Author: Momo Chan

  • Two Seasons A Year Without You

    1 A week before my wedding, my best friend told me she had accidentally scraped my car and caught a minor traffic ticket that I needed to clear up. I logged into the portal to check the violation. The footage buffered for a second before revealing my best friend and my fiancé, locked in a passionate kiss at a red light. My hands shook as I pulled up the full dashcam video from that afternoon. “Jeff, are we really doing the right thing keeping Serena in the dark? You know how long she’s been dreaming of this wedding. She even dragged me along to pick out the venue. If she finds out we already got our marriage license, and that this whole ceremony is actually for me…” “Danielle, you’ve stayed by my side for years without a title just to protect her feelings. She’s the one who owes you.” Jeff’s voice was casual, completely devoid of guilt. “She gets the love, you get the legal title. I’d say that’s more than fair.” “Just coax her a little when the time comes. She’s an orphan. It’s not like she can survive without us.” My throat constricted, tight and burning. The tears I tried to hold back spilled over, dripping onto the keyboard. I sat frozen in the dead silence of the room for what felt like hours. Finally, I picked up my phone and dialed a number I hadn’t called in a long time. “Dad. I’m ready to come home. Let’s go ahead with the family reunion banquet next week.” The man on the other end gasped in pure joy. “Sweetheart, are you absolutely sure? Weren’t you worried it would make Jeff look bad? Even though he’ll still call me Dad after you two get married, you are my flesh and blood. He is just my adopted son. He could never outrank you.” He let out a hearty laugh. “This is perfect. We’ll announce your return, and then throw you the wedding of the century.” I choked back a sob. “I’m not marrying Jeff anymore.” “What?” My dad’s voice spiked in alarm. “Why? Sweetheart, I thought you loved him.” Before I could get another word out, a heavy hand snatched the phone from my grip. The device was hurled violently against the hardwood floor, the screen shattering instantly. The call went dead. I looked up to see Jeff glaring down at me, his face twisted in annoyance. Danielle hovered right behind him. “Serena, why the hell were you late for the dress fitting? Could you pretend to care about your own wedding? Danielle has been waiting for you all afternoon.” I slowly got to my feet, staring dead into his eyes. “Is the wedding really for me?” He froze. A flicker of panic crossed his face before he quickly masked it with irritation. “What kind of crazy talk is that? Have you been listening to stupid gossip again?” Watching him instinctively curl his lips into a lie, I simply closed my eyes and tapped the spacebar on my laptop. The dashcam audio filled the room. Jeff’s face drained of color. But Danielle reacted first. She stepped forward, her eyes brimming with sudden, perfectly timed tears. “I am so sorry, Serena. If you’re going to hate someone, hate me. I just loved Jeff too much.” The panic on Jeff’s face instantly melted into deep sympathy for her. He pulled Danielle into his chest, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders. “Serena, couldn’t you just pretend you didn’t know? When the day comes, you can still stand in the crowd wearing a gown. Just think of it as the three of us getting married together.” I slapped his hand away. “I’m not a prop in your sick little fantasy, Jeff. We are done. You can have her.” Jeff grabbed my wrist, twisting me back to face him. His grip was brutal, the pressure digging into my bone. He let out a mocking scoff. “What exactly are you throwing a tantrum for, Serena? You’re an orphan. If you leave me, who else is going to love you? You’ve had my heart for years. What’s the big deal about giving Danielle the legal title? She doesn’t even mind sharing, so why are you being such a brat?” Danielle looked up from his chest, her face the picture of victimhood. “Serena, I know I wronged you, but I can’t live without him. Just let me have this, please? I swear I won’t get in the way of your relationship.” Looking at her pitiful, trembling act, a wave of pure nausea washed over me. “Danielle, weren’t you the one who conveniently reminded me to check the dashcam?” She gasped, stepping closer to grab my hand, her voice cracking. “I didn’t… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I was completely exhausted by their cheap theatricals. I yanked my arm back to get away from her. But as I pulled away, Danielle’s perfectly manicured acrylic nails dug viciously into my forearm. The sharp sting made me flinch and pull back harder. Taking advantage of the momentum, she threw herself backward, hitting the floor with a loud, theatrical yelp of pain. “Serena, I know this is all my fault. Hit me if you need to, just please forgive us.” Jeff’s expression turned lethal. He shoved me back so hard I lost my footing, then dropped to his knees to gently help Danielle up. “What is actually wrong with you?” he roared. I hit the floor hard. Pinpricks of blood began to seep through the fabric over my scraped knees, and my palms throbbed. “I already told you, Jeff. I don’t want you anymore. Have a nice life together. You can stop performing now.” I held up my arm, exposing the fresh, purple crescent-shaped marks left by Danielle’s nails. “Or are you completely blind to the injuries on my body?” Jeff opened his mouth, a brief flash of hesitation in his eyes. Danielle immediately sagged against him, sobbing softly. “You know you’ve always bruised like a peach, Serena. A slight bump and you turn purple. I know you hate me right now, but please don’t use your condition to frame me.” The hesitation in Jeff’s eyes vanished, replaced by disgust. “Danielle has swallowed so much pride and suffered in silence for years just so you wouldn’t get hurt, and you actually have the nerve to frame her?” A bone-deep exhaustion settled into my chest. I turned around and headed for the door. “Like I said. Have a nice life.” Danielle’s tearful voice chased after me. “Jeff, she’s never going to forgive me. Let’s just give the wedding back to her. I can take it.” “Serena, stop right there!” Jeff barked. I paused and looked back at Danielle. “What exactly do you want from me?” Hidden behind Jeff’s back, Danielle flashed me a smug, venomous smirk, though her voice remained sweet and broken. “I just want your genuine blessing. Come with us to the bridal boutique.” Jeff stared at me with ice in his eyes. “Your buddy from the orphanage finally got a donor match for his kidney. He’s currently resting in the VIP suite at the Sinclair Holdings private hospital. As long as I say the word…” “Fine.” I cut him off. On the way to the boutique, Jeff clearly wanted to teach me a lesson. He carried Danielle in his arms, walking briskly ahead, leaving me to limp behind them on my bleeding knees. Their sickeningly sweet banter drifted back to me. “Put me down, Jeff. Serena is going to be jealous.” “You’ve been forced to walk in the shadows for years. My heart breaks for you. It’s time she learned a lesson so she stops acting like a spoiled brat.” My calves throbbed with every step, and a bitter ache spread through my chest as old memories crashed over me. Back in college, I had slightly twisted my ankle during a track event. Jeff had been out of his mind with worry, carrying me on his back all the way to the campus clinic. Danielle had sighed and said she was jealous. Jeff had laughed and told her to go find a man of her own. It turned out she did. She found mine. The bridal boutique appointment was booked under my and Jeff’s names. But when we walked in, Jeff was carrying Danielle. The sales associates froze. “Mr. Sinclair, which of these ladies is trying on the gown?” Danielle stepped forward and grabbed my arm. “Come on, let’s pick something out. It will be so wonderful when you stand in the crowd wearing a gown while Jeff and I say our vows.” The moment the words left her mouth, the associates shot me looks of thinly veiled mockery. My cheeks burned. “What kind of twisted drama is this? The main girl bringing the side piece to buy a dress?” “The main girl is way too soft. The mistress is basically marking her territory.” They weren’t whispering. Every word echoed in the lavish showroom. Danielle put on a pained expression like she felt so bad for me, but she didn’t say a single word to defend me. Jeff stood with his arms crossed, watching me intently. I knew exactly what he was doing. He was waiting for me to break. Waiting for me to beg. But I didn’t say a word. He let out a cold chuckle, grabbed Danielle’s hand, and led her toward the grand fitting pedestal, leaving me entirely alone in the crossfire of judgmental stares. I just stood there. I didn’t cry. It felt like I had completely run out of tears. A few minutes later, Jeff walked out. He looked at me with the absolute indifference one might reserve for a stranger. “I’m going to run to the pharmacy to get you both some ointment. Go in there and keep Danielle company. And drop the attitude.” The second the heavy velvet door clicked shut behind him, the fragile victim act vanished from Danielle’s face. She leaned back against the mirrored wall, crossing her arms, her eyes dripping with contempt. “What are you acting so high and mighty for, Serena?” “Yeah, I let you see that video on purpose. Jeff letting you stay on as his sidekick is a privilege. You should really learn your place in the pecking order.” I stared at her. This was the same face that once claimed she would take a bullet for me. “Why?” My voice was barely a whisper, though my knuckles were white. “Why steal your best friend’s fiancé?” She scoffed. “Steal? What do you mean, steal? He loves me more. That’s just a fact.” “You want to know the truth? I was so sick of watching you breeze through life. You never fight for anything, but you always get it all. The top grades, the center of attention, and Jeff.” “I even let you wear the horns while I sleep with your man, and you still act like you’re morally superior. Am I not a good enough friend to you?” Looking at the pure hatred in her eyes, I felt completely disoriented. When we first started college, she was this radiant, fierce energy that barged into my life. When girls in our dorm mocked me for not having parents, she was the one who stood in front of me. “If anyone says another word about her, I’ll ruin your life,” she had threatened them. When her cramps were so severe she couldn’t walk, I had carried her across campus in the freezing rain to the infirmary. She had rested her chin on my shoulder and mumbled, “I think I’m in love with you, Serena. Whoever you marry one day has to get past me first.” When she was failing her senior seminar, I dragged her into my project and did the work of two people just so she could graduate. All those memories. To her, they were nothing but garbage. I took a deep, shaky breath. My eyes stung. “Believe it or not, Danielle, you can have him. Keep the trash.” She burst out laughing. “Wow, I’ve known you for years and I never realized you were such a good actress.” “But it doesn’t matter. I always get what I want.” Before I could process her words, she grabbed my hand, forcefully yanked it toward her own face, and slapped herself hard. A sharp, violent smack echoed in the room. Five bright red finger marks immediately bloomed across her cheek. Tears streamed down her face in an instant, like she had rehearsed it a thousand times. The door swung open. Jeff walked in with a pharmacy bag just in time to see Danielle collapse to the floor, clutching her cheek and weakly grabbing the hem of my shirt like she was begging for mercy. He didn’t ask a single question. He just stepped forward and viciously kicked the back of my knees, forcing me to crash down onto the hard marble floor. “I can’t believe you,” he snarled. “You still don’t know your place, do you?” I curled in on myself, gasping for air as the pain radiated through my legs. I watched as Jeff tenderly lifted Danielle off the ground, opening the ointment he bought to carefully treat her cheek. Those same hands had wiped my tears. They had put bandages on my cuts. They had fastened the diamond necklace around my neck when he promised me forever. The absolute last shred of love I had for him popped like a cheap balloon, dissolving into dead, hollow ash. A moment later, his voice cut through the air, cold and authoritative. He pulled out his phone and waved it in my face. “Get on your knees and apologize to Danielle right now. If you don’t, I guarantee your precious brother gets thrown out of that hospital bed onto the street before you can even blink.” My phone buzzed in my pocket. A new message popped up on the lock screen. It was from my dad. “Sweetheart, don’t worry. I’ve already sent my private team to transfer your friend to a better facility.” I slowly pushed myself off the floor. Blood trickled down my shins, but I didn’t bother wiping it. I reached behind my neck, unclasped the rose pendant necklace, and tossed it right at his chest. When he gave it to me, he had said the rose symbolized a lifetime of loyalty, that I was the only one he would ever love. “Do whatever you want, Jeff.” His eyes flashed red with rage. Without breaking eye contact, he dialed a number on his phone. A few seconds later, his assistant’s panicked voice spilled from the speaker. “Mr. Sinclair! The patient… he was just transferred out. We have no idea where he went!” “What?!” Jeff roared. “Find him! Who the hell dares to mess with me in my own hospital?” He hung up and lunged at me, gripping my wrist like a vice. His tone shifted, suddenly dark and intrigued. “Well, well. I didn’t know you had it in you.” “If this is your sick way of getting my attention, congratulations. It worked.” “Now apologize to Danielle, and I’ll pretend none of this ever happened.” Looking at his dead-serious face, a dry laugh slipped past my lips. “Let me make this crystal clear for you, Jeff. You disgust me. I don’t want you.” I ripped my hand out of his grip and walked toward the exit. He instinctively took a step to chase after me, but Danielle quickly grabbed his arm. “Let her go. She’s just throwing a tantrum. The more you chase her, the more she’ll act out. Give her a few days. She’ll realize we’re doing this for her own good.” I went back to the apartment we shared and threw everything with his DNA on it into the dumpster. Love letters, hoodies, gifts, the matching coffee mugs we bought on our first anniversary. Every single piece of garbage. Without a second of hesitation. Then I packed my own bags and checked into a luxury hotel. Day one, he didn’t reach out. Day two, nothing. On day three, I was jolted awake by my phone ringing off the hook. Jeff had called me twenty times, mixed in with a few missed calls from Danielle. I debated for a second, then finally hit accept. “Who gave you permission to move out?” His furious voice blasted through the speaker. “Get your ass back here right now before I really lose my temper.” “We broke up. Where I live is none of your business.” My cold response was met with the loud sound of glass shattering on his end. “I know exactly who’s backing you now! You think you’re so smart hooking up with some old sugar daddy?” “Don’t be naive. You think whoever he is can go toe-to-toe with the Sinclair family? I’m giving you one last chance. Three seconds. Are you coming back or not?” I froze. Did he think… my biological dad was my sugar daddy? Before I could even process the sheer stupidity of his assumption, he angrily hung up. A text pinged a second later. “You are going to crawl back and beg me. You’re going to realize that without me, you are absolutely nothing.” Thirty minutes later, an explosive anonymous post skyrocketed to the top of trending topics across every social media platform. The headline read: Columbia University Valedictorian Exposed as Serial Gold Digger, Playing Both Sinclair Father and Son. Attached were candid photos of me and Jeff from our college days, side by side with paparazzi-style shots of my dad’s private butler helping me arrange the hospital transfer for my friend. I stared at the screen, my fingers slowly curling into fists. A dark, quiet anticipation started brewing in my chest. The internet descended on me like a pack of rabid wolves. [Holy shit, this is wild. The hustle is real. If she put this energy into an actual job, she’d be CEO by now.] [This is just pure trash behavior. I bet the Sinclair men don’t even know she’s playing both of them yet.] [A valedictorian? Guess they don’t teach morals in the Ivy League.] The outrage snowballed. Hordes of trolls flooded my university’s official pages, demanding action. A few hours later, I received an email from the dean’s office. My valedictorian status was suspended, and my diploma was being withheld pending an investigation. Then, they doxxed my background. Once the internet found out I grew up in the foster system, the comments turned vicious. [No wonder she’s a sociopath. Trash origins make trash people.] [Stop donating to that foster home! If they’re raising girls to be homewreckers, who knows what else goes on in there.] I scrolled through the comments, one by one. Every word was designed to be a dagger, but strangely enough, I didn’t feel a thing. My dad texted me, his messages frantic with worry. “Princess, do you want me to release a statement? I will destroy that little punk.” I typed back calmly. “It’s okay, Dad. Just make sure the foster home gets extra security. The real show is about to start.” My phone rang. It was Jeff. His tone was dripping with arrogant triumph. “Well? Have you thought it through? Are you coming to my wedding tomorrow or not?” “Don’t worry,” I said smoothly. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” The day of the wedding. Backstage. Danielle leaned against Jeff’s chest, her voice perfectly pitched to sound like a fragile little bird. “Do you really think she’ll come? What if she actually hates me now?” Jeff stroked her hair affectionately. “Relax. Look at how miserable she is without us protecting her. Stop stressing, you are the most beautiful bride in the world today.” “If she doesn’t drop to her knees and apologize to you today, the internet will tear her apart.” The music swelled, and the ceremony began. Danielle walked down the aisle, her arm looped through Jeff’s. He looked like the perfect gentleman; she looked stunning. I stood in the shadows and looked around. This was the exact wedding I had spent months planning. The vintage lace gown was the one I had pinned to my vision board. The floral arrangements, the string quartet, the lighting—every single detail was mine. It was all mine. Except the man standing at the altar. Right as they exchanged rings, I stepped out into the light and began a slow walk down the aisle. The entire grand ballroom erupted into furious whispers. “Is that her? The audacity to actually show her face!” “Shameless. Look at her walking in here like she owns the place.” Standing on the altar, Jeff looked down at me with a lazy, victorious smirk. “I thought you actually had a spine,” he mocked into the microphone. “Glad you finally snapped out of it. Now hurry up and apologize.” I stopped at the base of the steps, looked him dead in the eye, and spoke clearly enough for the entire room to hear. “I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have delayed this inevitable union.” I smiled brightly. “A man who cheats on his fiancée, and a woman who stabs her best friend in the back—you two are truly a match made in hell. I realize my mistake now.” The crowd gasped in shock. Jeff’s face turned violently purple. He opened his mouth to scream for security— “That is enough.” A deep, commanding voice boomed through the speakers. The ballroom went dead silent. My dad stepped out from the VIP section, the crowd parting for him like the Red Sea. He walked slowly, his presence suffocatingly powerful, straight toward me. Someone in the front row aggressively whispered, “Oh man, Mr. Sinclair is about to destroy her. She slept with him to get to his son, and now she’s ruining the wedding? He’s gonna bury her.” My dad stopped right in front of me. He raised his hand. The same guest hissed excitedly, “Here it comes! He’s gonna slap her!” Instead, my dad gently wrapped his warm, steady hand around mine. He turned to face the hundreds of elite guests, the cameras, and the sheer silence. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried the weight of an empire. “Allow me to introduce Ms. Serena Sinclair. She is my biological daughter, who went missing eighteen years ago.” He slowly turned his gaze toward the altar, looking at Jeff like he was a piece of trash stuck to his shoe. “As for the boy on the stage…” “He is simply the charity case I adopted years ago.”

