadn’t been for Gramps Dawson pushing her to marry me on his deathbed, Chase would have never left for Europe. She used his departure as her own protest, vanishing on our wedding day and turning me into the town’s biggest joke. After a year of marriage without seeing each other, we had one impulsive night that ended with her pregnant with the twins. As soon as they were born, Leigh had the nurse take them away without a second look. To her, they were proof of her betrayal of the one she truly loved. When she promised to come home for the kids’ birthday, I thought maybe she was finally softening. But as silence settled over the night, one of her friends spoke up. “Honestly, your husband’s been good to you. Even after his family went bankrupt, he helped get your company off the ground, drinking with clients until he had stomach ulcers. All to see you succeed.” “Please,” another friend snorted. “Without him, Leigh would’ve done fine on her own. If he hadn’t butted in and donated that kidney, her grandpa wouldn’t have forced her to marry him. Chase and Leigh could’ve been together all these years.” “He’s nothing but a freeloader who thinks he’s still some kind of big shot. Just dump him already.” Hearing that, I felt my heart clench as Leigh spoke again, cool and dismissive. “Let’s drop the subject. Cheers.” Another friend gave a sly smile and teased, “Max Caldwell is handsome, I’ll give him that. And if you don’t want him anymore, why not let us sample what he’s got to offer?” “Just treat him like a model on demand!” Amid the laughter, Leigh silently raised her glass, downing her champagne in one go. ### Chapter 2 My life has rarely gone as planned. It veers off course, drifting in and out of freezing snowstorms. I first met Leigh Dawson at a Charity Gala held by my family’s foundation. Back then, I was still the Caldwell Heir, and she was just a young startup owner who had used a friend’s ticket to get in. Among the auction items that night was one of my own paintings. People were offering high bids, hoping for a way into the Caldwell circle. But tucked in a quiet corner was one girl completely absorbed in my painting. The piece, called Mother, was my proudest work. A tear fell from her eye as she gazed at it, unaware that I was watching her. When she finally noticed me, she took a few steps back, looking at me timidly. “You’re very talented, Mr. Caldwell. But I can’t afford it,” she said softly. It was like a gentle breeze touched my heart, setting it racing. Later, I learned that Leigh had lost her parents young and had been raised by her grandfather. She’d been deeply moved by my painting. I gifted it to her that night, beginning six years of unrequited love. Leigh was always composed, distant, never fully rejecting me but never reciprocating. And so, I kept trying to win her over, connecting her to resources and watching her company grow. But then the Caldwell empire crumbled, leaving me as the sole survivor. Physically alive, but that was all. Despite Aunt Caroline’s protests, I donated my kidney to Leigh. The complications nearly killed me, and I had to abandon my art. Gramps Dawson knew the debt his family owed me, and on his deathbed, he forced Leigh to marry me. Reluctantly, she agreed—with the condition that I’d move into her household. Only after we were married did I learn that her heart belonged to her first love. Her “husband” would always be someone else. That year, at the Harvest Moon Festival, Leigh came home drunk for the first time. I’d only meant to help her to bed, but she clung to me, her hands wandering over my body. “Kiss me,” she whispered. One impulsive act, one monumental mistake. When I woke up, she slapped me across the face, her eyes full of tears. “Marrying me wasn’t enough? You had to go and do something so low?” I should’ve left then. ### Chapter 3 Exhausted, I returned to The Estate, the prison of my marriage to Leigh. Sure enough, the kids were still up. They ran to me, clinging to my leg. “Daddy, is Mom back too?” They ran to the door, only to turn around disappointed, heads hanging. Piper’s face reddened, and he burst into tears. “Mommy doesn’t want us, does she?” My heart clenched painfully. I knelt down and hugged them. “I want you both. Will you come with me?” I couldn’t tell them that, to Leigh, they were just obstacles on her road to happiness. Arlo, ever the little grown-up, patted my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Daddy. Wherever you go, we’ll go too.” I finally got them to sleep and stumbled into the bathroom, letting the shower drown out my sobs. Becoming their father hadn’t brought them a moment of happiness. Leigh had wanted to abort them as soon as she found out, only stopping when the doctor told her she’d never be able to have children again. She still dreamed of having kids with Chase. When the twins were born, she refused to even look at them, calling them disgusting. I raised them on my own, becoming both father and mother. Outside, she denied their existence. If they tried to call her “Mom,” she’d scold them as if they were strangers. Leaving is freedom for all of us. But maybe, out of guilt, Leigh remembered her promise to the kids. Late that night, she came back. I was packing when I heard her cold voice behind me. “What are you doing?” I turned and saw her staring at me with an unusual look in her slightly tipsy eyes. “Can’t sleep. Just cleaning up a bit,” I replied, trying to stay calm. A gust of cool night air blew in, cooling my fevered skin as Leigh stumbled into my arms, almost pleading. “Stay with me, Chase,” she whispered. She was so drunk she mistook me for him. Before I could pull away, she kissed me, her hands tugging impatiently at my shirt buttons, hungry and forceful. The mocking laughter of her friends echoed in my ears. “Just treat him like a model on demand!” ### Chapter 4 Humiliation and pain surged through me. I couldn’t take it anymore. I pushed her away. “If you love Chase so much, you shouldn’t have married me. Why put us both through this misery?” “I may love you, but I’m still a man with dignity.” Leigh’s gaze cleared, resentment darkening her eyes. I ignored her, continuing to pack my things. She grabbed my wrist and, noticing my feverish skin, scolded me, “Can’t you even take care of yourself?” She tried to check my temperature, but I shook her off. “You came looking for me. What did you hear?” I’d reached my breaking point and couldn’t hold back anymore. “You think Chase left because of our marriage? He left because he was afraid you’d make him donate his kidney!” “How dare you insult him!” she spat, throwing a glass at me. I didn’t dodge. It hit my forehead, shattering into pieces and drawing blood. To her, I was just a vessel for all her anger—smashable and replaceable. My blood blurred my vision, and for a moment, I thought I saw her reach out in concern, only to pull her hand back. She stood there, cold and unfeeling. “I came back like you wanted. Now leave me alone.” Her heels clicked away into the night, taking with them what little remained of my heart. The next morning, she had her assistant drop off birthday presents for Piper and Arlo. The kids left them at the door, unimpressed. Piper scoffed, “It’s not even my birthday today. What’s the point?” Arlo, indignant, declared, “We used to want her back for Daddy’s sake. Now that Daddy doesn’t want her, neither do we.” Even at barely two years old, they were already heartbreakingly mature, wise beyond their years. “Daddy,” Arlo asked in his soft little voice, “where are we going to go?” I ruffled his hair, replying, “Back to Gramma’s Place.” The Caldwell estate was long sold; all I had left was Gramma’s old home. Mom had tried many times to bring her to the city, but Gramma had refused to leave her small town, so I’d spent many summers there, keeping her company. “There’s no amusement park there, no skyscrapers. Just birds, flowers, streams, and bridges.” The kids hugged me tightly, cutting off my words. “With Daddy, anywhere’s the best place.” ### Chapter 5 Leigh and I have both been busy lately. She’s preparing for Chase’s return, and I’m planning to leave with the kids. She’s always had the upper hand, so if I want to leave, I need to be prepared. Even though the kids say they don’t want her, I can tell they’re still looking wistfully at her picture the night before we leave. I hesitate before finally calling her. She picks up, her tone as impatient as ever. “What do you want?” “The kids want to see you one last time. Are you going to come back?” I wonder if she’ll return for this final moment together. But then I hear Chase’s voice. “Leigh, if you’re too busy, I’ll just head back to the States. Apparently, I don’t matter much.” Chase’s tone is careless, but Leigh jumps to reassure him. “You matter, Chase. He’s nothing.” Then the line goes dead. It feels pointless, even asking for a farewell. The painting I once gave her still hangs above her bed, and I remember that tear of hers the day she first saw it. I light a match and let the flames consume it. Our marriage started with that painting, and it’ll end with it too. The fire spreads quickly, racing up the walls, devouring the room. With the kids in tow, I walk away, not looking back. Leigh, I’m giving you the freedom you wanted. The fire roars with intensity, burning everything to ash. I take the kids and return to Gramma’s Place, now in a small tourist town where visitors often wander by. After she passed, the house remained unchanged, gathering dust. Wiping it away, I can almost see her handing me a big slice of watermelon, her smile wrinkling at the edges as she teased me for eating like a messy kitten. With the kids, I find peace. Together, we clean up the overgrown yard, working side by side, and I make plans to open a little craft shop selling souvenirs for the tourists. News breaks of the Dawson Estate going up in flames, with reports that Leigh Dawson’s husband and twins are believed to have perished in the fire. But that night, Leigh is in a hotel room with Chase, who laughs and says he’s off to the drugstore to pick up some “essentials” for the night. She knows exactly what he means. ### Chapter 6 After Chase leaves, Leigh places a hand over her chest, surprised at how calm she feels. There’s no thrill, no flutter. So, when Chase comes back and makes his move, she finds herself instinctively pulling away. “Sorry, work emergency—I need to go.” She rushes out, feeling a strange unease she can’t quite understand. That night with Max hadn’t been the alcohol-fueled blur she pretended it was. She’d known exactly who she was with, drawn to him in a way she couldn’t explain. Her regret made it easier to blame him, anyway. Max always took it. When news of the fire reached her, Leigh froze. For just a moment, guilt slipped into her mind, and she wondered if, by coming home that night, things might have turned out differently. But the thought vanished as quickly as it came. She assured herself that it was all a ploy, just another of Max’s pathetic schemes to win her sympathy. “Really, what’s he up to this time?” She couldn’t hide the disdain in her voice. Then her assistant handed her the recovered items from the fire—a blackened wedding ring and two half-charred presents. The ring was all Max had held onto from their marriage, something he’d always kept with him. The kids’ gifts hadn’t even been unwrapped before the fire consumed them. “They believe the fire started in the bedroom. It seems like he locked himself in from the inside. No one could’ve escaped that fire.” Leigh stumbled, gripping the table. “So, you’re saying he chose to stay? That he’d rather die there with the kids than escape?”

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Nina Harlow doesn’t seem very good at math. When we split a buy-one-get-one-free milk tea, she said the “free” one was hers, and I had to pay for mine. When she got sudden food poisoning in the middle of the night, I took her to Crestview Medical Center, but she insisted, “I didn’t want to come here. I just needed some basic stomach relief pills for three dollars. You’re the one who insisted on the hospital, so you can cover the rideshare. I’ll pitch in a dollar fifty for the meds.” Since her family’s in bad shape, we all tried to be understanding. Then, she started dating a guy as obsessed with splitting every bill as she was. One day she asked him how many pieces she could eat from a box of Swiss Rolls. His reply? “Baby, you can have as many as you’re willing to pay for.” I advised her to look carefully at who she was dating, but she accused me of jealousy and shoved me down the dorm stairs to my death. The other two roommates, who each got a grad school recommendation, kept quiet. Now that I’m back for another round, I’ll make sure they stay roped in, so they can see how hard it is to split costs without me acting as their “walking wallet.” Content

When I saw the online menu for Ivy’s Brew House, it hit me: I really had been reborn. Last time, Nina jumped at the buy-one-get-one-free deal and asked to split milk tea with me. She looked so eager I agreed. But when she came back with the drinks, she said, “Mine was free, so yours is $5.” I couldn’t believe my ears, but she doubled down. “Oh, right—you also owe me two bucks for grabbing it for you.” I wanted to say something, but Maya and Katie both shot me a look that said, “She’s broke; just pay her.” So, I forked over the money. That night, though, she ended up vomiting and cramping. I took her to Crestview, only for her to turn it back on me, saying I was overreacting. She handed back just a dollar fifty out of the twenty I’d covered, saying, “I only needed cheap stomach pills; I wouldn’t have gotten sick if you hadn’t ordered the tea. Here’s a dollar fifty, so I’m not taking advantage.” That was a slap in the face, but I let it slide—until she handed me a medical evaluation for depression and demanded, “Your attitudes made me depressed. My treatment and prescriptions should be covered by you all.” I’d never met someone this twisted. I lost it, and we ended up fighting. She yanked my hair, dragged me, and finally shoved me down the stairs. My roommates didn’t call 911; they just coordinated their stories to say I fell. After a few days of playing the system, they each scored a graduate scholarship. One said, “Nina’s in a rough spot, so chipping in a bit more is the right thing. Sloane was just being petty; no wonder she got what was coming to her.” But every time Nina needed money, they’d bury their heads in the sand and let me deal with it. This time, I’m done being their ATM. Let’s see how righteous they sound when they’re forced to shell out without me around.

