Author: Momo Chan

1 On a long-haul flight, I used professional emergency medical techniques to save a pregnant woman suffering from anaphylactic shock. Shortly after, her family filed a formal complaint against me for “excessive physical contact” and “inappropriate touching,” claiming I was a pervert taking advantage of the situation. I was suspended from the hospital pending an investigation. The pregnant woman even went on Instagram Live, crying to her followers. “Girls, please be careful of the creeps hiding in white coats.” A week later, she collapsed in a luxury shopping mall from another severe allergic reaction. Her husband tried to guilt-trip me into saving her again. I took three full steps back. “You brought this on yourselves again. How much money are you planning to extort from me this time?” The cabin lights were dimmed at thirty thousand feet, with most of the passengers fast asleep on the international flight. My name is Lennie, an attending OB/GYN at a prestigious medical center in Seattle. I was on my way to Europe for a perinatal medicine symposium. Suddenly, a piercing scream erupted from the front rows. The head flight attendant’s voice immediately shattered the silence over the intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a pregnant passenger experiencing a severe medical emergency. Any medical professionals on board, please come to first class immediately!” Driven by pure professional instinct, I unbuckled my seatbelt and sprinted toward the front. In the aisle of the first-class cabin, a woman who looked about seven months pregnant was slumped awkwardly in her wide seat. Her name was Sophie. Her face was turning a terrifying shade of bluish-purple, and her hands were desperately clawing at her own throat. A horrific wheezing sound tore from her windpipe like a broken bellows, and her eyes were already rolling back into her head. She was wearing a cream-colored, tightly knit maternity dress that fell past her knees. Angry red hives were rapidly spreading across her neck and wrists. “I am an OB/GYN, move out of the way!” I shoved past a panicked flight attendant. I pressed my index and middle fingers hard against Sophie’s carotid artery while keeping my eyes glued to her chest. Five seconds. No pulse. No breathing. “Her heart has stopped!” “The anaphylaxis has progressed to cardiac arrest!” My voice cut through the chaos, commanding the room. “Flight attendant! Get the emergency medical kit, a 0.5mg epinephrine auto-injector, the AED, an oxygen tank, and two pairs of trauma shears right now!” Her husband, Derek, had bleached blond hair and a flashy Rolex on his wrist. Right now, he was curled up in the adjacent seat, shaking like a leaf. He had his head buried in his knees, lacking even the basic courage to look at his dying wife. “You, get over here and help!” I pointed right at him. Derek flinched violently, shaking his head in a panic. “I cannot do it. I pass out when I see blood. I am scared I will hurt the baby!” A chill of absolute disgust washed over me. I had no time to waste on this coward. I turned to the flight attendant standing next to me. “Ma’am, I need an extra pair of hands.” When my eyes fell back on Sophie, I hesitated for a fraction of a second. As a male doctor specializing in women’s health, I knew exactly what it meant to forcefully remove a woman’s clothing in a public setting. One wrong move, and my entire career could be destroyed. But her gray, lifeless face left absolutely no room for hesitation. I took the shears and sliced her knit dress all the way down to her pubic bone in one swift motion. “Did he really have to cut it open that much?” a passenger whispered loudly from behind. I ignored them entirely. I grabbed the AED pads and shouted my warning. “Shock advised. The defibrillator is charging. Clear the patient!” The second the electric current tore through her body, Sophie’s chest violently arched off the seat and slammed back down. Almost instantly, her chest began to rise and fall on its own. A weak, ragged cough escaped her throat. The terrifying purple hue began to recede from her face. “She is back! We have a pulse!” A collective gasp of relief swept through the first-class cabin. I let out a massive breath. My dress shirt was entirely soaked with cold sweat. “Get the oxygen mask on her. Maximum flow.” Before I could even finish my sentence, a brutal force slammed into my side. Caught completely off guard, I was thrown against the armrest of the opposite seat. A blinding pain shot through my shoulder. “What the hell do you think you are doing?!” “You absolute sicko!” Derek, the same man who was too terrified to even look at his wife a minute ago, lunged at me like a rabid dog, punching me squarely in the collarbone. Stars exploded in my vision. Before I could even find my footing, he was pointing a trembling finger in my face, screaming at the top of his lungs. “Look at this guy, everybody!” “This bastard used saving a life as an excuse to assault my wife!” “He stripped her half naked in front of a crowd!” “He felt her up and took advantage of a pregnant woman!” The entire first-class cabin fell dead silent. Every single pair of eyes locked onto the half-exposed pregnant woman and me, still kneeling on the floor. I gripped my throbbing shoulder and forced myself to stand, swallowing the rising fury in my throat. “Sir, you need to calm down.” “Your wife was in ventricular fibrillation.” “If I had not cut her clothes open to apply the defibrillator pads directly to her skin, she and your unborn child would be dead right now.” “Screw your medical excuses!” Derek roughly snatched a fleece blanket from a flight attendant and threw it over his wife, who was still gasping weakly for air. He whipped around and roared at me hysterically. “You are just a twisted pervert!” “You saw my wife is gorgeous, you recognized she is a famous influencer, and you wanted to get a feel!” “Who the hell strips a woman naked for first aid?” “You are a male doctor. Do you not know anything about boundaries?” “You did this on purpose!” As he screamed, he pulled out his phone and shoved the camera lens inches from my face. “Look at this disgusting creep, guys!” “A supposed respectable doctor, publicly assaulting a seven-month pregnant woman on a flight!” The head flight attendant rushed forward to block his phone. “Sir, please put the camera away.” “The situation was critical. This doctor saved her life, and all the crew members here can testify to that.” “Testify my ass!” Derek shoved the flight attendant away violently. His eyes darted around the cabin before he raised his voice, his tone dripping with blatant extortion. “Let me make this clear.” “My wife is a premium first-class passenger and a public figure!” “Unless I see a hundred grand in emotional damages for this trauma, I am going to ruin you. I will make sure you never practice medicine again!” Looking at his greedy, opportunistic face, a freezing wave washed over my heart. In my ten years of practicing medicine, I had snatched countless lives back from the jaws of death. But this level of ungrateful, parasitic behavior was a first even for me. I stared coldly straight into his camera lens and adjusted my wrinkled collar. My voice was eerily calm. “Since you clearly lack even basic medical knowledge, we will let the authorities explain it to you.” “I am more than happy to cooperate with a police investigation.” Three hours later, the plane touched down smoothly at our destination airport. The moment the cabin doors opened, the heavy thud of boots echoed down the jet bridge. Four armed airport police officers marched directly into the first-class cabin. Seeing the uniforms, Derek instantly plastered on a mask of agonizing grief. He played the victim beautifully, rushing up to the officers and pointing straight at my face. His voice was loud enough for the entire front half of the plane to hear. “Officers, this is the sick pervert!” “He stripped my wife in public and assaulted her while she was unconscious.” “He was so aggressive he almost killed my unborn son in the process!” The lead officer held up his badge. “Both parties are coming with us to the precinct for a statement. The flight crew will accompany us as witnesses.” “We will pull the cabin security footage and the medical logs, and this will be handled strictly by the book.” 2 The atmosphere inside the airport police precinct was suffocating. Because of this ridiculous disturbance, my connecting flight to the medical symposium was entirely ruined. I sat at the mediation table, calmly providing the officers with the exact medical protocols and emergency procedures I had followed. The head flight attendant sat beside me as a witness, truthfully recounting the terrifying moments when Sophie was literally dying in her seat. Derek, however, acted like a brick wall. He refused to listen to a single word of logic. “I do not care about your medical jargon.” “All I know is this creep took my wife’s clothes off in front of fifty people and had his hands all over her body!” Derek slammed his hand on the metal table, spit flying from his lips. The exhausted detective sighed and pulled Derek into the hallway to try and calm him down. A few minutes later, the detective had to step out to take a phone call. Derek and I were left completely alone in the interrogation room. The second the door clicked shut, the agonizing grief vanished from Derek’s face. He pulled out a chair, sat down across from me, and dropped the hysterical victim act completely. He leaned in, lowering his voice with a greedy, calculating smirk. “Dr. Lennie, right?” “You look like a smart guy with a lot to lose.” “An attending physician at a top-tier hospital. Bright future ahead of you.” “It would be a real shame to lose your medical license over a little misunderstanding like this, would it not?” I kept my eyes fixed on the table and did not say a word. He took my silence for fear. He planted both elbows on the table, his eyes shining with malice. “A hundred grand.” “Just wire a hundred grand for ’emotional distress,’ and this entire thing disappears today.” “Otherwise, my wife has two million followers on TikTok and Instagram. I will have her do a livestream dedicated entirely to you. Her fans will tear you to pieces and spit you out. Your career will be over by midnight.” Looking at his smug face, I felt a wave of genuine physical nausea. “Derek, your wife was literally seconds away from a body bag.” “And the only thing going through your head right now is how to use her near-death experience for a quick payout?” I stood up slowly and adjusted my cuffs, looking down at him with absolute contempt. “You are not getting a dime. If you want to throw a temper tantrum on the internet, be my guest.” “But do not say I did not warn you. Defamation is a felony, and it carries real prison time.” “Fine! Do not come crying to me when your life is ruined!” Derek kicked his chair back violently and slammed the door behind him. That very same night, I booked the first available flight back home. The next morning, the moment I walked up to the main entrance of Mercy General Hospital, I froze. Over a dozen clout-chasing livestreamers and freelance tabloid reporters were crowding the hospital steps, shoving cameras and microphones in every direction. “There he is! Dr. Lennie is here!” “That is the creep who assaulted the pregnant woman!” Someone screamed my name, and the crowd swarmed me like sharks smelling blood in the water. The camera flashes were absolutely blinding. A barrage of malicious questions hit me like artillery fire. “Dr. Lennie, do you have a fetish for pregnant women?” “How do you sleep at night using your medical license as a cover to assault vulnerable women?” The hospital security team had to physically drag me through the mob and lock the glass doors behind us just to get me to the administrative wing. Inside the Chief of Medicine’s office, the air pressure was practically nonexistent. The Chief, his face pale with fury, slid an iPad across the mahogany desk toward me. “Look at this mess, Lennie!” “The hospital switchboard has been completely jammed since dawn. Our social media pages are being nuked by a cybermob!” “Half of your current patients have called in demanding to be transferred to other doctors.” “We even had people show up at the front desk this morning demanding we delete all their medical records because they refuse to be in our system.” On the iPad screen was a video Sophie had posted late last night. She was wearing an oversized hospital gown. Her face was makeup-free, her eyes red and swollen, and she was crying beautifully for the camera. “Guys, I am so traumatized. I never imagined that just taking a normal flight could turn into a living nightmare.” “This doctor, Dr. Lennie, waited until I was unconscious from an allergic reaction…” “And forcibly ripped my clothes off.” At this exact moment, she purposefully pulled down the collar of her gown, exposing a glaring red burn mark just below her collarbone. It was the textbook erythema left behind by the electrical discharge of a defibrillator pad. But Sophie looked right into the lens and sobbed uncontrollably. “Look at this. These are the bruises he left on me from grabbing me so hard!” “If my husband had not physically fought him off, I might have lost my baby.” “Please, girls, watch out for yourselves out there. Be careful of the monsters hiding in white coats.” This heavily edited, completely fabricated video had been brewing all night. The like count was already sitting at over two million. The comment section was an absolute bloodbath. Thousands of angry users were doxxing my address and demanding the hospital strip my license. Whenever a medical professional tried to leave a comment explaining that the marks were clearly from an AED and the clothing removal was standard protocol, they were immediately dogpiled by the self-proclaimed internet justice warriors. “Anyone defending this pervert is probably a predator too.” “You doctors always cover for each other. We should report you to the police too and get you locked up.” “Cancel them all. Clean up the trash in this society.” The Chief let out a heavy, defeated sigh. “Lennie, I know you followed protocol. I know you saved her life.” “But the court of public opinion does not care about medical facts. The public does not know how an AED works. All they see is a male doctor tearing the clothes off a pregnant woman.” He pushed a printed document toward me with a grimace. “To stop the bleeding and calm the PR nightmare, the board has decided to confiscate your badge.” “You are suspended indefinitely. Go home and lay low.” I looked down at the suspension notice, silent for a long moment. I calmly unclipped my ID badge from my chest and placed it on the desk. The moment I set it down, my phone buzzed. It was a former patient of mine whose life I had saved during a ruptured ectopic pregnancy. I still vividly remembered the beautiful thank-you basket and framed card she and her husband had personally delivered to my office after her discharge. I remembered how jealous my colleagues were of that card. I thought at least some people would still believe in me. But when I answered, she was crying on the other end. “Dr. Lennie, I know in my heart you are a good man.” “But my husband saw the news, and he strictly forbade me from ever coming to your clinic again. I am so sorry.” My mind went completely numb. Just as I walked out the back exit of the hospital, my phone screen lit up. It was a text message from an unknown number. “Still trying to play the noble hero?” “Pay up, or I will make sure you never hold a scalpel again for the rest of your miserable life.” I stared at the provocative text, a cold, sharp smile creeping onto my lips. I immediately dialed an international number. “Hey, it is Lennie. I need a massive favor.” “Yeah, I need you to pull some data for me.” “Contact the airline from my flight yesterday. I need the raw EKG and electrical discharge data logs directly from the backend of the AED I used on that plane.” 3 My days on suspension were surprisingly peaceful. I did not break down or go crazy like the internet mob wanted me to. I did not rush to Twitter to post a ten-page essay defending my innocence. I slept in until my body naturally woke up. I went to the premium grocer, bought the freshest cuts of meat, seared steaks, and brewed pour-over coffee. I even spent time out on my balcony trimming my neglected houseplants. Meanwhile, the digital witch hunt was reaching a fever pitch. The real-world insanity was just as hellish. Sophie was fully cashing in on the massive traffic her “victim persona” generated. Instead of resting after a near-fatal cardiac event, she leveraged the viral fame to host two massive livestreams a day. She branded herself as the “Brave Pregnant Mother Fighting Big Pharma and Corrupt Doctors.” Her viewership skyrocketed. Everything she promoted—maternity wear, baby products, even sketchy detox supplements—sold out in seconds. Derek pushed his scumbag behavior to the absolute limit. He hired a group of local thugs to stand outside my gated community and the hospital entrance with massive banners. The banners were painted in blood-red letters: “Dr. Lennie is a Predator. Justice for Mothers.” He publicly posted a photo of my medical license and my personal cell phone number across all social media platforms. My phone did not stop ringing for three days straight. My inbox was flooded with death threats, calling me human garbage and telling me to end my life. Some people even texted me graphic, gory images. I eventually had to trash my SIM card and get a brand-new number I had used for twenty years. I spent an entire afternoon calling my close friends to give them the new contact info. When I called my parents, I specifically lied and said I dropped my phone in the sink just so they would not worry. Before I could even finish the lie, a suffocating, heavy silence hung over the line. My throat tightened. It took everything I had just to push the words out. “Mom… do you not believe me either?” “You gave birth to me. You raised me. You should know exactly what kind of man I am.” Before I could say anything else, my mother’s suppressed sobs broke through the speaker. “Your dad saw the news on Facebook.” “His chest started hurting. He had a mild heart attack. We just got back from the hospital yesterday.” “It is not that we do not believe you, Lennie.” “But you know how much your father cares about his reputation. He was so incredibly proud when you became an attending at that hospital. He bragged about you to everyone in the neighborhood.” “Just rest at home for now. Find some evidence and clear your name.” “Otherwise, with your dad in this condition, his heart…” “Oh God, if something happens to your father, I do not want to live anymore!” “I cannot even walk out the front door without the neighbors staring!” I hung up the phone. I heard a strange scraping noise coming from the hallway. When I opened my front door, I saw fresh red paint splattered across the wood. A dead rat had been tossed right onto my welcome mat. In my community’s WhatsApp group, a neighbor forwarded Derek’s fabricated post. The caption read: “This is the doctor living in Building 3. Keep your kids away from him. Who knows what else a creep like that is into.” When I walked downstairs to take out the trash, the older residents who usually sat under the oak trees gossiping immediately went dead silent. They stared at me with pure disgust. Once I walked past, they started whispering loudly enough for me to hear every word. I felt a cold sweat prickling the back of my neck. Bang! My best friend Stella slammed her hand on my dining table, shaking with sheer rage. As the ruthless Operations Director of the city’s largest luxury mall, she was usually a woman of iron control. Right now, her eyes were rimmed red with fury. “Have you lost your damn mind, Lennie?” “These scumbags are ruining your entire life, and you are standing here casually making Beef Wellington?” Stella snatched the pepper grinder right out of my hand. “Do you realize your social security number and home address have been doxxed on Twitter? If this keeps up, your medical career is permanently buried!” I calmly sliced off a perfectly medium-rare piece of steak and placed it in my mouth. I chewed slowly, swallowed, and elegantly pulled a napkin to wipe my hands. “What is the rush? Let them dig their own graves.” I picked up my glass of Merlot, my eyes as cold as absolute zero. “Those whom the gods wish to destroy, they first make mad.” Right at that exact second, my new phone rang. It was an unknown number. I answered it and put it on speaker. Derek’s greasy, arrogant voice immediately blasted through the room. “Have you thought it over, doc? A hundred grand. Not a penny less.” “I am sitting at the artisanal dessert cafe on the third floor of the Starcrest Mall.” “I am giving you exactly thirty minutes to bring a cashier’s check, or I am having my wife go live right here, right now.” “We will strip away whatever dignity you have left and make sure you are working at a gas station for the rest of your life.” I raised an eyebrow and remained silent. Stella absolutely lost her mind. “That piece of trash! He has the nerve to sit in my mall and pull this crap?!” I let out a dark chuckle into the receiver. “Alright. I am on my way.” I hung up. Stella grabbed my arm instantly. “Are you insane? You are actually going to pay him?” “Pay him?” I grabbed my car keys and slipped a USB flash drive into my coat pocket. “I am going to deliver a ‘surprise’.” “I am going to take this evidence and smash it right into his smug face. I want to watch him realize exactly how stupid he is.” 4 “Sophie! Sophie, what is happening?!” Derek stood a full step away from his wife, panicking completely, too terrified to even reach out and touch her. “Somebody help her!” “Somebody save my wife and my baby!” He screamed at the growing crowd of shoppers. “Please! Somebody call 911!” On the marble cafe table right in front of Sophie sat a half-eaten slice of Basque cheesecake. It was the cafe’s signature dessert. The third ingredient listed on the menu was crushed peanuts. Her phone was still mounted on a ring light tripod on the table. The high-definition lens was broadcasting her violent, agonizing convulsions live to the internet. The live chat was scrolling so fast it looked like a waterfall. Stella gasped, covering her mouth. “This… this is just poetic justice, is it not?” I stared blankly at Sophie, whose breathing was growing weaker by the second on the cafe floor. The livestream chat was exploding. “Oh my god! Is she having an allergic reaction? This is exactly like the airplane video!” “Is there a doctor in the mall?! Someone save her, she is going to die!” Derek looked down at his convulsing wife, then up at the impenetrable wall of onlookers surrounding them. He lunged forward to grab the nearest person by the jacket. “Please!” “Save my wife!” “Is anyone a doctor?!” The second his hand came close, the bystander violently shoved him away and backed up. “Whoa, hey, I am no doctor, do not put this on me!” Derek’s face drained of all color. He spun around wildly. Wherever his eyes landed, the crowd instinctively took a collective step backward. The people who had been pushing forward to film the drama just seconds ago were now standing at least six feet away, avoiding him like the plague. Right in the middle of his panic, Derek snapped his head around and locked eyes with me standing at the very front of the crowd. His eyes lit up like a flare. It was as if he had just found a lifeline. The terror vanished from his face entirely, instantly replaced by his usual arrogant, entitled bullying. “Lennie!” “You are a doctor!” “You know how to fix anaphylactic shock! Get over here and save my wife right now!” His words were a lit match thrown into a powder keg. The crowd erupted. “Wait, that is the doctor from the internet scandal!” “Yeah, you are a doctor, how can you just stand there? That is so cold-blooded!” “He is an OB/GYN, and he is just going to let a pregnant woman die? He has zero medical ethics!” “You wear the white coat to save lives. If you do not save her, who will?” The avalanche of moral condemnation crashed down on me. Everyone glared at me with absolute disgust, treating me like I was a cold-blooded murderer. Stella was shaking with rage. She opened her mouth to scream at them, but I grabbed her wrist to stop her. I looked at Derek’s repulsive face, a freezing smile forming on my lips. “Why exactly should I save her?” Derek froze for a second before stomping his foot and screaming. “Because you are a doctor!” “Saving lives is your sworn duty!” “If you stand there and let her die, you do not deserve to wear the white coat!” “My duty?” I laughed coldly. “The last time I saved her life, you accused me of sexual assault and tried to extort a hundred grand from me.” “You ruined my reputation, got me suspended, and told me you would make sure I never held a scalpel again.” “And now, you want to lecture me about my sworn duty?”