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  • Only One Flower Remains In The End

    1 The night of the World Cup final, my fiancé suddenly turned to me with a wager. “If France wins, I will add ten beachfront estates to your bridal gift.” His eyes gleamed with a reckless amusement. “But if they lose, Harper gets to wear the dress and walk down the aisle in your place in three days. Deal?” I barely had time to furrow my brow before Silas’s groomsmen started hyping him up. They laughed, calling him utterly whipped, joking that this was just another extravagant way to spice up our seven-year romance. After all, everyone in our circle firmly believed France was guaranteed to win. The smile on Silas’s lips did not waver. “So? Do we have a bet?” He had no idea that just ten minutes ago, I had accidentally overheard a private conversation between him and his best friend on the balcony. “Come on, man,” Carter had laughed, handing him a drink. “Even if you supposedly time-traveled from three years in the future, are you seriously that sure France is gonna choke?” Silas had simply exhaled a thick cloud of cigar smoke, his tone absolute. “Relax. I know exactly how this plays out.” He had paused, his voice softening into something nostalgic. “Bonnie gets the marriage license, but Harper gets the ceremony. It is the only way to make up for the biggest regret of my past life.” Hearing his voice pull me back to the present, asking for the third time, I finally looked up. “Deal.” My voice was quiet, almost airy. It did not matter anyway. I was already planning to change the groom. Hearing my definitive answer, a visible wave of relief washed over Silas’s face. Right at that moment, the sharp click of a key turning in the front door echoed through the penthouse. I did not need to guess who had a spare key to our home. It was Harper. She was the executive assistant who had been by Silas’s side the longest. And, according to his balcony confession, the ultimate regret he was determined to fix in this second life. The second she walked in, the guys immediately started teasing her about the ridiculous bet. The young girl’s cheeks flushed a brilliant crimson. “Come on, guys. Please stop messing with me.” Despite her shy words, the way she looked at Silas was entirely transparent. Her eyes were bright, soft, and entirely devoted. Silas instinctively shot a nervous glance my way, checking my reaction. If this were the past, my temper would have flared. Hearing a joke with zero boundaries like that would have made my face drop instantly, and I would have demanded everyone leave. But tonight, I just quietly took a sip of my sparkling water. I did not even blink. A tiny, almost imperceptible frown formed between Silas’s brows. Then, the referee’s whistle blew on the massive screen. The match had begun. For the next two hours, the room was consumed by the game. When the final whistle blew, the room went dead silent. Silas was right. France lost. The Netherlands pulled off a massive upset. The result was enough to shatter every sports analyst’s prediction, but no one in this living room seemed genuinely shocked. His friends exchanged knowing, exaggerated looks, flashing Silas discreet thumbs-ups. Silas wore a look of smug satisfaction, though he quickly masked it with a sigh of mock disappointment. He turned to me. “Well, Bonnie. You lost.” Before I could even open my mouth, Carter jumped in from the sofa. “Don’t tell me the bride is a sore loser now? You guys picked a vintage cathedral veil anyway. Once that thick lace drops over her face, nobody in the pews will even know who the bride is. Right, Bonnie?” I looked away from them, my eyes landing on the massive engagement portrait of Silas and me hanging on the wall. Suddenly, the vibrant colors of the photo just looked incredibly cheap. “You are right. I lost.” Every single person in the room smiled, except me. They immediately turned to Harper, their tones dripping with teasing ambiguity, telling her she better go home and get her beauty sleep so she could be a beautiful bride. Silas did not correct them. He did not defend me. He just smiled and walked them out to the elevator. When he came back, he naturally closed the distance between us, reaching out out of habit to pull me into his chest. I took a smooth step back, avoiding his touch entirely. “Are you mad?” He let out an amused breath. “You are going to be Mrs. Montgomery. You have to learn how to lose gracefully. Why are you throwing a child’s tantrum over a game?” He tilted his head, his tone softening into a coaxing purr. “Tell you what. I will personally cook your favorite truffle pasta tonight to make it up to you. Sound good?” Before I could answer, his phone buzzed twice in his pocket. Silas stood up instantly, his entire demeanor shifting. “Harper cannot get a cab. It is pouring out there, and it is not safe for a young girl to be alone this late. I am going to drop her off.” My throat felt tight, lined with sandpaper. I could not hold it in anymore. “Silas. Did you already know the outcome of that match before you made the bet?” His footsteps stopped dead. When he turned back around, his face was flushed with defensive anger. “I am not a psychic! How the hell could I have predicted an upset like that?” “I genuinely wanted to give you those estates. You just have terrible luck. You cannot blame anyone else for that!” He was always like this. Whenever he felt guilty, he overcompensated with volume and aggression. He slammed the door behind him. Perhaps he thought a loud exit would drown out the deafening guilt radiating off him. The impact rattled the walls, and our framed engagement photo slipped from its hook, crashing onto the hardwood floor with a sharp crack of shattered glass. I calmly walked over, picked up a pair of shears from the floral arrangement on the coffee table, and snipped my half of the photo right down the middle. With my free hand, I dialed my father’s number. “Dad. The corporate alliance is still on. But I need you to find me a different groom.” Years ago, Silas was just one of three potential heirs my father had selected for an arranged marriage. Back then, I believed love was more toxic than poison. I had personally watched my mother catch my father in bed with his secretary. I watched her deteriorate from an elegant, soft-spoken socialite into a hysterical, broken shell of a woman. And then, I watched my father ruthlessly commit her to a psychiatric facility to protect his public image. I had built a fortress of solid concrete around my heart. But a younger, relentless Silas had forcefully torn a hole through it with his blatant, undeniable favoritism. He gave me his phone passwords without me asking. He reported his whereabouts constantly. He held my hand at every elite gala, proudly declaring to the world that I was his. He was incredibly wealthy and striking. Naturally, countless women tried to take a shortcut to the top through him. To give me total security, he had fired seventeen different executive assistants. So, I let myself fall. I watched myself sink into the illusion, entirely sober but willing. Everything changed exactly a year ago. My father demanded we finally set a wedding date. But Silas pushed back, claiming he needed to secure his absolute authority on the board of directors first. At first, I genuinely believed him. Until I walked into his office and saw his new assistant. Harper. My internal alarms started screaming instantly. With a single glance, I knew the dynamic between them was tainted. It was not a blatant, messy affair. It was a subtle, suffocating undercurrent of unspoken intimacy. When the three of us were in a room, his eyes would instinctively dart to her first. I caught the fleeting, panicked guilt in his gaze whenever I walked in unannounced. Harper wore a pair of diamond earrings that matched the exact designer collection Silas had bought for my anniversary necklace. Lately, the sickly sweet scent of her vanilla perfume always lingered on his suit jackets. One evening, I finally broke. I tried to gently express how uncomfortable their dynamic made me feel. That was the very first time he looked at me with sheer exhaustion and disdain. “Do you have any idea how many assistants I have fired because of your toxic paranoia?” he had snapped. “Seventeen. Seventeen women.” “Not a single one has lasted more than six months because you see ghosts everywhere. The entire corporate floor is whispering that my fiancée has persecution paranoia.” He rubbed his temples, his voice dripping with pity. “Bonnie, I seriously think you need to see a psychiatrist. Medically speaking, severe mental illness is hereditary…” I stood frozen in the middle of our living room, staring at the man I loved with absolute horror. “Is that… is that really how you see me?” Realizing he had gone too far, Silas let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Bonnie, look. If a wedding ring is the only thing that will finally cure your insecurity, then fine. Let’s just get married.” He made it sound like proposing to me was a charitable concession. An exhausted compromise to calm down a lunatic. I sat by the fireplace, methodically cutting up every single photograph of us. The first time we watched the sunrise on his yacht. The birthday he rented out Central Park for a private firework show. The time he tried to learn how to cook for me and nearly burned the kitchen down. When my hand started to cramp, I gathered the mountain of shredded memories and tossed them straight into the blazing fireplace. I watched them burn to ash. My phone rang violently. It was Silas’s personal driver. “Miss Astor! Mr. Montgomery got into a physical altercation at a bar. We are at the ER. Please come quickly!” By the time I arrived at the private hospital suite, Silas’s right arm was already encased in a plaster cast. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at Harper, who was sobbing by his knees. The young girl’s eyes were red and swollen. “Mr. Montgomery, this is all my fault. You would not have gotten hurt if you were not protecting me from those drunks.” “I was so terrified. What would I do without you?” Silas lifted his uninjured left hand and gently, almost reverently, stroked her hair. “It is not your fault.” His voice was a velvet whisper. “Stop crying. Be good.” Because of his movements, the collar of his hospital gown slipped open. Exposed on his chest was a faded, jagged scar. It was less than an inch from his heart. He got that scar years ago when a rival syndicate kidnapped me for ransom. Silas took a blade to the chest to shield me. Outside the ICU that night, covered in his blood, I swore to whatever God was listening that if he surBonnieed, I would love him unconditionally, just as fiercely as he loved me. Standing in the doorway now, a bitter laugh bubbled up in my throat. After all these years, he really had not changed. When he loves a woman, he is perfectly willing to throw his life away for her. It just was not me anymore. I took a deep breath and turned to leave. But the fabric of my silk coat caught on the metal door handle, making a loud, abrupt clicking sound. Both of their heads snapped toward me. The sheer panic that flashed across both of their faces was perfectly synchronized. Silas recovered first. He cleared his throat, nodding briskly at Harper, his tone shifting to formal authority. “You should head home and get some rest. We have a busy week ahead.” Harper nodded obediently, her cheeks flushed, a secret thrill dancing in her eyes. I had zero interest in spying on their twisted little romance. After she scurried out, the VIP suite fell into a suffocating, awkward silence. I stared at the scar on his chest. It looked so foreign now. “Silas. We are done. I am breaking off the engagement.” He froze. The silence stretched for two agonizing seconds before he let out a dry, exasperated chuckle. “Look at you. You are getting paranoid again. Are you really using a breakup to threaten me?” “Alright, fine. I will throw you a massive, private vow renewal the day we sign the marriage papers. Does that make you happy?” I opened my mouth, ready to explain that I was entirely serious. He cut me off, his voice dripping with impatient finality. “The bet stands, Bonnie. You agreed to it in front of all the guys. You need to learn how to lose gracefully, otherwise you are going to make us both look like fools.” I swallowed the heavy truth I was about to give him. “Okay. I accept the loss.” Since the groom was changing, I needed a new fitting for the wedding dress. As I sat in the VIP lounge of the bridal boutique, a painfully familiar voice drifted through the velvet curtains of the adjacent dressing room. “Silly girl, what is the rush? Once the seamstress takes in the waist on the ceremony gown, I will take you to shoot the bridal portraits.” “We will just shoot you from the back. We can display it at the entrance of the ballroom. How does that sound?” It was Silas. And Harper. So this was their unspoken, thrilling little secret from last night. They were going through the exhausting effort of altering my custom couture gown and shooting fake bridal portraits just to fully erase me from my own wedding day. Suddenly, a careless boutique assistant yanked open the velvet curtain dividing the suites. Silas turned and saw me standing on the pedestal, fully zipped into a breathtaking lace gown. He froze. A second later, a cold, mocking smirk spread across his face. “Bonnie, is this your new strategy? Are you planning to crash the venue in that dress just to humiliate Harper?” “Have you lost your mind? If two brides show up on that stage, the Montgomery and Astor families will become the laughingstock of the entire city!” If this had happened a month ago, his cruel words would have shattered me. I would have screamed, cried, and torn the place apart. But right now, I just felt a crushing wave of fatigue. “Relax. I am not wearing this dress for you.” Silas narrowed his eyes. “What exactly does that mean?” Before I could even reply, Harper started violently weeping into her hands. “Mr. Montgomery, Bonnie is furious with me! Is she going to force you to fire me? I cannot lose this job. My family needs the money. I… I should not take the bridal portraits anymore.” Silas did not even bother pressing me for an answer. He immediately wrapped an arm around Harper’s waist, pulling her toward the exit. “She lost the bet. Throwing a tantrum will not change anything. We will go find a different designer for your dress.” Right before he walked out the glass doors, he stopped and threw a dark warning over his shoulder. “If you keep acting like a psychotic child, I am going to delay signing our marriage license.” Once they were gone, I turned back to the towering three-way mirror. It was strange. The woman staring back at me had red, swollen eyes, but the smile on her face looked infinitely more tragic than if she were sobbing. The next afternoon, a phone call hit me like a physical blow. “Miss Astor! Your mother is having a severe violent episode. We need you at the facility immediately!” My fingers clamped around my phone, my whole body shaking. “How is that possible? Her doctors said she has been incredibly stable for months.” The head nurse hesitated for a few seconds. When she finally spoke, her tone was heavy with confusion. “A young woman came to visit your mother this morning. She brought a framed wedding photograph and showed it to her.” “She told your mother that for the last year, you have been maliciously sleeping with her fiancé and trying to destroy their marriage.” When I sprinted into the psychiatric wing, my mother was standing aggressively by the reinforced window. In her trembling hand, she clutched a massive, jagged shard of broken glass. Scattered across the linoleum floor were the shattered remains of a heavy wooden picture frame. I looked down. It was a bridal portrait. Silas and Harper. When my mother’s wild eyes locked onto me, they filled with the kind of pure, visceral hatred usually reserved for murderers. “You knew! You knew exactly what adultery did to me, and you still chose to be a filthy homewrecker!” “Why are you so utterly worthless?! I never gave birth to a cheap, shameless whore! Drop dead!” She lunged forward, wildly slashing the glass shard through the air. I could not dodge in time. The jagged edge sliced deep into my forearm, ripping open a massive six-inch gash. Flesh tore. Blood immediately poured down my wrist, dripping onto the pristine white floor. The orderlies rushed in, tackling her to the bed and securing the leather restraints. Even strapped down, she thrashed violently, her vocal cords tearing as she screamed at me. She used the most vile, venomous words imaginable to curse my existence, calling me an animal, a plague. After a nurse hastily wrapped my bleeding arm in thick gauze, I wiped the cold tears off my face. I bent down, picked up the torn wedding portrait from the glass-covered floor, and walked straight out the door. I drove directly to Silas’s corporate headquarters. When I pushed open the double doors of the executive floor, a crowd of employees was gathered around Harper’s desk. They were laughing, eating imported chocolates from a lavish pink box. “Congratulations on the wedding, Harper! Guess we have to start calling you the boss’s wife now!” “Obviously! She is the one walking down the aisle. As for that other woman, Mr. Montgomery is completely sick of her. Who could possibly tolerate a woman with severe mental illness?” “Right? The boss literally told security to stop letting her up here because she is bad for the company image.” Someone near the edge of the crowd finally noticed me. The group scattered like roaches when the lights turn on. Harper, completely unfazed, strutted toward me in her designer heels, her chin tilted in sheer arrogance. “What brings you to the office, Bonnie? Want me to see if Silas has time in his schedule for you?” She glanced at my pale face and the blood seeping through my sleeve. “You look terrible. A little mentally unstable, actually. I hear there is an empty padded room right next to your mother’s. Want me to make a reservation for you?” The image of my mother screaming in restraints flashed in my mind. I raised my uninjured arm and swung my hand back, aiming a lethal slap directly at her smug face. But a split second before my palm made contact, a massive hand clamped down on my wrist and violently shoved me backward. “Bonnie! Have you completely lost your mind?!” Silas’s grip was brutal. The violent jerk ripped my fresh stitches open. Thick, dark blood immediately bloomed through the white bandages, dripping onto the carpet. Silas froze, his eyes dropping to my bleeding arm. He instantly stepped forward, reaching for me. “How did you get hurt?” I forcefully slapped his hand away. I threw their crumpled wedding portrait squarely at his leather shoes. “Happy wedding, Mr. Montgomery. But I suggest you put your bride on a leash.” Without waiting for his response, I turned on my heel and walked toward the elevators. Silas instinctively took a step to chase after me, but Harper immediately grabbed his arm, burying her face in his shoulder. “Silas, she scared me so much.” The panic in Silas’s eyes was instantly replaced by protective anger. He wrapped his arm around Harper’s waist and guided her safely into his private office. Early the next morning, Silas’s groomsmen suited up in sharp black tuxedos and accompanied him to the luxury hotel suite to pick up the bride. They laughed and joked, drinking champagne as they went through the traditional morning routines. The atmosphere was electric and celebratory. The only anomaly was Bonnie. No one could reach her phone. Jax nudged Silas in the ribs. “Hey man, do you think Bonnie is actually pissed? What if she genuinely breaks up with you over this?” Silas let out a confident, mocking scoff. “Not a chance. That woman dreams of marrying me every time she closes her eyes.” Suddenly, a thought crossed his mind. What if she really did pull a stunt? Feeling a spike of paranoia, he quickly lifted the heavy vintage veil covering the bride’s face. It was Harper. For some inexplicable reason, a fleeting memory flashed through Silas’s mind. A memory from his past life. Bonnie, sitting on a bed in a white dress, looking up at him with shy, glowing eyes under this exact veil. He shook the ghost from his head and let out an exaggerated laugh. “Thank God. The bride has not been swapped. With how completely obsessed Bonnie is, I half expected her to sneak under Harper’s veil just to get to the altar.” The groomsmen erupted into roaring laughter. But right as the laughter peaked, a shocked voice echoed from the end of the grand hallway. “Holy shit. The Kensington heir is getting married today too? Look at this setup, it is insane!” “Wait a second… look at the bride on this poster…”

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  • All Fairy Tales Are Lies

