Author: Momo Chan

After six years of marriage, I brought up divorce with Joanne, my wife who’d insisted on a child-free life. She broke down, sobbing that she’d finally have children with me—until I pulled out a breast pump from her moving box. Next to it was a prenatal checkup report for twins. “I found this while packing,” I said. “The twins you’ve been asking me to look out for…they’re yours, aren’t they?” Content While packing, buried beneath some clutter, I found a box that belonged to Joanne. The lock popped open easily, and inside was a used breast pump. Although carefully cleaned, the faint scratches showed it had seen a lot of use. My heart lurched as questions raced through my mind. I’m a cardiologist, and Joanne is the head pediatric nurse at General Hospital. She’d always said she was fed up with all the screaming kids at work, claiming she didn’t want any of her own. That’s why she wanted to be child-free—or so she said. I thought she was just venting. Not long after we married, she became pregnant. I pleaded with her to keep the baby, but she refused and got an abortion. Reluctantly, I supported her decision for her health. So she wouldn’t face that pain again, I even agreed to a vasectomy at her suggestion. I looked at the pump, wondering if it could have been some mistake, maybe even misplaced. My curiosity got the better of me, and I kept digging until I found a prenatal report. My mind went blank. My fingertips tingled. It was a checkup report showing twins, with detectable heartbeats. A corner of the form with the patient’s name was torn, but the listed age matched Joanne’s. Too many coincidences to ignore. The woman who’d insisted on a child-free marriage could very well have two children in secret. I intended to ask her about it that night. But Joanne texted that she’d be covering the nurse’s station overnight. The next morning, I dragged myself to the hospital and barely made it through surgery. As soon as I was done, Joanne waltzed into my office, dropped a kiss on my neck, and said, “Guess what I made you for lunch today, sweetheart?” She handed me a container of pork stew, telling me how nutritious it was. She set the table, chattering on about the twins in her department, whose condition had worsened and urgently needed a rare surgery—one only I could perform. “I know you’re slammed, but could you just move them up in the line?” she asked, her eyes narrowed in a honeyed smile. The sun was shining, but cold dread crept over me. This was unlike her. Joanne, who’d never shown special treatment to a single patient, had become deeply invested in these twins. She’d mentioned their single dad, how hard he had it. She even checked on them every night, and during critical times, would stay by their bedsides until morning. What kind of nurse did that for strangers? Unless they weren’t strangers at all.

Staring at that familiar face, I wanted to confront her, to scream. But it felt pointless. Three years ago, I’d been sent abroad for eighteen months. It was plenty of time for her to have twins. She’d pursued me intensely when we first met at the hospital, making every excuse to be close. I was flattered. Before long, her tireless care wore down my defenses. Over the years, we’d become the “model couple,” or so everyone thought. Even I had believed it. But it was all a lie. Joanne, who’d been so relentless in capturing my heart, was now the one who’d betrayed me. I pushed the container away and pinched the bridge of my nose. “I can’t move them up. That’s unfair to the other patients waiting their turn.” Joanne’s face darkened, and she almost snapped. “It’s just a word from you. Those twins can’t wait any longer. The others can.” The words—coming from a head nurse—sounded foreign and cold. In the past, even in the most tragic situations, she’d always said, “That’s life.” Now, she was trying to pressure me into an unethical favor. She leaned in, squeezing my hand and pouting, “Come on, honey, just this once?” Normally, a little of her sweetness would have been enough to sway me, but now, her begging just felt wrong. I gave a bitter smile. “Seeing how desperate you are, anyone would think you were their mother.” Joanne flinched, forcing an awkward laugh. “You’re so silly! Of course not. I just don’t want to see them suffer any longer.” She quickly got up and straightened her clothes, as if to shake off the conversation. “Think about it. This can’t wait.” As she left, she accidentally left her phone on my desk. A strong hunch made me pick it up and unlock it with her birthday. I went straight to her shopping app and checked her purchases from three years ago.

Seeing the breast pump purchase was like having my shame nailed to a wall. It was followed by an endless list of baby bottles, diapers, blankets, and baby gear. Each item drove a spike through my heart. Joanne hadn’t even bothered to delete the receipts. The memories started piecing together. Once, while scrolling social media, I stumbled across a photo she’d posted. There was a boy and a girl, grinning as they held cotton candy. The caption read, “My little sweethearts are growing up.” She’d told me she was attending a conference, so this post threw me off. But as soon as I clicked into her profile, it vanished like some glitch. I’d asked her about it, and she’d laughed, saying, “Must be a bug. How could I have secret twins?” Another time, I found a lease agreement with her name on it, though she always came home after late shifts. When I asked, she explained that a friend in financial trouble needed a place, and she’d stepped up to help. Touched, I even sent her three grand for her generosity. In hindsight, I’d been played for a fool. She’d taken my trust and sold me out. I heard her heels clacking as she came rushing back to my office. She grabbed her phone, hesitated, and asked, “Did you look at my phone?” Feigning confusion, I replied, “No. Why?” She looked relieved and smiled awkwardly. “Nothing.” I was more certain than ever. She was hiding something.

That evening, I stayed at the hospital an extra hour before dragging myself home. Opening the door, I found the house dark, the only light coming from the candles flickering on the dining table. Joanne stood there, a forced smile on her face. “Welcome home. I’ve been waiting, love.” She was wearing a black backless dress, her curves shadowed by the candlelight. She swayed her hips as if to lure me in, but I barely managed to shrug off my coat, uninterested. Sensing my lack of response, she pressed close to my back, her breath hot on my neck. “Do you want to be a dad?” she asked, her voice low. I froze. Encouraged, she held me tighter. “Why don’t you get that reversal surgery? The success rates are high. We could have a baby.” I almost laughed. Once, I’d practically begged her to keep our child. She hadn’t even flinched, refusing until I finally caved. The day of her abortion, I’d waited on the bench outside the procedure room, crying until my eyes burned. I even got a vasectomy so she wouldn’t face the possibility again. To keep the peace, I’d even lied to my parents about the reasons we couldn’t have children. But now she was asking for them. What did this mean? She pulled me over to the table, piling food onto my plate. “You’d be a great dad, honey. And maybe if you knew what it was like, you’d understand our patients better.” My fists clenched as she went on, urging me to “just think about it” as if she were doing me a favor. I pushed the plate away and said coldly, “Being child-free works fine for me. Enjoy your meal; I’m not hungry.” Her smile twisted into fury. “Mason, what’s that supposed to mean? After all this, you won’t even eat?” “I’m tired. I’m going to rest,” I replied. Through the door, I could hear her muttering complaints. I did want a child—just not with her.

Aside from my work in the OR, I was preoccupied with planning the divorce. When I returned to my office, a container of sweet and sour fish—my favorite—sat on my desk. Joanne must have left it when I didn’t come home. Joanne despised the smell of fish. Yet she’d cleaned out the bones just so I’d enjoy the meal. She was meticulous in caring for me. My clothes, always hand-washed, were pressed to perfection. She stayed up late to make me liver broth, never complaining. Her friends used to tease her for acting “too much like a mom,” but she’d always brush it off, saying, “He’s my everything. Of course, I want to take care of him.” During my year and a half abroad, we’d video-chatted every day. She never seemed to tire of asking about my meals and sleep. She’d cry when I lost weight, saying, “I knew you couldn’t take care of yourself without me.” Eventually, she stopped calling as often, and I figured her workload was just too much. I didn’t ask questions. It’s only now that I realize, during those long time-zone gaps, Joanne was with someone else, raising the children she never let me have. When I’d been sure of our love, she’d been nursing another man’s twins. I thought we’d shared something real, but it was all an act. For six years, I’d trusted her completely. Now, I drafted the divorce papers and called my lawyer. It was time to end it. While finishing up the final sutures in the operating room, my student, Blake Ashford, called me unexpectedly. “Dr. Lake, the twins’ condition just worsened. Ms. Taylor’s in the room and really upset.” Blake shouldn’t have called me while I was in surgery, but maybe he was considering my “special relationship” with Joanne. Besides, I normally wouldn’t have answered, but by chance, this procedure went smoothly, and I’d finished early. Maybe this was fate. I handed off the case to the assisting team and stepped out of my scrubs. Crossing the pediatric hallway, I could already hear Joanne’s cries. I quickened my pace until I reached the door. Inside, a team of medical staff frantically attempted to resuscitate a child whose lips were turning a sickly shade of blue. Joanne looked shattered, her voice breaking in desperation as she shouted, “Please! Save my children!”

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While trying on my wedding dress, a message from an unknown woman appeared on my phone. “I’m pregnant, and I can’t get ahold of your fiancé. Can you pass the message along?” My fingers went numb, and with eyes burning, I confronted Evan. But he just deleted the text dismissively. “Probably just one of my friends losing a bet on truth or dare,” he said. On the drive home, usually smooth and steady, he nearly ran several red lights. He gently unfastened my seatbelt and, with an apologetic look, said, “I can’t make dinner tonight; I’ll be working late.” As I watched his car speed away, it felt like a massive weight was sinking to the pit of my stomach. Ten years of us together, and it was all unraveling. Numb, I drifted into the study and opened my laptop to email Dr. Marla Hawthorne. I had put off attending Stanford because of a surprise pregnancy, choosing instead to sacrifice my dreams for family. But life had dealt me a harsh blow. Luckily, I’d only deferred my admission a year rather than give up my place entirely. After I sent the email, I booked a flight to the U.S. two weeks from now. Then a video popped up on my screen. Evan, looking tender, lifted a woman into his arms, gently placed her on a bed, tucked her in, and kissed her forehead. The sight felt like a searing hot brand across my face, ripping away a layer of my skin. I wanted to scream at him: Does he put on this act of devotion for any woman he pleases? All this time, I thought I was his one true love, but I was nothing more than one of his many distractions. In the video, their voices mingled intimately. “Who do you truly love?” she asked. With a quiet murmur, he replied, “Only you.” I watched the video on repeat, each time like a dagger twisting deeper into my heart. I sat there until dusk when the low-battery alert shook me awake. I shut the video, forced my numb legs to move, and packed a suitcase. Just as I dragged a box to the door, Evan arrived, his eyes narrowing in confusion. He glanced at the open box and laughed. “You’re finally throwing out these dioramas? I thought you’d cherish them forever.” “Honestly, they just take up space.” These handcrafted dioramas had taken me countless sleepless nights to create, but to him, they were nothing but junk. “Leave them; I’ll have someone toss them out,” he said, holding out a paper bag. “I went all the way to the Uptown District for Sweet Pecan Bread. It’s the last batch; I paid triple for it.” He gripped my wrist, his gaze warm, waiting for me to laugh and fall into his arms like I always did. But that familiar apple-cinnamon scent mingled with the cloying perfume of another woman overwhelmed me with nausea. I pulled my hand free, murmuring, “Get away from me.” His smile faded into irritation, his voice turning cold. “What’s the matter? This is your favorite.” I lifted my head, meeting his questioning eyes with a distant gaze. “I’m sick of it. People’s tastes change.” Just like trust, it’s fleeting. His brow furrowed, anger simmering in his eyes as he snapped, “I’ve already explained—this was just a friend’s joke.” “If you insist on imagining things, that’s on you.”

A laugh slipped out before I could hold it back. Who was he to yell at me? Was he enraged because I’d uncovered the truth? Just standing in the same space made my skin crawl, so I grabbed my keys and walked past his cold, stone face. His barely restrained anger followed me out the door. “You can’t just throw a tantrum whenever you want,” he called out. “Where will you go without me?” The crunch of dry autumn leaves sounded beneath my feet, blurring my vision. My parents had divorced in middle school, each eager to take my brother but indifferent toward me, leaving me adrift. Only Evan’s mother, who’d watched me grow up, secretly supported me. At school, when others mocked and ostracized me, Evan alone stood by my side, fists clenched in defiance, shielding me with fierce loyalty, even if it meant getting beaten up. At eighteen, bruised and sore, he would still flash a silly grin to make me laugh. “Don’t cry. I’ll protect you forever,” he’d promised. Now, at twenty-eight, he stormed toward me, grabbing my arm harshly. “Enough, Sloane. You’re acting like some spiteful woman threatening to leave over nothing.” He’d driven me to the edge and now dared to lecture me as if I were unstable. I almost wanted to tear away his mask, to make him see the wreckage he’d caused. Could he really keep up this righteous act? I reached for my phone to play that damning video, but a new message appeared. The photo showed Evan and that woman under fireworks, locked in a passionate kiss. March 15th. That night, rumors had spread of a mysterious man setting off fireworks to confess his love. I had taken a picture of the night sky, hoping to share the moment with him. In the crowd, I’d been jostled, falling to the ground with a searing pain in my abdomen as blood pooled around me. I’d tried calling Evan, but he never answered. While the doctor’s tools probed coldly into my body, scraping away life piece by piece, what had he been doing with her? The memory stung like venom as numbness settled over me. “Sloane, what’s wrong? You look terrible.” Evan held my shoulders, his eyes full of concern. I calmly pushed him away, then slapped him hard across the face, flinging my phone at him. “You’re disgusting!” I yelled. His eyes shifted from fury to panic as he tried to pull me close. The calm, controlled Evan I knew had vanished. “I can explain, Sloane. Don’t watch that.” His hands trembled as he tried to delete the video but failed repeatedly. “The doctor said you might not be able to get pregnant again.” “I just wanted her to have the baby, then I’d send her abroad. I wouldn’t stay in touch.” “You like kids, don’t you?” Suddenly, the world fell silent, the only sound the fierce thumping of my heart. I’d imagined every possible confrontation, but nothing prepared me for this grotesque explanation. Did he even know what he was saying? I couldn’t help but laugh, dignity cast aside as tears streamed down my face. “It’s over,” I whispered, those words draining the last of my strength.