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1 At the landslide rescue site, Buddy, the award-winning search dog I raised from a pup, found every trapped survivor. But during the evacuation, a secondary collapse occurred. Steve’s apprentice, Suzie, got pinned on the edge of the collapsing slope, half her body dangling over the cliff. Crying, she shouted to Steve, “Captain, I wish there were no Maya in our next life. I wish we could be together out in the open…” The radio channel went dead silent. Ignoring everyone’s warnings, Steve scrambled up the unstable rocks like a madman, risking his life to pull her to safety. Even after evacuating the danger zone, Suzie clung to him, refusing to let go. Steve frowned as he tried to explain. “Maya, Suzie is just terrified. She is talking nonsense. You are a senior officer. Do not hold it against a young girl.” Then he took Buddy’s leash from my hand and passed it to Suzie. “Did you not always want to be his handler? Now, he is yours.” Suzie took the leash cautiously. “But… won’t Maya be upset?” I looked at the young girl I had pulled from the rubble three years ago. I brought her onto the team, taught her how to train dogs, and listened to her call me mentor. But I never imagined she wanted my fiancé and my dog. Whatever. The doctor said my illness could not wait any longer. If you want them, take them. … I used every ounce of my strength to swallow the blood rising in my throat. I turned and walked toward the medical tent to take my medication. Seeing me leave, Buddy instantly panicked. He violently jerked his leash out of Suzie’s hand and bolted toward me. Suzie chased after him. “Maya, are you okay?” Buddy suddenly spun around, baring his teeth at Suzie and letting out a menacing bark. It looked like he was going to lunge and bite her in the next second. Suzie stumbled backward in fear, her eyes immediately filling with tears. Steve arrived just in time. Instinctively, he pulled Suzie behind him and shouted at Buddy. “Buddy, sit!” Buddy did not back down. He stayed firmly planted in front of me, glaring at Suzie. Steve’s face darkened. “Maya, control your dog.” “Suzie was just checking on you. Did you seriously let Buddy scare her just to humiliate her?” My voice was a little hoarse. “I did not.” Steve let out a cold laugh. “You trained him. One look from you, and he knows exactly what to do.” Suzie tugged lightly at Steve’s sleeve, her voice trembling. “Captain, let it go. Maya didn’t mean it.” “Buddy is just too loyal to her…” That sentence, which sounded like an excuse for me, only made Steve’s expression colder. “Maya, Suzie just came down from a landslide! She almost died!” “Do you really have to be this petty right now?” I did not answer. I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, I would spit up blood. After the rescue operation ended, the team pulled back to camp. What happened over the radio channel spread quickly. Someone leaked her exact words into the local volunteer rescue group chat. “Captain, I hope in our next life there is no Maya. I hope we can be together out in the open…” The chat group exploded with gossip. “Was Suzie not crossing a massive line with that?” “What exactly is going on between Captain Steve and her?” “Wait, isn’t Maya the Captain’s fiancée?” Someone even posted a photo from the scene. In the picture, Suzie was curled up in Steve’s arms. Buddy stood in front of me, in a highly defensive posture against them. Someone in the group commented: “Even the dog knows how to protect his real owner, but the man… yikes.” When that comment reached Suzie, she cried so hard she almost hyperventilated. When Steve came to find me, I was taking my pills. Just as the medicine hit my tongue, he pushed the door open. I hurriedly hid the pill bottle in my sleeve. Steve saw the movement but completely ignored it. He went straight to interrogating me. “Did you tell someone to leak the radio audio?” I froze. He scoffed coldly and kept going. “Maya, I know how calculated you are.” “You know exactly how to manipulate public opinion.” “You do not cry or make a scene, but this silent treatment is far more vicious.” A bitter taste flooded the back of my throat. Before I could even speak, Suzie’s soft voice came from the doorway. “Captain…” Steve turned around immediately. Suzie stood by the door, her eyes red. “Buddy will not come with me.” Steve’s face grew even darker. He turned and walked out, trying to pull Buddy away. But Buddy dug his paws into the floor frame, refusing to move, keeping his eyes locked on me. Steve spun around and roared at me. “Maya, what the hell have you taught this dog?!” “He is a search and rescue K-9! Not a tool for your petty jealousy!” “Get over here and tell him you do not want him anymore!” He reached out and yanked my arm. I was already in so much pain I could barely stand. The sudden pull made me lose my balance, and my abdomen crashed hard against the edge of the desk. An explosive, agonizing pain ripped through my stomach. My vision went completely black for a second. Buddy struggled violently and barked loudly at Steve. Steve’s expression turned furious. “Look at him! Now he is growling at me! Are you happy now, Maya?” Fighting through the blinding pain, I weakly commanded: “Buddy, down.” Buddy stopped, but his eyes were filled with deep anxiety. It was as if he knew how much pain I was in. Steve shoved the leash back into Suzie’s hands. “Take him.” Suzie gripped the leash, took a few steps toward me, and said softly: “Maya, do not worry. Buddy will get used to me eventually.” “Just like the Captain did.” I jerked my head up to look at her. Buddy instantly bristled, the hair on his back standing up as he growled at her again. Steve didn’t hear what Suzie said, but he saw Buddy’s reaction. He immediately pulled Suzie behind him again. “Maya! Buddy is a working K-9, not your personal weapon!” “Do you want an aggression record in this decorated dog’s file?!” I opened my mouth, but no words came out. The next day, the video of Buddy aggressively protecting me from Suzie was posted on a local forum. Within the rescue community, the public opinion completely flipped. “Look, even if Suzie has no shame and her relationship with Steve is shady, Maya should not use a decorated K-9 as leverage, right?” “Cancel Maya! A rescue dog’s job is to save lives, not attack people!” “Exactly! Using a dog to attack someone just to keep a fiancé is taking it way too far!” I did not defend myself, because none of it mattered anymore. I did not have much time left to live, and I could no longer protect Buddy. All I could do was organize Buddy’s training logs as thoroughly as possible. So that when I was gone, he could still shine and save lives. I exported the training files. It contained every single one of Buddy’s habits. Before Buddy executed a search command, he always looked back to make sure I was there. Buddy was terrified of thunderstorms; on stormy nights, someone had to hold him while he slept. After every mission, he had to smell my hand first. He would only eat once he confirmed I was not injured. When I handed the file to Suzie, she bit her lip gently. “Maya, are you really giving Buddy to me?” I looked at her and asked: “Is this not what you have always wanted?” She lowered her voice. “The Captain said Buddy only listens to you. As long as you do not truly let go, he will never accept me.” “Maya, you are already this sick. Why will you not just let go? You cannot expect him to just waste away beside you, right?” I froze. Suzie immediately put on a panicked expression. “I did not mean it like that. I am just worried about Buddy. And the Captain… he cannot be dragged down by you forever…” I stared directly into her eyes. “You knew I was sick?” Suzie’s eyes darted away shiftily. “You look terrible. Anyone can tell.” Anyone can tell? But Steve never noticed. I looked at her face, remembering three years ago. Back then, Suzie’s village was buried under a mudslide. When our rescue team arrived, she was the only survivor. The young girl was sobbing hysterically in the mud. My heart broke for her, so I brought her onto the team. After that day, she started calling me her mentor. She helped me bathe Buddy, and she would sneak him extra treats. After every training session, she would chase after me with a notebook, asking: “Maya, why did Buddy look back at you just now?” “Maya, is it true that a rescue dog only bonds with one handler?” “Maya, do you think I can train an incredible dog like Buddy one day?” I always answered, “Yes.” But slowly, the things she asked began to change. “Maya, does the Captain only listen to you?” “Maya, if Buddy goes on a mission with me, will he look back at me too?” “Maya, if one day I am good enough to stand beside the Captain, will people stop calling me the pathetic orphan you dragged out of the mud?” Back then, I just thought she suffered from low self-esteem, so I comforted her over and over. “Suzie, you are doing great.” “You will find your own path.” But now I finally understood. She did not want her own path. She wanted mine. I looked at her and spoke slowly. “Suzie, do you think that just because I saved your life, I owe you everything?” “My dog, my fiancé, my career, the rest of my life—do I have to hand it all over to you?” Tears spilled from Suzie’s eyes. “Maya, that is not what I meant…” Right at that moment, Steve walked into the room. Seeing Suzie crying, his face darkened instantly. “Maya! You are unbelievable!” I looked at him and nodded. Steve, you are unbelievable too. That night, I was jolted awake by a stabbing, twisting pain in my abdomen. I did not know when Buddy had sneaked back in, but he was lying by my bed. He rested his head near me and looked up with sad eyes. I stroked his head, my voice extremely hoarse. “Buddy, was I just too stupid?” “I brought her onto the team. I taught her how to take care of you…” “Buddy, I do not want to leave you, but I am dying…” Footsteps approached from the hallway. Suzie pushed the door open. “Maya, Buddy went missing…” When she saw Buddy lying by my bed, her eyes instantly turned red. “Why did he come back to you? Why will you not just let go?!” Buddy stood up, placing his body firmly between her and the bed. Steve walked in right behind Suzie. Seeing the scene, his expression turned freezing cold. “Maya, are you having Buddy intimidate her again?” He pulled Suzie behind him defensively. “When did you become this vicious?” I looked at him, suddenly too exhausted to even explain. Buddy blocking Suzie was not a command I gave. It was because I was running a severe fever. It was because I smelled like sickness, and it made him anxious. But Steve could not see any of that. During the last rescue operation, Buddy’s performance was outstanding. Throughout his service career, he had officially located and saved exactly one hundred people. The team decided to hold a commendation ceremony for him. Right before it started, Steve pulled me aside. “I am putting Suzie in the center today. She has been getting a lot of hate online lately. She needs some positive PR.” “You have received plenty of commendations already. Suzie has nothing.” Those one hundred lives were people Buddy and I pulled from the rubble together, one by one. His first mission, I lay in the freezing rain with him for eight hours. The first time he got injured, I carried him to the vet and stayed up all night watching over him. When he was scared of thunder, I held him to sleep. When he had to take bitter medicine, I coaxed him for hours. And now, with a single sentence—”Suzie has nothing”—Steve was giving away all of Buddy’s honors. I stayed silent for a long time. Finally, I nodded. “Okay.” At the ceremony, Steve stood dead center. Suzie held Buddy’s leash, standing right beside him. I stood off stage, at the very edge of the crowd. The other team members exchanged awkward glances. Buddy refused to sit still. He kept turning his head, looking for me. The photographer asked him to pose. Suzie gave a quiet command. “Buddy, sit.” Buddy did not react at all. Steve shot a look at me. I understood what he meant. From the shadows off stage, I gave a subtle hand signal. Only then did Buddy sit. The camera shutter clicked. In the photo, Steve and Suzie stood proudly beside Buddy. I was not in the frame. Suzie took the microphone to give a speech. “Thank you, Captain, and thank you, Maya.” “I know I still have a lot to learn.” “But I will work hard to take care of Buddy, and to take care of…” She abruptly stopped. She almost said Steve’s name. The entire venue fell silent for a fraction of a second. She quickly corrected herself: “To take care of the team’s missions.” I stood off stage, clapping. I clapped until my palms went numb. Once the photos of the transfer ceremony were posted online, the comment section exploded again. “Where is Maya?” “Buddy gets honored, and his original handler is not even in the photo?” “They haven’t even explained the radio incident yet, and the apprentice is already standing next to the Captain?” “This isn’t a K-9 transfer ceremony. This is a mistress coronation.” “Even the dog looks miserable.” Suzie had a complete breakdown and locked herself in her dorm room. Steve came to find me again, speaking to me with absolute authority. “Maya, you need to release a public statement.” “Say that we broke up amicably, and Suzie had nothing to do with it.” “Say that the K-9 transfer was your idea, and that you give her your blessing.” I looked at him and asked quietly: “When exactly did we break up amicably?” Steve averted his eyes. “Given the situation, do you really want this to get any uglier?” I let out a weak laugh. “Steve, am I the one making this ugly?” His face darkened. “Maya! Suzie is getting so much hate she is about to quit the team. What more do you want from her?” “She is the apprentice you pulled from the rubble yourself. Can you not just let her off the hook this once?” I looked at him for a long, long time. “Fine.” I opened my laptop and started drafting the statement. Suddenly, Buddy bit down on my sleeve and yanked me backward. He was stopping me from typing. I patted his head. “Buddy, drop it.” Buddy refused to let go. Steve lost his temper. “Buddy!” He aggressively pulled Buddy away. I was already half-kneeling to comfort him. When Steve forcefully yanked the dog, I lost my balance and slammed into the corner of the desk. A blinding pain shot through my abdomen. My vision went completely black. The pill bottle on the desk was knocked off, and my medical file crashed to the floor. Steve’s immediate reaction was to scold me. “Maya, that is enough! Can you stop putting on an act with Buddy?” Suzie rushed to the doorway. “Maya, please do not do this. I know it hurts to lose Buddy.” “But you already agreed to give him to me. Why are you acting like this to force me to give him back?” I wanted to speak, but a metallic, sweet taste flooded my throat. The next second, I could not hold it back anymore. Right in front of them, I vomited a mouthful of dark blood. The office went dead silent. Buddy broke free from Steve’s grip, bolted to my side, and frantically nudged me with his head. He let out panicked, desperate whines. Steve froze completely. He bent down and picked up the fallen medical file. The official diagnosis report slid out.

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1 Another rejection from a sports broadcasting job crushed what little confidence I had left. I went to Hans, my boyfriend and a fitness coach, desperate for help. He smirked dismissively at the bar. “Sienna, you’re already this heavy. What’s the point of losing it now? Just give the opportunity to Bella.” Bella was his best friend, petite and perfect. I was larger, weighed down further by steroids from an illness, a solid thirty pounds heavier. Hans turned cold when I stayed. “I’m busy. Bella’s waiting for her seventh nutrition plan. If you want to lose weight, stop bothering me. The internet’s full of trainers.” He pulled out his phone and posted in their group chat: Looking for a trainer to help my girlfriend drop thirty pounds of pure fat. Bidding capped at five bucks. Bella saw the screen and laughed hysterically, spinning to raise her glass to the bar. “Live auction! Thirty pounds of pure, unadulterated fat from Hans’s girl! Bidding starts at fifty cents!” Laughter erupted, but no bids came. My cheeks burned, wishing the floor would swallow me. As I turned to flee, a young man in the dim corner stood up. His baseball cap was pulled low, but he raised a silent, commanding hand—bidding the maximum price. The bar fell dead silent. Under the shocked gazes of everyone present, the man walked straight up to me. He took my phone from my trembling hands and typed in a string of numbers. “Add my number. My name is Sebastian.” As he leaned down, the neon lights caught the angles of his face. He was breathtakingly handsome, with a jawline carved from marble and eyes that held absolute focus. Before I could even process what had happened, Sebastian handed my phone back and walked out of the bar. I accepted his friend request. A message popped up in the chat almost immediately. “What is your current weight?” I bit my lip, tasting copper, and typed out the brutal truth. “One hundred and forty pounds. I just got dropped from a sports commentator audition because they said I was too big for the camera.” He replied the second my message delivered. “You look to be around five foot seven. Based on your BMI, you are entirely within the standard healthy range. You are not fat.” Not fat? I stared at the screen, completely frozen. Ever since I was put on those hormone medications a year ago, my weight had spiked. And the moment the numbers on the scale changed, Hans started making comments. “Is it really that hard to just lose a little weight? Look at Bella. She barely weighs anything. You are seriously embarrassing me, Sienna. If you do not drop the weight, I am done with you.” Over time, his words became my reality. I truly believed I was morbidly obese and entirely beyond saving. My phone buzzed again. Sebastian had sent another text. “If you need to be camera ready, I can help you cut body fat and sculpt your physique.” “Tomorrow morning, ten o’clock. 67 Oakwood Avenue. Ignite Fitness, third floor.” Hans leaned over my shoulder, catching a glimpse of the glowing screen. Seeing the words Ignite Fitness, he let out a loud, mocking snort. “Of course he is a gym rat. He is probably trying to lure you in with a free trial session. Once he is done sweet talking you, he is going to bleed you dry charging by the hour.” I placed my phone face down on the sticky table and said absolutely nothing. Hans shook his head, rolling his eyes as he went back to peeling shrimp for Bella. Noticing the weird looks they were getting from the next table, Bella raised a defiant eyebrow. “What are you looking at? My boy here has always been this attentive.” Hans smiled fondly, feeding the peeled shrimp directly into her mouth. “Stop talking and just eat.” Bella giggled, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “You guys have no idea. I used to be such a picky eater when we were kids. Hans literally spoon fed me until I gained weight.” Watching them, a specific memory violently forced its way into my mind. Last year, the three of us went hiking and got stranded on a trail for nearly five days due to a storm. I had not eaten in three days. I was weak, dizzy, and starving. And I watched Hans take my very last emergency protein bar and hand it directly to Bella. When I looked at him in sheer disbelief, he defended himself with perfect confidence. “You have plenty of extra weight anyway. Starving for a bit is the perfect diet for you.” My chest felt like it had been smashed with a sledgehammer. It hurt. It really hurt. My phone vibrated again. Another text from Sebastian. “Do not come on an empty stomach tomorrow. Protein intake is crucial for women during a fat loss phase.” Before I could even type a reply, my work group chat exploded with notifications. [Tagging everyone. The head office is organizing a Varsity Soccer Championship in three months. The sales department needs to nominate one female commentator. Pay is three grand a day. The CEO of the company will be attending in person.] The chat instantly went wild. However, Bella and I were the only two women in the entire sales department. Colleagues immediately started chiming in, saying that if Bella went on camera, she would definitely make our branch look incredible. Bella sent a voice memo to the group, her tone laced with fake humility. “Oh stop it you guys! Something like this definitely needs to be a fair competition.” Someone instantly replied. “It is already a done deal, what is there to compete over? Sienna definitely would not dare to sign up!” “Exactly! The camera adds ten pounds anyway. Why would our little chubby girl want to humiliate herself on national television?” “This represents the face of our entire branch! Sienna absolutely cannot do it!” My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I had already missed out on the World Cup qualifiers. Now there was this varsity league. But whatever confidence I possessed had been slowly chipped away by countless rejections. Right at that moment, Sebastian’s text illuminated my screen. “Forgot to mention. A great commentator relies on professional knowledge, not just a pretty face.” Those words echoed in my mind for three entire days. After agonizing over it, I finally filled out the application form. When Hans found out, he lost his mind trying to talk me out of it. I ignored him, burying my head in soccer statistics and player data. Seeing that his anger was not working, Hans softened his voice, trying a different tactic. “Just withdraw the application, okay? Be good. I promise I will personally take you to the gym. How about that?” I shook my head, my voice completely devoid of emotion. “No need. I already booked a private coach.” Hans’s eye twitched violently. “A private coach? Do not tell me it is that random meathead from the bar?” I nodded simply. “He is far more professional than you. And his physique is significantly better than yours.” With that, I grabbed my gym bag and walked out the door. Hans’s furious, disbelieving roar echoed through the apartment. “He is just a brainless gorilla! You train with him, you are just going to get bulkier and fatter!” His words reminded me of the time he supposedly tried to help me lose weight. He drove his car at a crawling pace, blasting the air conditioning, while forcing me to jog behind him under the scorching summer sun like a stray dog. Twelve miles. I ran until my knees were destroyed, until the pain kept me tossing and turning in agony all night. When I told him I was in pain, he called me dramatic. He said if I did not want to put in the work, I should just stay fat forever. We had been together for eight years. Yet he could never remember that I was deathly allergic to shellfish, or that my favorite food was spicy braised beef. But he knew with crystal clarity that Bella only ate her steaks medium well, and that she absolutely adored seafood. When I arrived at the gym, Sebastian skipped the small talk entirely. He handed me a physical assessment form. “Step on the scale. Let us check your body fat percentage.” The monitor displayed twenty eight percent. He glanced at it, his tone completely neutral. “Target is around twenty two percent. Three months is more than enough time.” After a ten minute warm up, he led me straight into the free weight section. He started me on the lightest dumbbells, teaching me the mechanics of squats and deadlifts. He manually corrected my posture, placing his hands firmly on my back to show me exactly which muscles should be firing. After every single set, he made me face the mirror to watch my movement trajectory. “Having a larger frame is actually a massive advantage. You have a larger surface area for muscle attachment. Once you lean out, your natural curves and muscle definition are going to look stunning.” I gritted my teeth and pushed through four grueling sets. By the end of it, my thighs were trembling violently uncontrollably. When the session was finally over, I collapsed onto the rubber floor, completely out of breath. Sebastian tossed a clean set of athletic wear right onto my lap. “Change into these. I am taking you somewhere.” He led me out the back doors of the fitness center to an indoor five a side soccer pitch. Ever since I started dating Hans, I had never stepped foot on a pitch again. He hated the sport, so I gave it up. Seeing the green turf, a dark, suffocating corner of my heart suddenly felt like it was finally breathing again. At three in the afternoon, my phone rang. It was Hans. “Sienna, come home early today. Bella is craving garlic butter shrimp.” I looked down at the faded burn scar on the back of my hand, a permanent reminder of the last time I cooked that dish for her. For the very first time, I realized none of this was worth it. In the past, as long as seeing them happy brought some semblance of peace, I did not care about the burns or the effort. But today, my voice was like ice. “I am cutting calories, so I am not eating dinner. If she wants shrimp, she can cook it herself. Or you can cook it for her.” Hans paused, completely taken aback. “But Bella has lost weight recently. Can you not just take care of her a little bit?” I gripped the phone tightly, enunciating every single word. “I am not her mother. Why exactly is it my job to take care of her?” Furious, Hans hung up on me. He did not come home that night. A full week later, he finally texted to say he was temporarily staying at a buddy’s place. Half a month later, I scrolled past Bella’s social media and saw a photo of her laundry rack. Hanging right in the center was Hans’s underwear. Perhaps the physical toll of the body recomposition was just too intense. Because looking at that photo, I was so exhausted I could not even muster a single drop of anger. A month into training, I had dropped five pounds. It was a historic milestone for me. I excitedly took a mirror selfie and posted it online, specifically tagging Hans. Three hours later, Hans, who never interacted with my posts, left a single comment. “That is it?” He had absolutely no idea how much sweat, nausea, and sheer willpower went into those five pounds. But checking my notifications, I realized Sebastian had liked the photo the very second I posted it. Just as I opened our chat to thank him, a message popped up. “There is a small reward hanging on your door handle. After you eat it, remember to do an extra set of squats.” I opened my front door and found a tiny, four inch gourmet cake waiting in a beautifully wrapped box. My nose stung, tears threatening to spill. For years, sweet treats were the only way I knew how to comfort myself when I felt worthless. But Hans always treated it like a sin, calling me a glutton with zero self control. Three months passed in a blur of sweat, aching muscles, and relentless discipline. I did not drop down to a hundred pounds. But looking in the mirror, my body looked vastly different. I looked stronger, curvier, and infinitely more radiant than I ever did when I was desperately starving myself. The day of the final commentator audition arrived. I tore through my closet but could not find a single piece of clothing that fit my new proportions. Everything hung off me like a potato sack. As panic started to set in, the doorbell rang. A courier handed me a stunning bouquet of fresh flowers and a sleek black gift box. The card simply read Happy Birthday. Signed, Sebastian. His handwriting was sharp, elegant, and entirely pleasing to the eye. I opened the box to find a classic, beautifully tailored black dress that perfectly matched my aesthetic. I slipped it on. It fit like a second skin, accentuating curves I did not even know I had. I had stopped celebrating my birthdays ever since I started gaining weight. Because Hans told me birthdays were just an excuse to eat massive dinners and cake, which would only make me fatter and more repulsive. But who wrote the rule that birthdays could not just be about beautiful flowers and thoughtful gifts? I checked my messages. The last time Hans spoke to me was exactly three months ago. I let out a self deprecating chuckle, grabbed my bag, and walked out the door. When I arrived at the company lobby, I was just about to step into the elevator when a very familiar voice called out from behind. “Hey gorgeous, hold the elevator!” I turned around. And locked eyes with a sweating, out of breath Hans. We had not seen each other in nearly three months. It made sense he did not immediately recognize me from the back. The range of emotions that crossed