    1 When the photographer called for us to pose, my graduation cap slipped off. I bent down to pick up the tassel. By the time I stood back up, my boyfriend, Andy, and our professor’s daughter, Molly, were already standing shoulder-to-shoulder dead center in the front row. The camera flash went off, freezing the exact moment they turned to smile at each other. Meanwhile, I was squeezed onto the absolute edge of the frame. It looked as though I was just a random pedestrian who had accidentally wandered into the shot. They were the golden couple of the law school. Andy was a once-in-a-century legal prodigy, and Molly was the heir to a massive legal dynasty. And me? I was just the invisible “nerd” who had barely managed to keep up with the curriculum by organizing Andy’s study notes for the last four years. Molly always loved to hook her arm through mine, her voice dripping with sweet condescension. “You are such a hard worker, Maya. Unlike me. I just rely on my dad for everything.” Then she would take the exact case briefs I had stayed up all night compiling and use them to completely dominate alongside Andy in our mock trials. Staring at that “picture-perfect” graduation photo being passed around the class, a bitter wave of irony washed over me. I was completely exhausted. I was done running on this rugged, miserable path trying to catch up to a genius. The graduation photo dropped into our class group chat, immediately followed by a barrage of exclamation marks. “They look like an actual power couple!” “Andy and Molly are literally the face of the law school!” “So gorgeous together!” I stood a few feet away from the laughing crowd, my fingertips turning ice cold. In the photo, half of my body was practically cropped out of the frame. Andy had his arm casually draped over Molly’s shoulder. She was tilting her head toward him, laughing, the sunlight catching the ends of her hair. It looked like a still from a movie. And there I was, awkwardly gripping my fallen cap, looking like a total outsider. The group chat kept pinging. Someone tagged me. “@Maya, why are you standing all the way out there? Quick, someone photoshop her closer to the middle!” Before I could even type a response, Andy replied in the chat. “Drop it, guys. Maya never really likes taking pictures anyway.” His tone was incredibly casual, as if my exclusion was just a totally normal, everyday fact of life. He was right. I didn’t like taking pictures. Because I didn’t like putting myself in any situation where I would inevitably be compared, because I always ended up looking pathetic and dim next to them. Molly immediately sent a voice memo, her tone deliberately dragged out to sound sweet and entirely innocent. “Yeah, guys! Maya has always preferred to stay out of the spotlight.” “But next time we take photos, we definitely have to stand together. I love Maya so much!” The second her memo ended, Andy sent a thumbs-up emoji in agreement. I stared at the screen for a few seconds, then quietly exited the chat. I scrolled through my camera roll. It was completely stuffed with photos of whiteboards, indexed case files, and legal precedent charts. There were even rough drafts of opening statements for mock trials. Over the last four years, I had taken ten times as many photos of legal documents as I had of my own face. I tapped on the top folder, titled Andy’s Criminal Procedure Outline. Inside were hundreds of pages of meticulously organized notes. The handwriting was perfect, every key argument color-coded and clearly annotated. Last semester, Andy had used this exact outline to score the absolute highest grade in the entire department. The senior partner teaching the seminar had praised him in front of the entire lecture hall. “Andy is not just naturally brilliant. His ability to synthesize complex case law is already at a professional level.” Andy had just smiled effortlessly. “I guess I just got lucky and managed to smooth out the logic.” He hadn’t mentioned me once. Not a single syllable. I closed my photo app, opened a delivery service, and ordered a premium eel rice bowl I usually couldn’t justify spending the money on. My phone buzzed. A text from Andy. “Maya, want to grab dinner tonight? Molly booked a table at that French place to celebrate our graduation.” I stared at the text. My mind flashed back to last week, when I was lying on a cot in the campus clinic with acute gastroenteritis, an IV drip in my arm. I had texted him asking if he could bring me a change of clothes. He didn’t reply for hours. “I’m super busy right now. Just go to the pharmacy and get some meds yourself.” While I read that text, I had looked out the clinic window and saw him standing by the library entrance, leaning in close and laughing with Molly. I opened the keyboard and replied to him. “No thanks. I already have plans tonight.” He replied almost instantly. “? Plans with who?” I didn’t answer. I just locked my phone and tossed it onto my bed. By the time my eel bowl arrived, the sky outside my dorm window had turned completely dark. I sat at my tiny desk, taking slow, deliberate bites. The rice was warm, the sauce was the perfect balance of sweet and savory, and the edges of the eel were slightly charred. It had been so long since I just considered myself. For years, every meal was dictated by what he wanted, or making sure the restaurant didn’t use anything he was allergic to. After I finished eating, I grabbed a stack of cardboard boxes and started packing. Four years’ worth of textbooks, legal pads, and reference materials filled several large boxes. The edges of some pages were completely frayed from being flipped so many times. The margins were covered in different colored highlighters. This was the physical manifestation of all my exhaustive effort. I used to stupidly believe that as long as I worked hard enough, I could keep up with his genius. My phone vibrated violently against the desk. Andy was calling. I hit accept. “Maya, where are you? Didn’t I send you the address?” The background noise was loud. I could clearly hear Molly’s bright, sparkling laugh through the receiver. “I already told you, I’m not going.” “What is your problem now?” His tone immediately spiked with impatient annoyance. “We literally agreed to this. Molly went out of her way to book the reservation…” I cut him off completely. “Andy. When are you going to give me back my bar exam prep binder?” The line went dead silent for a second. “What binder?” “My criminal procedure master outline from junior year. The massive one you took to study.” My voice was entirely flat. “Navy blue leather cover. The bottom right corner is slightly bent.” “…Oh, right. That one.” His tone immediately relaxed, returning to his usual casual dismissal. “I left it in my dorm. I’ll bring it to you another day.” “Don’t bother. I’ll come by tomorrow morning to pick it up myself.” “Fine, then just…” “Andy! Hurry up! Molly says the dessert here is amazing!” Someone yelled for him in the background. “Gotta go.” He hung up without another word. I listened to the dial tone for a second before sealing the final moving box with packing tape. That navy blue binder was sitting right on top of his desk, the bent corner worn white from use. Every single page in that binder contained hours of my life, sitting under a desk lamp until 3 AM, stealing glances at his handsome profile, quietly harboring a pathetic, desperate crush. I didn’t need to keep any of it anymore. The next morning, I walked over to Andy’s fraternity house. He wasn’t awake. He didn’t answer his texts, and his phone went straight to voicemail. I stood on the porch for twenty minutes before the heavy oak door swung open. Molly walked out. She was wearing a pale yellow sundress, her makeup absolutely flawless. “Maya! Are you here looking for Andy?” “Oh my gosh, he stayed out drinking with us so late last night. I bet he is still completely passed out.” She stepped closer, dropping her voice into a conspiratorial, playful whisper. “Don’t be mad at him, okay? You know how he is. He just values his friends so much.” I looked at her, my face entirely blank. I didn’t say a word. “Oh, right! He left this at the restaurant last night. Could you give it back to him for me?” She reached into her designer handbag and pulled out a silver cufflink. It was the exact cufflink I had bought him for his birthday last semester. I had worked double shifts at a coffee shop just to afford it. When I gave it to him, he promised he would wear it to every important event. Now, it was casually pinched between Molly’s manicured fingers, the polished silver smudged with dirt. “Thanks.” I took it from her. The metal felt ice cold against my palm. “No problem! Anyway, I have to run to the library. My dad is meeting us to go over our thesis drafts.” Molly flashed me a brilliant, gracious smile and practically skipped down the steps. I stood frozen on the porch, gripping the silver cufflink so hard the sharp edges dug painfully into my skin. It took another ten minutes before Andy finally stumbled down the stairs, aggressively rubbing his eyes. “You’ve been waiting forever, huh? The binder is upstairs. Give me a sec to go grab it.” He let out a massive yawn. He absolutely reeked of stale whiskey. “Don’t bother.” I held out my hand and dropped the cufflink into his palm. “I’m returning this to you.” “As for the binder… I’m not in a rush. Take your time looking for it. When you find it, just leave it with the front desk.” He froze, staring down at the silver cufflink. “Wait, why do you have this?” “Molly gave it to me.” “She…” Andy frowned deeply, then immediately smoothed his expression. “Whatever. It’s nothing.” “Maya, why were you so pissed off last night? Just because we didn’t eat dinner together?” I looked at him. The morning sun hit his face, highlighting the same sharp, handsome features I had memorized over the last four years. But right now, all I could see in his eyes was entitled confusion, mixed with the distinct annoyance of someone whose sleep had been interrupted. “Andy. Over the last four years… what exactly do you think I am to you?” He looked genuinely thrown off by the question. He paused for a long second before answering. “You’re my girlfriend.” “I mean… yeah, you’re a little slower on the uptake than the rest of us, but you work incredibly hard. I really appreciate it.” Appreciate it. The word felt like a sponge soaked in dirty water, slamming heavily into my chest, suffocating and dull. “Well, thanks.” I turned around and started walking down the driveway. “Hey! Maya! What about the binder?!” He shouted after me from the porch, but I didn’t turn back. A week later, I moved out of the dorms. The studio apartment I rented was a little run-down, but it got incredible natural light. I carried the heavy boxes of textbooks and legal pads up the stairs, stacking them neatly in the corner of the room. My phone lit up on the cheap wooden desk. It was a new email. The sender was Sterling & Vance, one of the most ruthless corporate law firms in the city. I opened it and read the text carefully. It was an official offer letter for a junior associate position. It detailed my starting salary and my orientation date for next month. This was the result of three grueling months of secret interviews and brutal assessments. I hadn’t told anyone I was applying. They had hired me based on a twenty-page legal brief I had submitted as my writing sample. I had written every single word of that brief entirely on my own. Andy hadn’t offered a single piece of advice or touched a single comma. I closed the email and walked over to the window. The street below was packed with people rushing to work, the sounds of traffic and coffee shop chatter blending into a chaotic rhythm. My mind drifted back to freshman year. During a brutal outdoor orientation event, I had passed out from heatstroke. Andy was the one who carried me to the shade of an oak tree and pressed a cold bottle of water into my hands. With the sun behind him, his forehead slick with sweat, his smile had been so bright it was almost blinding. After that day, I started clumsily orbiting him. Whatever concept he didn’t understand, I would spend hours in the library researching. Whatever study guides he needed, I would stay up all night compiling. I truly believed that making myself useful was the only way I could ever be close to him. My phone buzzed again. Molly had just updated her social media. It was a massive photo dump from a fancy dinner party. In every picture, Andy was sitting right beside her, leaning in close, his eyes entirely focused on whatever she was saying. The final slide was a picture of Molly holding up a glass of champagne, her smile radiant. The caption read: “So thankful for the best guy ever, Andy! And so proud of us! Here’s to crushing our future goals together!” The comment section was entirely flooded with likes and heart emojis from our classmates. I swiped out of the app and opened my text thread with Andy. The last message from me was from the morning on the porch: “Just leave it at the front desk.” His reply was: “Got it. I’ll find it and give it to you.” Nothing since then. I typed: “Did you find the binder?” A few minutes later, he replied: “Looking for it now. My room is a total mess.” Half an hour passed before another text came through. Another thirty minutes later: “Maya, are you free tonight?” “Molly wants to take you out to dinner. She says she hasn’t seen you in a while and misses you.” I stared at the glowing screen, my fingers moving slowly across the keyboard. “No thanks. Andy, let’s break up.” This time, he didn’t reply for a very long time. It wasn’t until 11 PM that a voice memo finally popped up. I tapped play. His voice was slurred with alcohol and thick with aggressive irritation. “Maya, what the hell is your problem now? Are you throwing a tantrum because I’ve been too busy to hang out with you?” “Or is this about Molly again? She is literally like a little sister to me. Are you seriously this insecure?” I cut the audio off halfway through and typed: “It’s not about her. It’s about us. We were never on the same level.” “What are you even talking about? Maya, stop trying to pick fights out of nowhere!” “Are you doing this just because I don’t baby you and beg for your attention like other guys do?” I suddenly felt deeply, overwhelmingly exhausted. My thumbs hovered over the screen, but ultimately, I just typed four words: “Think whatever you want.” After that, Andy went completely dark. He didn’t reach out once until the night before our final thesis defense. My phone buzzed. It was a text from him, as demanding and entitled as always. “Defense is tomorrow. Send me the final bullet points. You know the drill.” Looking at his absolute sheer audacity, I actually laughed out loud in my empty apartment. The thesis defense was the bloodbath of the law school. Molly’s father, the senior partners from top firms, and recruiters from Sterling & Vance would all be sitting on the panel. It was framed as an academic review, but everyone knew it was an elite drafting ground. Andy was absolutely determined to secure the associate slot at Sterling & Vance. I thought about it for a second, then replied: “Didn’t Molly already rewrite your rough draft for you?” “She is a genius. You definitely don’t need my notes anymore.” He replied in less than a second: “Stop acting like a child! Her draft is just a theoretical reference. Your notes have the core logical framework. Send the file right now!” Seeing his panic, I simply typed: “No. You’re on your own this time.” After that text, he called me frantically. I watched the screen light up over and over again, but I didn’t answer a single one. The next morning, less than thirty minutes before he was scheduled to take the podium, he sent me a massive block of panicked texts. “Maya, I’m sorry! Molly’s draft is complete garbage! It makes no sense!” “The Sterling partners are on the panel today! I cannot bomb this! Please, just send me the final logic framework! I am begging you!” I read his terrified, desperate messages. Then, I opened my laptop and created a brand-new Word document. I typed a single sentence dead center on the page, named the file Final Core Logic Framework, and emailed it to him. The auditorium was packed. I sat quietly in the back row, watching the stage with total detachment. When it was Andy’s turn, he walked up to the podium in a sharp, tailored suit, but his steps were visibly unsteady. He offered a stiff nod to Molly’s father on the panel, shot a nervous glance at Molly in the front row, and cleared his throat. “Good morning. Today, I will be presenting a completely new logical deconstruction of a highly complex corporate litigation case.” He clicked his presentation remote, took a deep breath, and opened the file I had just emailed him.

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  • I Thought It Was A Home, But It’s Just A Prison

    1 The day Bill and I completely fell apart, I unexpectedly received a video call from myself from eight years ago. The girl on the screen was standing right outside City Hall, her face flushed with excitement. When she saw Bill and me together in the frame, she let out a thrilled scream. “Look! We’re still together eight years from now! Bill, don’t you dare give up on her!” Beside her, the younger version of Bill shifted nervously, his eyes wide with a mixture of hope and anxiety. “Did I actually make something of myself?” he whispered, staring at the camera. “Did I finally give you the life you wanted?” Eight years ago, Bill was dirt poor. My parents had sneered at his empty pockets and treated him like absolute garbage. To marry him, I had climbed out of my second-story bedroom window, breaking my leg in the fall, just to run away with him. “You worked so hard,” I told him, my voice tight. “Now, thousands of people depend on you for their livelihood. You’re a titan in your industry.” A bright, triumphant smile broke across the young boy’s face. “If my math is right, are you two heading out to celebrate our anniversary?” I slowly shook my head. I angled the camera down, focusing on the official divorce papers in my hand, before panning slowly to the glamorous, delicate woman clinging to Bill’s other side. “Bill. Eight years later, you don’t love me anymore.” Before the young couple could process my words, a hand violently snatched my phone. “Crack!” The screen shattered against the concrete, spiderwebbing into a thousand frozen fractures. The video call abruptly cut to black. “Is this really necessary?” Bill sneered, his voice dripping with impatience. “It’s just a temporary divorce to shield Tessa from the media. Did you seriously hire an AI team to play along with this pathetic drama?” “Rachel, don’t push me!” Last week, on my birthday, Bill hadn’t come home. I had dialed his number dozens of times, only to be met with endless ringing. The very next morning, intimate photos of him and Tessa, his newly signed actress, whispering in a hot spring resort, went viral. When the reporters cornered me, shoving microphones into my face, I didn’t play the dutiful, silent wife as Bill had expected. Instead, I exposed everything. I told the press how Tessa had been chasing wealthy older men since her college days. The public went wild. Tessa was instantly branded a homewrecker and faced a massive online boycott. Bill’s immediate reaction was to punish me. “Tessa is an orphan,” he had argued, his eyes flashing with anger. “She had to take some dark paths just to survive in the past. But that doesn’t give you the right to tear open her wounds in public.” “This divorce is your lesson. Consider it your apology to her.” Bill didn’t even look at me now. He casually handed the divorce papers to Tessa to hold. “I’ll have the PR department draft a statement shortly,” he murmured to her, his voice softening. “We’ll hire some accounts to clear your name. Don’t worry, sweetheart. No one will call you a mistress again.” Tessa snuggled deeper into his chest, her eyes sparkling with the starry-eyed adoration of a twenty-something girl. “You’re so good to me, Bill.” I bent down and picked up my shattered phone, my face expressionless. I simply held out my hand to him. “A screen replacement is three hundred dollars. Plus travel and missed work, make it six hundred.” Bill’s brow furrowed in disgust. I shifted my gaze to the bespoke silk gown Tessa was wearing. “Nice taste. You managed to find the most expensive item in my closet. That makes it twenty thousand and six hundred dollars in total.” Tessa’s eyes widened in disbelief. “A stupid dress is worth twenty grand? From the moment we started talking about divorce yesterday, all you do is bring up money. And you claim you aren’t after Bill’s fortune?” I didn’t bother replying to her. I just stared at Bill. From my knee to my ankle, there was a jagged, raised scar. I had gotten it eight years ago, when I climbed out of that window to run away with him and got snagged on a rusted wire fence. Since that day, I had stopped wearing short skirts. Back then, whenever Bill touched that scar, he would weep, promising to make it up to me. When he made his first million, he commissioned a renowned atelier in Florence to hand-embroider this very gown. It took a team of master tailors half a year to finish. It was too precious. In eight years, I had only worn it once. Bill’s lips twitched. He pulled out his phone and instructed his assistant to wire me one hundred thousand dollars. “Rachel, I know you’re just acting out to spite me. Take the cash and go on a vacation.” “Once Tessa’s scandal blows over, we’ll get remarried.” With that, he wrapped his arm around Tessa and walked away. An hour later, Bill released a fabricated photo of me with a random man, framing me for an affair. He was willing to paint himself as a cuckold just to clear Tessa’s name. “All done, ma’am. Take a look,” the repair technician said, handing back my phone. I looked away from the news on the shop’s tablet and pressed the power button. Before I could even unlock the home screen, a video call request flashed across the display. My eight-years-ago self appeared once more. The joy was completely gone from her face. Next to her, the young Bill hung his head, not daring to look at the lens. “Is it true?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Does Bill… really love someone else now?” I nodded. “Did you still sign those marriage papers?” The two young lovers looked at each other, their faces filled with a complicated, agonizing silence. “No,” she said softly. A wave of relief washed over me. I didn’t look at the young Bill. I kept my eyes fixed on my younger self. “Go home. Mom and Dad have been waiting for you.” The girl’s eyes swelled with tears. She shook her head, clinging to a fading hope. “Is there really no turning back? Does he… love that other girl that much?” I walked into the bathroom in silence. Slowly, I pulled off my shirt. From my collarbone down to my chest lay a massive, horrific burn scar. “Three years ago, when I first caught Bill cheating, I slapped Tessa. He locked me in the basement as punishment. That night, Tessa claimed she wanted to see fireworks. She lit one and threw it through the basement window. It started a fire, and I barely made it out alive.” I lowered the camera to show the long, jagged surgical scar on my abdomen. “Two years ago today, I was eight months pregnant. Bill promised he’d come home for our anniversary. I waited until midnight, but he never showed. I fell down the stairs, and my uterus ruptured. While I was being rushed into emergency surgery for a stillbirth, he was in Milan, watching a fashion show with Tessa.” Every single time, Bill would kneel before me, weeping and swearing he’d cut ties with her. But each time, he only got better at hiding it. For three years, this marriage had been a sick, exhausting game of hide-and-seek. All my endurance and compromises had turned into a tragic joke. I was exhausted. I couldn’t play anymore. So, when Bill suggested a divorce yesterday to save Tessa, I agreed. Hearing this, both of them in the past turned deathly pale. I pulled my clothes back on, stepped out of the shop, and hailed a cab. Suddenly, a sharp scream pierced through the phone. The device must have dropped, leaving the screen pitch-black. I could hear the young Bill’s frantic, trembling voice. “The wound on your leg opened up again. It’s bleeding! Don’t move, let me get the bandages!” “Don’t touch me! Get away from me!” the girl cried out, her voice breaking. “Bill, I regret ever running away with you.” I disconnected the call. When I reached the house, I found Bill busy in the kitchen. For a moment, I stood frozen. He hadn’t cooked a meal in years. When we first arrived in New York eight years ago, he was so consumed by guilt and love that he never let me lift a finger. During the freezing winter months, we huddled together in a drafty, unheated basement. Our breath rose in pale, shivering plumes like tiny clouds drifting toward the ceiling. He would wrap his arms around me, tight and freezing cold. “Rachel, give me three years. I swear I’ll give you the life you deserve.” To secure his very first investment, he had once crawled under a client’s legs and licked alcohol off the man’s shoes. He had told me, “I can take the dirtiest paths, but I will never let you regret choosing me.” But as our houses grew bigger, he grew busier. Eventually, a young, vibrant girl named Tessa appeared by his side. I only found out when a paparazzi sent blackmail photos to my phone. “Rachel, come taste this. How is it?” Bill’s voice snapped me back to reality. He guided me down into a dining chair. In front of me was a bowl of chicken soup with red dates and goji berries. My throat tightened. During my recovery from the stillbirth two years ago, this was all I drank. A wave of intense nausea hit me. “Is she… pregnant?” A flicker of hesitation crossed Bill’s eyes, but it vanished instantly. “Rachel, your uterus was severely damaged back then. You can’t have children anymore.” “Tessa and I talked. Once the baby is born, we’ll raise it under your name. It’ll make up for your regrets, won’t it?” I stood up slowly, my body stiff. “But didn’t you get a vasectomy?” After the stillbirth, I had demanded a divorce. He had begged me on his knees, crying, and dragged me to the clinic to get a vasectomy to prove his devotion. So, the surgery was a lie. Just another trick to soften my heart. Bill frowned. “Do you have to be this bitter? Just because you can’t have kids, does that mean I should never have an heir?” I laughed, a numb, empty sound. I didn’t even have the strength to argue anymore. The phone rang again with a video call. On the screen, my eight-years-ago self was limping down the street, dragging a heavy suitcase. Bill leaned over my shoulder, locking eyes with her. In the heavy silence, the young girl’s eyes were swollen from crying, but her voice was resolute. “Bill. I’m going home. I’m going to let my parents set me up on those blind dates. I won’t give you another chance to destroy my future.” In the background, the young, heartbroken Bill followed her at a distance, too afraid to even breathe loudly. Beside me, the current Bill let out a soft, mocking laugh. “Where did you hire this AI team? The technology is impressive. Give me their contact info. Tessa is pregnant, but she still has a movie to finish. This tech could come in handy for her double.” “Go to bed early. Don’t wait up for me.” He poured the soup into a thermos, eager to run to Tessa. He didn’t know. Eight years ago, the only reason I had rushed to run away with him was because my parents were indeed arranging a marriage for me. A sharp ache hit my nose. I hadn’t been home in years. With trembling fingers, I dialed my parents’ number. They picked up almost instantly. The roaring sound of wind rushed through the speaker, catching me off guard. “Rachel? Your dad and I are already on our way to New York. Don’t be scared, sweetheart. We’re coming to back you up. No one gets to bully our daughter!” I had forgotten. They would see the news online. The tears finally spilled over, uncontrollable. All these years, my parents must have watched me from afar through those media tabloids, waiting for me to need them. Yet, because of Bill, I had abandoned the only people who truly loved me. After hanging up, I began to pack. I shred every single wedding photo and couple picture we ever took. The luxury items cluttering the rooms were sold off to consignment shops at a massive discount. Finally, I was left with just two suitcases. I could finally leave this prison. But I waited all night, and my parents never arrived. I called them repeatedly, but the line was constantly busy. Then, the hospital called. My parents were involved in a massive pileup on the upstate interstate. When I rushed to the hospital, I found my parents lying on gurneys in the hallway, covered in blood. No one was treating them. The nurse looked at me with helpless pity. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. Every surgeon on duty—both trauma and OB-GYN—was called away to the film studio by Mr. Bill.” “You don’t know? His pregnant wife insisted on doing her own stunts, and he couldn’t stop her. He was so terrified of an accident that he cleared out the hospital’s staff…” My mind went entirely blank. I forgot that Bill was the primary investor in this private hospital. With shaking hands, I dialed his number. “Bill! My parents are in a critical car accident! Can you please send the surgeons back? Please!” But the first voice I heard was Tessa’s whining. “This next scene requires me to go into the water. I’m worried about the baby.” “Then we won’t shoot it. I’ll have the director cut the scene.” “No, an actress must serve the script. Why don’t we have Rachel do it? She can be my body double.” Afraid Bill might say no, Tessa purred, “You always say I look just like she did when she was young. There’s no one more perfect for a last-minute double. Please, Bill? I really want to win Best Actress with this film.” Bill sighed affectionately, only then noticing the call had connected. “You heard her. Come to the set as Tessa’s double, and I’ll send the doctors back immediately.” I gripped the phone, screaming in absolute agony. “Bill! Those are my parents! How can you use their lives to blackmail me?!” “Heh. Why don’t you ask them? When they threatened to ruin me eight years ago if I didn’t leave you, did they ever think they’d be begging me for their lives today?” Before I could speak, Bill snapped coldly, “If you aren’t at the studio in twenty minutes, don’t expect a single doctor in New York to touch them. Your choice.” He hung up. I looked at my mother, who had suddenly started vomiting blood. Sobbing, I texted Bill: [Fine. I’m coming. Send the doctors now.] He replied with a single character: [1] For Tessa, Bill would stop at nothing. I could not risk my parents’ lives. A torrential downpour began. Just a mile from the studio, the traffic ground to a halt. I paid the cabbie and threw myself out into the storm. Heavy raindrops pelted my face, cold and painful. Crash! An electric scooter slammed into me from the side, throwing me to the wet pavement. Agony flared through my body. My vision went dark, but I forced myself up. I couldn’t stop. Limping, I dragged myself toward the studio lot. Almost there. Just a little further. Inside the dry studio, Tessa nestled in Bill’s arms. “She’s three minutes late,” she pouted. I leaned weakly against the wall, my legs trembling in intense pain. “The rain… the traffic… I was hit by a scooter…” Suddenly, my phone rang. “Miss Rachel… I’m so sorry. Your parents couldn’t wait any longer. They’ve passed away.” I froze, staring blankly at Bill. It took a long, agonizing moment for my voice to return. “You… you didn’t send the doctors back?” Bill looked at my mud-stained, bloody, and shivering figure. A sudden pang of sharp guilt struck his chest. He opened his mouth to explain. But Tessa stood up, her expression arrogant and smug. “How were we supposed to know if you were actually coming? What if you were lying?” She stepped closer, leaning down to whisper in my ear. “And by the way, I arranged that little car crash.” “Who told your parents to call and threaten me? They actually thought they could ruin my life and make me pay.” She gently caresses her flat stomach and smirked. “Rachel, look at you now. What do you have left to fight me with?” All sanity evaporated. A primal rage consumed me, and I flung myself at her, wrapping my hands tightly around her neck. Only one thought filled my mind: Kill her. Kill her! Bill lunged forward, kicking me violently in the chest. I crashed to the concrete floor. “Are you insane?! Tessa is pregnant! How could you lay a hand on her?!” Tears mixed with the rainwater on my face. I screamed at him, “Bill, she did this! She planned the crash! She murdered my parents!” “Enough!” Bill barks. He didn’t believe a word. “I already sent the best surgeons back to the hospital. Rachel, I know you’re jealous and angry, but there is a limit! If these ridiculous murder accusations get out, do you have any idea how much it will hurt Tessa’s career?!” Even now, his only concern was her reputation. I looked at him, my eyes hollow with complete despair. “Bill. If I had known you were this heartless, I would have never run away with you eight years ago.” My words pierced a raw nerve. Bill was wealthy and powerful now, and he loathes any reminder of the days when he was dirt under people’s boots. His veins bulged on his forehead as he glared at me. “Fine. Since you love the past so much, let me give you a taste of those miserable days!” “Tessa has a few water scenes today. You’re doing them.” Before I could protest, I was forced into Tessa’s wardrobe and brutally thrown into the deep studio pool. But I didn’t know how to swim. Freezing, filthy water flooded my nose and throat. My body sank. Just as the darkness began to take me, a bodyguard dragged me up by my hair. Before I can even gasp for air, I was thrown back in. The torture repeated over and over, until the director, unable to watch any longer, finally called out, “That’s a wrap. We’re done.” The studio emptied. Silence fell. On the concrete floor, my phone screen lighted up with a familiar video call. I lay there, staring blankly, too numb to care. In the end, even my parents died because of me. Rachel, you are so pathetic. An hour later, Bill returned. He looked around the dark, empty studio. “Rachel? Come out. I’ll take you home.” Only hollow echoes answered him. He walked toward the window, his eyes catching something on the ground floor outside. A splash of brilliant, horrifying red. His breath stopped. He wanted to run down, but his legs felt like lead. Nearby, my phone rang again. A video call. Shaking, he picked it up and pressed accept. On the screen, my eight-years-ago self appeared, wearing a stunning white wedding dress. Standing next to her was a handsome, unfamiliar man. “Rachel, I’m getting married,” she said softly. “But this time, the groom isn’t Bill.” Bill’s hand shook violently. He stared at her youthful, beautiful face, his throat too tight to speak. The girl in the video looked at him, her expression turning into confusion. “Bill? Where is Rachel?”