Evan’s gaze was anguished as he reached for my hand, only to hesitate and clench his fist, striking the wall instead. His voice was rough with desperation. “Sloane, please, the wedding’s close. If it’s canceled, it would break my mom’s heart.” “It’s her greatest wish to see us married.” “Whatever you feel for me, remember what she’s done for you. Please, Sloane.” The usually proud Evan now hunched slightly, his eyes reddened. “Don’t leave me, Sloane.” Memories flooded in, the nights his mother had comforted me. “Sloane, don’t worry, Auntie will stay with you.” “Look at this new dress I got you, and the butterfly clip—isn’t it pretty?” “Anyone who dares hurt Sloane will answer to me. She’s my daughter.” A painful tightness gripped my chest, forcing me to breathe deeply as questions and anger welled up, threatening to burst. I opened my mouth to speak, but Evan’s gaze shifted past me, whispering, “Ella Rae.” I froze, turning to see her—a fragile-looking woman with a hand on her stomach, facing me with teary eyes. “I’m sorry, Sloane,” she murmured. “I just don’t want my baby to be fatherless.” “You, of all people, would understand… after all, you didn’t have…” “Stop!” Evan shouted, panic in his voice. He turned to me, reaching out, but grasped only air. How absurd. He knew how deeply that hurt, and yet he’d casually recounted it to another woman, turning my scars into idle conversation. Ella Rae approached me, apologetic but whispered with venom, “Unwanted orphan.” I knew her game—she wanted to drive a wedge between me and Evan. So, I gave her what she wanted. Raising my hand, I aimed to slap her, but Evan seized my wrist. I pulled my other arm free and slapped her across the face with everything I had. Her cheek instantly reddened. Furious, Evan pushed me away. “Sloane, when did you become so heartless?” “She’s pregnant!” I lifted my chin and met his glare, coldly replying, “I just realized how vile and hypocritical you are.” Dusting myself off, I walked past Evan, his face pale, and left without a second glance. Behind me, I heard Ella Rae’s faltering steps and her weak call, “Evan, please don’t leave. I’m worried about the baby.”

The sound of her voice faded behind me, and my racing thoughts finally slowed. Dr. Hawthorne had once warned me not to sacrifice my future for any man. But back then, I was young, naive enough to believe love alone would be enough. “Evan isn’t like the others,” I’d declared, head held high. Years later, that statement felt like a dagger through my heart. Now, all I wanted was to see Dr. Hawthorne one last time. She’d been a mother to me when I needed it most, guiding me through college with care. Her hair had grayed over the years. When we sat down, she simply smiled, resting a frail hand on mine. “I always knew you’d come back to finish your doctorate, Sloane,” she said, beaming. “Your talent deserves this journey.” She handed me her architectural sketches, the work of her lifetime. “Take these with you. May you find happiness in your next steps.” As I closed her door, I glimpsed her wiping a tear away, and I knew I wouldn’t let her down again. I thought each day ahead would bring a fresh start. But then Ella Rae blocked my path, a smirk on her face. “Going somewhere, Sloane? Without saying goodbye?” I tried to walk around her, but she seized my suitcase and flung it down the stairs. Sketches scattered and stained on impact. My mind went blank as I scrambled to gather them, only for her heel to grind into my hand, making me wince in pain. Suddenly, several men surrounded me, holding me down, forcing me to kneel at her feet. “Are you insane?” I yelled, fury and humiliation burning inside me. She casually inspected her nails. “Just feeling bored, looking for some fun.” Snatching a few sketches, she sneered, “You treat these like treasures. Maybe I’ll burn them.” A wave of anger surged through me, and I snarled, “Don’t you dare!” With a cruel smile, she signaled for a man to bring her a lighter. The flame flickered menacingly close to my face. “Beg me, and maybe I’ll reconsider.” Clenching my fists, nails digging into my palms, I gritted out, “Please, they mean everything to me.”

A flash of excitement lit up in Ella Rae’s eyes as she struck a match and set Dr. Hawthorne’s carefully crafted sketches ablaze. I watched in horror as her life’s work, her precious architectural drawings, shriveled and blackened in the fire. It felt like someone had ripped out my heart and ground it beneath their heel. Ella Rae squatted beside me, gripping my chin so hard it hurt. “What gives you the right to compete with me, you worthless stray?” Then—slap! Her hand connected sharply with my face, leaving a stinging echo. “That one’s for good measure.” “Strip her down,” she ordered the men around her with a cruel smile. “Let’s see how she flaunts herself at Evan after this.” Fear shot through me as one of the men’s faces twisted into a smug leer. I struggled, but my strength was no match against their brute force. The sound of tearing fabric made me shudder in shame, bringing an overwhelming wave of despair as tears blurred my vision. The commotion attracted a small crowd, and Ella Rae clutched her stomach, adopting a tearful voice. “I’m pregnant, and she’s trying to steal my husband.” Judging, disgusted eyes turned on me, scorching me with their scorn. “Shameless homewrecker, someone ought to teach her a lesson.” “Nothing I hate more than a mistress. They should be dragged through the streets!” “Film it, post it online. Let the world see her for what she is.” I curled up on the ground, trembling, whispering, “I’m not the other woman.” But my denial was drowned out by their laughter, sharp and relentless, stabbing at my dignity. At that moment, I found myself absurdly wishing Evan from our youth would miraculously rescue me. Ella Rae yanked my hair, her gaze smug and mocking as she leaned in to hiss in my ear, “Evan said you were like a stray dog he picked up off the street. Nothing more than a little entertainment. Did you really take it seriously?” Those words echoed like a thunderclap. The pressure holding me down abruptly eased, and with a surge of fury, I shoved Ella Rae away. Then I heard Evan’s familiar voice, full of anger, behind me. “Sloane, what do you think you’re doing?” He rushed over, pulling Ella Rae protectively into his arms, looking at me with bitter disappointment. “Is this what it takes to satisfy you? Hurting an innocent woman and her unborn child?” Several police officers arrived, asking what had caused the disturbance. Angry onlookers eagerly explained, “She’s not only a homewrecker but also deliberately shoved a pregnant woman!” The officer turned to Evan. “What’s the relationship between the three of you?” Ella Rae clung to him, wincing in pain, her voice filled with despair, “Evan, I’m so scared. What if something happens to our baby?” Evan cradled her, casting me a look of utter contempt as he coldly said to the officer, “I don’t know her.”

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My wife has a male best friend. Their relationship is so close that they don’t care about gender boundaries – they can eat together and even sleep in the same room. I’ve asked them multiple times to be mindful and keep their distance. But she gets angry instead: “Ryan and I have known each other for over 20 years. If anything was going to happen between us, it would have happened long ago. You think you have a say in this?” Then she continues to do whatever she wants, staying overnight with Ryan. Even my in-laws treat Ryan like their own son and tell me to be more open-minded. Later, I made a female friend of my own. My wife confronted me: “What’s going on between you and Emma? Don’t you two have any sense of boundaries?” I threw her words right back at her: “Emma and I have been coworkers for three years. If anything was going to happen, it would have happened long ago. You think you have a say in this?” At 4 AM, Lily still hadn’t come home. I knew she wouldn’t be back tonight. In the past, I would have been furious in this situation, calling her non-stop. But today, I was surprisingly calm, without a trace of anger. She came back in the morning, carrying bread and milk. With a grin, she said, “I was partying with Ryan last night and things got a bit wild. I didn’t want to wake you up by coming home late, so I just crashed elsewhere.” She winked playfully and emphasized, “We didn’t share a bed, it was a twin room.” Ryan is her neighbor. They grew up together – childhood friends, as they say. But according to her, she and Ryan are just bros. Even if she stood naked in front of him, he wouldn’t get turned on. I’ve seen them horsing around many times. She’d laugh and hook her arm around Ryan’s neck or jump on his back. Ryan never refused and often pinched her cheeks. Every time I saw this, I felt uncomfortable. I’d pull Lily aside and tell her to be more careful and keep her distance. At first, she’d explain and reassure me. Later, she got impatient and retorted, “We’ve known each other since we were kids. If we were going to be together, what would be the point of you?” And whenever this happened, Ryan would stand nearby with his hands in his pockets, casually saying, “Bro, you’re too uptight. In my eyes, Lily’s not even a woman, she’s like my sister at most. How could I have thoughts about my own sister? Wouldn’t that make me a beast?” Looking at his pretentious act, I thought to myself, aren’t you exactly that kind of beast? For a while, Lily and Ryan did become a bit more distant. She stopped going out so often and stayed home, asking me to massage her back and legs, and cook for her. She demanded five dishes for each meal, with meat, vegetables, and soup. If I complained it was too much trouble, she’d say, “You won’t let me go out, so if I can’t even eat well at home, what’s the point?” I had no choice but to grit my teeth and cook up a storm in the kitchen. She posted photos of my cooking on Instagram. “Praising my home chef.” Ryan commented below: Your Jack is quite the househusband, huh. Other mutual friends chimed in: No wonder you’re not going out lately, someone’s keeping you well-fed at home. The tone was subtle, but I couldn’t help frowning. Lily got upset again: “You’re such a big man, why are you so sensitive? I show off a little and you’re not happy. Fine, I won’t post about you on Instagram anymore, okay?” After a few rounds of this, it seemed like I was always the unreasonable one. Gradually, Lily became less and less patient with me. The distance between us grew wider and wider. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to get close to her heart. “What are you thinking about?” Lily waved her hand in front of my eyes. I snapped out of my thoughts and looked at her smudged makeup and wrinkled clothes, suddenly feeling exhausted. She noticed my bad mood and softened her voice to coax me: “Honey, are you mad?” I didn’t say anything, so she took my hand: “Don’t be upset, okay? I’ll keep you company this afternoon. Oh, didn’t you want to buy a new suit recently? Let’s go to the mall today, I’ll buy it for you, okay?” She always did this – slap me then give me candy. She took advantage of my love for her, manipulating me recklessly, as if certain I wouldn’t get angry or leave. In the afternoon, she dragged me to the mall, browsing the brands I liked. “This one looks good, try it on.” She picked out a dark gray plaid suit, my usual style. When I came out of the fitting room, I saw her holding up her phone, posing. She was on a video call. I walked up beside her, and Ryan was on the other end of the call. She was still smiling: “This suit really suits you, I knew it was perfect at first glance.” Noticing I had come over, she asked for my opinion: “Honey, don’t you think this matches his low-key sexy vibe?” Ryan chuckled on the other end: “So what? Are you going to buy it and send it over to me?” “That’s just a matter of saying the word!” They were still laughing and joking around. I calmly turned away, picked out another suit, and went back to the fitting room to change. I paid for the suit without any emotion, seeing she was still on the video call with Ryan, so I just left on my own. Lily chased after me, complaining: “Why didn’t you wait for me?” “Are you angry again? Is it really worth it?” I smiled: “No, I’m not angry.” This time it was the truth. I really wasn’t angry. After all, I was used to it by now.

That night, I went out drinking with some friends and came home very late. Lily had called me countless times, but I didn’t answer. In the end, I just turned off my phone. For once, she was the one waiting up for me late into the night. I was a bit drunk, but still struggled not to let her help me. I pushed away her hand and felt my way along the wall back to the bedroom, throwing myself onto the bed. Lily never allowed me to get into bed without showering. She thought clothes worn outside were dirty. I had always respected her wishes, but when had she ever respected mine? I fell into a deep sleep. After that day, Lily started treating me with extra care and attention. She prepared loving breakfasts for me every morning, sent me lots of messages during work hours, and even came to have dinner with me when I worked late. It seemed like she was trying to prove through her actions that she had changed. Until one day, I got off work early for once. She said it had been a long time since we’d had Western food, and there was a newly opened restaurant nearby that she wanted to try. I agreed and went straight there from the office. I arrived a bit early and was looking at the menu when I looked up and saw Ryan walk in with her. I took out my phone and sent a message. As Ryan sat down, he apologized: “Sorry to crash your date. I just happened to be in the area on some business, and I’ve been wanting to try this place too. You don’t mind, right?” “I don’t mind,” I said flatly. “How about this – this meal is on me, as an apology,” he said with an easy smile. “Come to think of it, Lily sent me that suit last time, and I haven’t properly thanked you yet.” I glanced at Lily. So she had bought the suit for him after all. Lily seemed a bit nervous: “We really did just happen to run into each other today. Ryan’s not an outsider, and it’s more fun to eat with more people, right?” Ryan laughed and patted Lily’s shoulder: “Look how nervous you are. Jack and I have known each other for so many years now, what’s wrong with having a meal together?” Lily looked at me and quickly moved away from his hand: “Just talk, don’t touch me.” He seemed a bit surprised, raising an eyebrow and giving me a meaningful look: “Alright, alright. Let’s order then. It’s my treat today, so order whatever you want.” Lily opened her phone to scan the QR code and order: “I won’t be polite with you then.” Ryan leaned in close, looking at her phone with her. Their heads were very close together. It was as if they were the couple, and I was the third wheel. After they finished ordering with laughter and chatter, Ryan looked up and said to me in a host-like manner: “Jack, take a look. Is there anything else you want to eat? Have Lily add it for you.” “One moment,” I said. I stood up and waved to a girl in a tight long dress with long flowing hair by the entrance. She walked over quickly, smiling and greeting us: “Sorry I’m late.” I pulled out a chair for her: “It’s fine, we just finished ordering. Take a look and see if you want to add anything?” Lily sized her up, her face growing darker: “Honey, who is this?”

“She’s my coworker, Emma.” Emma smiled softly, tucking her hair behind her ear to reveal her beautiful face: “Hello everyone, I’m Jack’s coworker. Jack is very kind and always takes care of me. I see him as an older brother.” Hearing this, Lily’s expression grew even more unpleasant. She moved closer to me. The food came quickly. Ryan clearly knew Lily well, placing her favorite dishes in front of her and even carefully cutting her steak for her. Emma was having some trouble cutting hers, so I swapped my already-cut steak with hers. She smiled at me in thanks. Lily tugged at my hand: “Honey, can you pour me some water?” I picked up the pitcher and poured some for her, then also topped off Emma’s glass. Ryan held up his glass: “I’m good, thanks.” Lily’s hostility towards Emma was obvious: “Miss Emma, Jack is just a nice guy. He’s considerate to everyone. People often misunderstand him because of it.” She gave me a reproachful look: “He’s always being misunderstood.” Emma responded calmly: “That just shows how charismatic Jack is! All the young women in the office love him. They say he’s handsome, capable, and a good family man.” This made me blush. Lily forced a smile: “Is that so?” Emma pointed towards Ryan: “Of course. But compared to the gentleman next to you, Jack obviously falls short. Look at him, his eyes haven’t left you all meal.” Her words were too blunt. Ryan coughed awkwardly: “You’re exaggerating.” The meal was filled with tension. Afterwards, Emma left first. Ryan offered to drive us home, but I jingled my car keys to show I had driven. He then asked Lily: “It’s still early. Want to go for another round?” Lily hesitated, looking at me. I avoided her gaze, not wanting to give an opinion. Ryan understood and invited me along: “Jack, why don’t you come too? We’re all childhood friends of Lily’s.” He didn’t really want me to go, but had to put on a show of being generous. My in-laws, oblivious to the undercurrents, smiled and said: “You young people should go out and have fun.” Ryan affectionately put his arms around them, joking: “Uncle, Auntie, you’re still young too. Why don’t you come with us?” They laughed heartily at his words. I watched this scene – they were all so friendly, like one big happy family. And I was the outsider who didn’t know his place. I stood up: “You guys go ahead. I’m a bit tired, I’ll head home first.” “Honey!” Lily called out to me. I turned back. She bit her lip, then said: “Drive safely. I’ll be home early.” Hah, of course. I smiled and left. That night, I didn’t wait up for Lily. She could come home whenever she wanted. Or not come home at all. I was sick of this wife, this marriage. My marriage to Lily had reached an impasse, with no way forward or back. Might as well just muddle through like this. On Saturday, Lily spent the whole morning dolling herself up. She said she had lunch plans with some girlfriends and they were going shopping after. I didn’t ask any questions. I just checked the time and changed into some clothes, getting ready to go out myself. “You’re going out too?” she asked. “I’m meeting a friend for lunch.” “Which friend? Do I know them?” She asked casually while applying lipstick. “Emma. You’ve met her.” “What?”

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Just because I saved his life, he became obsessed with me and pursued me for three years. He crashed his car into my childhood sweetheart, crippling him. He threatened to kill my entire family unless I married him. For seven years after our marriage, his possessiveness became pathological. He implanted a tracking chip in my body and forcefully controlled my freedom. But at the same time, he adored me endlessly and catered to my every whim. When his mother pointed her finger at me while speaking, he immediately broke her finger. When his sister’s child disturbed my afternoon nap, he kicked both mother and child out of the house and cut off all ties with them. I didn’t want to give birth to a child carrying the hyperaggressive gene, so he invested all his wealth in developing the latest gene screening technology, allowing me to conceive a healthy baby. But on the very day I found out I was pregnant, his mother brought a group of people, burst into our home, accused me of cheating and getting pregnant with a bastard child, and beat me until I miscarried. As I lay dying, my husband finally arrived. His mother showed him a doctored video and said, “Son! This wife of yours cheated and got pregnant with a bastard child. Look, here’s the evidence!” …

Looking at the two lines on the pregnancy test, I fell into deep thought. After being entangled with Zack for nearly 10 years, now that we were having a child, maybe I should just give in. Even if he was a mad dog, I was the one holding the leash. Realizing this, I took a photo of the pregnancy test and sent it to Zack, who was on a business trip out of town. Soon after, I heard loud shouting from downstairs. Looking out the window, I saw my mother-in-law, whom I hadn’t seen in a long time. She was walking with a group of elderly women, cursing as they came. “What a misfortune for our family to encounter such a thing.” “Sisters, if she wasn’t so outrageous, would we be spreading such a family scandal?” “Today, even if I have to lose face, I’ll tear that cheating bitch apart!” I listened for a bit, then lost interest. After the wedding, my mother-in-law always felt that I had stolen her son from her. She constantly picked on me, until Zack broke her finger and kicked her out. As a result, our relationship was extremely poor. A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. I checked the time – it was only 9 AM. Why was the housekeeper here so early today? Puzzled, I opened the door. My mother-in-law and her group of elderly friends barged in. Before I could figure out what was happening, my mother-in-law pointed her crooked finger at me and said, “Look everyone, this is that evil daughter-in-law who, not long after marriage, instigated my son to break my finger!” “She even made my son kick me and my daughter and grandson out of the house, cutting off all ties with us.” Seeing this, I frowned in displeasure and said to my mother-in-law, “This is my home. Please leave.” But my mother-in-law suddenly raised her hand and slapped me. “You little slut! All these years of marriage, my son has given you his heart and soul, but you cheated on him and made him a cuckold!” My face stung with pain, and my head was buzzing from the slap. Since I married Zack, if someone even accidentally bumped into me, he would immediately beat them to a pulp. If he knew my mother-in-law had hit me today, she would definitely suffer severe consequences. To avoid a family tragedy, I suppressed my anger and scolded, “If you leave now, I can pretend this never happened.” Although Zack was gentle and obedient in front of me, he was truly hyperaggressive and never showed mercy when dealing with others. But my mother-in-law didn’t appreciate my gesture. She grabbed my hair and snarled viciously: “You bitch, feeling guilty, aren’t you? If you dare to cheat, you should be prepared to face the consequences.” I broke free from my mother-in-law’s grip and said coldly, “You dare accuse me of cheating? Have you forgotten how your finger was broken?”

Zack’s possessiveness was pathological. After marrying him, to keep track of my whereabouts at all times, he implanted a tracking chip in my body. There wasn’t even a male mosquito around me, yet she accused me of cheating. It was truly laughable. I thought reminding my mother-in-law of this incident would make her back off a bit. But she slapped me again. “You’re still pretending! If your acting is so good, why don’t you become an actress!” “Since I dared to come here, of course I have solid evidence.” Saying this, my mother-in-law took out her phone and played a video. In the video, a scantily clad woman was passionately kissing a man, then the woman was pushed down by the man and let out suggestive moans. The entire video was quite bold and explicit. Most importantly, the woman’s face in the video looked exactly like mine. The elderly women who came with my mother-in-law said, “Absolutely shameless. In the past, such an unfaithful woman would definitely be drowned in a pig cage.” “If she were my daughter-in-law, I’d beat her to death today!” “The world is really going downhill. She looks so innocent, but behind closed doors, she does such shameless things.” Hearing these old women’s insults, I was both angry and anxious. I had never been so wronged in my life. This video was clearly made using AI face-swapping technology. I knew it was useless to try to explain to these old, dim-sighted women. I took out my phone to call Zack directly. This was his mother, so he should come back to deal with it, though I didn’t care how he chose to handle it. But when my mother-in-law saw this, she snatched my phone and smashed it on the ground, instantly breaking it into pieces. I was shocked by her thuggish behavior. “You’re being so reckless today. If Zack finds out, I won’t be able to protect you!” My mother-in-law snorted with disdain, “If my son knows you cheated, we’ll see who he’ll deal with!” I looked at my mother-in-law and her group, issuing a final warning, “Your actions have already constituted a crime. I’m giving you one last chance to leave immediately.” My mother-in-law’s friends cursed, “The world has turned upside down! She dares to be so righteous after cheating!” “That’s right, Zack’s mom, you need to show your authority as a mother-in-law today and teach this slut a good lesson!” Provoked by their words, my mother-in-law stepped forward and kicked my expensive carved mahogany chair, breaking it in half. “Everything you eat and use now is provided by my son. Without my son, you’d still be sleeping on a hard bed in the slums! How dare you tell me to leave!” This action instantly drew cheers from the old women, praising her for being tough and assertive. The group of old women started to follow suit, smashing the remaining three chairs. This set of carved mahogany table and chairs was bought by Zack at a high price to make me happy. One of them picked up an antique glass cup from my table, about to smash it on the ground. I warned her with a stern face, “This glass cup is an antique worth $2 million.” Hearing this, the person showed obvious hesitation. Seeing this, my mother-in-law stepped forward and smashed the antique glass cup herself. “Everything here belongs to my son. I said today everyone can smash as they please. We must teach this bitch a lesson.” With my mother-in-law’s words, these old women went crazy and trashed the house. I watched coldly as they did all this. Every item they destroyed now would become evidence for them to go to jail later. Suddenly, one of the old women patted my mother-in-law’s shoulder and said, “Zack’s mom, look, she’s glaring at you!” “All the things you’re smashing now were bought with your son’s hard-earned money. It doesn’t affect this slut at all.” “Only by severely punishing this bitch can she learn her lesson.” Hearing this, my mother-in-law looked up at me. A flash of viciousness passed through her eyes as she walked straight towards me. There were too many of them, and I knew I couldn’t fight them all. It’s better to avoid trouble for now, so I quickly ran towards the door. But I was pulled back by my mother-in-law grabbing my arm. Then I felt a sharp pain in my knee as I fell to the ground.

My mother-in-law stepped on my thigh, grinding her foot. The pain hit me, and I couldn’t help but cry out. My mother-in-law cursed loudly, “You little slut, you’re good at playing weak. I barely stepped on you, and you’re screaming so wantonly for whom to hear!” I looked at her coldly and said, “Yvonne, you’ll definitely regret everything you’ve done today!” “Still talking back, I’ll teach you some manners today, let you know how to be a proper daughter-in-law.” From the first day I married Zack, my mother-in-law couldn’t wait to teach me manners. She made a list for me, including washing her feet and underwear every day. I heard that’s how Zack’s grandmother treated my mother-in-law back then, so she was eager to use the same tactics on me. Since ancient times, women have always been best at making life difficult for other women. But she forgot that I married a man with the hyperaggressive gene, and I didn’t marry him willingly. Before the list even reached my hands, Zack tore it to shreds and scolded her. My mother-in-law didn’t dare to say anything in front of her son but always wanted to take her anger out on me. Today, she finally got her chance. My mother-in-law asked her friends to fetch a basin of water from the bathroom. She grabbed my hair and said in a sinister tone, “In the past, women who cheated would be drowned in pig cages. Today, I’ll let you taste that feeling.” With that, she directly pushed my head into the basin full of water. The cold water covered my mouth and nose, and the pain of suffocation instantly came over me. My body struggled violently, trying to break free from her grip, but I couldn’t. Finally, when I felt I was about to reach my limit and die from suffocation, my mother-in-law pulled my hair, lifting my head out of the water basin. I immediately gasped for air. My face and body were soaked, looking utterly miserable. “Bitch, will you still dare to rely on my son to act arrogantly? The son I raised with such difficulty, you use him like a servant. Did I give you that face?” After catching my breath, I glanced at her sideways, hatred welling up in my heart, “If you have the guts, just kill me today. Otherwise, I’ll make you pay!” At this moment, I hated Zack to the core. It was all because he forced me to marry him that I was suffering all this today. Yvonne slapped me again with all her might. Traces of blood trickled down from the corner of my mouth. “Still talking back! If I can’t discipline you today, I’ve lived this life in vain!” With that, Yvonne pushed my head into the water basin again. This time, she held me down even longer than before. Over and over again, I was tortured to the point of exhaustion. At this point, someone looked at my pale face and advised, “Zack’s mom, teaching her a lesson is enough. Don’t really cause a death.” “That’s right, times are different now. Killing a daughter-in-law means going to jail. We’d all be accomplices then!” Hearing about jail time, more people started to persuade Yvonne to stop. Yvonne’s hand gripping my hair gave a vicious shake, and I fell to the ground, half of my body soaked. She looked down at me contemptuously and said, “I’ll let you off the hook for now, you drowned rat. I’ll let my son deal with you for your cheating!” I thought weakly that when Zack beats you to the ground begging for mercy later, I definitely won’t say a single word to help you like before. Just then, an old woman came out of the bathroom, holding my previous pregnancy test, and handed it to Yvonne. Seeing this, Yvonne’s eyes instantly widened in anger, and she kicked me. “You slut, you even got pregnant with a bastard child!” My body curled up slightly, and I instinctively raised my hand to protect my belly. Yvonne was about to kick me again. Fearing she would harm my unborn child, I quickly said, “This is not a bastard child, it’s Zack’s baby.” Yvonne angrily shouted, “You bitch, don’t try to fool me. Don’t think I don’t know, you never wanted to have my son’s child. You even made my son get a vasectomy!” She angrily pointed at me and said, “You bitch want to end my family line!” When I first married Zack, he always refused to use protection, saying he wanted to be completely one with me. I threw dozens of boxes of contraceptive pills in front of him, telling him that I would take one every time he touched me. I absolutely would not give birth to a child carrying his hyperaggressive gene. Worried that the drugs would harm my health, he simply went and got a vasectomy. Hearing this, her old friends also became furious. After all, at their age, nothing was more important than having descendants. “This woman’s heart is too poisonous. Not only did she make her husband infertile, but she also wants him to raise someone else’s child.” “Oh my! Women’s minds are so wicked nowadays. My previous daughter-in-law also cheated on my son and gave birth to a bastard child. I took care of it for three years before I found out.” “If I had known earlier, I would have beaten that bastard child to death no matter what.” Stimulated by her friends’ words, Yvonne looked at me with malicious eyes. “That’s right! Today I’m going to beat that bastard out of your belly, to prevent it from being born and harming society.” Panic surged in my heart like never before. I looked at Yvonne and explained, “It’s really not a bastard child. It’s a healthy baby conceived through the latest gene screening technology developed by Zack’s company.” “If you don’t believe me, you can call Zack and ask.” “You bitch, I know what you’re planning. Zack has been so bewitched by you that even if he knew you cheated, he wouldn’t bear to hurt you at all.” “But as his mother, I can’t let him endure this great humiliation!” With that, she suddenly raised her foot and kicked me hard in the lower abdomen. A piercing pain spread from deep in my belly.