I forced down my anger and smiled at Nina. “Oh, I already ordered from Ivy’s. Such a shame, though—maybe try asking Maya or Katie?” Everyone was still friendly early in the semester, so it was easy for her to ask them to split an order. Soon enough, Nina and Maya placed one together. When the food arrived, Nina brought in both bags and declared, “Oh, that was exhausting. Five bucks each for the delivery, please!” She pulled out her payment code and held it right up to me. I crossed my arms and just stared. Maya’s face turned sour too. Nina was testing me, trying to figure out my limits. The going rate on campus for getting deliveries or packages was about two dollars. Nina took my order without telling me and now expected me to cover a hiked-up fee. I took a deep breath. “Nina, I didn’t ask you to pick it up, nor did you tell me you were going to. And anyway, the rate’s only two dollars per delivery—five’s too much.” She shot up, face dark, and sneered, “Oh, so now I’m wrong for bringing your stuff up? Don’t act like you don’t know I’m on financial aid. Your family’s got money; a little ‘friend discount’ won’t hurt you, right?” “Friend discount,” huh? That was a new one. I didn’t want a fight this soon, but I wasn’t backing down. I transferred two dollars and not a penny more. “We’re just roommates, not friends. I’ll stick to the going rate. And if you take my order again without asking, you won’t get anything next time.”

The moment the money hit her phone, Nina played the wounded act, looking all teary-eyed. Maya and Katie rushed to her like bloodhounds on the scent, comforting her and throwing digs my way. “She’s struggling, and you’re acting all stingy. Got money but still so uptight!” “No worries, Nina. Here’s ten bucks for doing double duty.” Remembering last time, I knew Nina’s real agenda. She’d squeeze every cent out of us if she could. We’d see if they could keep up the sympathy act later. Their unity didn’t last the night. By midnight, Nina and Maya were both throwing up, with Katie frozen in shock. Once again, history repeated itself, but this time I wasn’t her “blood donor.” Let them split costs on their own. Lying in bed, I heard the chaos outside. But Nina wasn’t letting me off easy. She pulled my curtain open and said, “Sloane, can you take us to the hospital? We ate something bad.” I frowned. “And that’s my concern why? Pulling back someone’s bed curtain is plain rude.” She instantly turned on the waterworks. “We’re roommates! How can you be so heartless? Aren’t you supposed to lend a hand when things go south?” Maybe, before. But now I knew this was just the beginning. I’d let my “kind-hearted” roommates handle it.

Under my firm stance, the three of them went to Crestview Medical Center on their own. Katie gave me a strange look as they left, but I just stared back until she glanced away. The next morning, instead of them, I got a very annoyed Mr. Fletcher. “Sloane, your roommates were sick, and you just left them to it? You’re new to college, and your values aren’t fully formed yet, but you need to learn compassion.” The jabs took me by surprise. Last time, Nina had managed to push me down the stairs with their help—and Mr. Fletcher’s, who I later discovered was her relative. He had even manipulated her way into a financial aid spot. I wasn’t about to fall for it again. I faked a guilty look and stammered, “I… didn’t think much of it. I was just really tired and wanted to sleep.” He seemed satisfied with my humility and nodded. “Glad you realize. Let’s go to the hospital so you can apologize to Nina. And remember, with your privilege, you should help struggling friends.” He might as well have held his hand out for cash. I kept a smile on my face, double-checking my recording app was on. At Crestview, I found Nina and Maya getting IV drips, while Katie sat nearby on her phone. Nina rolled her eyes when she saw me. “I thought you said this wasn’t your problem. Why’d you show up?” she sneered, handing me a bill. “Doc says I got food poisoning, probably from your milk tea. You need to pay for some of this.” She pretended to be fair. “Don’t worry—I’ll go halfsies. Normally I’d just take a cheap stomach med, so I’ll cover three bucks. I’m not asking for charity.” I raised a brow. “So, you took my milk tea without asking, got sick, and now I should pay for your treatment?” Nina looked unapologetic. “Yep. It was your drink. You’re responsible.” I looked at the $200 bill, then asked Maya, “You good with three-dollar meds too?” Without even looking up, she replied, “Yep.” Mr. Fletcher, right on cue, said, “Sloane, apologize and pay. It’s just a few bucks, right?” Katie chimed in, “And don’t forget the rideshare fees.” They were really leaning into the whole “don’t take advantage” thing while charging me for every penny. Even vampires has their own limits.

I grinned and called over a passing nurse. “Could you remove their IVs, please?” Nina screamed, “Sloane, what the hell? How dare you?” I crumpled the bill and shoved it in her face. “I dare because I’m paying your medical bills.” Maya rushed to help Nina, but I shoved her back into her chair. I turned to the nurse. “Thank you. Please, pull out their IVs.” I still had a polite smile, but the nurse seemed unnerved, quickly pulling their IVs and scurrying off. Mr. Fletcher, a big guy, took a few steps back. Katie was practically shaking. Mr. Fletcher scolded, “Sloane, it’s just a payment. Was all this necessary? Can’t you see the bigger picture?” I pushed him toward the payment window. “Oh, sure! Since you care so much, you can pay for them.” “Oh, and don’t forget their rideshare. After all, I’m just a broke college kid here; couldn’t afford food if I tried.” Cornered by his own words, his face turned red as he grudgingly paid. I watched him fuming. “Happy now? Apologize to your roommates.” Still smiling, I pulled two bottles of nausea pills from my pocket and handed one to Nina. “Now, here’s the real math: these pills are sixteen bucks, so you each owe me eight.” “Eight minus your three-dollar meds, so each of you can Venmo me five. Add the rideshare and the milk tea you swiped…” I took out my phone. “Looks like you owe me twenty bucks.” Nina looked stunned, too flustered to speak. I held out the payment code, smiling at her angry face. “Well? Let’s see if my ‘good roommates’ mind paying their dues.”

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Today was the first day after my courthouse wedding with Celeste Harper, and she hadn’t come home all night. Yet, there she was, clear as day, on her childhood friend Liam Everett’s social media. A post appeared around midnight—a photo of them leaning close together. The caption read: “I knew that no matter what, one call and you’d be right by my side.” Content Celeste finally came back around noon after staying out all night. When she saw me sitting on the couch, she didn’t say a word. The silence grew so tense that I finally had to speak up. “Where were you last night?” With an annoyed expression, she replied, “I’m exhausted. Can we talk tomorrow?” I looked around at all the red-and-white wedding decorations and couldn’t help but feel a bit of self-mockery. Celeste—beautiful, smart, practically perfect. She’s a senior executive at a major corporation, with looks, status, and charm to spare. Everyone says I was lucky to get her, that I’m the one who “married up.” I’d always held onto the memories of us, all the good she’d done for me. I’d tried so hard to be the best boyfriend, the best husband I could be. But now that we’re officially married, I just want out. I didn’t reply to her. Instead, I sent a message to everyone who’d known we were getting married. They scolded me, and my family tried to talk sense into me. But I couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone the real reason. Only my closest family knew, and after their initial anger faded into silence, they eventually nodded in support. That night, I went through more than I could process. I didn’t look at Celeste, and she didn’t care to ask, heading off to her room. I packed my suit for the next day neatly, took down all the decorations, and threw them in the trash. If I was leaving, I didn’t need the “newlywed home.” As I was about to leave, I glanced at her room. Since we’d just moved in, we hadn’t been sleeping in the same room yet. I paused a long moment, then left. On the way out, I texted her: “Let’s get a divorce. I’m leaving.” I put my stuff down where I was going, turned off my phone, and went to sleep. What might come next wasn’t even on my mind.

I slept until evening. When I turned on my phone, I saw over twenty missed calls from Celeste and a stream of messages on WhatsApp. The first few were sharp and questioning, but later, her tone grew softer. “What are you doing? We just got married!” “Say something! Don’t just ignore me. Where are you?” … “Where are you, babe?” “Can we please meet and talk this over?” I blocked all her contacts and slept alone till the next day. When I woke, a loud knock came at my door. I deliberately took my time to open it. Celeste stood there, looking exhausted, but the second she saw me, it was as if a light had turned back on in her eyes. “Gabe, can we please stop this?” Hearing her words felt like a cruel joke. What right did she have to ask me to stop this? She saw me staring in silence, and finally sighed, reaching for my hand. “Let’s go home, alright? Don’t do this. I’m really tired.” Her eyes were soft, pleading, but I pulled my hand free. “Miss Harper, are you here to finalize the divorce?” “And I’m not playing around. Please take this divorce seriously.” Right in front of her, I grabbed a disinfectant wipe and scrubbed where she’d touched me. She looked deeply hurt, mouth open as if to speak, but she stayed silent.

“Celeste, I suggest you stop making things so messy. After all, our families have always been close.” Her expression was one of pained innocence. “You canceled the wedding ceremony without telling me. I had to ask everyone why it hadn’t started.” “A crowd gathered, pointing and whispering, and now I have to chase you to come back with me. I’m exhausted. I found out about everything only after seeing your message, and you couldn’t even be bothered to tell me directly?” “Is it my fault you didn’t check your phone? You’re that busy?” “Funny how you’re not busy enough to run off with someone else—and take pictures!” She looked at me, hurt but determined. “Guess they were right,” she said. “A dirty mind only sees filth.” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, I’m the one with a dirty mind. So when my own wife’s in bed with someone else, should I assume they’re just playing a game?” Celeste’s mouth opened to say something, but she stayed silent. Yesterday, seeing her like this would’ve made me want to hold her tight, tell her it was all okay. “Let’s put off the divorce discussion until later. My parents are waiting for us for lunch,” she added. “Aunt Rebecca and Uncle Sam are there too.” Hearing that, I froze. Her parents had always been good to me. Realizing how harsh I’d been, I reluctantly nodded and followed her back to her parents’ house. The moment we walked in, her dad greeted me warmly. I’d expected anger or blame, but there was nothing of the sort.