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  • At My Own Daughter’s Celebration, I Was Labeled A Baby Trafficker

    1 Five years with Scott, and I finally gave him a daughter. But on the night of her one-month welcoming gala, my world shattered. I had just finished nursing her in the private lounge. As I carried her down the grand staircase into the ballroom, a piercing shriek echoed through the hall. “Somebody help! She stole my baby!” I looked up in shock. A woman I had never seen before was lunging toward me, her face drenched in tears. And my husband, Scott, was standing right beside her. His eyes were cold as ice. He wrapped a protective arm around her waist, glaring at me as he barked orders at the security guards. “Grab her! Don’t let the child trafficker get away!” I screamed. I begged. I yelled his name, crying out that the baby was ours, that I had given birth to her. But every piece of evidence they pulled up—the family portraits on the digital screens, the birth certificates, the recovery center records, the private photographs—listed the mother as Vivian, the stranger sobbing in my husband’s arms. Even my own mother, when called, colder than winter frost, claimed I was a single career woman who had never even had a boyfriend, let alone a child. In the end, branded a delusional kidnapper, I was beaten to death by the furious crowd right there at my own daughter’s celebration. But then, the darkness broke. I opened my eyes to find myself back in the lounge, the warmth of my baby in my arms. Outside the heavy mahogany doors, the laughter and chatter of the guests echoed softly. 2 It was supposed to be my daughter’s welcoming gala. In my past life, the moment I stepped into that ballroom, the world turned on me, calling me a monster, a baby thief. Outside the door, the air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and champagne. Inside this quiet room, I had just finished nursing my sweet girl, my heart bursting with a mother’s joy, completely unaware of the slaughterhouse waiting for me. For five years, I had loved Scott. To bring this beautiful girl into the world, I had nearly died on the operating table. I still remembered the night my water broke early. The hemorrhage had left my limbs freezing, my vision slipping away. Scott had shoved past the doctors, crashing to his knees beside my hospital bed. His eyes were bloodshot, his hands trembling violently as he squeezed my cold fingers. His tears hot against my skin. “Monica, stay with me! Please, don’t sleep! If you make it through this, I swear on my life I will protect you and our baby. I don’t care about anything else, I just need you both alive!” That promise was the anchor that kept me tethered to life. Yet, on the day of her welcoming gala, that anchor was brutally shattered. In my previous life, the moment I pushed open the heavy ballroom doors, the glare of the massive crystal chandeliers made me squint. Before I could even smile, a woman’s voice cut through the music like a siren. “Somebody help! Grab her! She stole my baby!” I froze. A woman clad in a stunning haute couture gown tore through the crowd, her face twisted in artificial agony. And Scott, the man who had sworn to protect me with his life, was holding her close, his eyes filled with nothing but utter disgust when they landed on me. “Where is security? Are you all useless?” Scott pointed a finger at me. “Pin her down! Don’t let this thief hurt my daughter!” My mind had gone blank. Clutching my crying daughter to my chest, I had screamed until my throat bled. “Scott! Are you insane? Look at me! It’s Monica! I gave birth to her!” But the next thirty minutes were a living nightmare. The baby portraits on the ballroom’s giant screens showed Vivian’s face next to Scott’s. The hospital records listed the mother as Vivian. Even the luxury postpartum retreat where I had spent the last four weeks registered her as their VIP client. In desperation, I had called my mother. Her voice on the line was hostile and distant. “Is this some kind of scam? My daughter Monica is a workaholic. She doesn’t even have a boyfriend, let alone a baby. Call again and I’m contacting the police!” Just like that, I was labeled a psychotic kidnapper. Furious guests closed in on me. A heavy boot struck my ribs, followed by the brutal strike of a guard’s baton. I had curled into a tight ball on the floor, using my spine to shield my daughter. In the chaos, a leather shoe kicked my temple. My head slammed against the sharp edge of a marble table, and warm blood flooded my eyes, blurring my vision. In my final second of consciousness, I saw Scott gently cradling my daughter, whispering sweet nothings to her, while Vivian rested her chin on his shoulder, smiling as I drew my last breath in a pool of my own blood. Buzz. A sharp ringing in my ears snapped me back to reality. The sudden, soft warmth in my arms made my entire body shudder. I gasped, my eyes flying open. I was sitting on the plush leather sofa of the private suite. My daughter was fast asleep in my arms, her tiny mouth moving in her sleep, sweet with the scent of milk. Outside, the faint sound of clinking glasses and laughter drifted through the door. A cold sweat drenched my back, my fingers trembling so hard I could barely hold her. I was reborn. I was back in the lounge, ten minutes before the gala was set to begin. I bit my lip hard, the copper taste of blood proving this was no dream. This time, I would not walk blindly into their trap. 3 I had to secure undeniable proof. Holding my daughter tight, I forced my racing heart to slow down. I couldn’t panic. Charging out to confront them was suicide. The brass doorknob clicked, turning slowly. My muscles tensed instantly as I stared at the entrance. Scott walked in, looking impeccably handsome in his tailored black tuxedo. The soft lighting caught the sharp angles of his face, his eyes carrying that same tender warmth that had once made me feel like the luckiest woman alive. He stepped over, his movements natural as he reached out to adjust my collar. He leaned down, placing a gentle kiss on our baby’s forehead. “You’ve worked so hard, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice rich with affection. “It’s crowded and chaotic out there. Don’t rush. I’ll head down first to greet the guests. Come down whenever you’re ready.” He walked over to the water dispenser, filling a glass with warm water. He tested the temperature against his palm before bringing it to my lips. “Here, drink some water. Nursing takes a lot out of you. Don’t catch a cold.” Looking at this familiar face, seeing the adoration shining in his eyes, a small part of me wavered. His tenderness felt so real. Could five years of devotion, of warm meals and late-night comfort, truly be nothing but an act? Could this all be some postpartum depression-induced nightmare? But as he turned to grab a tissue, I caught it. A fleeting, icy flash of sheer impatience crossed his features. In that fraction of a second, the phantom pain of my skull fracturing in my past life surged through my body. It wasn’t a dream. Today was the day he planned to destroy me. I forced a weak smile and took the glass. “Thanks, babe. I got up too fast and my head is spinning. Give me five minutes to catch my breath.” Scott suspected nothing. He patted my hair gently. “Of course. I’ll tell the staff not to disturb you. See you downstairs.” The moment the door clicked shut and locked, the weakness vanished from my face. I didn’t trust him anymore. I only trusted solid evidence. I pulled out my phone, switched on the front-facing camera, and framed both myself and my sleeping daughter. “My name is Monica,” I spoke clearly into the camera, fighting the tremor in my voice. “Today is April eighth, 2026. I am in the third-floor VIP lounge at the Grand Regent Hotel. This baby in my arms is my biological daughter, born to me and Scott.” I zoomed in, capturing a crystal-clear shot of the physical birth certificate I had kept in my bag. Once the video was recorded, I didn’t save it locally. Scott was a tech mogul. He had a dozen ways to wipe my phone remotely. Instead, I logged into an alternate email account, attached the video along with a detailed explanation, and set it to send automatically in ten minutes. The recipient was my most trusted childhood friend, Natalie. Next, I grabbed the Polaroid camera left on the table, meant for guests to take commemorative photos. I pressed my cheek against my daughter’s soft face, making sure the background clearly captured the digital clock showing the current time. Click. The camera whirred, spitting out the physical photo. As the colors slowly bled into view, the image of mother and daughter holding each other became undeniable. I looked around the room, my eyes landing on the deep crevice of the leather sofa. I folded the photo tightly and shoved it deep into the hidden gap between the cushions. Finally, I tucked the birth certificate securely into my brassiere, right against my skin, and took a deep breath. With these physical proofs, let’s see how he tries to erase my existence today. I held my daughter close and walked toward the ballroom. The moment my hand touched the brass handle of the double doors, the words I would never forget echoed from the other side. “Grab her! She stole my baby!” 4 I took a deep breath and threw the doors open. Just like in my previous life, Vivian was pointing at me, her face contorted in a theatrical sob. The script of my tragedy was unfolding exactly as before. Scott stepped forward instantly, pulling Vivian into his chest. When he looked at me, the warmth he had shown in the lounge just minutes ago was completely gone. “Security! Lock the exits! Pin her down!” The hum of hundreds of guests silenced instantly. The music stopped, and countless eyes locked onto me. “I stole a baby?” I stood my ground, letting out a cold laugh. Cradling my daughter with one arm, I pulled out my phone with the other. “Scott, watch your mouth. Let’s see what the video says!” I tapped the screen, opening my gallery to play the high-definition video I had just recorded. But the moment my finger touched the screen, the display flickered violently. The video file dissolved into a screen of static. File corrupted. My chest tightened. A localized network jammer. I quickly checked my email app to see if the scheduled message to Natalie had gone through. Sent folder: empty. Drafts: empty. “No proof? Kidnappers these days are getting bolder, crashing a welcoming gala to cause a scene!” Scott’s mother charged forward like a wild animal, pointing a manicured finger at my face. “You crazy, shameless woman! My daughter-in-law Vivian was on stage the whole night! That baby in your arms is our family’s flesh and blood!” I grit my teeth, turning my gaze to Martha, the nanny who had helped me recover at home for the past month. She was currently cowering behind my mother-in-law. “Martha!” I screamed, locking eyes with her. “You made my meals every single day! You helped clean my C-section wounds! Tell everyone the truth! Am I the mother or not?!” Martha flinched, her face turning pale. She shrank back, refusing to look at me, her voice trembling like dry leaves. “Ma’am… I think you have the wrong person. I’ve been taking care of Mrs. Vivian and her baby for the past month.” The hotel manager stepped forward, holding out a thick folder. “Security, take her down! This woman is clearly unstable. All our bookings, payments, and event details were signed by Mr. Scott and Mrs. Vivian. We’ve never seen this woman before.” I watched as my digital safety nets were erased into thin air, and the people I saw daily turned on me without a shred of hesitation. Whispers broke out among the guests, their expressions shifting from curiosity to hostility. The security guards raised their batons, moving in on me. The crushing weight of being erased by the world felt even heavier this time. I shielded my whimpering daughter, biting my tongue until the taste of iron filled my mouth to keep from screaming in panic. “Fine!” I bellowed, my voice echoing off the high ceilings. “You’ve all been paid off, haven’t you? Call the police! Let them run the official check! I dare you to try and fake the federal government and hospital databases!” The wail of police sirens cut through the tense air outside. Ten minutes later, four police officers entered, sealing the exits. I immediately turned to the lead officer. “Officer, this is my husband Scott, and this baby is my biological daughter! They are conspiring to steal my child and have fabricated everything!” Before the officer could speak, Scott stepped forward, presenting an elegant business card. “Officer, I am Scott, CEO of Aether Technologies. I have never seen this woman before. She crashed my daughter’s gala, tried to kidnap her, and is speaking gibberish. I believe she is suffering from severe postpartum psychosis.” The officer frowned. “Ma’am, do you have any official identification or proof of maternity? We need to verify hospital records.” “Check them!” I shouted, staring at Scott. “City Maternity Hospital, Room VIP Three, C-section on the eighth of last month! Check their system!” The lead officer nodded to his partner, who stepped aside to call the database registry. The wait felt like an eternity. When the officer returned, his expression had hardened into suspicion. “How is it, Officer?” I asked desperately. The officer showed me his screen. “The records from City Maternity Hospital show that the patient in VIP Three on the eighth of last month was Vivian. The mother’s name on the birth registry is Vivian, and the spouse’s signature belongs to Scott.” He pointed to the plastic band on my baby’s ankle. “Even the tracking code on the baby’s bracelet matches Vivian. Ma’am, how do you explain this?” In my past life, this was the moment I had lost my mind, screaming in despair. But now, I simply smiled. I reached into my coat, unzipped my inner pocket, and pulled out the physical birth certificate I had kept pressed against my warm skin. Let’s see them lie their way out of this. The officer blinked in surprise, taking the paper. There, in clear black ink, was the mother’s name: Monica. But a second later, the officer let out a sharp hum. “Ma’am, this document is a forgery.” I froze. How could that be? I had obtained that document myself. A dark, icy realization washed over me. I looked at Scott, who had a faint, mocking smirk on his lips. “No, wait! I have other proof!” In my past life, my mother had denied me. This time, my only hope was Natalie. I dialed her number on speaker. But her voice on the other end chilled me to the bone. “Scott? I’ve never heard of any Scott. Monica is single, she’s never had a child.” “Natalie, look at your emails! I sent you the proof! Why are you lying to me?!” Seeing my panic, the officers stepped closer, ready to restrain me. Fear clawed at my chest. Why was this happening? Was my memory truly fractured? No. There was still one thing. “Officer, please! There is one more piece of physical evidence! Come with me to the lounge!” I led the police and a trail of whispering guests back to the private suite. Even if the birth certificate was a fake, that physical Polaroid would prove my connection to my child. The crowd watched as I desperately dug my hand into the sofa cushion. “Still lying. This is terrifying,” a guest muttered. “She’s completely delusional.” “Postpartum psychosis is no joke. To plan all this and fake documents just to steal a baby…” “Get her to an asylum before she hurts the child!” The voices buzzed in my ears, but no matter how deep I reached, my fingers found nothing. The Polaroid was gone. The officers’ patience had run out. An emergency medical crew arrived, two burly male orderlies carrying leather restraints and a sedative syringe, stepping slowly toward me. The memory of being beaten to death on this very floor rose like a dark tide, threatening to drown my sanity. Was I going to die here again? Was my entire existence about to be erased? As my body trembled on the verge of collapse, my eyes caught Scott. He was looking down, calmly adjusting his elegant French cuffs. In that instant, a bolt of lightning seemed to split my mind wide open. I stared at his wrists, and everything clicked. I finally understood why he had spent five years weaving this elaborate web, and exactly why he needed me to give birth to this baby.