his face was cinematic. Shock. Confusion. Awe. Eventually, the undeniable absolute stun in his eyes morphed into a dry, awkward sentence. “Sienna. Why the hell are you dressed up like that for no reason?” I did not even look at him. My voice was utterly detached. “I have an audition today.” The elevator doors opened on the top floor. The moment I stepped out, I saw Bella standing by the water cooler, her eyes brimming with dramatic tears. “Hans, it is a disaster! I feel like my face looks so swollen today!” Hans immediately rushed over, wrapping an arm around her shoulder to coddle her. “Nonsense, you are perfect. It is just water retention. Later I will have Sienna make you some detox soup, and I will give you a facial massage before bed. I promise you will look flawless on camera.” I stood rooted to the spot. All I wanted to do was laugh. During the years my medication made me gain weight, I used to cry out of sheer frustration too. But back then, Hans told me I deserved it. He said I had no self control, and that it was completely natural for me to look like a pig. It turned out he was never lacking in gentleness. He was not just some clueless, emotionally stunted guy who did not know how to comfort women. His patience and his attention were just never meant for me. When my name was finally called for the audition, my palms were sweating profusely. My phone screen suddenly lit up. It was Sebastian. “Do not be afraid. You understand the game better than anyone else in that building. Own your confidence. You earned this.” I took a deep, grounding breath and pushed open the heavy oak doors. …… When the audition ended, I walked out of the corporate building and immediately spotted Hans’s car idling by the curb. He rolled down the window, his expression painfully awkward. “Get in. Let us go home.” We dated for eight years. Despite his office being less than a five minute drive from mine, he had never once picked me up from work. He always had excuses. Too much traffic, too busy, too tired. I could barely remember them all. But the real reason started when Bella complained about taking the subway. The very next day, Hans became her dedicated personal chauffeur. When I expressed how unfair that was, he told me I should walk home anyway, treating it as mandatory cardio. I glanced at the training schedule Sebastian had just texted me and shook my head dismissively. “No thanks. I have a private training session.” The very afternoon I received the official email confirming I got the commentator position, my phone started ringing off the hook. It was Hans. The second I answered, he started screaming at me. “This is all your fault! You triggered Bella’s anxiety! Can you just give the commentator spot to her? You owe her that much!” His tone was exactly the same as always. A blatant, uncompromising demand. But why the hell should I? I gripped my phone tightly, a cold laugh escaping my throat. “I won that spot with my own abilities. Why would I ever give it up?” “Sienna, it is just a stupid broadcasting gig! What are you even fighting for? Bella is fragile, she needs a win. Can you not have a shred of empathy?” Hans’s voice was dripping with absolute disgust and impatience. I bit the inside of my cheek hard and replied without a second of hesitation. “No. And Hans, we are done. We are breaking up.” Complete silence fell over the other end of the line for several agonizing seconds. Followed immediately by a venomous accusation. “Break up? Sienna, are you sleeping with that meathead trainer?” A loud ringing echoed in my ears. A chill shot straight from the base of my spine to the top of my head. The very next morning, before the sun even rose, violently loud knocking woke me up. The moment I opened the door, my mother started screaming in my face. “What kind of decent girl puts her face on television for men to gawk at?! How are you ever going to get a respectable husband doing something so shameful? Has Hans not been good enough to you? Why do you always have to cause so much drama?!” I stared at my mother’s face, a face completely worn down by years of submitting to a miserable life. Suddenly, my chest felt like it was suffocating under a massive boulder. When I was a child, my father constantly told her she was a worthless, pathetic housewife. And so, she truly believed she had zero value. I took a deep breath, forcing the hot tears back down. Right at that moment, Hans’s phone rang. Whatever Bella said on the other end made the blood completely drain from his face. For the first time in his life, he lost all composure and roared at me like a madman. “Sienna! Are you seriously trying to destroy Bella?!” A photo of Hans and Bella passionately kissing at a bar had gone viral on local social media pages. The headline read: This guy has a girlfriend, but still insists on exploring ‘platonic mouth to mouth friendship’ with his best bro. It turned out that during a party a few weeks ago, Hans lost a game of Truth or Dare. The penalty was to choose someone in his friend group and kiss them. All the guys aggressively backed away. But Bella stepped right up, wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, and smashed her lips against his. The entire venue had gone completely silent. Everyone’s eyes immediately darted to me. When they finally broke apart, Bella just shrugged at the crowd with a completely unfazed smirk. “What? Just because I am a girl means I am not one of the bros anymore?” The comment section on the viral post was an absolute warzone. “Is this guy blind? His so called best bro is a massive pick me girl.” “Knowing the guy has a girlfriend and still throwing yourself at him? This girl has zero shame!” Hans was sweating profusely, frantically typing out a public response. “We are genuinely just very good friends! Please do not read into this and twist the narrative!” But the internet was absolutely not buying it. The mockery only intensified. “Oh wow, pure innocent friendship between a man and a woman? The kind where you shove your tongues down each other’s throats? How do you even look your girlfriend in the eye?” Reading the brutal comments, Bella started hysterically sobbing, threatening to end her own life. Desperate, Hans turned to me, demanding my help. “Sienna, go online and clear this up! Tell everyone you were there and it was a joke! Do not just stand there and watch her die!” I lowered my eyes, my expression utterly void of sympathy. “But you two actually kissed. Are you seriously demanding I go online and lie to thousands of people to protect you?” Bella rubbed her tear stained eyes, looking at me with overwhelming manufactured innocence. “Sienna, even if you hate me and want to ruin my life, you should at least think about Hans’s reputation!” Before I could even turn away, Hans violently grabbed my wrist. His voice was lethal. “Sienna. Do not push me.” The very next second, Bella pulled out her phone and started a live broadcast. In less than five minutes, the viewer count broke ten thousand. She stared directly into the camera lens, tears streaming down her perfectly contoured face. “Actually, I know exactly why Sienna leaked those photos to destroy me. It is because she has always been insanely jealous of me.” “And what you guys probably do not know… When Sienna was younger, she was stalked, kidnapped, and locked in a dark basement by a psychopath. The extreme trauma completely ruined her brain. She has severe paranoia and is mentally unhinged. She cannot stand seeing normal people be happy.” It felt like a bolt of lightning struck my spine. I froze, completely paralyzed. That secret… that horrific trauma… only Hans knew. When I finally trusted him enough to tell him, he held me tightly and swore to the heavens. “Do not be afraid anymore. I will protect you for the rest of my life. I will never let anyone hurt you ever again.” Yet here he was, standing completely silent as the woman he loved took my most excruciating, intimate pain and forged it into a blade to butcher me in front of the world. Silent tears cascaded down my cheeks. Hans shielded Bella from the cameras and escorted her away, leaving me standing entirely alone. That night, Bella went on a massive posting spree, claiming my past psychiatric medications proved I suffered from severe clinical delusions. She even dug up the most unflattering, bloated photos from my heaviest weight and posted them everywhere. Her caption read: Your ugly soul manifests in your ugly body. Placed right next to her heavily filtered, delicate selfies, the public opinion completely flipped. My personal information was leaked online. Strangers tore my life apart, mocking my appearance and my past. My parents’ phones rang endlessly with harassment calls. Someone threw a bucket of red paint entirely over my apartment door. Furious at the embarrassment, my father called and officially disowned me. My mother slapped me across the face so hard my ears rang, screaming at me to never show my face in their hometown ever again. But the next morning, something inexplicable happened. Every single piece of information, every photo, and every malicious thread about me vanished from the internet. Completely wiped clean. Furious, Bella posted a cryptic, passive aggressive update. “Someone clearly has a very powerful sugar daddy backing them up. No wonder she managed to secure the broadcaster position over actually talented people.” The comments underneath were filled with people cursing my name. The toxicity lingered right up until the day of the championship broadcast. Sitting in the studio, the moment I looked at the red recording light on the camera, my entire body began to shake uncontrollably. I closed my eyes. I forced myself to remember the absolute faith Sebastian had poured into me over the last three months. I forced myself to remember the agonizing muscle soreness, the pools of sweat, and the sheer grit it took to rebuild myself from the ground up. It was all for this exact moment. Even if I only managed to be brave this one time. I had to fight for my own dignity! By the time I finally steadied my breathing, there were only ten minutes left until we went live. Suddenly, the heavy studio doors were violently pushed open. Hans stormed into the broadcasting room. “Sienna, do not embarrass me on national television. Get up. We are going home right now, and we are going to discuss wedding plans.” Bella trailed right behind him, her arms crossed tight. “In what universe is she better than me?! The company definitely rigged this selection!” The production crew and my co hosts began whispering among themselves. Hans let out a heavy, patronizing sigh and marched straight toward me, grabbing my arm. “Let us go home. You do not belong in that chair. You are not meant for this.” I ripped my arm out of his grasp, my blood turning to ice. In his eyes, I would always be fundamentally worthless. Even now, as I sat on the verge of finally shining, his first instinct was to pull me back into the dirt because he genuinely believed I was incapable. Just as Hans raised his hands to physically drag me out of the chair, the main doors of the studio swung open once more. Over a dozen men in sharp black suits marched in, forming two intimidating lines. The oppressive aura they carried instantly silenced the room. A familiar, towering figure strolled casually down the center. The man’s voice was absolute and unyielding, echoing off the high ceilings. “Whether Sienna belongs in that chair or not, I make the final call.”

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1 When I hit rock bottom, I sold myself into a marriage of convenience. Upon hearing the news, my younger sister cried her eyes out, telling me a man’s dignity was worth more than all the money in the world. I just rolled my eyes at her. “It is time to cash in on that dignity.” Fortunately, Victoria kept her end of the bargain after we tied the knot. She treated both me and my sister incredibly well. Naturally, I played my part to perfection. At the corporate office, I was her flawless executive assistant. At home, I was her attentive, reliable house husband. As for her private life, I never asked a single question. I truly thought we would spend the rest of our lives in this quiet, transactional peace. Until the third year of our marriage, when the one that got away finally returned from abroad. It was a Sunday. I was scrubbing the hardwood floors in the living room when my mother in law and father in law walked in, trailing a strange man behind them. Margaret did not even spare me a glance. She bypassed me completely and made a beeline for Victoria. “Victoria, look who I brought back for you!” She shoved the man forward like he was a grand prize. Seeing him, Victoria froze. Her usually stoic, icy expression cracked for a fraction of a second. The man smiled, his tone dripping with intimate familiarity. “Long time no see, Victoria.” I observed Victoria carefully. She maintained her composure, but the flicker in her eyes betrayed her. When she remained silent, the man did not miss a beat. He turned his attention directly to me. “You must be Dante. It is an absolute pleasure to meet you.” I leaned against my mop handle and straightened my posture. “Really?” “Tell me, how much of a pleasure is it, exactly?” He clearly did not expect me to go entirely off script. He stood there, frozen in awkward silence. I took the opportunity to size him up. Wire rimmed glasses, decent looking, with a polished, academic vibe. But there was an unmistakable cunning glint in his eyes. I knew his type entirely too well. He was a perfect gentleman on the surface, but absolute poison underneath. The kind of sleazebag who would sell you broken glass and swear on his mother’s grave it was a flawless diamond. Seeing me completely disrespect her golden boy, Margaret glared at me furiously. “Dante, where are your manners? Do you not see Ridley trying to shake your hand?” I glanced at Ridley’s hand, which was still awkwardly suspended in the air, and gripped my mop tighter. “My hands are full, Margaret.” With that, I ignored them and went back to scrubbing the floor. Margaret exploded, screaming insults at my back, but I tuned her out entirely. Eventually, Arthur pulled me into the kitchen to defuse the situation. “Let them catch up. You and I can get dinner started.” I actually had no issues with my father in law. Like me, he had married into the family wealth. Technically, we were brothers in arms. Arthur closed the kitchen door tight and lowered his voice to a hushed whisper. “Dante, you need to watch your back with Ridley.” “He is Victoria’s childhood sweetheart. Her first love. Your mother in law absolutely adores him.” I narrowed my eyes. No wonder the guy walked in here like he owned the place. So this was the legendary one that got away. “Why did they break up in the first place?” Arthur sighed heavily. “Youthful stubbornness, mostly. When they graduated college, Ridley wanted to move abroad, and Victoria needed to stay and inherit the family empire.” “Neither of them was willing to compromise, so they walked away angry.” I nodded slowly. That definitely sounded like the Victoria I knew. In the five years we had known each other, I had never seen her bow her head to anyone. “So what is he doing here today?” Arthur rolled his eyes at me. “Are you dense?” “He stepped off the plane and came straight here before even dropping his bags at home. What do you think he wants? He is here to steal your wife.” I clicked my tongue. If any other trophy husband were in this position, they might just swallow their pride and endure it. But I refused to back down. Even knowing that the destructive power of a first love rivaled a nuclear bomb, I had my own reasons to hold my ground. 2 Once dinner was served, Margaret eagerly pulled Ridley to the dining table. Victoria sat directly across from them. Noticing Victoria kept her distance, Ridley smiled warmly at Margaret. “Actually, I think I will sit next to Victoria.” Margaret playfully patted his arm. “You are exactly the same as you were back then, always wanting to be glued to her side. Go on.” I was not about to let that happen. I ripped off my apron, practically sprinted to the table, and planted myself firmly in the chair right beside my wife. Victoria gave me a look of pure bewilderment at my blatant territorial display, but she kept her mouth shut. Since Victoria did not kick me away, Ridley had no choice but to awkwardly sit back down next to Margaret. Margaret rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck in her skull. I feigned absolute innocence. “Are your eyes bothering you, Margaret? Should I fetch you some eye drops?” Her face turned an ugly shade of purple as she let out a loud, dramatic scoff. Arthur shot me a warning glare while gently patting his wife’s back to keep her from hyperventilating. Perhaps fearing I would actually give her mother a heart attack, Victoria cleared her throat. “Let us just eat.” Throughout the meal, Victoria and I ate in silence while Margaret and Ridley whispered conspiratorially. Seeing that Victoria and I were not exchanging a single word, Ridley clearly thought he saw an opening. “Victoria, try the garlic shrimp. It is fantastic.” “Have some of this broccoli too, it is great for your health.” Within minutes, he had piled a small mountain of food onto Victoria’s plate. She frowned deeply and placed her silverware down. “Ridley, you know I do not eat food that has been touched by someone else’s utensils.” I was practically doing cartwheels in my head. This idiot was completely out of practice. He was trying so hard to kiss up to her, but completely missed the mark. Seeing Ridley’s mortification, Margaret immediately jumped to his rescue. “Victoria, you were never like this before! Have you forgotten how Ridley always used to serve you food when you were younger?” Victoria completely ignored her mother. She turned her head slightly toward me. “Hubby, get me a piece of those ribs. I cannot reach them.” Hearing her call me that sent a jolt of pure satisfaction straight to my core. I immediately picked up a tender rib and fed it directly into her mouth. Margaret completely lost her mind. “Victoria, what is the meaning of this?!” “Ridley serves you food, and it is contaminated.” “Dante serves you food, and you eat it right out of his hand?!” Victoria’s brows knitted together. “Is there a problem?” Ridley could not hold back anymore. “Did you not just say you hate eating food touched by other people?” Victoria stared at him with freezing indifference. “Dante is my husband. He is not other people.” Absolute perfection. In our three years of marriage, this was the very first time she had defended me so fiercely. Even if I was just a pawn she was using to spite her ex, I gladly accepted the role. Ridley’s face darkened, his eyes glaring daggers at me. “Did you cook all of this, Dante?” I stayed silent, waiting for the punchline. “It is decent, I suppose. You make an adequate stay at home husband.” Margaret snorted. “If he could not even handle basic chores, I would have thrown him out on the street years ago.” Ridley waved his hands in mock humility. “Now, do not say that. Finding a willing, live in maid is not easy these days.” “I really should thank him for taking such good care of Victoria while I was gone.” Margaret nodded in vehement agreement. “You are entirely right.” I ignored their pathetic little duet, keeping my peripheral vision locked entirely on Victoria. She had put her utensils down entirely, her eyes locked onto her mother and Ridley in absolute disgust. 3 Sensing Victoria’s intense glare, Ridley offered a weak laugh. “Just making a joke, Dante. You are not offended, are you?” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Your jokes are almost as laughable as your face.” That struck a massive nerve. “What did you just say about my face?” Before I could even open my mouth, Victoria let out a genuine chuckle. It was a sound completely devoid of warmth. It was pure, unadulterated mockery. Margaret slammed her hand onto the mahogany table. “What exactly is so funny, Victoria?” Victoria dabbed the corners of her mouth with a linen napkin, her voice terrifyingly calm. “When someone is genuinely attractive and you call them ugly, they never get angry.” “Because they know you are just projecting your own insecurities.” “But when someone is actually ugly, and you point it out, they lose their minds.” “Because they know you are telling the absolute truth.” I burst into genuine laughter. Even Arthur had to cover his mouth to hide his amusement. A stoic person delivering a deadpan insult was utterly lethal. To be entirely fair, Ridley was not a bad looking guy. But compared to my near flawless genetics, he did not stand a chance. Furious and utterly humiliated, Ridley grabbed his coat and stormed out without another word. The parasite was finally gone. We happily resumed our dinner, leaving Margaret to stew in her own toxic rage. After dessert, Margaret dragged Victoria into the study. Arthur and I cleared the table. I could not hide my smug grin. “Honestly, Arthur, if that is the legendary first love, I am incredibly underwhelmed.” Arthur’s expression turned grim. “Do not get cocky, Dante.” “Ridley is her first love. Do you have any idea how much weight that carries?” His words hit me like a bucket of ice water, completely sobering me up. He was right. Who ever truly forgets their first love? Even after years of silence, there is always a lingering ghost in the back of the mind. The road ahead was going to be brutal. When Victoria finally emerged from the study, she looked exhausted. After her parents left, she collapsed onto the velvet sofa, rubbing her temples. “Dante, do not bother coming into the office tomorrow.” “I need to go out with Ridley.” I agreed instantly. “Sounds good. I wanted to visit the hospital tomorrow anyway to see Sophie.” She looked up, clearly caught off guard. “You are not even going to ask where Ridley and I are going?” I shook my head. “We set the rules when we got married. I do not interfere in your private life.” She let out a sharp, frustrated breath and marched straight to the master bedroom, slamming the door shut. She was clearly angry. I freely admit that after three years of marriage, I still had absolutely no idea how to navigate her erratic moods. 4 When I woke up the next morning, Victoria was already gone. After forcing down a quick breakfast, I drove straight to the medical center. Lying in her stark white bed, Sophie looked up at me with tear filled eyes. “Dante, my legs hurt.” A heavy weight dropped in my stomach. The phantom limb pain was back. “It is okay, sweetie. The pain will go away soon.” Sophie immediately dropped the pitiful act, her eyes widening in mock terror. “Wait, you are not planning to pull the plug on me, are you?! Never mind, I feel completely fine now!” I glared at her, but a laugh slipped out anyway. She had always been a chaotic, bright spark of energy. If it had not been for that catastrophic car crash three years ago that paralyzed her from the chest down, she would be thriving on a college campus right now. After calling the specialist in and adjusting her medication, the color finally returned to her cheeks. “So, I heard the CEO’s golden boy is back in town.” “Are you going to be out of a job?” Of course, she never missed an opportunity to roast me. I gave her a stern look. “Are you hoping I get fired?” “Because if I lose this gig, what happens to you? I will have to drag you out to the sidewalk so we can beg on a street corner.” Sophie pictured the melodramatic scene and let out a bright, infectious laugh. “You better kiss up to your wife, then. Give her the absolute best service.” “Our entire financial future rests on your ability to be a trophy husband.” We joked around for another hour. Just as I was gathering my things to leave, the door swung open. Victoria and Ridley walked into the room. Seeing the two of them together, Sophie’s smile vanished. She turned her head toward the window, completely ignoring them. I gently patted her shoulder until she reluctantly muttered a quiet greeting to Victoria. Victoria walked up to the bed, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from Sophie’s forehead. “Ridley heard about what happened to you and insisted on stopping by.” I gave him a stiff nod. “Thanks for your concern.” Ridley placed a generic fruit basket on the table and leaned over the bed, inspecting Sophie like she was a science experiment. “I saw plenty of paralyzed patients while I was living in Europe.” “The medical bills and the round the clock care are astronomically expensive.” “Dante, this facility cannot be cheap.” Victoria’s face instantly hardened into stone. I narrowed my eyes at him. “What is your point?” Ridley pretended not to notice my hostility and kept talking. “My point is, if Victoria is the one footing this massive bill, you are an incredibly pathetic excuse for a man.” “You cannot even afford to keep your own sister alive.” I shot a panicked look at Sophie. Her eyes were already turning red. When she first found out I had sold myself into a marriage of convenience to pay her medical bills, she had begged the doctors to stop her treatments. Victoria and I spent weeks convincing her to stay alive. Now, with the topic of money thrown directly in her face, I knew she was silently suffocating. Victoria suddenly stood up, her voice sharp. “Ridley, we are leaving. We have business to attend to.” Without waiting for a response, she grabbed his arm and practically dragged him out of the room. Once they were gone, I spent an hour desperately trying to comfort my sister. It took everything she had to force a weak, unconvincing smile. “I am fine, Dante. Do not worry about me.” “You should go home and get some rest.” After making absolute sure she was stable, I left the hospital. That evening, Victoria called to say she was busy and told me not to wait up. I did not ask what she was doing. But after hanging up, the intrusive thoughts consumed me. Was she with Ridley? What were they doing right now? Eventually, I laughed at my own pathetic paranoia. I was just a contract husband. I had absolutely no right to monitor her life. I forced myself to go to sleep. In the dead of night, a violent, suffocating panic jolted me awake. I touched my chest. Cold sweat clung to my skin like a second layer. When my phone began ringing in the silent darkness, a wave of pure dread washed over me. I dropped the phone and drove to the hospital like a madman, my mind completely detached from reality. It was not until I stood in the freezing morgue, staring at Sophie’s pale, lifeless face, that I realized it was not a nightmare. “I am so sorry. By the time the night nurse found her, it was too late.” The head doctor’s apologies faded into a muffled buzz. My eyes were locked onto the life support tubing she still gripped in her rigid hand. My stupid, brave little sister. How much agony did she endure when she ripped those out of her own body? I packed up her belongings in total, crushing silence. A massive, gaping void had carved itself into my chest. I could not tell if it was pure grief, or a terrifying sense of relief. Three years. Over a thousand days trapped in a broken body. She must have been so incredibly tired of existing like that. I understood now. Her relentless optimism and laughter were nothing but a shield to protect me from her pain. But I was selfish. I just wanted my only remaining family member to stay tethered to this earth, no matter the cost. Now, she was finally free. It was a mercy. After burying her ashes next to our parents, I returned to the empty house. I sat alone on the velvet sofa, my thumbs gently tracing the cracked screen of her phone. With trembling hands, I typed in the passcode. It was my birthday. It had never changed. I opened her voice memos, clicked on the final unsent recording, and finally broke down. “See? I knew you would cry. I always win.” “Dante, I am going away now. Do not blame yourself, and do not carry this guilt. You are the greatest brother in the world.” “I have a secret. Mom and Dad visited me in my dreams last night.” “They asked me if we still had a home.” “I told them yes. I told them we still had each other.” “Dante, I did not want to leave you. But I refuse to be selfish anymore. If I stay, I will drag you down until you drown.” “Go live the life you actually want to live.” “You do not have to be a trophy husband anymore. You do not have to be a caretaker anymore.” The recording played on an endless loop as the oxygen slowly abandoned my lungs. When the sun finally crested the horizon, I buried my grief, grabbed my keys, and drove to the corporate office. It was time to end this.

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1 When my parents divorced, I was left as useless baggage on Gran’s doorstep. By four each morning, she’d drag me out to feed pigs, split wood, and scrub the drafty house. My hands were raw with chilblains and thick calluses. Dad, living comfortably in the city, kept promising to bring me over, but Gran locked me in my room like a lunatic. Buried in textbooks, I swore: the day I got into university, I’d leave and never look back. But on the day I planned to run to Dad’s, my phone buzzed with a strange email, dated exactly one year ahead. The attached video showed me, a year later, sobbing at Gran’s fresh grave. I stared, scowling at my reflection. “What are you crying for? The old hag’s gone. Pop champagne, don’t weep.” The girl on screen slapped herself, screaming, voice cracking. “Idiot! That loving dad? He remarried years ago—new wife, precious son. He wants you in the city to sell you to an old creep for a twenty-thousand-dollar dowry!” She gasped. “The grandmother you hated? She spent freezing nights digging through trash heaps, scraping pennies for your tuition! But the day you were to register for uni, she was shoved while stopping them from dragging you away. Hit her head. Never woke up.” Future-me stared, eyes swollen, choking back sobs. “Don’t trust him. If you get a second chance, save Gran. Give her the life she deserves.” I stood in the dim stairwell of my father’s apartment building, my heart hammering against my ribs. I was skeptical. My dad called me every month, his voice always dripping with affection. Could he really be planning to sell me? With trembling fingers, I dialed his number. The line clicked open. “Sylvia, sweetheart,” his voice was warm, almost too sweet. I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. “Dad, I’m almost at your place. I wanted to come see you.” He let out a delighted chuckle. “That’s wonderful! I’ll head out right now and buy all your favorite foods. Hurry on up, okay?” I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. It was all a mistake. The email was just a sick, twisted joke. But then, through the thin apartment door, a muffled voice drifted into the hallway. “Is that the daughter you were talking about?” a man’s gruff voice asked. “Sounds like a sweet thing. If we get this settled, the twenty thousand dollars is yours. Every single penny.” My blood turned to ice. Then came my father’s frantic whisper. “Keep your voice down! Just make sure you have the cash ready. Once she walks through that door, she isn’t escaping.” I took a sharp step back, my boot squeaking against the concrete. Panic tore through me. I turned and sprinted down the stairs like a hunted animal. When I finally burst out of the building, my stomach violently rebelled. I leaned against a rusted lamppost, dry-heaving until my throat burned. The raw, desperate screams from that future video echoed in my ears, louder than the city traffic. He was going to sell me. My own father was going to trade my life to secure a future for his new wife and son. With shaking legs, I boarded the overnight bus back to our rural town. Tears silently tracked down my face, freezing in the midnight air. It was three in the morning when I pushed open the creaking wooden gate of our yard. Gran’s house was dark, save for the single dim bulb hanging in the main room. I crept inside, my footsteps silent on the packed-dirt floor. Gran was crouching by the well. The water was near-freezing, and her hands were swollen, raw, and bleeding in places as she scrubbed a pile of salvaged scrap metal. She stopped every few seconds to cough, a deep, rattling sound that shook her frail frame. The scene hit me like a physical blow. The video, the cold numbers on a scrap paper, her tragic end: it was all real. A choked sob escaped my throat. Gran whirled around, her eyes wide. When she saw me, her expression instantly hardened into a scowl. She grabbed a dirty broom resting against the well, pointing it at me like a weapon. “You miserable brat!” she barked, though her voice cracked. “Where the hell have you been? Trying to sneak off to that deadbeat father of yours again?” She raised the broom high, but as her eyes swept over my tear-streaked face and blue lips, her hand froze. She lowered the broom, clicking her tongue in annoyance. “Get inside, you useless thing,” she muttered, turning back to the well. “There’s a cold sweet potato in the pot. Eat it and get back to your books.” I didn’t move toward the kitchen. Instead, I threw my arms around her bent, bony shoulders, burying my face in her rough, dirt-stained coat. Gran went completely rigid. “Gran, I’m sorry,” I wept, my tears soaking into the worn fabric. “I’m not leaving. I’ll never try to find him again. I’m going to study, I’m going to get into a great university.” I squeezed her tighter, feeling the sharp outline of her ribs. “Once I make it, I’m going to take you away from here. I’m going to give you a wonderful life.” Gran’s hands remained suspended in the air for a long moment. Finally, she let out a rough sigh and gave my back a clumsy, trembling pat. “Stop talking nonsense,” she mumbled, her voice surprisingly thick. “If you don’t pass those exams, I’ll break your legs.” Her words were harsh, but her touch was incredibly gentle. For the rest of the spring semester, I became a ghost in my own house, living only for my textbooks. I studied until my eyes burned and my fingers cramped. Gran still scolded me daily, complaining that I was too slow with my chores. But every night I fell asleep at my desk, I would wake up with her heavy wool coat draped over my shoulders. And every morning, a soft-boiled egg and a tube of cheap ointment for my cracked hands would be waiting next to my books. We lived in a silent truce, bound by an unvoiced understanding. Then, on a humid afternoon in April, Richard showed up. He brought two flashy boxes of cheap vitamins, and behind him stood his new wife, Vivian. She held a silk handkerchief over her nose, her eyes filled with disgust as she surveyed our crumbling yard. Richard spotted me scrubbing clothes by the tub. He immediately put on a warm, paternal smile and marched over. “Sylvia, look at you,” he said, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “You’re skin and bones. What’s the point of a girl studying so hard anyway? I found a wonderful family for you in the city. The husband is a wealthy businessman. You’ll be living in luxury. We can finally be a real family again.” Looking at his eager, greedy eyes, a wave of intense nausea hit me. This businessman was the old creep who bought girls for twenty thousand dollars. I wrung out a wet shirt, keeping my voice cold and flat. “No, thank you. I want to take my exams first.” Richard’s smile faltered, but before he could snap, Vivian chimed in with a sharp sneer. “Oh, please. You really think you’re university material? Your father is trying to save you from a lifetime of shoveling dirt. Even if you manage to get into some low-rate college, how do you expect to pay for it? We certainly aren’t funding your little dream. We don’t have money to waste on a useless girl. Be smart and pack your bags.” The back door slammed open. “Keep your filthy mouth shut!” Gran roared. She charged out of the house, wielding a broom covered in chicken coop grime. Without a second thought, she swung it directly at Richard and Vivian. “Get out! Get the hell off my property!” “My granddaughter’s education is none of your business, you parasitic bastards!” Richard tried to duck, but the dirty bristles swiped across his expensive trousers, leaving a streak of filth. He went red, pointing a finger at Gran’s face. “You crazy old hag! Watch your step! I’m her legal father, and what I say goes!” Gran let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Her father? You drove her poor mother to her grave, and now you want to sell her daughter? You miserable piece of trash. As long as I have breath in my lungs, you won’t touch a hair on her head!” She swung the broom again, striking Richard’s arm. Vivian shrieked, ducking behind him. “Keep acting tough, you old corpse!” Vivian yelled, her voice screeching across the yard. “Richard hasn’t sent you a single dollar of child support in five years! You think you can put her through college on the pennies you make selling trash? You’re delusional!” The world seemed to tilt beneath my feet. Five years without a single dollar? I stared at Gran in absolute shock. Gran didn’t look at me. Instead, she grabbed one of the vitamin boxes they had brought and threw it directly at Vivian’s head. “Get out! Get out before I get the pitchfork!” Richard scrambled backward, shielding his wife as they retreated to their car. Before slamming the door, he rolled down the window, his eyes dark with malice. “Fine! Let’s see how long you can feed her! When she’s starving, you’ll come crawling to me on your knees!” The car sped off, kicking up a cloud of red dust. The yard fell into a heavy silence. Gran dropped the broom, her chest heaving as she leaned heavily against the wooden doorframe. I walked over and gently touched her arm. “Gran, is it true? He hasn’t paid anything in five years?” She violently shook my hand off, her face twisting in anger. “That’s grown-up business! Get back to your room and study! If you don’t get into university, I’ll throw you out myself!” She turned and limped inside, her back more hunched than ever. That night, after her breathing turned slow and heavy, I quietly crept into her room and opened the bottom drawer of her wooden cabinet. There was no bankbook. Only a bundle of crumpled paper scraps and torn cigarette boxes, covered in crooked pencil marks. “June 6th: Sold scrap metal for two dollars fifty.” “July 10th: Sylvia’s practice exams, thirty dollars.” “October 5th: The pigs are growing well. There is hope for Sylvia’s tuition.” The very last entry, dated yesterday: “Sylvia is looking too thin. Go to the market tomorrow and buy half a pound of beef.” My tears fell silently, wetting the rough paper. She was killing herself to build a bridge for my future, just like the video had said. That was why she stayed up until dawn. That was why she never touched the eggs she prepared for me. Every single penny she scraped together was meant for my escape. I gripped the paper scraps tightly. I swore I would rewrite our story. I would make Richard pay, and I would give Gran the life she deserved. In June, just three days before the state exams, a massive storm hit the valley. The temperature plummeted, and I came down with a vicious fever of 103 degrees, shivering violently under my thin blankets. Gran stood over my bed, grumbling angrily. “Of all the times to get sick! You really are a curse on my life! I must have done something terrible to deserve you!” She slammed the door and went out into the pouring rain. I lay there, my joints aching, drifting in and out of consciousness. Hours later, I felt a damp presence by my bed. I opened my eyes. Gran was standing there, soaked to the skin, her clothes plastered with yellow mud. In her hands, she held a chipped ceramic bowl. Steam rose from a fresh bowl of chicken noodle soup, with a beautifully fried egg hidden beneath the surface. “Eat this,” she ordered, her voice hoarse. “And take these.” She set the bowl down and pulled out two boxes of fever medicine from her coat. They were wrapped in three layers of plastic bags, completely dry. My throat tightened. The nearest pharmacy was in the town five miles away. This frail old woman had walked ten miles through a torrential storm, risking her life on the muddy mountain roads, just to fetch me medicine. “Gran…” I whispered, my voice cracked. “Shut up and eat!” she snapped, turning away quickly. But I could see her shoulders trembling. The medicine broke my fever by morning. Three days later, I walked into the exam hall with a clear head. When the results came out, the entire county was in an uproar. I had scored in the top five of the state, securing the top spot in our district. Admissions officers from prestigious universities called our neighbor’s phone throughout the night. Gran did something she had never done before: she bought several rolls of firecrackers and set them off in the yard, filling the air with smoke and noise. She stood at the gate, handing out cheap candies to anyone who walked by. “My girl did it!” she beamed, her chest puffed out with pride. “She’s going to the big city! She’s going to be someone!” But the joy was short-lived. The following afternoon, our wooden gate was kicked off its hinges. Richard marched into the yard, followed by three burly men. “Well, aren’t you a clever little bitch, Sylvia?” he sneered, his eyes scanning the yard. “Mr. Henderson saw the news. He said since you’re the top scorer, he’ll raise the dowry to fifty thousand dollars! That’s enough to buy a nice apartment in the city for your brother Toby.” He waved his hand to the men. “Find her acceptance letter. Without that piece of paper, she can’t register anyway.” The men lunged toward the house, tossing chairs and tearing down shelves. “Stop it! You thieves!” Gran screamed, charging at them with a wooden cane. One of the thugs grunted in pain as she struck his leg. He whirled around and slapped her across the face with brutal force. Gran hit the floor, her lip split and bleeding. But even as she fell, her arms wrapped tightly around her chest. I noticed a bulge beneath her shirt: she had tucked my university acceptance letter inside her inner vest, keeping it safe against her skin. “Hand it over, you old corpse!” Richard yelled, stepping forward and grabbing Gran by her gray hair. Gran groaned, her eyes shut tight in pain. Vivian stood by the gate, holding her nose. “Richard, why are you wasting your breath on this old lunatic? Just grab the girl and let’s go. Toby is waiting at home for his new toys.” Richard nodded, releasing Gran’s hair and stepping toward me. Gran tried to crawl forward to grab his ankle, but she was too weak. I didn’t think. I sprinted into the kitchen, grabbed the heavy meat cleaver from the counter, and lunged back into the yard. “Get the hell back!” I screamed, holding the heavy blade with both hands, pointing it straight at Richard’s chest. My vision was red. I was shaking, but my grip on the handle was iron-clad. “Touch my grandmother again, and I swear to God I will gut you right here!” My voice carried a raw, murderous conviction that stopped the men in their tracks. Richard froze, his face going pale as he took two steps back. “You… you dare point a knife at your own father?” “Try me!” I snarled, stepping forward. “I would rather go to prison for murder than let you sell me. Get your dogs out of our yard right now, or I’ll start swinging.” The thugs exchanged uneasy glances. None of them wanted to risk getting hacked by a desperate teenager. Richard spat on the ground, trying to salvage his pride. “Fine! You want to play tough? Let’s see how long you can protect this old hag!” They scrambled back to their cars and sped away, leaving the yard in ruins. I dropped the cleaver, my knees giving out as I collapsed next to Gran, sobbing hysterically. Gran pulled me against her chest, her thin arms shaking as she held me close. It was the first time she had ever embraced me so tightly. “Don’t cry, Sylvia,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Gran is here. Even if it kills me, I’ll get you out of these mountains.” Hearing my name from her lips for the first time, a strange sense of peace washed over my terror. I held her tight, and with my free hand, I pulled out my phone. I compiled the video from the future along with audio recordings of Richard’s threats and photos of Gran’s injuries, and sent them directly to the regional police and child protection services. It was time to end this. The monsters were going to pay. By late August, our backyard pigpen was empty. Gran had sold the two fat pigs we had raised all year. That evening, she sat on the edge of her creaking bed, a rusty needle in her hand, sewing beneath the dim bulb. Spread out on the blanket was a pile of crumpled small bills and a few crisp hundreds. “It’s twelve hundred dollars,” she murmured, folding the bills neatly and wrapping them in a piece of red cloth. Then, she took my old undershirt and began stitching the cloth pouch securely into the inner lining. “When you’re in the city, don’t go flashing your money,” she said without looking up, her voice thick. “Buy decent food. Wear what the city girls wear. Don’t let them look down on you because of where you come from.” I sat beside her, staring at her calloused, scarred hands. “Gran, once I get settled and find a part-time job, I’ll bring you to the city to live with me.” She snorted, clicking her tongue. “Who wants to live in the city? Go on your own. Once you’re gone, I’ll finally get some peace and quiet.” She was as stubborn as ever. But as she pulled the thread tight, I saw a single tear fall onto the red cloth, darkening the fabric. The next morning, we left before dawn to catch the long-distance bus to the provincial capital. If we could just get on that bus, we would be free. It was half-past three in the morning when we quietly slipped out of the yard. But as we reached the dirt road at the town entrance, three vans suddenly lurched out of the darkness, blocking our path. The doors slid open, and a dozen heavy-set men stepped out. Richard stood at the front, and beside him, Vivian was waving my official registry documents with a triumphant smirk. “Running away?” Richard sneered. “Did you really think getting into college meant you won, Sylvia? I used your legal documents to officially withdraw your registration at the university. You’re not enrolled anymore. You have nowhere to go but to Mr. Henderson.” With those few words, he shattered everything. The late nights, the frozen hands, the miles Gran had walked in the storm: all of it, wiped out by a stroke of a pen. Pure, unadulterated hatred flared in my chest. “You’re insane! This is kidnapping! It’s illegal!” “Kidnapping?” Richard laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. “A father arranging a marriage for his daughter? Even the sheriff won’t touch this. Grab her!” Two men stepped toward me. “Don’t you dare touch my girl!” Gran screamed. She dropped her worn canvas bag and hurled her frail body at the first man, her teeth sinking deep into his arm. “Ah! The old bitch bit me!” the man roared, violently throwing his arm back. Gran was flung to the ground, but she scrambled right back up, throwing herself in front of me. “Sylvia, run! Run to the highway!” Richard’s face twisted with rage. “Get this old pest out of my way! Now!” One of the thugs raised a heavy boot and kicked Gran squarely in the chest. A sickening thud echoed through the silent morning. Gran was thrown backward, her head striking a sharp, jagged rock on the side of the road. Blood, thick and dark, immediately pooled in the dirt. The sight of that crimson stain seared itself into my brain. Gran lay motionless in the mud, her eyes turning to me with a faint, fading light. Her lips moved slightly, making no sound, but I knew what she was saying: Run. “No! No! Please, God, no!” A choked, animalistic shriek tore from my throat. I fell to my knees, scrambling through the dirt to reach her. I pressed both hands against her head, trying to stop the blood, but it kept seeping through my fingers, warm and sticky. The horrific vision from the future had caught up to us. I gathered her rapidly cooling body into my arms, my world collapsing into absolute darkness. “Gran! Please! Gran!”

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1 The day I got into Juilliard, the Sinclairs brought me home. Eleanor wept, promising to make up for lost years. Brent bought me a Maserati and enrolled me in the best driving school, vowing to drive me to college. The night before my road test, Ken, their foster son, stole the car and killed a man in a hit and run. Rachel squeezed my hand. “Austin, take the fall. His heart is weak. Prison will kill him.” Eleanor knelt, sobbing. “You can rebuild. Ken cannot.” Brent slid a pre-written confession over, promising freedom in six months. Gwen smashed the dashcam card. “I will wait for you.” I was sentenced to seven years. Ken wore Eleanor’s custom suit for my debut, flying to a European conservatory with Gwen waving beside him. On a damp autumn evening, I finished washing a Porsche Cayenne and handed over the keys. Gwen stood there, holding a five-year-old boy’s hand. “Austin, why didn’t you come find me? Still hate us?” I pushed the Venmo QR code toward her, not looking up. “That is eighty dollars. Scan, please. Card or Venmo?” She didn’t move. She simply stood with the boy just outside the muddy puddles of the washing bay. Her designer coat was pristine, completely out of place in this wet, gritty environment. The boy stared with wide eyes at the high-pressure water gun in my hand, while Gwen’s gaze drifted down to my cheap, water-stained rubber boots and plastic apron. “Austin, you shouldn’t have let yourself fall this low,” she said, her voice laced with disappointment. “Even if you are angry, you shouldn’t ruin your own future just to spite us.” I shut off the water pump, tossed the dirty rag into the bucket, and watched the murky water splash over my boots. “Do you want to scan the code, or should I call my manager?” Suddenly, the boy broke free from Gwen’s grip. He pointed at the glass cabinet behind the counter, shouting that he wanted to play with the old cello bow resting inside. Before I could stop him, he reached out to grab it. I lunged to intercept him, but the sudden movement tore at the old fracture in my wrist. A sharp, white-hot pain shot up my forearm. My fingers slipped, and the bow clattered onto the wet concrete. Gwen yanked the boy back, her eyes dropping to my exposed wrist. Under the harsh fluorescent light, the thick, jagged scar running across the bone looked monstrous. Her face drained of color. “What happened to your hand?” I pulled my sleeve down, hiding the scar, and bent to pick up the bow. “It has nothing to do with you.” Gwen frowned, her tone softening into that familiar, condescending pleading. “Austin, stop acting like this. The Sinclairs told me you were only supposed to be in there for six months. You chose to disappear for seven years just to make everyone feel guilty. Who are you trying to punish? Do you have any idea how sick Eleanor got because she thought you ran away?” My hands froze on the damp rag. Six months? I had spent seven grueling years in a concrete cell. Seven years of absolute hell, and to them, it was nothing but a childish tantrum. I wiped down the wet counter, my voice dead. “I didn’t run away. I’ve been working here.” Gwen’s expression darkened. “Ken hasn’t had an easy time either. He loses sleep every night because of his guilt. Just come back with me. If there are misunderstandings, we can sit down and talk them through.” She reached out to grab my arm. I took a sharp step back, avoiding her touch entirely. “The car is clean. Pay the bill and leave. Don’t block my station.” A soft chime sounded from my phone. The payment had gone through. I slung the rag over my shoulder. “Have a good evening, Gwen.” Ten minutes later, a black Audi sedan screeched to a halt by the curb. The door slammed open, and Rachel stepped out, her high heels clicking loudly against the wet pavement. She looked at the cheap neon sign of the car wash, then sneered at my face. “Austin, your mother is desperately ill in the hospital. How long do you plan on carrying out this ridiculous drama?” She didn’t ask how I was. She didn’t ask where I had been. She only stared at my stained apron and rubber boots with absolute disgust. “A Sinclair son washing cars for pocket change? You are dragging our family name through the mud. Pack your things and come home to apologize to Mom right now.” I threw the wet rag back into the bucket. The dirty water splashed onto the hem of her expensive trousers. “You have the wrong person,” I said quietly. “My name is Austin Reed. I am not a Sinclair.” Rachel’s jaw clenched, a vein throbbing at her temple. “Ken already apologized for what happened back then. Besides, you only spent six months in a low-security facility, and the family compensated you generously. You vanished without a word after you got out. Do you have any idea how long we’ve been looking for you?” Looking for me? A wave of nausea hit me so hard I nearly gagged. This city wasn’t that big. They didn’t even bother to check how long I had actually served, yet they had the audacity to claim they had been searching for me for seven years. The only person who had ever looked for me was my adoptive mother, Mary. Gwen sighed, attempting to play the peacemaker again. “Austin, Rachel is just worried. Your mother was admitted to the hospital again two days ago. No matter how resentful you are, you should at least go see her.” Rachel pulled out her phone, dialed a video call, and shoved the screen in front of my face. On the screen, Eleanor lay in a sterile hospital bed, her face pale and sunken. When she saw me, her eyes immediately filled with tears. “Austin, do I have to get on my knees and beg you to come home?” She clutched her chest, her voice trembling. “Do you know how many nightmares I’ve had about you? Even if you hate us for what happened, how could you be so cruel as to hide from your own mother for seven years?” I stared at her perfectly moisturized face. Seven years ago, when she knelt in front of me begging me to take Ken’s place, she had cried the exact same way. “Austin, say something,” Gwen urged. “Do you really have to make this so ugly?” I looked up, meeting their eyes. “What do you want me to say? That I should be grateful? That going to prison for Ken was a privilege granted to me by the grand Sinclair family?” Rachel’s face turned icy. “Don’t take that sarcastic tone with me.” I let out a soft laugh. “But you always loved it when I was agreeable, didn’t you? I used to say exactly what you wanted to hear.” The night of my welcome-home gala, Brent had insisted I perform a cello solo in front of all of Boston high society. He wanted to prove that his biological son was the true prodigy. I wore the custom tuxedo Eleanor had bought for me. I had practiced that piece for weeks, my fingers raw and blistered, just wanting to make them proud. But right before I was supposed to go on stage, I discovered someone had loosened the pegs of my cello and stolen my backup sheet music. Ken had walked into the dressing room, a bright, innocent smile on his face. He leaned in and whispered, “Do you really think you can just walk back into this family and take what’s mine?” I didn’t have time to confront him. I had to go on stage and play from memory. Midway through the performance, the tension in the damaged string snapped. The thick steel wire sliced deep into my finger, dripping blood onto my white shirt. I rushed backstage, holding my bleeding hand, wanting to demand answers from Ken. But he was already collapsed on the sofa, clutching his chest, weeping louder than I ever could. “Austin, I’m so sorry. I only wanted to help you tune your cello. Please don’t hate me for ruining your big night.” Eleanor had pushed past me, screaming for a doctor. Rachel had grabbed my shoulder and demanded I apologize. “You’ve been back for five minutes and you’re already bullying your brother? You know he has a weak heart!” Even Gwen, who had seen my hand dripping blood, pushed me down. “Austin, Ken is sick. Just let it go and apologize.” That was the night I learned that in the face of Ken’s tears, the truth meant absolutely nothing. No one cared about my bleeding fingers. They only cared that Ken was crying. Later, I overheard Ken yelling at a maid in the hallway. “As long as he is in this house, I am the outsider. I will make sure he never feels welcome.” When I confronted him, he screamed and threw himself down the stairs. Rachel didn’t even bother to look at the security cameras. She slapped me across the face so hard my lip split. “How can you be so vicious? He is sick!” That night, Gwen came to my room. She told me Ken was just insecure and that I should be the bigger person. “Austin,” Gwen said, cutting through my silence, her patience clearly wearing thin. “You pushed Ken so hard back then. He had to sneak away to Europe just to escape your shadow.” She looked at me as if I were a petulant child throwing a tantrum. “Can you please stop using the past to torture everyone?” Gwen honestly believed Ken was the victim. She had no idea that I was the one who had been pushed into an abyss. During my first year in prison, a guard looked the other way while an inmate broke my wrist with a heavy metal spoon in the cafeteria. The incident was swept under the rug as a common brawl, and I was thrown into solitary confinement for three days. Before the heavy steel door slammed shut, the inmate whispered in my ear, “Ken Sinclair sends his regards. He told me to make sure you were well taken care of.” Now, because of that shattered wrist, I could barely hold a coffee cup, let alone play the cello. Rachel took my silence as submission. “If you come home and apologize, the family will overlook your dramatic disappearance,” she said coldly. “Overlook it?” I looked down at the muddy water beneath my boots. Suddenly, I didn’t even have the energy to explain. They weren’t ignorant of the truth. They simply chose not to know. On the night before my final road test, a torrential storm was raging. Ken had stolen the keys to the Maserati Brent had bought for me. At three in the morning, he had stumbled back into the house, drenched in mud, sobbing that he had run someone over. Brent’s first reaction wasn’t to call an ambulance. He locked the front gates and threatened the staff to keep their mouths shut. Rachel had gripped my hand until my bones ached. “Austin, you are stronger than Ken. You have to take the blame.” Eleanor knelt on the floor, weeping hysterically. Brent pushed the written confession into my hands. “We have the best lawyers, Austin. It will be six months at most. I swear I will get you out.” I refused. I cried, telling them I was terrified, that my test was tomorrow, and my Juilliard classes started next month. Seeing my resistance, Ken clutched his chest and collapsed onto the sofa. The entire family rushed to his side, leaving me standing alone in the cold hallway. Gwen dragged me to the end of the corridor. Her eyes were filled with a desperate, suffocating devotion. “Austin, I will wait for you. It’s only six months. I’ll help you rebuild everything.” I clung to her coat like a drowning man grasping a straw. “The dashcam. There’s a camera in the car. It can prove I wasn’t driving!” Gwen was silent for a very long time, until the motion-sensor lights in the hallway flickered off, plunging us into darkness. “That camera,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, “will destroy Ken’s life.” I watched her walk out to the driveway, pull the memory card from the camera, and smash it with a heavy stone. The plastic shards scattered across the wet gravel. She walked back to me, wiped my tears, and said, “I love you. But this is the only way to save him.” I was so foolish back then. I actually believed six months would pass quickly. I believed they would keep their promise and bring me home. The day I was transported to the prison, the sky was a mockery of brilliant blue. Through the barred window of the transport van, I saw Ken dressing in my concert suit, getting into a luxury car bound for the airport. Gwen stood by the passenger door, smiling as she opened it for him. I pulled myself out of the memory and looked at Rachel and Gwen. “Are you finished?” I asked quietly. “If you are, get out of here. You’re dirtying my shop.” I turned, peeled off my wet apron, and walked toward the small, cramped room at the back of the car wash. Under my cot was a dusty cardboard box. It had been delivered to me by a stranger shortly after my adoptive mother passed away. I knelt down and peeled back the yellowing tape. Inside lay a neatly folded letter, a worn leather-bound journal, and a faded receipt from an auto repair shop. I opened the letter first. Austin, I never believed you were the one who ran that poor man down. You couldn’t even bear to step on an insect when you were a child. There is no way you would leave a human being to die in the street. The letter explained that after I went to prison, Mary never stopped looking for the truth. She visited the crash site, went to the hospital, and tracked down the repair shop. She had even knelt outside the Sinclair estate, begging for a copy of my court files. The Sinclairs had told her I was being well taken care of, and warned her that if she kept causing trouble, it would ruin my chances of early parole. She didn’t understand the law. She had no money or power. All she could do was use the simplest, most painstaking methods to record every discrepancy she could find. I folded the letter carefully and pressed it against my chest, my tears finally falling onto the old scar on my wrist. Over the next two days, after my shifts ended, I followed the addresses in Mary’s journal, searching for any scrap of evidence. On the third day, chaos descended upon the car wash. A rusted van screeched to a halt outside the bay. Several people wearing medical masks jumped out. The leader, a middle-aged woman, held up a blown-up newspaper clipping showing my mugshot from seven years ago. “Look at this man! He’s a murderer!” she shrieked, her voice drawing a crowd of onlookers instantly. “He ran my husband over and fled the scene! He only served a tiny fraction of his sentence because his family is rich! My husband is dead, and my children grew up without a father, while he works here as if nothing happened!” The crowd grew, murmuring in disgust. People pulled out their phones to record me. A bucket of dirty, foul-smelling water was thrown from the crowd, soaking my shoulder. A man in a black hoodie stepped out from the onlookers. He wore a mask, but I recognized his eyes instantly. Ken. He leaned in close, his voice a malicious whisper meant only for me. “You should have stayed dead, Austin. Look at you. Do you honestly think you have a place in the Sinclair family looking like this?” I stared at his retreating back, my fingers turning numb with cold. As the harassment continued, Cassie, the owner of the car wash, rushed out from the garage. She pulled me behind her, blocking the flying debris and the camera lenses with her own body. She pulled out her phone to call the police. “If you have a grievance, take it to the police station! Anyone who throws another thing is getting arrested for assault!” The screaming woman flinched but kept shouting, “He’s a killer! He killed my husband!” I held my wet collar and looked at her. “What was your husband’s name?” I asked. The woman hesitated. “What day did the accident happen? What was he wearing? Which hospital was he taken to? Who did he speak to before he died? Do you know any of those things?” She took a step back, unable to answer. At the edge of the crowd, Rachel’s Audi pulled up. Gwen got out first. She jogged over, her nose wrinkling at the sight of my stained clothes. She reached for me, but I stepped back. Her hand remained empty in the air, a flash of embarrassment crossing her face. “Austin, just apologize and lower your head,” she pleaded. “It’s natural for the victim’s family to be angry. You shouldn’t provoke them. If this gets out, it will ruin the Sinclair family’s reputation, and yours too.” I looked at her and laughed. Seven years ago, she told me Ken’s heart was too weak for prison and asked me to understand. Seven years later, she told me the victim’s family was grieving and asked me to bow my head. There was always someone else she needed to protect. And I was always the one who was expected to sacrifice. Eleanor arrived next, supported by Rachel. Her eyes were red and swollen. “Austin, if you just come home, our PR team will handle this mess. I promise no one will ever bring up this accident again.” I looked at her. “Handle it? Like you handled the dashcam seven years ago? Like you handled the court records? Like you handled your own son?” Eleanor’s face drained of color. Rachel took a step forward, whispering a harsh warning. “Austin, don’t let your petty resentment destroy the peace our family and Ken have built.” “Rachel,” I said, my voice dead calm. “Did Ken tell you I only served six months?” Rachel froze. Gwen’s brows furrowed, a flicker of confusion crossing her eyes. “What do you mean?” I didn’t answer. I walked back into the office and retrieved a thick folder from the bottom of my locker. The wail of sirens grew louder as two police officers pushed through the crowd, asking who had called. I raised my hand. “I did. There is a mob harassing my workplace, and I suspect someone has paid this woman to instigate this riot.” The woman screamed, “Officer, he’s a murderer! He ran my husband down!” I placed the folder on the hood of a nearby car in front of the officers. On top was my official release certificate from the state penitentiary. The paper was slightly wrinkled from the damp air, but the bold black ink was unmistakable: Seven Years Served. Gwen’s eyes fell on the paper, and the color vanished from her face. Rachel stared at the document, her lips parting, but no sound came out. “Officers,” I said, looking directly at the police. “I would like to file for a formal review of the vehicular manslaughter case from seven years ago.” “I was framed.” “And I have the evidence to prove it.”

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1 After my diagnosis of Emotional Apathy Syndrome, my feelings grew dull. When Gideon favored his first love, Lorelei, I stayed calm. Even seeing him give her our tenth-anniversary diamond ring drew no tears. He rarely came home, always claiming, “Lorelei is afraid of the dark.” When I called to tell him about my condition, Lorelei answered his phone. “Gideon is in the shower,” she mocked sweetly. “Call back later.” I hung up and let him bring her as his plus-one to our anniversary gala. Before the guests, he wrapped his arm around her waist. “Marrying you was punishment for losing a bet. Lorelei is my only love. You have played Mrs. Harrington for ten years. Be satisfied.” Lorelei giggled against his chest, triumphant. I simply smiled, picked up the photo album I had compiled, and dropped it into the champagne bucket. In my mind, memories of Gideon were dissolving. Soon, I would forget him and our agonizing ten years entirely. On the ride back to the estate, I voluntarily opened the front passenger door and gestured for Lorelei to take the seat. Gideon was used to my sharp tongue, my hysterical outbursts, and the desperate way I used to fight for his attention whenever Lorelei was around. My sudden grace and indifference only seemed to irritate him. Once we pulled up to the driveway and Lorelei stepped away, I turned to him and spoke quietly. “I’m not angry, Gideon. And I’m certainly not jealous.” Lorelei lingered by the porch, her voice trembling with manufactured tears. “Gideon, did I do something wrong? Fiona seems to despise me. Maybe I should just check into a hotel.” Gideon caught her by the hand, his voice laced with cold impatience as he looked at me. “Why should you leave? This is your home now.” He strode over and grabbed my wrist, his grip tightening. “Fiona, don’t think you can play these reverse psychology games with me. My parents forced me to marry you back then. Now that Lorelei is back, you need to grow up and accept it.” My eyes remained flat, reflecting nothing. “I understand. Let her move in. I’ll pack my things and let her have the master bedroom as well.” A flicker of suspicion crossed his features. “I’ll say it one more time. Pretending to be saintly won’t work on me. If you’re upset, throw a tantrum. Cry. Scream. I can easily buy you whatever designer bags or jewelry you want to make up for it.” Lorelei stepped up, resting her hand on Gideon’s arm. “Fiona, how could I possibly take the master bedroom? That wouldn’t be right.” Gideon let out a cold snort. “Since you’re so eager to play the generous wife, Lorelei and I will sleep in the master suite tonight.” He pulled her along, leaving me standing in the cold hallway. Deep within my mind, another piece of my memory of him shattered and faded into mist. That night, I booked a moving service for the following morning and purchased a one-way ticket to Europe, scheduled for one week from today. When I walked out of the guest room the next morning, Lorelei was already sorting through a cardboard box by the stairs. It was filled with the countless gifts Gideon had given me over the years. “Fiona,” she cooed, clutching a soft velvet throw pillow to her chest. “This is so comfortable. Gideon said I could have it.” I stared at the pillow. Three years ago, Gideon and I had found it at a flea market during a rare weekend trip. He had argued with the vendor for half an hour just to get it for me, eventually laughing as he tucked it into my arms, promising he would hold me just as tightly for the rest of his life. Now, as I looked at the handmade music box and the intricate wooden carvings he had crafted for me, the emotions attached to those memories felt as though they were being systematically extracted from my brain. “If you like it, keep it,” I said, my voice empty of cadence. “It’s all just old junk anyway.” I took my car keys and turned back toward the guest room. Gideon stepped into my path, blocking the doorway. “Fiona, what is wrong with you?” he demanded. “Before this, if Lorelei so much as looked at me, you would scream and fight with me for three days. Now I bring her into our home, and you don’t even have a single question?” I looked at him, finding the confusion on his face almost amusing. “Isn’t this exactly what you always wanted, Gideon? No fighting, no drama. Isn’t this better?” He stood frozen, unable to find a reply. I closed the door, shutting out his gaze. By the next morning, the moving truck was idling outside the villa. My belongings were packed into just two small boxes resting at my feet. Gideon emerged from the master bedroom, his face dark with fury when he saw the boxes. “Fiona, have you had your fun yet? Put your things back before I lose my temper.” The boy I had loved in my youth had become an unrecognizable shadow. I bent down to tape the box shut. “Let’s get a divorce, Gideon. I’ll have my lawyer mail the papers to your office in a few days.” Lorelei gasped dramatically from the hallway, though she couldn’t quite hide the spark of delight in her eyes. Gideon’s expression turned murderous. “What did you just say?” “I said, we are getting a divorce. I’ll send you the paperwork.” “Fiona, you’re getting bold, trying to threaten me with divorce,” he sneered, stepping closer. “It was just a ring. I already told you I would compensate you. What are you still throwing a tantrum for?” I met his anger with a long, hollow silence. Eventually, his patience snapped, and he slammed the front door as he left. With the sound of that slam, the details of his face seemed to blur even further in my mind. I realized I could no longer remember what his smile looked like. “We can go,” I told the mover. As the truck rolled down the driveway, I didn’t look back. My phone buzzed in my coat pocket. It was a text from Gideon. Be at the Grand Plaza Hotel at eight tonight. It’s Lorelei’s birthday. If you still want to keep your title as Mrs. Harrington, you will show up on time. I stared at the screen for a moment, then quietly blocked his number. Gideon, from this moment on, you are nothing but a stranger. That night, I scrolled past my friends’ social media posts showing updates from the party. It was a lavish affair, far grander than any anniversary or birthday Gideon had ever given me. In one video, he was down on one knee, presenting Lorelei with a massive bouquet of white roses. My best friend called me, crying on my behalf, furious at the injustice of it all. I listened to her sob, but my own chest remained light and hollow. The next afternoon, the head housekeeper of the Harrington estate called my temporary number, her voice tight with panic. “Fiona, please come to the manor immediately! Madam Beatrice has collapsed, and she keeps calling your name!” My mind immediately conjured the warm, gentle face of Gideon’s grandmother. She was the only person in that entire family who had ever treated me with genuine kindness, always holding my hand and telling me to come to her whenever I felt wronged. “I’m on my way,” I said, grabbing my coat. When I stepped into the grand parlor of the estate, the sound of Lorelei’s giggling echoed through the room. “Grandmother, Gideon flew this rare wellness tea in from abroad especially for you. Please try some.” Gideon sat on the adjacent sofa, looking bored. When he noticed me enter, his posture stiffened slightly, and his mouth curved into a familiar sneer. “So you finally decided to show up? I thought you were far too proud to care whether Grandmother lived or died.” Grandmother Beatrice looked up, a soft smile gracing her wrinkled face when she saw me. “Fiona, dear, come sit by me. I’m perfectly fine, just a slight spell of high blood pressure. Gideon was just overreacting and insisted on bringing you back here.” Lorelei chimed in, her tone dripping with sweet poison. “Yes, Fiona. Gideon was simply worried about Grandmother. But you’ve been so busy lately, you haven’t even had time to visit her.” She was clearly painting me as the unfilial, cold-hearted wife. In the past, I would have desperately tried to explain myself, sick with the fear of Gideon’s disapproval. Now, I merely offered a polite smile. “Since you have so much free time on your hands, Lorelei, perhaps you can fulfill those duties in my place.” Lorelei’s smile faltered, and she looked toward Gideon with wide, wounded eyes. “Gideon…” Gideon set his newspaper down, his gaze drilling into me. “Fiona, did you forget to take your medication today? Lorelei was only trying to help, and this is how you treat her?” I looked him dead in the eye. “My attitude is perfectly fine.” Grandmother Beatrice looked between us, her brow furrowing. “Gideon, Fiona, have you two been fighting?” “No, Grandmother,” Gideon lied smoothly. He stood up, grabbed my wrist, and dragged me out into the private garden. “You returned the secondary credit card, blocked my number, and now you won’t even show respect at the family estate?” he hissed, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. “Do you honestly think I won’t go through with a divorce? Have you forgotten about your brother lying in that hospital bed?” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Every single dollar of his medical bills comes from my family’s pocket. Without that money, he won’t survive three days.” He was entirely certain he held the leash. At the mention of my little brother, Toby, a sharp, localized pang of grief pierced through the numbness of my chest. It was a fleeting, agonizing reminder of the love I once felt. I looked up at him, and to his surprise, I let out a soft laugh. “Gideon, my brother died six months ago.” The smug triumph on his face froze, replaced by a sudden, chaotic panic. “What? Why wasn’t I told?” I stared at him, the last remnants of my affection evaporating into the autumn air. “Because you were busy watching the penguins in Antarctica with Lorelei. You don’t have to worry about my family anymore, Gideon. We are entirely even.” I took a step back. “We are done.” A rare flash of embarrassment crossed his face. “I’m… I’m sorry about your brother. I truly didn’t know.” “You only care about things that involve Lorelei,” I said. “You’ve never known anything about my life.” His jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened with a sudden, ugly suspicion. “Are you so determined to get this divorce because there is someone else?” The sheer insult of his words broke through my apathy. Before I could process the impulse, my hand swung out and delivered a sharp, resounding slap across his face. The sound cracked through the quiet garden. “I simply do not love you anymore,” I said. Gideon clutched his burning cheek, his eyes wide with utter disbelief. “That’s impossible. You loved me more than anything.” He was right. I had loved him once, with a desperation that consumed my entire youth. In the early days of our marriage, under Grandmother’s guidance, we had shared genuine happiness. He would bring home the pastries I casually mentioned wanting, and I would stay up all night cooking porridge for him whenever his stomach flared up. We had loved each other with a clumsy, earnest devotion. But every year, Lorelei would return, and every year, the scale would tip in her favor. His blatant, unapologetic preference for her slowly eroded every ounce of love I had to give. Ten years of devotion, systematically destroyed by a thousand quiet disappointments. Gideon remained standing in the garden, staring at me as if I were a stranger. “That was a long time ago,” I said, and walked away. The next afternoon, Gideon sat in his high-rise office, staring out at the San Francisco skyline. His secretary stood by his desk, speaking in a hesitant whisper. “Mr. Harrington, the real estate agent confirmed that Mrs. Harrington has officially listed her downtown apartment for sale.” Gideon’s hand clenched around his gold pen. “What else is she selling?” “All of the high-end jewelry and designer watches you gifted her over the years. She took them to a luxury consignment shop to be liquidated for cash.” Gideon snapped the pen in half, his face turning a dangerous shade of red. That evening, as I was drying my hair in my hotel room, my phone rang with an unrecognized number. I answered it, and Gideon’s furious voice boomed through the speaker. “Fiona, you are getting entirely out of hand. You dare to block my number?” I pulled the phone slightly away from my ear, keeping my voice level. “Is there something you need, Mr. Harrington?” The formal address seemed to strike him like a physical blow. The line went silent for a few seconds before he snarled, “What did you just call me? We are not divorced yet. I am still your husband!” “Not for much longer,” I said, and disconnected the call. A moment later, a text message arrived from another unknown number. Fiona, stop playing games. Gideon is already exhausted by your pathetic attempts to get his attention. Attached was a photo. In the image, Lorelei was wearing a silk nightgown, smiling sweetly at the camera as she curled into Gideon’s arm on a plush hotel bed. Gideon’s eyes were closed, seemingly asleep, though his brow was furrowed even in rest. A sudden knock sounded at my door. Thinking it was room service, I pulled the door open, only for Gideon to barge in, slamming the door behind him and pushing me back onto the bed. Before I could speak, he grabbed my hand and began violently shoving several diamond rings onto my fingers. “Fiona, what will it take to make you stop this?” he demanded, his voice cracking with a mixture of rage and desperation. He was trying to use these rings to erase the memory of the one he had given to Lorelei. When I didn’t answer, his eyes flared with anger, and he leaned down to kiss me. I gathered all my strength, wrenched my hands free, and struck him across the face again. He stumbled back, the anger in his eyes suddenly giving way to a profound, broken defeat. “My relationship with Lorelei is complicated,” he whispered, his head bowed. “I can’t just cut her out of my life completely. But she will never take your place as my wife. Why can’t you just accept that?” Before I could reply, his phone began to ring. It was Lorelei. Her tearful, whimpering voice was easily audible in the quiet room. “Gideon… where are you? My stomach hurts so badly…” Gideon looked at me, torn, before stepping toward the door. “I’ll be right there,” he murmured into the phone, and rushed out, leaving the scent of his expensive cologne lingering in the air. I quietly slipped the diamond rings off my fingers and listed them on a local resale app. The next day, the specialist at the clinic stared at my brain scans, letting out a long, heavy sigh. “If this progression continues, you will lose not only your emotional capacity but your cognitive memory as well,” the doctor warned. “While the condition isn’t fatal, it will make it incredibly difficult to live a normal life.” I offered a small smile, realizing that even the muscles in my face felt heavy and unresponsive. “That’s alright. Perhaps it’s for the best.” I took my bag of medication and walked out of the clinic. As I rounded the corner of the sterile hallway, I collided with someone. “Fiona? What are you doing here?” Gideon’s voice cut through the quiet corridor, dripping with immediate suspicion. Beside him stood Lorelei, wearing a hospital gown, looking pale and fragile. “Gideon, is Fiona sick?” Lorelei asked, bending down to reach for the pill bottle that had fallen from my hand. “It’s none of your concern,” I said, retrieving the bottle before she could touch it. Gideon’s expression darkened. “Fiona, are you tracking us now? Is there no limit to how low you’ll stoop?” I looked at him with absolute indifference. “I came here to see my doctor. I don’t have the time or the energy to follow you.” Gideon let out a harsh laugh, snatching the paper bag of medication from my hands. “You’re pretending to be ill just to get my attention. This is pathetic, Fiona. Stop dragging this out.” With a flick of his wrist, he tossed my medication into a nearby biohazard bin. “You disgust me.” As the bag hit the bottom of the bin, the last remaining memories of Gideon in my mind began to dissolve, turning into nothing but gray, lifeless smoke. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and walked away. A few days later, my attorney called. “Fiona, Mr. Harrington is refusing to sign the dissolution papers.” “I see,” I replied, staring at the IV drip in my arm. My memory was deteriorating much faster than the doctors had predicted. I was starting to forget simple things—where I had left my keys, what I had eaten for breakfast, the faces of casual acquaintances. As I sat in a quiet cafe downtown, staring at the cold latte in front of my hands, I realized I couldn’t remember when I had ordered it. The squeal of tires cut through my thoughts. Gideon strode into the cafe, grabbed me by the arm, and pulled me toward his car. “You’re coming with me to Grandmother’s birthday gala,” he commanded as the car sped onto the highway. “Her health is fragile. I won’t have you stressing her with talk of a divorce.” I didn’t argue. I didn’t have the energy to fight him. The Harrington manor was alight with grand decorations. Luxury cars lined the private drive, and the ballroom was packed with the city’s elite. As I walked in beside Gideon, whispering voices immediately rippled through the crowd. “Look, the wife actually showed up.” “I heard Gideon has been living with the Lorelei girl. I thought the wife would have been thrown out by now.” “It’s a complete mess.” I remained entirely untroubled by their whispers. Gideon, however, looked tense, his hand dropping to grip my waist in a performative display of unity. “Fiona, sweetheart, come here,” Grandmother Beatrice called from her seat at the head of the main table, waving me over. I walked over and handed her the gift Gideon’s assistant had prepared for me. “Happy birthday, Grandmother. I wish you many more years of health and happiness.” The elderly woman took my hand, her eyes shining with warmth. But before she could speak, a commotion at the entrance drew everyone’s attention. Lorelei stepped into the ballroom, holding a beautifully wrapped silk box. She walked directly to Grandmother Beatrice. “Happy birthday, Grandmother,” she said, her voice carrying across the quiet room. “I personally brought this rare herbal elixir from Switzerland for you. I hope it brings you strength.” Grandmother’s smile faded slightly, and she gave a polite, distant nod. “Thank you, Lorelei.” Lorelei’s jaw tightened slightly at the cold reception. She turned her gaze to me, her eyes sweeping over my simple black dress. “Fiona, you look lovely tonight. Did Gideon pick out that dress for you?” She was wearing a custom couture gown, clearly trying to highlight the stark contrast between us. “Lorelei, you aren’t fully recovered yet. Why did you come?” Gideon stepped forward, his arm immediately finding her waist, his voice filled with genuine concern. As Lorelei moved past me, her heel caught on the edge of the carpet. With a dramatic cry, she stumbled directly toward the grand champagne tower nearby. “Ah!” The delicate crystal tower began to collapse. Without a second thought, Gideon lunged forward, throwing his body over Lorelei to shield her from the falling glass. The heavy crystal glasses shattered over my head, drenching me in sticky champagne, the sharp shards slicing deep cuts into my exposed arms. “Fiona! Why did you push her?” Gideon roared, looking up from where he held Lorelei in his arms. But as his eyes fell on my bleeding arms and soaked dress, his anger faltered, replaced by a sudden flicker of guilt. He turned to the head housekeeper. “Get the medical kit! Clean her up!” The housekeeper rushed over with the kit, but I politely pushed her hands away. I turned to Grandmother Beatrice, offering a shallow bow. “Grandmother, I’m feeling slightly unwell. Please excuse me.” Grandmother looked at my bleeding arms and ruined dress, her eyes filled with deep sorrow. “Go, child. Go take care of your wounds. Have the driver take you.” “There’s no need,” I said quietly. “I’ll take a taxi.” Gideon tried to follow me as I walked toward the exit, but I reached into my bag, pulled out the thick brown envelope, and pressed it into his chest. “Goodbye, Gideon.” I walked out into the cool night air, leaving him behind. It wasn’t until I was sitting in the airport lounge, waiting for my flight to Finland, that I realized I had accidentally left my medical diagnosis files inside that brown envelope along with the divorce papers. I stared out the window at the dark tarmac. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered anymore. The engines roared to life, and the plane began its long ascent into the sky. Gideon, this is the last time we will ever exist in the same world.

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1 During graduation trip talks, my foster sister Monica and I argued. I wanted the American Southwest; she chose Iceland. Wyatt, grinning, said, “Iceland’s perfect! My new DSLR will capture Monica beautifully.” Parents nodded. “Scenery’s great. Her new down coat fits the weather.” They looked a perfect family. No one noticed the Southwest itinerary I’d spent two weeks planning, hidden under the fruit bowl. I tried to speak, but Wyatt cut in, frowning. “Southwest’s dust and sun. Monica’s too fragile for that. How’d she survive?” Mom slid a $2,000 gift card across the table. “Desert’s not going anywhere. Let Monica have this. I’ll take you next year.” I stared at the card, bitter smile on my lips, silent. Three years ago, they’d wept, promising a family Southwest trip post-graduation to make up for my 18 lost years. But I’d learned: Monica’s tears meant I yielded. My things, space, even their promises—sacrificed for her. Blood meant nothing against favoritism. Since I’d never win against their precious foster daughter, I quit their game. They could have Iceland. I’d take the long train to the desert alone. From now on, my own path. They could keep their high society and the Presley “real daughter” title. Wyatt noticed me staring silently at the gift card, and his scowl deepened. He reached over, snatched the detailed road trip itinerary from under the fruit bowl, and held it by the corner with obvious disgust. “What is this garbage? It’s just in the way, wrinkling Monica’s visa documents.” With a careless twist of his wrists, he crumpled the thick packet of paper, along with the translated documents for the DuPont merger I had stayed up all night to finish for my father, and threw them into the trash can. I stared at the crumpled paper, taking a slow, deep breath. When the Presleys first brought me back from the desert, my father had gripped my hands with tears in his eyes. Evelyn, you’ve suffered so much. When you graduate, I will rent two off-road vehicles and the whole family will take you back to the desert to see the golden cottonwoods. I had held onto that promise for three long years. I had researched every supply station, mapped out every mile, and calculated every stop. And for what? Monica only had to squeeze out a few tears and whisper, I heard the Northern Lights can bring a lifetime of good fortune. With my weak health, I don’t know if I’ll live long enough to see them again, and every single plan was instantly obliterated. “Evelyn, do not start throwing a tantrum now,” my father warned, his eyes flashing with irritation. “Our trip to Iceland is partly to meet with the executives of the DuPont Group at their private golf club. This is a matter of our family’s standing in high society. As our biological daughter, do you lack even this basic sense of the bigger picture?” Monica’s eyes immediately pooled with tears. “Dad, please don’t fight. It’s all my fault for having such poor health. If Evelyn really wants to go to the desert, I… I don’t have to go to Iceland. You should all go with Evelyn instead.” “What are you talking about?” Wyatt snapped, turning his glare back to me. “Evelyn, are you completely heartless? The Southwest is a wasteland of dust and scorching UV rays. Monica would lose a layer of skin out there! Do you have to torture her to be satisfied?” Looking at the three of them standing united against me, I felt as though a lump of lead was wedged in my throat, impossible to swallow or spit out. I took a step toward the trash can, wanting to salvage the itinerary that had cost me so many sleepless nights. But Wyatt kicked the bin away, letting out a sharp laugh. “What, still haven’t given up? What use is this stupid paper anyway, other than letting you play the victim?” I stood frozen, my fingernails digging into my palms until they bled. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and looked up with perfect calm. “Fine. I’ll go get my passport.” Hearing my surrender, my mother’s face finally relaxed. “That’s my sensible girl. Go get the original documents. The travel agency is waiting to finalize the booking.” I turned and walked back to my small room, which was essentially a converted maid’s quarters in the corner of the first floor. Once I handed my passport to the waiting butler, I shut the door, cutting off the sounds of their laughter as they discussed the northern lights. Sitting on my narrow single bed, I pulled out my cracked phone and opened a travel app. I entered the coordinates of the Southwest desert, setting the departure date for the exact same day they were scheduled to fly to Iceland. Since they wanted to see the northern lights, I would see the golden cottonwoods by myself. When the confirmation screen flashed, showing my purchase of a one-way ticket on a slow, regional train, a soft smile finally touched my lips. A single, one-way ticket. It was my passage to freedom. To prepare for the trip, the family drove to a high-end outdoor gear store in the city center the following morning. Monica drifted through the racks of premium winter coats, with my mother and Wyatt following close behind, carrying hats and gloves for her to try. I walked silently at the very back of the group. “Excuse me, ma’am,” a sales associate said, stepping up to me and handing me a stack of heavy coats. “Could you please carry these to the fitting room for our young lady?” The entire group went quiet. Monica bit her lip to hide a smug smile, making absolutely no effort to clarify who I was. I took the coats without a word. My mother finally seemed to realize what was happening and cleared her throat, looking slightly embarrassed. “This is actually our… our oldest daughter.” The associate apologized profusely, but I had already turned and walked toward the fitting room. Over the last three years, I had grown completely numb to being mistaken for a maid or a hired hand. When we reached the register, my father swiped his card for fifteen thousand dollars without blinking, purchasing Monica’s entire set of premium gear. Only as we were preparing to leave did my mother seem to notice my empty hands. She turned back to the clearance rack, grabbed an outdated, oversized utility jacket, and tossed it into my arms. “You can wear this. You’re used to the cold from your childhood in the countryside anyway. Even with the discount, this still cost over two hundred dollars.” Monica looked at the cheap jacket in my hands, putting on her best display of sweet generosity. “Mom, that jacket is far too thin for Iceland. Why don’t I give Evelyn the red coat I bought in Switzerland last year? It’s a bit worn, but it’s very warm.” Offering me her discarded hand-me-downs to highlight her own saintly nature was her favorite game. I stepped aside, avoiding her touch. “No, thank you. I don’t need it.” “Evelyn, what is with that attitude?” my father barked, his voice sharp with anger. “You’ve been back with us for three years, and you still haven’t lost that bitter, sensitive pride from the gutter! Monica is trying to be kind to you, and you treat her like this?” Wyatt was busy adjusting his camera, not even looking up. “Dad, don’t waste your breath on her. When we get to Iceland, I’m only taking photos of Monica anyway. Even if Evelyn freezes to death, I won’t waste a single frame on her.” When we returned home, the dining table was laden with a massive seafood feast to celebrate the approval of our visas. There were oysters, lobster tails, and a large bowl of steamed crab cakes. I stood by the table, making no move to sit down. “I had stomach surgery last month,” I said quietly, looking at my mother. “The doctor strictly warned me not to eat raw or cold seafood for at least six months.” There wasn’t a single dish on the table that I could safely eat. My mother’s hand paused, a brief flicker of guilt crossing her face, but it was quickly replaced by irritation. “We are celebrating a wonderful trip, and you have to ruin the mood with your illnesses? It was a minor surgery! A little seafood isn’t going to kill you. Stop being so delicate!” She waved over a maid. “Go heat up some of yesterday’s leftover porridge for her.” As I stared at the bowl of sour, day-old porridge, a wave of nausea hit my stomach. After dinner, Monica directed the staff to line up five massive suitcases in the center of the living room, and the family gathered around to pack them with snacks and designer winter wear. The spacious room was so crowded with their belongings that there wasn’t even a path for me to walk through. I knew then, with absolute certainty, that I had no place in this house. “Oh, my head… I feel so dizzy…” Monica murmured, pressing her hand to her forehead as she collapsed onto the plush sofa. My mother let out a sharp cry of alarm, and the entire room erupted into chaos. Wyatt rushed to hold her up, while my father barked orders at the butler to fetch the medical kit. They acted as though she were facing a terminal crisis, when in reality, she was simply experiencing a mild sugar drop from staying up late to look at travel blogs. I stood at the corner of the hallway, shivering as the cold wind drifted in from a half-open window. A sharp, familiar pain shot through my right knee. It was the chronic joint pain I had developed when I was twelve, after falling into an icy creek while gathering wild herbs in the high desert. Whenever the weather turned damp or I grew exhausted, the pain in my bones became almost unbearable. I limped back to my room and pulled open my nightstand drawer, searching for the herbal patches I had bought to manage the pain. But the drawer was completely empty. All ten boxes of the specialized patches I had purchased with my own meager savings were gone. Sweating from the pain, I limped back to the living room. My eyes swept over Monica’s open suitcase, and there, tucked into a side pocket, were the familiar brown paper boxes. I walked over, reaching out to reclaim my medication. Before my fingers could touch the box, my mother delivered a sharp, stinging slap to my hand. My skin immediately began to swell and redden. “What do you think you’re doing? Those are Monica’s heating patches for the cold weather!” she snapped, shielding the suitcase with her body. I gasped from the pain, forcing myself to explain. “Mom, those aren’t regular heat patches. They contain raw aconite and thunder god vine root. It’s a high-potency prescription herbal patch specifically formulated for severe joint pain!” “If someone without the condition uses them, they can cause severe skin ulcerations and even systemic toxicity!” “Stop making up these ridiculous stories!” Wyatt sneered, standing up to block me. “Evelyn, you really will resort to any lie just to steal from Monica, won’t you? Monica is going to a freezing place like Iceland. If she gets cold because of you, can you even afford to make it up to her?” Monica leaned back against the cushions, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Evelyn, if you’re really going to fight me over a few heating patches, I’ll give them back. I know I’m just an outsider in this family anyway…” “Monica, don’t say that! These belong to you!” my father declared, turning a furious glare on me. “Get back to your room! Get out of our sight!” Looking at their stubborn, united front, I decided to stop fighting. Even if I told them the absolute truth, they would only see it as a malicious lie. I pulled my throbbing hand back and let the pain in my knee burn. I turned and limped back to my room without another word. If Monica chose to burn her skin off with those patches, she would have no one to blame but herself. Two days later, we had to go to the agency to verify our fingerprints. When I walked out of the house with my documents, they were already sitting in the family SUV. I walked up to the window and looked inside. The butler sat in the passenger seat, and the four of them occupied the remaining rows. The spacious cargo area and the footwells were completely packed with Monica’s carry-on bags and makeup cases. There wasn’t a single inch of space left for me. “There’s no room in the car,” my father said, rolling down the window with a frown. “And your cheap canvas bag will scratch Monica’s leather suitcases.” “Then how am I supposed to get there?” I asked, my voice flat. “Figure it out yourself! Find a rental bike outside the estate, or walk to the subway station!” my father snapped impatiently. “We are on a tight schedule. Do not be late!” The window rolled up, and the driver hit the gas. The tires rolled through a muddy puddle, splashing dirty water all over my face and my cheap jacket. I stood in the driveway, wiping the mud from my eyes as I watched the vehicle disappear. The very last spark of hope I had held for this family died in that puddle. The damp wind bit through my clothes. I didn’t search for a bike, and I didn’t walk to the subway. I turned around and walked back into the empty house. My body was shaking from the cold, and my throat felt dry. I went to the kitchen, poured a glass of cold water, and swallowed two cold tablets. The bitter taste coated my tongue, but it was nothing compared to the bitterness in my heart. My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a notification from the family group chat. Five minutes ago, they had arrived at the airport lounge. The chat was flooded with photos: Monica eating pastries, Wyatt adjusting his camera lenses, and my mother discussing the premium travel insurance she had purchased for Iceland. Not a single person asked if I had found a ride, or if I was caught in the rain. I turned off the screen and went back to my dark room. Since I wasn’t going with them, it was time for me to leave. I knelt on the floor and pried away a loose piece of the baseboard under my bed. Hidden inside was a small iron box. This was the only piece of my past I had brought from the desert: a collection of hand-written folk songs my late adoptive mother, Martha, had penned for me, and her old, worn pocket watch. It was the only thing that had kept me going through three years of isolation in this house. But when my hand reached into the dark space, my fingers met nothing but cold, empty air. The box was gone. A sharp ringing sound filled my ears, and my heart seemed to stop. I bolted out of the room, running up the stairs toward the source of some faint noise on the second floor. When I reached the top of the stairs, my legs went rigid. Wyatt was standing in the hallway, throwing a paper airplane made from a sheet of yellowed paper. I could see Martha’s neat, looping handwriting covering the wings. Monica stood in front of the full-length mirror, a heavy metal chain around her neck. Suspended from the bottom of the chain was my adoptive mother’s old pocket watch. The glass cover of the watch had been crudely pried off, the delicate hands and face ripped out to expose the bare, gold gears. She was displaying it to Wyatt as if it were a trendy “steampunk” accessory. “You have to admit, Wyatt, this old junk actually looks incredibly chic once you modify it,” Monica said with a smirk. “What are you doing?!” I screamed, my eyes turning red with fury as I lunged toward them. My mother walked out of the adjacent room holding a pair of scissors, her brow furrowing in irritation. “What is all this screaming about? Your room was full of dusty, moldy garbage that made the entire first floor smell like a gutter. I had the maids clean it out. Is there a problem with that?” “That was my mother’s legacy! You stole it! You destroyed it!” My body was shaking so violently I could barely speak. I reached for the chain around Monica’s neck. “Give it back to me!” “Evelyn, are you insane?!” Wyatt yelled, stepping in front of Monica and shoving me back with all his force. “It’s just a piece of old brass! It’s an honor that Monica even wants to wear your trash! Why are you acting like a hysterical wild animal over a piece of garbage?” Monica shrank back, putting on a display of terror as tears spilled from her eyes. “Evelyn, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know this was so important to you. I’ll give it back, please don’t hurt me…” She fumbled with the clasp, her hands shaking, and the delicate watch slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the hardwood floor. As she tried to step back, her heavy designer boot landed directly on the exposed gears. A sharp crunch echoed through the hallway. The delicate inner workings of the watch were crushed into unrecognizable fragments. My breath caught in my throat. A dull, heavy pain bloomed in my chest, so intense that no tears could fall. “You ungrateful brat!” my father roared as he strode up the stairs, having heard the noise. He pointed a finger at my face, his expression contorted with rage. “You would threaten your own sister over a piece of country trash? You have completely humiliated this family!” “Guards! Lock her in the basement storage room! No one is to let her out until she learns how to behave!” Two burly security guards stepped forward, grabbing me by the arms and dragging me down the stairs. I didn’t fight them. My hand was clenched tightly around the sharp shards of glass I had gathered from the floor, the blood dripping from my palm and staining the white hallway carpet. The heavy metal door slammed shut, plunging the basement into absolute darkness. From upstairs, the faint sound of their laughter drifted down as they discussed what outfits they would wear to see the northern lights. I leaned against the cold stone wall and slid slowly to the floor. Over the next three days, the family acted as if I didn’t exist. Only the maid came once a day, sliding a piece of stale bread and a half-filled bottle of water under the door, as if she were feeding an animal. They were using isolation and physical confinement to force me to beg for their forgiveness. But they had entirely miscalculated. On the third evening, the sound of the front door closing echoed from upstairs. Tonight was the eve of their departure for Iceland. The family had booked the most exclusive restaurant in Boston to host a grand send-off celebration for Monica. The estate was finally completely silent. I pulled a bobby pin from my hair. Using the skills I had developed during my years in the dry country, and guided by the faint light of my phone’s low-battery screen, I manipulated the mechanism of the lock. With a soft click, the heavy padlock fell open. When I walked back up to the first floor, I didn’t call the police, and I didn’t wait to confront them. I walked into the living room, gathered every single piece of clothing and jewelry the Presleys had bought for me, along with our family portraits, and threw them into the fireplace, watching them burn to ash. I pulled the SIM card from my phone, snapped it in half, and tossed the device into the deep waters of the garden pond. Finally, I picked up the worn canvas bag I had brought with me from the desert three years ago. Fourteen hours later, I was sitting near the window of a long-distance train, watching the green hills fade into the endless, sun-baked plains of the Southwest. The wheels clattered against the iron rails, a rhythmic, beautiful sound that carried me away from my prison. The Presley family could keep their biological daughter’s title. I was going home.

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1 In my third year as a maid for the ultra-wealthy Sinclair family, I suddenly gained the ability to hear thoughts. The first voice belonged to matriarch Eleanor, walking toward her husband’s medical suite with saffron consommé. I’m moving early. Pin the murder on the maid. Not a dime for that little bitch. I nearly dropped the mop, hands sweating. Then younger daughter Julie sauntered down the stairs, flashing a sweet smile. Her inner voice sneered: In my past life, this stupid maid took the fall. I’ll use her again. I froze, neck hairs prickling. Head butler Arthur brushed past, his thoughts cold: Kill these two, frame the maid, forge a DNA test, and take the Sinclair fortune. The water glass in my hand shook violently. None knew Richard Sinclair, the patriarch lying in the suite, had a steady heartbeat. His mind roared: This life, I’ll find who tried to kill me! Four reincarnated people. Three murder plots. All aimed to make me the scapegoat. Since they wanted me dead, I’d strike first. … “Ivy, you psychotic, venomous bitch! How dare you poison Mr. Sinclair’s broth!” Eleanor’s shrill voice pierced the quiet of the mansion like acrylic nails gouging a chalkboard. A gold-rimmed bone china bowl flew right past my scalp and shattered violently against the wall behind me. The thick, golden broth splattered all over my uniform. I stood completely still. My fingers gripped the handle of the mop so hard my knuckles turned white. Ten minutes ago, I had heard Eleanor’s thoughts. To get ahead of her game, I had already swapped the poisoned consommé for a bowl of plain mushroom broth. The actual poisoned soup was currently sitting quietly in my insulated thermos, waiting to be used as hard evidence. But I never expected Eleanor to skip the lab tests entirely and just sentence me on the spot! Flanked by two heavily muscled bodyguards, Eleanor aggressively backed me into a corner. “I saw you sneaking around the kitchen with my own two eyes! You touched the serving pot!” “Spit it out! What kind of lethal filth did you put in there?” I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm as I met her vicious glare. “Ma’am, I did not poison anything. That was just an ordinary mushroom broth.” “If you do not believe me, you can call the doctor right now to test the puddle on the floor!” Eleanor’s heavily contoured face twisted in pure rage. Her inner voice immediately rang out, frantic and malicious. [This dumb maid actually dares to talk back? Whatever, I was the one who poisoned it anyway. Whether it was saffron or mushrooms, she is not walking out of here on her own two feet today!] Eleanor let out a cold sneer and raised her hand, slapping me hard across the face. “You still dare to make excuses? You were the only one in the kitchen. If it wasn’t you, who else could it be?” The force of the slap was brutal. Stars danced in my vision, and the heavy, metallic taste of blood instantly flooded my mouth. The surrounding staff were too terrified to even breathe, all of them keeping their heads down as they backed away. Right at that moment, light footsteps echoed from the stairs. Julie walked down wearing a pure silk slip dress. “Mom, what is going on? Why are you so angry?” She covered her mouth, pretending to be absolutely horrified. But when her gaze shifted to me, her eyes gleamed with a sick, twisted excitement. Her thoughts were colder than a viper’s. [In the last life, this stupid maid took the fall. She is just as dumb this time around.] [Since the old bat has already started the show, I might as well add some fuel to the fire and weld this crime to the maid’s back for good!] Julie hurried over to her mother, gently rubbing Eleanor’s back to calm her down. “Mom, Ivy might have sticky fingers sometimes, but she wouldn’t have the guts to kill someone, right?” “Why don’t we search her room first? Maybe there is just some big misunderstanding.” I snapped my head up, staring at Julie in disbelief. Sticky fingers? She was blatantly framing me in front of everyone! My voice cracked from panic. “Julie, why are you making things up? I have never stolen a single cent from this house!” Before I could defend myself any further, the butler, Arthur, emerged from the hallway corner like a ghost. His wrinkled face was completely stiff, his eyes terrifyingly dark. A thought flashed through his mind, plunging me into a bath of ice water. [Make a scene. The bigger the better. Once I get rid of these two women and pin it on the maid, the Sinclair family’s billion-dollar empire will be all mine.] Arthur walked up to Eleanor and offered a slight bow. His tone carried undeniable authority. “Ma’am, Julie is right. For the absolute safety of Mr. Sinclair, we must thoroughly search the maid’s quarters.” “I have already sent the security team to look. We should have results momentarily.” A loud ringing echoed in my ears. It felt like a massive boulder was crushing my chest. This was not a spur-of-the-moment accusation. They had cast an inescapable net! Four people, three venomous plots, and their target was surprisingly unanimous. They all wanted me to die as the scapegoat! My face twisted in sheer desperation as I tried to push my way out. “This is illegal! I didn’t poison anyone, and you have no right to search my private property!” “If you touch my things, I am calling the cops right now!” Eleanor looked at me as if I had just told the funniest joke in the world. She eyed me with pure disdain. “The cops? In this house, my word is the law!” “Hold this crazy bitch down!” The two bodyguards lunged forward like hungry wolves, aggressively twisting my arms behind my back. I struggled wildly. My knees slammed into the freezing marble floor so hard my bones cracked under the pressure. A few minutes later. A young maid ran out from the direction of my room, looking absolutely frantic. She held a small white plastic bottle high in the air, her voice trembling. “Ma’am! Mr. Arthur! We found this hidden under Ivy’s mattress!” “The label is entirely in Cyrillic, but it looks like some kind of highly toxic chemical!” My pupils shrank as I locked eyes with the bottle. That wasn’t mine! I didn’t even know how to read Russian! Julie covered her lips, letting out a wildly exaggerated gasp. “Oh my god. Ivy, you were actually hiding lethal poison in your room?” “My father treated you so well. How could you be so evil?” Eleanor reached her boiling point. She snatched the bottle and smashed it brutally against my forehead. “The evidence is right here! What else do you have to say for yourself now?” “I am going to beat you to death today, you murdering little slut!” Her sharp manicured nails dug deep into my flesh, the searing pain making my whole body violently shake. I forced my head up. Tears and fresh blood mixed together, blurring my vision. Through gritted teeth, I glared at their hypocritical faces. “That bottle is not mine! Someone planted it!” “You haven’t even checked it for fingerprints! You can’t just declare me guilty based on nothing!” Arthur let out a cold laugh. He walked slowly toward me, looking down at me from his high horse. “Ivy, we have witnesses and physical evidence. Are you still going to be stubborn?” “Take her down to the wine cellar. Lock her up until Mr. Sinclair wakes up to deal with her.” 2 The cellar was freezing and damp, the air thick with the pungent smell of mildew. The two bodyguards dragged me in like a dead dog and threw me heavily onto the cold concrete floor. My forehead was still steadily oozing blood, and half of my face had gone completely numb from the swelling. “You can’t lock me up like this! I am innocent!” Ignoring the agonizing pain, I scrambled up and threw myself at the heavy iron door just as it was about to swing shut. “There are cameras in the main hall! There are cameras outside the kitchen!” “Just pull the security footage! It will prove I never touched that bottle and I never poisoned the soup!” Outside the iron bars, Arthur’s footsteps paused. He turned around and offered me a spine-chilling, artificial smile through the metal grating. “Cameras?” He purposely lowered his voice, his tone dripping with mockery. “Ivy, did that hit to the head make you stupid?” “We had electrical maintenance this morning. All the cameras short-circuited and died half an hour ago.” My body stiffened. I stared into his completely lifeless eyes with pure horror. He had planned everything! A smug thought flashed through Arthur’s mind. [Idiot. I cut the power to the servers myself. Even if the cops show up, they won’t find a single thing.] [Just be a good girl and wait to die in here. Once those two women drop dead from the poison, I will send you straight to hell with them.] “You sick bastard!” I was shaking with rage. My hands gripped the iron bars so tightly my fingernails began to crack. “Arthur, karma is real! Do you really think you can play God?” He completely ignored my screaming. He simply turned to the bodyguards and issued a cold command. “Keep an eye on her. Until the Madam says so, do not even give her a drop of water.” With a loud metallic clank, the heavy lock secured the door, plunging the cellar into deathly darkness. I collapsed onto the floor in despair, gasping for air. Fear wrapped around my heart like a venomous snake, squeezing tighter and tighter. But I knew I couldn’t afford a breakdown right now. The second I gave up, I was truly dead. I fumbled around in the dark, forcing my brain to work at maximum speed. The poisoned consommé I had swapped earlier was still hidden in a secret compartment under my bed frame. That was my only wild card! If I could just get that thermos, I could prove Eleanor was the one who poisoned the soup! I don’t know how much time passed before the sharp clicking of high heels echoed outside the door. A blinding beam from a heavy-duty flashlight pierced through the metal grating. Julie stood outside in her silk slip dress, looking down at my pathetic state. “Tsk, tsk. Look at you, Ivy. What a pitiful sight.” She pinched her nose, unable to hide the sheer disgust on her face. “I actually feel a bit sorry for you. After all, you are just a maid working for minimum wage.” I cautiously backed away, glaring at her coldly. “What kind of sick game are you playing now, Julie?” She sighed and tossed a piece of stale, hardened bread through the bars. “What game? I just took pity on you and brought you a snack.” “All you have to do is confess. Just admit that you got greedy and wanted to kill my dad for a piece of the inheritance.” “I promise, when the cops get here, I will put in a good word for you so you get a lighter sentence.” She was speaking with such fake generosity. But in my ears, I could hear the most vicious, roaring thoughts echoing from the deepest, darkest corner of her mind. [Hurry up and confess, you stupid bitch! The second you sign that paper, I will have someone slit your throat in county jail!] [As soon as that old bat finishes her herbal tonic and dies from the poison, the entire Sinclair fortune will be mine!] My skin crawled. A strong wave of nausea hit my stomach. This twenty-year-old girl possessed a mind so twisted and evil it was beyond comprehension! I kicked the stale bread right back to the iron door. “Save your hypocritical acting, Julie.” I lifted my chin, meeting her gaze without an ounce of retreat. “I will die before I confess to something I didn’t do.” “Do you really think the filthy little secrets between you and your mother will stay buried forever?” Julie’s face dropped for a split second before she pointed her hostility right back at me. “You ungrateful piece of trash!” “If you want to die so badly, I will happily grant your wish!” She angrily kicked the iron door, turning to scream at the bodyguard beside her. “Tie her hands up! Let’s see how tough she acts then!” The two bodyguards unlocked the door and rushed in, violently pinning me to the ground. Thick, rough hemp rope was pulled brutally tight around my wrists, tearing my skin open. The pain was excruciating. Wearing a sinister grin, Julie stepped closer and closer in her expensive heels. She raised her foot, bringing the sharp stiletto heel down hard on the back of my hand, grinding it into the concrete. “Ah!” A blood-curdling scream ripped from my throat. Tears poured uncontrollably down my face. “Scream! Keep screaming!” Julie laughed like an absolute maniac. Her voice was laced with a twisted, sadistic pleasure. “In this house, if I say you are the killer, you are the killer!” “You are nothing but a dog meant to take the fall for me!” 3 The searing pain nearly made me pass out, but I bit down hard on my lip, refusing to let out another cry. I stared at Julie’s distorted, overly excited face, etching her cruelty into my memory. Just as she raised her foot to stomp on my other hand, a piercing, high-pitched alarm echoed from the second floor! It was the critical alert from the private medical suite! Julie froze mid-motion. “What is going on? Is the old bastard finally dead?” She scrambled toward the stairs, running so fast she lost one of her heels and didn’t even bother to pick it up. The two bodyguards exchanged nervous glances, immediately letting me go to chase after her. I lay on the freezing concrete, taking deep, jagged breaths. The back of my hand was a mangled mess of blood and torn skin. The medical alarm? Something happened to Mr. Sinclair? No, that was impossible! I distinctly remembered that the man lying in that bed had a heartbeat as steady as an athlete’s. He was playing possum! This sudden alarm had to be his doing. He was drawing the snakes out of the grass! A few minutes later, chaotic footsteps thundered on the stairs again. “Drag that venomous bitch up here!” Eleanor’s hysterical screech tore through the floorboards. Like a broken ragdoll, I was dragged all the way up the cellar stairs and tossed into the grand, luxurious living room. The massive crystal chandelier blinded me for a second. The family doctor, Dr. Harding, stood in the center of the room, sweating profusely while clutching a freshly printed medical report. “Ma’am, Mr. Sinclair’s blood work suddenly showed extreme abnormalities. He is showing signs of imminent organ failure!” “This is absolutely a reaction to heavy metal poisoning!” The moment the words left his mouth, Eleanor charged at me like a wild animal. She grabbed a fistful of my hair and slammed my head brutally against the solid marble coffee table. “You bitch! What did you feed him! Give me my husband back!” A sickening thud echoed through the room. The wound on my forehead split open again. Fresh blood ran down the bridge of my nose and into my mouth, the salty, copper taste making me want to gag. My head was spinning, but I used every ounce of strength I had left to scream. “I didn’t do it! He has been on a feeding tube for days. The doctor mixes all his nutritional fluids. I don’t even have access to them!” I tried desperately to pull away from her demonic grip, my face twisted in panic. “Why are you trying to pin this on me, Eleanor? You know exactly what you did!” Eleanor’s movements hitched. A flash of panic crossed her eyes. Her shrill inner voice screamed in her head. [Did this little tramp figure it out? Impossible! No one saw me slip the poison in!] [No, I cannot let her keep running her mouth. I have to kill her right now!] She snapped her head toward the butler, her eyes wide with madness. “Arthur! Get the confession letter! Force her hand down and make her sign it!” “If anything happens to my husband today, I will bury her entire family with him!” Arthur remained expressionless as he pulled a pre-prepared legal document from his briefcase. He walked over to me, his voice as cold as iron. “Ivy, just sign it. It will save you a lot of physical suffering.” “Admit that you poisoned him because you were jealous of the Madam’s lifestyle, and the Sinclair family will at least leave you with a whole corpse.” Looking at the densely typed confession, I actually laughed through the pain. They had already written out the entire script for me! “In your dreams!” I spat a mouthful of bloody saliva right into Arthur’s face. “You are a bunch of murderers. Do you really think you can hide the truth forever? The police will figure it out!” Arthur slowly wiped the bloody spit from his cheek. His eyes instantly turned murderous. “You ungrateful piece of trash.” He raised his heavy leather shoe and kicked me squarely in the stomach. A violent spasm folded my body in half. I curled up on the floor, unable to even scream, only dry-heaving in sheer agony. Just as Arthur prepared to stomp on my fingers to force my signature, Julie, who had been watching coldly from the sidelines, suddenly let out a blood-curdling shriek. “Ah! It hurts! My stomach hurts so much!” Her knees buckled. She crashed heavily onto the floor, clutching her stomach as she thrashed around wildly. A second later, she gagged and violently vomited a massive pool of black blood! The pristine white rug was instantly ruined. Eleanor screamed in absolute terror, dropping to the floor and pulling her daughter into her arms. “Julie! What is wrong? Don’t scare Mommy!” Julie was convulsing, her fingers clawing frantically at her own throat, her eyes bulging out of her head. Her inner thoughts were a chaotic mess of pure terror. [What is happening? I only put the poison in the old bat’s herbal tonic! Why am I being poisoned?] [Did I… Did I drink from the wrong bowl? Help! I don’t want to die!]

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1 Five minutes before the freight train crushed me against the tracks, I somehow managed to dial my boyfriend’s number. Ten years in the future. “Tristan, help me… the train is coming…” A baby’s sharp cry echoed through the receiver, layered beneath Tristan’s tightly repressed fury. “Ariel, are you done? Milly just pushed out a baby, and you decide right now is the perfect time to put on this psycho act?” “Are you seriously trying to compete with a two-hour-old infant for my attention?” “I blew my early admissions interview for Yale ten years ago to save your life. Are you trying to ruin the life I have now, too?” Blinding white light pierced the darkness at the end of the tracks, stinging my eyes. Over the phone, Tristan was still mocking me. “Milly’s weak. I need to get her transferred to a private recovery suite.” “Ariel, I dragged your pathetic life back from the Grim Reaper himself ten years ago. I didn’t save you so you could use your life to blackmail and manipulate me today. Cut the crap. You make me sick.” The line went dead. Five minutes were up. I stared at the roaring, massive steel machine hurtling toward me, and a bitter, self-deprecating laugh escaped my lips. So, the boy who once traded his bright future for my life now saw me as a stumbling block to his happily ever after. If that was the case, I would just give it back. … I died on those tracks at the age of seventeen. Five minutes before my death, I had dialed the Tristan from ten years in the future. The thick hemp rope dug viciously into my wrists. My back was pressed against the freezing steel rails, sharp gravel slicing into my flesh. The wind howled across the barren field, carrying the sickening stench of wet rust and rotting mud. The automated voice from the distant station platform echoed through the night. “Approaching train. Five minutes.” Five minutes. I had exactly five minutes before I was pulverized into a stain on the tracks. Fighting through the agony, I scraped my fingers against the dirt until my nails tore and bled, finally nudging my old phone out of my jacket pocket. I knew Tristan’s number so well I typed it blindly on the cracked screen. The call connected. But the voice that greeted me wasn’t Tristan’s bright, familiar tone. It was the loud, piercing wail of a newborn baby. My mind went completely blank. Why was there a baby with Tristan? But the primal instinct to survive overrode my confusion. I opened my mouth, but the metallic taste of blood flooded my throat, choking my words into broken syllables. “Tristan, help…” “The train… it’s coming…” The line went dead silent for two seconds. Then came Tristan’s voice, laced with an icy, biting irritation. “Ariel, are you done?” I froze. It was his voice, but it wasn’t my Tristan. My Tristan would never speak to me with such venom. The tracks beneath me began to vibrate. A faint, rhythmic trembling that traveled through the steel directly into my spine. Time was running out. Yet Tristan was on the other end, interrogating me word by word. “Milly just gave birth. Her body hasn’t even recovered. Do you really have to pull this crazy stunt right now?” “What, are you jealous of a two-hour-old baby? Is that it?” Milly? A baby? The harsh wind stung my eyes, and tears spilled down my cheeks without warning. “No…” “Tristan, I’m tied to the tracks.” “The train is coming. It’s really coming!” “Please, call the cops, call anyone…” My desperate pleading was interrupted by a weak, feminine voice in the background. It was Milly. “Tristan, who is it? The baby is crying again…” Tristan’s tone instantly softened into a gentle cadence I had never heard before. “It’s nothing. Just an unimportant call. Don’t worry about it, just rest.” Then, his voice shifted back to absolute ice as he spoke into the receiver. “Ariel, ten years ago, I skipped my finals to save you. I lost my full-ride to Yale.” “Do you think ruining my life once wasn’t enough? Are you trying to destroy the life I have now?” Ten years ago? What did he mean, ten years ago? I was seventeen. So was he. That scholarship interview was supposed to be tomorrow. And Milly? Wasn’t she just the annoying sophomore who followed Tristan around, the girl he barely spared a glance? Why… The mechanical voice from the station drifted over again. “Approaching train. Three minutes.” A quiet voice in my head whispered the truth. Tristan didn’t want me anymore. I shook my head violently, trying to throw the terrifying thought away. No. Tristan wasn’t like that. My seventeen-year-old Tristan was the boy who carried me on his back through a torrential downpour when I had a fever, running two miles to the nearest clinic. The boy who shoved his last lunch card into my hand while he chewed on dry bread. The boy who, when I was cornered by local thugs in the alley, charged in with his backpack swinging, his eyes red and his voice completely hoarse from screaming. He had said, “Ariel isn’t trash.” He had said, “She has me.” But the Tristan on the phone was colder than the steel pressed against my spine. “Ariel, I am so completely sick of you.” “Milly is exhausted. I need to get her to a private suite.” “I snatched your life back from hell ten years ago.” “I didn’t do it so you could use it to threaten me today.” “Stop the act.” “You disgust me.” My blood turned to ice. The roar of the train was deafening now. So far away, yet terrifyingly close. A blinding sphere of white light erupted from the darkness, hurtling straight at me, so bright it burned my retinas. “Tristan…” I wanted to call his name one last time, but the phone only spit out a dial tone. Beep. Beep. Beep. He hung up. “Approaching train. One minute.” I lay alone on the freezing tracks. The violent shaking of the earth vibrated through my bones, the mechanical roar drowning out everything else. I suddenly remembered sophomore year. Tristan standing beneath the old brick school building, smiling up at my window. The afternoon sun rested on his shoulders. He looked so young, so full of unstoppable promise. “Ariel, once I get that Yale acceptance, we’re moving out East together.” “They have the best schools, the brightest city lights.” “I’m going to give you a real home.” Four seconds. Three seconds. Two seconds. The monstrous roar of the train swallowed the world. In the final second, I stopped struggling and closed my eyes in absolute despair. I’m sorry, Tristan. I guess I won’t get to see that home. … I didn’t feel any pain. When I opened my eyes again, I was floating in the sterile, blindingly white hallway of a hospital. A newborn’s cry echoed from a partially open door, piercing the quiet night like fine needles pricking the heart. I looked down at my hands. They were translucent. I was dead. I had died at seventeen, crushed on those tracks. Yet my soul had somehow drifted ten years into the future. Through the crack in the door, I saw Tristan’s tall frame blocking the entrance. He was gripping his phone so hard his knuckles were white, his face dark with suppressed anger. On the hospital bed, a pale Milly held a swaddled, wrinkled newborn. “Tristan, was it Ariel?” Tristan didn’t answer, but his rigid jawline was answer enough. Milly’s eyes immediately welled with tears. “Is she still mad at me? Mad that I… had your baby?” “I know she’s your wife.” Tristan rubbed his temples aggressively, his voice thick with exhaustion. “Stop overthinking.” “She’s just having another one of her psychotic episodes.” Floating by the doorway, I listened to them and slowly realized the truth. The man I had spoken to minutes ago wasn’t my seventeen-year-old boy. It was his twenty-seven-year-old self. My final, desperate plea for life was nothing more than another “psychotic episode” to him. My nose stung violently, but I couldn’t shed a single tear. Dead girls don’t cry. Milly looked down at the baby in her arms, fat tears dropping onto the blanket. “But I heard her mention a train…” “Tristan, what if she was telling the truth?” Tristan looked up. The dark circles under his eyes were heavy, making him look like a man who hadn’t slept peacefully in years. He stayed silent for a long time. Long enough that I actually thought he might run out the door to find me. But then he let out a cold, hollow laugh, dripping with exhaustion and mockery. “Ever since that kidnapping ten years ago, she’s used death to manipulate me.” “Slitting her wrists, swallowing pills, standing on the ledge of the roof.” “I am so sick of Ariel’s cheap tricks.” “She always comes home completely fine in the end, doesn’t she?” I froze in the air. Kidnapping? Slitting my wrists? Pills? I didn’t remember doing any of that. Did I somehow survive in this timeline, only to live another ten years as a deranged lunatic? A pathetic parasite who used self-harm to beg for a man’s attention? Milly bit her lip, asking softly, “Then… shouldn’t you at least call her back to check?” Tristan looked down at his phone screen. The screen was dark. The call had ended. He stared at my name for a long, long time, his grip so tight his fingers turned pale. Finally, he shoved the phone deep into his pocket with a ruthless finality. “No.” “It’s time she grew up.” Hearing those words, it felt like an invisible hand had carved a massive, gaping hole in my chest, letting the freezing wind howl through. The digital clock on the wall outside the room clicked forward. 2:05 AM. The exact minute I died. The exact minute I was permanently erased from his life. Tristan didn’t go to sleep right away. After the nurses moved Milly and the baby to a quieter private suite, he sat alone on a bench at the far end of the hallway. The hospital was dead quiet in the middle of the night. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. He hunched forward, burying his hands in his hair. His shoulders sagged heavily, radiating the aura of a man crushed under an invisible weight. The screen of the phone in his pocket lit up once. Then twice. No new calls. He finally pulled it out, opening his contacts and scrolling down to my name. Ariel. Underneath the name, there was a tiny sub-note. Little Liar. I drifted closer, watching his rough thumb gently trace over those two words again and again. I had no idea what had happened between us over these past ten years. But this older Tristan, who claimed to hate me to my core, still hadn’t deleted my number. He still kept a nickname that sounded more helplessly frustrated than truly hateful. 2:17 AM. Twelve minutes since my death. As if he couldn’t take the suffocating silence anymore, Tristan finally hit dial. “The number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable.” The automated female voice was utterly devoid of warmth. His brow furrowed deeply. He dialed again. Same result. A third time. A fourth. A fifth. He finally let out a low, frustrated growl, slamming the phone face-down onto the empty seat beside him. “Wow, Ariel. You’re really good at this.” “You even timed your silent treatment perfectly.” I crouched in front of him, looking up into his bloodshot eyes. “I’m not giving you the silent treatment.” “Tristan, I’m dead.” Of course, he couldn’t hear me. He just leaned his head against the cold hospital wall and closed his eyes. I wanted to reach out, to smooth the deep crease between his brows just like I used to. But my fingertips passed right through his skin. Nothing but thin air. Ten years ago, he stayed up all night with me in a hospital just like this. I had a violently high fever and was delirious. Tristan sat by my bed, wiping the sweat from my forehead with a warm towel over and over again. The doctor told him to get some sleep on the cot next door. He stubbornly shook his head. “If she wakes up and doesn’t see me, she’ll be scared.” Back then, his eyes held absolutely nothing but me. And now? Now, I was a cheap trick he was sick of seeing. An old, ugly scar he refused to look at. 3:00 AM. The hallway was so quiet I could hear my own heartbeat, if I still had one. A nurse rolled a cart into Milly’s room to change her dressings. Tristan practically shot up from the bench, following the nurse inside so fast he created a gust of wind. I floated by the door, watching him. The nurse was about to pick up the baby to weigh her, but Tristan stepped in front of her. With agonizing caution, he scooped the tiny, wrinkled bundle out of the bassinet. He looked ridiculously awkward. His arms were stiff, his back rigid. He held the infant like an active bomb rather than a fragile human being. But beneath that clumsiness was an overwhelming, tender care. Milly watched him from the bed, her eyes swimming with a gentle adoration I had never seen in her before. “Tristan.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Give her a nickname.” Tristan looked down at the tiny, featureless face bundled in the blankets. He stayed silent for a long time. Long enough that I thought he would refuse. “Hope,” he finally said. “So she stays safe. Always.” My soul shuddered violently. It felt like someone had nailed me to the floor. A memory from a distant summer afternoon flashed through my mind, back by the bleachers of the old high school track. I was swinging my legs off the metal railing, looking down at Tristan as he filled out a calculus worksheet. “Tristan, if we ever have a baby, what would you name her?” His pen didn’t stop moving. “Hope.” “Why?” He finally looked up at me. The afternoon sun caught in his eyes, making them shine impossibly bright. “Because you’re always getting into trouble.” “I want you to be safe. I want to have hope.” He never forgot the name. He just gave it to someone else. When the sky began to lighten, Tristan finally went home. I followed him like a shadow, listening to the lock click open. A stagnant smell of stale air, prescription meds, and old takeout hit my face. The living room looked like it had been ransacked. The coffee table was cluttered with colorful pill bottles. Antidepressants, sleeping pills, and heavy sedatives I couldn’t even pronounce. Shattered glass glittered dangerously on the rug. Out on the balcony, the wind chime I had personally hung up was missing its longest string. The breeze slipping through the cracked window made it clank together in a discordant, broken melody. Our framed photo still hung on the wall. In the picture, I was wearing a pristine white sundress, smiling so hard my eyes were crescent moons. Tristan stood behind me, his hands resting awkwardly on my shoulders. He was trying to smile, but he looked completely out of his element. I forced him to take that picture on my seventeenth birthday. He said taking photos was stupid. But he still played along with my stupidity. The moment Tristan walked in, he dumped his jacket on the sofa, loosened his tie, and called out to the empty apartment. “Ariel.” Silence. He stopped taking off his shoes, his expression darkening inch by inch. “Stop hiding.” “I am not in the mood for your games today.” The apartment remained dead silent. Only the broken wind chime clanked stubbornly in the background. He frowned, striding aggressively into the master bedroom. The bed was perfectly made. The sheets were tucked in tightly without a single wrinkle. It looked like no one had slept in it at all. The closet door was slightly ajar. My half of the wardrobe was completely empty. The desk was wiped clean, save for a single, baby-pink notebook. My diary. Tristan stood frozen, staring at that diary for a long, long time. His back was as rigid as stone. Eventually, he reached out and flipped the cover open. Page one. The handwriting was mine, neat but slightly rushed. March 6th. Tristan didn’t come home for dinner again. I made his favorite beef stew. I waited from 6 PM to 11 PM. The food is ice cold. Milly posted a picture online. The caption said, “Late nights at the office are the hardest!” In the corner of the photo, there was a man’s hand. He was wearing the watch I bought Tristan for his birthday. He told me they were just coworkers. I believe him. But I still cried so hard I couldn’t sleep. Page two. April 12th. The psychiatrist says my PTSD is getting worse. I hallucinate. I constantly hear the deafening roar of a freight train right next to my ear. I have nightmares about the freezing steel tracks and the kidnapper’s sick laughter. I wake up screaming in the middle of the night, drenched in cold sweat. Tristan held me today and told me he was tired. Of course he’s tired. If he hadn’t given up everything to save me, he would be at Yale right now. He would be at the very top, living the dream everyone expected of him. Page three. May 20th. Milly is pregnant. She came to the apartment crying, begging me to let them be together. She said her baby couldn’t grow up without a father. I screamed at her to get out. I called her a homewrecker. But later, when I took the trash down, I saw Tristan gently guiding her into his car, hovering over her like she was made of glass. He looked up and saw me. His eyes were full of nothing but disappointment. Did I do something wrong again? Page four. June 1st. I asked for a divorce. Tristan’s eyes went red. He asked if I was trying to drive him into an early grave. He said, “Ariel, you owe me a life.” I finally understand. To him, I’m not his wife. I’m his unpaid debt. Tristan’s hand shook violently as he turned to the next page. Page five. July 8th. I dreamed about ten years ago again. If only I hadn’t made that phone call. If I had just died on those tracks, Tristan wouldn’t have missed his interview looking for me. He would have gone to Yale. He would be standing in the brightest, highest place in the world. He would have met someone who made him smile, someone who wasn’t a broken burden. If time could rewind. I would give my life back to him. The diary ended there. The last few lines were severely blurred by large, dried water stains. Like someone had been sobbing so uncontrollably they could barely grip the pen. Standing over the desk, the color drained completely from Tristan’s face. His Adam’s apple bobbed sharply. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. After what felt like an eternity, he let out a low, venomous curse. It was quiet and cruel, squeezed through gritted teeth. “Ariel.” “Are you really trying to use this garbage to make me feel sorry for you?” “When are you finally going to let me go?” I floated behind him, watching his broad shoulders tremble. In a voice only I could hear, I whispered. “I already let you go.” “Tristan, I’m already dead.” The clock on the wall struck exactly 7:00 AM. It had been four hours and fifty-five minutes since my actual death. A bizarre, terrifying realization dawned on me. The world of ten years ago was actively devouring all traces of my existence in this timeline. As if on cue, the edges of the diary under Tristan’s hands began to blur, turning transparent. The first line of text vanished. Then the second. Tristan’s pupils shrank to pinpricks. As if the paper had caught fire, he clawed at the pages, trying desperately to physically grab the fading ink. But the words dissolved like sand slipping through his fingers, leaving behind nothing but blank, empty paper. Panic finally hit him. A raw, visceral terror I had never seen on his face before. “Ariel!” Tristan spun around like a trapped, feral animal, tearing through the small apartment. “Come out!” “I know you’re here!” “Ariel, stop! This isn’t funny anymore!” He violently yanked open every closet door, kicked open the bathroom, and even tore through the storage bins on the balcony. Nothing. Every single object in the apartment that belonged to me was vanishing right before his eyes. My pink toothbrush by the bathroom sink faded into thin air. My fluffy bunny slippers by the front door vanished. The pink umbrella he always stole from me on rainy days was gone. Tristan stumbled backward, hitting the wall. He looked up at our framed photo. The girl in the white sundress had disappeared. Only he remained, standing awkwardly in front of a blank background, looking totally alone. “Impossible…” He muttered, his face ashen. His hands shook uncontrollably as he unlocked his phone and opened the gallery. The photo of us watching the sunrise at the beach was gone. The picture of me laughing in front of the ugly birthday cake he baked me was gone. The candid shot he secretly took when I fell asleep on his shoulder was gone. He scrolled frantically. Out of thousands of pictures, every single image containing my face had either turned blank or altered to show him entirely alone. Finally, at the very bottom, there was only a single, ten-year-old news screenshot. The headline was glaring and absolute. “Local 17-Year-Old High School Girl Killed in Kidnapping Incident.” Tristan’s phone nearly slipped from his trembling hands. He tapped the image, his eyes locking onto the date of publication. Ten years ago. July 8th. The article detailed the tragedy clearly. The victim, Ariel, age 17. Police reports confirmed her final, desperate call for help was dialed to her classmate, Tristan. The call status: Unconnected. By the time authorities arrived, they found nothing but bloody scraps of clothing and a shattered cell phone by the tracks. Tristan stared at the word “Unconnected,” his breathing turning into jagged, violent gasps. “No.” “I answered it.” “I know I answered it…” His mind was spiraling into chaos as the memory of last night’s call hit him with the force of a physical blow. My voice, trembling against the howling wind. “Tristan, help me…” “The train is coming…” What did he say to me? He told me I disgusted him. He told me to stop acting. He asked if I was trying to ruin the life he had now because ruining his past wasn’t enough. The horrifying truth finally snapped into place. My final wish, after ten years of agony, was to die on those tracks so I wouldn’t ruin his future. And now. My wish came true.

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