I felt out of place sitting in their living room. When I offered to help Aunt Rebecca in the kitchen like always, she waved me off. “Just relax, Gabe. Lunch is almost ready.” Uncle Sam and Aunt Rebecca acted like nothing had happened. Celeste even brought me a plate of my favorite fruit, her eyes twinkling with a smile. A strange guilt tugged at me, but it didn’t change my decision to end things. “What’s with the cold shoulder?” she asked, watching me closely. “I’m here to end this, Celeste. This is the last time I’ll be in your parents’ house.” She turned pale, biting her lip, trembling slightly. Silence filled the room until lunch was ready, and Aunt Rebecca urged me to eat. Celeste kept her head down while Uncle Sam sensed the tension and tried to lighten the mood. “Look at you, Gabe. You’re looking sharper than ever!” he said, chuckling. “Celeste, you’re a lucky woman!” I opened my mouth to correct him, but Celeste pinched my sleeve under the table, giving me an embarrassed look. It was clear she hadn’t told her parents about us. I felt a sudden, overwhelming sadness. Her parents had always treated me with kindness, so I’d tried to do the same for Celeste, supporting her through every little thing, even waiting with hot food if she worked late. But it was never me on her mind.

As I thought about it, my grip on my bowl tightened, my knuckles whitening. Aunt Rebecca noticed and nudged Celeste to serve me a dish. Celeste gave her mother an annoyed look and reluctantly plopped a shrimp onto my plate. I’m allergic to seafood. After all this time, she didn’t even know. From that moment on, I barely tasted a thing. That shrimp stayed untouched on my plate, like a neon sign. After we finished, I thanked Aunt Rebecca and Uncle Sam. “Thanks for the lovely meal,” I said, trying to keep steady, “but I need to make something clear. Celeste and I are separated. I’m sorry to disappoint you.” They looked stunned, and Celeste gripped her fists tightly. Before they could speak, the doorbell rang, and Celeste glanced at me, her eyes dark, before heading to answer. I had a sinking feeling about who it might be.

Sure enough, the voice that greeted Celeste from the doorway was all too familiar—Liam Everett, her childhood friend. She called out cheerfully. “Hey, Liam! What’s for lunch? Smells amazing in here!” Liam froze a second when he saw me but quickly gave a polite nod. “Ah, Gabe’s here, too. That explains it.” He slipped off his shoes and set a gift on the table, making himself at home, even pulling out a chair to sit between us. Like he belonged there more than I did. I glanced down and saw them both wearing matching slippers—the same pair I’d noticed her wearing recently. I couldn’t help but laugh at the irony. Liam broke the silence, glancing between us. “What’s with the mood in here?” Celeste shot me a warning look. Uncle Sam and Aunt Rebecca kept their heads down, focused on their food. I looked straight at Liam and spoke, my voice calm and clear. “Celeste and I are done. The divorce papers aren’t signed yet, but hey, feel free to go after her.” Celeste threw her chopsticks on the table. “Gabe, enough! I told you, he’s like a brother to me. You’re the one making it something else!” And just like that, I knew what I had to do.

I stood up and brushed off the imaginary dust from my shoulders, barely giving Liam a glance. “Aunt Rebecca, Uncle Sam,” I said with a slight smile, “thank you for the lovely meal. You’re kind to have me, but I don’t think I belong here anymore. Please, enjoy the rest of your lunch.” They walked me to the door, with Aunt Rebecca’s voice thick with unspoken words. I waved goodbye to them, knowing the only two people in that house who genuinely cared for me were them. Once outside, I sped off to my friend’s place. This friend had helped with every part of the wedding preparations, going above and beyond. Now, he deserved to hear the truth. By the time I reached his place, he was waiting for me with a look of sympathy. I sat across from him, explaining the situation carefully. Though I tried to leave out the ugliest parts, he caught on quickly. With a heavy sigh, he clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Man, I knew that woman wasn’t good news. But hey, this is your fresh start. I got some friends to introduce you to.” We shared a laugh, a few drinks, and finally, I was able to breathe. The next day, when I got to work, a couple of colleagues came over, asking if I had wedding treats. After all, I’d taken leave to get married. It felt strange to say anything, so I just laughed it off, dodging their questions as best as I could. For the next few days, I went out of my way to avoid Celeste. I didn’t think it would be that easy, but it was. Eventually, I sent the divorce papers to her email, though she didn’t respond. It didn’t matter. I was moving forward—she’d find her own way. After work, I grabbed my takeout and headed downstairs, only to spot a woman in a red dress waiting outside, holding a bouquet of red roses that matched her perfectly. People passing by were glancing her way. The sight brought back a flood of memories—she was just like that the first time I saw her. It had been junior year, at a party organized by some friends. The moment Celeste Harper walked in, she became the center of my universe. I stood there, spellbound, unable to think straight. Lost in thought, I didn’t realize she was walking toward me, roses in hand, eyes soft and intent. She was impossible to ignore when she looked like that, all glowing.

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My roommate brought back a strange mud idol when the semester started. Since then, she’s gotten prettier, and her luck seems to be on a winning streak. The rest of our dormmates have been asking her for advice. But one night… I saw them gathered around, their bellies swollen, howling in horror. Content “Lily, you’re looking more beautiful by the day!” The roommates, faces filled with envy and wonder, gathered around Lilith “Lily” Monroe. Lily held a powder puff, checking herself in the mirror, a smug look on her face as she cast a quick glance my way, letting out a disdainful snort. “Oh, you guys… Don’t say that; it’ll make Minnie feel so bad…” Lily suddenly whipped her eyebrow pencil at Minnie Lake. “Did you finish my homework, ugly?” Jenna Reed, one of our roommates, quickly picked up the mud idol sitting on Lily’s desk. “I’m starting to think you’ve been looking better ever since you got this thing. What is it, some kind of lucky charm?” Lily’s face twisted, and she snatched the mud idol back from Jenna’s hands. “It’s mine!” She clutched it close, almost as if it were a child, gently stroking the little doll’s face as though it were her own flesh and blood. But from my angle, I thought I saw the idol blink. I rubbed my eyes, looking again. The doll was just as before—stony and unmoving. Lily carefully placed the doll in the corner of her desk and covered it with a crimson cloth. The discussion ended with everyone in a tense mood, but my heart pounded with unease. Could it have been my imagination?

Early the next morning, a sharp scream jolted me awake. I looked down from my top bunk to see Jenna, as white as a sheet, huddled against the wall, clutching her stomach. When I looked at her bed, a chill shot through my entire body—her once-clean white sheets were stained red with blood, the metallic scent slowly filling the room. Dana Clarke, another roommate, and I hurriedly helped Jenna to the campus health center, her face pale and drained. But when the doctor examined her, we were all dumbfounded. “You’ve… you’ve had a miscarriage…” Before he could finish, Jenna collapsed to the floor, shaking her head over and over. “No way… I’ve never even dated anyone… How could I possibly have a miscarriage?” The doctor handed us a medical report, muttering, “College kids these days… such reckless behavior…” Jenna dashed into the ladies’ restroom right after we left the health center. Dana hesitated for a moment, glancing around before whispering to me. “Lana, I think Lily has something to do with what happened to Jenna.” My heart skipped a beat. Dana, clearly disturbed, cast a sidelong glance at the restroom, then quickly looked back at me. “I saw Jenna asking Lily on WhatsApp last night about her ‘beauty secret.’” Since Dana and Jenna’s beds were bunked, it was easy to believe Dana had seen it. “I got up in the middle of the night and saw Jenna pacing by Lily’s desk, then heading back and forth to the bathroom… and now, this morning, she’s…” Dana hadn’t even finished her sentence when Jenna emerged, a smile now on her face and dimples showing where there had been none before. “W-what happened? You look so… different!” Jenna glanced proudly at us, her cheeks rosy and glowing—any sign of her earlier weakness was gone.

I watched as my roommates fawned over Lily, anxiety tightening my chest. I glanced over at Dana, who was smiling, offering Lily some snacks. Since witnessing Jenna’s transformation, Dana seemed like a different person, ingratiating herself to Lily constantly. Now, everyone in the dorm except for Minnie and me was obsessed with pleasing Lily. And just as I feared, the next morning, the dorm was filled with a suffocating stench of blood. Dana and our other roommate, Dora Langston, both looked ghastly, and their beds were drenched in blood. The two of them staggered to the public bathroom, clutching blood-stained sheets. It wasn’t long before the two reappeared, looking as fresh and vibrant as models. All four girls then gathered around Lily’s desk, cooing over the mud idol like proud mothers. They noticed Minnie and I hadn’t joined them and forcefully dragged us over. Nervous, I held the doll close, glancing around. Just then, the dorm lights flickered, and, horrifyingly, the idol’s face lifted into a smile. Terrified, I shrieked, throwing the idol aside. Minnie quickly caught it. But that night, something terrible happened to Minnie. After I’d nearly dropped the idol, Lily snapped at me. I felt guilty, so I bought some fruit and snacks from Mason’s Grocery to leave on her desk as an apology. I pretended to sleep, waiting until 3:30 a.m. to place them. Just as I was about to get up, my bed shook slightly, freezing me in place. Moments later, I heard faint, heavy breathing from below. Minnie slept on the bottom bunk, so I figured she might be mumbling in her sleep. But then the bed shook harder, and the rhythmic squeak echoed up to my mattress. “Stop… please, it hurts…” What was going on? My body tensed with fear. Was Minnie dreaming… or was there someone in her bed? Shy and quiet, Minnie hardly interacted with anyone, let alone had a boyfriend. Driven by curiosity, I leaned down to peek over the edge. What I saw made my blood run cold.

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Naomi Sinclair and I grew up together at Willow Creek Orphanage. We knew each other, grew close, fell in love. Soon after she gave birth to our son, her birth parents found her. She became the only heiress to the Sinclair family name. Our son, from a young age, received an elite education and took on the Sinclair surname. Years later, when I handed Naomi the divorce papers, she looked a little impatient and asked why. I simply replied, “Because last night, the food I cooked went cold.” Content “Leave with nothing?” “Be sensible—there’s no way Aiden will go with you.” Naomi didn’t look up from her phone screen. Her company was about to go public. I had once been proud of all her accomplishments, but now, all I felt was a sense of brokenness. “I’ll give up custody of Aiden,” I said. “Before we married, all I had was that little house—the Starter Cottage. That’s all I want.” When I mentioned the tiny house we’d once shared, Naomi’s expression softened a bit. “Are you still upset that Dean Preston drove me home yesterday? He’s just a business associate.” Yeah, a business associate who knew she was married and still wouldn’t give up pursuing her. I said nothing, just looked at Naomi. I hadn’t had the chance to really look at her in a long time. She was immaculately dressed, her earrings studded with pink diamonds that probably cost more than a few months of our expenses back in the day. It only took a few years, and here we were, strangers. Seeing me shake my head, she looked irritated and asked why. I replied coolly, “Because last night, the food I cooked went cold.” Before Naomi had been reclaimed by the Sinclairs, I was a freelance writer with a passion for cooking. Naomi was working in finance, struggling on a low salary and barely having time to eat. I would pack meals for her and bring them to her office. She always said it was the best food she’d ever tasted. Then, Naomi got discovered by the Sinclair family. She kept their last name but insisted on staying married to me. I continued as usual, making her three meals a day. The first year, she told me she wanted to eat my cooking for the rest of her life. But only a few years later, she was coming home drunk, escorted by her admirers. I’d take her from another man’s arms, telling her to eat something to settle her stomach. Looking at the meal I’d made, she grimaced and said, “We have a chef here, so don’t bother making all this anymore.” “Why won’t you just go to the company? Are you really so idle every day?” I’d never had a knack for business and had no interest in the Sinclair empire. Aiden clung to her so much that he would only come down to eat when he heard her voice. When I handed him his food, he shook his head. I asked him why he wouldn’t eat, and Naomi snapped, saying I sounded too harsh. “He likes Western food. He’s tired of home-cooked meals, alright?” With her support, Aiden shoved the plate, sending hot soup and shattered porcelain splashing onto my arm. Naomi held him close, soothing him gently. Then she turned to me. “Just have the staff clean it up. I’m exhausted.”

I looked at Naomi’s confused gaze but felt no need to explain. In her eyes now, maybe the only things that mattered were the flow of millions of dollars. As for Aiden, he didn’t care much either. Raised in an elite world, he’d dreamed more than once of a “greater” father—a man who made waves in the business world, not a dad who liked being in the kitchen. In the daylight, Naomi noticed the burn on my arm from the night before. She called Aiden over. “Your dad hurt himself last night. Go give him some comfort.” Aiden was calm and collected at any public speaking event, but in front of me, he didn’t even try to hide his disdain. I’d grown up without a father and thought if I just loved my son enough, he’d love me back. But it turns out I don’t have that skill. Aiden just looked at me coldly, and except for a few babyish “daddy”s when he was little, I’d never heard him call me that again. “You don’t deserve to be my dad.” Naomi gently tapped his nose as if scolding him lightly. “The place on Greenfield Row is too old, and the paperwork will take a while. You’re welcome to stay here in the meantime,” she said. “Didn’t you love that cookware I gave you? It’s not like you can take it with you.” I’d packed everything I needed in a single suitcase the night before. “That cookware—if no one’s going to use it, just throw it away,” I said, then laughed. After all, the Sinclairs had chefs to handle everything. Without me, they wouldn’t even need a kitchen in that mansion, let alone high-end cookware. “Are you heading back to Greenfield Row?” “I can have Mr. Wills drive you,” she offered. I declined, looking at mother and son with a calm smile. “You both have a lot of allergies. Be sure to have the doctor test you again and give the chefs a list.” With that, I turned and walked out, without looking back at the two people I once loved most in the world.

I didn’t go back to Greenfield Row right away. Instead, I went to Willow Creek Orphanage, where I grew up. Naomi had wanted to visit with me, but the Sinclair family didn’t exactly consider it a place to show off, and the visit kept getting delayed. I had been sending part of my writing earnings to the orphanage over the years. As soon as I walked in, Ms. Ellery recognized me and greeted me warmly. She didn’t know yet that Naomi and I had divorced and pulled me into memories of our childhood. Naomi and I grew up here. She was a year younger than me, and we were both so small back then. Ms. Ellery pointed to the kitchen and laughed, saying I’d always been fascinated watching the cook. Naomi didn’t like garlic, but at Willow Creek, kids weren’t allowed to be picky. So, whenever I cooked, I’d leave the garlic out for her. Her reminiscing made me eager to cook. I accepted the offer to handle the kids’ lunch that day. As I chopped and cooked, a group of little ones crowded around, chattering excitedly. “Wow, you’re so cool, big brother! You can cook!” “It smells amazing! When I grow up, I’m going to be a chef, too! Ten stars!” Hearing their excitement reminded me of meeting Naomi’s parents for the first time. She’d been even more nervous than I was. When they found out I was a writer who loved to cook, if it hadn’t been for their upper-class manners and guilt over abandoning her, they would have practically shown me to the door. Her father simply remarked, “Useless skills, unfit for a man of worth.” Word spread fast in their circles. Naomi quickly gained plenty of new “friends.” Every guest who saw me cooking would chuckle and joke with her. “Your husband is rare—who’d think he could cook?” Dean Preston once frowned, asking, “Naomi, doesn’t the smell of cooking on him bother you? Is it hard to sleep at night?” After hearing that over and over, Naomi started to look uncomfortable about it. She didn’t want to embarrass me, though, and gently suggested, “When friends come over, maybe let the staff handle it.” “It’s not like the Sinclair family can’t afford a chef.” And soon, Aiden was picking up on all of it too. “My dad’s no ordinary cook. He’s supposed to be a hero.”

After a few days at Willow Creek, I went back to Greenfield Row. Everywhere I looked, there were memories I had to push down. When the Sinclairs took Naomi back, they insisted we leave everything behind; even our son’s things were replaced by theirs. Everything in that old house had stayed just as it was that day. I’d thought it was a stroke of luck, but it turned out to be the end of my dream. After clearing out everything that reminded me of Naomi, I went to sleep and didn’t wake up until noon. When I checked my phone, I saw a dozen missed calls—all from her. Just then, a new call came in from an unknown number. “Hello, is this Aiden Sinclair’s father?” the voice asked. “I’m Aiden’s teacher. He’s refusing to eat lunch, saying his dad usually packs it.” The voice paused, then continued politely, “Did you forget today was the start of the semester?” I frowned, not sure what game Aiden was playing. He attended one of the best schools, where they served well-balanced meals. More than once, he’d brought back the food I packed for him untouched. “Thank you, but he won’t be needing my lunches anymore. The family chef will handle his meals,” I said, then added, “I’m no longer Aiden’s father. Please contact his mother from now on.” Maybe the teacher had Aiden on speaker, because I heard someone yell, “Aiden, don’t run!” The teacher apologized and quickly hung up. I thought back to my own childhood—I hadn’t had one of these puzzling phases. Aiden, though, had always been pretty stable. His grandparents didn’t want him around me, so every summer, they’d take him away. And with each visit, he’d grow colder toward me. At first, he’d ask me: “Why do you always do servant’s work?” “Isn’t it a waste of your time?” “Other dads fly planes. Why do you stay home and cook?” Eventually, he stopped talking to me entirely, and I’d learn about his assignments through the parent group chats. The Sinclairs were more than happy to see him drifting away from me. I hung up and went to the mall. In the middle of comparing prices, Naomi’s call came through. “What did you say to Aiden? He’s refusing to eat.” “Can’t you come back? He still needs you.” Then I heard a low male voice suggest, “We can bring him to my new restaurant.” Naomi must’ve moved away from him because she continued, “That was just a colleague. Do you know where my allergy medicine is? The chef doesn’t know I’m allergic to carrots.” I could hear a slight plea in her voice. I sighed. “Naomi, if you can’t find it, buy it online or have the staff fetch it for you. It’ll be faster than waiting for my call.” “I asked you to have the doctor run allergy tests on both you and Aiden so we wouldn’t have this problem again.” After a pause, Naomi said, “Can you at least send your recipe? Grandpa misses your cooking.” “And Aiden’s project? I’m swamped with work.” I felt my resolve weaken at the mention of Grandpa Sinclair. He’d always been the only one in the family who fully supported me, and he truly loved my cooking. But I had no desire to get pulled back into their lives. “There are plenty of recipes online,” I replied. “Naomi, you know Aiden doesn’t consider me his father. It’s time I start my own life. Let’s each go our separate ways.”

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I was diagnosed with cancer, and my son’s gold-digging girlfriend immediately took everything from my family. She had the audacity to claim it was all her “engagement fund” and told my son that even if I died in a ditch, I wasn’t worth a single penny of her money. Because of her, I missed the best time to seek treatment, and my condition worsened. With my life dwindling, I finally snapped and dragged her down with me in a fatal fall. But when I opened my eyes again, I was back to the first time I met her. And this time, I could hear her thoughts. It turned out she wasn’t the gold-digger after all. Content “Travis told me that Clara won’t even look at a bracelet worth less than five thousand dollars. But the one I bought was only eight hundred dollars, even though it took me a whole semester of work-study to save up for it. I already gave it to her days ago. I haven’t seen her wear it, so I guess she just thinks it’s cheap.” I blinked as Hazel’s hesitant voice drifted into my ears, cutting in and out. I opened my eyes to the familiar surroundings of my home and quickly realized I’d been reborn to the moment when my son, Travis, first introduced Hazel to me. In my last life, this so-called gold-digging princess had full control of his paychecks before they’d even married, demanding our family scrape together hundreds of thousands of dollars for her engagement fund because “that’s just how things were done in her family.” By the time I was diagnosed with cancer, we had nothing left to afford treatment. When I tried to talk with her about returning some of the “engagement fund” money to help cover my medical expenses, she refused and even told Travis, “All the family money belongs to me. Your mother’s old life isn’t worth saving, and even if she dies in the streets, she doesn’t deserve a single penny of my money.” Because she was so insistent on not helping, I missed the chance to treat my cancer early, and it progressed to a terminal stage. In the last of my days, as she came to “visit” me, I couldn’t hold back. I pulled her down with me in my final fall. But now, I was back here again, and in a haze, I could hear her voice saying something about a gold bracelet. What did she mean? I looked up, staring at the slightly anxious Hazel in front of me, and her thoughts echoed in my mind again. “Clara’s looking at me so seriously. Is she upset with me? I shouldn’t have listened to Travis about giving her the bracelet early instead of in person. I should’ve just asked my parents for more money to buy her a bigger one, then maybe she’d think I cared more about meeting her.” Her lips hadn’t moved at all—yet I kept hearing this voice. Was it her inner thoughts? When had she ever given me a gold bracelet? In my last life, from the moment we met, she made sure to show me who was in control. She demanded that fruit cost no less than $5 a pound, that our meals be on par with five-star dining, and even insisted on celebrity-endorsed slippers before she’d set foot in our home—and wanted a big cash gift upon leaving. She never paid a dime herself, and every gift she gave me came from the supermarket’s freebie bin. Still in shock, I noticed her glance over at Travis and excuse herself to the bathroom. The second she left, Travis grabbed my arm and whispered, “Mom, why are you just sitting there? Aren’t you going to give her a cash gift? Hazel doesn’t look happy.” “Besides, this fruit and food aren’t even what she asked for. Aren’t you just trying to give her a hard time?” I froze. He had said the same thing in my last life, and I’d thought Hazel was just too materialistic to be a good match for him. That impression only worsened my view of her. But if her thoughts earlier were genuine, it didn’t seem like she was trying to be that way at all.

I shot a few skeptical glances at Travis, beginning to question him too. Last time, he was so weak, all he could think about was his girlfriend. When I tried to press him to return the money, he’d stopped me every time, saying, “Don’t make things too tense—we’ll have to live together in the future.” He’d kept telling me he’d handle it himself. I waited for his solution, but it never came, and my illness only worsened. I couldn’t trust this ungrateful son again. My face darkened. “What do you mean by ‘giving her a hard time’? Just because I didn’t treat her like royalty, I’m ‘giving her a hard time’? I’ve prepared gifts and a cash envelope, yet she comes to me with a supermarket toothbrush. I guess she doesn’t think much of our family, either.” “Mark my words—even if you marry her, I’ll never accept it.” Travis looked shocked at my sudden outburst. He pulled me aside and whispered, “Mom, I already told you, Hazel doesn’t come from much and has had a hard life. We should be the ones spoiling her, not making her uncomfortable. Just try to get along with her, alright?” Just then, Hazel returned. She looked at our uneasy expressions, and her thoughts appeared again. “I was giving Travis the look to have him smooth things over with Clara. Why is she even more upset?” Watching her sit down uneasily, I grew more suspicious. Clearing my throat, I said, “Hazel, you’re still a student. I don’t need gifts from you. Just come by when you can—that’s enough for me.” Hazel’s face looked confused, but her thoughts filled in the blanks again: “What do you mean no gifts? Didn’t Travis give her the gold bracelet? Even if she doesn’t like it, it’s unfair to say I didn’t give her anything.” I glanced calmly at Travis and pulled a few toothbrushes from under the table, placing them on the coffee table. “Travis said you were so thoughtful you even brought me some freebie toothbrushes from the store.” Hazel’s face turned pale, and she immediately looked at Travis. “Since when did I give Clara toothbrushes? Where’s the gold bracelet? Didn’t you give it to her?”

Travis’s face went rigid, but he recovered quickly, grinning as he pulled the gold bracelet out of his bag. “I must’ve forgotten. Here, it’s more official if you give it to her yourself.” Hazel sighed in relief, immediately fastening the bracelet around my wrist while her thoughts continued, “Travis is so careless—how could he forget? Thank goodness Clara brought it up, or I would’ve looked terrible.” I frowned. Hazel was nothing like I remembered. Could it be that she really did try to give me the bracelet in the last life, but Travis never followed through? And because I didn’t feel it was appropriate to ask her about it directly, it turned into a misunderstanding? Why didn’t Travis ever give it to me? After securing the bracelet, Hazel lifted my hand and smiled brightly. “It looks so good on you, Clara. Really suits you.” I stared down at the bracelet, feeling a strange emotion. Because of our awful first meeting, we hardly saw each other after that, and I never knew she could be so sweet. Hazel glanced playfully at Travis. “When are you going to start paying attention to me? I bought that skincare set for Clara, and you said you’d give it to her. But not only did you forget—you used it yourself! You even forgot about something this important?” The skincare set—I remembered that clearly. A month ago, during a video call, I’d appeared on camera briefly with my usual cream in hand. Hazel noticed the brand and even chatted about it with me. The second the call ended, Travis told me she was upset, saying, “Hazel thinks at your age, you shouldn’t waste money on fancy brands. You should save it for your future grandkids and just stick to basic lotion.” I had been furious and told Travis she wasn’t suitable for him. But now, it seemed like I’d gotten things completely wrong. Travis gave me a sheepish glance and put his arm around Hazel, laughing, “I know, babe, I messed up. From now on, I’ll take care of everything you and Mom need.” My heart felt heavy. Had Hazel really been so innocent of everything I blamed her for? And if she hadn’t taken my family’s money, who had? I finished dinner, still plagued with questions. Travis dropped Hazel off at school, and I immediately scheduled a full exam at St. Vincent’s Medical Center. The doctor pointed at my scan and confirmed a small abnormality in my stomach. After a biopsy, it was confirmed to be an early stage of stomach cancer. Luckily, I’d caught it in time, and surgery could completely remove it. I left the hospital feeling relieved, grateful to have a second chance. When I returned home, Travis was slumped on the couch, head in his hands. The moment he saw me, he burst into tears. “Mom, Hazel says we need two hundred thousand for the engagement. What am I going to do?”

Travis wiped his tears. “Hazel says two hundred thousand is the bare minimum her family expects. If I can’t come up with it, she’ll leave me.” He grabbed my hand, eyes pleading. “Mom, I love her. I want to marry her. Please, help me. Once I make good money, I’ll take care of you—two hundred thousand is nothing compared to what I’ll give you back!” I looked at him coolly. “First, you’re going to explain that skincare set business with Hazel.” Travis’s eyes darted as he said, “I just thought you had enough already and wouldn’t need it right away. Besides, haven’t you always given me extra things? So, I figured I’d just use it myself.” “And when did you tell me she thought I should use cheaper products?” Travis rolled his eyes. “It’s just a little misunderstanding. Let it go, will you?” “Now back to Hazel. You bring her over for dinner again. If she passes my test, I’ll scrape together not just two hundred but three hundred thousand dollars for you.” Travis’s eyes lit up, but he looked at me cautiously. “Just don’t mention the money to her, okay? She’s already upset. I don’t want her calling things off.” I raised an eyebrow. “More likely, you don’t want me asking her questions.” The very next day, Travis brought Hazel over again. But this time, she seemed distracted, barely acknowledging my welcome.

While I was still trying to make sense of it all, I heard Hazel’s inner voice: “Travis said his mom’s always been a bit demanding, but I didn’t expect her to insist on a $200,000 dowry, even claiming I couldn’t marry into the family without it. Where am I supposed to get that kind of money? This feels more like a business transaction than a marriage! I thought Clara was always nice when we met, but behind my back, she’s doing things that make her look pretty low.” My heart sank. I had never mentioned a dowry—clearly, this was something Travis came up with on his own. Two hundred thousand from me, two hundred thousand from Hazel…what exactly was he trying to do? Thinking back to the conflicting stories Travis and Hazel had spun, my mind flashed with a realization. Could it be that, in my previous life, Hazel had never held on to that dowry at all? Was it my own son who had hoarded every penny? No wonder he had been so afraid of me confronting Hazel. I fought to keep my emotions in check and called Hazel over to sit with me, sending Travis to the kitchen to fetch the food. Once he was out of earshot, I pulled out my phone and, right in front of Hazel, transferred ten thousand dollars to Travis with a message: “Son, use this to buy Hazel a new outfit. A girl as lovely as Hazel should never have to hold back on dressing her best.” Hazel’s expression turned skeptical, like she thought I was just putting on a show. I didn’t bother explaining, pretending instead to head to the bathroom. When I came back, I noticed Hazel’s expression had changed; she was staring at Travis with a mix of confusion and suspicion. Her thoughts echoed, “Why did Travis say Clara hates my wardrobe and wants me to dress better? Clara didn’t say that. She even gave him ten thousand dollars to buy me something. What’s his game?” I interrupted her thoughts, saying, “Hazel, I asked you here today because I want to talk about the dowry.” Hazel looked stunned and locked eyes with me, finally beginning to understand something wasn’t right.

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My sister has always been strange. She keeps telling me that she’s received phone calls from her future self. Everyone else thinks she’s crazy, but I know she’s not lying. Content 0When my sister, Vivian, was in elementary school, she was the tallest in her class, so she got chosen as the class monitor. One day, a new student transferred into her class—a boy named Jacob Thorn, though everyone would later call him “Thorn.” The teacher introduced him in front of the whole class, adding that Jacob had been in a bad accident and hadn’t fully recovered. She encouraged everyone to look out for him. Everyone politely nodded in agreement, but beneath the surface, something sinister had already been set in motion. Now everyone knew: Jacob had learning disabilities. That knowledge made him a target. Some students would secretly urinate into his water bottle and trick him into drinking it. Others dragged him over to the girls’ section, pulling his pants down in front of everyone. Some smeared superglue on paper, pressed it onto his back, and wrote in big red letters, “I’m brain-dead.” Maybe they all truly thought Jacob was “brain-dead” because he never fought back, only showed up day after day with a smile on his face, as if none of it fazed him. Vivian, as the monitor, was proud and upright. Seeing the way Jacob was tormented, she used her height and authority to intervene. She defended him time and again. But little did she know, by doing so, she was about to unleash a Pandora’s box. 0

After that, her things started to get tampered with. An apple she’d left on her desk was found with sewing needles stuffed inside the flesh. Her backpack—opened to find cockroaches crawling out from its hidden compartment. Someone even planted a blood-stained sanitary napkin in her lunchbox. And every so often, she’d find notes in red pen, covered in vile, hateful words. Eventually, Vivian couldn’t take it anymore and completely broke down. Her teacher, outraged upon discovering this, immediately halted classes to investigate. But the class remained silent; nobody spoke up, and the investigation reached a dead end. The class monitor, Tyson Carden, suggested an anonymous vote. Maybe then, someone would reveal the culprit. And sure enough, when the votes came in, nearly every one of them pointed to Jacob Thorn. Right there in class, the teacher searched Jacob’s pencil case and found a whole pack of needles, a container full of cockroaches, two unopened sanitary pads, and several adult magazines. With Jacob condemned, the stories about his “other dirty habits” started to circulate. Someone claimed he’d sneak back to the classroom during morning exercises to lick Vivian’s cup. Another said he would linger around her desk after school, sniffing her chair. Someone else swore they’d seen him staring at her while she slept, drooling, and rubbing himself. Hearing this, Vivian ran to the bathroom, retching for what felt like hours. She refused to leave home for a month, too traumatized to return to school. Her homeroom teacher, Ms. Loretta Banks, along with a few other class leaders, came to visit her, promising that Jacob had been “handled.” His parents had taken him out of school, and he wouldn’t ever be coming back. With enough reassurance, Vivian finally returned to school. Jacob was gone, and things seemed normal again. But the psychological scars he left on her would never heal. Vivian started having recurring nightmares. She’d describe to us in detail how, in her dreams, she’d be trapped in a dark tunnel with a pair of eyes staring relentlessly at her. No matter how hard she ran, there was no end, no escape from that gaze. Because of these nightmares, Vivian stopped wearing bright clothes, refused to go out after dark, and began to fear even the presence of boys. But, as fate would have it, one day during high school, everything changed. 0

On that day, a fierce storm hit—dark clouds rolling in, thunder crashing. By five in the afternoon, it was as dark as midnight. Dad, as usual, was on his way to pick her up, but he got stuck in rising floodwater, and the car stalled. Vivian waited at the school gate, watching as a hurried passerby accidentally knocked her phone from her hand, sending it splashing into a puddle. The screen instantly fizzled out. As it got later and the streets emptied, Vivian decided to brave the walk home on her own, opening her umbrella and staying on high alert. Normally, she’d take a shortcut down a narrow alley, but not today. She chose the main road, avoiding every possible risk. But despite all precautions, fate still caught up with her. A man appeared, trailing her from about thirty feet back, keeping a steady distance. She glanced at his reflection in a shop window and saw him—a man in a black hoodie, face covered by a mask. If she stopped to tie her shoe, he stopped. If she quickened her pace, he matched it. By now, the street was completely deserted, and her whole body began to shake. It wasn’t the first time her school had heard of incidents like this. There had been a string of assault cases, all in stormy weather, and the perpetrator had yet to be caught. But instead of letting her fear paralyze her, Vivian kept moving, though her heart was racing. As the man started to close the distance, Vivian used every ounce of strength she had to dash toward a fruit shop at the corner. Without thinking, she threw herself against the door, forcing it open with her shoulder. The shop owner, Mr. Ellis Grant—a silver-haired old man—nearly had a heart attack. Vivian dropped to her knees, gasping for air, and with a hoarse voice, told him, “Someone’s following me.” The old man’s face grew serious as he stepped outside. Sure enough, there stood the man in black, a specter lingering just beyond. Mr. Grant pointed at him and shouted, “You get out of here before I call the police!” The man hesitated for a second, then turned and vanished into the storm. Relieved, Mr. Grant handed Vivian a cup of hot water and attempted to call her family, but all the phones were down—the storm had knocked out local service. When she’d calmed down, he offered to walk her home himself. But as they turned a corner on the way, a shadow rushed out of nowhere, barreling into them with force. Vivian fell, dazed, but when she looked up, horror rooted her in place. Mr. Grant lay on the ground, clutching his neck, blood pouring from between his fingers. A bolt of lightning illuminated the street like daylight, and his face was frozen in a grimace of shock as his eyes stared, unseeing, straight at her. Vivian said she’d never forget that sight. 0

After that, Vivian was admitted to Rosehill Psychiatric Center. She couldn’t take her exams, and the police never found her attacker. Even after her release, she couldn’t shake the trauma. Our family tried to get her back to school, but after only two weeks, she begged our parents to let her stay home. Just walking into the building reminded her of Jacob Thorn and that stormy night. With no other choice, they agreed. But her fears never went away. Every time it rained, she’d curl up in a corner, muttering strange things. Everyone thought she was just spouting nonsense—everyone but me. I listened, taking her words seriously. Vivian told me that she’d waited five years for a second chance to set things right. She said that three days from now, another storm—just like that one—would come. I didn’t believe her, but sure enough, three days later, the Pacific storm hit. Dark clouds rolled in, thunder boomed, just like she said. I stared at her in disbelief, and she explained. Five years ago to the day, she’d received a phone call. She had been waiting at the school gate for Dad, with the wind howling around her, making it hard to hear. The signal was awful, but she heard a woman’s voice telling her, “You’re in danger. Find help now!” A second later, the passerby bumped into her, and her phone ended up in the puddle. I listened in silence before finally asking her, “Who was the woman that called you?” “It was me,” she said calmly. 0“I could never forget that number; it’s exactly the same as the one for our landline at home.”

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When my parents fought, they left my brother and me sitting outside on the air conditioning unit. We were several stories high, and our love-crazed mom wouldn’t let us inside, hoping Dad would feel remorse. But Dad didn’t feel anything—he just found her annoying, slammed the door, and left. The wind was bitterly cold, and I hugged my thinly dressed brother close, crying and pleading for Mom to let us back inside. But she was only focused on her own anger, pointing at us and saying, “If it weren’t for you two dead weights, I would’ve divorced him a long time ago! Shut your mouths! If you cry again, I swear you’ll never come back inside!” The wind dried my tears, and I silently promised never to forgive them. Later, Dad was drunk and got in an accident, hitting Mom with his car. They both ended up paralyzed. The insurance payout was in the hundreds of thousands, but I decided not to save them. Content My parents were fighting again; the sounds of things crashing around filled the house. Anything they could throw, they did. My mom yanked my brother and me out of bed and shoved us toward the window. We were dressed only in thin long-sleeves and sat barefoot, curled up on the air conditioning unit outside. Mom stood at the window, pointing at us and yelling, “Rick Grant! If you ever go after that tramp again, I’ll take the kids and we’ll all jump!” Reeking of alcohol, Dad snapped back, “Then jump, Clara! You’re always threatening to jump—go ahead and do it! You jump, and I’ll marry Lacey tomorrow!” Mom’s hair was wild, and she was shaking with rage as she threw a glass of water at him, screaming that he was no man. Dad didn’t hold back either, slapping her hard as soon as the glass hit him. “Stop making a scene and divorce me already. I’ve been done with you for a long time, you crazy witch!” He slammed the door as he left, hard enough to make the whole building shake. Mom sank to her knees at the window, covering her face and asking me in a daze, “Sunny, did you hear what he said? He doesn’t want us anymore.” I couldn’t care less about their fight. We were on the 18th floor, and the wind was strong enough to blow my brother and me off at any moment. I shivered uncontrollably. “Mom, my brother and I want you. Please, let us back in—it’s so cold out here.”

My brother’s face had turned bright red from the cold, and his nose was dripping, almost slipping into his mouth. He huddled against me, his hands and feet freezing, like blocks of ice. But Mom didn’t seem to hear us. She kept repeating, “He wants a divorce… He doesn’t want us anymore.” My feet were going numb, and I didn’t understand why she’d stay by the window but wouldn’t pull us back inside. It was early winter, and my brother was still young. If he stayed outside, he’d get sick. I flexed my numb fingers and stood up. I had to get my brother back inside first. I grabbed his hand and pushed him through the window. But suddenly, Mom jumped up and shoved me back. “Who said you could come back inside? Your dad wouldn’t even glance at you two; what good are you anyway?” My brother wailed, terrified, but Mom only yelled at him, “If it weren’t for you two burdens, I would’ve divorced him ages ago. Shut up! If you keep crying, don’t even think about coming back in!” Luckily, my brother had half his body inside already, so he tumbled into the room, while I stumbled back, landing on the edge of the air conditioning unit. If I hadn’t grabbed it quickly, I would’ve fallen. My upper body was clinging to the unit, my legs dangling below. I didn’t dare look down, and I cried out to Mom to save me. She looked out, startled, but after a quick glance, she went back inside. “If you fall, don’t blame me. Blame your dad for not saving you.” With that, she shut the window, blocking out the wind and my pleas.

My arms were aching, and tears poured down my face as I screamed for her. “Mom! I’ll listen from now on! I’ll never sneak my brother candy again. Please don’t abandon me!” “Mom, I don’t want to die. I really don’t want to fall.” “Mom, I love you. I’ll behave. I don’t want Dad anymore…” But no matter what I said, the window stayed shut. I felt hot and cold all over, my fingers stiffening. Then the air conditioner roared to life, blowing icy air over me. Mom had turned it on. She really didn’t want me anymore. My heart felt like it was freezing over, the pain numbing as the cold seeped in. I couldn’t hold on much longer—it was so, so cold. I couldn’t understand why she’d treat us like this. Was it because Dad was cruel to her? My brother and I loved her. If they divorced, we’d still want her… But she didn’t seem to want us. The wind dried my tears. I silently vowed that if I survived, I’d never forgive them. It was as if heaven heard my promise, as our neighbor Tess opened her window with an annoyed look. She squinted, her cigarette falling out of her mouth in shock. “Damn, girl! You cosplaying Batman up there or something?”

I looked at her through teary eyes, and Tess finally realized something was wrong. She quickly banged on our door and came to pull me back inside. Her hand, tattooed with a butterfly, reached out and yanked me in with a firm grip. My legs were too weak to stand, and I sat on the floor, the warmth making my cheeks tingle painfully. Mom scowled, shooing Tess away before snapping at me, “What were you yelling about? I wouldn’t really let you fall.” “Oh, and that woman? Don’t you dare speak to her again. She’s trash, can’t you tell?” I opened my mouth to say Tess was kind, but my throat was too raw to speak. Mom was always saying bad things about our single neighbor, claiming a woman her age who hadn’t married must have something wrong with her. But Tess was the one who had saved me. For the first time, I started to doubt what Mom had always told me. After a few minutes, I noticed an unusual silence. Where was my brother? I was ten, and he was three years younger, a kid who cried over everything. I found him slumped against the bathroom door, fainted from crying, his cheeks flushed and burning hot. He had a fever. My first thought was to call for Mom, but she’d locked herself in her room, listening to sad songs.

I had no choice but to bang on her door. “Mom! Finn is sick! We need to take him to the hospital!” But she didn’t respond, so I started kicking the door. “Mom, stop listening to music! Finn’s really sick…” He was already frail, getting sick a lot when he was little. I was scared he wouldn’t pull through this time, just like Grandpa and Grandma who had passed away. I kept kicking until she finally opened the door, and my foot landed on her shin. She yelped in pain and slapped me across the face. “Why are you kicking like an idiot? Just like your useless dad!” I bit my lip, swallowing my tears. “Finn’s sick, and you wouldn’t come out…” She interrupted me, “Why don’t you ask your dad? Is he dead?” “Besides, I don’t have money. If you can’t find your dad, then deal with it.” She slammed the door again. My brother’s fever was getting worse. I hoisted him onto my back, one arm under his legs, and the other holding him steady. If his fever spiked any higher, it could be life-threatening. I went over to Tess’s door, and she opened it, a purse slung over her shoulder like she was heading out. Seeing us, she frowned. “What do you want? Didn’t your mom tell me to get lost?”

I knew Tess had every right to be mad. She wasn’t obligated to help us. Sniffling, I mustered the courage to ask, “Tess, could I borrow your phone to call my dad?” She handed over her brand-new smartphone, and I called Dad again and again, but he didn’t pick up. Tess, noticing my struggle, took the phone from me and dialed a few more times herself. Finally, someone answered, but it was a woman. I asked her where my dad was, and she snorted before handing him the phone. Annoyed, he asked, “What? Is this your mom making you call? Tell her I’m not coming home!” “No, it’s not her, Dad. Finn has a fever. Please, come back and take him to the hospital.” He scoffed. “Yeah, right. Tell your mom even if both of you die, I’m not coming back!” Tess’s jaw dropped, and she snatched the phone, yelling, “What kind of father talks to his kids like that? Why don’t you do us all a favor and drop dead already!” She hung up with a sharp click, then looked at us and sighed. “Alright, I’ll take you to the hospital.”

The doctor said it was a good thing we’d come when we did. Finn was burning up and convulsing from the fever. Any longer, and he could’ve suffered brain damage or even worse. Sitting in the hospital waiting area, I turned to Tess and said, “I’ll pay you back for the hospital bills, Tess.” She pointed to my face. “You should get that looked at too. You’re a mess.” She handed me a small mirror, and I saw a scratch running across my cheek. Mom must have clawed me during one of her slaps, but I hadn’t felt it. It only started stinging now that Tess had pointed it out. I shook my head and decided not to get it treated. The bleeding had stopped, and besides, a doctor visit would cost more money. Tess didn’t push it. She handed me a stick of gum and asked, “Any other family besides your parents?” I thought for a moment, then shook my head. We used to have Grandpa and Grandma, but they’d passed away. It was just Dad and Mom now. Tess was silent, then she patted my shoulder and said, “Alright. From now on, if you need anything, come find me. The name’s Tess Harper.” “Thank you, Tess.” “Eh, don’t go calling me Tess like I’m old. Just call me ‘Tessie’.” I nodded. “Tessie.” She chuckled, mussing up my hair. “Don’t go thinking I’m a saint, though. I’m letting you stick around ‘cause you owe me, alright?” I nodded hard. I knew when someone was truly good—not by what they said, but by what they did. We didn’t go back home until the next day, but no one was there. Mom had taken all her things and whatever money was left. She left a note on the coffee table. “Even if you beg, I’m not coming back!” My heart turned cold. The note wasn’t even meant for us—it was for Dad. Finn, still weak, lay in bed with his eyes fixed on the ceiling, his fingers clutching mine tightly. “Sunny… what did we do wrong? Why don’t they want us anymore?” I didn’t know how to answer, so I turned away and wiped a tear with the back of my hand. His small hand gently brushed my cheek. “Sunny, I’ll grow up fast. I’ll make a lot of money, and I won’t ever let you cry again.” I buried my head in the blanket, feeling a stinging pain behind my eyes. Soon, the fabric was soaked through. I held him close, thinking, even if they’re gone, we can still make it.

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After I died, my parents signed the organ donation form, giving my retina to their beloved adopted daughter, Liana Tate. Without me, they were finally a real family. Liana and I fought all our lives, and in the end, I was left with nothing but a broken heart. This time around, I decided to live for myself—and ended up with an unexpectedly happy ending. Content I was reborn, all the way back to the day Liana came into our home. If I’d returned a little earlier, maybe I could have prevented her parents’ tragic deaths, or even convinced my parents not to adopt her. But now, she was here, and no tantrum could change that. Liana was the daughter of my father’s mentor, a renowned artist who doted on her like a treasure. She had a natural gift for painting, but a mysterious eye disease made her vision unpredictable, and she faced the constant risk of blindness. After her parents passed away in an accident, leaving her alone, my parents took one look at her and decided she’d be like their own—even more so than their real daughter. “Marissa, haven’t you always wanted an older sister? From now on, Liana is your big sister! Aren’t you happy?” My mom and dad looked at me with that expectant, loving gaze, hoping I’d accept my new sister wholeheartedly. At seven, I was thrilled. I believed I’d gained a warm, loving family member and couldn’t wait to share my world with her. But Liana wasn’t here to share anything; she was here to take everything. “Marissa, I know you’re very mature,” Dad said, “but Liana isn’t well. Even though you’re younger, we need you to help us look after her. Can you do that?” I didn’t even get a chance to reply before Liana’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I know it’s hard for Marissa to accept me. Who would want to share their family’s love? I… I can just go back to the orphanage.” Sometimes I wondered if she, too, had come back with a second chance at life. How could an eight-year-old be so calculating? I hadn’t even objected, and yet she’d already cast me as the jealous, spoiled sister. Mom gently wiped Liana’s tears. “Oh, Liana, please don’t cry. It’s not good for your eyes.” “And you don’t need to call us ‘Mr. and Mrs. Locke.’ Starting today, we’re Mom and Dad to you.” Liana looked up, her young face streaked with tears and glistening lashes. She looked so innocently astonished, so pitiful, anyone would feel sorry for her. “I… I have a mom and dad now.” And just like that, they cried together, the three of them in a tight embrace. No one remembered to ask how I felt. Liana just had that effect on people.

That night, my parents made me share a room with Liana. I lay quietly in bed, wide awake, my mind racing with plans to become independent as soon as possible so I could leave. From my last life, I knew how it would go. From the moment she entered our family, Liana would make my parents—and even my brother—hers. In the dead of night, Liana crept out of bed, and I feigned sleep, watching her sneak into my parents’ room. “Mom! Dad! It’s so dark… my eyes hurt so much… I’m scared…” Overwhelmed by sympathy, my parents never stopped to wonder how Liana, in this strange house, had managed to find their room in the dark while supposedly suffering from an eye attack. All they did was wrap her in their arms, their eyes brimming with tears as they held her. “Liana, don’t be scared. We’re right here.” She shivered, pressing herself deeper into Mom’s embrace, the picture of a frightened little girl. “Mom… Dad… can I really stay in this family? Earlier, Marissa, she…” Hearing this, a chill settled over me. Moments later, Dad burst into my room, yanked me from bed, and demanded, “What did you say to Liana? How could you be so unkind? Liana’s been through so much already!” “Let’s not be too harsh,” Mom said softly, though she still held Liana tightly, never even glancing my way. In the end, they brought Liana into their room, leaving me alone, standing in the cold, dark hallway. They’d forgotten I was seven too, that I was scared of the dark and the cold, and that I still needed my parents’ love. Over time, I understood the game Liana played. She would pretend to suffer a relapse, stirring up sympathy, and then accuse me of things I hadn’t done. As I grew older, I saw the crisis: ever since she arrived, I’d been cast as the “bad child,” while she took over my place. And so began our rivalry. If Liana got something, I’d make sure to have it too. Liana was skilled at putting on a gentle, sweet front, while I, the real daughter, became the petty, jealous one. In the end, I lost at everything, even my brother Trevor, who’d once doted on me, fell under her spell. In the art world, everyone knew the Lockes had an angelic, talented adopted daughter, Liana Tate—and a bratty, jealous daughter named Marissa Locke. This time around, I’d had enough. I was done fighting Liana; I’d live the life I truly wanted.

The next morning, I walked downstairs to the sounds of laughter. Liana was sitting in my seat, eating with my favorite dishes and silverware. When she saw me, the warmth drained from the room as though I were the intruder. Mom’s face looked awkward. “Marissa, you’re up early today. Liana doesn’t have her own set yet, so we let her use yours. Why don’t you use Trevor’s?” “No, thank you. I don’t take what doesn’t belong to me.” Everyone caught my sarcasm. Dad, still upset with me for “bullying” Liana last night, glowered at me. I glanced at the table. Milk, sandwiches, eggs, and bacon—all of Liana’s favorites. I was lactose-intolerant, and I usually had oatmeal. “Oh, I forgot! Let me make you some soy milk instead,” Mom said quickly, eager to cover up her favoritism. Dad slammed his cup on the table. “Why do we need so many special treatments? She’s already spoiled enough!” If I were the same girl from before, I’d be heartbroken, ready to throw a fit. Now, though, I just felt numb. I sat silently at the edge of the table and caught Liana’s satisfied smirk as she ate. When she glanced up again, her face was all sadness. “Dad, don’t be so harsh on Marissa. She grew up pampered; it’s only natural for her to act spoiled. It shows how much you love her.” And just like that, my parents were moved to tears by her “grace.” How angelic she seemed in contrast to me, the ungrateful daughter. But I didn’t care. In my last life, I’d practically disowned them already. I could’ve pretended to adore Liana, played the obedient little sister. But I wanted her to know: all the love and admiration she fought so hard for meant nothing to me.

By the time the three of them came back from enrolling her in a new school, I’d already moved my things to the guest room. It wasn’t about giving her my space—I just wanted some privacy. Dad patted my head. “Marissa, you’re such a good girl. Just like Daddy’s little angel.” A younger me would have basked in those words, but now I knew what he really meant: if I could sacrifice my happiness for Liana’s sake, only then was I worthy of his love. Liana didn’t hesitate to barge into my room, looking over the art supplies Mom and Dad had once bought just for me. Her face turned pale as she threw herself, sobbing, into Mom’s arms. “I just wish I could paint freely like Marissa.” Mom looked at me apologetically, hesitating before finally speaking. “Marissa, I know this is unfair, but for Liana’s sake, could you put your art supplies away?” This was how it started: my space, my hobbies, even my dreams were slowly pushed aside for Liana’s sake. In my last life, Liana’s failing eyesight meant she couldn’t paint for long. So, I was forced to cut back on my own painting time, even though I was the artist’s daughter. Liana’s work was framed and displayed while mine sat at the bottom of a forgotten art box. When the time for our college art exams came, Liana’s eye issues flared up halfway through her exam. She wasn’t able to finish, so she switched her name onto my piece. When the results came in, I recognized my own work with Liana’s name on it. I begged Mom and Dad to help me. Instead, they held a sobbing Liana and gently told me to be the bigger person. “Marissa, you’ll have another chance next year. Liana’s running out of time—any day now, she could go blind.” It was so easy for them to say, but only I knew how many nights I’d spent practicing, nearly going blind myself from exhaustion. I screamed, “Isn’t it enough that she took you from me? Now she has to take my life too? Give me my spot back, or I’ll leave for good.” Instead of remorse, all I got was a stinging slap. “Without Liana’s eye problems, do you really think you’d have won? You have no talent! Even in art school, you’d be at the bottom of the class.” I clutched my burning cheek, stunned that my own father would say such words to me. In the end, Liana took my spot at the academy, and I became the joke of the art world—a failed artist overshadowed by the girl who could barely see. This time around, I was done. In front of my parents, I threw my art supplies in the trash. Dad’s face darkened, but they knew they were in the wrong, so they left, with Liana right beside them.

When summer break arrived, my brother Trevor came back from studying abroad, mainly to meet the “legendary” new sister, Liana Tate. Just like in my past life, the moment Trevor laid eyes on Liana, he was utterly enchanted. Liana wore a blindfold, stumbling around the living room like she was lost in darkness until she “accidentally” fell right into Trevor’s arms. Blushing, she murmured in that delicate voice of hers, “Since I don’t know when I’ll go blind, I thought I should get used to darkness now. That way, I won’t be a burden to Mom, Dad, or you.” She had such a way with words. In just one sentence, she managed to make me seem unnecessary, even subtly hinting that Trevor and I didn’t get along. Trevor, full of youthful idealism, was so shaken he couldn’t even speak, gazing at her like she was a damsel from some tragic romance movie. He made up his mind right then and there to protect her for life. My parents suggested we all go out to celebrate Trevor’s return. I wanted no part of it; the four of them looked like a perfect, happy family, and there was no place for me, the bratty, unloved youngest daughter. But Liana wouldn’t let it go. She hid in a corner, tearing up like a sad little pearl. “Mom, Dad, why don’t you just go with Trevor and Marissa? You all deserve a family day without me ruining it.” Trevor got flustered and gently wiped her tears. “Why would you say that? We’re a family now.” Liana acted shy, pulling back from his touch and glancing at me with a helpless look, silently accusing me of something. Trevor turned to me with a scowl. “Marissa! Why are you bullying Liana? This isn’t like you; you used to be so sweet!” Who had changed? They were the ones who’d become strangers: Mom, who had always thought of me first; Dad, who’d been strict but fair; even Trevor, my once-protective big brother. I looked him in the eye, laughing coldly. “Why don’t you ask Liana? How did I ‘bully’ her? I gave up my room for her. What else does she need?” My question caught Liana off guard. She avoided my gaze, but this only strengthened Trevor’s resolve to defend her. “It’s that high-and-mighty attitude that hurts her! She just got here, so naturally you should make her feel welcome!” Suddenly, I was the enemy, while Trevor played the knight defending his “princess.” Mom and Dad chimed in, “Marissa, Trevor doesn’t visit often. Don’t upset him. Apologize to him and Liana.” I looked over this family, who seemed determined to put Liana’s feelings above everything else, and said, “Liana can have anything she wants because I don’t care—but I’m not apologizing.” With that, I walked to my room and locked the door, letting Trevor’s frustrated shouts fade into the background. They spent the entire day out without calling to check on me or even bringing me dinner. In my last life, I would’ve been heartbroken, maybe even starved myself to make them feel guilty. Now, I knew it was pointless; it only hurt me. I made myself a big bowl of ramen, spread out the study guides I’d secretly bought, and settled in. Since my rebirth, I’d been focused on improving myself, pushing forward every day. This time around, I planned to create a life for myself. After careful thought, I decided to study medicine.

At seven years old, I still had the mind of my twenty-something self from my past life, and academically, I was miles ahead of Liana. Her “delicate angel” act might work on my saintly parents, but it didn’t fool the teachers. Failing grades were failing grades. When finals came, I scored first in my grade, while Liana barely passed. Every time a teacher called our parents about her poor performance, she’d tear up, blaming her eye condition. Yet she stubbornly refused to transfer to a specialized school. Each exam season, the house was in chaos as she “struggled” to study, while I took it in stride. To spare her feelings, my saintly parents decided they’d both attend Liana’s parent-teacher conference—even though it was on the same day as mine. They had to know that their favoritism was already causing my classmates to bully me, calling me a “loveless nobody.” Any time they wanted to brush aside my needs for Liana’s sake, they used that tired line I’d heard a thousand times: “Liana’s health isn’t good, and she’s had a hard life. Just give her a little grace.” But I didn’t care. Knowledge was my greatest weapon. I used every spare moment to study, and by twelve, I skipped a grade, becoming the youngest high schooler in our city’s history. Suddenly, my name was everywhere. Everyone knew the Locke family had a prodigy daughter. Dad’s phone rang off the hook with calls from well-connected families hoping to arrange friendships or even engagements. But because he wanted to protect Liana’s feelings, he turned down every invitation, never considering how these connections could benefit my future. Of course, how could I possibly compare to his beloved Liana? When the acceptance letter arrived, my principal, Caroline Quincy, and a reporter personally came to deliver it. But my parents were already rushing out the door, taking Liana to the hospital because she’d complained of a “headache.” They didn’t even stop to greet the principal. Even though I’d long since given up hope for my parents’ support, there was a pang of disappointment. Principal Quincy looked at me intently and said, “Our school doesn’t usually allow boarding, but if you want to live on campus, I’ll arrange it.” She patted my head, and I felt a long-forgotten warmth. Tears welled up as I realized how much I missed the care and kindness of someone who truly looked out for me. That single moment brought two of the most important people into my life.

As the school year approached, I couldn’t wait to move out of the chilly, loveless Locke house and into the school dorms. That day, predictably, Mom and Dad had been called away by Liana’s latest “health crisis.” Trevor was home on break but made no move to help me pack. He simply watched me bustle around, and when I was about to leave, he muttered, “Guess things’ll be peaceful around here for once.” I hoisted my last bag into the taxi, not sparing him a glance. Principal Quincy had arranged a lovely room for me—actually a converted faculty apartment, cozy and well-equipped. I spent a full day cleaning and organizing, then headed to the bookstore to stock up on study materials. High school would be intense, and I was determined to excel. When classes started, I wasn’t surprised to find myself ostracized. Rumor had it that Principal Quincy had “made an exception” for me, and whispers quickly followed. “Oh, look, the 12-year-old prodigy is here.” “Think she’ll cry and want her mom at night?” “Maybe we should put her next to the water cooler so she can make her baby formula during breaks.”

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My wife said she was going to sell me, and I thought she was joking—until Prime Sales Day, when she actually put me up for sale online. In the Household Helper Services section: Name: Dexter Langston Age: 32 Service: To be determined by the buyer. Description: This is my husband—a good-for-nothing freeloader without any income. If you’re interested in a spineless bum, feel free to place an order. Price: One order equals one day, priced at $200 per day. Assuming he’s got about 40 years left, you could buy out his entire future for $250,000. Note: Whoever buys him for the rest of his life will have him exclusively, and I’ll divorce him on the spot. Wishing you both happiness. She posted this to mock and humiliate me. But she never imagined that someone—a rich woman—would actually buy my future. Content “Dexter, I’m selling you.” My wife, Samantha Yates, smirked as she handed me her phone to show me the post. My face darkened as I read it. When we got married, I already had my own business. Afterward, she enjoyed the good life I provided. I even built her parents a house back home worth hundreds of thousands and gave her brother $200,000 to help him buy a house and get married. In our third year of marriage, my tech platform company went under. Since then, I’ve been working from home, developing a video game. But in her eyes, that makes me a lazy bum who just plays games all day, never earning a dime. “Samantha, isn’t this going a little too far? Mocking me like this?” I said, my voice cold. When things were good, I never hesitated to give everything I could for you and your family. But now that I’m down, you throw this in my face? “Too far? You’ve been holed up at home for two years, doing nothing but gaming. Am I wrong to call you a waste of space?” she scoffed. “And don’t flatter yourself—no one’s going to buy you anyway.” “It doesn’t matter if anyone does. Just putting me up there shows how little you think of me. And I’ve told you a hundred times—I’m working on a game. When it takes off, everything will turn around.” “Get a grip, Dexter. You’ll never turn things around.” “Oh, and how can you be so sure of that?” She sneered. “Go look in a mirror. You look like a bum; the only difference between you and a street beggar is your clothes. And you’re still talking about ‘turning things around’?” “My time is going into developing the game.” “Enough. I don’t have time for your excuses.” She grabbed her bag and headed for the door. “It’s past 8 p.m. Where are you going?” I asked. “To work, obviously. How else do you think we’ll pay the rent?” She shot back icily. After my company went under, the bank took back our house. “I’ll pay the rent!” I shouted instinctively. She just laughed, slamming the door behind her.

After a few cigarettes, I strapped on my helmet, opened up the delivery app, and waited for an order. Soon enough, I got a delivery for crawfish, and the customer even left a $50 tip, asking that I peel the crawfish when I got there. After picking up the crawfish, I made my way to the customer at the Galactic Lounge & Karaoke Bar. About half an hour later, I found myself outside room 808. Just as I reached for the door, I saw her—Samantha. Inside, a group of seven or eight people were laughing and singing, with Samantha sitting right in the middle next to her ex, Tyson Caldwell. They were singing “Only True Love,” looking like a couple. Didn’t she say she was working late? Guess she’s working overtime… at karaoke. I could feel the heat rise on my scalp, like a storm cloud had just settled over my head. Just then, a heavyset girl opened the door. “Come on in.” I stepped inside. Samantha, engrossed in singing, hadn’t even noticed me. “Just sit over there and peel the crawfish for me. Let me know when you’re done,” she said, pointing to a corner. I settled in, back turned to them, and started peeling. After a few minutes, the group decided to play a game of Spin the Truth. Samantha lost and picked truth. “So, how often do you and your husband, you know…?” Rebecca, the heavyset girl, giggled, prying into her private life. “Ugh, don’t make me sick. Forget weekly; we haven’t done a thing in over a year,” Samantha scoffed, full of disdain. Ever since I lost everything, she’s kept her distance from me. “No way! Not even once in a year? Are you telling the truth?” someone chimed in, incredulous. “I swear, if I’m lying, let me get hit by a car,” she said, raising her hand like she was making an oath. “Well, does your husband even… function?” one of them asked with a snicker. “Hmph. If he doesn’t, I’ll just go elsewhere. Not like I care,” she shot back. “Samantha, that sounds miserable,” someone sighed. “It’s absolute hell. You guys don’t know how disgusting he is, lazing around all day on video games, living off me. Every minute I’m home with that deadbeat is torture,” she sneered. “Oh, Samantha, you deserve better,” Tyson said, pulling her into a comforting hug. “If it weren’t for your mom opposing us back then, I wouldn’t have married that loser out of spite,” Samantha sniffled, clinging to him with tears streaming down her face. “Samantha, I let you down. Don’t cry; it hurts me even more to see you like this,” he said softly, brushing her tears away. “Come on, a few tears aren’t enough! How about a kiss to really make it better?” “Yeah, kiss to rekindle those old flames!” the others cheered. I stole a glance at them, and fury burned in every cell of my body. They stared deeply into each other’s eyes, Samantha shyly biting her lip before closing her eyes and tilting her head up. Right as Tyson leaned in to kiss her, I couldn’t hold back any longer. I stood up and threw a punch straight into his face. My sudden outburst left everyone in the room shocked. “Are you insane, delivery guy? What’s your problem, punching someone like that?” Rebecca barked. Only then did Samantha notice me. “Oh, him? That’s my pathetic husband.” The room fell silent. “Tyson, are you okay?” she asked, concerned. “I’m fine,” he said, wiping a bit of blood from his split lip. We knew each other—he’d even been at our wedding. Samantha had introduced us back then. “What’s wrong with you? Why would you just start hitting people?” Samantha snapped at me, her tone icy. “What’s wrong with me?” I shook with rage, clenching my jaw. “My head is practically drowning in storm clouds, and I’m just supposed to sit back and take it?” “Tell me where you see any infidelity here,” Samantha said, deflecting. “Oh, please. You were about to kiss him, and you’re still denying it?” “So what if we kiss? Are you going to lose some imaginary pride over it? If I’m shameless, who’s to blame? You. You live like a spineless loser, like some maggot in a sewer—disgusting and worthless,” she spat. My chest felt like it was going to explode. “If you can’t make Samantha happy, maybe you should take the high road and set her free,” Rebecca suggested, smugly. “Right, know your place. Samantha was the campus queen in college, and just look at her—still gorgeous. Look at you now, a lowly delivery guy. How much do you even make a day?” another girl added, scoffing. Turns out these were all Samantha’s college friends. “Go take a long look in the mirror. Here’s $50—just finish peeling the crawfish and stay quiet.” “What an embarrassment. No wonder Samantha’s miserable. If I had a husband like you, I’d rather slam my head into a wall.” “Hey, hey, here’s $200. Just act like you didn’t see anything and scram.” They kept piling on the insults, reveling in it. I clenched my fists, taking in every cruel word. “Go home. Now.” I shouted, grabbing a beer bottle and smashing it against the floor. They all fell silent, seeing the rage twisting my face. “Go home if you want, but I’m not coming with you,” Samantha said without a shred of fear. At that moment, a security guard rushed in, hearing the commotion, and threw me out.

Samantha didn’t come home that night. I sat up all night on the couch, the ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. Finally, around nine in the morning, she walked in, ignoring me and heading straight to the bedroom. “Stop right there!” I shouted, my voice seething with anger. “Where did you sleep last night? I called you dozens of times, and you ignored every one,” I demanded. “Oh, I stayed with Tyson. Is that what you wanted to hear?” she shot back. “Do you have any shame left at all?” “Shame? Is that worth anything? If you’re so hung up on pride, why don’t you try earning some money? Then you can throw it in my face—I’d let you.” I was gritting my teeth, every muscle tense with fury. “You’re unbelievable,” I growled. “Yeah, I’m realistic.” That’s not what she said when we were dating. Back then, she claimed she didn’t care about my money, that she loved me for me. She promised that whether we were rich or poor, she’d stay by my side, no matter what. “Things change. How could I have known you’d go bankrupt? Believe me, I’m even more upset about it than you.” I was left speechless. Suddenly, her phone chimed with a notification. She checked it, and her face went from smug to stunned, eyes wide with disbelief. “This… this can’t be real…” “Dexter, someone actually bought you—for the rest of your life,” she said, flabbergasted. “What?” “Look.” She showed me the screen. The order showed someone had bought out my entire future—$250,000, paid in full. For a moment, I couldn’t believe it either. “Look at the buyer’s profile… looks like she’s pushing 70. Dexter, you hit the jackpot, caught yourself a rich lady,” she laughed. “Cancel the order.” “Why would I cancel it? This is a once-in-a-lifetime windfall!” she said, practically gleeful. “But your note said that whoever bought ‘the rest of my life’ would mean a divorce. Are you really going to go through with that?” I was fuming. “Of course. I’ve been wanting a divorce for a long time. Honestly, even if some rich lady hadn’t bought you, I would have filed in a few days anyway. You know I can’t stand you anymore—I resent you.” “So after the divorce, you’ll go to your rich lady, and I’ll go back to my first love. Win-win.” “And that $250,000? Consider it compensation for the hell you’ve put me through these last two years.” “I can’t believe you actually said that.” I knew her heart was with Tyson now. Staying together would be torture for both of us. The only reason I didn’t want a divorce right now was that I couldn’t stand the thought of it happening while I was down and out. “Dexter, please, just let me go,” she pleaded. “And if I say no?” “Then you’ll have a constant rain cloud over your head, and I’ll just keep on living my life without a care.” She smirked. “You shameless—” I started to yell. “Just words, and you’re already at your limit. What would you do if I actually followed through?” she taunted. “You…” She interrupted as her phone lit up again with a notification. The buyer had requested Samantha’s phone number, and soon enough, her phone started ringing. Samantha put it on speaker. A raspy voice crackled over the line. “I’ve already paid for your husband’s future. When are you going to file for divorce?” “Tomorrow. But… ma’am, you won’t go back on this, right?” “Of course not. Just bring the divorce certificate, and he’s mine.” “Thank you so much, ma’am!” Samantha could barely contain her excitement. She quickly saved the number, then immediately called Tyson. “Tyson, I have the money! Now you can start that gaming agency. You said you needed $200,000? Well, I’ve got $250,000!” she said, practically bursting with joy. Watching her celebrate while I sat there, sold, my blood boiled with rage. She’d pawned me off, taken the cash, and planned to pour it all into Tyson’s future. There was no way I’d let her win that easily. She wouldn’t cancel the order, but maybe the buyer would. “I’m going downstairs to grab some smokes,” I muttered, heading out. “Fine by me. I’ll get started on the divorce papers!” she said, all but beaming.

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