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  • Late Love With No Date Of Return

    1 My wife has an avoidant attachment style. So, on our anniversary, when I half-jokingly asked her if she loved me, and she simply placed some food on my plate instead of answering, I finally understood everything. Giselle’s expression was as gentle as it always was. “Luke, I remember this is your favorite dish, right?” For the past five years, whenever things like this happened, I would put on a fake smile and let her get away with it. But this time, I set my chopsticks down, gathering the courage to ask the question I had kept locked in my heart for years. “Giselle, what am I to you, really?” It felt like a century passed before Giselle let out a long, heavy sigh. “Luke, you are my husband, my partner for the rest of my life. I respect you. Please, don’t make things difficult for me.” I wanted to press further, but she suddenly stood up, muttering with a mix of annoyance and anger. “If I knew marriage was going to be this exhausting, I wouldn’t have married you in the first place.” I sat frozen in my seat. I thought of our wedding photo, where she had seamlessly photoshopped her first love’s face over mine and used it as her phone lock screen for five years. A bitter smile crept onto my face. If that was how she felt, then let our marriage end here, in its fifth year. I pulled out my phone and sent a message to my director, accepting the three-year overseas transfer. Then, I stood up and began clearing the cluttered dining table. I knew that if I didn’t clean it, the leftovers would sit there until they rotted, and no one else would care. Giselle, who had already retreated to her room, suddenly walked back out. Like a headless chicken, she asked, “Luke, where did you put my blue nightgown?” I shook my head. “I don’t know.” Giselle didn’t say anything, but she shot me a deeply disappointed look. “Don’t forget next time.” She turned back to her room to start her company’s online meeting, leaving me standing there as my dishcloth slipped from my fingers onto the table. Every single chore in this house, from sweeping and mopping to wiping the windows, doing the dishes, and cooking, was my responsibility. She merely enjoyed the results and reminded me to do better next time. But when we first married, she had promised me otherwise. “In the future, I’ll keep the house spotless so you can focus entirely on your career! Luke, your hands are too beautiful, I will never let these gorgeous hands wash a single dish or mop a floor!” I lifted my hands, staring at them. The skin was rough, the knuckles swollen, and my fingerprints had been nearly eroded by harsh cleaning chemicals. Giselle had severe OCD, yet she hated having strangers in the house, so every chore fell on me. The washing machine beeped, signaling that the spin cycle was finished and it was time to hang the clothes. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Luke, oh Luke, how did you let your life turn into this? I stopped cleaning, turned around, and walked into my own bedroom. This life, I didn’t want it anymore. 2 By our third year of marriage, Giselle and I were already sleeping in separate beds. Looking back, the reason was almost laughable. It was because I had discovered that on her phone wallpaper, the face of the groom in our wedding photo had been replaced with someone else’s. It was Chase, her first love, the white moonlight she could never have. Because she couldn’t control her longing, she had quietly pasted his face over mine, pretending that they were the ones who had married. To outsiders, she was praised as a loving wife. She was successful, the youngest branch manager in her company, and every single one of her social media profiles featured sweet wedding photos with her husband. I had once confronted her about it in a rage. But Giselle had simply handed me a glass of water, asking with absolute seriousness, “Luke, taste this. Does it taste strange to you? It tastes off to me.” I had opened my mouth, a thousand thoughts racing through my mind, but I didn’t know where to start. Before we married, Giselle had repeatedly emphasized that she had an avoidant attachment style and that I must never corner her with questions. I took the glass and drank it in one gulp. All the unspoken words went down with the tasteless water. I gave up on pushing her for answers because I knew that if Giselle didn’t want to answer a question, cornering her would yield nothing but silence. I turned off the bedroom lights. My phone buzzed with a message from my director. “Luke, you’ve made the right decision. As a core technical asset of our group, this transfer to Europe is the perfect opportunity for your career.” I turned off the screen and closed my eyes to sleep. Right then, Giselle knocked on my door. “Luke, are you asleep?” I didn’t answer. She continued, “I was too impulsive earlier, and I want to apologize. Didn’t you always say you wanted to visit the theme park? I just booked tickets for this weekend. Let’s celebrate our fifth anniversary properly.” I opened the door and looked into her eyes. “How many tickets did you book?” “Four.” “Why four?” Giselle looked completely puzzled by my question. “Because I’m bringing Paige and Toby with us.” The tiny spark of hope that had just risen in my chest was instantly doused, leaving me entirely cold. “For our fifth anniversary,” I said, pronouncing each word slowly, “you want to bring your younger siblings?” “Yes. Haven’t the four of us always gone out together? Why are you suddenly unhappy about it now?” Giselle was right. For the past five years, every single one of our couple’s activities had been crowded by her siblings. Our romantic candlelit dinners were always tables for four. The beach vacations we spent months saving for were spent in family suites. She claimed that as the eldest daughter, she had a responsibility to her family. Taking care of her siblings was her duty, just as taking care of me was. I suddenly realized. Because she didn’t love me, everything had simply become a duty. “I don’t want to go anymore,” I said, my voice trembling slightly. Giselle let out a sigh, her expression saying here we go again with your tantrums. “Luke, what exactly do you want from me?” She used my full name, her patience clearly at its limit. I stared at her. “Are you deaf? I said I don’t want to go!” “But why?” “Because you have never, not once, treated the two of us as a single unit! You always have to drag a third or fourth person into our lives!” I was hysterical, screaming like a madman, while she watched me with a cold, detached calmness. “Is this really necessary?” Giselle’s voice finally rose. “I just wanted to take my siblings out for some fun. What is so wrong with that?” “And our fifth anniversary?” “How is this not celebrating our anniversary? Going out together is a celebration. Does it only count if we lock ourselves in a room? Why do you have to be so…” Giselle didn’t finish her sentence, but I already knew the word. Selfish. I was too selfish. I always thought too much, cared too much, held onto tiny details, and demanded too many answers. I had been hearing these accusations for five years. “Let me ask you, once we get to the park, who is going to look after those two kids?” Giselle opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She knew the answer, which was why she couldn’t speak. “Didn’t you always say you loved children?” she finally muttered. I froze. I never expected her to throw those words at me. It was like a needle driving straight into my deepest wound, executed with a precision that was far too deliberate to be an accident. Giselle had been pregnant once. Our very first child. But the pregnancy ended almost as soon as it began. When Chase got married, Giselle had locked herself in the house and drank herself into a stupor. In her drunken state, she stumbled against the edge of a table and miscarried. I had never told her that I knew the truth, wanting to shield her from the guilt. I took all the blame, claiming I hadn’t taken proper care of her. And now, she was using that lost child as a weapon to wound me. I forced myself to calm down, asking her with quiet sincerity, “Giselle, the space in your heart was never meant for me, was it?” Giselle’s expression flickered. It wasn’t anger, but a brief, panic-stricken realization of being exposed. The panic lasted less than a second before she masked it with her usual shield of dismissiveness. “You’re starting again,” she said, turning to walk away. I stood in the quiet hallway, a soft laugh escaping my lips. Yes, I was starting again. But this time, everything was going to end. I met with a lawyer the next day to draft the divorce papers. The division of assets was simple: what was hers remained hers, and what was mine remained mine. Our finances had been strictly separate throughout our marriage, which made the split remarkably clean. At work, my director called me into his office. “Luke, the company has booked your ticket. You fly out in three days. Are you all set on your end?” I paused for a fraction of a second before nodding firmly. “Yes, I’m ready.” Before I left, the director stopped me. “Your family supports this move, right? I remember you and your wife always seemed very close.” I remembered when I first received the transfer offer. I hadn’t wanted to go, wanting to use the opportunity to test how much Giselle cared. “Sweetheart, the company wants to send me to Europe for three years. Will you miss me?” I had wrapped my arms around her from behind, but Giselle had peeled my fingers away, one by one. “Let’s go hiking this weekend. I heard the wild flowers on the mountain are beautiful!” She never gave a direct answer to anything involving her feelings for me. At first, I thought she was just shy. Then, I believed it was just her personality. Now, I understood. In a marriage, there is no such thing as an avoidant attachment style. There is only love, or the lack of it. “Don’t worry, Director. I’ve discussed it with my family. It won’t affect my transfer.” In a rare turn of events, Giselle came to pick me up from work that evening. My colleagues noticed her car parked by the curb, with a beautifully decorated cake sitting visibly on the passenger seat. “Luke, your wife is so good to you!” “Yeah, you’ve been married for years and we’ve never heard you complain. Men as blessed as you are hard to find!” Giselle walked toward me with a bouquet of flowers, her expression as gentle as always. She handed me the cake, her voice soft. “I was wrong, Luke. Let’s go home. This is your favorite cake.” The teasing from my colleagues grew louder. Not wanting to cause a scene, I took the cake. Giselle looked visibly relieved when I accepted it, turning to walk back to the car. “That’s not a very sincere apology! You didn’t even hold his hand!” a colleague joked behind us. Giselle’s body stiffened. She turned back, reaching out to grasp my wrist. I thought of the photo album hidden in our house, filled with pictures of her and Chase holding hands, their fingers tightly intertwined in every single shot. I remained silent, wanting only to finish this play. When I opened the passenger door, I found someone already sitting there. Her sister, Paige, waved at me cheerfully. “Hey, Luke!” From the backseat, her brother Toby chimed in, “Hey, Luke!” Both siblings were in their teens, their faces blank of any adult tact. I climbed into the backseat, listening to them chatter endlessly about where their older sister was going to take them next. Through the rearview mirror, my eyes met Giselle’s. She cleared her throat awkwardly. “They’re staying at our place for a couple of days. Mom has some things to take care of this weekend.” I didn’t hold back my anger this time, nor did I force a smile to play the role of the perfect brother-in-law. I simply turned my head, staring out the window at the passing city lights. When we arrived home, the two teenagers bolted inside. Giselle walked over to me, asking cautiously, “Luke, are you angry again?” I shook my head without a word. She smiled, relieved. “Great. I’m glad you’re not mad.” She turned and ran to catch up with her siblings. Someone once said that if your partner walks more than five yards ahead of you, they don’t love you. I watched Giselle, who was ten yards ahead of me, desperately trying to join her siblings’ conversation even though she could barely get a word in. It didn’t matter anymore. If she didn’t love me, so be any. I was leaving anyway. Paige and Toby made themselves right at home, ordering five or six takeout boxes. Giselle said half-seriously, “Takeout is so unhealthy. Why don’t you have Luke whip up something for you guys?” The three siblings turned their gaze to me. But I didn’t offer to cook. Seeing my silence, Paige tried to soften the tension. “Luke always cooks, it’s too much work for him.” Toby, seeing that I still didn’t speak, muttered under his breath, “His cooking isn’t even that good, and he takes forever anyway. Who wants to eat it?” The living room was quiet, and his words carried clearly. Giselle frowned, glaring at Toby before pulling me into the kitchen. She opened the fridge as if nothing had happened. “Kids are picky eaters these days, please bear with him. There are plenty of ingredients here, just whip up a couple of simple dishes.” Her idea of “simple dishes” meant preparing a four-course dinner for four people within two hours, keeping in mind everyone’s individual preferences and allergies. She picked up an apron, her eyes curling into a smile. “Come here, let me put this on you.” The apron had a little rabbit pattern on it. She had bought it, claiming the rabbit reminded her of me. But I remembered clearly that Chase had two slightly prominent front teeth, and his nickname in college had been Bunny. Only those closest to him were allowed to call him that. I grabbed Giselle’s wrist, stopping her. “Have you ever counted how many rabbit-themed items we have in this house?” Giselle froze, a strained smile on her lips. “What’s wrong? Do you think the apron isn’t cute?” She was avoiding the question again. This time, I stared at her, refusing to let her slide. “One hundred and thirty-seven.” “From aprons to tablecloths, ornaments to curtains, even our bedding sets are covered in rabbits! Giselle, do you really need Chase’s memory around you every single second of the day?” A long, heavy silence stretched between us. Finally, Giselle looked down. “Fine. You’re right. This apron is a bit plain anyway. I’ll throw it out and buy a new one.” She turned to walk out of the kitchen, but I grabbed her arm. “Answer my question, Giselle!” Giselle wrenched her arm out of my grip. “Luke! My siblings are right outside! If you don’t want to cook, then don’t! Stop throwing these ridiculous tantrums!” “I am sick and tired of your endless jealousy! Do whatever you want!” Giselle slammed the door as she stormed out. But even in her rage, she had placed the rabbit apron neatly on the kitchen counter. She couldn’t throw it away, and she never would. My phone vibrated with a notification. “Your flight to Paris is scheduled to depart in twelve hours.” At three in the morning, I walked out of the apartment with my packed suitcase. The three siblings were sound asleep. The living room was cluttered with empty takeout boxes and trash, none of which had been cleared. I walked past the mess without a glance, heading straight for the door. Before closing it, I took one last look at the place we had shared. I was the one who had fallen in love with Giselle at first sight, and I had pursued her relentlessly to get this marriage. So, everything that had happened was my own doing. I had foolishly believed that the bond of marriage would slowly erase Chase’s presence in her heart. But in the end, I was the one who had been washed away. I left the signed divorce papers on the coffee table. By the time Giselle woke up, I would already be in the air, flying toward Paris. By eight in the morning, our home security camera showed the three siblings waking up. Paige looked around the apartment, unable to find any trace of me. Brushing her teeth, she mumbled to Giselle, “Sis, you yelled too loud last night. What if you scared Luke away?” Giselle replied indifferently, “If he’s gone, he’s gone. I never loved him that much anyway. If my parents hadn’t been pressuring me so hard, I would have never married him.” Beside them, Toby laughed, exposing her lie. “You’re lying, Sis! You only married him because Chase got engaged and you wanted a rebound!” Giselle’s face flushed red as she defended herself. “What are you talking about? Who told you that?!” Toby shook his head. “You did, when you were drunk.” Giselle froze. She picked up a box of tissues, which was adorned with a rabbit pattern. “Yes, he’s married and has a family now, but I still can’t forget him…” Toby almost tripped over an empty takeout box on the floor. He complained loudly, “Where is Luke anyway? Why hasn’t he cleaned up the living room yet?!” Giselle turned her gaze toward my room. The two of them searched the apartment, finding nothing. Paige stopped brushing her teeth. She cleared away some takeout boxes on the coffee table and picked up a document. She gasped, her mouth still full of foam. “Sis… why is there a divorce agreement here?”

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  • My Bursting Fireworks Meet No Gaze Of Admiration

