Author: Momo Chan

When I was brutally killed, my father, Detective David Harper, and my mother, Chief Forensic Examiner Dr. Marjorie Harper, were both cheering on my sister, Sierra, at her tennis match. The killer—someone my father had arrested years ago and who now sought revenge—cut out my tongue and then used my phone to call my father. He picked up, irritated, and answered with only one sentence before hanging up. “Whatever’s going on, your sister’s match is the only thing that matters today!” The killer sneered, “Guess I kidnapped the wrong one. I thought they’d care more about their real daughter.” When my parents arrived at the crime scene, they were shocked by the brutal condition of the corpse and cursed the viciousness of the killer. But neither realized that the person lying dead before them was their own daughter. My body was found in an abandoned building, the Maplewood Construction Site. The workers who stumbled upon me were so horrified they couldn’t stop retching as they called the police. My parents were rushed to the scene, pulled away from Sierra’s celebration at the Greenfield Country Club. Dr. Steve Norton, the forensic specialist, waited grimly and gestured for them to put on their masks. Dad, Detective David Harper, was one of the top detectives in the state, and Mom, Dr. Marjorie Harper, was the leading forensic pathologist. Even with all the crime scenes they’d seen, they froze momentarily at the sight of the mangled body. In the oppressive summer heat, my body had begun to bloat, my face smashed beyond recognition, reduced to a bloody, shapeless pulp, my features unrecognizable. My neck was barely attached to my head, and the smell of rot was overpowering. Mom closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and pulled on her gloves, beginning her preliminary examination. She looked down at my corpse with a trace of pity—a look she’d never given me in life. I watched, tensing as she slid off the bloodied ring I wore. It was part of a matching set I’d made for each of them, a gesture of love, but they’d once scolded me for trying to give one to Sierra, saying, “You’re just trying to stir up trouble, aren’t you? Bullying your sister again?” “Lena,” Mom had once said, “Sierra’s lived here for eighteen years. You’re our biological daughter, but she will always be more important in this family.” The memory of their harsh words echoed, yet I still believed they loved me enough to recognize my ring. But Mom, her expression unchanging, simply passed the ring to her assistant to bag as evidence. I should have known better than to hope. In their hearts, I’d never truly existed, even though I was their biological daughter. My brother Jack had always told me that my parents adopted Sierra because they couldn’t find me, and that I was the daughter they truly loved. But by the time I returned, there was no place left for me in that house. I was the outsider. After inspecting the scene, Dad sighed, turning to Mom. “What’s the situation with this body?” Mom removed her gloves, massaging her temples. “The victim seems to be around twenty. Cause of death appears to be a cut throat, but she was tortured for quite some time before that.” “Brutal,” Dad muttered, lighting a cigarette and drawing a long breath, his expression tight with worry. Even in death, it seemed I was a problem for them. Dr. Norton spoke up, “The killer’s still out there. Might be a good idea to keep an eye on your family. With two daughters, I wouldn’t let them out at night.” Mom’s annoyance flared. “Sierra’s usually obedient. It’s Lena I can’t control.” Dr. Norton, who knew our family well, watched Dad rub his shoulder. “You’ve got that shoulder issue again?” he asked Dad. “It’s nothing,” Dad replied. “I’ve got the heating pad Lena got me.” He stopped mid-sentence, momentarily taken aback. The rebellious daughter they complained about so much had cared enough to remember his shoulder pain. Dr. Norton patted him on the back. “You know, you should treat Lena a bit better. She’s your biological daughter, after all.” Dad shook his head. “Sierra’s tennis tournament was just the other day, and all she wanted was for Lena to come watch. But Lena ignored our calls. Sierra ended up disappointed and only took third place.” “She hasn’t been home in days,” he muttered bitterly. “Maybe she’ll never come back. She’s not like our Sierra; not the one we raised.” Hearing them blame me, I felt my spirit grow cold. I wasn’t staying away by choice. I simply couldn’t go home anymore. The ungrateful daughter they dismissed was already dead, lying here before them. My corpse, right in front of them, yet they didn’t know it.

At the case review, officers listened to Mom’s preliminary report with heavy faces. My condition was so horrific that facial identification was impossible. The Maplewood Construction Site wasn’t where I’d died; it was just the dumping ground, which complicated the investigation. Dad directed the officers to search around the site for suspicious activity. “Dr. Harper,” he said to Mom, “can you take a closer look and see if there’s anything new? Get the DNA samples to the lab right away.” Mom nodded and began examining my body as Dad left the room. They cared more about the case than they ever had about me. Mom had once stroked Sierra’s hair, saying how forensic science could be a beautiful way to honor the dead. I remembered how Sierra had rolled her eyes behind Mom’s back as if she found it ridiculous. I’d slapped her once, which had earned me a shaved head as punishment from Dad. Now, Mom gently brushed my hair back, whispering, “Dying this way…her family must be devastated.” I gave a dry, bitter smile. If my family cared about me, they’d be thrilled I was gone. Only my brother would probably feel sad. Mom’s hand moved to my back, where there was a large burn scar—something I got when I was abducted years ago. When they brought me home and saw it, Mom had remarked with disgust, “What happened to your back? Don’t scare Sierra with that.” Now, as her fingers touched the scar, I wondered if she’d recognize me. But her calm voice broke the silence, “This isn’t recent.” Suddenly, her assistant gasped, “Dr. Harper, there’s a piece of paper in her stomach!” Mom’s eyes widened, and she sighed, “The stomach acid has eroded it. Let’s see if forensics can extract anything useful.” At that moment, Mom’s phone rang with Sierra’s favorite song. Mom dashed out into the hall, her voice warm. “Sweetheart, what’s up? Mom’s at work.” “Tomorrow?” she paused and then, her voice softened, “Yes, Dad and I will be there for your match. Your brother’s still away on assignment.” Sierra’s voice echoed in my ears, playful and innocent. “You’re the best, Mom! I’d love it if Lena came to support me, too. I know she doesn’t like me much, though—it’s fair, I guess. I’ve kind of taken all the love you and Dad have to give.” Though she’d always been cruel to me, Sierra liked putting on an act of sisterly affection in front of Mom and Dad. Right on cue, Mom’s voice sharpened. “You’re our baby. Lena is just…nothing. She steals from us, bullies you behind our backs—she’s not my daughter.” “You don’t need to worry, honey. If Lena has to drag herself there in a wheelchair, I’ll make sure she attends!” Sierra chuckled sweetly. “Dad called earlier and told me to be safe. Mom, remember to tell Lena too.” “Take care of yourself, Sierra. So long as Lena doesn’t show up dead on our doorstep, I don’t care what she does.” Mom’s dislike for me was always evident. Maybe it was because I was the daughter they couldn’t shape into their ideal. When they found me, they hadn’t even changed my last name to Harper. In their eyes, Sierra was their only daughter.

After Sierra’s call, Mom got a call from my brother, Jack. “Jack, when are you back from your assignment? Your sister wants you to watch her match!” Mom blurted out before he could say a word. Jack had been the only one who showed me kindness when they’d brought me home. He’d held my hand and said, “Don’t worry, Lena. You’re home now.” On the phone, Jack hesitated. “Isn’t Lena’s math competition next month?” Mom cut him off, annoyed. “Lena, Lena! Sierra is the one who’s really your sister—how many times have I said that? Lena’s a bad influence, and she’s not fit to be a Harper.” Jack sighed, his frustration evident. “Mom, you really should give Lena a chance. She’s kind, and if you’d show her some care, you’d see it.” “She hasn’t answered my calls or texts,” he added. “Is she even at home?” Mom scoffed. “She goes wherever she pleases. I can’t tether her. Tomorrow is Sierra’s match, and if you can’t make it, no big deal.” Pausing, she added harshly, “Tell Lena if she doesn’t show up, she may as well never come back.” Just then, Dad returned, noticing her irritated expression. “Was the case difficult?” Mom shook her head, her tone exasperated. “It’s not the case. It’s Lena. I think she’s roped Jack into playing this disappearing act with her.” Dad exhaled loudly, clearly frustrated. “She knows we’re busy, and yet she pulls stunts like this. She’s so ungrateful. I’ll call her right now and straighten this out!” But call after call only went to voicemail. “She was better off never being found,” Dad muttered. “All she does is bring trouble.” Standing nearby, Dr. Norton had overheard everything. With a sigh, he murmured, “You both left your jobs for a year to look for her when she was taken. How did it come to this?” I wanted to smile, but bitterness filled me instead. They had found a version of me that didn’t fit their expectations. I was just a kid from the backwoods who didn’t know her place. When I came back at fifteen, the house was grander than anything I’d ever known. Mom and Dad were coddling Sierra as she cried. I stood there in patched clothes, staring down at my worn shoes with the torn toe. Sierra had looked up, pausing her tears to smirk, “Who’s this little street rat?” Mom and Dad’s faces had darkened, but not because of her words—they were disappointed in me. “Detective Harper, Dr. Harper.” A police officer approached with the incident reports. “No missing person reports over the last few days. The family didn’t notice she was gone. Do they not have a good relationship?” “Hard to believe some parents care so little,” someone muttered. I could feel the sadness wrapping around me like a heavy blanket, suffocating. They were heartbroken that some parents didn’t care about their kids, but not one of them thought to ask if I was safe during my disappearance. Years ago, they would have dropped everything for me. But now, they suspected my absence was a ploy for attention. Maybe I never should have come back. This was Sierra’s home, not mine. The years they should have spent loving me were already taken, and whatever love they had left was no longer mine.

Mom handed the partially digested piece of paper to Dr. Norton. Rubbing her sore back, she muttered to Dad, “I hope this can give us something. Did you remind Sierra to lock up?” Dad nodded, but there was a hint of unease in his eyes. “Marjorie, Lena’s not picking up her phone, and Jack hasn’t heard from her either. You don’t think…maybe I should get someone to check up on her?” Mom cut him off with an impatient sigh. “You know her—she’s probably hiding, waiting for us to come looking. This isn’t the first time.” “She’s just avoiding Sierra’s match. By tomorrow, she’ll be crying on the phone, begging for forgiveness.” The last time I’d gone “missing” was over the summer, when Sierra locked me in the school bathroom. I’d called for help until my voice was hoarse, and by the time I got out, my ankle was swollen, and I was covered in dirt. I went home, limping, hoping for a bit of comfort. But Dad had only hit me with a hard slap, with Mom shouting, “Sierra saw you sneaking off with some delinquent. How could I have raised someone so shameless?” I couldn’t speak for myself, only standing there while Sierra watched with a smug, hidden smile. Later, Jack had gently helped me clean up, saying softly, “It’s not that they don’t love you, Lena. They just don’t know how to show it.” But I knew better. Compared to Sierra, who was perfect, I would never have my parents’ love. The scales of their affection were always tipped against me. If I were still alive, I’d probably be at the station right now, bringing homemade soup for Mom and Dad when they had to work late. But this time, I couldn’t apologize to them like they expected. After all, I was dead. The forensics department quickly examined the paper. It turned out to be a receipt from a small shop. The killer had forced it into my mouth with contempt, taunting, “A little present for your mom and dad? Bet they’d just throw it in the trash.” Dad squinted at it. “Where’s this from?” Dr. Norton frowned, looking closer. “Looks like it’s from a place that sells charms and trinkets.” When they arrived at the shop with other officers, the store owner looked startled by their badges and uniforms. She took the crumpled receipt, checking the order number. “That was a young girl,” she recalled. “She said it was a gift for her parents, because of how dangerous their jobs are. I remember her well. She never picked them up, and she didn’t answer any of my calls.” The shopkeeper then brought out two small, red good-luck charms, explaining softly, “They’re for health and safety, long life and peace.” Dad took them, exhaling deeply. “Do you still have the security footage?” The shopkeeper nodded. “That girl spent so much time picking these out. Very quiet, very polite. I’d recognize her anywhere.” The security footage played on the small monitor, and the room fell silent. Mom swallowed hard, staring at the screen. “She…looks like Lena.” “Lena?” the shopkeeper replied. “That was the name on the order slip!” Dad’s face tightened, his voice low as he forced himself to stay calm. “It’s just a coincidence. I’m sure Lena’s somewhere laughing at us right now.” “Ma’am, did you and Lena plan this together? You know that obstructing police is a serious offense?” Just then, Mom’s phone rang again. Her voice wavered as she answered. “Julie?” It was her colleague, lab technician Julie Lee. “Dr. Harper, the DNA results on the victim are back,” Julie said urgently.