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The new colleague, trying to establish her cute and naive persona, posted screenshots of my and other employees’ Valentine’s Day gift posts from Instagram to the company’s main group chat. “Ladies who showed off their gifts yesterday, time to take your morning-after pills!” she wrote, adding a giggling emoji. The male colleagues immediately followed up with a string of lewd emojis. Afterwards, my coworkers and I faced varying degrees of harassment. Others were forced to resign, while she played the victim, saying, “I’m just a bit straightforward.” As for me, I was stalked and brutally murdered on my way home from work. When I opened my eyes again, the new colleague was still tagging me in the group chat. “Why isn’t Lydia saying anything? Is she too exhausted to get up?” I let out a cold laugh and replied, “I’m busy planning your funeral.” My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. I snapped back to reality and looked at the messages flooding the company group chat. Chloe, the new girl at the office, had posted a series of screenshots from Instagram. Yesterday was Valentine’s Day, and all the women in the office with boyfriends had posted pictures of their gifts on Instagram. I had also shared a photo of flowers from a good friend. Chloe had compiled all these screenshots and shared them in the company’s main group chat, followed by a message: “Ladies who posted gift pics yesterday, time to take your morning-after pills!” She even added a giggling emoji. Someone immediately jumped in to reply, “Wow, looks like all the pretty girls in our company are taken.” The conversation started normally but quickly veered off in an unsavory direction. Chloe asked in the group, “Why is everyone so quiet?” By “everyone,” she meant us girls who had posted. A male colleague sent a leering emoji with an ambiguous comment, “They must be busy, I guess.” Soon, other male colleagues followed suit, flooding the chat with suggestive emojis. Someone asked Chloe, “Hey Chloe, we didn’t see you post anything on Instagram. We’re all curious about what your man looks like.” Others chimed in agreement. Since joining the company, Chloe had been marketing herself as a ditzy beauty. She would complain to people, pretending to be troubled, about how she had too many admirers in college and no personal space. She claimed guys would constantly confess their love under her dorm building, persisting even after rejection. In her stories, she had always been the prettiest girl in class, often voted as the class beauty. She’d wave her hand shyly and say, “It was just my classmates joking around. Take it as a funny story.” Plus, she was eager to make friends, adding almost half the company on social media, and her Instagram was full of sexy photos. Soon, male colleagues started jokingly calling her “the beauty.” Each time, she’d coyly deflect for a bit before accepting the nickname. Now, when asked about her love life, she sent a shy emoji. “Oh, no one’s pursuing me. Where would I find a boyfriend?” “Chloe, with your figure and looks, you’ll definitely find someone,” someone replied. “Yeah, some lucky guy is going to snag you up one day.” After a round of compliments, she finally spoke up. “Let’s not talk about me. Where’s Lydia? Why isn’t she saying anything?” “Is she still tired from last night?” she added, tagging me. Someone chimed in mischievously, “Lydia’s quite the looker too. I bet her man had a good time last night.” Chloe pretended to be angry, “What are you guys saying? There are ladies present!” Under her guidance, the group chat devolved into a sea of lewd comments, gradually spinning wild tales about us. A younger colleague messaged me privately, almost in tears, “Lydia, what should we do? I just had dinner with my boyfriend, but they’re making it sound so dirty!” Looking back at the group chat, it had turned into a frenzy centered around Chloe. I smirked and scrolled up to reply to the message that tagged me. “I’m busy picking out your grave.” The group chat suddenly went quiet. Two seconds later, Chloe sent a hurt emoji. “Lydia, I was just joking. Don’t be so mean.” “I’ll apologize if I have to,” she added in a voice message, her tone tinged with a sob, sounding quite pitiful. Others immediately jumped to her defense, turning on me. “Chloe was just trying to lighten the mood. Lydia, aren’t you making a mountain out of a molehill?” “Yeah, Chloe’s always been respectful to you. You’re being way too harsh.” “Lydia, that was uncalled for. You should apologize to Chloe.” Seeing how protective everyone was of her, my anger flared up even more. It was because of people like this that I and other female colleagues met such a terrible fate in my previous life. Chloe quickly tried to mediate, “Don’t defend me, guys. It’s my fault for upsetting Lydia. If she wants to scold me, I’ll take it.” “Thanks for having my back, everyone. I’ll treat you all to bubble tea when we’re back in the office,” she added, her voice soft and slightly nasal, dragging out the last syllable like a spoiled child. This made the male colleagues even more hostile towards me, comforting Chloe while criticizing me. “This isn’t your fault, Chloe. Lydia, I call you ‘Miss’ out of respect, but if you’re going to be like this, you’re losing everyone’s respect.” “Chloe didn’t mean any harm, Lydia. Don’t blow this out of proportion. It’s making everyone uncomfortable.” Their self-righteous comments made me sick to my stomach. I had joined the company right after graduation and worked my way up to my current position. Knowing how tough the journey was, I always tried to give new employees some guidance, hoping to help them avoid unnecessary pitfalls. People in the company called me “Miss Liu” not just because of my seniority, but because I had helped most of them in one way or another. But now, with just a few words from Chloe, they were turning on me. Some were even trying to use this opportunity to ask Chloe out. Didn’t they think she was just an innocent, ditzy beauty? Didn’t they believe Chloe’s words had no ill intent? Well, it was time to expose her true colors. “Chloe, everyone was just celebrating Valentine’s Day. Didn’t you and Jack book a hotel room?” “Why didn’t you show off the flowers and engagement ring Jack gave you?” My words sent the group chat into a frenzy, especially those who had been defending Chloe earlier. They seemed particularly agitated. “Chloe, didn’t you say you were single and spent Valentine’s Day alone?” “Jack’s proposing to you? When did you two start dating?” “Chloe, you turned me down when I asked you to hang out, saying you were worried about rumors. Was it because you were worried about Jack?” The most anxious were the male colleagues who had frequently asked Chloe out, only to be turned down with various excuses. Yet, she would still text them “goodnight” every day. Chloe hurriedly explained, “Jack just called me out yesterday saying it was urgent, so I met him briefly. There’s nothing between us, we’re just coworkers.” “You guys know who I’m closest to, right?” she added coyly. Seeing her stubborn denial, I dropped another bombshell. “Oh really? Last Saturday, I saw you two kissing in the stairwell. I thought you’d been together for a while. So you’re just playing around?” I feigned disappointment, “Poor Jack. He really likes you and wanted to propose on Valentine’s Day.” Chloe had always portrayed herself as popular but chaste at work. Despite having many admirers, she claimed to be single. She would always smile and say, “I just haven’t met the right person yet.” If pressed, she would blush and say, “I’m not comfortable with intimate contact with guys.” Playing the role of an innocent flower. This act had both single and married men in the office wanting to pluck this flower. Now, she either had to admit she had been secretly dating Jack, or confess to fooling around, exposing her promiscuous private life. Chloe was cornered, stammering and unable to respond. I understood her dilemma. After all, I knew her type. How could she continue to string along other men if she had a boyfriend? She wasn’t about to give up her harem of male admirers. After a few minutes, Chloe sent a series of messages. “Stop pressuring me. I didn’t say anything before because I was afraid you’d distance yourselves from me.” “I’m new to the company, and you guys are the only ones I’m close to. I didn’t want to lose you as friends.” “I know you probably won’t talk to me anymore after this. Thanks for taking care of me all this time.” After leaving these messages, she left the group chat. She was indeed skilled with words, painting herself as a victim of circumstances, while making the men she had been stringing along look inconsiderate. For a moment, they started blaming themselves for not being gentle enough, driving Chloe away. Watching them scramble to comfort Chloe, I couldn’t help but scoff. When Chloe first joined the company, the other women in our team were quite helpful to her, always ready to lend a hand. Now in her version, those male colleagues who brought her coffee became her only friends. Chloe had been juggling multiple male colleagues, and I had been aware of it all along. I never interfered because it was their personal business. But my negligence towards her behavior led to my tragic death in my previous life. In my previous life, it started just like this. Early in the morning, Chloe was spreading gossip about me and other colleagues in the group chat. I rarely checked the company’s casual chat groups. I just frowned and exited after a quick glance. However, the situation escalated rapidly afterward. Chloe, under the guise of joking, started spreading lewd rumors about me and others with the male colleagues. Soon, I began to feel hostile gazes in the office. Those male colleagues would openly ogle my body, and I could faintly hear their hushed conversations and snickers. “I never noticed before, but Lydia’s got quite the figure.” “I heard from Chloe that Lydia had several boyfriends in college. I guess that’s how she got that body, huh?” “Man, if I had known, I would’ve tried harder to get into Lydia’s college. What a missed opportunity!” Given my position in the company, I caught them and sternly reprimanded them. After that, they didn’t dare to be so blatant. Things seemed to calm down for a while, but then a young girl came to me asking to resign. When I asked her why, she broke down in tears in front of me, insisting on quitting without giving a reason. Seeing her distress, I approved her resignation. After that, more people came to me wanting to quit. Within a month, four employees had left. I finally realized something was wrong. After inquiring with other colleagues, I found out what they had been through. The other employees didn’t dare to act up in front of me, but they were ruthless towards the younger staff. Ever since Chloe started spreading rumors about them in the group chat, they had been constantly harassed. People would add them on social media and pester them, and some would even make lewd comments when they met in the office. Unable to bear it any longer, they locked their Instagram accounts and blocked friend requests, but they couldn’t stop the rumors from spreading. Chloe played a significant role in this, mingling with the male colleagues daily and gossiping about the women in the department. Some even went as far as contacting their boyfriends, discussing their private matters. This led to breakups, and their life at work became unbearable, forcing them to resign. They were all promising employees with bright futures in the company, and just like that, their careers were ruined. When I found out, I was furious and immediately confronted Chloe. However, Chloe put on an innocent face and said, “I’m just a bit straightforward. They asked, and I answered. How was I to know they were so fragile?” I was so angry I could barely contain myself. I sternly warned her that if she dared to spread any more inappropriate gossip in the company, I would fire her on the spot. She pouted and reluctantly agreed. However, that evening as I was leaving work, someone suddenly covered my mouth and nose. The person dragged me into a car parked in a corner of the parking lot. Reeking of alcohol, he tore at my clothes while cursing. “Damn it, we’ve all heard about your dirty little secrets. Stop pretending to be a prude!” He slapped me hard across the face and spat. “You’ve been working here for a few years and think you’re all that, huh? You even dare to scold Chloe? I’m gonna teach you a lesson today and get revenge for Chloe. I’ll show you who you can’t mess with!” Amidst his vulgar words, I realized Chloe had held a grudge against me. That night, she went out drinking with some male colleagues, crying and telling them I had insulted her. One of them, drunk and angry, immediately slammed the table and came to the company parking lot to ambush me, wanting to avenge her. I struggled desperately, but he grabbed my head and repeatedly slammed it against the car window, all the while yelling about getting revenge for Chloe. Amidst the intense pain, I gradually lost consciousness. Remembering my past life, a fire of anger burned in my chest. Chloe, I won’t let you off the hook this time. This time, I paid close attention to the gossip in the company and fired anyone who harassed female colleagues. As a result, no one resigned. There was an afternoon meeting, and other employees had already arrived early. Before entering the conference room, I paused for a couple of seconds at the door. Sure enough, I could hear Chloe’s voice from inside. After this incident, other female colleagues avoided her, afraid of being the subject of her gossip. At this moment, male colleagues surrounded her in the conference room, with Chloe sitting in the center, chatting and laughing. Others were complaining to her about how I had become too harsh lately, unlike her gentle demeanor. “Lydia must be going through menopause. I heard her husband has been out of town lately. It must be tough for her alone, we should be more understanding,” Chloe said. I had never dated, let alone gotten married, yet she spoke as if she knew everything. She smiled mysteriously, and the others immediately caught on. “I’m younger than Lydia, so naturally, I have a better attitude. If you guys get scolded by her, you can come to me for comfort,” she said, winking playfully. “We’re good friends, after all.” Thinking of the photos I had received, I couldn’t help but smirk sarcastically. If only they knew what kind of “good friend” she really was. I pushed the door open, and the room instantly fell silent. I didn’t even glance at them and directly announced the start of the meeting. When it was Chloe’s turn to present, she wore a short skirt that barely reached mid-thigh, and her stilettos made her legs look long and slender. Many male colleagues were staring intently. Chloe blushed and smiled, about to begin. Suddenly, the screen changed. Instead of her PowerPoint, it displayed a series of WeChat screenshots. The screenshots were all conversations between Chloe and male colleagues from the company. “Chloe, how’s your workout at the gym going?” Chloe had directly sent a sexy leg photo in response, “My legs are so sore.” She had sent these kinds of photos to everyone – black stockings, maid outfits, chokers, you name it. There were even videos. In the videos, the camera focused on her upper body, clearly showing her chest heaving. Her words were soft and breathy, perfectly arousing men’s desires. As you scrolled further, whatever the men asked for, she sent. The content became increasingly explicit. She also happily accepted large sums of money transfers from them, sweetly replying “Thank you, daddy.” It was impressive how she could call even 40-something-year-old men “daddy.” Chloe’s face turned pale. She frantically pressed the remote control, trying to turn off these images. However, the projector seemed to malfunction. The more frantically she pressed, the faster the images changed. The later photos were simply unbearable to look at. The conference room erupted into chaos.

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Every time we do a split-the-bill dinner, Valerie always finds a way to skip out. After eating her fill, she either plays dead or suddenly “remembers” she has something urgent to do. If anyone asks her for her share, she gives them a sideways look. “Everybody ate, so why should I pay more? We all breathed the air, too—why don’t you charge for that?” Because she has connections higher up, most people just swallow their frustration. Since I was new, I volunteered to organize a company dinner and suggested we split the cost. Val zeroed in on this, ate, and then tried to avoid paying. Then she pretended to have a seizure to get out of it, thinking I’d let it go. I smiled. She had no idea I’m not one to back down. Content “What is this? It’s terrible.” Val grimaced, forcing down another bite. “It’s something my mom spent weeks making just so she could send it to me,” Megan replied, staring at the empty wrappers in front of Val in shock. Val made a sound of disdain, spitting out what was left. “Didn’t you say I could eat it?” Megan’s face reddened, and her eyes filled with tears. “I offered you one to try, not the whole batch. Why would you eat all of it?” She couldn’t hold back anymore and started crying. Val raised a brow dismissively. “Really? It’s just a little food. I’ll pay you back next time, and honestly, it wasn’t even that good. I can’t believe you’re crying—people will think I bullied you or something.” Just as I set my laptop down, I caught the end of their argument. Curious, I asked the person next to me, “What’s going on? Why is she crying so hard?” My colleague rolled her eyes at Val before answering. “You’re new, so you wouldn’t know, but Val’s always pulling stunts to get free stuff. We all try to steer clear of her. Megan’s new too; she just moved here from New Mexico. It’s a big deal for her to get her favorite hometown snacks. Her mom even went out of her way to make them and send them here. She tried to be nice and let Val try some, and Val went and ate the whole lot—and then criticized her mom’s cooking.” Another colleague, clearly annoyed, joined in. “’Next time,’ she says. Val never pays anyone back. If she’s not mooching, she’s cutting corners.” Megan kept crying as Val yelled over her. “You’re crying over a few snacks? Seriously, you look like some bumpkin from nowhere. Couldn’t even handle more than three dishes at a real meal.” Megan went silent, shocked into stillness by Val’s outburst, her cheeks still wet. I frowned—was this really okay? I wanted to step in, but then Director Collins called, asking me to bring some paperwork upstairs. By the time I came back down, they’d all dispersed.

At lunch, a guy mentioned, “I’m ordering takeout. I have a discount code if anyone wants to join.” He tapped my desk and asked politely, “Hey, I noticed you haven’t had lunch yet. Want me to add something for you?” I looked up from my work. “Sure, thanks! Just let me know how much, and I’ll Venmo you.” He smiled, saying we’d figure it out after he used the code. Val bustled over, her face stretching into a big smile. “Jamie, I haven’t eaten either. Could you order me something?” Jamie didn’t respond and just walked away. Val huffed, “Hmph. What a miser.” Someone nearby teased, “Val, how many times have you ‘borrowed’ lunch from Jamie? Have you ever actually paid him back?” “Oh, get over it. I carry a Chanel bag. Do you think I’d cheat him out of some takeout?” Val huffed, returning to her desk before standing up again and calling after Jamie. “Come on, order me one more time. I swear, once I owe you a full thousand, I’ll pay you back!” Jamie didn’t even look back. When the food arrived, everyone collected their orders, but one was left unclaimed. Val grabbed it while no one was watching and started eating. When Jamie came back, he slammed a contract onto her desk. “You took my food without asking?” Val chuckled. “I noticed it was just sitting there, and I didn’t want it to go to waste.” “Taking something without permission is stealing. This cost twenty bucks. Venmo me.” Val’s eyes widened. “What proof do you have that it was yours? Besides, you used a discount code—it probably covered it. You didn’t even pay for it yourself, so what right do you have to charge me?” Her twisted logic left Jamie speechless. “Val, do you have no shame? Is it a matter of life or death for you to freeload every day?” Val rolled her eyes, sneering. “I wouldn’t even care if you died, Jamie.” She looked him up and down with disdain. “You don’t even have two hundred dollars on you—don’t talk to me; you’re bad luck.” Jamie was ready to hit her, but she slammed her hand on the desk. “Do you even know who I am? I’ve got people in high places.” Val had been hired by the HR Director at the Manhattan Headquarters. Our branch office only had Project Managers, so as long as she didn’t mess up her work, no one here could do much about her.

I couldn’t take it anymore. So I smiled sweetly. “I bet that Chanel bag’s a knockoff.” Val whipped around. “What did you just say?” I shrugged. “You can’t even fork over twenty dollars. I doubt you can afford real Chanel.” She grabbed her bag and stormed over. “Are you blind? Look at the details—no fake would be this good!” I took a step back. “Oh, I get it. Everyone must have chipped in to get it for you.” “Shut up! Nobody’s that stupid!” I pointed at her half-finished food. “Little bits here, little bits there—eventually, they add up, don’t they?” Everyone stared at her. Her face turned red. She threatened, “Acting like a hero, huh? Be careful, or you might find yourself unemployed.” I looked at her, deadpan. “You’ve got spinach in your teeth. And bad breath.” The whole office burst into laughter. Humiliated, Val stomped back to her desk. She plopped down so hard that her leftovers spilled onto her Chanel bag. She shrieked, rushing to the restroom with her bag. Jamie came over to thank me, saying it had been ages since anyone had taken Val down a notch. I offered him my lunch. “I haven’t touched it, and I’ll be out soon anyway. Go ahead.” A colleague asked, “Aren’t you worried Val will come after you? I mean, she does have connections.” I threw on my Hermès bag. “Not my problem—I’ve got money.” She gave a low whistle. “Respect.”

By Friday, I wanted to get to know everyone better, so I suggested going out for dinner. “There’s a new Japanese place downstairs. I know the owner and can get us a half-off deal. It’s on me.” But they insisted that any group dinner was self-pay. They didn’t want to take advantage of me. “Fine, but I’ll still get them to throw in a few extra dishes,” I said. Jamie raised his hand first. “I’ve wanted to try that place for ages, but it’s so expensive. With a discount? I’m in!” Everyone else jumped at the chance. “Yeah, we can’t miss out on this.” I reserved a private room for ten. “Grace, add me, too! I’d love to go!” Val said, sidling up to me with a smile. I hesitated, then looked up at her. “Only if you pay your own share.” Her face tightened, but she forced a smile. “Of course! You think I’m the kind of person who wouldn’t pay? I’ll definitely pay.” I considered it, then agreed. She left, grinning. Jamie leaned over and whispered, “Don’t trust her. She always says she’ll pay but comes up with excuses every time—either she suddenly gets sick, or she leaves early. She never actually pays.” I raised an eyebrow. “So you just let it go?” He gave a resigned nod. “She owes me about five hundred in lunch money, but I can’t risk my job by confronting her.” I watched Val skip lunch that day to save room for dinner. “Don’t worry,” I told Jamie with a smile. “I’ll get your lunch money back.” She had no idea she was up against someone who’d been through worse than her cheap tricks.

I handed out the menu for everyone to choose their dishes. Even with the discount, the prices were still high, so everyone discussed their options and chose carefully. But Val snatched the menu, barely glanced at it, and ordered the most expensive sashimi, lobster, and a bottle of sake. The others were outraged. “What the hell, Val? This isn’t your treat—why are you ordering the priciest stuff?” She even slipped out to order foie gras before replying, “What’s your problem? I’m paying my share—it’s split, right? Don’t be so cheap.” The others glared as I held up my hand. “Valerie promised she’d cover her portion. Everyone, just eat. I’ll handle any extras.” When the food came, Val took as much as she could. Before anyone else had a chance, she’d already piled most of it on her plate. “Val, could you be a little considerate? We’re all supposed to share, and you’re taking everything!” She swallowed a red shrimp. “What, are your hands broken? I didn’t stop you from eating.” “Are you kidding me…?” Someone slammed the table. “You need to leave.” She crossed her legs. “Who do you think you are? Grace hasn’t said anything. Who are you to tell me what to do?” Dinner became tense. “Next time she’s at a company dinner, I’m not going,” one person muttered under their breath. As the meal ended, Val clutched her stomach. “I need the restroom.” I blocked her. “Pay up first.” She glanced around. “Do you think I’d cheat you out of a few bucks? I’m serious—I have a stomachache.” She gestured at her purse on the table. “My bag’s right here. Where would I go?” Then she rushed out. Everyone knew she’d run. Jamie cursed, “I’m going after her.” I held him back with a smirk. “No need. She’s not going anywhere.”

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Bella Sinclair and I were kidnapped at the same time, and Adrian Bennett came running with half a million dollars in ransom – to save Bella, of course. My son, whom I carried for ten long months, naturally echoed his dad: “I want Bella to come with us! Dad, she’ll be scared if she stays here alone!” The system informed me that my “mission” had failed: “If your body dies, you’ll return to the original world.” Fine by me. All I wanted was a way out, to go home. But then my husband and son discovered I truly didn’t want to live and threw themselves into begging me to stay: “I was wrong! Please, please don’t leave us!” Content After twelve years spent trying to win over Adrian Bennett, he still didn’t hesitate to choose Bella over me. Adrian only needed a couple of seconds to untie Bella’s ropes, his eyes full of worry. And there beside him, Jonah, just like his father, fussed over Bella’s bruised wrists, blowing on her red skin. “Bella, this will make it feel better.” The three of them stood there, tender and cozy, entirely forgetting that I was still bound in the hands of the kidnapper. Even the man holding me couldn’t help but sneer. “That husband of yours is lost in the warmth of another woman’s arms. I bet he’s not coming back for you – should I just call it a day here?” As I watched Adrian and Jonah walk off with Bella, the system officially deemed my mission a failure. The penalty, a jolt of electric shock, knocked me out instantly. Through my foggy consciousness, I felt the kidnapper support my collapsing body. “All I did was say something harsh, no need to pass out! Oh no, oh no… I better get her to a hospital, don’t want to be in trouble if something really happens to her.”

I woke up in the hospital and confirmed with the system that, if I died here, I could finally go home. Once I had my answer, I made my way toward the window. My room was on a high floor, high enough to make the jump fatal. I opened the window and threw myself forward. As the wind roared past my ears, stinging against my skin, I felt no fear – only an intense, bittersweet relief. Just a little further, and I’d be back home, back to a place where I was truly loved. I closed my eyes, calm and ready. But a moment later, the sensation of falling stopped. My arm was yanked sharply, the force ripping through my muscles, pain radiating from my shoulder into my chest. I opened my eyes, feeling as if my arm had nearly broken. The one holding me was Ethan Carrington, Adrian’s half-brother. I looked up at the sweaty, panicked boy and spoke calmly, “Let go.” Ethan gritted his teeth and pulled harder, putting every ounce of strength into hoisting me up. “Seriously? All because my brother didn’t choose you, you’re doing something this stupid? What’s going on in that head of yours?” With effort, I began prying his fingers off, one by one. “Ethan, my death would suit you perfectly, so just let go.”

Ethan Carrington couldn’t stand me. Actually, none of Adrian’s inner circle wanted me around. After Bella ran off for love, Adrian married me under family pressure, and his people were convinced I had swooped in at her lowest point to stake my claim. I was met with obvious hostility and rejection. Ethan was always the first in line. With his rights as Adrian’s brother, he’d stroll right into Bennett Manor and ruin the garden of flowers I’d planted in the backyard. He even suggested that Jonah adopt a stray cat despite knowing I was severely allergic to cat hair. When I objected, Ethan coached Jonah to cry, making a big scene that echoed through the whole house. Then he jumped in, pretending to be the “good guy.” “It’s just a little cat. Let the kid have it if he likes it.” Jonah only cried louder, throwing a full-blown tantrum and rolling on the floor, muttering, “Mom’s mean. I want the cat.” I chased both Ethan and the cat out, then patiently explained to Jonah that I was allergic to cats and couldn’t have one but that we could get a puppy instead. But Ethan had Jonah so focused on that cat that he refused to hear me out, hitting me and demanding that I bring back his kitten. That day drove a wedge between us. Ethan seized the opportunity to plant more doubts in Jonah’s mind, convincing him that I was the “bad guy.” Like a demon crawling up from the depths, Ethan made it his mission to turn my life upside down.

I didn’t succeed in dying. Ethan’s ruckus attracted the medical staff, and together they pulled me back inside. Ethan shot me a glare and shut the window, falling silent for once. His hands trembled, knuckles red and bruised. “Vanessa, I don’t hate you as much as you think,” he muttered, his head down, messy hair covering his eyes. I almost thought I sensed a bit of regret in his voice. But before I could delve further, Ethan crossed his arms, looked up, and returned to his usual careless attitude. “So, what kind of new stunt is this supposed to be? I’ll tell you right now – my brother doesn’t fall for this hard-to-get stuff. Keep it up, and you’ll just push him away…” As he rambled on in his own world, the nurses checked the equipment nearby. I seized the chance to make my way back to the window and pulled it open again. But just as my foot hovered over the edge, Ethan grabbed me back with force. After stopping me twice, Ethan finally seemed to realize I was serious about ending my life. He moved me away from the window, making sure I was safely within his reach before he began trying to talk me down, with an oddly gentle tone. “Don’t be reckless, okay? My brother isn’t the only man in the world. Why cling to him this tightly?” He coughed awkwardly, a hint of pink touching his cheeks. “Look, I’ll admit, he’s not a great husband. But divorce him if you have to; he’s not worth dying over. And who knows? Maybe someone else out there’s been quietly in love with you, and you just never noticed.”

Ethan took me back to Bennett Manor. On the way, he informed me, “Adrian found out that the whole kidnapping was your plan, so he’s busy comforting Bella after the ‘trauma’ of it all.” “He’s angry, so apologize to Bella, and it’ll all blow over. Keep him calm, and the divorce will go smoothly.” I ignored him, turning to stare out the car window. The scenery blurred past, vanishing as quickly as it appeared. I thought back to the panic of the kidnapper rushing me to the hospital before I passed out. It was obvious that Bella had set me up yet again, pinning the blame on me so she could play the innocent “victim” in Adrian’s eyes. This wasn’t the first time, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. It was like Bella and I were two magnets with opposing poles, pushing each other away yet constantly colliding in harm. And Adrian? He was the iron that spun endlessly around Bella. No matter how thin her schemes were, to him, they were just more proof of her delicate charm and fragility. He always took her side, the scales never tipping in my favor. All my fighting, despair, and even hysterics only earned me one response from him: “Stop making a scene. Look at what you’ve become.”

I remembered back to when the system first assigned me to “win over” Adrian Bennett. Back then, Bella had run off with her love, leaving Adrian, the “tragic second lead,” to drown his sorrows in alcohol every night. The system had pointed to the drunken man passed out in the corner and said he was my target. I needed to reach 100% affection to return home. I didn’t understand why love from a man was the only way to succeed, but I tried. If going home meant this was the path, then I’d play along. I started with the basics. He drank himself sick at the bar, so I’d apologize to everyone, clean up his mess, and even help him get home. He’d talk about Bella’s favorite desserts, so I took baking classes to learn his tastes. But he never even looked at the treats I painstakingly made – they went straight to the trash. He warned me never to imitate Bella, that I wasn’t even worthy of standing in her shadow. I never made desserts again, though I did start learning to cook. Adrian’s stomach couldn’t handle late nights, so I made balanced meals and brought them to his office. Maybe my food wasn’t bad because he eventually started tolerating me around him. Those were the most peaceful days we had together. His affection climbed all the way to 98%. Just as I thought I’d be able to go home soon, one night of reckless drinking ended in my pregnancy. And Adrian, pressured by his family, married me. His “affection” plummeted. He believed I had tricked him, that I’d gotten pregnant on purpose, trapping him. Funny how he conveniently ignored who didn’t bother to use protection that night. He and Bella were alike in that way, both needing to lay blame on others. Did that make their guilt easier to bear? How ridiculous. I’ll never understand it.

I followed Adrian through the door of Bennett Manor, and there on the sofa, looking utterly relaxed, was Bella. Adrian and Jonah each played their part: Adrian brought over a plate of cut-up fruit and fed Bella piece by piece, while Jonah sat by her feet, grinning with his big toothy smile as he massaged her legs. If they had tails, they’d surely be wagging them by now. When Adrian turned and noticed me, his expression turned stern. He grabbed a file from the coffee table and threw it in my face. Rising with a towering, intimidating presence, he glared at me. “Vanessa! I can handle you throwing a tantrum, but harming Bella? That’s unforgivable!” “You set up that fake kidnapping just to get my attention? If something happened to Bella, you’d be rotting in jail!” I bent down, picked up the scattered pages, and read through them, unable to hold back a laugh. It was just a statement from the kidnapper, nothing more. If Adrian had even the slightest bit of faith in me, he’d look into the bank account used to pay the kidnappers and realize I was innocent. But people only see what they want to see. Bella, sensing my reaction, sprang from the sofa and gripped Adrian’s sleeve in a panic. “Adrian, I’m fine, really. You don’t need to get so worked up… It would be horrible for Vanessa to end up in jail…” Before she could finish, my hand lashed out, slapping her hard across the face. The crack of the slap echoed through the entire room. Bella stood there, stunned, as if unable to process what had just happened. Everyone else was frozen in place too. Adrian snapped out of it first. Fury filled his eyes as he grabbed my throat, his grip tightening. Fighting to breathe, I twisted and struggled, looking up at him with contempt. “You think that flimsy statement will put me in jail? You’re a fool if you think the police would fall for that.” The words seemed to hit a nerve; his hands tightened, and I felt my air slipping away. The darkness started closing in, yet I couldn’t help but let a smile creep across my face. Just as the edges of my vision began to fade, Ethan’s fist collided with Adrian’s face, snapping him out of it. His grip loosened, and I slumped to the floor, gasping for air. I shot a glare at Ethan, my reluctant savior, who looked back at me, clearly unsatisfied, and landed another punch on Adrian. “She almost died. Do you even get that? You almost killed her!” Adrian looked stunned, rubbing his wrist as if deciding whether to hit back. But after a moment, he shoved Ethan aside, casting me a conflicted look before averting his gaze. “So what if she died? She shouldn’t have messed with Bella in the first place.”

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In the maternity ward, Lawrence held our daughter, grinning wide. “Claire, you’re awake. Look, here’s our daughter.” Looking down at the baby wrapped in blankets, I clenched my fists, trembling all over. I knew that one day, my daughter would grow up and kill me. This was my third time coming back. In my last two lives, I died at my daughter’s hands. She was born with a cold heart, ungrateful—a daughter who would betray her own mother. I raised my hand high. “Claire, what are you doing?” Lawrence looked at me in shock. “Smack.” My hand connected with his cheek. A father, yet he left her entire upbringing to me. In those past lives, I kept searching for where I went wrong in raising her. This time, I’d figured it out: raising a child was not just my responsibility. Even if I ended up dying at her hands again, this time, Lawrence would go down with me. …… Content I believe there are people born bad, but my daughter wasn’t one of them. When I nursed her, she always seemed so hungry, her little mouth eagerly latching on. Even without teeth, her tiny mouth was strong enough that sometimes it brought tears to my eyes. Once, I couldn’t stand the pain and softly told her, “Honey, go gentle. It hurts Mommy.” Tiny as she was, she lay there softly, as if understanding me, and slowed her feeding. After that, she was always gentle, never hurting me again. When Ainsley was two, we didn’t have much, but now and then, I’d buy her a small cake. Each time, she’d waddle over with that little cake, giggling, holding it out to me to take the first bite. Most times, I couldn’t bring myself to eat it, but once, I took a big bite, and Ainsley didn’t mind at all. She just grinned, then devoured the rest, happy as could be. I used to think I had an angelic child. But somewhere along the way, her personality became erratic. When I wouldn’t let her have ice cream, she would run straight to Lawrence and Mrs. Mayfield to say I was pinching and hitting her and refusing to let her eat. At the time, I figured she was just a little too wrapped up in her imagination. But after that, whenever I was the least bit strict, she’d tell everyone I was an abusive mother. In preschool, she fought Emma Blake for a toy, and after a gentle scolding from her teacher, she spread rumors that her teacher had “touched her inappropriately.” I had no idea where she’d learned that term. Fortunately, all the preschool teachers were women, or it would have been impossible to explain. When I called her out for lying, she sobbed, insisting she wanted to beat up Emma and the teacher. Then she saw a friend playing the piano and decided she wanted one too. I told her a piano was too expensive, but she kept crying and pleading until I gave in and bought it. After a few lessons, she refused to play. No amount of coaxing helped. Then one day, I came home from work to find the piano smashed to pieces. The entire living room was in chaos. I assumed it had to be a break-in and called the police. Their investigation found nothing: no one had entered our home. It was all an act by Ainsley, orchestrated just to get out of practicing. Seeing the mess, I wanted to punish her, but I couldn’t bring myself to. After a few scoldings, she staged a hunger strike. My heart softened, and I coaxed her into eating again. Since then, she’s done as she pleased. In middle school, she frequently skipped class, and I’d only find out when teachers called. She was addicted to video games, barely speaking to anyone around her. When I scolded her, she’d shout right back, with no trace of respect. Lawrence and Mrs. Mayfield insisted I had spoiled her rotten, and honestly, I knew they were right. I’d allowed her too much leeway from the start. But at this point, it was too late. She wouldn’t listen to any of my attempts at discipline. Whenever I raised my voice, she’d hold a knife to her throat, claiming she was depressed and would kill herself. I was terrified, always rushing to comfort her. To prevent her from hurting herself, I let her do whatever she wanted. Lawrence suggested sending her to a specialized school for troubled kids, but I clung to him, sobbing, saying it wasn’t an option. If Ainsley really was depressed, sending her there would make things worse, and we’d regret it forever. But Ainsley found out about it anyway and stole money from us before running away from home.

After Ainsley left, I was heartbroken, crying myself to sleep every night. When I finally saw her again, she was pregnant, standing beside some punk with bleached hair. Lawrence was so furious he slammed his fist into the table, while I just sat there crying. I tried dragging her to get an abortion, but she shrugged me off. “You don’t love me, do you? So why can’t I have a baby who will love me back?” After all the heartache I’d endured for her, how could she think I didn’t love her? She pulled a kitchen knife on me. “Try to force me, and I’ll kill you both.” She walked out with $2,000 from our savings without looking back. Lawrence was smoking on the balcony. “How did you raise her to turn out like this?” he asked, disgusted. And I was asking myself the same thing. Where had my sweet, obedient little girl gone? I ran after her, catching her and the punk at the bus stop. I grabbed her, insisting she come back home. But she was strong now, too strong. I used all my strength, but she shoved me, sending me sprawling on the sidewalk. The pain flared in my back, where I’d suffered an old factory injury. Grimacing, I looked up at her, and she sneered. “Quit faking it,” she scoffed, eyes as cold as a stranger’s. “Ainsley, come home with me. Listen to me. This child will ruin your life.” “My life was already ruined. You just figured that out now?” Tears streaming down, I pleaded, “I’m so sorry, Ainsley. I missed you so much. Just come back home with me.” She slapped a hand over my mouth. “Shut up. Don’t cry; it’s just another way to manipulate me.” “Why would I go home with you just so you can kill my baby?” Before I could reply, I felt the sharp pain of a knife plunging into my chest. I looked down at the blood soaking through my shirt, saw the kitchen knife in her hand. “I won’t let you kill my child,” she said coldly. “I’ll never treat my own child the way you treated me.” Those were her last words before everything went black. When I opened my eyes, I was in a hospital bed again, back to the day I’d just given birth to Ainsley. Lawrence was smiling, showing me our swaddled newborn. The memory of that blade’s cold sting was fresh in my mind. My own daughter had driven it into my chest. I felt chilled to the bone, as cold as the knife that had ended me. How could it be? Even if you raised a dog for eighteen years, wouldn’t it be loyal? Why was Ainsley always so indifferent, like a stone that couldn’t be warmed? Her words echoed in my mind: “I’ll never treat my own child the way you treated me.” Hadn’t I done enough for her? We had so little, but I made sure she always had the best. She wanted strawberries? I’d go out in the dead of winter, even with only a few dollars left in my wallet, to buy the best ones for her. When she was small and terrified of “monsters,” I’d sleep beside her, no matter how sleepless it left me. From toys and snacks to a piano and trips to Cedar Falls Family Park or a family vacation, if she wanted something, I’d give it to her. Wasn’t that enough? Maybe I’d spoiled her too much, let her think she was the center of the universe, that my love was hers to exploit. This time, things would be different. This time, I’d be strict.

In my last life, Ainsley didn’t like eating, so the whole family would chase her around with a spoon, trying to feed her. But this time? If she didn’t want to eat, that was her choice. Right in front of her, I dumped the food straight into the trash. “Eat it or leave it,” I said. “Go hungry if you don’t want it.” She burst into tears, running to Mrs. Mayfield. “Grandma, Mommy won’t feed me, and she hit me!” Lies. Again. I leaned down, speaking low. “Ainsley, tell me, how did Mommy hit you just now?” She put her little hand up to her cheek, indicating a slap. “Oh, really?” I raised my hand and gave her a quick, light smack on the cheek. Her face flushed red. “This,” I told her sternly, “this is called a slap.” She cried louder. “Was that what I did before?” I shouted. “Tell Grandma, did I just do that?” Still crying, Ainsley shook her head. “No.” “Then why did you say I hit you? Why are you lying?” She whimpered, silent. Mrs. Mayfield rushed forward to intervene. “What are you doing? She’s just a child!” “I know she’s a child, so I’m teaching her the difference between the truth and a lie,” I replied, my tone sharp. Mrs. Mayfield crouched, wiping Ainsley’s tears with the back of her hand. “Mommy’s bad, yes, Mommy’s wrong. There, don’t cry, sweetie.” Hearing this, I felt my anger flare up. It was the same as in my last life. My mother-in-law constantly put it in her ear that “Mommy’s wrong” and “Mommy’s no good.” Every time I tried to discipline Ainsley, they would call me too harsh. But when Ainsley truly went off the rails, they turned around and blamed me for spoiling her. I gritted my teeth. “Mom, from now on, stay out of it when I discipline her. If she goes down the wrong path, it’s on you.” Mrs. Mayfield looked at me, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “Acting like you’ve swallowed gunpowder. Sweet Ainsley would never go bad.” “You’re so harsh,” she muttered. “Aren’t you worried she’ll pull your oxygen tube out one day?” I laughed bitterly. She wouldn’t wait for that long to kill me. After that incident, I sent Mrs. Mayfield back to her own home. Left unchecked, she’d just spoil Ainsley all over again. I quit my job and dedicated myself to educating Ainsley. I bought a ruler, and every time I caught her lying, I’d slap her palms with it. After a few rounds, she improved. She began looking at me with fear in her eyes. Every time I wanted to go soft, I’d remember the feeling of that blade piercing my chest in my last life. But back then, I hadn’t realized that she was only scared of me; she hadn’t actually changed. When her teacher scolded her at Little Pines Preschool, she went right back to spreading rumors that the teacher had “touched her.” I marched her back to the school, made her stand before all her teachers, and demanded that she point out exactly who had supposedly done this. She burst into tears, admitting it was a lie. When she smashed the piano again, I swallowed my pride and bought another. Every day, I’d stand behind her with a cane, making her practice for two hours straight. Since she’d begged for the lessons, she’d stick with them whether she liked it or not. Ainsley wasn’t the brightest, so I started taking her to extra classes, monitoring her homework. With my strict guidance, her grades improved far beyond what she achieved in my last life. I finally got her into a decent high school, but then she started claiming she was “depressed” again, saying she’d drop out and holding a knife to her throat. In my last life, I would have fallen to my knees, begging her to put down the knife. But this time? Not a chance. “Go on, do it far from me. I don’t want your blood on my hands,” I said coldly. Ainsley was stunned, lowering the knife. She hadn’t expected that reaction. She didn’t want to die; it was all an act. “Don’t want to go to school? Fine. I’ll withdraw you myself tomorrow, and you can get a job and take care of yourself.” She ran away. Two months later, she returned, luggage in hand, complaining that work was too hard. She wanted to go back to school. At last, her attitude toward studying improved. Even though she still didn’t perform that well on her SATs and only got into a lesser-known college, I was satisfied. It was better than her middle school level from my last life. At least I’d made some progress. But once she started college, she returned to her old ways. Out of her fifteen classes, she failed nine in her first year. I called her, but she ignored me. One month went by, then two, then three. Furious, I cut her off financially. The next time I saw her, she was back home with a swollen belly, standing before Lawrence and me.

The memories from my last lives crashed over me. There she stood, next to some punk with green hair and a cigarette in his mouth. Ainsley looked at me, tears streaming. “Mom, I don’t want to go to school. I want to get married and be with him…” Anger boiled up inside me. “If you don’t want school, then what’s your plan to support a child? Don’t expect a cent from me.” Ainsley pouted. “I want to keep the baby. I can just take a break from school. Mason’s a good person; he’ll take care of me.” Lawrence, who had been silent, turned to me, livid. “What kind of mother are you? Look at what she’s become. What have you been teaching her?” That was the final straw. I had poured everything into raising her, and yet here she was. In my last life, she’d killed me for trying to force her into an abortion. The memory of it made me laugh bitterly. “Fine, Ainsley,” I said, my voice hollow. “You’re an adult now. Do whatever you want, but don’t expect any help from me.” A year passed. One evening, after work, I found her sitting on my couch, bruised and holding a baby. She looked up, pulling the same pitiful face. “Mom, how could you be so heartless? Why did you change the locks?” I took a deep breath. “You’re no daughter of mine anymore. You’re not welcome here.” Her voice trembled as she continued, “Mason’s no good to me. He hits me and won’t give me any money.” “I can’t afford to raise a kid. You take her.” Her tone was so entitled it made my blood boil. I opened the door, gathering her things and tossing them outside. “What are you doing? You’re my mother! Isn’t it your duty to take care of me and my child?” she shouted. “Let me tell you something, Ainsley,” I said. “I’ve done all I can. This child is your responsibility, not mine.” She opened the window, clutching her baby in her arms. “If you don’t help, I’ll jump, taking your granddaughter with me.” She thought I’d soften. But I wouldn’t, not this time. I walked to the window, looking her in the eye. “Go ahead. I told you, do whatever you want. I’m done.” She sobbed, “Why? You gave birth to me, yet you never loved me.” A pang of sorrow hit me. “I’ve done everything for you, Ainsley. Can you honestly say I haven’t?” Her tears dried, and suddenly, her face hardened. “If that’s the case, then let’s die together.” Before I could react, she lunged at me with the baby, pushing me towards the window. The railing was low, and I lost my balance, reaching for something to hold onto but finding only air. I fell, but Ainsley didn’t. She never intended to die. She just wanted me gone, so my money would be hers. She stood there with the baby in her arms, watching me fall, a cold smile spreading across her face like that of a demon. I’d thought Ainsley wasn’t born evil, that I’d somehow failed in raising her. I believed I’d made things better this time around. But the truth was, she hadn’t changed at all. She’d only gotten better at pretending. Once again, I died at the hands of my own child. Whether I’d spoiled her or been strict, she still hated me. Was this the fate I was destined to live through again and again? 5

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My son Noah is three years old, but he doesn’t resemble my husband at all. My father-in-law, Mr. Leonard Carter, became suspicious and took Noah for a DNA test without telling anyone. The test results? No biological connection between them. Furious and humiliated, Mr. Carter yelled at me, even threatening to harm both me and my son. Then my husband Eric hit me, shouting, “You shameless woman! You’ve made me raise another man’s child for three years!” But then I revealed another DNA report—the one showing that Eric and Leonard Carter weren’t biologically related either. They were stunned as I chuckled, “Looks like it’s not so clear who’s really unrelated in this family…” — When Mr. Carter called, I was swamped with work at Hamilton & Co. Enterprises. His voice blared through the phone, “Jocelyn Carter, get home now! Or don’t blame me when your dirty secrets come out!” Before I could respond, he hung up, leaving me confused. I finished my tasks, grabbed my bag, and rushed home. As soon as I opened the door, he was there, sitting stiffly on the couch. Two papers were spread out on the table in front of him. I took off my shoes and asked, “Dad, what’s the emergency?” He sneered at me. “You really don’t know what you’ve done? Do I need to spell it out?” Frustration bubbled up inside me. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Just tell me.” He slammed the papers into my face. “Look for yourself! We hit rock bottom when Eric married you.” I glanced down and saw the bold text on the report: No biological relationship. The names listed were Leonard Carter and Noah Carter. I was shocked, realizing Mr. Carter had taken Noah for a paternity test. Anger flared within me as I retorted, “Dad, you’ve been saying Noah doesn’t look like Eric since he was born. I didn’t think much of it because Eric never complained. But you went behind our backs to get a DNA test—he’s only three!” Mr. Carter ignored my words, shouting, “And what’s wrong with that? If I hadn’t done it, who knows how long you would’ve kept us in the dark? Tell me—who’s his father? You’ve had us raising someone else’s kid for three years! My son is too trusting; if I weren’t sharp, you would’ve fooled us forever.” I tried to stay calm. “Dad, Noah is Eric’s son, and he’s your grandson. I haven’t betrayed anyone. There has to be something wrong with that report!” Mr. Carter’s rage escalated. He threw his cup to the floor, pointing a trembling finger at me. “You’re still lying! I took him to St. Vincent’s Medical Center myself and watched them draw his blood. Do you think I faked it? We can go again if you don’t believe me!” I didn’t know how to respond. Just then, Mrs. Helen Carter entered with groceries. Seeing the tense scene, she asked, “What’s going on? I just stepped out, and now it’s chaotic in here. What are you two fighting about?” Mr. Carter shot back, “You picked her for Eric. Look what she’s done—letting us raise someone else’s kid for three years! Where were your eyes back then?”

Mrs. Carter froze, her gaze landing on the report on the floor. I saw panic flash across her face, but before I could react, she slapped me. “Noah isn’t our grandson? How could you do this? Eric has been nothing but good to you! How could you betray us like this?” Mr. Carter chimed in. “Call your parents! I want to know what kind of people raised such a daughter. How dare you do something so disgraceful!” I struggled to keep my cool. “I’m telling you for the last time—Noah is Eric’s son. If you don’t believe me, wait for Eric to come home. He’ll take another DNA test with Noah, and we’ll settle this once and for all.” Mr. Carter glared but stayed silent, while Mrs. Carter yelled, “You’re acting shamelessly, still insisting on your innocence. Even if Eric comes back, he won’t forgive you! Why another test when the answer is clear? If Noah were Eric’s son, he’d have to be related to Mr. Carter. Do you think the hospital is helping you lie to us?” Just then, Noah appeared from his room. “Grandpa, Grandma, Mom, why are you fighting? Is dinner ready?” Seeing him, Mr. Carter snapped, “Who are you calling Grandpa and Grandma? We don’t even know whose kid you are. Get out!” Noah, confused by the sudden hostility, ran to me in tears. His crying only irritated Mr. Carter more. He yanked Noah away from me and gripped his shoulders. “What are you crying for? You’re not welcome here. Go find your real dad—get out of our house!” Mrs. Carter stood frozen, saying nothing. Seeing Noah’s face turn red, I pried Mr. Carter’s hand off him and held him close. Tears streamed down my face. “Let’s wait for Eric. He’ll know if Noah is his son.” Finally, Mr. Carter released Noah, shot me a disdainful look, and stomped back to his room. I took Noah to our bedroom and quickly texted Eric about everything that happened. His reply was just four cold words: I’m on my way. That brief message filled me with dread. Eric arrived around midnight. Hearing the front door open, I covered Noah and went to meet him. All my pent-up frustration spilled out. “Do you know what your dad did to Noah today? He nearly choked him! Are you even going to say something?” “Can you give it a rest? I just got home. Let me breathe, will you?” One look at his detached expression made my heart sink. The DNA report lay on the table, but he didn’t seem interested in it at all. He was ready to accept it without question. By now, both Mr. and Mrs. Carter had joined us. Mrs. Carter spoke first, “Eric, thank God you’re back. If you’d been any later, our family would’ve fallen apart! Ask her whose child she brought into this house.” Mr. Carter stood there, furious but silent. Finally, Eric broke the silence, “Where’s the child?”