    1 The night before Gideon planned to propose, my mother was diagnosed with cancer. After scraping together every dollar I had, I was still twenty thousand short for her surgery. Crying, I called Gideon, but the voice that answered sounded like him three years ahead. “Mom got better, didn’t she?” I sobbed. “You’ll save her, right?” Silence. Then his tone turned ice-cold. “She died. When you asked for money, I refused. Instead, I bought your best friend a thirty-thousand-dollar necklace.” I gripped the phone, my fingers shaking so hard the diagnosis papers crumpled. He laughed, dry and mocking. “Your best friend came onto me ages ago. I held back for you. But I never thought you’d beg for twenty grand like some gold-digger.” The next evening, Gideon knelt before me, ring in hand, ready to propose. His future self’s final words rang in my ears. “Tomorrow night, I sleep with your best friend for the first time. You could skip the money, but without my help, your mother dies sooner. Your move.” … “Will you marry me?” he asked softly. The moment the words left his mouth, both of our phones vibrated simultaneously. Mine was a text from the hospital, demanding the outstanding balance. His was a barrage of incoming WhatsApp notifications, chiming endlessly in the quiet air. “Who is texting you? Let me see.” Catching the sudden flash of guilt in his eyes, I lunged forward with red eyes, trying to snatch his phone to see the truth for myself. He scrambled backward to shield the device, but the movement was too slow. I had already caught a glimpse of the text on the screen. It was from Becca, my childhood best friend. [I know you’re proposing to her tonight. Just give me this one night, okay?] Dazed, I lost my balance and fell heavily onto the gravel path. The sharp stones sliced into my palms, and fresh blood immediately welled from the cuts. Right at that moment, the elaborate fireworks Gideon had prepared for my proposal exploded in the night sky behind him. The brilliant, colorful lights painted the dark heavens, resembling a grand, mocking joke. I let out a bitter laugh, reaching up to rip the delicate white veil from my hair. The blood pooling in my palms stained the pristine white tulle, spreading like crimson winter blossoms across snow. My tears fell drop by drop, blurring the face of the man I had loved for five years. “Never mind, Gideon,” I whispered, my voice raw and broken. “I won’t marry you.” With that, I forced myself up, turned around, and ran in the opposite direction. He instinctively took a step to chase after me, but the ringing of his phone pulled him back. Behind me, Gideon’s voice drifted through the freezing wind. He didn’t sound particularly disappointed. Instead, his tone carried an unsettling sense of relief. “Yeah, I was proposing, but she said no.” “Alright, stop crying. I’m coming to see you right now.” At the hospital, I stood behind the cold glass of the ICU, staring at my mother’s frail, pain-riddled body. Illness strikes like a landslide. No one had expected her sudden collapse last night to result in a terminal diagnosis. “Miss Vance, the deposit you made won’t cover the next round of chemotherapy,” the nurse said gently. “Please make a payment at the main desk on the first floor.” I clutched the hem of my shirt, pulling out my phone to check my banking app. My total balance was exactly $4,053.62. It was not even a fraction of the twenty thousand dollars needed for her long-term treatment. Under normal circumstances, my savings would have been more than enough. But half a month ago, Becca had borrowed every single dollar of my hard-earned savings under the pretense of starting a boutique business. She had held my hands, weeping tears of desperation. “Hazel, I don’t have a wealthy boyfriend like you do. If even you won’t help me, my parents will force me to marry that old businessman they picked out!” Without a second thought, I had transferred the money to her, not even asking for a promissory note. I never imagined that along with my savings, she would also steal the man I was supposed to marry. I took a deep breath, dialing Becca’s number. The moment I opened my mouth to ask for my money back, a familiar voice drifted through the receiver. “I’m out of the shower. Who’s calling?” “Just a wrong number…” Becca cut herself off, and then, as if realizing something, she let out a soft, deliberate giggle. Her voice rose, dripping with mock innocence. “Gideon, do you think Hazel rejected your proposal because you didn’t offer her a big enough dowry?” “She did tell me once that as long as the price is right, she doesn’t care who she marries!” I had never said anything of the sort. But Gideon remained silent on the other end. He didn’t defend me, nor did he dispute her words. Soon, the unmistakable, wet sounds of intimacy echoed through the speaker. This was exactly what his future self had warned me about, their first night together. The call ended with a sharp click. I tried calling back in a frenzy of desperation, but the line remained dead. I collapsed onto the cold hospital floor, my sobs escaping through my tightly clenched fingers. As my emotions completely ruptured, a violent wave of nausea hit my stomach. Clutching a nearby trash can, I threw up until my throat burned. 2 For the first twenty-five years of my life, my world revolved around only three people: my mother, Becca, and Gideon. I never imagined that in a single night, I would lose all three of them. I, who had never begged anyone for anything, spent the next few hours calling every relative and acquaintance I knew. The responses fell into three categories: they had no money, it was inconvenient, or they sent a token few dollars to appease me. To raise the funds, I took on three different part-time jobs, doing whatever paid the fastest. Aside from sleeping and sitting by my mother’s bedside, I didn’t allow myself a single breath of rest. During this time, Gideon sent me a single text: [Don’t regret this.] He would probably go to his grave never understanding why I had suddenly transformed into a stranger. Just as I would never understand how five years of shared love could be dismantled so effortlessly by another woman’s whispers. In contrast, his future self was far more talkative, sending me sporadic messages. “You don’t need to push yourself this hard.” “Even if you work yourself to death, you can’t change her outcome. What’s the point?” When I received that text, I was standing under a blazing hundred-degree sun, handing out flyers for five dollars an hour. I didn’t have a single drop of energy left to reply. That evening, a coworker from my part-time shift asked if I could cover her night shift at a high-end lounge. “The clients there are incredibly wealthy. The tips from a single table are more than what we make in a month!” “If my daughter wasn’t sick, I would never give up this shift!” I accepted without hesitation. But when I pushed open the heavy mahogany doors of the VIP suite, my eyes locked directly with Gideon’s through the hazy, dim lighting. Sitting curled against his side, her face glowing with triumph, was Becca. One of Gideon’s friends sneered, eyeing my uniform with absolute disdain. “Well, look at that, Gideon. Isn’t that your gold-digging ex-girlfriend who refused your proposal because the price wasn’t right?” “Working as a maid in a place like this? What, looking for another rich guy to parasite off of?” The room erupted into cruel laughter, with Becca’s giggles ringing the loudest. Now that she had successfully taken my place, she had no intention of playing the sweet friend anymore. Clinging to Gideon’s arm, her smugness was unbearable. “Gideon, Hazel has been desperately short of cash lately. She’s asked almost all of our mutual friends for loans.” “Should we help her out a little?” Gideon’s eyes remained dark and unreadable. After a long pause, a cold smile played on his lips. “Sure.” He tapped his leather shoe against the glass table, pointing at a line of high-end, high-proof liquor bottles. “Ten thousand dollars a bottle. Will you drink?” He knew about my severe alcohol allergy. He was doing this to humiliate me. But to his surprise, under the mocking stares of the entire room, I didn’t hesitate. I reached out, grabbed a bottle of whiskey, tilted my head, and began to gulp it down. The burning liquid scorched my throat, and my stomach immediately twisted in agony. I dug my nails deep into my palms, forcing myself to suppress the urge to vomit. By the time Gideon realized what was happening and snatched the bottle away, I had already drained more than half of it. “Hazel, are you out of your mind?!” he roared. “What is wrong with you? Why do you need money this badly?!” Under the influence of the alcohol, my eyes stung with tears. I wanted to tell him how exhausted I was, how terrified I was of losing my mother. But his future self had already shown me the truth: even if I told this version of Gideon, the outcome would be exactly the same. I wiped the stray liquor from my chin, holding up my phone’s payment QR code with a blank face. “What I drank was worth twelve thousand dollars, right?” He swore under his breath, authorized the transfer, and pointed at the door, telling me to get out. The moment I stepped out of the suite, my legs gave out, and I sank to the floor, leaning against the cold wall. Staring at the notification of the transferred funds on my screen, a weak laugh escaped my lips. Laughter turned to tears, which flowed freely down my face. With this money, combined with what I had saved and borrowed, my mother’s next treatments were secured. But right then, a frantic call from the hospital shattered my fleeting relief. “Miss Vance, your mother’s condition has suddenly deteriorated!” “Please get to the hospital immediately!” 3 I lost count of how many times I tripped and fell on the dark streets. By the time I reached the hospital, my knees were bleeding, and I had lost one of my shoes. But I was still too late. I didn’t get to say goodbye. The doctor simply handed me a cold slip of paper, her death certificate. I wrapped my arms around my mother’s cooling body, weeping until my voice cracked. “Mom… please don’t leave me alone!” “Take me with you. Please, I’m begging you…” Even the nurses, who were used to the tragedy of the ICU, looked away with red eyes. “Miss Vance, please accept our condolences,” one nurse whispered, handing me a tissue to dry my tears. In our family, there was an old superstition that a relative’s tears must never fall on the face of the deceased. If they did, the departed soul would be unable to find peace, or they might carry their most cherished person with them to the grave. I wished with all my heart that the superstition was true. My mother was my only family, the only anchor I had in this world. Now that she was gone, what was the point of my existence? My phone rang. It was future Gideon. “Hazel, your mother…” “Why? Gideon, tell me why!” I screamed into the receiver, letting out every ounce of grief and agony I had bottled up. “Why is it that no matter what I do, I can’t save my mother?!” “Why is it that when I did absolutely nothing wrong, you and Becca chose to destroy me?!” “Why did the man I loved for five years end up in bed with my best friend?!” “Tell me why! Explain it to me!” An absolute, crushing silence met my screams. Through the static of the line, I thought I heard the sound of a quiet sob. Finally, he let out a ragged breath. “I’m sorry.” The rage drained out of me, leaving me completely hollow. I slid down the wall, curling onto the floor. I had one final question for him. “Gideon… do you regret it now?” The future version of him didn’t answer. Instead, he spoke a single, strange sentence. “Hazel, don’t look out the window.” But his warning came too late. The moment the words left his mouth, a brilliant burst of fireworks lit up the night sky outside the window. One after another, the colorful lights shattered the darkness, turning the night into day. Two young nurses passed by, their voices filled with envy. “Young Mr. Gideon ordered those for his new girlfriend! They’re going to keep going all night!” “I’m so jealous. I heard his ex-girlfriend of five years rejected his proposal because she wanted more money. What a gold-digger!” Ah, I had forgotten. Today was Becca’s birthday. On social media, Becca had posted a picture of herself snuggled in Gideon’s arms, surrounded by a mountain of luxury gifts. [I want money, love, and everything in between, and he hands it to me with a smile, calling me adorable.] I stared at the screen, a tired smile touching my lips. I liked the post, and then I blocked her account. A second later, my phone rang. It was Gideon. “Hazel, do you have any idea that today is Becca’s birthday?! Why did you block her?!” “She’s crying her eyes out because of you! Call her and apologize right now!” I opened my mouth to speak, but a sudden, sharp pain flared in my lower abdomen. A warm rush of blood trickled down my legs. My vision went black, and I collapsed onto the floor. When I woke up, a doctor was standing by my bed with a gentle smile. “Congratulations, you are two months pregnant.” “But your body is severely malnourished, and your stress levels are far too high. You are experiencing a threatened miscarriage.” I stared at the medical report, reading the words over and over. Finally, I dialed the future number. “We… had a child, didn’t we?” The line fell silent again, but this time, I could hear his choked-up weeping clearly. “I’m sorry, Hazel…” In the end, even that child hadn’t survived. His voice carried a desperate, breaking plea. “Abort the pregnancy now, Hazel. Don’t let the baby suffer…” “I’m begging you, please.” 4 After hanging up the phone, I gently placed my hand over my flat stomach. Even if he hadn’t said it, I had no intention of keeping this child. “I’m so sorry, little one.” “In our next life, please find your way back to me, okay?” “I promise I won’t make you wait long.” If the baby’s destiny was already written, if my efforts could change nothing, then it was better to end it before the suffering began. At least now, before the baby was fully formed, they wouldn’t have to experience the pain of this world. Half an hour later, I was lying on the cold operating table. The freezing anesthetic entered my veins, but even as my consciousness began to slip, I could still feel the cold instruments scraping inside my body. Cold sweat soaked my hair and back. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the agony in my heart. After the procedure, dragging my aching, hollow body, I went to collect my mother’s death certificate. Once the cremation paperwork was signed, I sat on a bench outside the crematorium, watching the thin plume of white smoke rise from the chimney. I reached out my hand to catch it, but my fingers closed on empty air. After much thought, I decided to take my mother’s ashes back to our old house. She would be safe there, with me. But when I reached the front steps, holding the urn close, I found Gideon and Becca waiting for me. “Where have you been?! I told you to apologize to Becca on the phone! Are you deaf?!” I didn’t even look up. As I tried to squeeze past them, Gideon grabbed my arm. He stared at my deathly pale face, a sudden look of shock passing through his eyes. “Why do you look like this?” I frowned, trying to wrench my arm free. Before I could, Becca lunged forward, snatching the urn from my arms. “Hazel, what’s in this pretty jar?” “Give it back!” I screamed, my voice cracking like shattered glass as I lunged for it. Everything happened in a blur. Becca shrieked, throwing herself into Gideon’s arms, and as she did, she intentionally let go of the urn. The ceramic jar shattered on the concrete path. Staring at the fine, grey ash scattering into the wind, something inside me snapped. I lunged forward, striking Becca across the face with all my remaining strength. A second later, Gideon shoved me hard, sending me crashing to the ground. “It’s just a jar! Are you out of your mind?!” The sharp ceramic shards sliced deep into my palms, blood spilling instantly. But I felt no pain. I scrambled on my knees, desperately trying to scoop my mother’s ashes back together with my bleeding hands. The blood stained the grey dust, turning it a dark, wet crimson. I didn’t even notice when Gideon and Becca finally walked away. That night, clutching a framed photograph of my mother, I swallowed the bottle of sleeping pills I had bought on my way home. As my eyelids grew impossibly heavy, I heard the soft chiming of the windbell on the porch. With the last of my strength, I turned my head, and in the doorway, I saw my mother smiling at me. On the nightstand, my phone screen was still open to the chat with future Gideon. Thirty minutes ago, I had sent him a final message: [Thank you for telling me the truth. It’s finally over.] At one in the morning, Gideon’s phone rang. It was the hospital. “Hello, is this the family of Hazel Vance? She has swallowed a lethal dose of sleeping pills! We are currently resuscitating her!” Gideon didn’t remember how he made it to the hospital. His mind was completely blank, running through multiple red lights in a haze of panic. Only when he saw the resuscitation form with Hazel’s name on it did his denial finally crumble. Right then, Hazel’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He answered it instinctively. But he never could have dreamed that the voice on the other end would be his own. Only, it sounded far more weathered, and completely frantic.

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  • If The Clock Could Rewind

    1 Midnight in the university alumni group chat, someone suddenly posed a popular question: “If you could turn back the clock, which year would you go back to?” Tristan, the golden boy of our department who had vanished from the face of the earth five years ago, suddenly popped up: “Our junior year, during that freezing winter.” A few seconds later, another message followed: “And back to Eleanor Sinclair’s side.” The group chat exploded instantly. Back at Amberley University, they had been the golden couple everyone whispered about: the untouchable, ethereal beauty and the dazzling star athlete. Their love had been wild, passionate, and loud. Unfortunately, it had ended in heartbreak when he moved abroad. To this day, everyone in that chat was absolutely certain Eleanor still loved him. Myself included. I turned my head to look at Eleanor, who was fast asleep beside me. The once unattainable goddess of our campus was now my wife. She was quiet, attentive, perfect in every duty of marriage, and she did not love me. In my past life, I had slowly drowned in depression trying to warm this frozen stone of a woman, dying with the bitter belief that her heart belonged entirely to Tristan. Having been given a second chance at life, I decided I was done playing the fool. I quietly slipped out of bed, placed the signed divorce papers on the nightstand, and rolled my suitcase toward the bedroom door. Suddenly, a pair of burning-hot hands wrapped around my waist from behind. She held me with a desperate, crushing strength. Her tears scalded my collarbone, and her voice was a terrifying, ragged whisper. “Baby, where are you going? Why are you divorcing me?” “Please, don’t leave me, okay?” “Eleanor, are you having a nightmare?” I asked softly. Eleanor’s voice changed instantly, as if someone had flipped a switch. The raw, ragged desperation vanished, replaced immediately by her usual frigid composure. Her grip on my waist loosened, her hands retreating as if she had touched a hot stove. I turned around to see her back facing me, her shoulder blades tense and rigid. The warm glow of the bedside lamp caught the side of her face. She quickly swiped the back of her hand across her cheek, erasing any trace of wetness. “It was just sleep paralysis. I wasn’t fully awake.” “I’m sorry for disturbing you.” She leaned down to pick up the divorce papers she had crumpled in her grip. Flattening the creases with slow, deliberate care, she spoke in her usual business-like tone. She folded the paper once, then twice, then three times, before tossing it with perfect precision into the wastebasket by the bed. The movement was clean and cold, as if she were throwing away a used tissue rather than our marriage. “The Sinclair family cannot afford this kind of public embarrassment.” “And we do not have a history of divorce.” “If you’re feeling restless, go out and spend some money tomorrow.” Leaving me with those flat, empty words, she turned and walked into the bathroom. The lock clicked shut. Soon, the sound of rushing water filled the room. I stood there in the dark, the spot on my collarbone where her tears had fallen now completely cold. She had been exactly like this in our past life. Occasionally, she would lose control in the dead of night, only to act as if nothing had happened the next morning, masking everything under an impenetrable layer of dignity and poise. For five years, I had stupidly let myself be moved by those rare moments of midnight vulnerability. My phone screen lit up in the darkness. There was a new message in the alumni chat. I swiped it open. Tristan had posted a photo: a yellowed, worn movie ticket stub from a classic romance film that had played during our junior year. He had captioned it: “Some memories remain warm, even after five freezing winters.” The replies rolled in immediately. “You still kept that, Tristan? My heart breaks for you.” “Some people are just impossible to forget.” “@Tristan, you deserve so much better.” I exited the chat, leaning down to gather my coat from the floor. As I did, my hand brushed against the academic journal Eleanor always kept on her nightstand. I knocked it slightly out of place, and something slipped out from the pages, landing softly on the carpet. I picked it up. It was a custom leather bookmark with gilded edges. It shared the exact same design, the exact same font, and the exact same layout as the movie ticket stub Tristan had just posted. They were a matching set. The shower stopped. The bathroom door opened. Eleanor walked out, wrapping her robe tighter around herself. Seeing me kneeling on the floor with the bookmark in my hand, she paused for a fraction of a second. “It was a promotional gift from the publisher,” she said, her voice as flat as if she were explaining a shipping invoice. I nodded, slipped the bookmark back into the journal, and stood up. No demands for explanations. No accusations. I didn’t even look at her a second time. I grabbed my duffel bag and began packing my toiletries: my toothbrush, my face wash, and the bottle of lotion that was nearly empty. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Going to my parents’ place.” “At three in the morning?” “Yes.” She fell silent for a few seconds. “Leave the bag. I’ll have the driver take you.” “No need.” I pushed open the bedroom door and walked down to the foyer. The butler was already waiting there, holding a black umbrella and a heavy camel hair coat. “Sir,” he said politely, “Madame instructed me to ensure you don’t catch a cold. It would harm the public image of the Sinclair family’s marital harmony.” I looked at the coat. In my past life, she had done this too. She would never chase after me, and she would never offer an explanation. But she would always make sure someone handed me an umbrella, a coat, or a cup of warm water at just the right temperature. It was a cruel trick that made you feel cared for, while simultaneously making you realize that the care had absolutely nothing to do with you as a person. She only cared about protecting the pristine title of “her husband.” I walked past the butler, opened the heavy front door, and let the biting winter wind hit my face. My phone vibrated again. It was a friend request on WeChat. The avatar was a silhouette of Tristan’s profile. The invitation message read: “It’s been five years. I just wanted to ask how she’s doing. Please don’t take it the wrong way, okay?” I stared at the words for three seconds. Then, I tapped accept. Tristan chose a quiet coffee shop tucked away in an alley near our old campus. He was sitting by the window wearing a cream knit sweater, his hair casually styled, looking noticeably thinner than he had in college. “Long time no see,” he said, rising to offer me a warm, gentle hug. He smelled faintly of cedarwood. I sat down, declining to order anything. “To be honest, I hesitated for a long time before reaching out to you,” Tristan said, keeping his eyes down as he stirred his latte, the spoon clinking softly against the ceramic. He pulled a yellowed document from his bag and slid it across the table. It was a photocopy of an old visa application from five years ago. “Eleanor kept this safe for me all this time,” he said, his voice cracking slightly with emotion. “I left in such a hurry back then, I didn’t have time to gather my things. I’ve wanted to get it back for years, but I was so afraid of disrupting your lives.” I glanced at the photocopy. Eleanor’s name was nowhere on it. “She kept a photocopy of your visa,” I said flatly. “And?” “Nothing, I just…” Tristan shook his head quickly, his eyes instantly brimming with tears. “I just thought you should hear this.” He pulled out his phone, tapped the screen, and played an audio clip. The quality was poor, sounding as if it had been recorded through a heavy door. Eleanor’s voice came through, sounding exhausted. “Don’t push him. I’ll handle whatever consequences come of this.” And then it cut off. There was no context, no hint of who she was speaking to or who she was talking about. Tristan paused the recording, looking up at me with wet, pleading eyes. “I ran into some trouble when I was abroad, and she… she helped me so much. I didn’t mean to come between you, I just…” I picked up the untouched glass of ice water in front of me and slowly poured it into the potted fern sitting on our table. A few drops splashed onto the sleeve of his white sweater. “Tristan,” I said, standing up. “Cut the tragic hero act.” “If you have something to say, say it. Stop playing these pathetic games.” “If you want Eleanor, you should be talking to her, not me.” He froze, his lips parting in shock. Without waiting for a response, I grabbed my bag and walked out. The moment I pushed through the glass door of the cafe, a sleek black luxury sedan pulled up smoothly to the curb. A bodyguard in a tailored suit stepped out, holding an umbrella. He bypassed me completely, walking straight up to Tristan and bowing slightly. “Mr. Tristan, Madame requests your presence in the car.” I looked back. The transition on Tristan’s face from utter shock to pure triumph took less than half a second. He scrambled to gather his things and practically ran to follow the guard. The rear window of the luxury sedan remained rolled up. The heavy tint made it impossible to see inside. But I knew Eleanor was sitting in the back seat. The car glided away. I stood there on the pavement as a cold, biting rain began to fall, soaking through my clothes. By seven that evening, the alumni group chat had descended into absolute chaos. One of Tristan’s friends had posted a blurry, secretly taken photo of Tristan leaning in to enter the luxury sedan. The license plate was fully visible. Tristan replied almost instantly: “Guys, please don’t share this. Her husband will be heartbroken if he sees it. I only wanted to see her from a distance.” The chat went wild. “Tristan, stop hurting yourself for her.” “Honestly, some people are just taking up a spot they don’t deserve. It’s frustrating to watch.” “@Tristan, you deserve to be cherished.” I typed out a reply. My finger hovered over the send button for three seconds before I deleted every single word. Then, someone else chimed in: “Please, just leave Tristan alone. He only recently recovered from severe depression. Don’t trigger him.” The screen kept scrolling with endless vitriol. “Some people really love bullying the gentle ones.” “Tristan only went abroad back then to let them be happy together.” I closed the app. I popped open my phone’s SIM tray, pulled out the card, snapped it clean in half, and dropped it into a trash can by the street. Then, I walked into a print shop, printed out a fresh copy of the divorce agreement, signed my name, and booked a same-day courier. The destination: Eleanor’s private estate. Less than twenty minutes after the delivery was marked as signed, my phone rang. It was the bank. “Mr. Sinclair, this is your private account manager. We regret to inform you that all secondary cards under your account have been suspended by the primary cardholder. If you have any questions, please contact…” I hung up. I opened my wallet. Inside were three fifty-dollar bills and a few stray coins. This was all the money I had in the world. I hadn’t worked a single day since we got married. Eleanor had always told me, “You don’t need to work. We have everything you could ever want.” In my past life, I had believed her. I had believed her for five years, until I ended up having to ask her assistant for household funds just to buy a box of stomach medicine. I dragged my suitcase through the cold streets for hours before finding a run-down motel on the west side of the city. The front desk clerk quoted me eighty dollars a night, no breakfast included. I paid for two nights, leaving myself with seventy dollars. My room was on the third floor, with a window that faced a blank concrete wall. The building’s heating hadn’t been turned on yet, and the sheets felt damp and freezing to the touch. Just as I set my suitcase down, there was a knock at the door. A motel employee stood there holding an elegantly wrapped thermal delivery box, wearing a smile that was entirely too bright. “Hello, sir! This is part of our motel’s new VIP welcome program. It’s a complimentary bowl of stomach-soothing porridge. Congratulations on winning!” I glanced at the gold-embossed logo on the box. The Golden Crane. It was an exclusive, reservation-only restaurant on the east side of the city that required a three-week waiting list. Inside was sugar-free date and longan porridge. Eleanor absolutely loathed porridge. But Tristan loved it. I had no desire to unravel the mystery of why this was showing up at my door. “No, thank you. I don’t want it.” “But sir, it’s completely free—” I shut the door in his face. The employee left the box on the floor outside. I opened the door again, picked it up, and tossed it into the trash chute down the hall. My stomach had been burning since the afternoon. I had left the house in such a rush that morning that I’d only had half a glass of cold water all day. I sat on the edge of the mattress, curling inward to wait out the sharp, twisting pain. It didn’t stop. It only grew worse, feeling as though a cold hand was slowly wringing my organs. I grabbed my keycard and went downstairs, walking to the convenience store at the corner. The pain relievers were on the bottom shelf. Just as I reached for them, someone rounded the corner of the aisle so fast they nearly ran me over. It was Penny, Eleanor’s personal assistant. She was dripping with sweat, panting heavily as if she had just sprinted across several blocks, clutching a prescription box of stomach medication in her hand. “Mr. Sinclair,” she stammered, trying desperately to sound casual. “What a coincidence! I was just passing by. This medicine is incredibly effective for stomach pain. I use it all the time, so I thought I’d just buy some for…” “Penny,” I said quietly. She stopped talking. I looked at the box in her hand. It was an imported, high-strength prescription drug specifically for stress-induced gastritis. There was absolutely no way a common convenience store carried it. “Did she send you?” Penny’s eyes darted away, her lips trembling. I reached out and knocked the box clean out of her hand. The plastic packaging hit the linoleum floor with a sharp crack, the pills spilling out and rolling under the shelves. “Go back and tell her,” I said, “to keep her cheap pity to herself. If she actually cares, she can start by signing the papers.” Penny scrambled onto her knees to gather the loose pills, her hands shaking so badly she could barely pick them up. Only when I had paid for my items and turned to leave did she catch up to me, pressing a heavy, gold-foiled invitation into my hands. “Mr. Sinclair, Madame insisted I deliver this to you personally.” “Tomorrow is the university’s centennial gala. Madame said that for the sake of the company’s stock stability, you must attend as her husband.” I took the invitation. The cover was stamped with the Amberley University crest and a small line of print: Reserved VIP Seating — Mrs. Eleanor Sinclair and Partner. My stomach flared with another wave of sharp pain. The alumni chat had been muted on my end, but the whispers still found a way to reach me. Tristan had posted a new set of photos. Standing in front of a dressing room mirror, he was wearing a tailored midnight-blue suit, looking back over his shoulder with a sharp, elegant jawline. The caption read: “Even if I’m only a supporting actor tonight, I want to look my best for an old friend.” Apparently, the comment section was filled with praise and broken hearts. I chose a fitted black velvet shirt from my bag. It was the most daring piece in my wardrobe, tailored perfectly to hug my waist. In my past life, I had never dared to wear anything like this. Eleanor had once told me, “You’re too thin. Fitted clothes make you look fragile and unstable.” Tonight, I didn’t care. The gala was held in the university’s historic Grand Hall. The crystal chandeliers were blindingly bright, casting a warm glow over the sea of expensive dresses and sharp suits. I walked in alone. Eyes fell on me from every corner of the room, carrying a mix of cold calculation, muffled snickers, and blatant amusement. I hadn’t walked ten paces before Tristan stepped out from the crowd. Flanked by a group of seven or eight loyal followers, he paused when he saw me, then slowly walked over. “Oliver,” he said, his voice so soft and delicate it sounded as if he were trying not to scare a wild animal. “I’m so sorry. If my being here makes things awkward for you… I can leave right now. Really.” He lowered his head slightly as he spoke, pulling his shoulders inward to look as small and yielding as possible. The surrounding crowd instantly looked at him with profound pity—and shot me looks of pure disgust. I ignored him, reaching out to take a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray. Just then, a wave of hushed murmurs swept through the entrance. Eleanor walked in, surrounded by several members of the university’s board of directors. She was wearing a charcoal-grey power suit, her gold cufflinks catching the light. Her eyes swept across the room. They lingered briefly on Tristan, then on the crowd surrounding him, and finally on me. Without a single change in her expression, she averted her gaze and walked straight toward the VIP stage. It was the look she would give a total stranger. One of the women standing next to Tristan suddenly spoke up, her voice sharp and loud enough to carry. “Oh, look, the house husband is here. All by himself? Did Eleanor leave you behind?” It was Gemma, a woman who had been notoriously obsessed with Tristan since our college days. I didn’t answer. Taking my silence as permission, she stepped closer with her wine glass in hand. As she tried to brush past me, her elbow suddenly lunged sideways. She didn’t hit me. Instead, she slammed hard into the glass champagne tower beside us. With a deafening crash, the delicate glass shattered, cascading down in a violent wave of alcohol. The freezing champagne drenched me from head to toe. My black velvet shirt was instantly soaked, clinging heavily to my skin. The hall fell dead silent for a second, followed by a wave of poorly suppressed laughter. “Oh my gosh, I am so, so sorry!” Gemma cried out with theatrical horror, though the corners of her mouth were twitching with amusement. More people began to crowd around us. “Weren’t you the one who forced Tristan to go abroad five years ago?” “He spent five miserable years alone in a foreign country because of you. Doesn’t your conscience bother you at all?” “Say something! Apologize to him in front of everyone! Get on your knees and apologize!” Tristan stood just outside the circle, his hands covering his mouth, looking entirely innocent, as if he had no idea how things had escalated to this point. I took a step back, my spine hitting a cold marble pillar. Champagne was dripping from my hem, pooling inside my shoes. The lights above felt entirely too bright. I reached slowly into my small leather clutch and pulled out a small, grey device. It was an old voice recorder, its edges worn white from years of handling. In my past life, I had never found the courage to use it. But in this life, it was more than enough. I looked up, staring past the angry, mocking faces in front of me, and locked eyes with Eleanor, who was still being toasted by the board members in the distance. She set her glass down, apparently noticing the commotion, and turned her head. Our eyes met. I turned around, took the audio cable dangling from the standing microphone next to the pillar, and plugged it directly into the recorder. “Do you all really think Tristan chose to sacrifice himself and that I was the one who forced him out? Well, you might want to listen closely to what actually happened.”