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Dan and I had been a DINK couple for ten years, but then he cheated. Now, his little fling, Cassie, stands there, belly out, saying, “If you don’t want to have kids, then give him up!” I was a little dazed, remembering why I chose the DINK life in the first place. Oh, right—it was when we had that premarital health screening, and Dan’s results came back: infertile, naturally. I hid the report to protect his pride and pretended I didn’t like kids, suggesting we just not have any. Dan looks at me, face full of guilt. “Laura, you’re the one I love, but my parents are getting older. I really want a child.” So, I divorced him calmly. Now I wonder—when should I finally send him that report I kept hidden? Cassie Lane, Dan’s little fling. I knew her too—a fresh-faced college grad who just started as the receptionist at his company. I was hardly surprised when I got her call. In the coffee shop, she sat down, belly proudly protruding. “You can see I’m pregnant—this baby is Dan’s,” she declared. “I heard you insisted on being a DINK. You’re so selfish! If you don’t want kids, don’t ruin Dan’s chances!” “If you don’t want kids, then make room for someone who does!” I felt dizzy, wondering again why I ever suggested we be a DINK couple. Ah, right—it was at the premarital screening. Dan’s results had shown he was naturally infertile, and I wanted to spare him the shame, so I hid the report and lied, pretending not to want kids. I looked at Cassie’s face, my expression complicated. Then I let my gaze rest on the coffee in front of her. “Since you’re pregnant, maybe switch to milk.” With that, I got up and left. Back home, I dug through the back of my closet until I found that old report. I spent $40 consulting a doctor online, asking if there was any way to treat Dan’s condition. The answer was no. Seeing my parents’ confused expressions, I laughed freely, feeling lighter than I had in years. Dan’s cheating didn’t surprise me—I’d known for a while. He hadn’t hidden it very well. First, there were the unexplained messages, then all his late nights at the office, and then the obvious: perfume that wasn’t mine on his clothes, movie tickets, and a lipstick under his car’s passenger seat. I’d thought about confronting him, making a scene, but ultimately I did nothing. After ten years, our once-fiery love had worn down, little by little, into nothing more than mundane routines, endless arguments about children with his parents, and Dan’s growing impatience with me. If anything was worth holding on to, it was that he’d once agreed to our DINK life. But after finding out about his affair, that felt meaningless. One evening after dinner, I finally spoke up. “Cassie came to see me a few days ago.” He looked over at me, not even flinching, and replied with a calm “Oh.” That dismissive “Oh” broke the last of my hesitation. “We should get a divorce,” I told him. And we started the process. I didn’t want the house; he gave me half its value in cash, plus some savings. Altogether, I walked away with about $300,000. I knew he’d drained all his little company’s funds to gather that money. On the day of the divorce, Dan said, “Laura, I love you, but my parents are old, and I really want a child.” Every word implied that even though he cheated, it somehow wasn’t really his fault. I nodded, acting like I understood completely. But inside, I was just waiting for the right time to let him know the truth. Outside the courthouse, Cassie waited, flaunting her belly again. She held a slip with a waiting number for the marriage license office. Dan noticed me eyeing it. “A marriage license makes things easier when the baby comes,” he explained. I smirked. “Don’t worry, it’s none of my business.” “Congratulations,” I told Cassie. Dan, smiling, added, “Thank you, Laura.” Cassie scoffed and yanked his arm. “Can’t you hear them calling our number? It’s our turn!” I watched them walk into the office, then took a cab straight to the airport. Newly single, financially comfortable—I deserved a good time! 2 I flew to Savannah, Georgia, a place I’d always dreamed of visiting. Strolling through the historic district along its old cobblestone alleyways, with the sea breeze blowing and good food in hand, everything about Dan faded into the background. I spent one night at a local tavern, sipping wine and chatting with a few men who struck up conversation, laughing until I was pleasantly tipsy. I was tempted to pursue a fling, but in the end, I chickened out. On my way back, a sound stopped me. In a quiet corner of an alley, a man sat on the steps, covering his face, clearly crying. Under the streetlight, his wedding band gleamed faintly. Maybe it was the wine, but I found myself blurting, “Your wife cheated on you? What’s there to cry about?” I patted his shoulder, telling him, “Look at me—my husband cheated, and I’m still happy as can be!” The man looked up, his face wet with tears, and glared at me. “My wife didn’t cheat on me.” “Oh.” I let out an awkward laugh. Half an hour later, I knew his name and his story, and I had a crazy thought. “How would you feel about marrying me?” The man, Elliot Shaw, was also from the States and, as it happened, from the same city as me. He and his late wife had both wanted kids, but her heart condition made pregnancy too dangerous, so they’d decided to adopt. Just when they were ready to start the process, she caught a bad cold, and her weakened heart couldn’t handle it. He’d come to Savannah alone, a trip they were supposed to take together. After I told him my story, he said, “You shouldn’t have lied to him. Maybe things would have turned out differently.” I was silent for a moment, then said, “Maybe. But I never wanted his guilt or gratitude. I just wanted pure love.” Now, I really wanted a child. That was actually another reason I’d come here. At a nearby clinic, they let single women use IVF. But eventually, I’d have to return to the States. Dan’s comment about marriage licenses reminded me that things like school registration and a birth certificate would be simpler with a husband’s name on them. When I bumped into Elliot tonight, I realized I’d found the perfect partner for this plan. I told him, “We could get married. Once all the paperwork for the baby is done, we could divorce. Plus, you wanted to adopt, didn’t you? Single people can’t adopt back home. You help me, and I’ll help you.” I extended my hand. “So? Partners?” After a minute of serious thought, he shook my hand. “Partners.” Elliot went back home, but I stayed in Savannah. After three months, I wasn’t returning alone. I was carrying a little life inside me. When I touched down, jet-lagged and barely settled, I faced my parents’ interrogation. “You’ve got some nerve, doing something this huge without telling us. Do you even think about us anymore?” 3 “Having a baby isn’t some small thing! Do you know what it takes to raise a child? How are you going to handle everything alone?” “Dan’s a jerk. Sure, divorce him. But why ruin your own life? Just because he has a kid, you need one too?” Maybe it was “baby brain” setting in early, but before I could stop myself, I muttered, “Dan’s kid isn’t even his.” The words stopped my mom mid-sentence. “What did you just say?” She leaned forward, and even my dad looked shocked. The secret was out, so I told them everything. “Dan’s infertile. His count is zero. I checked with a doctor—there’s no cure.” My mom’s jaw dropped, then she burst into laughter, tears streaming down her face. My dad joined in, saying, “Serves him right! Karma!” Once they’d finally stopped laughing, my mom asked, “So, that baby of Cassie’s is due any day now. When are you going to tell Dan?” I placed a hand over my stomach. “There’s no rush. The longer he believes it’s his, the more he’ll enjoy being a dad, right?” The deeper Dan’s attachment to that baby, the sweeter it’ll be when he learns the truth. Elliot and I registered our marriage. We signed prenups and a mountain of paperwork to ensure each other’s rights. My mom remarked that we seemed more like business partners than a married couple. She even hinted, “Elliot’s a decent guy. Now that you’re married, why not make it real?” I firmly shut that down. “Mom, I just wanted a baby and a marriage license to make things easier for them later. And to give him a dad on paper. It’s just a formality.” My dad was more understanding. “It’ll be great for the kids and their future, and we get to keep you here with us too.” “Smart thinking, Dad!” I also met the little girl Elliot and his late wife had hoped to adopt, a sweet five-year-old with a heart condition that led her biological parents to abandon her. “She’ll be fine after her surgery,” Elliot assured me. I didn’t try to comfort him. This was just a partnership. Best to set clear boundaries from the start. Three months into my pregnancy, I went to County General to establish care. As I walked out of the appointment, I saw Dan walking down the hall, phone pressed to his ear. “Last night, it happened. He’s here,” he said proudly. “Yeah, a boy—seven and a half pounds.” He smiled as he finished the call, then turned and saw me. “Laura?” “Congratulations,” I said, keeping my voice light. “Looks like you’re a dad.” He cleared his throat, nodding. “Thanks.” Then, after a pause, he asked, “Are you here for…?” I simply said, “For a checkup.” His eyes drifted to the “Assisted Reproduction” sign beside me, and he flashed a look that was half-sympathetic, half-smug. “Well, these days, medicine’s so advanced. Plenty of options for people wanting kids.” I almost laughed. “You’re right,” I said. Though, as he’ll eventually realize, some things even modern medicine can’t fix—like infertility and, apparently, self-delusion. 4

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To save my brother, my mom forced me into early labor, drugging me to have my baby born prematurely. The moment my son was born, he was used in a bone marrow transplant for my brother. The surgery left my son with a fatal infection, and he didn’t survive. I was devastated, and in my grief, I was hit by a car. After I died, my husband, unable to bear it, jumped off a bridge with our young daughter in his arms. My family was so wrapped up in my brother’s recovery that they thought my death was justified. Even at my graveside, my mom just kept saying: “Now that you’re gone, don’t forget to bless your brother. That’s what a real sister would do.” Coming back for a second chance, I’ll finally see if my mom has it in her to act like a mother. When I woke up in the hospital, Jack was by my side. “How could you keep something as big as being pregnant from me?” he asked. It took me a moment to process everything. Then, suddenly, it hit me—I was back. I’d been given another chance. And I was right at the moment I’d just discovered I was pregnant. Jack took out his phone, still upset. “I’m calling Mom. She should know.” I grabbed his phone from him. “Jack, what if we don’t go through with this?” Seeing him again choked me up. The events of the last life washed over me; I felt the pain of all I’d put him through. Jack softened, surprised at my suggestion. “Megan, it was wrong of me to get so upset that day. You’re my wife. I love you, and I love this baby too. But I also won’t stand by while someone else suffers if we can help.” His caring words hit me hard. In my last life, Jack worried deeply after our difficult first pregnancy. He even planned to get a vasectomy so I’d never have to suffer through a second birth. But then, to save my brother, I went behind his back and got pregnant again. We had a terrible fight, and I accused him of having no heart. In the end, he reluctantly went along with it. As soon as I knew I was pregnant, I told my mom, unwittingly triggering the tragedy to follow. When her call came, she jumped right to it, her voice excited, asking if I was expecting. I answered bluntly, “No.” “Megan, you have to hurry,” she snapped. “You know how bad things are with your brother. Be a good sister.” Her familiar refrain hit me hard. “Mom, I don’t make all the decisions around here. If you’re that concerned, there are other ways.” And I hung up. Jack still looked puzzled, but I just said, “If you want our family to stay safe and sound, you’ll trust me on this.” Two months ago, Billy had been diagnosed with leukemia. The only way to save him was a bone marrow transplant, but none of our family members matched. My mom’s solution? Get me pregnant with another baby for Billy. In my last life, I had fought for months to deliver a second child, risking my own life. My son was just a baby, yet they rushed him into a transplant. Billy recovered, but my son was too young, too fragile, and the infection was too strong. He died soon after. The family celebrated Billy’s recovery, but I fell into despair. Overcome by grief, I was struck by a car and died. My husband, heartbroken and desperate, threw himself off a bridge with our daughter. Our entire family gone in a flash. And my mom and Billy? They went on, living luxuriously with the money Jack and I had left behind. This time, I just wanted to be a good wife and mother. Once she learned I wasn’t pregnant, my mom was visibly disappointed. I took her hand and told her, “Even if I have another child, there’s no guarantee he’ll be a match for Billy.” Of course, in my last life, I knew my son’s marrow would match Billy’s perfectly. My mom frowned, “Stop talking like that.” “I have another idea that could improve Billy’s odds,” I told her. Her face brightened. “What’s that?” “You could have a baby. That way, whichever child matches best could donate the marrow.” She paled and glanced awkwardly at Jack. With a forced smile, she replied, “Don’t you think people would laugh at me for having a baby at my age?” “Mom, what’s a little gossip compared to saving Billy? You’re his mother, after all. Shouldn’t you act like it?” My mom stared at me in disbelief. I had always done exactly what she wanted, never defying her before. I could tell she was shocked I’d even suggested such a thing. After all, she had never once thought to consider bearing a child to save her son. No, she had pushed that burden on me instead.

After a brief silence, my mom got serious and said, “I’ll need to discuss this with your dad. You know how his job is. When Billy was younger, we had to pay off so many fines because of him.” Then, almost to herself, she muttered under her breath, “If it wasn’t for you, he wouldn’t have had to hide out like he did, barely getting enough nutrition to grow up healthy. You set him back, that’s what.” “Oh, times have changed, Mom,” I replied, sarcasm barely contained. “Who knows, if you two had a second child, Dad might get a retirement promotion for answering the call. Wouldn’t that be something?” That shut her up. I saw the look in her eye, as if she’d rip me to shreds if she could. She’d always had that glint of anger toward me. Even my name was an unlucky omen to her. Everything bad she pinned on me; Billy’s problems, the hardships. And if I were gone, she’d say my death was just “right.” In less than three days, she showed up at my place. I was sipping some tea when she barged in, demanding to know what I was drinking. “Jack’s friend brought back some saffron tea from a trip out West. Supposedly, it’s worth a hundred dollars a gram.” My mom, ever the opportunist, immediately wanted me to set some aside for her to take home. That was just what I was hoping for, considering I’d saved it just for her. She then handed me a paper. “I haven’t been feeling well, so I went to the doctor. They told me I’m in menopause.” I glanced at it. Just as I thought—a cheap excuse to get out of my suggestion. I knew she was bluffing. Just last week, I’d seen a box of tampons in her bathroom. What, did she use them for a nosebleed? “Well, Mom, you hang on to that.” I handed her the paper back. “While you’re at it, take a look at this one. It’s not that I don’t want to be a good sister, but I do have some concerns.” She handed me the proof of her supposed diagnosis, but I had my own, showing I had a small tumor. Harmless for now, but it would interfere with any chance of helping Billy. Mom called us over for dinner that night, saying there’d be “company.” The so-called guest was none other than Ruby Malone. In my last life, Ruby was nothing more than my mom’s pawn. She was a simple country girl, barely twenty and utterly clueless. She had a chunky gold necklace around her neck that looked so out of place on her—proof enough my mom was willing to spend on her if it served her plans. “Jack, this is your cousin Ruby,” she said, putting on a pleasant voice. “She’s hoping to find a job in the city, so I thought she could help out at the factory.” Jack glanced at me, knowing I usually made the decisions. Our factory was full of machines and heavy labor, not a place for a young girl with no experience. In the last life, Ruby started at the factory under the guise of learning the job, but she spent more time getting close to Jack. He tried to warn me, but I dismissed him. After I died, she drugged him into a marriage, stole everything, and left him so broken he took his own life. This time, I stepped in, blocking her view of Jack. “Jack’s shop is all machine work—heavy and greasy. Not exactly a girl’s place. Dad, didn’t you say your office needed a part-timer? She could help out with some clerical work. Sounds much better, and more respectable.” I turned to my dad. “Didn’t you mention something about needing a dependable temp? It’d look great on her resume if she wants to marry someday.” Ruby’s face went pale. She shrank back and cried, “Auntie, I don’t want to end up with a broken arm! I need to work and help my parents someday!” “Oh, that’s rare,” my mom interjected hastily. “It’s not like it happens all the time.” “Alright, let’s start her on Monday, then,” my dad said, interrupting. Since he’d spoken, my mom had no choice but to stay quiet. But I knew she wouldn’t let it go that easily.

Later, my daughter’s preschool called, saying her stomach hurt. I rushed over and found she was dehydrated. She explained, “Nana picked me up for lunch, but I just ate ten popsicles. Next time, I’ll save them for the lady.” “Which lady?” I knew there was no “lady” at my mom’s house. It had to be Ruby. Why was she at my mom’s? What were they planning? I tried calling Jack, but his phone was out of reach. I headed to my mom’s house, and when I walked in, there she was, comfortably sprawled on the couch with a smug look, cracking sunflower seeds. “Oh, you’re here already?” she said, a note of surprise in her voice. I ignored her, headed straight to the guest room, and kicked the door open. There was Ruby, straddling Jack, practically naked, tugging at his shirt. The whole thing was exactly what it looked like. I glared at my mom. She didn’t bother trying to explain, her expression indifferent. “Oh, what are you two up to in here?” she asked, feigning innocence. I yanked Jack up. He was unconscious, but there was no way he’d gotten this drunk on his own. I slapped his face a few times, but he didn’t respond. Then I saw the glass of water on the nightstand. Before I could reach it, my mom snatched it and spilled it on the floor, muttering, “Just some honey water for his hangover!” “Mom, what are you hiding? I didn’t even ask what was in it.” If my guess was right, that water was laced with a sleeping pill. This playbook was too familiar; the only difference was how desperate they’d gotten this time. My mom turned on Ruby, scolding her, “I told you to bring your brother-in-law water, not do something so embarrassing! Now get out!” “Auntie, but didn’t you just…” Ruby started, her voice shaking. “Just what? Get out now!” my mom barked. Then she pulled me aside, softening her tone. “Megan, be grateful it was Ruby. This didn’t get out of hand, thank goodness. And remember, Jack’s a man; even if he doesn’t say it, he wants a son. I had someone check, and a second child for you would definitely be a boy.” “No son,” she continued, “and you might as well be invisible to Jack. Other women would be thrilled to give him a son.” In the last life, I’d believed my mom’s twisted reasoning, and I even transferred part of our joint savings into her name. Then I delivered the baby prematurely to rush it into a transplant for Billy. My son was too weak to fight the infection, and I lost him too soon. I faked agreement, taking my mom’s hand. “Mom, I know you only want the best for us. I’d love to have a son, too.” She seemed pleased, but I had no intention of repeating past mistakes. I used a cool washcloth to rouse Jack, and we went home together as a family. Jack kept glancing back at me, puzzled, saying, “I feel like something was off today. I couldn’t even bring myself to drink with Ruby there.” I had to smile at that. Jack was as steady as ever, and I knew my mom was behind this—feeding my daughter popsicles to distract me, trying to drive a wedge between us, and pushing me to have a second child to use as “insurance.” But this time, I wasn’t about to fall into her trap. As we walked home, Jack asked thoughtfully, “Why’s your dad been working so late?” At that moment, in the shadows of the streetlights, I spotted Ruby sneaking out from our house. “Just wait,” I murmured with a smile. “Soon, Dad won’t be the only one putting in extra hours.”

Ruby wasn’t going anywhere. She’d officially moved into my mom’s house. My mom tried to act as if she were doing me a favor, saying, “It’s good she has a place to stay; besides, she’s practically free help around here.” Seeing her so smug, I just let it slide. “Don’t worry, Mom. I don’t mind.” It wouldn’t be long until she did. When my dad came home from work, Ruby practically ran to take his coat, even setting his slippers down at his feet. My mom, watching with a sneer, muttered to herself, “Might as well be a maid with a servant’s heart.” Then, flashing a grin at Ruby, she said, “Look at her, so good with people.” If only she knew just how “good” Ruby was with Dad. Ruby took over the kitchen that evening, serving my dad every dish like she’d made it just for him. My dad, with his high blood sugar, needed to avoid certain foods, but she prepared everything as if it was all for his indulgence. I “accidentally” dropped my fork, bending down just enough to see Ruby’s foot tracing along my dad’s leg. As we ate, my mom excused herself, and Ruby turned her gaze to my dad, her eyes heavy with suggestion. After dinner, my mom happily cracked sunflower seeds on the couch while Ruby did all the chores. When my dad stepped out for his usual evening walk, Ruby eagerly took out the trash to follow him. Watching her, my mom yawned and said to me, “By the way, that tea I got from you really improved my sleep. I was out like a log from seven in the evening till ten the next morning. Ruby’s so helpful; she did all the housework while I slept!” I laughed to myself. She wasn’t lying; Ruby really had “done” everything. Satisfied with her newly rested state, my mom turned to me. “Megan, don’t forget your brother is still waiting in the hospital.” From the way she beamed, you’d think Billy’s illness was a distant memory. I almost wanted to remind her that he was still in the ICU. “Don’t worry, Mom,” I assured her. “Jack and I are working on it.” With that, my mom left for the night, but as she stood, I noticed a dark red stain on her pants. “Mom, are you on your period?” I asked, genuinely surprised. She spun around, alarmed, finally spotting the blood on her skirt. That “saffron tea” was working its magic, like a tonic restoring the very life she’d tried to pretend was gone. Then, out the corner of my eye, I caught Ruby slipping her hand under her collar, pulling it higher to cover some fresh-looking bruises around her neck. And my dad? He walked away flushed, with an extra bounce in his step. Turning to my mom, I squeezed her hand. “You said you’d hit menopause, right? Maybe if you’re blessed enough to carry a child, it’ll be just the one to save Billy.” My mom shook her head, uneasy. “Megan, it’s not happening. I’m way past that stage.” My dad didn’t say a word as he walked to his study, Ruby following close behind with a cup of tea. Taking my mom aside, I whispered, “Mom, as your daughter, let me just say…some things are worth paying attention to.” A month later, as Jack and I strolled through the mall, my mom called, furious, her voice like a shriek through the receiver. “Megan, get home now! Bring Jack too!” “You little tramp!” she screamed. “You absolute disgrace!” The expletives were flying, and Jack looked at me, alarmed. “We need to get back. Something must be wrong.” I held up a few shirts to try on. “Don’t worry. We’re right on time. Let’s see how this unfolds.”

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2:00 a.m. I found my sister, Sarah, in the basement of our house, even though she was supposed to be with her husband, Brian, in London. She was wearing a red satin slip dress, her body bruised and bound in chains, with red-stained bandages wrapped tightly around her legs. Seeing me, Sarah looked desperate and mouthed, “Watch out for Mom and Dad!” I wanted to ask her what happened, but footsteps echoed above us. Someone was moving around upstairs. I didn’t know what it meant, but my instincts told me to hide, fast. I slipped into an old cabinet just as someone descended the stairs. Peeking through the crack, I saw Dad, Charles. He was holding a plate piled high with yesterday’s leftovers—food that looked as unappetizing as it did cold. The second Sarah saw him, she began shaking with fear. Dad grabbed her chin with his thumb crease and forced her mouth open, shoving spoonfuls of the food inside. She gagged, her face twisting in pain until she vomited. He just stood there, watching in silence, then began force-feeding her again, waiting until she finished every last bite before he gave her a smug smile. Then he set the plate aside and reached into his pocket, pulling out a paring knife. Loosening the red-stained bandages around her legs, he revealed a sight that made my stomach drop—her once-smooth legs were now swollen, bruised, and some areas were oozing. Dad pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up his nose. If I remembered correctly, those glasses were Sarah’s graduation gift to him. I knew exactly what he was about to do before he even started. Holding that knife, the one I’d used to slice apples, he began cutting into her legs, slicing away chunks of flesh. The metallic smell of blood and rotting flesh filled the room. I clenched my lips tightly, desperate to keep silent. Dad’s gaze suddenly snapped toward my hiding place. I stilled, heart hammering, until his eyes finally drifted away. He gathered up the meat he’d just sliced and left. When the room fell silent, I shakily climbed out of the cabinet. My legs felt like jelly, barely holding me up. I crawled to my sister’s side, horrified by the state she was in. Her legs were wrapped in fresh bandages, but they’d already soaked through with blood. How could Dad do this? To his own daughter? Sarah and I had never shared the same father. My mom married Charles when I was little. Sarah had always been the perfect daughter. She never liked my mom initially but gradually grew warmer to her, so I thought we were all moving toward something good. But now, Sarah was whispering that my mother had killed her own mother. That both of our mothers were murderers. She warned me to stay away from them. I don’t remember making it back to my room. Lying there, I told myself, over and over, that it was only a dream—that Sarah and Brian were still in London.

In the morning, I came downstairs to find Mom busy in the kitchen. Dad sat at the table, reading the paper, his face calm and content as sunlight filtered through the window. I slid into the seat across from him, eyeing the big breakfast spread. Finally, I asked, “Dad… where’s Sarah?” He frowned, reaching over to feel my forehead. His face softened with an odd, almost amused expression. “Are you feeling alright, sweetheart? Sarah and Brian moved to London two years ago. You remember—you cried when they left.” Yes. That was right. I remembered watching them board the plane. Was it really just a nightmare? Mom came in, setting down a bowl of steaming beef broth, spooning a generous portion into my bowl. She told me to eat it all up. The smell was savory, but as I stared at it, the nausea crept in. Mom noticed my hesitation. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like it?” “No, I like it. Thanks, Mom,” I mumbled, stirring the broth slowly, lifting a slice of meat from the bowl. The memory of my dream hit me, and I couldn’t hold back anymore. I leaned over and threw up. Mom rushed over, patting my back, alarmed. “Honey, do you need to go to the hospital?” Everything seemed normal, but something felt terribly wrong. Mom never used to be this doting. My mind went back to Sarah in the cellar. I glanced at Dad, horrified. “What’s gotten into you this morning?” he asked, looking mildly amused. No. This wasn’t like him at all. My dad had never cared much for me before, never even looked in my direction. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something sinister was hidden beneath this facade. If what I saw was real, then the man I called Dad had locked his daughter in the cellar, cut pieces of her flesh, and served it to me as beef broth. I couldn’t handle it. Gripping my thumb crease under the table, I forced myself to calm down. After a deep breath, I said, “I didn’t sleep well. I’m going back upstairs to rest.”

I reached the stairway corner, just out of sight of the living room, before dashing to the cellar. But when I reached it, there was nothing—just the same old cluttered furniture. The bed Sarah had been lying on was empty, occupied only by a teddy bear, her gift to me on my eighteenth birthday. There was no sign of Sarah. No red-stained bandages. It must have been a dream. I leaned against the wardrobe, breathing heavily. But something didn’t add up. It felt too real. Then, in the corner of the cabinet, I spotted a small button—one from my pajamas. I really had hidden in there last night. “Lily, what are you doing down here?” I whipped around. Dad was behind me, his gaze sharp and scrutinizing, his gold-rimmed glasses reflecting the dim light. Swallowing down my panic, I clutched the teddy bear and stammered, “I…I missed Sarah and wanted to find the teddy bear she gave me.” It was the best excuse I could come up with. Dad’s expression was cold and calculating, like a snake watching its prey. He looked at me for a long moment, then said, “Take what you need and leave. There’s no reason to be down here.” I forced a smile, hugging the bear as I walked out, making a show of mumbling, “She could’ve at least called after all this time.” Dad trailed behind me at a steady distance. I could almost feel his eyes boring into the back of my head. “She just got there, Lily,” he said in an even tone. “She’s busy. Don’t bother her with calls.” Why hadn’t I thought to call her? I went back to my room, pulled out my phone, and dialed her number. “Sorry, your account is suspended due to lack of payment.” What? She’d filled my account with credit before she left. Confused and scared, I checked the Wi-Fi and saw it was disabled, and my phone had no signal. I was trapped—no way to call for help, no way to reach Brian.

Ever since that morning, I felt more and more drained each day, my energy sapped. And every day, Mom brought me another bowl of beef broth. Each time I looked at the meat in the broth, I thought of Sarah, and the nausea returned. I couldn’t drink it. But for reasons I couldn’t explain, I found myself lifting the spoon. Mom’s voice coaxed me to drink, and I did, helpless to resist. Once I finished, Mom seemed pleased. She set down the bowl and helped me to the cellar. There was Sarah again, lying on the bed, more of her body wrapped in red-stained bandages. Mom placed a stool near the bed and sat me down. Slowly, she unwrapped the bandages, revealing new gashes where her flesh had been cut. She muttered, “My sweet girl doesn’t like beef broth, so let’s make some sliced cold cut.” She took out a knife and, with a chilling calm, said, “A friend gave Dad this fish just a few days ago—so tender, so fresh.” Then she sliced into Sarah’s flesh as Sarah’s wide, terrified eyes looked on. “Sweetheart, here’s your favorite—sliced cold cut.” I stared in horror as she brought the bloody meat toward my mouth, forcing me to chew, to swallow. Sarah looked back at me, her eyes filled with disbelief, anger, and finally, despair. Inside, I screamed, No, I can’t do this! This is my sister! But no one heard me.

“No!” I shot up in bed, drenched in sweat. A calm, gentle voice brought me back. “Did you have a nightmare, dear?” I looked up. It was Dr. Alice Morgan, her face compassionate and kind. I took in my surroundings, realizing I was in a hospital room. Dr. Morgan explained, “You had a fever and were unconscious for days. Your mom’s been here the whole time. They just stepped out for a meal.” But the memory of that night clung to me, so vivid I couldn’t let it go. Still uneasy, I borrowed her phone to call Sarah’s number. This time, the call went through. But all I heard was the muffled noise of a crowded room. No voice replied, no matter how many times I shouted. Dr. Morgan smiled, interpreting my confusion. “Sounds like they’re somewhere noisy—a karaoke bar, maybe, or a downtown pub. It’d be hard for anyone to hear you over that.” I glanced away, feeling foolish. I had never set foot in a bar or a karaoke place, so I had no idea what it was like. “Why…why can’t I hear her voice at all?” Dr. Morgan chuckled gently. “The noise on her end is probably drowning you out. She’s likely having a good time and can’t hear her phone at all.” I wanted to press further, but at that moment, Mom returned. She entered quietly, her gaze soft but unreadable, and settled in the chair beside my bed. She brought a thermos with her, the kind she always carried, and set it down. Opening it, she said with a kind smile, “I know how much you like your sliced cold cuts, but since you’re not well, let’s stick with some beef broth for now, alright?” My stomach twisted as I watched the steam rise from the bowl of beef broth she handed me. The presentation was pleasant, the aroma rich and inviting, but I hesitated, feeling unease bubble up inside me. Mom noticed and said, “Sweetie, what’s the matter? You want me to feed you? You’re old enough to eat on your own—you’ll have to do that when you’re married, after all.” I barely registered her words. I focused instead on the bowl inching closer to my mouth. My panic flared, and before I realized it, I’d shoved the bowl away, spilling the hot broth all over her hand. She flinched but remained calm, the red marks on her hand showing through. I quickly grabbed some tissues and started wiping her hand, my voice rushing with apologies. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to. I…I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” Mom gave me a small smile, patting my hand reassuringly. “It’s alright, honey. No harm done. I just didn’t hold it tight enough.” But as she gathered herself, her soothing words somehow felt hollow. Another nightmare?

Lately, the nightmares had become almost constant. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something horrible was following me, threatening me. I decided I had to do something drastic—I needed to find a way to protect myself. I told Mom and Dad that I was going up Red Ridge to pray at the Mountain Chapel. They surprised me by offering to come along, saying they wanted to support me. I’d never had so much attention from both of them, and though I was nervous, a part of me felt warm, like maybe everything would be alright. We set out that afternoon, and by the time we neared the chapel, the sun had already dipped below the horizon. The shadows lengthened, and the chill in the air grew. As we neared a cliffside path, I spotted an old man sitting by the edge, wearing a ragged fisherman’s hat and holding a fishing pole as if he were casting into the sky itself. Trying to lighten the mood, I nudged Dad and joked, “Look at that old man, fishing right off a cliff!” Dad looked in the direction I was pointing, his brow creasing. “What old man? There’s nothing there but rocks.” I blinked. Rocks? But I could clearly see the man, still there on the cliff’s edge, turning his head slowly until it felt like his gaze met mine.

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When Grandpa Joe suddenly passed away, he left two houses behind. Aunt Karen, usually tight-fisted about everything, chose the old, rundown place, leaving the high-value, centrally located school district property to us. We were surprised but didn’t think much of it and signed the paperwork. But as we were finalizing everything, I caught a glimpse of Aunt Karen’s thoughts. “Ha! You think you got a deal, huh? I chose the safe zone, and in a few days, you’ll all roast to death!” “We’re not fighting you for it this time; we’ll take Maplewood Grove Apartments!” Aunt Karen declared. The four of us exchanged baffled glances. Grandpa Joe had just passed away three days ago, and after rushing through all the arrangements, we’d finally gotten through the funeral. Aunt Karen and her family had shown up halfway through, showing not a trace of grief; if anything, they seemed excited. I could guess why—she was likely hoping to avoid contributing financially, something she’d done countless times before. For years, we’d shouldered the expenses for Grandpa’s needs, from everyday essentials to medical costs. Aunt Karen’s only child, Ryan, had dropped out of school early and regularly asked Grandpa for money. Dad had always said it was only for Grandpa’s sake that he didn’t cut them off entirely. Now that Grandpa had passed, he figured we’d sever ties for good. We fully expected a big showdown over the inheritance today, with Aunt Karen kicking up a storm given the two houses’ vastly different values. But Aunt Karen had suddenly volunteered to take Maplewood Grove Apartments. Maplewood Grove was an old community complex from decades ago. Its neighborhood was run-down, mostly occupied by older folks. Young people wouldn’t even consider it. Riverside Gardens Apartments, however, was in the heart of the city, close to everything and right next to a top school. “Karen, are you sure about this?” Dad asked, like he was double-checking one last time. “Of course, I’m sure! You signing or what? We’ve got things to do!” she snapped, looking at us like we were wasting her time. Dad glanced back at us, then went ahead and signed his name. “Finally! What took you so long?” Aunt Karen blurted, a huge grin on her face, unable to hide her glee. Uncle Roy gave us a strange look as if he knew something we didn’t. As they turned to leave, I heard that familiar, sharp voice in my head again. “John thinks he’s getting a freebie? Ha! I’m back from the future, honey! I got the safe zone first. In a few days, they’ll burn up! Let’s see them beg me for help then!”

On the way home, the more I thought about it, the stranger it seemed. “Dad, Mom, Rachel—are you sure none of you heard what Aunt Karen said?” “Nope. Are you sure you’re not just stressed out and hearing things, Jessie?” Rachel asked, half-joking. It wasn’t impossible, but it didn’t seem likely either. Something about what she’d said—about a “safe zone” and coming back from the future—was just too strange. To be cautious, I told them what I’d heard. “A safe zone? From the future?” Rachel was still in college and had the lighthearted skepticism of her age. “Maybe, maybe not. Better to be safe than sorry. Rachel, pull up Aunt Karen’s Facebook,” I said, handing her my phone. It looked like they’d just left the lawyer’s office and went straight to Maplewood Grove. She’d posted a picture of herself inside the apartment. The place was covered in dust and badly rundown. Grandpa had moved to a new place years ago, leaving this one empty. “Read her caption,” I told Rachel. She read it, her eyes widening. Aunt Karen had written, “Who cares if this place isn’t fancy? You’ll all be jealous soon enough. You’ll be begging me, and I won’t even look at you!” “Sis, this…” Rachel looked worried, and then thoughtful. Mom, who’d seen it too, now looked serious. “Jessie’s right. Better to be cautious than caught off guard. John, we’d better prepare,” Mom said.

Back at home, the four of us sat down in the living room to hold an emergency meeting. With Dad and Mom discussing and my adding in what I’d overheard, we pieced together a theory: the heat was about to get much, much worse. The human body can’t survive past about 136 degrees Fahrenheit without dehydration. If it was really about to reach those extremes, it might be as high as 140 degrees. “Elaine, you and Jessie check prices and make a list of supplies. I’ll take Rachel to Willow Bend and start setting up. If all goes well, bring everything over,” Dad said. Willow Bend was Mom’s hometown. Her parents had been farmers, and when they passed, they left their land to Mom. Once Mom got a steady job in the city, she’d stopped tending it. Later, there were rumors about the land being seized for government projects, so she left it idle. But Dad’s focus wasn’t on the land; it was on the old bunker nearby, built decades ago during wartime. The entry point was hidden near the farmland. Willow Bend had become a ghost town, with only a handful of elderly residents left. It was the perfect spot to quietly set up. “John, should we consider selling Grandpa’s other house?” Mom asked. “We’d have more funds if we need to act quickly.” Dad thought it over for a moment. “No. If we sell, Karen will figure out we’re planning something. Just post a picture at the house, make it look like we’re unaware of anything. I’ve been more than fair as a brother. If there is a ‘safe zone,’ let’s see if she can really hold onto it.”

Once Dad and Rachel left, Mom and I headed to a nearby warehouse store. Before we left, Mom and Dad went over our savings. Selling a house or car would take too long, and we didn’t know how soon the heatwave might hit. After years of saving, plus my own contributions, we could pull together about $300,000. It wasn’t a fortune, but it would do. At the warehouse, we spoke to a manager about placing a large order. To avoid suspicion, we claimed we were stocking a new grocery store. Fresh produce wouldn’t last long in the heat, so we focused on non-perishables. We loaded up with 100 crates each of beef jerky, chicken jerky, and other dried meats. They were filling, nutritious, and didn’t spoil easily. Next were dried vegetables and fruit—another hundred crates each. Already, we’d spent nearly half our budget. We weren’t done yet. We bought emergency rations, canned goods, and every type of seasoning, another hundred crates. Our last major expense would be water. Mom and I visited three stores, buying out every jug and bottle of water we could find, and spent over $100,000. She rented two box trucks, and by the time we’d finished, both trucks were full, with a third nearly there. To keep it discreet, Mom planned to leave the trucks in a parking lot and drive them out one by one. Mom and Dad had a history of long-haul driving, so both had their commercial licenses. Willow Bend wasn’t far—about a three-hour drive. Mom and I drove one truck home, with Dad meeting us halfway to switch cars. He took the supplies on to the bunker while we returned to load more. We spent the next few hours shopping for essentials: toothpaste, soap, tissue paper, underwear, bedding, and items we’d need daily. We stocked up on bags of cat litter and composting chemicals, knowing that waste disposal might be an issue. On our final trip, we got solar panels to help generate electricity. There was no guarantee of cell service, but with a generator, at least we’d have light. We also grabbed rechargeable lamps, flashlights, and basic first-aid supplies—anything that might be difficult to find later.

For three days, Mom and I drove the trucks, while Dad and Rachel handled the smaller trips. Between us, we barely slept ten hours in those three days. We were anxious, watching every minute tick by. By the time we hauled the last truckload to Willow Bend, we were exhausted. Dad and Rachel had spent days cleaning and organizing the bunker. When we arrived with the last batch of supplies, they were covered in dirt and looked like they’d both lost weight. Together, we hauled boxes into the bunker, filling every available inch. When we were done, Dad even set up a small bathroom. Finally, Mom and Dad returned the trucks to avoid drawing attention, driving the last car back with a few extra tools in case we needed them. That night, we lay on the ground under the stars, grateful for a moment of peace, even knowing it might be a while before we’d get another like it. Just then, Dad’s phone buzzed. After reading the message, he let out a bitter laugh. “Karen finally cracked.” We gathered around to read Aunt Karen’s furious messages: Karen: “John, your family’s got some luck, huh? Bet you’re real cozy in that mansion.” Karen: “When have you ever given me anything when I asked? All you’ve ever done is preach at me!” Karen: “I bet that big house feels nice! You just wait until tomorrow! Your family will be on its knees begging me for help, and I won’t even look at you!”

And just as Aunt Karen had warned, the next day at noon, the outdoor temperature spiked dramatically. Mom was quick to react, pulling the clothes off the line and shoving us all into the depths of the bunker. Near the entrance, we still had cell signal. Rachel and I huddled together, scrolling through news alerts. “City’s issued a red alert heat warning. Temperatures will keep climbing over the next few days. Citizens are urged to stay indoors and avoid direct sunlight.” “Jess, it’s already 122 degrees outside!” Rachel said, curling up in fear. “They say they’re lowballing it—that it’s probably even hotter!” We both glanced toward the shelter’s entrance. Outside, what had once seemed warm sunlight now felt ominous, bringing a chill to our bones. The air shimmered with waves of heat like fiery snakes, ready to scorch anyone in their path. “Jess! Look at this!” Rachel turned her phone to me. A few pictures caught my attention. It was Aunt Karen and her family, lounging around in the sun. “In this heat? They’ll get killed out there!” “Something’s not right…”

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My husband, Ethan Stone, has abilities that are genetically enhanced. I once saved his life, and since then, he’s been obsessed with me. For three years, he pursued me relentlessly. In his desperation, he even ran his car into my childhood boyfriend, Mark Dawson, leaving him crippled. Then, he threatened to kill my family if I didn’t marry him. Now, after seven years of marriage, Ethan’s obsession has only intensified. He implanted a tracking chip in me to keep tabs on my every move, stripping me of any freedom. Despite this, he showers me with a twisted kind of love, always trying to give me whatever I want. One time, during an argument, his mother, Loretta Stone, pointed a finger at me, and Ethan broke her finger without hesitation. Another time, when his sister Diana’s kids interrupted my nap, he kicked them out, cutting off all ties with them. When I refused to give him a child with his enhanced genes, he poured his fortune into developing gene-editing tech to create a “perfect baby” that I would agree to carry. Then one day, I found out I was pregnant. Just as the news sank in, Loretta stormed into Stone Manor with her friends. She accused me of cheating, claiming I was pregnant with another man’s child. As I tried to defend myself, they beat me until I lost my baby. Just as I was about to pass out, Ethan arrived. Loretta waved a fake video in front of him, grinning as she said, “Son, your wife’s unfaithful! She’s carrying another man’s child! Look at this proof!” 1 Staring at the two pink lines on the pregnancy test, I was deep in thought. Ethan and I had been together for nearly a decade. Now, with a baby on the way, maybe it was time to give in. He might be a madman, but I was the one holding the reins. With that thought, I snapped a picture of the test and sent it to Ethan, who was out of town on business. Minutes later, I heard shouting from downstairs. Peering out the window, I saw her—Loretta Stone, my mother-in-law, whom I hadn’t seen in ages. She marched toward the house, a group of gray-haired friends trailing behind her, murmuring. “What a disgrace to the family!” “Ladies, if it weren’t serious, would we be exposing such shame?” “I don’t care if it ruins my reputation today. I’ll tear that cheating witch apart!” I listened for a moment before losing interest. Ever since Ethan married me, Loretta had believed I “stole” her son. Her bitterness lingered until Ethan finally snapped and kicked her out after breaking her finger. Our relationship was toxic. Moments later, the doorbell rang. Glancing at the clock, I thought, It’s only 9 a.m. Why is Mrs. Peggy Hayes, the housekeeper, here so early? Confused, I opened the door—and Loretta barged in with her gang. Loretta raised her crooked finger at me and yelled, “Look, everyone—there’s the evil daughter-in-law! She convinced my son to break my finger right after their marriage!” “And she kicked me and my grandson out of the house, cutting ties with us!” I raised an eyebrow and told her, “This is my home. Leave, all of you.” But before I could shut the door, Loretta slapped me across the face. “You ungrateful little tramp! My son gave you everything, and you go around cheating on him, making a fool of him!” A sharp sting spread across my face. Since marrying Ethan, even a tiny push would send him into a rage, and if he knew Loretta hit me, she’d be lucky to walk away unharmed. To avoid a family disaster, I bit back my anger and said, “Leave now, and I’ll pretend this never happened.” Ethan was gentle with me, but ruthless to anyone else. Loretta, however, didn’t back down. She yanked my hair, hissing, “Nervous, are you? If you had the guts to cheat, then you better be ready to face the consequences.” I freed myself, glaring at her. “Accusing me of cheating? Do you remember how your finger got broken?” 2 Ethan’s need for control was extreme. After we married, he implanted a GPS tracker in me to monitor my every move. There wasn’t a single person around me, yet she accused me of cheating. It was ridiculous. I thought reminding her about her finger might make Loretta back off, but instead, she slapped me again. “Oh, still playing innocent! Why don’t you get an acting job with that talent?” “You think I came here without proof?” she spat, pulling out her phone and opening a video. On the screen, a scantily dressed woman kissed a man before he pinned her down. The video was graphic, and the woman looked just like me. Loretta’s friends chimed in, “Absolutely shameful! In the old days, they’d drown women like her!” “If she were my daughter-in-law, I’d beat her right now!” “What a disgrace—acting so sweet when she’s actually trash.” Hearing their insults, anger boiled inside me. I’d never faced such humiliation. That video was clearly a deepfake, but explaining it to this crowd of elderly women felt pointless. I pulled out my phone to call Ethan. This was his mother, and he should handle her however he wanted. But Loretta snatched my phone and smashed it to pieces before I could dial. “You think I won’t handle you if Ethan finds out? Watch me,” she sneered. I squared my shoulders. “Your actions today are criminal. This is your last chance to leave.” Her friends laughed, mocking, “Look at her—cheating and acting so bold!” “Exactly! Show her who’s boss, Loretta. Put this tramp in her place.” Encouraged by her friends, Loretta kicked one of the antique oak chairs Ethan had bought me, splitting it in two. “You’re only here because of my son. Without him, you’d be living in some slum. Don’t you dare tell me to leave!” The women cheered her on, calling her bold and strong. They began smashing the rest of the chairs, following her lead. The whole set was a gift from Ethan, one he had bought at an outrageous price to make me happy. One of them grabbed a Tiffany lamp off the table, ready to smash it. “That’s an antique worth two million,” I warned her calmly. Hesitating, she glanced at Loretta, who walked up and smashed it to pieces. “Everything here is my son’s,” she declared. “Destroy whatever you want, ladies—let this tramp know her place.” With that, they tore through the house, breaking everything they could find. I watched, unflinching, knowing each broken piece would serve as evidence when they faced justice. Then one of the women nudged Loretta, saying, “Look, she’s glaring at you!” “Everything she has is thanks to your son’s money. Breaking it won’t teach her anything. You need to teach her a lesson,” she hissed. Loretta’s eyes gleamed with malice. She marched toward me. Outnumbered, I knew I couldn’t fight them all. I bolted for the door, but Loretta grabbed me, yanking me back. Pain shot through my knee as I hit the floor, unable to move. 3 Loretta pressed her heel into my thigh, grinding down hard. Pain shot through me, and a scream escaped my lips. “Oh, you weak little witch,” she sneered. “You’re acting all fragile now? I barely touched you, and you’re already crying out. Who’s this for?” I glared back at her coldly. “Loretta Stone, you’re going to regret everything you’ve done today.” “Still talking back? Well, now I’m going to teach you how a real daughter-in-law behaves!” she snarled. From the day I married Ethan, she’d been itching to lay down “rules,” even giving me a list of chores. She wanted me to wash her clothes, massage her feet—the whole nine yards. Apparently, Ethan’s grandmother had treated her the same way, and she was eager to pass it on. After all, no one knows how to torment a woman like another woman. But she forgot who she was dealing with. I didn’t marry Ethan by choice, and he was a man with power—power he wouldn’t hesitate to use. I had forgotten who I was dealing with. Marrying Ethan wasn’t my choice, and he wielded power—power he didn’t hesitate to flaunt. In front of me, Ethan ripped apart her list, shouting her down. Ever since, she had harbored a deep hatred for me, unable to confront him with her anger. Today, she finally had her moment. Loretta called one of her friends to fetch a basin of water from the bathroom. Grabbing my hair, she lowered her voice, her chilling tone sending shivers down my spine. “Back in the day, women like you would be locked away for cheating. Today, you’re going to experience that feeling.” Without warning, she shoved my head into the icy water. The cold engulfed me, filling my nose and mouth. Panic surged as I struggled to breathe. I thrashed, trying to escape her grip, but she held on tightly. Just as I felt myself slipping away, Loretta yanked me up, and I gasped for air, my face and clothes drenched, completely humiliated. “You think you can waltz around my son’s house like you own it?” she spat. “He works hard to provide for you, and you treat him like a servant?” Once I caught my breath, I glared at her, fury coursing through me. “If that’s your plan, Loretta, you better kill me. Otherwise, you’ll regret it.” In that moment, my hatred for Ethan matched my disdain for her. If he hadn’t forced me into this marriage, I wouldn’t be enduring this abuse. Loretta’s expression twisted with anger, and she slapped me so hard that blood dripped from my lip. “Oh, still talking back? I’m not finished yet.” She shoved my head back into the water, holding me there longer, pushing me to my limits. With each time she forced my head under, I felt my strength fading, my body losing the will to fight. Finally, one of the women hesitated. “Loretta, maybe that’s enough. We don’t want her dead here.” “Right,” another murmured. “This isn’t the old days. We’d all end up in jail.” More voices joined in, convincing her to stop. Loretta finally released me, shoving me to the floor, soaked and gasping for breath. “Consider this a warning,” she spat, watching me like a hawk. “Once Ethan knows what you’ve done, he’ll deal with you himself!” I lay there, exhausted but victorious, knowing that when Ethan returned, she’d have to plead for mercy—and I wouldn’t give her any. Just then, one of her friends emerged from the bathroom, holding something—my pregnancy test. She handed it to Loretta, who stared in shock. “Look at that,” Loretta sneered. She kicked me in the stomach, and I instinctively doubled over, wrapping my arms around my belly. “You little tramp! You’re carrying another man’s child?” Panicking, I managed to say, “This isn’t some other man’s child—it’s Ethan’s!” “Shut up!” she yelled, her rage unyielding. “You think you can fool me? I know you didn’t want to have his baby! You made him get a vasectomy!” She pointed a finger at me. “You’re trying to cut off my son’s family line!” When Ethan and I first got married, he refused to use protection, insisting we be “one in every way.” I bought boxes of birth control, making it clear if he touched me, I’d take a pill every time. I didn’t want a child with his “enhanced genes.” Eventually, he relented and had a vasectomy. Loretta’s friends gasped in horror. To them, family lineage meant everything. “This woman is pure evil,” one whispered. “She’s ruined his bloodline and expects him to raise another man’s child.” “In my day, we wouldn’t let that child see the light of day,” another muttered. Loretta’s eyes darkened with determination. “You’re right. I’ll handle this myself, right now.” Fear gripped me, and I tried to reason with her. “Loretta, please, this really is Ethan’s child. His company developed genetic technology to ensure the baby would be healthy.” “Right, you think I’ll fall for that? You’ve got him so hooked he’d believe anything. But I’m his mother, and I won’t let him be humiliated.” With that, she slammed her foot into my stomach. Pain shot through me as I crumpled. “Please, Loretta…he’s your grandchild…” I gasped, my voice barely a whisper.

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Everyone in Maple Hollow knew my mother, Miriam Gardner, as the woman who sold an unbelievably pricey yet magical beauty remedy. This remedy, costing $10,000 a bowl, was shockingly expensive. Yet people still came in droves, including women from neighboring cities who had heard about its miraculous effects. They all swore that eating my mother’s remedy left them with fair skin, rosy lips, and an enchanting allure. My sister Del, seeing the attention the remedy garnered, was practically drooling with envy. But no matter how much she begged, Mom refused to let her taste even a spoonful. Unable to resist, Del snuck into the back cellar one night. That was when I heard strange noises drifting from the cellar at midnight. My mom had a little shop in Maple Hollow, open only a few days a week, exclusively selling the beauty remedy. But the remedy wasn’t always available—customers had to book it in advance. “Mrs. Gardner, is my remedy ready today?” A plump, middle-aged woman wearing a gold bracelet and bursting with excitement walked in, her face beaming. I paused in my sweeping, glancing at her in curiosity. People from all walks of life came to Mom’s shop: tall, short, round, thin, even women well into their sixties. This woman looked to be around forty, a bit on the heavier side, but definitely radiating excitement. My mom nudged me, signaling I should continue cleaning, and then she turned back to the woman, smiling warmly. “Yes, yes! Mrs. Hale, I’ve prepared it especially for you!” Mrs. Hale’s smile widened, and she eagerly pulled a thick wad of cash from her purse. “Hurry, bring it over!” she insisted, practically bouncing with anticipation. Mom’s eyes widened at the sight of the thick stack of bills. “Mrs. Hale, there’s way more than $10,000 here!” she exclaimed. “Oh, keep the extra,” Mrs. Hale said, waving a hand dismissively. “That’s $100,000—I want to order more for the next few months. A treat like this once just won’t cut it!” Mom put on a look of hesitation. “Well, Mrs. Hale, you know how hard it is to make this remedy. I can’t make it every day, and I’ve got to think of all the other ladies on the list…” Mrs. Hale looked at her, took Mom’s hand in hers, and gave it a reassuring pat. “Don’t worry. I’d never ask you to make things difficult for yourself. I’ll only come in once every two weeks, let’s say, but could you prepare three or four bowls each time? It’ll save me from having to book every single visit.” “Oh, of course! Come, come, it’s all ready for you in the cellar,” Mom finally said, pocketing the money as she led Mrs. Hale to the back. “This remedy will make you more than satisfied.” As the cellar door closed softly behind them, I returned to cleaning. Mom never let Del or me go into the cellar. She said that only when one of us was married could we inherit the remedy shop and everything that came with it. Thinking of my boyfriend, Ryan Blackwood, made my cheeks flush. He’d been my childhood friend, but I didn’t know when he’d finally propose. If I inherited the shop, I wanted to show him the transformation the remedy could bring. Time slipped by as I worked. Soon, Mom returned, helping Mrs. Hale out. She was trembling, sighing with delight. “That remedy is simply incredible!” Mrs. Hale exclaimed. “If you hadn’t told me I could only have one serving, I’d be begging for another!” When I saw her under the bright lights, her skin glowed with a delicate softness, her face transformed. Her friends waiting outside gasped. “Oh my goodness! Look at her! She’s glowing!” one whispered. “That’s not even the same person! She looks so… full of life!” another added. Mom laughed, bidding Mrs. Hale goodbye as she moved to greet the next customer.

Del grabbed a chair and plopped down beside me, complaining, “Mom’s a real piece of work, isn’t she? Won’t even share a drop of that good stuff with her own daughter, all so she can make a quick buck! All these ugly women are getting prettier by the day, and look at me! I can’t cover my face no matter how much powder I use—ugh, it’s all caked up!” I took a closer look at her. Del was all dressed up, likely about to meet another one of her many boyfriends. After a final check in the mirror, she fluffed her hair and left, threatening, “Keep your mouth shut about this, or I’ll make you regret it!” I kept cleaning, not saying a word. But I knew Del was anxious. Mom’s rule was that whoever married first would inherit the remedy shop, and while I had a steady boyfriend, Del seemed to switch from one to the next. That evening, Del came home in tears, her makeup smeared and looking pitifully disheveled. “Mom!” she shrieked, storming into the living room. “He dumped me! That jerk said I’m ugly! Mom, I want that remedy! I need to look like all those other women who come out of here looking gorgeous! I’ll make him regret leaving me!” As Del’s tantrum grew louder, Mom’s expression hardened. “Go find yourself a husband, then,” she said coldly. “I’ll hand over the shop, and you can do as you like.” With that, Mom turned and walked away. In a fit of rage, Del kicked the chair across the room. “If I could find someone to marry me, I wouldn’t be so desperate!” she shouted. “I’ve been through three or four boyfriends already, and not one of them wants to settle down! Mom’s doing this to torture me! Fine! If she won’t share, I’ll find my own way!”

Late that night, I rolled over in bed, only to find Del wasn’t beside me. Remembering her earlier outburst, my heart sank. Could she have snuck into the cellar? Despite Mom’s strict warning not to, I got up, both anxious and curious, and headed to the cellar door. “Del?” I whispered as I opened the door, trying not to make any noise. “What are you doing here?” Del’s voice was strangely soft, almost too alluring, a tone I’d never heard from her before. She was in the cellar, up to something that didn’t sound right. “Del… what are you even doing in here? Mom will kill you if she finds out!” I hissed. “Just go back to bed… I’ll be out in a minute.” After a long moment, she finally emerged, her eyes glassy, yet she threw a lingering glance back toward the cellar as if she couldn’t tear herself away. Back in our room, she warned, “You better keep your mouth shut, or I’ll tell Mom you came in, too. If I go down, you’re coming with me.” Angry and betrayed, I clenched my jaw and nodded. What had she been doing in there alone? And why was she acting like this? Soon enough, Del’s nightly trips to the cellar became routine, her self-control waning with each visit. She started asking me to stand guard, and her beauty blossomed unnaturally. Her once dark complexion became fair, her features more delicate and shapely. Despite my curiosity, I never peeked inside, trusting Mom’s words.

One day, Del brought Ryan home and announced they were getting married. The moment I saw his hands all over her, I felt a chill wash over me. This wasn’t the same sweet Ryan I’d known for years. Rage boiled up inside me, and I threw myself at them. “You cheating jerk! Delilah, you knew he was my boyfriend, and you went behind my back?” But two fists were no match for four hands, and I quickly found myself shoved aside. Leaning against Ryan, Del looked at me with mocking pity. “Sorry, little sis, but I’m looking better than ever. Anyone can see who’s the better choice here.” Ryan scratched his nose, looking guilty but shrugging. “Lily, don’t be mad. Just look at you two! You’re as plain as a twig. I can’t help it if Del’s curves are more… enticing.” They had the nerve to defend their betrayal! Just as I opened my mouth to fight back, Mom’s voice cut in sharply, “Enough!” Mom stared at Ryan and Del with a look that could pierce steel, then turned to help me to my feet. “So, Ryan, you were Lily’s boyfriend, but now you’re marrying Del? You wouldn’t mind if I tested you a little first, would you?” His eyes lit up, and he nodded eagerly. “Not at all! Whatever you think is fair!” Mom’s face softened as she gestured toward the door. “It’s late. Stay the night, and I’ll consider your proposal tomorrow.” With a smug smile, Del took him into the room next to mine, and soon I heard creaking noises echoing through the wall. But the noise quickly died down after ten minutes, and I laughed quietly to myself. So much for Mr. “Enticing.” When I couldn’t sleep, I peered through the hallway and saw Del sneaking out—back to the cellar. Well, if she could play dirty, so could I. I went straight to Mom’s room and told her what Del had been up to. Mom nodded, unbothered. “I knew she was sneaking in. I gave her chance after chance, but she can’t resist temptation. If something goes wrong, she’ll have no one else to blame.” Then she looked at me, her gaze thoughtful. “Lily, your sister is reckless, but you’ve followed my rules. Would you like to take over the remedy shop?” I blinked, stunned. Weren’t we supposed to be married first? Was this all just a test? Quickly, I nodded. If I inherited the shop, I’d not only secure my future—I’d finally make Del pay for everything she’d done. Smiling with satisfaction, Mom took my hand. “Follow me.” When she opened the cellar door, I was shocked. It was larger than I’d ever imagined, divided into smaller rooms and chambers. She shot Del a cold look as we passed her chamber. Through the half-open door, I glimpsed Del lying on her back, her body flushed and moving rhythmically, lost in a haze of her own making. Finally, we reached the end of the cellar, where a large, heavy trapdoor lay. I followed Mom down the narrow staircase to a stone door. When she twisted the lock, the sight on the other side was one I’d never forget. Mom gave me a satisfied smile, nodding approvingly. “Come with me,” she said. As she opened the door, I felt my eyes widen with shock. The back room was far bigger than I’d imagined, divided into several small chambers, each secluded from the others. Mom cast a cold, almost disgusted look at Del’s chamber as we passed. Inside, I caught a glimpse of her, completely exposed, her skin flushed red, her body moving in a rhythmic, trance-like state, and soft, breathy sounds escaping her lips. We walked on, further into the back room until we reached a small doorway. In the center was a heavy trapdoor. Following her lead, I descended the narrow stairs to a stone door at the end of the corridor. Mom reached up, twisted the knob with careful precision, and opened it. What lay inside was a scene I would never forget for the rest of my life.

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My boyfriend of ten years, Aaron Grant, was the picture of a perfect partner. Handsome, smart, and successful—the only problem was that he constantly put me down. When I ranked second instead of first in a competition, he’d say I just wasn’t “smart enough.” When I earned my first commission check for writing, he brushed it off as “pointless work.” But the final straw came at a bridal shop. While I tried on a wedding dress, Aaron criticized my body, saying I didn’t look “bride-like” enough in it. That’s when I snapped, yelling at him for the first time, “If I’m not good enough, then don’t marry me!” In the bridal shop, I stepped out of the fitting room in the dress. Even some strangers nearby gasped in admiration. The sales assistant beamed at me, “Miss Monroe, you’re so tall and slender; this dress looks perfect on you.” “Better show your fiancé; he’ll love it.” I smiled politely, “I wouldn’t be so sure. He’s got high standards.” After all, for over a decade, Aaron had been a perfectionist when it came to me. Never a single compliment. But today, seeing my reflection—my waist looked narrow, my skin glowed, and the dress seemed made for me. I hoped this might be the time he’d say something nice. Maybe he’d find me beautiful, like the other husbands in the store who couldn’t stop smiling at their fiancées. Holding onto that hope, I tugged at his sleeve with a small, nervous smile. But that hope was about to shatter.

Aaron turned, looked me over, and his first words were, “Jess, you’re still too chubby.” The smile froze on my face, and even the sales assistant looked taken aback. “Your face is puffy, arms are thick, big frame, thick waist—this doesn’t look good at all,” he sighed, “Jess, you don’t look like a bride at all.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it was just enough for everyone in the shop to hear. Eyes turned my way—some sympathetic, some judgmental, some just entertained. In that moment, I felt like nothing more than an object for Aaron to scrutinize, not a person. Tears threatened to spill, my chest tight with a feeling I couldn’t breathe through. For months, I’d followed Aaron’s orders, working out every day to fit into this dress. I’d barely eaten anything, losing twenty pounds just to look my best on our wedding day. Why did he have to say that? Maybe it was the exhaustion or maybe the disappointment, but suddenly, ten years of endurance snapped. I tore off my veil and shouted, “Aaron, if I’m not good enough for you, then let’s not get married!” “Yes, I don’t look like a bride, so I’m calling off the wedding!” And in his shocked silence, I took a deep breath, finally saying what I’d rehearsed in my head a thousand times: “Aaron, we’re breaking up.”

By the time my best friend, Lily Quinn, came to get me, the tears hadn’t stopped. After I’d posted the news about calling off the wedding, everyone was messaging, asking what had happened. Most people said, “Jess, isn’t there some misunderstanding?” or, “He’s such a great guy; you won’t find anyone better.” Even my mom was on Aaron’s side. “I heard from Aaron; it’s just a small matter. No need to overthink it,” she’d said. Aaron’s message? A flat, “Quit overreacting.” Holding my phone, a wave of helplessness washed over me. No one understood. To everyone else, Aaron was the perfect boyfriend. Good-looking, successful, made good money, and hadn’t cheated on me in ten years. His only fault? He put me down. We’d been childhood friends, growing up side by side. He was one of those “perfect kids” who excelled at everything, way ahead of me in every way. But life had dealt him a tough hand. His mom passed away when he was young, and his father was a workaholic who barely acknowledged him unless he won an award. So, Aaron had matured fast. When the other kids played outside, he was already competing in math tournaments—and winning. That harsh upbringing had shaped him, making him cold. He only showed any real personality with me, often in the form of harsh criticism. If I placed second instead of first, he’d knock on my head and say I wasn’t “smart enough,” pointing out every mistake I made. When I won bronze in a competition and he won gold, he’d look at me with disappointment and call me “dense.” In my teenage years, my mom constantly reminded me, “Look at Aaron; so talented. Always top of the class, winning all these awards.” It’s safe to say I grew up in Aaron’s shadow. I hated how he tore me down and how my mom kept comparing us. But when we were teenagers, everyone called us a “perfect pair.” They insisted Aaron’s teasing was his way of showing he cared. Even when Aaron confessed his feelings, he said, “Jess, if I didn’t like you, I wouldn’t push you so hard.” It was the first time he’d spoken to me so gently, his face soft, eyes full of laughter. Everyone cheered us on so loudly, I barely noticed the discomfort in my heart. And just like that, I ended up dating Aaron. It’s been ten years since then.

Lily had been my best friend since college, and the only one to support my decision to break up with Aaron. In college, Aaron had asked me to join him for an early-morning study session at the library one weekend. It wasn’t easy to wake up at 7 a.m. on a weekend, and despite rushing, I was two minutes late. Aaron was waiting, arms crossed, annoyed. “Jess, why can’t you keep time?” “Will you be late for client meetings once you’re working? What if it’s a million-dollar deal on the line?” I automatically apologized, but Lily—fresh from her morning run—pulled me aside. “Getting up early to study on a weekend is already a big deal; Jess is doing great.” “And it was just two minutes. Don’t blow it out of proportion.” From then on, Aaron and Lily didn’t get along. Lily always praised me. She cheered when I ranked second, celebrated when I passed my exams, even admired me for getting up early for class. She’d say, “Don’t listen to Aaron; you’re amazing, Jess!” Those simple affirmations were something I hadn’t heard in over twenty years. That’s why I loved spending time with Lily. Aaron, though, scoffed, “She only praises you to make you arrogant. She’s keeping you from seeing your flaws.” “Humility builds growth. Pointing out your weaknesses like I do? That’s what’s really helpful!” Anytime Lily came up, Aaron’s eyebrows would furrow, his lips would press into a line. That expression always signaled a lecture coming my way. I wanted to defend Lily, but fear paralyzed me, pinning me to the spot. I was so afraid. Afraid of Aaron’s anger, afraid of his criticism. When Lily heard, she sighed softly, “Jess, it’s hard to break free once you’re used to being put down.” “Take it slow.” So, today, when I finally ended things with Aaron, Lily was thrilled. She hugged me, whispering, “Congratulations, Jess. You’re free.”

Lily took me to her place, offering me the spare bedroom to stay for a while. As she led me to the room, her eyes sparkled, “Jess, do you like it? I decorated it just the way you like!” I looked around at the pastel pink wallpaper, the Mickey Mouse desk, and a pigtail-wearing doll on the bed. It was surreal. How long had it been since I’d seen anything like this? Aaron’s minimalist style only allowed black, white, and gray. He’d always rolled his eyes at my love for pink and toys, saying, “Jess, your taste is painfully tacky.” Thinking of it brought tears to my eyes as I hugged Lily, sobbing. If Aaron had been a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from, then Lily was the remedy life had sent to me.

I planned to head to the apartment Aaron and I had shared to pack my things. But when I arrived, Aaron was already there. He was lounging on the sofa, looking up at me lazily, “Done throwing a tantrum?” I steadied my voice, fighting to keep it from shaking. “I’m not throwing a tantrum, Aaron. I meant what I said. I’m here to pack.” Surprisingly, he didn’t argue. He just sat there, legs crossed, hands folded, giving me that strange half-smile. Ignoring the discomfort in my gut, I went to gather my things. In truth, I didn’t own much; just a few personal items. Most things were Aaron’s purchases after we’d moved in. When I’d first brought over my colorful toothbrushes and towels, Aaron had wrinkled his nose. “Jess, your things are gaudy. They look awful.” By the next day, he’d replaced all of them. When I confronted him, he’d shrugged it off, saying, “Your things were too cheap-looking.” That was the first time I’d thought of breaking up. Why should someone else decide what I could or couldn’t like? But my mom advised me, “He’s doing it because he loves you. You’ve been together for so long; it’s not worth breaking up over.” So I gave in. Looking back now, I realize it was a bigger deal than I thought. Anything that makes you feel uncomfortable should never be brushed off.

The only thing I’d miss in that apartment was my small writing corner. Just a desk, a lamp, and a computer, but they’d helped me create so many stories. I’d always loved writing, though Aaron called it “a waste of time,” and I’d set it aside. But in college, with more free time, I began again. I’d even shown Aaron my first piece, hoping he’d be proud. But after reading it quickly, he’d only scoffed, “This is garbage. Just quit.” But I kept writing. And eventually, I even got paid for it. When I earned my first $300, I couldn’t wait to tell him, hoping he’d be proud. What was his reaction? After a glance, he simply said, “Worthless drivel.” He gave me that pitying look, as if humoring a child. “Someone probably just felt sorry for you.” Every word slashed through my excitement, leaving nothing but a raw, festering wound. After that, no matter how much I made, I never mentioned it to Aaron. As I packed up my computer, I noticed it was still on. When I opened it, I realized every file I’d saved was gone. Ten thousand words, painstakingly crafted, my heart poured into each sentence—gone. Only one person would do this… From behind me, Aaron’s voice drifted over. He was leaning against the door, his gaze dark. “Deleted your files for you. That worthless hobby was getting in the way.” “You don’t think you can live off that ‘writing’ and leave me, do you?”

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I was furious when my boyfriend hooked up with a rich woman. In a fit of anger, I found an older man. I declared boldly, “I’ll take care of you, mister.” He replied, “Alright.” Until the company’s annual party… When my “poor” husband went on stage to give a speech, I was dumbfounded. On May 20th at 8 AM, I put on a white lace top paired with a burgundy maxi skirt, ready to walk down the aisle with my boyfriend of 3 years. But reality slapped me hard in the face, leaving me stunned and confused. I should have been suspicious when he stepped out of that BMW. “Zoe, I’ve been thinking… I can’t marry you after all. I’m sorry, but we need to break up today.” My ex-boyfriend, who had hooked up with a rich woman, chose to break up with me on the very day we were supposed to get married. I can’t believe I gave you guys the satisfaction.

I stormed back home and plopped down at the dining table, gulping down a large glass of ice water. My best friend looked at me in shock. “Zoe, are you a water buffalo or something?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized something was wrong. “Wait, weren’t you supposed to go register your marriage with your boyfriend today? Why are you back alone?” “Don’t even mention it!” The anger that had just been quelled by the ice water flared up again. “That jerk hooked up with a rich woman. He couldn’t break up earlier or later, he had to do it on our wedding day. Does he think I’m a dog he can summon and dismiss at will?” My friend snorted. “I told you Ben was no good. Forget about it, let that loser enjoy his sugar mommy. I’ll find you some hot guys and take you out to have fun!” I was going to refuse, but then I thought, Ben’s first move after hooking up with that rich woman would definitely be to get married. How could I fall behind him? So I agreed. My friend got excited and pulled out a bunch of photos of handsome guys for me to choose from. “This one is my cousin’s friend, a total puppy dog who would stick to you all day.” “I met this one while drinking, he’s got a great body. I wasn’t into him so I didn’t pursue it, but I checked and he’s still single.” “Oh, and this one is…” My friend went on and on, introducing the guys one by one. Looking at all these different men, I felt overwhelmed. This was like selecting concubines for an emperor! No wonder the cat in “Empresses in the Palace” was so irritated when faced with all those men vying for the emperor’s attention. Who could handle having all these people laid out in front of them, having to get to know each one? “Hey, I’ve been talking for so long, hurry up and pick someone already!” My friend finally got tired of talking and took a sip of water, then pushed me impatiently. I stared at the photos spread all over the coffee table, feeling a headache coming on. I randomly pointed at one. “This one, I guess.” My friend followed where I was pointing and fell into an odd silence before speaking with great difficulty. “Zoe… I didn’t know you were into… that type?” Me: “Huh?” I took a closer look. Oh boy! Among all the young, handsome guys, my finger was pointing steadily at the only photo of an older man. Me: “…” Was this fate?

My friend dolled me up and sent me off on the blind date. I stood in front of the agreed-upon restaurant, my friend’s words echoing in my head. “I don’t know this guy very well, but I heard from another friend that he seems pretty ordinary, maybe not rich, but he’s apparently very honest and quite handsome. His personal life is pretty clean too, no major issues. You can go for it with peace of mind.” Alright, got it. Not rich, good-looking, honest guy. I psyched myself up and pushed open the restaurant door, politely telling the hostess I had a reservation while scanning the room. Ah, the man sitting by the window on the right must be him. I confidently walked over, ignoring the hostess’s hesitant look. “Hello, I’m Zoe Wilson.” I stopped at the table and extended my hand, flashing my signature smile that showed eight teeth. The man seemed to pause briefly before reaching out to shake my hand lightly. “Lucas Gray.” His voice was pleasant and slightly husky, a real treat for the ears. Looking at his unbelievably handsome face, any lingering doubts in my mind instantly vanished. With such a good-looking older man, who cares if he’s not rich? I’ll take care of him! I sat down across from Lucas, took a sip of water to wet my throat, and began speaking. “Mr. Gray, here’s the situation. My family has been pressuring me to get married, and the boyfriend I was supposed to marry yesterday became my ex due to certain circumstances. So I’m here on this blind date today.” “Um… I’ve heard about your basic situation, that you’re in a tight financial spot? Don’t worry, after we get married, I can support you.” I explained everything calmly, then looked at Lucas expectantly. Lucas: “…” “Miss Wilson…” Lucas began slowly. My heart tightened, and I quickly interrupted to add: “My current salary is $5,000 a month, plus monthly commissions and year-end bonuses. It’s actually enough to cover expenses for both of us.” “And I don’t need your money. I have my own place and car, so you won’t have any financial burden.” I rushed to get all the words out, then realized Lucas was looking at me with a… strange expression? As I was feeling nervous, Lucas glanced at me, then lowered his eyes, seeming to quirk his lips ever so slightly. “Alright. When shall we go get married?” My eyes lit up instantly. “We can go right now!” Lucas nodded calmly, then gestured for me to order. “Let’s eat first, then we’ll go tie the knot after.”

After finishing our meal, I happily drove Lucas to the courthouse to get married. It was a weekday, but that didn’t dampen couples’ enthusiasm for getting hitched. Lucas and I were waiting in line when I kept glancing behind us. Sure enough, that jerk Ben was in line with his rich woman, waiting to register their marriage. “Zoe?” My stare must have been too intense, as Ben turned his head slightly and spotted me. Ben frowned: “We’ve broken up, why are you here?” “What, you’re allowed to get married but others aren’t?” I rolled my eyes and pulled Lucas forward, interlocking our fingers to show Ben. “I’m here to get married too, you know.” Ben: “…” Lucas looked Ben and his rich girlfriend up and down, then glanced at our intertwined hands, seeming to understand something. The rich woman was staring intently at Lucas, who knows what she was thinking. I didn’t like the way she was looking at him. I couldn’t be bothered to say anything and just pulled Lucas away. Behind us, I heard the rich woman mutter: “That man… he looks familiar somehow?” Hmph… Just say you think my husband is handsome! … Back in the car with Lucas, I stared at the marriage certificate in my hand, still in a daze. We just… got married like that? It felt unreal. I kept turning the certificate over and examining it. “You…” Lucas had been watching my foolish behavior for a good 30 seconds before he couldn’t take it anymore and spoke up. “Did you suddenly decide to get married because of that man just now?” “Huh?” I was caught off guard. Meeting Lucas’s serious gaze, I thought for a moment, then shook my head. “Of course not. Who is he to me? Why would I suddenly get married because of him?” That was the truth. My decision to get married really had nothing to do with Ben. Maybe the initial blind date was because I was angry at that jerk, but after meeting Lucas, whether I was angry or not didn’t matter anymore. Deciding to marry Lucas was actually the calmest decision I’ve made in my 28 years of life. After all… Just thinking about spending the rest of my life with this incredibly handsome man made me overjoyed!

After asking Lucas where he wanted to go next, I dropped him off at the restaurant where we had our blind date, then drove to work. As soon as I got to the office, I habitually grabbed some paper and headed to the bathroom. “Did you hear this morning’s meeting was cancelled?” What what what? This morning’s meeting was cancelled? I distinctly remembered there was an important meeting scheduled for this morning. Given our big boss’s workaholic tendencies, he never cancels meetings unless it’s for something extremely important. “Yeah, we were all prepared, but then the big boss called to cancel the meeting out of nowhere. I was completely stunned.” The secretary in her business attire seemed to rub her temples in frustration. “This meeting was crucial for the upcoming collaboration. Cancelling it so suddenly… we’ll need to give them a reasonable explanation.” Another woman in casual clothes hesitated, then leaned in close to the secretary’s ear. She thought she was whispering, but I could hear her clearly from two stalls away. “I have a friend who works at that company. Apparently the big boss’s reason was that he got married today, so the meeting had to be postponed.” Me: “???” What??? Our iron-faced, extremely strict big boss got married? Wow! Who is this amazing woman who managed to tame the big boss? The secretary seemed shocked too, stumbling over her words. “But… the big boss… he…” “Forget it, let’s just focus on our own work. The boss can handle this himself.” I was stunned, forgetting to flush the toilet for a while. After some time, a loud “Holy crap!” suddenly echoed through the quiet bathroom, and then it instantly became lively. “No way, the boss is so rich and successful, he actually got married?” “His spouse must be incredibly impressive!” “Another poor soul entering the grave of marriage!” “Tsk tsk, so even the big boss can’t escape marriage after all!” “Hey, you know what, I actually heard the boss’s mom was pressuring him to get married! Said he had to bring a girlfriend home by next month!” Me: “…” Well well, looks like I’m not the only one getting paid to use the bathroom.

I flushed and walked out to see women from various departments with excited expressions on their faces, chattering away even though they didn’t know each other. Hmm… Looks like this news will spread through the whole company within half an hour. But everyone seemed to be marveling at how even someone like the big boss could be pressured into marriage. I couldn’t help but purse my lips. What’s the big deal? No matter how awesome and rich the big boss is, he’s still human. If someone doesn’t truly hate the idea of marriage, most people will end up taking that step eventually. But I did feel a bit emotional about it. After this incident, the high and mighty big boss seemed a bit more… human. I couldn’t help but smile as I walked to my desk and sat down to start work. I guess the only things the big boss and I have in common, besides being human, is getting pressured to marry! Just before leaving work, I got a message from Lucas. He said he was already home and had tidied up all the stuff I hadn’t gotten around to unpacking since moving into the new place. He even called cleaners to thoroughly clean the apartment. The whole place was now neat and tidy, starting to feel like a real home. Home… Looking at Lucas’s message, I suddenly felt a bit of anticipation. This home was one I established after leaving my parents, starting my own family. From now on, I would work hard for this home. After work, I rushed home eagerly. Lucas had timed my commute perfectly and prepared a table full of dishes. As soon as I walked in, I was hit with the mouthwatering aroma. I was moved to tears. Ever since my parents kicked me out for not getting married, I hadn’t eaten such hot, home-cooked meals! At that moment, I completely forgot about my best friend who used to cook for me, my mind filled only with thoughts of my dear husband. “Honey! I love you so much!” Lucas’s movements paused: “Honey?” I smiled brightly, linking my arm with his and happily telling him about what happened at work today. “Honey, guess what? My company’s big boss, like the top CEO, he actually got married! And he even gets pressured to marry too!” “What’s so strange about that? Aren’t we all human?”

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After my husband passed away, my mother-in-law, Evelyn, brought home a little boy. His face looked so much like Jack, my late husband, that it startled me. She told me he was my husband reborn, a chance to make amends. So, I devoted everything I had to raising him, making him the heir to Landon Enterprises. But the first thing he did after taking over the company was to torture me to death. As I lay dying, Jack appeared with his loyal protégé, Megan Starr. “Thanks for raising our son and building a billion-dollar empire. After you’re dead, our son will be there to send you off,” Jack sneered. I died in rage and heartbreak, only to open my eyes and find myself back on the very day my husband had faked his death. “Ms. Landon, Professor Hayes was in a terrible accident… They don’t think he’s going to make it. Please hurry to St. Andrews Medical Center… maybe… maybe you can still see him one last time…” Megan’s voice trembled with despair before breaking into sobs. Hearing Megan’s voice again, memories of my previous life rushed back, chilling my resolve. But I feigned shock, struggling to control my voice as I replied, “Jack… wait for me… I-I’ll be there soon!” I added with an edge, “Megan, tell the hospital to use whatever resources are necessary, the best treatment available. Landon Enterprises has no shortage of money!” Megan, so poised and disdainful, always looked down on me as if I were some vulgar merchant. But this time, she would learn just how powerful money could be. In my previous life, Jack had never been in a car accident at all. Megan had lied about his “imminent death” to lure me to the hospital, and overwhelmed by grief, I drove recklessly, crashing into oncoming traffic. By the time I woke up from surgery, Jack’s ashes were already in an urn. Not this time. If Jack wanted to fake his death, I’d gladly help him make it real. I quickly called Andrew Carson, my assistant, instructing him to pick up my mother-in-law, Evelyn, in my car and drive her to the hospital. Then, I went to my office’s hidden safe, retrieved a little “something,” and headed downstairs, taking along four bodyguards my father had insisted I keep by my side. We climbed into my armored car and headed for the hospital.

Outside St. Andrews Medical Center, Andrew’s anxious voice crackled through the phone. “Ms. Landon, I’m so sorry, the car was in an accident on Lexington Avenue!” “Are you hurt?” I asked, knowing well that this trap was meant for me, and that Andrew would be fine. But I asked anyway. “I’m fine, Ms. Landon. But Evelyn… her leg is broken.” Ha! The exact same injury I’d suffered before. Jack and Megan must be terrified I’ll get to the hospital on time. But I wouldn’t play into their plan. “Andrew, call the police for an investigation and then dial 911 for an ambulance to get her to the hospital!” I ordered calmly. She wouldn’t die so easily. Then, I called my chief lawyer, Sam Reese. “Sam, handle the accident on Lexington Avenue. Have the driver held for attempted murder. No settlements, only criminal charges.” “Yes, Ms. Landon!” he confirmed. Satisfied, I let my guards in on my act, stumbling out of the car with crocodile tears, sobbing and stumbling toward Jack’s hospital room. Behind me, the bodyguards exchanged bewildered glances.

Inside the hospital room, Jack lay under a white sheet. My abrupt entrance made Megan go pale. “Ms…Ms. Landon, h-how did you get here?” she stammered. Ignoring her and everyone else in the room, I clutched my mouth and collapsed to my knees, my muffled sobs rising into gut-wrenching wails. “Ms. Landon, I’m so sorry. Professor Hayes is… gone. You have my condolences,” Megan whispered, moving to offer me support. I sidestepped her, throwing myself onto Jack’s body, brushing his hair with trembling fingers and choking on my words, “Jack, how could you be so cruel, just leaving me like this? Jack… come back… open your eyes…” As I leaned over Jack’s body, I swiftly jabbed three needles into pressure points on his scalp, hidden within my sleeve. Landon Enterprises was founded on the medical expertise my grandfather passed down, and I was the sole inheritor of his rare acupuncture secrets. In my previous life, Jack had injected himself with a fake-death serum, concocted by him and Megan, that fooled the doctors and orchestrated the car accident to fool me. Together, they’d faked his death successfully, living carefree abroad for twenty years. By the time I raised their son and handed him Landon Enterprises, I was left broken and dying, having realized I’d been conned all along. Their serum had side effects, though. Without a counter-injection within two hours, Jack would actually die. With my needlework, I’d shortened that window by half an hour without leaving a single detectable trace. My work done, I stepped away from the miserable corpse, my voice barely audible as I instructed my bodyguard, Bobby, “Bring Evelyn to see her son one last time.” “Ms. Landon, but her leg…” Bobby hesitated. “Doesn’t matter. She’s his mother, and she has a right to say goodbye,” I replied. Megan’s eyes widened, panic flashing across her face as she murmured, “Ms. Landon, maybe it’s best not to tell her. Evelyn just had an accident and has a weak heart… if she hears Jack is dead, it might be too much.” Oh? Megan knew about Evelyn’s accident already. This car crash wasn’t some random act of fate. Ignoring her, I waved Bobby off with a weary gesture. He left immediately. “Ms. Landon, you’re being reckless!” Megan hissed. “Jack wouldn’t want you to endanger Evelyn, not after what happened!” “Ghosts? Oh yes, Jack, do come back and haunt me. Show me you care…” I whispered, quaking with feigned emotion, putting on the perfect show of a grieving, love-stricken widow. Megan’s practiced composure cracked. If she could play the composed saint, I could just as easily play the loyal, devoted wife. And I wouldn’t stop until they both suffered.

“Ms. Landon, we should prepare Jack’s arrangements and send him to the County Coroner’s Office,” Megan pushed, clearly anxious. So, she had accomplices waiting there. But I wasn’t in any rush. None of these schemers would be getting off easy. “Evelyn will be here soon,” I said, savoring the panic that washed over Megan’s face. “M-my son… my Jack… get up and look at me. I’m here, Jack!” Evelyn wailed, entering the room in an overdone display of grief, her voice cracked and dry, her eyes tearless. She seemed so heartbroken, yet her sorrow wasn’t genuine. In my previous life, I’d been blind. I’d thought Evelyn’s quick recovery from “losing her only son” was miraculous, and convinced myself that her devotion to their son, Jeremy, was simply love, failing to see the truth. “Evelyn… Jack is really gone,” I said, watching her body go rigid, her gaze darting nervously toward Megan. Megan gave her a barely noticeable shake of the head. Evelyn’s tension faded, and she resumed her display of anguish. As I withdrew the needles from Jack’s head, Evelyn’s face turned deathly pale, her hand clutching her chest. “Ah… my… heart… it hurts…” “Evelyn, are you okay? Don’t scare me!” I said, my tone dripping with fake concern, though I hadn’t moved an inch. “Move! She’s having a heart attack!” Megan screamed, pushing me aside. I let her. Switching to speaker, I called Evelyn’s cardiologist, Dr. Grey. “Dr. Grey, my mother-in-law’s heart condition has worsened. Please advise,” I sobbed. “…Ms. Landon, I’ve told you, her heart transplant can’t be delayed anymore. But we haven’t found a donor,” he said, his voice heavy with regret. “If it were my husband’s heart… could it be a match?” “What?” My tearful voice wavered as I explained, “Dr. Grey, my husband just died in a car accident…” “Oh… my deepest condolences, Ms. Landon,” Dr. Grey replied, sadness mingling with a glimmer of hope. “It’s possible, Ms. Landon. I’ll bring my team immediately.” “No! I won’t allow it!” Megan and Evelyn both shouted in unison. Evelyn’s voice was weak, but she managed to raise a finger, pointing at me. “Rachel, my son just died, and you’re already after his heart! How heartless can you be?” Megan chimed in, “Yes, Ms. Landon, Jack feared pain. How could you? Let him be cremated, and let him rest.” I looked at them, tears welling up. “Mom, I wouldn’t suggest this if I had a choice. If Jack knew his heart could give you a longer life, he’d approve. And if possible… I’d like to donate his other organs to others in need, so Jack can live on in others.” Evelyn’s face flushed with fury. Unable to contain herself, she collapsed, sending the room into silence. Only Megan remained, shrieking, “Help! Help!” Just then, Dr. Grey and his team arrived. Seeing my chance, I clung to him, crying, “Dr. Grey, please save my mother-in-law. I can’t lose her, too!” Dr. Grey squeezed my hand. “I’ll do everything I can. If the transplant’s a success, Evelyn could have another two or three decades.” Yes, I’d been the one to find her a heart donor in my past life, ensuring Evelyn a long and healthy life even after I was gone. Remembering the cruelty they showed me back then, I felt my anger reignite. “Dr. Grey, I leave everything to you,” I said. “I’ll handle the paperwork.” With my consent, Dr. Grey split his team, one group taking Evelyn to surgery while the other prepared Jack’s “body” for organ retrieval. I caught Megan’s desperate expression as she clung to Jack’s bed, sobbing as if it were her own husband lying there. Unable to contain myself, I slapped her hard, saying, “Mind your place! This is my family business, not yours.” At my signal, Bobby yanked Megan away, her face blank with shock. Jack’s “body” was taken from the room. Megan was in disbelief. I wanted to see just how deep her so-called love for Jack ran. Sure enough, as Jack’s body disappeared down the hall, Megan finally broke, screaming, “Jack isn’t dead! He’s not dead…” What a laugh. The play is about to begin.

Megan’s outbursts had already crossed several lines. Dr. Grey looked at her coldly, a flicker of impatience crossing his face as he asked, “And who is she?” “Oh, she’s just one of my husband’s students, Dr. Grey,” I answered, stepping forward to block her from him. “Please don’t listen to her nonsense.” “No, Dr. Grey, I can prove it! I can prove that Jack’s still alive!” Megan’s voice was trembling, but her face was desperate and determined, as though she thought she could still salvage this disaster. I shot her a sharp look, and Bobby loosened his grip just enough for her to stumble free. She tore into her purse, pulling out a small insulated medical box and fumbling with the syringe inside it. Eyes wide with panic, she lunged toward Jack’s bed, trembling as she tried to inject him. I slapped her hard across the face, making her freeze. “Enough! Megan, you’re a medical student, yet you’re acting like a fool. Jack’s gone! What, are you going to bring him back from the dead with one injection?” “Ms. Landon, I swear, it’ll work! Jack’s only faking it. Just give him this shot!” Megan was crying now, her sobs disfiguring her face, her panic morphing into a pitiful display. Looking at her, I felt the same disgust I’d felt back when Jack betrayed me. I realized, at last, what Jack had sacrificed his life and career for—a second-rate, weeping fool. He must have been blind. Trying to keep up the pretense of professionalism, Dr. Grey approached and checked Jack’s vitals again, only to shake his head solemnly. Nearby, Jack’s attending physician, who had already lost patience, glanced at the clock and declared firmly, “It’s been exactly one hour, eighteen minutes, and twenty-six seconds since Professor Hayes was pronounced deceased. There’s no way he could be revived now.” The nurse beside him agreed, glancing at Megan with thinly veiled scorn. “Landon Enterprises’ CEO is his wife. If anyone wants him to be alive, it’s her. Who does this woman think she is?” “She must be his… mistress. Why else would she act this way?” I seized the moment, gesturing to Bobby. “Escort this lunatic out. She’s done enough damage.” It wasn’t yet the full hour and a half Jack’s serum would buy him, but there was no way I’d let Megan have her chance to save him. I wanted Jack to die beyond any doubt. As Bobby dragged her, she screamed until her voice cracked, but no one believed her. They assumed she was just another woman gone mad over a married man. Watching Dr. Grey handle the syringe Megan had dropped, I feigned curiosity. “Dr. Grey, are you sure that shot couldn’t bring him back? Maybe… we should try it?” He examined it for a moment before shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Ms. Landon, but Jack has truly passed. My condolences.” The grief in my eyes gradually dimmed, and I whispered, “Is there no hope, then?” The attending doctor approached, a pen and a death certificate ready. “Ms. Landon, if you’re ready, please sign here.” I took the form, my hands shaking as I signed, then collapsed into muffled sobs, my face hidden behind trembling hands. “Oh, Jack… how could you be so heartless…” I wailed. Everyone in the room saw my raw despair, murmuring to each other. “Ms. Landon, you have to stay strong. Your mother-in-law needs you. You’ve made the right decision to help her,” someone murmured. “Yes, this poor woman… so much grief to endure,” said another. After I signed the death certificate, Sam arrived, placing the organ donation forms in front of me. I handed them to him and then watched as Dr. Grey and his team wheeled Jack’s “body” down the hall to the surgery room.

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