He called Noah “the child,” not even using his name. That stung because I realized he didn’t believe Noah was his son. I took a deep breath. “Eric, we’ve been married for four years and known each other for six. Don’t you know what kind of person I am? If you won’t believe me, at least trust Noah.” Eric replied, “Four years doesn’t mean anything. Besides, Noah has never looked like me. Everyone says it. What else can I think?” I was left speechless, realizing I had no way to reason with them. “Fine. If none of you believe Noah is your son, let’s go to the hospital for another DNA test. Right now. I’ll get Noah.” As I turned to go to our room, Eric grabbed my arm. “Enough! You really want to drag this to the hospital? Aren’t you ashamed of this mess?” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Why would I be ashamed? I have a clear conscience. If you’re so sure, let’s confirm it with another test.” In the silence of the night, my words hung in the air with a weight I hadn’t felt before. Eric looked ready to argue, but Mrs. Carter interrupted. “Why go to the hospital? We have a report right here! Or is Jocelyn claiming her own husband and father-in-law are framing her? That’s rich—how long have you been setting us up, Jocelyn?” Her accusation, so irrational and cruel, shocked me. I had never seen Mrs. Carter so cold and heartless. Realizing nothing I said would make a difference, I clenched my fists. After a long silence, Eric finally picked up the DNA report, barely glanced at it, and tossed it at me. “It’s all here in black and white. Noah isn’t Dad’s blood relative. If he’s my son, he’d have to be related to him. Anything to add? Or are you suggesting the hospital faked this?” I bit my lip. “I don’t know what went wrong with that report, but there’s definitely something…” I bit my lip, feeling the tension in the air. “I can’t pinpoint what’s wrong with this report, but something definitely is. If you trust me even a little, let’s have Noah take another test. We can clear this up.” Eric scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping him. “Why would I believe you over my own father?” His words hit me hard, freezing me in place. I knew he wouldn’t take my side, but hearing him say it stung more than I expected. “So, what happens now?” I asked, my voice shaky. “Are you going to kick us out of this house?” Mr. Carter exploded, shooting up from his chair. “So you admit it! I knew Eric made a mistake marrying you. Raising another man’s child for three years! How are you going to repay us for that?” Mrs. Carter chimed in, “Exactly. I treated you and Noah like family, only to find out I was being deceived. Do you even feel any shame?” I couldn’t hold back anymore. “When did I admit to anything? You’re just throwing accusations without any evidence. What do you want from me?” Smack! Eric’s hand struck my face in a sharp slap. He glared at me, rage boiling over. “I’m giving you one last chance to tell the truth. Who is Noah’s father? If you don’t speak up, I’ll make sure everyone in town knows exactly what you’ve done.” I rubbed my stinging cheek, defiance flooding my voice. “Go ahead and spread the word. I have nothing to hide.” Eric yanked my collar, venom dripping from his words. “You think you can play me for a fool? How long has this been going on? I should have known better than to marry someone like you!” I closed my eyes, feeling defeated. “Fine. Let’s get a divorce. I’ll take Noah since none of you care about him anyway.” The mention of divorce seemed to push Eric over the edge. “Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you? Take your illegitimate child and leave. Get out! I never want to see either of you again. I should have gotten rid of him at birth.” I was shocked. I had never heard Eric say anything so cruel before. Before I could respond, Mrs. Carter stormed into our bedroom, tossing my belongings into the hallway. The noise startled Noah awake. He stumbled out of his room and, seeing Eric, ran to him. “Daddy! You’re back! I missed you…” But before he could finish, Eric shoved him away. Noah crashed against the edge of the table, and I saw blood trickle from his forehead. I gathered Noah into my arms, my heart breaking as he sobbed. “Eric! He’s just three years old! How could you do this?” Eric’s expression was stone cold. “Why should I care? I don’t even know who he is. If I didn’t hurt him more, it was out of pity. You have no right to judge me.” The room fell silent. I was seeing this family’s true colors. Mr. Carter pointed toward the door. “Get out. You and your brat don’t belong here.” Mrs. Carter threw my ID on the floor. “Didn’t you hear him? Leave, and take your bastard with you!” I wiped Noah’s tears away, still holding him close. I took one last look around the room and said, “Eric, just know this will come back to haunt you.” With that, I carried Noah out. Even as the door closed behind us, their hateful words echoed in my ears, each one sharper than the last. After taking Noah to St. Vincent’s Medical Center for stitches, I rented a room at The Briarwood Inn for the night. He eventually fell asleep, his little face so innocent and unaware of the chaos around him. I couldn’t shake the thought of how he had no genetic ties to Mr. Carter. Grandparents and grandchildren share some DNA, so something didn’t add up. After some thought, I decided to head to Memorial Public Hospital to ask a few questions. The next day, after dropping Noah off at Little Pines Preschool, I went to the hospital. While waiting, I looked over a chart about blood types and heredity and noticed something odd. I remembered the health reports of Mr. and Mrs. Carter. Both were type O, which meant their children should also be type O. But Eric’s last screening—one I had helped him fill out—showed him as type A. It hit me like a ton of bricks. How could that be possible? I froze for a moment, then it clicked—Mrs. Carter knew. That’s why she was so desperate to get me out of the family and block any retesting for Eric and Noah. She was hiding something. A laugh bubbled up. It felt like a twist from some soap opera, the kind of story you’d never believe could actually happen. If Mr. Carter and Eric discovered this, the entire family would implode. After everything they’d put me and Noah through, I was determined to make things right. With a new sense of purpose, I headed to Brooks & Wallace Law Firm to sort out my finances and finalize the divorce paperwork. Besides getting Eric to sign, there was one more thing I needed to do.

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Five years into my marriage, my wife Evelyn Shaw’s “old friend,” Dylan Hart, posted a photo of a deed on Instagram. The caption read, “Huge thanks to my CEO Sis for signing this house over to me.” I looked at the address on the deed, stunned; it was our home. I commented with a single question mark, “?” Moments later, Evelyn called, snapping at me, “He’s a single dad. It’s just to help his daughter get into school. It doesn’t affect where we live.” Her tone was all reproach. “Can’t you show a little compassion?” From the other end, I could even hear Dylan’s mumbled complaints. A half hour later, Dylan posted again, tagging me to make sure I’d see it. This time, it was a brand-new, fully paid-for Mercedes-Benz. The caption: “As the saying goes, where a woman’s money goes, so does her love.” I knew it was Evelyn’s gift to pacify him. But this time, I’d made up my mind—I was going to file for divorce. …… When Evelyn got home, I swallowed my daily dose of immunotherapy meds, washing it down with a piece of birthday cake. This was the medication I needed after surgery for stomach cancer. I’d bought the cake in advance, hoping to surprise her and share the news about my surgery while she’d been away on business. I’d been waiting since morning, but she wasn’t picking up, not even responding to my messages. It was only when I commented on Dylan’s post about the deed that she immediately called back—angry and accusatory. Before I could even get a word in, she’d hung up and blocked me. My wound reopened from the stress. She barely glanced at the cake or the medication on the table, wrinkling her nose. “Whose birthday is it? Yours?” In silence, I put the meds away and tossed the cake in the trash. “Not mine—it’s for a friend.” A flicker of relief crossed her face. “Good, I thought it was the 28th. Today’s only the 8th.” Five years married, and she got my birthday wrong every single year. The funny thing? She remembered someone else’s perfectly. She sat down beside me and handed me a toy car. “Dylan asked me to give this to you. He was pretty shaken by your passive-aggressive attitude. You should apologize.” The little car was a Mercedes-Benz keychain, probably one of the trinkets they throw in when you buy the car—smudged with oil, no less. “No thanks,” I said flatly. Evelyn’s expression turned sour. “What’s with the attitude? He even offered you a peace gesture. Can’t you show a bit of grace and apologize?” When I didn’t respond, Evelyn grabbed my arm, pulling me up with such force that my injured leg struck the coffee table. It was the same leg that had been burned last week by scalding hot porridge she’d accidentally spilled when texting Dylan. Seeing blood seep from the wound again, she looked worried. “Let me take you to the hospital.” I didn’t refuse. “Fine.” As soon as we were in the car, her Bluetooth connected, and Dylan’s voice filled the silence, playful and warm. “Welcome back, CEO Sis! Keep making money for me to spend, okay?” Evelyn’s face tightened. “It’s just something he left in my car last time. I’ll get rid of it.” “Don’t bother,” I muttered. Silence filled the car, and she looked at me, surprised. “You’re not angry?” I pressed my lips together. Dylan used to matter to me. But now? I could hardly even care about Evelyn, much less her pet. “Just drive,” I said quietly. “It’s late.” The hospital was only a half-mile away, just a straight drive and a U-turn. But Evelyn’s phone rang, and I heard Dylan on the line, asking her to take him for a ride in the new Mercedes. “Something’s come up with Dylan,” she said, pulling over. “You can just walk the last fifty yards, right?” She was practically itching to go. “I can’t walk,” I said, holding her gaze. Her expression turned frosty. “Are you serious? You’re a grown man, not an invalid!” She opened the door and practically pushed me out, saying to call her once I’d taken care of my bandages. Her tires splashed filthy water over my leg as she sped off. Rain started to fall, soaking through my bandages. I took a few steps before pain shot through my abdomen, and I collapsed on the crosswalk, unable to move. I barely avoided getting hit, thanks to the hospital’s security guard, who rushed over and helped me in. Back home, barely settled, Evelyn stormed in, furious. “I told you to call me once you’d changed the bandages! I waited at the hospital for an hour, but your phone was off!” I stared at her.

I’d spent two hours on an IV and eventually had to call a cab when I couldn’t take the pain any longer. My phone had only just died, but clearly, she’d never been at the hospital. Once, she’d cared so much. When had she turned so cold? “You blocked me, Evelyn,” I said. “I couldn’t call you even if I’d wanted to.” Her face softened slightly, and she pulled out a takeout container. “I figured you’d be hungry. Brought you some porridge.” I looked at the bowl. It was plain, just a sprinkle of scallions—no meat, no eggs, as if it were someone’s leftovers. An hour ago, Dylan’s Instagram Story had shown Evelyn cooking in the kitchen. “Who says good women don’t exist? She not only took me for a midnight ride in her new Mercedes, but when I got hungry, she whipped me up some porridge, too.” I stirred the bowl, feeling a wave of nausea. “I don’t want it.” Evelyn’s expression turned dark. “What’s wrong with you? I brought this for you, and you’re throwing a tantrum?” “So what if I signed the house over to Dylan? You still get to live here. All he did was say thank you. And you embarrassed us both by commenting. Have I even gotten mad about that?” With fresh stitches in my stomach and an injured leg, I barely had the strength to speak. “I was just shocked it was our address on his post…” But Evelyn cut me off. “Shocked? Dylan’s right—you’re just that kind of person. Always quick to anger, no empathy, no tolerance. Anytime I speak to a man, you get all paranoid. You’re the one with issues!” In the past, I would’ve tried to reason with her. But this time, I just stared, letting her rant until she was breathless. When she was done, I said, “You finished? Mind turning off the light?” She shot me a cold glare before slamming the door. After she left, I slept soundly for the first time in a long time. The next day, I contacted a friend for a divorce lawyer. She’d been gone for three days since that argument, but when I saw a new photo Nina posted from their beach trip, there was Evelyn in matching clothes with Dylan, beaming by his side. I liked the photo without a second thought. Evelyn called back immediately. “I’ll pick you up later. My friends are meeting us at the beach.” She paused, adding, “I wasn’t planning on inviting you. Consider it a reward for good behavior.” “Sure,” I replied, hiding the ongoing divorce process. When Evelyn arrived, it surprised me that Dylan wasn’t in the car, too. At the beach, Nina greeted me with an apology. “I planned that meet-up last time—I should’ve given you a heads up. I’ll make up for it later.” I forced a smile. “Been swamped with work.” “Word is, you’re planning to open a branch in Aspen Ridge. Congratulations!” Nina said, laying it on thick. I nodded. “It’s still in the works. Not sure if it’ll pan out.” Evelyn walked over, face taut. “You’re moving to Aspen Ridge? Since when? Did I say you could go?” I met her furious gaze, unflinching. She continued to rant while Nina tried to smooth things over, ushering us toward the cookout. As we sat by the grill, Evelyn whispered, almost nervous, “Dylan and I agreed. After his daughter finishes elementary school, he’ll sign the house back over. Don’t get so worked up—it’s my property. I didn’t even have to explain.” “Alright,” I said, nodding calmly. As I replied, I noticed a familiar figure approaching. A young woman with them shouted, “Dylan! Evelyn’s over here!” Everyone froze.

Nina kicked the girl, cursing her for being so tactless. I stood and excused myself, heading toward the restroom to gather my composure. When I returned, they were playing games by the fire. Dylan and Evelyn sat close, laughing. I found a spot farther away, watching quietly. “Alright, truth or dare!” Nina suggested, trying to revive the mood. Evelyn won the first round, and Dylan chose “truth.” “What’s made you happiest recently?” Evelyn asked, giving him a pass. Dylan smiled, staring meaningfully at her. “I met an incredible woman who gave me a house and a car. She even took me on a midnight ride in her new Mercedes.” He glanced at me with a triumphant smirk. Everyone knew the house and car were Evelyn’s doing, but they’d kept quiet out of politeness. But here, laid bare, the tension was thick. Nina cleared her throat. “Alright, round two! Let’s see what we’ve got next.” This time, Dylan chose me. “Truth,” I said. Dylan stepped up with a grin. “How about a dare, Adrian?” I shook my head. “Truth.” He looked put out, his gaze drifting to Evelyn. “Didn’t Evelyn say you’re an amazing swimmer? Why not show us?” I refused, “I’m not feeling well.” Dylan glanced at Evelyn with a hurt look, and she pressed, “It’s your specialty! Why not just swim a lap? It won’t kill you.” Ignoring my protests, they pulled me to the water’s edge, taunting me with every step. My abdomen throbbed from recent surgery, but they kept pushing. Finally, Evelyn shoved me into the freezing water. I coughed as salt stung my throat and lungs, waves crashing over my head. I barely surfaced, gasping for air. As I struggled to shore, Evelyn smiled at Dylan, whispering assurances. Then, she turned to me with a sneer. “Apologize to Dylan and take a drink—or else.” I looked at her, heart pounding with exhaustion and anger. “Evelyn, I’ve already contacted my lawyer. We’re getting divorced.” She stared at me, eyes wide with shock. I stumbled back to the road. Before I could make it across, everything went black. I heard someone yell, “He’s bleeding—call an ambulance!”

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