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  • I Am Never Your Appendage

    1 It was the third year of my self-imposed exile in the wilderness, living on a deserted island to keep Silas company, far away from human society. His severe autism made the world a hostile place for him. He still only tolerated my presence, refusing to let anyone else set foot on the shore. He remained the same as he had always been: expressionless, quiet, and completely averse to any form of physical contact. Until today, when the tide washed a woman onto our beach. By the time I found them, his face was flushed red with embarrassment as he desperately pressed his lips to hers, performing mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Over the next two weeks, I watched him lead her through every corner of the sanctuary we had built with our own hands. “This is the shelter. I tore it down and rebuilt it seven times.” “This is the garden. We grow lettuce and cucumbers here.” “This is where we fish. The water purifier is kept here too.” Finally, sitting under the glow of the campfire, he looked at her with a depth of emotion I had never seen and asked, “Sherry, the world out there is filthy. Stay here with me, okay?” I stared blankly at the sudden warmth in Silas’s face, a bitter, hollow ache spreading through my chest. In that moment, I finally understood. Someone had actually succeeded in breaking through his shell. But that person wasn’t me. Sherry ignored Silas, turning her head to look at me instead. “Lyra, why are you so quiet?” I sat on a log, preparing to speak, but Silas cut in with sudden, desperate urgency. “What is it about this place that you don’t like? I can have the Harrisons remodel the entire island. A massive villa with a swimming pool? A beautiful botanical garden? Just name it.” Silas had always loved the raw state of nature, detesting any form of modern technology that could corrupt the environment. Before we came to the island, his grandfather had insisted on building a sturdy concrete house for us. Silas had rejected the offer flatly. Shortly after we arrived, the rainy season hit. My clothes were perpetually damp, clinging to my skin. By the tenth day of a raging fever, I didn’t even have the strength to stand. Yet, all Silas had said back then was, “Once the shelter is built, it will be better.” Sherry let out a soft laugh. “Silas, you already have Lyra here to keep you company. Why would I stay? Besides, I get the feeling she dislikes me. I don’t think she wants me here.” Silas frowned, turning his head to glare at me with cold accusation. “You hate her?” Before I could even attempt to explain, he turned back to Sherry, his eyes fixed on her with an eager intensity. “This is my island. Don’t you know who the Harrisons are? We are the wealthiest family in the country.” He was practically desperate to display his fortune, showing off his lineage like a peacock fanning its feathers. Suddenly, it felt as though a clump of wet cotton was wedged in my throat. It had taken me ten long years of patience to understand Silas’s habits and his way of speaking. Sherry had demolished all of it in just two weeks. Over the past few days, Silas had initiated twenty-seven satellite calls to his grandfather. Every single one of them was for Sherry’s sake. Helicopters, which he usually despised for their loud engines, began arriving one after another. They brought fresh cakes, gourmet milk tea, and even luxury clothes and designer jewelry. They erected one elaborate, high-end tent after another on the beach, all reserved exclusively for her. I blinked rapidly, forcing back the tears that threatened to spill. I simply couldn’t believe Silas could fall for someone this easily. The satellite phone vibrated in my pocket. I stood up silently and walked a short distance away to answer it. It was his grandfather, Charles Harrison. Lately, he had been calling every day to ask about Silas’s condition, and I had reported everything to him honestly. Charles let out a booming laugh over the receiver. “Lyra, my boy Silas wants to keep Sherry on the island! He’s actually in love! I can’t believe how blunt he is when he tries to win a girl over!” His voice carried the same excited warmth as the time he first saw Silas kiss me. That had happened right after we finished building our very first crude shelter, which was so poorly made it leaked when it rained. Silas had been so ecstatic he spun me around three times and pressed a quick, clumsy kiss to my lips. My heart had nearly stopped beating in that moment. The old man on the line paused suddenly, realizing that I was still Silas’s fiancée. His tone quickly shifted to one of quiet comfort. “Lyra, I know Silas used to care for you deeply. He used to accompany you to the hospital every single day just to be near you. And when you two got into that car accident, he nearly lost his life trying to shield you. But love is a strange thing; it has no rhyme or reason. Maybe what he felt for you was just the affection of a sibling. If he truly loves Sherry, we should dissolve the engagement. I will compensate you, of course. I’ll officially adopt you as his sister.” I remembered when Charles had held my hand years ago, telling me how grateful he was to have me, wishing I could stay by Silas’s side forever. “Grandfather,” I said softly, “the medical expenses your family pays for my mother’s treatment are more than enough. I’ll stay for another two weeks. If… if things don’t change, I will leave the island on my own.” I was ten years old when I first met Silas. He had always rejected everyone, but for some reason, he would sit quietly in my mother’s hospital room, listening to me babble happily about school. When Charles discovered this, he immediately transferred my leukemia-stricken mother to a private wing and hired the best specialists. In exchange, I became Silas’s shadow. We ate together, studied together, and played together. He hated speaking, so I did all the talking. He couldn’t fit in with our classmates, so I constantly explained his behavior to others, shielding him from their cold, mocking stares. We had made a pact back then: if he managed to finish university, I would accompany him to a deserted island to escape the world for five years. But now, it was clear he no longer needed me. These days, he guided Sherry to every corner of the island, walking shoulder-to-shoulder with her, leaving no space for me to join them. Helicopters now flew in three times a day, delivering whatever Sherry wanted to eat, drink, or play with. They even transported two tons of purified water daily just so she could take comfortable showers. The plans for the villa, the pool, and the garden had already been laid out. Meanwhile, our small garden had been completely dug up by the workers. Those fruits and vegetables we had nurtured so carefully were tossed to the side, left to rot in the dirt. The mechanical roar of construction equipment was constant. Normally, Silas would have flown into a violent, shaking rage at such noise, requiring hours of gentle soothing from me to calm down. But now, he endured the discomfort willingly just to stay by her side, relaying her demands to the architects, revising the blueprints for the eight-hundredth time. His eyes remained filled with absolute indulgence whenever he looked at her. At night, Sherry would blast loud music that echoed across the entire island, pulling Silas to dance with her around the campfire. She would squeeze his chest, laughing. “Silas, you’re incredibly handsome. You’re in better shape than most movie stars.” With a sly smile, her fingers slid slowly down past his waistband. His throat bobbed, but he didn’t pull away. I couldn’t watch any longer and turned to leave, but the sound of a dry branch snapping under my foot betrayed my presence. Their eyes snapped toward me. Silas stiffened, while Sherry remained draped over him like a vine. I didn’t expect him to run after me, but he did, grabbing my wrist with a tight, frustrated grip. His brow was furrowed, his voice laced with irritation. “What are you doing? The island is huge. Do you have to keep stalking us?” “You put bugs in Sherry’s food, left a snake in her tent, and falsely accused her of pushing you into the sea. What are you planning to do this time?” It felt as if my heart was being squeezed by a cold hand. “I’ve explained to you a dozen times, I didn’t do any of those things,” I said, looking up to meet his eyes. “Silas, I’ve already told your grandfather. I’m leaving in two weeks.” But Silas only saw my departure as a childish tantrum. “Are you unhappy with the lifestyle here now? If you prefer the primitive way, you can keep living like that. But Sherry is a celebrity, she’s different from you. She’s used to being pampered. The fact that she’s willing to live on an isolated island is already incredible.” I opened my mouth, but the rest of my words died in my throat. I slowly pried his fingers off my wrist and forced a small, tired smile. “Silas, you’ve fallen for her.” He froze, his scowl deepening. “I haven’t. I was just dancing with her. I know you’re my fiancée. I’ll keep my promise and marry you when we turn twenty-five. Can you stop being so suffocating?” He was a man of very few words. In the past, I would say ten sentences and he would reply with one. Now, he was talking more than he ever had, yet he was accusing me of being suffocating. And all of it was because of Sherry. An overwhelming exhaustion washed over me. As I turned to walk away, Silas yanked my arm, throwing me off balance. I fell forward, a sharp rock jutting out directly in front of my face. I gasped, reaching back instinctively to grab him for support, but he let go. Sherry had tripped behind him. He lunged past me, catching her securely in his arms. I slammed hard against the sharp rock. A deep gash tore across my forehead, and warm blood began to trickle down my face. I looked up through the crimson haze, only to see him looking frantically at Sherry. “Sherry, are you hurt?” Sherry shook her head, her face pale as she looked at Silas. “Silas, I don’t want to cause any more misunderstandings between you two. Maybe I should be the one to leave.” I clutched my bleeding forehead. Silas didn’t give me so much as a passing glance, his words slipping out without hesitation. “I’ll have her leave the island so she can calm down.” My tears mixed with the blood dripping down my cheek. In that moment, I decided I wanted to leave immediately, just as he wished. After performing some basic first aid on my wound, I used the satellite phone to call Charles. The old man let out a delighted laugh. “Excellent! Excellent!” “Tell Sherry that if she gets pregnant, I will give her a hundred million dollars. If she gives birth to a boy, she can have whatever she desires. She doesn’t need to play those petty games anymore.” Charles had seen Sherry push me into the ocean through the satellite surveillance feeds. But he had never cared about who was right or wrong; he only cared about who could make Silas behave more like a normal human being. “You have no idea, Lyra. I’ve already had my staff edit a bunch of clips of them together. We’ll play them at their wedding.” His voice turned soft and coaxing. “Lyra, since things have turned out this way, why don’t you come back first? Let’s leave the island to the two young lovers.” The phrase young lovers felt like a needle driving straight into my heart. “Okay,” I whispered. “Grandfather, if that’s the case, you should tell Sherry yourself. I’ll leave the satellite phone with her.” I asked him to send a helicopter for me, then went back to the shelter to pack my belongings. When I entered, I found my only three sets of spare clothes shredded to pieces. Sherry was standing nearby, trying on a designer dress. She walked over, looking feigningly surprised. “Oh, Lyra, I’m so sorry. I just mentioned in passing that I needed some rags to wipe down the furniture. I had no idea Silas would go and shred your clothes.” “Why don’t you look through my wardrobe and see if there’s anything you like? I’ll give it to you as compensation.” I looked around the room. This was the shelter Silas and I had built with our own hands, the place where we had lived together for three years. The handmade clay plates and cups we had crafted were gone. Even the sacred fire we had kept burning continuously had been reduced to cold ashes. Now, the entire space was crammed with luxury clothing, expensive jewelry boxes, and a massive full-length mirror. Ignoring her insincere apology, I laid the satellite phone down on a trunk. “It’s all yours,” I said, turning to walk out. Sherry called out to me, looking at me with a smirk. “Lyra, to be honest, I really envied you. A penniless orphan almost becoming the mistress of the Harrison estate.” She let out a soft, mocking chuckle. “But don’t blame me for taking what’s yours. Silas was already sick of you. If you’re going to leave, do it quickly.” My face darkened as I gave her a cold warning. “I’ve already asked the Harrisons to investigate your background. You better pray you don’t have any skeletons in your closet.” A flash of panic crossed Sherry’s face. The next second, she raised her hand and slapped herself hard across the cheek, letting out a piercing shriek. “Lyra, please! I beg you, let me go!” She frantically disheveled her hair, tearing at her own collar just as Silas came rushing through the entrance, pulling her into his arms. “Silas, Lyra told me to stay away from you. She told me to leave the island immediately and stop seducing you, or else she’d throw me into the ocean to feed the sharks!” Silas’s eyes instantly turned red with rage as he glared at me with disgust. “Lyra, when did you become so malicious?” “I’m the one who insisted Sherry stay. If you’re angry, take it out on me!” “Apologize to her right now!” I looked at him, listening to the soft whimpering of the woman cradled in his chest. The suffocating weight of my grievances could no longer be contained. “I didn’t do anything.” Silas didn’t pay attention to my words, his harsh voice drowning me out. “Are you lying to me now too?” “And to think Sherry spent days helping me prepare a birthday gift for you, even going out of her way to have a mango cake delivered from across the country!” “Get out!” In just two short weeks, Silas had memorized Sherry’s favorite tea flavors and her preferred clothing brands. He knew what colors she liked and what flowers she adored, promising to plant a garden full of roses and lilies for her once the villa was completed. He, who had never cared for media, could even recite the names of her favorite directors, actors, and singers. Yet, he had completely forgotten that I was severely allergic to roses and mangoes. The wind swept over the cliffs, carrying away the tears from my eyes. I turned and walked away. Just as I reached the edge of the cliff to wait for the helicopter, Silas blocked my path once again. The anger in his eyes was palpable. “Where is Sherry’s jade pendant?” “Give it back to her.” “That was a gift from her mother for her eighteenth birthday.” Being falsely accused over and over again finally pushed me past my breaking point. I screamed at him, my voice cracking. “I didn’t touch Sherry!” “I didn’t threaten her!” “And I have never seen her stupid pendant!” I had never once lost my temper with Silas in all the years we had spent together. He froze for a moment, but my anger only seemed to provoke his own. He grabbed my wrist, yanked off my red string bracelet, and hurled it over the edge of the cliff. “Fine. If you won’t give it back, then you don’t get to keep yours either.” My breathing stopped. He knew exactly how much I treasured that bracelet. It was the only keepsake left to me by my deceased parents, something my father had traveled to a temple to obtain for my mother when I was born. After they passed away, I had worn it every single day for seven years. It was all I had left of them. The tears finally spilled over, completely out of my control. Silas’s expression softened slightly at the sight of my tears, but he still held my arm. “Now we’re even,” he said. “Go apologize to Sherry, and I’ll forgive you.” “If you don’t want to live on the island anymore, I can accompany you back to the city for a while. I’ve already promised to help Sherry win an award, but once the villa is built, we can come back together.” Seeing that I wouldn’t stop crying, he grew increasingly anxious, talking far more than usual. “What is wrong with you lately? Why won’t you speak to me?” “I’m not even holding your behavior against Sherry anymore.” “Are you crying now just so you can run to my grandfather and tell him I bullied you?” His voice grew louder, as if he were desperately trying to force everything back into order. “Sherry said you’re just jealous. I never said I wouldn’t marry you.” “You’re going to be Mrs. Harrison soon anyway. What more could you possibly want?” I raised my hand and slapped Silas hard across the face. I stared into his eyes, speaking slowly and clearly. “Silas, no one in the outside world even knows about our engagement.” “Your grandfather will help us dissolve it. I am not marrying you.” “I am leaving right now. We are done.” Silas’s expression darkened instantly. I ignored him, turning around and throwing myself over the edge of the cliff into the sea, desperate to find my red string bracelet in the vast, churning water. After my tenth dive, I dragged myself onto the shore to rest. Silas found me again, dragging my shivering, soaking-wet body back to the camp and shoving me in front of Sherry to force an apology. Sherry, her eyes red, spoke up timidly. “Silas, one of the construction workers found my pendant. I… I must have dropped it by accident earlier.” Silas’s grip on my wrist loosened. He let out a sigh of relief, gently brushing a tear from Sherry’s cheek. “I’m glad we found it.” “You’re too kind, Sherry. You don’t need to make excuses for Lyra.” He turned back to me, his tone carrying a sense of magnanimous forgiveness. “Lyra, thank Sherry.” “Thank her for being so understanding.” “Thank her for what?” I asked, my voice deadly quiet. “For framing me?” Seeing that I was completely unyielding, anger flared in Silas’s eyes once again. The roar of several incoming helicopters drew Sherry’s attention. She tugged at Silas’s sleeve. “Silas, it’s fine. Let’s go see what else you bought for me.” Silas shot me a final, warning glance, but I met his gaze with absolute indifference. I watched from a distance as Sherry squealed with delight, kissing the designer handbag Silas had purchased for her. Silas smiled indulgently, though a faint crease remained between his brows. “As long as you like it, Sherry. We’ll leave tomorrow, and I’ll buy you even more beautiful dresses for your red carpet events.” “What about Lyra?” “Leave her here. Since she loves the island so much, she can supervise the construction of our villa.”

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  • Stop And Wait Right Here At The Intersection

    1 The green light flashed as I reached the crosswalk. I hesitated while Darcy and Owen dashed across. Red trapped me at the curb. They never looked back. A black car hissed past, mud spattering my pants. I blinked, stunned, then stepped away. I had always been half a beat behind, last to drop my fork and lagging on group walks. In school, they fretted over my grades. One drilled math while the other took notes until their heads bent close, bickering over a geometry line all afternoon. I sat mute beside them. Apartment hunting, they linked arms, comparing commutes and sunlight. Owen swung Darcy’s bag as she laughed. I trailed, watching their backs. Only those in sync caught the same green light. The slow waited alone. The signal changed. I stepped forward. If we could not walk together, I would walk alone. … By the time I reached the apartment, they were already inside, exploring the rooms. Seeing me enter, Darcy’s face tightened with impatience. “What took you so long? Owen and I are almost done looking. If you were any slower, the agent would have gone off work.” Owen poked his head out from the kitchen, quickly walking over to Darcy’s side and gently patting her shoulder. “Stop yelling at Shawn. He’s always walked slow. Can’t you show some patience?” I looked down at the dark mud stains on my trousers. “You guys just walk too fast.” Owen let out a cheerful laugh, pointing toward the open balcony. “Well, at least you’re here now. Look at this balcony; it’s beautiful. Planting some lisianthus flowers here would look amazing, perfect for photos.” Darcy followed his gaze, letting out a soft chuckle. “Lisianthus are incredibly hard to keep alive. With your three-minute attention span, they wouldn’t survive a week. Better to grow mint; at least we can use it for cocktails.” “Who says I can’t keep them alive? I’m going to plant lisianthus!” “Fine. When they wither, don’t expect me to replant them for you.” They bickered back and forth, their voices filled with a comfortable, intimate familiarity, looking exactly like a young couple planning their first home together. But I was the one renting the apartment. I was the one who would be paying the rent. Yet, they had already bypassed me entirely, deciding the fate of the balcony and even assuming I would definitely live here. Looking at the empty concrete floor, a sudden wave of apathy washed over me. I didn’t even want to plant a single blade of grass here anymore. The bitter taste of being ignored crept up my throat. I remembered a time when I had complained to Darcy about how difficult it was for me to join their conversations. She hadn’t even looked up from her phone. “You’re always sitting there like a mute. How is anyone supposed to constantly cater to your quiet moods?” I took a deep breath, stepping forward to bridge the distance between us. “Actually, I think a cactus would be nice too,” I said, trying to keep my voice light and cheerful. “Because when a cactus gets heartbroken, it turns into a round little ball because it cries so hard all its needles fall off.” It was a silly, outdated joke I had read in an old magazine the night before. The moment the words left my mouth, the playful bickering stopped, and the room plunged into an awkward, suffocating silence. Perhaps because I was always slow, even my jokes were hopelessly outdated. Five seconds passed. Owen was the first to react, breaking the silence with a sudden burst of laughter. “Darcy, that was freezing. That joke is even colder than the time you fell into the snowbank in Iceland.” Darcy’s eyes instantly crinkled with warmth at his words. “And whose brilliant idea was it to drag me into the backcountry for skiing? I was the one who had to dig you out of that hole.” “Haha, you were covered in snow from head to toe, looking at least ten years older. If you end up an old maid because of that, don’t expect me to marry you!” They laughed freely, their joy unreserved. I remembered how she had promised to take me to see the Northern Lights once we graduated, then pushed it back to when our careers settled, and then told me to wait until her next vacation. I had waited and waited, only to find out she had already gone with Owen. “Iceland?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “When did you go?” The laughter stopped instantly. Darcy’s expression smoothed over into a cool, dismissive mask. “Last winter. You were away on a photography shoot.” Was I away on a shoot, or did they deliberately plan the trip for when I was gone? Owen waved his hand quickly. “It’s in the past, no big deal. Let’s focus on the apartment.” They moved on, their mutual silence closing the topic with perfect coordination. The damp, muddy trousers clung to my skin, making every second I stood there feel like an eternity. “I’m not feeling well. I’m going home. We can look at apartments another time.” As I turned to leave, I heard Darcy’s low, irritated whisper behind me. “Throwing another tantrum. He’s completely spoiled.” I returned to our shared apartment alone. I slipped on my slippers and went into the bathroom, using a wet wipe to gently clean the dried mud from my trousers. The motion-sensor light above flickered on and then died, leaving me in the dark. Only when the water in the sink overflowed, spilling cold droplets onto my bare feet, did my slow brain register the mess and reach out to turn off the faucet. I was always half a beat behind. But it hadn’t always been this way. When I was seven, Darcy had dragged me into a torrential downpour for two hours just to catch a cicada. I had suffered a raging fever for a day and a night, nearly damaging my brain. From that day on, my reflexes were permanently slower than the rest of the world. My older sister, Valerie, had been so furious she wanted to beat Darcy. The young Darcy had knelt by my bedside, her face drenched in tears as she sobbed, “Valerie, you can hit me! It’s all my fault! Just please don’t take Shawn away. I swear, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to him. I’ll never let him suffer a single day of unhappiness.” I believed her. And my sister believed her too. So, when Valerie took over our family’s international business and moved abroad, she left me to live with Darcy’s family. In the beginning, Darcy had kept her promise. Back when my hair was long, I was too slow and clumsy to hold the heavy blow dryer steady. She would always take it from my hands, her slender fingers gently running through my hair, checking to make sure the air wasn’t too hot. “It’s okay if our Shawn is slow. I have all the time in the world to wait for you.” But now, she had run out of time. A few days ago, under the exact same circumstances, water was dripping from my hair onto the floor. She hadn’t reached for the dryer. Instead, she had simply tossed a dry towel at my chest, her brow furrowed with a deep, unconscious irritation. “Shawn, you’re twenty-three, not three. Can’t you learn to be a bit more independent like Owen? He carried a water jug up six flights of stairs the other day without a single complaint. You can’t cling to me forever. Move out into your own place for a while and learn how to be an adult.” Patience, it seemed, was a resource easily worn away by time. The person who had once sworn to spend her life making things up to me now found me to be nothing but a nuisance. And that was why I had gone to look at apartments today. I dried my hands, walked into the living room, and sat down on the sofa. I pulled my camera from my bag. It was one of the few things I truly owned, and the tool I used for my photography work. I spun the dial, clicking through the playback menu. The screen illuminated my face in the dark room as I slowly scrolled backward, image by image. I was the one who had pressed the shutter on every single one of them. The compositions were steady, the lighting captured beautifully. But the subjects were always the same. Darcy and Owen laughing by the window of a chic cafe. Darcy and Owen clinking their glasses together by a cozy campfire. Owen gently reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from Darcy’s eyes. There were over three hundred photos stored on the memory card, and I was permanently frozen behind the lens, invisible. In the life that belonged to Darcy, my only role was to record her moments with someone else. I wasn’t in her photos. And naturally, I had no place in her future. Darcy didn’t return until late in the afternoon. She tossed her car keys onto the entryway table, the metal clinking sharply against the wood. “Shawn, what exactly is your problem?” she asked, walking over to stand in front of me with her arms crossed. “Owen spent four afternoons running around, calling in favors just to find a place that suited you. What are you so unhappy about?” “Leaving like that just because you ‘didn’t feel well’… do you have any idea how awkward you made things for him?” “I don’t have a problem with the apartment,” I said slowly. “Then why did you look so miserable? He spent the entire day worrying about you, so guilty he couldn’t even eat dinner.” So Owen hadn’t eaten dinner, and she had rushed back to demand justice on his behalf. Last month, when my acute gastroenteritis had flared up so badly I was curled double on the sofa, she had only sent a brief text: Drink some hot water. I have to play cards with some clients tonight. Order some medicine through a delivery app. I pressed the delete button on my camera, erasing every single photo on the card. “I just felt like… that apartment wasn’t being chosen for me.” She let out a cold scoff. “Shawn, stop being so paranoid and bitter. Do you think everyone is as idle as you, sitting at home all day looking for things to complain about?” “I’ve booked a restaurant for tomorrow lunch. You’re going to come and apologize to him, and we’re going to put this behind us.” I stared at her for a few silent seconds. My girlfriend was furious because I hadn’t managed to protect the feelings of another man. “Darcy, let’s break up.” Darcy’s expression froze. A flash of genuine shock crossed her eyes, quickly replaced by a look of sheer amusement. “Break up?” “Shawn, do you really think you can threaten me with that? With your slow, helpless brain, where would you even go without me?” “I’m not threatening you.” Darcy turned away, tossing her bag onto the sofa. “Fine, stop acting childish. I’ll text you the restaurant address. Make sure you’re on time.” She walked into the bathroom without looking back, and the sound of running water soon filled the apartment, shutting my voice out completely behind the frosted glass door. The next day, I went to the restaurant anyway. Owen really had spent a lot of time helping me look at apartments, and my upbringing dictated that a proper “thank you” was still necessary. When I pushed open the door to the private room, they were already there. They were sitting side-by-side on one side of the long table, their heads close together as they laughed at something on a phone screen. A table set for three always had a cruel geometry. They sat so close their shoulders were practically touching. And I was left to pull out the single chair opposite them, sitting down like an uninvited guest at a private meeting. “Shawn, you’re here!” Owen greeted me with a bright smile. “Darcy said you were throwing a fit and might not show up. No need to apologize, we’re all friends here. It’s no big deal, let’s just move past it.” “Thank you,” I said softly, keeping my eyes on the table. In front of Darcy and Owen sat two tall, condensation-beaded glasses of iced lemon tea. In front of me, there was nothing. In the past, whenever we ate out, she would always make sure a cup of warm tea was waiting for me the moment I sat down, knowing my weak stomach couldn’t handle ice. Now, she couldn’t even remember to order a glass of water for me. “I’ll go grab something to drink,” I said, rising from the table. I walked to the front counter and ordered a hot milk. As I waited for the drink to be prepared, I turned to walk back to the room. Just as I rounded the corner, a waiter carrying a heavy, piping-hot clay pot of soup came rushing toward me. “Watch out!” I heard the warning. But my reflexes were always half a beat behind. By the time my foot took a single inch of a step backward, the boiling liquid had already cascaded down. Most of the scalding soup poured directly onto my shins and the tops of my feet. An agonizing, searing pain instantly ripped through my skin. My brain went entirely blank, and my body froze, locking me in place. The door to the private room opened, and Darcy and Owen stepped out. She didn’t rush forward to help me. Instead, she let out a light laugh. “Shawn, when are you going to fix that slow reaction time? You’re a grown man, how do you not even know how to dodge a waiter?” Owen stood beside her, joining in on her laughter. “Seriously, Shawn, you’re too much. If that were me, I would have leaped out of the way in a second. Your reflexes are slower than a sloth’s.” Darcy chimed in, “If he had even half of your quickness, I wouldn’t have to spend every waking hour worrying about him.” The skin on my legs was already beginning to swell into angry, red blisters, the burning pain radiating deep into my bones. Back in high school, I had tripped on the track, scraping a tiny patch of skin on my knee that barely even bled. Darcy had run faster than the gym teacher to reach me, her face pale as she helped me up, her hands trembling so hard she could barely hold a cotton swab in the nurse’s office. “You can’t even walk straight,” she had scolded me, her voice shaking. “What are you going to do if I’m ever not around?” Owen had also patted my shoulder, promising to keep an eye on me whenever we ran. But now, as they stared at my blistering skin, they only found my clumsy pain amusing. I looked up, meeting her eyes. “Is this funny to you?” The laughter faded slightly from Darcy’s face. “It was just a joke, Shawn. Do you have to take everything so seriously?” Owen chimed in, “Yeah, Shawn, I was just trying to lighten the mood. Don’t be mad. When I burned myself cooking before, I just put some toothpaste on it and was fine. It’s really no big deal.” Darcy let out an impatient sigh. “You heard him. Go to the bathroom and run some cold water over it. Stop standing there making a scene.” I took a taxi to the city hospital by myself. After the doctor had finished cleaning and bandaging my burns, I pulled out my phone and sent a message to my sister. Valerie, is your offer for me to come to Los Angeles to help you still open? Her reply came almost instantly. Of course it is! I’ve kept a room ready for you. Did that girl Darcy do something to you? My throat tightened, and I blinked back tears. I just really, really miss you. I returned to the apartment and began packing my suitcase. As I worked, I noticed that the moisture-proof box I kept in the corner of the closet was empty. Inside was the only keepsake my mother had left me: an extremely rare, out-of-production roll of Kodak film that had inspired my dream of becoming a photographer. The front door opened, and Darcy walked in. Seeing my bandaged leg, her brow furrowed slightly. “What did you do? You look like a mummy.” She knelt down, her fingers gently touching my ankle. “Try to look where you’re going next time. Once this busy season is over, I’ll take you to Iceland to see the Northern Lights, okay? Stop looking so miserable all the time, no one owes you anything.” I pulled my leg back, out of her reach. “Where is my film?” Her hand froze in mid-air. She stood up, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a crushed, bent metal canister. “Since you treasured it so much, Owen and I decided to hide it. We were going to give it back once you got worried, to give you a surprise.” “But the metal was so old. When Owen tried to pull it open to look, he accidentally tore the film.” My hands shook as I took the canister and opened the lid. The delicate film inside had been completely pulled out of its casing, entirely exposed to the light. It was torn clean in two. It was the only remaining memory of my mother, something I would hold and look at on the nights when insomnia gripped me, missing her. My voice shook uncontrollably. “Do you have any idea how important that was to me?” “I know, but he didn’t do it on purpose.” She reached into her shopping bag and pulled out two brand-new, expensive rolls of film, placing them on the table. “No matter how important that old film was, can it really be more important than my relationship with Owen? I went out of my way to buy these rare replacements at a premium for you.” I raised my hand and slapped her hard across the face. The force of the blow turned her head to the side. She froze, completely stunned. When I was seventeen, I had accidentally lost a cheap lens cap worth a few dollars. Darcy had spent three hours with a flashlight in the dark schoolyard grass, searching until she found it. She had told me back then, “Anything that belongs to Shawn, no matter how small, is a treasure.” But now, she had personally helped destroy my most precious memory. Darcy slowly turned her head back, her grip clamping onto my wrist with sudden, terrifying strength. “Shawn, are you out of your mind!” She pulled me roughly into her chest, locking her arms around me. “Let go of me!” I struggled. “Stop acting up!” she commanded, her arms tightening until I could barely breathe. “That film is already in the past! You have to learn to look forward, do you understand?” I stopped struggling, letting my arms hang limp at my sides. My tears slipped silently down, soaking into her collar. Yes, she was right. It was all in the past. Including her. I cried quietly, the silent tears flowing until my eyes felt dry and the sharp ache in my chest finally subsided. Darcy’s hand gently stroked my back. Only when she felt my muscles finally relax did she slowly loosen her grip. “You still have me,” she whispered softly. I didn’t answer her. I turned back to the bedroom to continue packing. Darcy followed me, her voice turning cold. “What are you doing?” “Packing my things.” “Are you playing the run-away-from-home game again?” “You were the one who told me to learn from Owen and be independent. I’m moving into the rental tomorrow.” She opened her mouth to argue, but stopped, remembering that she had indeed been the one to suggest I move out. After a long silence, she spoke quietly. “Let’s sleep in the same bed tonight. Since it’s your last night here.” We hadn’t slept in the same bed for months. She had complained that my slow lifestyle affected her sleep, and that my tossing and turning disturbed her work the next day. She had told me, “Shawn, you need to learn to be independent, not like a child who needs someone to hold him to sleep.” So I had moved into the guest bedroom, and I had stayed there for half a year. I didn’t argue. That night, Darcy wrapped her arms around my waist from behind. In the dark, I kept my eyes wide open, staring at the neon lights of the city glittering through the window. “Darcy, if I truly learn to be independent, will you be happy?” “Of course,” she answered without hesitation, her tone carrying a wave of relief. “I can’t wait.” Yet, the arm wrapped around my waist tightened its grip just a fraction. The next morning, I changed into fresh clothes and rolled my suitcase to the entrance. Darcy put on her coat, reaching out to take the handle of my bag. “I’ll help you move.” Before her hand could touch the metal bar, the phone in her pocket began to ring. It was Owen, his voice bright and excited over the speaker. “Darcy! That new sci-fi movie is premiering today, and I managed to snag two tickets! Come watch it with me!” That was the movie we had promised to see together three months ago. Darcy glanced at me, then accepted his invitation, hanging up the phone and heading for the door in a rush. “Take a cab to move your things first. I’ll go watch the movie with him, and we’ll come find you at your new place later.” “Okay,” I said quietly. Once the door clicked shut behind her, I called a cab and headed straight for the airport. I dialed my sister’s number. “Valerie, make sure you’re there to pick me up.” Her warm, laughing voice came through the line. “Don’t worry, little brother. Have I ever forgotten anything that concerns you?”

    🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “499814”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel