Author: Momo Chan

My boyfriend, Glenn, was the star debater on our university’s champion team. My cousin, Kendall, was his fiercely competitive teammate—the opponent-turned-partner who fought him tooth and nail over every single argument. And I was just the silent girl on the sidelines, unable to utter a single word. Today, the two of them had received a formal invitation to compete on a hit national television debate show. To celebrate, we went out for dinner at an upscale bistro downtown. Yet, before the main courses even arrived, the two of them were already locked in a heated debate across the table. The topic: “In love, what matters more—compatibility or chemistry?” “Compatibility wins every time,” Kendall argued, leaning forward, her eyes bright with intensity. “Passion fades. If your lives don’t align logically, love isn’t enough to sustain a relationship.” Glenn immediately fired back, his voice smooth and persuasive. “If you can’t be with the person you actually love, what’s the point of being in a relationship at all?” Their words flew fast and sharp, impeccably structured and effortlessly logical. I sat beside them, hands resting quietly in my lap, playing the part of their silent audience. Mid-sentence, Kendall choked on her water, breaking her cadence. Glenn—who never surrendered an argument to anyone—instantly dropped his defense. Without a second thought, he reached across the table and poured her a glass of warm honey water, sliding it toward her. Kendall took a sip, her lips curving into a triumphant smirk. “You see? You lost. Two people who aren’t compatible should never end up together in the first place.” She paused, casting a casual glance my way. “Just like you and Hailey.” … The words hung in the air. Realizing how cold it sounded, Kendall quickly smoothed her expression, leaning over to touch my arm. “Hailey, honey, I didn’t mean it like that,” she insisted softly. “You know I love you. I just mean… you and Glenn don’t really have much in common to talk about…” She trailed off, flustered. “Ugh, I’m explaining this so badly. That’s not what I meant at all…” The sharpest tongue on the collegiate debate circuit was suddenly stumbling over her words. Perhaps it was because she had accidentally spoken the absolute truth—a truth so transparent even she couldn’t construct a logical defense for it. “All right, that’s enough,” Glenn interrupted softly, stepping in to save her from her own embarrassment. “She’s just saying that because she thinks I’m not good enough for you, Hailey. She’s trying to drive a wedge between us because she couldn’t beat me in the argument.” Kendall planted her hands on her hips, feigning outrage. “If we’re talking about petty revenge, Glenn, nobody holds a candle to you!” She turned to me, her voice buzzing with animated frustration. “During practice last Saturday, I backed him into a corner until he had nothing left to say. And what did he do? He stole my iced coffee and swapped it for a mug of hot chamomile tea because he knew I needed the caffeine to stay sharp. Tell me that isn’t devious!” My heart shrank into a cold, tight knot. I looked down at my phone, staring at the lock screen photo of Glenn and me. Because Kendall and I had lived under the same roof for years, our body clocks had aligned. Our monthly cycles always hit at the exact same time. Last Saturday had been the first day of my period. I spent that morning curled up in bed, paralyzed by unbearable abdominal cramps. When I texted Glenn, he had simply replied: “Drink plenty of warm water and rest.” In all the years we had been together, Glenn had never once brewed a hot cup of tea for me. He always claimed he was too busy, too scatterbrained to notice the small things. As it turned out, he wasn’t scatterbrained at all. He remembered every trivial detail—as long as it belonged to Kendall. When I raised my head, I forced my facial muscles to relax. I lifted my hands, signing gracefully with a faint, practiced smile: “Maybe he was just worried the ice would upset your stomach.” “As if!” Kendall scoffed instantly. “He just wanted me to get drowsy so I’d make a mistake and let him win.” She glared at him playfully. “And people say men don’t play mind games. You’re full of them, Glenn.” Glenn chuckled softly, picking up a piece of braised short rib with his fork and placing it onto her plate. “Mind games? I’m just trying to keep you from passing out from pain again. I don’t have time to drive you to the emergency room twice in one month.” Kendall’s face flushed a deep, sudden crimson. Without warning, she picked up her own fork, speared a piece of meat from her plate, and shoved it directly into Glenn’s mouth. “Your mouth is way too big. Eat your food and shut up.” My fingers went numb. I quietly set my cutlery down on the table. Kendall downed a glass of ice water, her cheeks gradually returning to their normal shade. Noticing I had stopped eating, she looked at me with genuine concern. “Hailey? Why aren’t you eating?” I swallowed against the lump in my throat and lifted my hands: “You just fed him with the fork you were using.” Glenn froze mid-chew. But he didn’t spit the food out. I watched him, my chest aching as I signed: “Why aren’t you spitting it out? Aren’t you disgusted?” Glenn was a severe germaphobe. I knew that better than anyone. On the rare occasions he and I ate out alone, if I accidentally used my personal fork to serve shared food, he would notice immediately and discard whatever was in his mouth. Since then, I had learned to be painfully cautious around him, terrified that my clumsy mistakes would make him uncomfortable. Now, Glenn simply swallowed, his eyes avoiding mine. “It’s fine. It’d be a waste of food to spit it out.” Kendall returned from the front counter holding a fresh set of wrapped silverware and slipped back into the booth next to me. “Thanks for reminding me, Hailey. I almost shared utensils with him by accident.” Before the sentence fully settled, Brody—another member of their debate team—materialized beside our table, a smirk plastered across his face. “Oh, please! Like this is the first time you two have shared utensils,” Brody teased loudly. “I was wondering why you guys skipped out on the team dinner tonight. Turns out you were hiding here, having a quiet little date night! Unbelievable. Totally selfish.” Glenn’s patience snapped. He stood up and delivered a firm smack to the back of Brody’s head. “Shut your mouth if you don’t know what you’re talking about.” My lips pressed into a thin line. I reached out, tugging gently on Glenn’s sleeve, and signed: “Why did you share utensils with Kendall before?” Glenn rubbed the back of his neck, his tone dismissive. “There was only one set of plastic cutlery left at the debate office late one night. We broke it in half to share a meal while editing slides. It wasn’t a big deal.” Kendall chimed in, “Yeah, we literally split a pair of wooden chopsticks down the middle! Brody’s just looking for a beating with that big mouth of his.” Brody finally noticed me sitting quietly in the corner of the booth. His grin dissolved into a cringe, and he awkwardly scratched his head. “Oh—hey, Hailey. I didn’t see you there. I was totally joking, don’t mind me! Tell you what, let me order a couple extra appetizers for you guys to make up for it.” “There’s no room on this table,” Kendall cut in smoothly. “Why don’t we just combine tables? Hailey is part of the debate family too. It’s totally fine if she joins the rest of the team.” For every single debate match Glenn had ever competed in, I had sat in the front row as his quietest, most loyal supporter. Over time, his teammates had all come to recognize me. Glenn leaned down, looking into my eyes. “Do you want to join them? You can say no if you’re uncomfortable.” Kendall wrapped her arm around mine, coaxing softly, “Come on, Hailey, come with us! Dinners are always better with a crowd.” Before I could raise my hands to decline, Kendall was already pulling me by the wrist toward the private dining room at the back of the restaurant. Inside, the team was mid-conversation, the air buzzing with laughter. Kendall seamlessly slid into the crowd, chatting animatedly. As soon as Glenn stepped through the door, she patted the empty chair directly to her left. “Over here, Glenn! I saved you a spot.” Glenn frowned, his boots catching on the carpet. He stopped, looking at the guy sitting next to me, and knocked gently on the table. “Hailey isn’t comfortable sitting next to people she doesn’t know well. Mind switching with me so you can take the seat next to Kendall?” The room fell quiet for a fraction of a second. Kendall’s expression faltered, a flicker of awkwardness crossing her features before she offered me an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, Hailey. I’m just so used to Glenn sitting on my left during prep sessions.” Someone at the table quickly jumped in to break the tension. “Hey, habit’s a good thing! When you two get on national TV tomorrow, you need to stick to your designated sides so you don’t look messy in front of the cameras.” And just like that, what was supposed to be a small celebration for Glenn and Kendall turned into a raucous, chaotic party for the entire debate squad. I sat there, feeling like a ghost haunting a room full of living people. Eventually, I signed to Glenn that I needed to use the restroom, stepping out into the hallway to catch my breath. On my way back, I caught the bitter scent of cigarette smoke wafting from the balcony at the end of the corridor. Glenn never smoked—he knew I was sensitive to the smell. Was he stressed? Impelled by a sudden, quiet impulse, I stepped into the shadowed corner near the balcony doors. Brody was leaning against the railing, taking a drag from his cigarette before looking at Glenn with a heavy sigh. “Seriously, man… quit dodging the question. What the hell is going on with you three? The night Kendall went to the ER, I saw you two kissing in the hallway. And now you’re acting like you and Hailey are still totally fine?” My breath hitched in my throat. The sudden, unexplained blush on Kendall’s face earlier tonight suddenly made complete, sickening sense. Glenn remained silent, staring out at the city lights. Brody stubbed out his cigarette against the metal ash tray, exasperated. “If you really love Kendall, just be honest with Hailey and break it off. They’re cousins, Glenn. Are you really going to destroy their family dynamic over a crush?” “I can’t,” Glenn finally spoke, his voice low and raspy. “I have to stay with Hailey. I owe her. My whole family owes her.” The words were spoken to Brody, but they struck me like a physical blow, making me tremble from head to toe. I wasn’t born mute. When I was six years old, Glenn’s parents went through a bitter, violent divorce. They screamed and shoved each other in the courtyard of our apartment complex over financial assets. During the scuffle, Glenn’s mother wildly swung a stray utility knife, accidentally slicing deep into my throat. The wound was severe. Though paramedics saved my life, my vocal cords were permanently destroyed. Afterward, Glenn’s parents paid a legal settlement and went their separate ways. But Glenn became my shadow. Wherever I went, he followed, protecting me, carrying my bag, holding my hand. For over a decade, I believed we were childhood sweethearts bound by genuine affection. I had never once imagined that his devotion was nothing more than an agonizing sentence of guilt he felt forced to serve. Brody was silent for a moment. “If that’s how it is, then keep your distance from Kendall. Stop giving her mixed signals.” Glenn lifted his head, a look of profound misery in his eyes. “But Brody… if I can’t be with the person I actually love… what is the point of any of this?” So that was it. The fierce argument at the dinner table—the passionate defense of choosing the person you truly love over the person who makes sense—had been his quiet confession all along. I let out a soundless, bitter laugh. I didn’t walk back into the private room. I turned around, pulled my coat tightly around myself, and walked home alone through the cold evening air. When I opened the front door, my mother was sitting on the living room sofa, knitting a sweater. Hearing the door, she looked up casually. “I thought you were out having dinner with your sister. Why are you back so early?” I raised my hands, signing simply: “I was tired. I came back first.” She didn’t ask further, resuming her knitting. I retreated to my tiny bedroom, pulled the comforter over my head, and wept silently until sleep finally pulled me under. Late that night, my bedroom door was slammed open with a deafening bang. The overhead light flickered on blindingly. My mother stood in the doorway, her face pale with fury. “Your sister and Glenn have been going crazy looking for you! They were about to go to the police station to file a missing person’s report! And here you are, hiding in your room sleeping?” The sudden light and raised voices shattered my sleep. My eyes were swollen shut from crying, stinging painfully as I tried to open them. Kendall rushed in behind my mother, her eyes red-rimmed as she threw her arms around me. “Auntie, please don’t yell at Hailey! It’s my fault. She was probably just tired and forgot to text us.” My father stood in the hallway, his posture stiff with irritation. “She’s twenty years old. Leaving without saying a word? Even if she can’t speak, does she not know how to send a text message?” I sat frozen on the bed, staring at them in silence. When Kendall was seven, both of her parents died in a tragic highway collision. Deeply grief-stricken over the loss of her sister, my mother took Kendall in, raising her as her own daughter. Kendall was smart, articulate, and deeply perceptive. She knew exactly how to make adults love her. More than that, she bore a striking physical resemblance to my late aunt. My mother adored her. Loved her, perhaps, even more than she loved me. Ever since childhood, the phrase I heard most often in our home was: “You have to yield to Kendall. Take care of Kendall. Never make Kendall feel like an outsider.” So, as a child, I gave up the larger bedroom to her. As I grew up, I gave up my parents’ undivided attention. Slowly, I became the real outsider in my own home. For the first time in my life, looking at the three of them standing together in my doorway, I felt an overwhelming sense of estrangement. Oddly enough, I didn’t feel the urge to cry. Deep down, I had always known the truth: between a quiet, broken girl who couldn’t speak and a brilliant, charming girl who shone under every spotlight, no one would ever choose me. I lifted my trembling hands to apologize, trying to explain that I had simply forgotten to check my phone. But my mother didn’t even bother watching my signs to the end. She turned on her heel and walked away. Kendall patted my shoulder gently. “Auntie just speaks harshly because she cares. She was sick with worry when she couldn’t find you.” I lowered my head, keeping my thoughts to myself. My mother had known I was home all along. Her anger wasn’t born of fear for my safety—it was anger that I had made Kendall worry unnecessarily. After Kendall left my room, I picked up my laptop and opened my messaging app. The last text from my academic advisor was from a week ago, asking me to make up my mind about the prestigious graduate program at Columbia University in New York. Because the university was thousands of miles away from home, I had been hesitating for weeks, reluctant to leave Glenn. Now, my mind was entirely clear. I typed out a message: “Professor, I want to accept the nomination for the Columbia program.” She replied almost instantly with a zip file of registration forms. “Fill these out and send them back before tomorrow morning. The summer onboarding orientation starts in two days. You need to book the earliest flight to New York tonight.” I sat up, opened the files, and began filling out the endless pages of documentation. By the time I submitted everything, the clock on my screen read 1:00 AM. Because I had stayed up almost all night, I slept straight through until noon the next day. When I checked my phone, there were several unread texts from Glenn. “Text me when you wake up. I have something for you.” “What is it?” I typed back. He didn’t reply to the text. Instead, five minutes later, the front doorbell rang. When I opened the door, Glenn was standing on the porch, a heavy suitcase resting beside his feet. He scanned me from head to toe, letting out a long, audible breath of relief when he saw I was safe. “I was going to come over with Kendall last night,” he explained softly, “but the network producers called us in late to finalize our shooting schedule. By the time we finished, it was past midnight, so I didn’t want to wake you.” He reached into his jacket pocket and handed me a sleek, thick envelope containing three front-row VIP tickets to the televised debate tournament. “I asked the producers specifically for these seats,” he said, his eyes searching my face. “They’re right in front of the center stage. Reserved just for you.” I held the tickets, glancing at the printed date and time. The live taping had been rescheduled to tomorrow morning. What a coincidence. My flight to New York was scheduled for tomorrow morning, too. “This is the biggest stage Kendall and I have ever been on,” Glenn said, his voice laced with genuine excitement. “I really need you to be there, Hailey. Promise me you’ll come root for us.” I pressed my lips together and signed slowly: “If I have time, I’ll go.” Glenn smiled, reaching out to ruffle my hair. “That’s a deal, then. Kendall and I have to head to the studio early to rehearse. When you come tomorrow, make sure you stick close to your parents, okay? I don’t want you getting lost in the crowd.” Kendall rolled her suitcase out of the guest room, cutting him off with a laugh. “She knows, Glenn! Since when did you become such a nagging mother hen? Instead of worrying about Hailey, you should double-check your own gear. You’re the one who always forgets his credentials.” Glenn’s attention immediately shifted to her. He tapped her forehead lightly with his knuckles, laughing. “You always have to have the last word, don’t you?” I stood in the doorway, watching their intertwined shadows disappear into the elevator. Once the doors slid shut, I closed the heavy front door, walked back into my bedroom, and calmly tore the VIP ticket into tiny, jagged pieces, dropping them into the trash bin. This time, I was going to be the main character of my own life. I was done sitting in the front row, clapping for theirs.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “552802”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On the morning of my birthday, my mother pulled me into the kitchen, her eyes gleaming with a conspiratorial spark. She whispered that Brandon, my childhood sweetheart and boyfriend of ten years, was planning to propose to me tonight. My heart gave a sudden, hopeful flutter. I spent hours getting ready—putting on a full face of makeup, curling my hair, and wearing a dust-rose dress I’d saved for a special occasion. When I pushed open the door to the private dining room, a barrage of canned silly string exploded directly into my face. A chorus of laughter erupted instantly. Blinking through the sticky foam, I wiped my eyes and looked up, disheveled and stinging. My younger sister, Taylor, was smirking at Brandon, holding up her phone like a trophy. “I won!” Taylor gloated, clapping her hands. “Leah fell for it again!” Brandon let out a helpless, indulgent sigh, looking at her with fond warmth. “You brought her mom in on the bet, Taylor. How was I supposed to stand a chance?” I stood there in the doorway, wiping sticky white strands from my lashes. The foam was eating through my foundation, leaving pale, blotchy streaks across my cheeks. “So…” My voice sounded thin, almost hollow. “The proposal was a joke?” Brandon laughed softly and reached into his coat pocket. He pulled out a small velvet box, opening it to reveal a sparkling diamond ring—the exact delicate halo cut I’d admired in a shop window months ago. “Of course not, babe,” Brandon said smoothly, stepping toward me. “Taylor was just playing a quick prank. Don’t be like that.” He grabbed my left hand. For a split second, a wave of warmth surged through my chest, and I extended my ring finger. But the moment the metal slid past my knuckle, a tiny, concealed spring-clamp inside the band snapped shut, biting sharply into my skin. I gasped, wincing from the pain. Over my head, Brandon caught Taylor’s eye and gave her a playful wink. “And now “I” win.” Taylor pouted, crossing her arms. “Leah, you are so oblivious! You ruined my streak.” My mother chimed in with a tired scoff, shaking her head at me. “Honestly, Leah, it’s no wonder you never excelled in school—you have zero social awareness. Look at you, making Taylor upset on your own birthday.” A slow, suffocating bitterness settled over my chest. I opened my mouth, wanting to tell them that I wasn’t as oblivious as they thought. I had heard the muffled giggles behind the door before I turned the handle. I had seen the faint seam on the ring mechanism when Brandon held it out. There were too many flaws, too many clues. I hadn’t been fooled. I had simply chosen to trust them. Again. Just then, my phone buzzed in my clutch. A notification flashed across the screen: an official email from the admissions office of a top university in London. A full-scholarship offer for my master’s degree. Looking at the three people laughing in front of me, I knew I couldn’t stay here anymore. … I unlocked my phone, the acceptance letter glaringly visible on the screen. “I’m going abroad for grad school—” Brandon frowned, reaching out to take the phone to read it. Before he could touch it, Taylor lunged forward and shoved my wrist aside. I was caught completely off guard. The phone slipped from my fingers and crashed onto the hardwood floor with a sharp “clack”. The corner of the screen shattered into a spiderweb of cracks. My mother didn’t even glance down. “Can’t even hold onto a phone properly. Whatever, it’s just some cheap off-brand thing anyway.” I knelt to pick up the cracked device, my fingers trembling. I wanted to remind her. When Taylor finished high school, Mom bought her a top-of-the-line laptop, a flagship phone, and an iPad without batting an eye. But when I graduated, all I received was a cold remark: “Your old prepaid phone still works fine. With scores like yours, don’t be so dramatic.” I had worked two months of backbreaking shifts at a local diner during a scorching summer just to buy this phone. Back then, Brandon had gently taken my calloused hands, kissed my bruised knuckles, and whispered, “My Leah is so hardworking. Someday, I’ll buy you the best phone in the world.” Now, Brandon glanced at the broken glass with indifference. “Taylor’s just clumsy, Leah. She didn’t mean it. Don’t make a scene over a phone.” I hadn’t even uttered a single word. Taylor handed me a paper napkin with a sugary smile. “Here, Leah, clean yourself up. Brandon didn’t book this fancy restaurant for nothing—he really wanted to celebrate your birthday.” My chest tightened. Brandon took the napkin from Taylor and began gently wiping the silly string off my jawline. “Did you really think I forgot your birthday, Leah?” he asked softly, his tone full of familiar affection. I kept my eyes lowered, saying nothing. Taylor’s birthday fell just three days after mine. Somewhere along the line, my separate birthday had been merged into hers. And the date chosen was always Taylor’s. Whenever I questioned it, Mom would snap, “I just picked a random day! Why do you have to be so petty? As the older sister, learn to be generous.” But if it was truly random, why was it always Taylor’s day? I remembered back in high school, when Brandon showed up at my front step holding a small, slightly squished cupcake with a single burning candle. It was my actual birthday, a day I had almost forgotten myself. The teenage boy had laughed, gently tapping the tip of my nose. “You silly girl, how do you forget your own birthday? Fine, I’ll celebrate it with you every single year. You won’t forget it then.” The waiter began serving an array of exquisite dishes. Brandon casually ladled a bowl of rich, velvety soup and placed it in front of me. Remembering how he had kept that promise over the years, a sudden warmthpricked at the backs of my eyes. I bowed my head and took a spoon of the soup to hide my expression. But the moment the liquid hit my tongue, a deep, prickling itch spread down my throat. Panicked, I looked up—only to see Taylor covering her mouth, her shoulders shaking violently. When she saw me staring, she broke into unrestrained hysterics. Confused, I turned to Brandon. He chuckled, reaching into his blazer pocket to hand me a blister pack of antihistamines. “It’s seafood bisque,” Brandon said, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Taylor specifically had the chef mask the aroma so you wouldn’t smell the shellfish. Good, right?” I froze, the room tilting around me. Brandon knew. He knew better than anyone that I had a life-threatening seafood allergy. When I was eighteen, I accidentally consumed a spoonful of clam chowder. I broke out in severe hives within minutes, my throat swelling so rapidly I had to be rushed to the emergency room. After the doctors stabilized me, Brandon had sat by my hospital bed with bloodshot eyes, gripping my hand so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Leah, I failed to protect you. From now on, I will never let you take a risk like that again.” Since that day, he had scrutinized every menu, questioned every server, and protected me without fail. Until today. I stared at him, utterly numb. Brandon shifted under my gaze, biting his lip and looking away. “Don’t make a big deal out of it, Leah. Taylor was just having a little fun.” Taylor laughed so hard tears streamed down her cheeks. “Oh my god, Leah, you are so gullible! You fall for everything. This is hilarious!” In complete silence, I popped two allergy pills out of the foil and swallowed them dry. The bitter medicine scratched against my swelling throat. A flood of memories washed over me. Their pranks had been escalating for a long time. When Brandon first met Taylor, they hadn’t gotten along. Every family gathering involved sharp remarks and hostile banter between them. Brandon used to pull me aside, whispering angrily, “You two are biological sisters. Why does your mother treat you like a second-class citizen while putting Taylor on a pedestal?” Then, imperceptibly, things began to shift. One evening, while Brandon was drying my hair after a rainstorm, his smile seemed distant. “You know, Leah, I actually think your sister is pretty entertaining once you get to know her.” My heart had skipped a beat, but before I could ask what he meant, the loud blow of the hairdryer drowned out the quiet. The next morning, I woke up to find my hair matted into sticky, unmanageable clumps. I cried frantically in front of the mirror, while Brandon stood in the doorway, laughing until he could barely breathe. “It’s a special holding gel Taylor bought,” he said, pulling out his phone to snap a photo of my distress. “I rubbed it in while drying your hair last night. She said you’re so rigid and serious, your reaction to being pranked would be gold. She was right, you look kind of cute.” My heart had turned cold, piece by piece. Within minutes, Taylor’s shrill laughter echoed from the speaker of his phone as he sent her the picture. I was forced to cut my long hair into a jagged bob that day. And that was only the beginning. Fake insects in my water glass. Hot pepper extract sneaked into my moisturizer. And now, even a marriage proposal—the moment I had dreamed about for years—was reduced to a punchline for their amusement. The medication kicked in, gradually soothing the tightness in my airway. But the chill inside my chest spread until my whole body felt hollow. “So,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Your pranks have reached the point where you don’t even care if I end up in the hospital?” The laughter faded slightly. My mother glared at me, her brow furrowed in annoyance. “Oh, stop being so dramatic, Leah! An allergy flare-up isn’t lethal, and besides, he had the medicine right there for you, didn’t he?” I didn’t argue with her. I turned my eyes to Brandon. I remembered when my family received a compensation payout from a government land buyout years ago. Mom immediately put the deed to the newly allocated condo under Taylor’s name, handing me a meager thousand dollars. “Your sister is younger, and a girl needs a safety net. Don’t throw a fit.” When Brandon found out, he said nothing to my family. Instead, he secretly pooled his savings and bought a small studio apartment downtown, putting my name on the title. On our seventh anniversary, he presented me with the keys. He had kissed my forehead, smiling warmth into my life: “Your mom was right about one thing—a woman needs her own place. This is your security, Leah. Nobody can ever take it from you.” Now, that same man avoided my gaze entirely. “Leah, you’re perfectly fine,” Brandon said softly, though his tone was flat. “Don’t ruin the night.” Something inside me snapped—a final, delicate thread giving way. I offered a faint, bitter smile, tapped open my cracked phone screen, and brought up the London offer email. My finger hovered over the blue “Confirm Acceptance” button. Ten thousand miles felt like the exact distance I needed between Brandon and myself. Before I could tap the screen, Taylor snatched the phone right out of my hand. “Leah, why are you staring at your phone all night?” she sneered. “Did you find a secret boyfriend or something? Ha! Let me see!” “Give it back!” I gasped, scrambling up from my chair to grab it. Taylor dodged my reach, her eyes widening as she read the screen. “An unconditional offer for a master’s degree in London? Leah, when on earth did you apply for this?” Brandon froze. The faint smile vanished from his lips as he stared at me. “Is that real, Leah? Why wouldn’t you tell me?” Taylor scoffed loudly, cutting him off. “Please! You’re about to marry Brandon, and you’re pulling this dramatic stunt? Do you actually think you’re the main character in some tragic romance, waiting for Brandon to chase you across the ocean? Get over yourself!” Hearing Taylor’s words, the brief flicker of worry in Brandon’s eyes hardened into cold irritation. “Leah,” Brandon said, his voice dropping an octave. “Is this really how little you value our relationship?” Without waiting for my response, Taylor sneered, “I’ll just reject it for you so you can stop playing games!” Her thumb moved toward the screen to hit “Decline”. Panic surged through me. “Don’t touch that!” I shouted. I lunged forward to stop her, but Taylor smiled triumphantly and turned the shattered screen toward my face. “Too late! I already clicked decline!” I stopped dead in my tracks. The blood in my veins felt like ice. A raw, uncontrollable rage surged up inside me. I gritted my teeth, lifting my hand to slap the smug grin right off Taylor’s face. Before my palm could land, a harsh grip slammed onto my wrist, wrenching me backward. Taylor stumbled back, putting on a show of wide-eyed horror. “You were actually going to hit me?” The next second, Taylor raised her hand and delivered a hard, stinging blow directly across my cheek. “SLAP!” The sharp crack echoed off the walls. My head snapped to the side, my skin instantly burning with pain. Brandon let go of my wrist. A fleeting flicker of guilt passed over his face, but he quickly smoothed it over. “Leah, you were out of line trying to hit her. Taylor just reacted out of self-defense. She didn’t mean it.” I raised a trembling hand to touch my swollen cheek. My mind flashed back to high school. Because Brandon and I were dating, I had angered a group of popular girls who had crushes on him. One afternoon, they cornered me in an alley behind the bleachers. Just as I felt utterly hopeless, Brandon had come sprinting around the corner, breathing heavily, and threw himself in front of me. He took several punches to protect me that day, leaving his face bruised and swollen. Afterward, he had gently cupped my cheeks, his thumbs wiping my tears. “As long as you’re okay, Leah. As long as I’m here, I’ll never let anyone hurt you.” Now, Brandon asked the waiter for a bag of crushed ice and carefully pressed it against my burning face. “It’s fine, the swelling will go down quickly. Taylor’s built like a kitten; she couldn’t hit hard if she tried.” My mother pointed a finger at my face, her voice sharp with anger. “Always creating drama! Do you have any idea how much it costs to study abroad? The family doesn’t have money for your vanity projects!” I lowered my eyes, the bitter cold of the ice pack soaking into my skin. It matched the chill in my heart. For the first time in my life, I didn’t back down. “I don’t need family money,” I said, my tone eerily calm. “It’s a full-scholarship offer. Tuition is completely waived, and as for living expenses, I saved enough from my own freelance work.” Mom caught her breath, momentarily rendered speechless. Throughout my college years, she had never given me a single cent, completely oblivious to how I survived. “You went to a community college,” Mom sneered, recovering her footing. “What kind of future do you think you have? You should be giving that money to your sister instead of wasting it!” For a fleeting second, a foolish part of me wondered if my mother would ever feel a shred of pride in what I had achieved on my own. The next second, her hand swung out, slapping me across my other cheek with terrifying force. “You ungrateful brat!” she yelled. “How could you earn that much money on your own? Did you go out and find some rich old man to sponsor you? Answer me! Is this how you repay Brandon?!” I gasped, my eyes darting instantly to Brandon. Over the past four years, he had witnessed every late-night freelance design project I took on, every tear I shed over difficult clients, and every meal I skipped to save money. He knew every drop of sweat I had put into building my savings. He used to hold me during those late nights, whispering with genuine heartache, “Leah, you don’t have to push yourself so hard. You have me.” Now, Brandon looked at my mother, his expression completely unbothered. “Leah, your mother is just looking out for you. Stop being so stubborn.” The shock hit me like a physical weight. He reached over, tapping my hand reassuringly, unaware of the destruction his words were causing. “You don’t need to prove anything to anyone. Besides, academics were never your strength. Studying abroad at a elite university would just overwhelm you.” The gentle tone in his voice was so familiar, yet the words coming out of his mouth were colder than ice. “Isn’t it better to stay here with us? We can get married in a couple of years. That way, Taylor and I will be real family, too.” The surreal absurdity of the moment washed over me. The man sitting beside me—the man I had loved for over a decade—looked like a complete stranger. Something deep within me broke cleanly in two. My voice trembled as I spoke: “Brandon… let’s break up.” Before I could finish my sentence, Taylor let out a sharp gasp, effectively drowning out my words. Brandon and my mother instantly snapped their attention toward her. “What happened, sweetie?” Taylor pouted, holding up her index finger. “Her stupid broken phone screen had a sharp edge. It cut me!” She displayed a microscopic, barely visible scratch, her tone dripping with dramatic distress. “Brandon, look at what your girlfriend’s cheap trash did to me. Blow on it, it hurts!” Brandon’s face filled with immediate concern. He signaled the waiter for a bandage, carefully wrapping her tiny scratch with meticulous delicacy. A memory flashed into my mind. Last winter, I had suffered a severe fever of 103 degrees while alone at home. I had called Brandon eighteen times. Not a single call was answered. By the time an ambulance brought me to the hospital, Brandon had finally sent a brief, three-second voice note: “I’m stuck at work. Drink some water and rest.” When I was burning with fever, he told me to drink water. When Taylor had a microscopic scratch, he treated it like a medical emergency. A profound exhaustion settled into my bones. “I need to use the restroom,” I said quietly, standing up from the table. Once I stepped into the quiet hallway, I pulled out my phone. My heart thudded in my chest as I pulled up the London admissions portal. Because of the spotty cell service inside the restaurant, Taylor’s attempt to decline the offer had failed due to a network timeout. The acceptance page was still active. My thumb hovered over the “Confirm” button. Just as I was about to tap it, my mother’s voice drifted through the partially open door of our private dining room. “Why is she suddenly set on studying abroad?” Mom sighed. “She didn’t find out about what happened back then, did she?” I froze in the hallway, my body acting on instinct as I stepped closer to the gap in the door. Taylor’s spoiled voice floated out. “Well, it’s Leah’s own fault! Who told her to get such a high score on her SATs back then? I wasn’t about to let her outshine me and make me look bad!” My heart hammered violently against my ribs. I remembered my senior year of high school. I had studied until my eyes bled, pushing myself to the absolute brink. I was confident I had done exceptionally well on the state finals. But when the official transcript arrived, my score was abysmal—barely enough for a local community college. It was lower than any practice exam I had ever taken. When I begged to file for a score review, my mother had slammed the door in my face. “You were never smart, Leah! Stop being so delusional. High school is enough for you. Go find a factory job!” Heartbroken, I had enrolled in community college anyway, paying every cent of my tuition through grueling part-time work. Inside the room, my mother sighed again. “Still, we have to hand it to Brandon. His idea was brilliant.” “He knew Leah wouldn’t give up unless she thought it was official,” Mom continued. “Photoshopping that official score report was the only way to make her accept reality.” I turned to ice where I stood. “No. That’s impossible.” That year, Brandon watched me study under the desk lamp night after night. He knew how desperately I wanted to get into a good university. He spent hours tutoring me after class. We had promised each other we would attend the same college. Then, Brandon’s light chuckle echoed from inside the room. His tone was as gentle as ever. “Taylor has always been competitive,” Brandon said softly. “If she scored lower than Leah, it would have crushed her confidence before her own exams.” He paused, adding with a casual dismissal, “Leah’s fine. She’s always been slow anyway. She’s used to disappointing results.” “Anyway, why is she taking so long in the bathroom? Let me go check on her…” The door swung open with a soft creak. Brandon stepped out, his eyes landing directly on me as I stood in the corridor, tears streaming silently down my face. The smile froze on his face, his pupils shrinking in absolute terror.

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I was the most notoriously pampered heiress in the city, backed by three adoptive fathers who would have laid down their lives for me. My eldest father was a ruthless titan of industry; my second father was an A-list, Oscar-winning actor; and my third father was a tech prodigy turned billionaire. Together, they spoiled me beyond reason. Until a strange notification popped up on my phone: [Family Ruin Countdown] [3 days until your eldest father signs a joint guarantee for his adopted daughter, plunging Hilbert Enterprises into liquidation.] [7 days until your second father offends the major studio heads to protect his adopted daughter, resulting in a blacklisting.] [15 days until your third father hands over his core patent to his adopted daughter.] [Note: The heiress will be thrown out on the street to scavenge trash to survive.] I assumed it was a tasteless viral prank. I tossed a half-eaten bite of Michelin-starred black truffle into the wastebasket and thought nothing of it. That was until the next afternoon, when Daisy shredded the custom haute couture gown my late mother had left me for my upcoming birthday. She stood in the center of the dressing room, eyes rimmed red, clutching a pair of shears. She dropped to her knees, trembling. “I’m so sorry… I only wanted to alter it into something you’d like better, Margot…” My eldest father—a man who had once bought an entire private island simply because I mentioned I was afraid of the dark—didn’t even look at me. He rushed forward, gently lifting Daisy from the floor. “It’s just a dress, Margot. Don’t be so cruel to your sister.” Without a word, I swung my arm and slapped Daisy so hard she staggered back three feet, crashing into the velvet sofa. Then, clutching my chest, I collapsed onto the Persian rug, my body convulsing. “My heart… Dad, she terrified me! Get her out of here!” … “Margot, please… don’t be mad at Big Dad.” Daisy reached down and picked up the heavy tailor’s shears—the ones she had just used to shred my silk gown. A stray silver thread still clung to the sharp steel blade. “It’s all my fault. I’m the one who upset you.” She looked up at me, a faint, imperceptible smile touching the corners of her lips. Then, wrapping both hands tightly around the handles, she plunged the blade directly into her own thigh without a moment’s hesitation. Blood surged instantly, turning the hem of her white dress a violent, sickening crimson. The corridor fell dead silent. Daisy pulled the shears free and, dragging her bleeding leg behind her, began crawling across the hardwood floor toward me. “Don’t be angry, sister,” she whispered, her face draining of color, her voice soft and sweet as venom. “I’ll give you my life. Just please… don’t let Big Dad blame you.” I held my chest. The angina I had been faking to drive her away suddenly flared into sharp, agonizing reality. A brutal, suffocating pain radiated from the depths of my chest. “Margot!” My eldest father’s voice boomed from above, laced with a harshness he had never once directed at me in my entire life. “When did you become so utterly vile?” I forced my eyelids open, straining to look up at the man who had cradled me in his arms since I was a little girl. But he stepped right past me. He didn’t offer a hand. He didn’t even glance down. He knelt beside Daisy, gathering her into his arms with agonizing care. “Big Dad…” Daisy collapsed against his chest, tears finally spilling over her lashes. “It was my own clumsiness… please don’t be mad at sister…” “Don’t talk. Save your strength.” He cut her off, his voice thick with raw, unshielded panic. He lifted her up, turning his back on me without so much as a backward glance. “Dad!” Cold sweat soaked through the silk of my blouse. My fingernails dug uselessly into the hardwood floor. “My… my heart…” He paused, his shoulders stiffening, and cast a cold look back over his shoulder. “How long do you plan on keeping up this act?” “Pushing your sister to self-harm just to compete for attention… and now you’re faking a heart attack?” He averted his eyes, the disgust in his expression unhidden. “Margot, you disgust me.” He turned and strode out of the grand foyer, holding Daisy tight. In the empty, cavernous room, my breath rattled in my throat. My vision flickered, the crystal chandelier above blurring into smears of blinding light before darkness encroached. “Crash!” The heavy mahogany front doors were thrown open. Heavy, frantic footsteps rushed across the floor toward me. A faint scent of antiseptic enveloped me—a smell that brought an instinctual, grounding comfort. “Margot!” It was Aaron, my personal physician. He hadn’t even taken off his white lab coat from the clinic. Kneeling beside me, he ripped open my collar and slammed the defibrillator pads onto my chest. “Margot, breathe! Look at me, breathe!” Through his desperate efforts, the rhythmic “beep… beep…” of the portable heart monitor slowly stabilized, weak but steady. I opened my eyes, staring numbly at the ceiling. Aaron used a warm towel to wipe the cold sweat from my forehead, his hands trembling. Right then, the phone in my pocket vibrated furiously. [Eldest Father’s bankruptcy countdown: 48 hours remaining.] [Host lifespan reduced by 30 days.] I leaned heavily on Aaron, forcing myself up from the sofa. I dragged my feet down the hallway toward the study. The heavy door was left ajar, leaving a narrow crack of warm light across the carpet. My eldest father sat behind his desk, signing a stack of equity transfer documents. “The prime real estate in the South District…” his voice drifted out, cold and transactional. “Transfer the title under Daisy’s name. Consider it compensation for today.” “Also, suspend Margot’s primary black card… along with her trust account.” Before the chill in my blood could settle, my screen lit up again. [Warning! Second Father has entered a fatal multi-car collision loop. Fatal crash in 3 hours!] [If a primary male character dies, the world line will forcibly erase the host!] Outside the car window, sleet whipped against the glass. Aaron drove with steady, quiet precision, pushing the speedometer right to the limit. I leaned back against the headrest, my chest pulsing with a dull, persistent ache. Aaron kept his eyes on the road. “Going out in your condition—are you trying to trigger total heart failure?” I gave him three words: “Drive faster.” My second father, Damian, was filming on location at a mountain set. Tonight, he was scheduled to attend a dinner with elite studio executives. If I didn’t intercept him, the system warned he would be caught in a massive pileup on the mountain pass. If he died, I died. I needed to stay alive. The car ground to a halt at the perimeter of the film set, near an artificial lake surrounded by crew members. Daisy was standing near the water in a flimsy summer dress, half her body submerged in the freezing water, feeling around blindly. Damian stood on the bank, his face stony. Crew members wrapped in heavy down jackets were shivering nearby. “Damian lost a prop ring during the shoot,” an assistant whispered. “Miss Daisy insisted it was his lucky charm and jumped right in to find it.” Aaron stood beside me, throwing me a quiet glance. Knowing me, he expected me to rush over, pull Daisy out by her hair, and tear her apart. But I didn’t move. There were still twenty minutes before the crash was scheduled to happen. If Daisy stayed in the freezing water a little longer and delayed Damian, he would miss the window for the pileup altogether. I calculated the time, briefly wondering if I should grab a hot cup of coffee and wait it out. But she was fast. She burst through the surface, holding up a faded metal band. “I found it!” her voice trembled violently. Damian immediately shed his long down coat, stepped down the embankment, and pulled her out of the water. He wrapped her tight and lifted her into his arms. “Foolish girl,” he murmured, his tone laced with protective fondness as he carried her toward his luxury trailer. I ran forward, grabbing the handle of the trailer door before it could slide shut. “You can’t go,” I said, staring directly into Damian’s eyes. “That road is going to collapse tonight.” Damian stopped. He looked down at my pale, rain-soaked face. “Margot, what kind of scene are you throwing now?” “That highway isn’t safe. You can’t take it.” I tightened my grip on the handle. Damian placed Daisy gently on the seat inside, taking a dry towel to rub her hair before turning around to face me. “You’ve had everything you ever wanted your entire life,” he said, his voice dripping with sudden, bitter resentment. “But what about Daisy? Her mother died under the wheels of a car to save us all. She spent ten years suffering in an orphanage!” “How do we ever repay that debt? This dinner tonight is for her career. I am going.” He reached out and, one by one, pried my fingers off the door handle. I didn’t have his strength. He shoved me back, and I stumbled, falling hard onto the icy gravel. The biting sleet hammered against my thin clothes, leeching my body heat and sending my heart rhythm into a chaotic spiral. Yet Damian didn’t even seem to notice my turning lips. “Stay right here,” he said coldly. “When you finally figure out how to appreciate Daisy, then you can come home.” The door slammed shut, and the trailer pulled away into the storm. I rubbed my scraped knees and pushed myself up from the mud. The rain grew heavier. Fifteen minutes later, the film set’s emergency broadcast crackled over the loudspeakers: “Attention all crew, a massive multi-vehicle pileup has occurred on Mountain Highway Mile 14. Emergency services are en route…” Aaron pulled off his heavy wool coat and draped it over my shoulders, wrapping an arm around me. “Stop trying to save them, Margot.” My phone buzzed. A text from the system: [Second Father survived. During the impact, Daisy threw herself across his chest to block the windshield glass.] Before I could catch my breath, the doors to the temporary medical unit were kicked open with a deafening bang. My third father, Malcolm, charged out like a rabid beast. His usually immaculate gold-rimmed glasses sat crooked on his nose, his designer coat misaligned. He lunged forward, grabbing Aaron by the throat, but his bloodshot eyes were pinned entirely on me. “Margot, give me the serum.” “Daisy’s optic nerves are dying. She needs the cellular regenerator now.” That serum was a rare, highly active cellular regenerator—a final gift my late mother had spent her life’s work refining. It was my literal lifeline, meant to stabilize my vascular network after my upcoming heart transplant. It also happened to be capable of regenerating dead optic nerves. I looked him dead in the eye. “Without that dose, I won’t survive my surgery next month.” He stared at me, devoid of any hesitation. “Margot, don’t be so selfish! If Daisy doesn’t use it right now, she’ll be permanently blind! Postponing your surgery for a few weeks won’t kill you—consider this a lesson in empathy!” Malcolm slammed a tablet against my chest. “Listen to this!” The dashcam footage flickered violently on the screen. The video was obscured, capturing only Daisy’s hysterical sobbing and a voice coming through the car’s Bluetooth—a voice that sounded identical to mine: “Why don’t you just die? If you die, the dads will belong to me again!” Then came the screech of tires, a violent swerve, and the sickening crunch of metal smashing through the guardrail. “That audio is a fake!” I ground my teeth, struggling against his grip. “I never made that call!” Malcolm adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, looking down at me with absolute ice in his eyes. “The audio parameters were verified from the original file. Margot, this is attempted murder.” The doors to the clinic swung open, and a nurse pushed a wheelchair out onto the ramp. Daisy sat in it, thick layers of white gauze wrapped tightly around her eyes. Damian walked beside her, his hand wrapped securely around her wrist. “Don’t blame sister…” Daisy’s voice was weak, barely above a whisper. “She just couldn’t control her emotions… I don’t hold it against her.” The elevator chimed, and my eldest father strode out, making a beeline for Daisy’s side. “How severe is it?” Damian’s knuckles turned white. “The impact severed the optic nerve. She’s lost her vision.” Malcolm turned back to me, his eyes bloodshot, his voice laced with unhinged obsession. “Margot, you already owe her mother a debt of blood. Hand over the serum. Consider it settling the Hilbert family’s debt.” The regenerator was secured inside the temperature-controlled case Aaron carried. “There is only one dose,” I said, staring at Malcolm’s outstretched hand—the very hand that had once locked the case himself, promising it was my safety net. “If you take it, I die.” My eldest father, ever the pragmatic businessman, stepped forward. “The Hilbert family’s savior cannot be a blind girl. Your heart condition can be managed. Stop throwing tantrums. Hand over the case.” Malcolm didn’t wait. He lunged directly for the case in Aaron’s hand. Aaron shifted his weight, pivoting to shield the container behind his back. “If you drain the active compound, her heart will stop beating.” My eldest father raised a hand and gave a swift gesture. Four built, suit-clad bodyguards rushed down the corridor. Two grabbed Aaron’s arms, while the other two tackled him to grab the case. Aaron drove his heel back, snapping it hard into the lead guard’s kneecap. The guard tumbled backward, knocking the thermal case onto the floor. The heavy latch burst open upon impact, and the pale blue vial rolled out from the shock-absorbing foam. Malcolm dropped down instantly, snatching the vial off the floor. Aaron strained against the men, trying to reclaim it, but the head bodyguard’s face twisted into something brutal. He whipped a heavy tactical baton from his belt and slammed it down onto Aaron’s right forearm with terrifying force. “Snap!” A sickening crunch echoed down the hallway as bone fractured through skin, tearing through Aaron’s crisp white shirt. Blood spattered across the floor. Aaron let out a muffled groan, dropping heavily to one knee, sweat pouring off his forehead. Those hands had performed hundreds of delicate surgeries. Now, his right arm hung uselessly at his side, blood dripping steadily from his fingertips. “Aaron!” I lunged forward to reach him, but two guards grabbed my shoulders from behind, slamming me violently against the wall. The pressure on my carotid artery cut off my air instantly. An ophthalmologist rushed out from an office nearby. He took the pale blue vial from Malcolm with both hands and sprinted into the operating room. In my pocket, my phone buzzed sharply. [Warning: 12 hours remaining until host suffers fatal heart failure.] I stared at the closed doors of the operating room, my heart feeling as though an invisible fist was crushing it to pulp. A copper taste rushed up my throat, and I vomited a mouthful of dark blood, spattering the pristine leather of my eldest father’s designer shoes. He didn’t even flinch. He looked down at me from above, giving a quiet order to the guards: “Take her to the basement utility room. Let her reflect on what she’s done. We’ve spoiled her rotten—she needs to learn where the line is.” “No medicine without my explicit permission. She won’t die in an hour or two anyway.” 2 AM. The sub-basement storage room of the Hilbert estate. I lay stretched out on a bare mattress, every breath scraping against my lungs like broken glass. My time was running out; the twelve-hour countdown was nearly at zero. The heavy door clicked open. Daisy walked in, wearing the custom haute couture gown. It had been heavily tailored—the neckline cut down low to expose her chest. It was the dress my mother had left for my twentieth birthday, and Daisy wore it like a cheap costume. She pulled the gauze away from her eyes. Malcolm’s serum had worked wonders. Daisy strolled up to the mattress and brought her high heel down directly onto my left hand. She pressed her weight into the heel, and I felt the faint, brittle crack of my finger bones beneath her shoe. I didn’t make a sound. I stared at her neck, calculating how much force it would take to tear through her jugular. Unfortunately, I no longer had the strength. Daisy pulled out her phone and hit play on an audio file. My eldest father’s voice filled the damp room: “Cut off all her specialized medical care. Let her suffer a bit. Take the equity transfer documents and have her sign them—consider it restitution for Daisy.” He wanted the forty percent of original shares left to me in my mother’s estate. Daisy let out a cruel laugh. “Did you hear that?” She slapped a stack of papers against my face. “Sign the Waiver of Resuscitation and the Unconditional Equity Transfer.” “Sign them, and I’ll let that doctor outside leave. His hand is completely ruined anyway—he’s just taking up space.” There was a heavy dragging sound outside the door, and Aaron was thrown into the room. Crawling on his left elbow, he dragged his broken body beside me, positioning himself between Daisy and my prone form. Blood dripped from a gash on his forehead, spattering onto my cheek. “Don’t sign,” he rasped, his voice raw. He was my doctor; he knew my vitals better than anyone. He knew I was at the end. “I’ll get you out of here. And if I can’t… I’ll stay right here with you.” Daisy nudged his blood-soaked shoulder with the point of her shoe. “Neither of you is going anywhere.” My phone chimed with the final countdown alert: [Lifespan remaining: 3 minutes.] A dry laugh escaped my throat. I reached up with my right hand and gently wiped the blood from Aaron’s cheek. “Did you send the email?” Aaron looked into my eyes, his own rimmed with red, and gave a faint nod. “It’s set. The moment your heart monitor zeroes out, every piece of dark accounting, every piece of evidence of the corporate sabotage they committed over the years, will hit the inboxes of hundreds of media outlets simultaneously.” The reason that data had never been released was the thick layer of plot armor surrounding the “protagonist.” Any attempt to expose them before would have been swept under the rug. The only condition to strip that plot armor… was my death. Daisy’s smile vanished. She took a step back, her voice uneasy. “What kind of crazy nonsense are you talking about?” Aaron’s hand trembled as he pulled a small glass syringe from his inner pocket and pressed it into my palm. He leaned down, pressing his lips gently against my forehead, his tears falling hot against my neck. “Don’t be afraid, Margot.” Our fingers intertwined. Together, we guided the needle into the vein on the side of my neck, pushing the plunger all the way down. I rested against his chest, listening as my weak, agonizing pulse slowed… and finally stopped. A disembodied voice resonated in the air: [The Female Lead’s Heavenly Halo has been forcibly dismantled due to the Host’s death.] “Bang!” The iron basement door was thrown open. My eldest father, second father, and third father rushed into the room, stumbling right into the scene. Three powerful men stared at my lifeless body lying in a pool of blood. Their pupils contracted into pinpricks. In an instant, their faces twisted into absolute madness, and they lunged forward like wounded beasts. “NO—! MARGOT!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “552800”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I finally pulled the rare chase figure from the blind box series—a one-in-a-hundred grail statue I’d been hunting for months. Electric with excitement, I set it carefully on Craig’s office desk, right beside her laptop. She barely glanced up from her screen. With a flick of her wrist, she swept the box straight into the trash can. “You’re twenty-six, Seth,” she said, her voice flat, devoid of warmth. “Isn’t playing with toys getting a bit pathetic?” I swallowed the lump in my throat, retrieved the box from the trash, and listed it on a local secondary marketplace app. Within minutes of going live, a buyer nearby snapped it up at full asking price, asking if I’d mind delivering it in person since he lived just a few blocks away. When I stepped into his townhouse, I froze right at the entryway. Covering an entire wall of his living room was a custom, floor-to-ceiling glass display cabinet, illuminated by warm LED strips. Inside sat dozens of vaulted, hyper-rare vinyl statues—a collection worth a small fortune. The guy offered me a warm, easy smile. “Pretty insane, right? My older girlfriend bought all of these for me.” He scratched the back of his neck, looking almost sheepish. “I told her a guy my age looks like he lacks ambition obsessing over collectibles, but she insisted it’s what makes me cool.” Before I could respond, the front door clicked open. A woman walked in holding two iced lattes. She stepped up on her tiptoes, leaning in to press a gentle kiss against his cheek. I shifted slightly to the side to give them space. But as my gaze brushed against her profile, every drop of blood in my body rushed to my head. The devoted girlfriend dropping thousands to curate a dream display wall for this boy—the woman who held him like he was the center of her universe—was the exact same woman who had trashed my chase figure less than twenty-four hours ago. My wife, Craig. … Our eyes met. In an instant, the color drained completely from her face. “Babe, why are you staring at him like that?” Todd pouted, wrapping a possessive arm around her waist before handing me one of the iced lattes. “This is the guy who sold me the chase figure. Seth, meet my girlfriend.” Craig regained her composure with frightening speed, giving me a brisk, formal nod. “Nice to meet you.” Her tone was cool, but when she turned back to Todd, her voice softened into a gentle, honeyed murmur I hadn’t heard in years. “You don’t need to buy secondhand anymore, Todd. Anything you want, I’ll buy it brand-new for you.” Todd swayed her arm like a spoiled child. “Secondhand is fine! Otherwise, I just feel guilty watching you stand in line for hours every time a limited drop releases.” I clenched my fists so hard my nails bit into my palms, but I couldn’t feel the pain. Todd had bragged earlier that his girlfriend hunted down exclusive figures from all over the world for him. One specific statue on that wall now pierced my eyes like a hot needle—a piece released exclusively overseas a year ago that I had pined over for months. Craig had happened to be on a business trip in that exact city at the time. I hadn’t dared to ask her for the figure itself, only quietly begging her to bring back a matching commemorative sticker pack from the pop-up event. I remembered her cold, scowling refusal: “I’m swamped with actual work, Seth. I don’t have time to waste on your childish junk.” She hadn’t been too busy. She just hadn’t cared enough to give me a single ounce of patience. Yet for Todd, she gladly stood in line for an entire day just to secure a rare statue. “Oh, right, Seth—I actually have a duplicate of a figure in the back. Let me grab it for you as a thank-you,” Todd said, turning to jog toward the bedroom. The moment he vanished down the hall, Craig grabbed my wrist and dragged me forcefully into the shadow of the foyer corner. “Go home right now,” she hissed under her breath. “When I get back, I’ll explain everything.” My voice came out raspy, hollow. “Explain what, Craig? Explain how you’ve been keeping another man behind my back? How you’re cheating on me?” A flicker of panic flashed in her eyes. Instead of answering, she shoved me backward with sudden violence. The heavy front door slammed shut right in my face. The skin on my wrist throbbed red where her grip had been, and my eyes stung with unshed tears. Through the thin wood of the door, their muffled conversation drifted out into the quiet hallway. “Wait, where’d Seth go? I didn’t get to give him the statue.” “I sent him away. He’s just a stranger selling secondhand toys—no need to get cozy with him.” Then came the soft, unmistakable sound of wet, intimate kissing. I leaned against the hallway wall, my chest heaving, every instinct screaming at me to kick the door down and confront them. But before I could move, a sharp, excruciating cramp twisted deep in my stomach. Cold sweat broke out across my forehead, blinding me with pain. Through the fog in my mind, a distant realization struck me: I hadn’t checked my patient portal for the results of my endoscopy from last week. By the time I stumbled back to our empty apartment, my phone buzzed in my hand. A notification from the clinic. I unlocked the screen, opening the PDF attached to the message. The diagnosis was spelled out in cold, unambiguous black ink: “Stage II Gastric Carcinoma.” Before I could even process the words, the front door unlocked. Craig stepped inside. She caught sight of my ghastly, bloodless face, her brows pulling into a faint frown. “Why do you look so pale? Are you sick?” She reached out, her hand extending toward my forehead, but I flinched back, avoiding her touch entirely. “About earlier… it’s not what you think,” she said, pulling her hand back with a tired sigh. “Todd is my childhood neighbor’s kid. His family practically took me in when my parents were struggling and we couldn’t even afford groceries.” She paused, adjusting her designer handbag. “He has a congenital heart condition. Before his father passed away, he begged me to look after Todd. I only agreed to play the role of his girlfriend so he’d focus on resting and recovering.” “So your idea of ‘taking care of him’ is stepping outside our marriage and building him a fifty-thousand-dollar display wall?” The weight in my chest felt like a boulder crushing my lungs, making every breath a struggle. “Craig, I’m only realizing today that you built an entire secret life behind my back.” I couldn’t control the volume of my voice anymore; it shook violently, along with the rest of my body. “You treated my hobby like a pathetic flaw, but you flew halfway across the world to stock his shelves!” A faint flash of guilt crossed her features, and her tone softened, though her stance remained defensive. “He’s eight years younger than you, Seth. It’s normal for someone his age to like those things.” She stepped closer, placing a comforting hand on her hip. “Look, I’ve always thought those plastic statues were silly anyway. If you really want them that badly, I’ll just start buying them for you from now on. I’ll handle things with Todd—his heart is fragile and he can’t take emotional stress, so don’t you dare go making a scene with him.” I stared quietly at this woman I had loved for six long years, suddenly feeling as though I were looking at a complete stranger. “Craig,” I said softly, “let’s get a divorce.” She assumed I was throwing a childish fit. A faint smirk of disdain tugged at the corner of her lips. “Stop being dramatic. I’m taking care of a sick boy, not falling out of love with you. You’re the one holding the marriage certificate. You’re my actual husband.” She shook her head dismissively. “Besides, you can’t survive without me. Don’t throw the word ‘divorce’ around like a threat ever again.” She checked her luxury watch. “I promised to take Todd to a movie tonight. Stay home and pull yourself together. Stop being so unreasonable.” The apartment door clicked shut behind her. I gripped my phone, my fingers trembling against the glass, my vision blurring into a haze. Six years of devotion. Three years of marriage. I had given her everything I had, poured my youth and health into supporting her ambitions, only for it all to boil down to a firm warning: “Don’t bother him.” Before I could collect myself, a text notification popped up on my screen. It was from Todd. [I’m so sorry, man. My girlfriend has a bit of a temper, so we didn’t host you properly. I saved a rare figure for you—stop by whenever you want to pick it up.] I tapped into Todd’s profile, scrolling down his social media feed. From top to bottom, spanning back years, every single post revolved around Craig. [The entire series was vaulted, but Craig went straight to the manufacturer to custom-order a full set for me!] [Best birthday surprise ever: a massive haul of grails. She literally rescheduled a huge investor meeting just to queue up at the drop for me. I love my girl so much.] [Mentioned offhandedly that I loved the celebrity-edition statue, and she had it delivered to my doorstep the very next morning. Boss babe always comes through!] In every single photo, Craig’s presence was everywhere—the corner of her coat, her distinctive rings, her shadow over the boxes. When she was launching her business, I had drunk myself to the point of alcohol poisoning at corporate dinners just to help her secure client contracts. All I had ever asked for in return was one afternoon where she’d walk through a collectible shop with me. Yet for Todd, she effortlessly cleared her schedule, pulled strings, and spent small fortunes without a second thought. By the time I reached the bottom of his feed, the sharp, agonizing pain in my heart had worn itself out, leaving behind nothing but a deep, hollow numbness. I typed out a brief reply: [No need. I don’t want it anymore.] I didn’t care about the figures anymore. And I didn’t want Craig either. That night, I retained a top family law attorney, packaging every piece of evidence of her infidelity and forwarding it to his office. The tens of thousands of dollars spent on Todd’s collection had been funded entirely by our shared marital assets. When we stood before a judge, I wouldn’t yield a single dime. Late that evening, Craig returned home carrying a massive, shrink-wrapped boxed set of figures. She set it on the bed in front of me. “Look,” she said, her voice laced with forced cheer. “Isn’t this the series you’ve been begging for?” I didn’t even glance at it, continuing to fold my shirts and stack them methodically into a duffel bag. “Take it back. I don’t want it.” The smile on her face faded millimeter by millimeter, replaced by a dark, familiar impatience. “You practically cried over this set last year, Seth. Now that I went out of my way to buy it for you, you’re pulling this passive-aggressive routine? Stop looking for a fight.” “I really don’t want it,” I repeated calmly, setting a folded jacket aside. “What you owe me isn’t a box of plastic toys, Craig.” Her face turned completely cold. “Seth, are you ever going to drop this?!” Before the words fully left her mouth, her phone began to ring loudly. In her haste to grab it, her thumb brushed the speakerphone icon, and Todd’s panicked, whimpering voice echoed through the bedroom: “Babe… my chest hurts so bad… I can’t breathe…” Craig’s expression shifted instantly to pure horror. She turned on her heel to bolt toward the door, her arm swinging back wildly as she moved. Her elbow caught me squarely in the chest, throwing me off balance. I crashed heavily onto the floor, my lower back slamming directly against the sharp corner of the bedside table. A sharp gasp of pain tore from my throat as a wave of excruciating agony rippled through my abdomen. “Craig!” I reached up, grabbing the hem of her sleeve with bloodshot eyes, desperate. “My stomach… it hurts so bad. Please, take me to the hospital first… please…” She yanked her sleeve out of my grip with violent irritation. “Enough! Stop using fake medical emergencies to compete for my attention! His life is actually on the line!” Without a second glance, she sprinted out the door, the heavy slam of the entryway echoing through the flat. A bitter taste flooded my mouth. I curled into a fetal position on the hardwood floor, clutching my stomach as the pain threatened to choke the air from my lungs. Using every ounce of strength left in my body, I reached for my phone and dialed 911. The impact against the nightstand had caused internal bleeding, aggravating the tumor. In the emergency room, the oncologist sat by my bedside, his face grave. “We need to schedule surgery immediately, Mr. Barrett. If we wait any longer, the risk of metastasis increases exponentially.” I lay flat on the sterile hospital mattress, staring blankly at the white ceiling tiles. My eyes were so dry I couldn’t squeeze out a single tear. While the cancer tortured my body in the middle of the night, my phone chimed with a social media notification. Todd had updated his story. The photo showed him curled comfortably against Craig’s shoulder on a plush velvet sofa, a triumphant grin on his face. The caption read: [Babe was terrified out of her mind. Honestly, my heart wasn’t even hurting that bad—I just wanted to trick her into coming over to cuddle with me longer. (Hidden from Craig)] Reading those words, every dam of composure I had built over the years broke at once. I rolled onto my side, buried my face in the hospital pillow, and sobbed until I couldn’t breathe. The next morning, another message from Todd popped up on my screen. [Seth, can we talk in person?] [You really need to take this rare figure off my hands, or my conscience is going to bother me forever.] My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a long moment before I typed back a single word: [Fine.] It was time to lay everything out in the light anyway. An hour later, as I approached the entrance of the designated coffee shop, Todd burst out through the front doors. Before I could say a word, his fist connected violently with the side of my face. A dull “crack” echoed in the air. “Seth, do you have no shame at all?!” Todd yelled, his eyes wide and red, his body shaking with dramatic fury. “I genuinely looked up to you as an older brother, and you were trying to pull my girlfriend behind my back the whole time!” My head throbbed, my ear ringing loudly. I held my bruised cheek as he thrust his phone screen inches from my face. On the screen was a photo taken a month ago—a candid shot of Craig and me holding hands while taking an evening stroll through the park. “I stumbled across your private album and realized you two have been sneaking around!” Todd screamed, his voice carrying across the outdoor patio. “You selling me that figure, making up excuses to come to my house—it was all a sick game to flaunt it in my face and trigger my condition, wasn’t it?!” His voice cracked into a loud sob. He grabbed his chest with both hands, his knees buckling as he sank toward the pavement. “I’m begging you, Seth! My heart can’t take this strain. I can’t live without her! Take the whole wall of figures—take everything! Just leave us alone!” The surrounding pedestrians instantly gathered around us, pointing fingers and whipping out their smartphones to record. “How disgusting… messing with a sick guy’s relationship?” “To pick on a heart patient like that… some people have no soul.” I took a deep, agonizing breath. I raised my hand and swung it back, landing a resounding slap squarely across Todd’s face. The loud “crack” silenced the crowd instantly. “Your girlfriend?” My voice trembled, but my grip was steady as I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out our crimson marriage certificate, holding it high for everyone to see. “Craig and I have been legally married for three years.” I pointed a shaking finger at his face. “And as for that wall of collectibles in your townhome? Every single one was purchased using our joint marital assets. My legal team has already finalized the filings. I am reclaiming every single dollar.” The patio fell dead silent. Whispers began to ripple through the onlookers. “Wait… an actual marriage certificate?” “Is the kid with the heart condition actually the side piece?” Todd’s body swayed as if he were about to faint, his eyes welling with fresh tears. “That’s impossible… Craig swore to me she was completely single…” Before he could finish his sentence, a sudden force shoved me violently backward. “Seth!” Craig pushed her way through the crowd, pulling Todd protectively into her arms. The look she threw at me was laced with pure, unadulterated venom. “Who gave you permission to lay a hand on him?! You know his heart can’t handle physical stress!” Todd leaned heavily against her shoulder, whimpering softly. “Babe… tell me the truth. Are you really married to him? Am I… am I just a homewrecker?” Craig hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then, her voice hardened. “No.” She looked up at the crowd, her tone icy and conviction-filled. “He suffers from severe delusional paranoia. That certificate in his hand is a total forgery. He’s just a stalker who’s been harassing me for months.” Those light, dismissive words pinned me to the spot like ice running through my veins. “Craig… have you lost your mind?” I breathed, my voice barely audible. “We are legally—” Her face went completely cold. She grabbed Todd’s wrist. “Todd, hit him back.” I stared at her in utter disbelief. “He just put his hands on you,” she said, her voice terrifyingly steady. “Hit him back as hard as you want. I will never let anyone bully my boyfriend.” Her words acted like an instant shot of adrenaline for Todd. “BOOM!” A heavy, ruthless punch landed on my other cheek. Todd bit his lip, his eyes cold. “That’s what you get for lying and trying to ruin people’s lives!” Then, he looked at Craig, his expression shifting to exaggerated concern. “But… where did he even get such a convincing fake document? Forging government records is a felony, babe. Shouldn’t we call the police on him?” A flicker of hesitation crossed Craig’s eyes. But in the next second, she reached out, snatched the crimson marriage certificate from my hands, and tore it cleanly down the middle. She ripped it again. And again. The torn scraps of red paper floated down to the dirty pavement like drops of dried blood. On the day we had registered our marriage three years ago, she had held that exact booklet in her hands like a fragile treasure, her eyes brimming with happy tears as she whispered: “Seth, you’re finally my husband. My actual husband.” And now, for another man, she was shredding the only proof of our life together with her own hands. “It’s just a fake piece of paper,” she said, her voice hoarse, her posture rigid. “Now let’s see what you use to spread lies.” The crowd around us exploded with righteous indignation. “So he really is a crazy lunatic!” “Let’s teach this stalker a lesson so he stops harassing women!” Craig’s expression shifted slightly, as if she were about to step forward and push the crowd back. But Todd gripped her sleeve gently, his body suddenly going limp. “Babe… my chest… it hurts so bad again…” He closed his eyes and slumped forward into her arms, pretending to lose consciousness. Craig panicked immediately, completely forgetting about me. She helped Todd into her car, casting one hurried, unreadable glance in my direction before slamming her foot on the gas pedal and speeding away. The angry crowd surged forward. Hands grabbed my coat, shoves turned into kicks, and insults rained down on me from every angle. Yet strangely, I felt almost no physical pain. The fists landing on my shoulders felt soft, distant, as if separated from me by a thick layer of fog. My vision slowly faded to black, and I collapsed onto the cold sidewalk. When I opened my eyes again, I was lying in a hospital bed under harsh fluorescent lights. Craig was sitting on the edge of the mattress, holding my hand, deep dark circles beneath her eyes. “You’re awake?” she said, her voice tight. “Don’t move around too much. You have several severe soft tissue contusions. You need rest.” She took a deep breath. “I spoke to the people who attacked you and settled things quietly. Don’t go to the police about this.” I slowly pulled my hand out of her grip, resting my arm flat against the thin white sheet. The corner of my mouth twitched into a hollow smile. “Ms. Holloway,” I asked softly, “what exactly is our relationship?” She froze, her brows drawing together in immediate irritation. “What kind of ridiculous question is that? We’re husband and wife.” My eyes burned, but I squeezed out a low, dry laugh. “Husband and wife? Do we have a marriage certificate to prove that?” A flash of guilt washed over her eyes, but it was quickly replaced by her familiar impatience. “Todd has a fatal heart condition, Seth! I had to say those things in the moment! Why did you have to bring a marriage certificate out in public just to provoke him?” She leaned forward, her tone rising. “Did you want to watch him have a massive heart attack right in front of you? Would that have made you happy?” “It was just a piece of paper,” she added, waving her hand dismissively. “Once things calm down in a few weeks, I’ll take you to the clerk’s office and we’ll just reapply for a new one.” It felt as though a blade had been dragged straight through my chest, letting the freezing winter air pour directly into my lungs. I gripped the hospital bedsheets, the pain so intense I could barely draw breath. “Craig… just let me go,” I whispered. “Sign the divorce papers. I’ll step aside and let you two be together.” Her breath hitched. A sudden, sharp panic flickered across her face, and her voice softened dramatically. “When I had nothing three years ago, you were the one who stayed by my side and helped me build my company. We are bound together for life, Seth.” She reached out to touch my shoulder. “I’m only taking care of Todd out of a sense of duty and gratitude. As my husband, you should be understanding instead of keeping score. Besides, if you hadn’t lost your temper and confronted him, I never would have said those things.” She stood up, smoothing down her coat. “Rest up. I’ll make this up to you properly once everything settles.” She turned and walked out, leaving the private room in heavy, suffocating silence. It was almost laughable. There were a million ways to repay a debt of gratitude, yet she had chosen the one path that systematically ripped my heart to pieces. I let out a soft, bitter laugh, pulled the IV needle cleanly out of the back of my hand, and stood up from the bed. My suit was already packed at home. The signed divorce settlement had been left sitting flat and neat right in the center of her mahogany desk. When I arrived back at the apartment to grab my bag, the sound of a power drill echoed from the living room. A team of interior contractors was hard at work along the main wall. “Oh, you must be Mrs. Holloway’s husband!” the lead contractor greeted me with a warm smile, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Mrs. Holloway hired us specifically to construct a floor-to-ceiling, climate-controlled glass display wall for your figure collection.” He chuckled appreciatively. “She spared no expense—insisted on ultra-clear tempered glass and custom lighting. Your wife really adores you, man.” “Adores me?” A cold, sarcastic smile touched my lips. I pulled out my phone. Todd’s newest social media post sat at the very top of my feed. In the photo, Craig was wearing a massive five-carat diamond ring on her left ring finger. [My poor babe was harassed by a lunatic stalker for months, but luckily this boy didn’t give up on her. She finally explained everything today!] [We’re going to be so happy together. To all irrelevant third parties: please exit gracefully.] The comment section was buzzing with excitement. Someone asked about the wedding date, and Todd had replied with a joyous emoji: [Formal ceremony tomorrow! Every single guest gets a rare collectible figure as a party favor! ~] I looked down at the ring finger of my left hand, at the simple, tarnished silver band resting there. Years ago, when her first business venture collapsed and she was left penniless, we had bought this pair of matching silver bands from a street vendor for twenty dollars. She had held my hands tightly that night, her eyes red as she wept tears of remorse: “Seth, I can’t give you romance now, but every single thing I owe you, I will repay you tenfold in the future.” Now, she was wealthy, powerful, and successful. The money was there, the grand gestures were there—but we had lost each other completely along the way. The custom display wall she had promised me years ago was being built for someone else. The diamond ring she had sworn to place on my finger was sitting on another man’s hand. The front door clicked open, and Craig walked into the foyer. She glanced at the nearly finished display wall with a satisfied nod. “Do you like it?” she asked softly, stepping over to my side. “I had them install it specifically for you.” “Sure,” I said quietly. “By the way,” she paused, her tone casual, as if discussing the weather. “I’m hosting a formal wedding ceremony for Todd tomorrow.” She looked at me, her expression defensive. “His heart condition has worsened severely. He could go into cardiac arrest at any moment. I just want to perform an act of charity—I don’t want him dying with regrets.” I offered her a faint, polite smile. “I understand.” She blinked, caught off guard. “You’re… not angry?” When I didn’t respond, a look of relief washed over her face. She pulled out her phone and instantly transferred a substantial sum of money directly into my bank account. “Don’t worry, it’s just a pretend wedding for his sake,” she reassured me softly. “As soon as I get back, I’ll take you to re-register our marriage license. While I’m gone for the next few days, take this money and buy whatever collectibles you want to fill up this wall. I’ll check on your progress when I get back.” I tapped my screen and accepted the transfer. “Okay.” Before she could say anything else, her phone rang. Todd’s voice drifted through the line, laced with sulky impatience. “Babe, where are you? Hurry over to help me try on my tuxedo…” “I’m on my way,” Craig said immediately, turning on her heel and hurrying back out the door. The contractor finished wiping down the glass frames and turned to me with a cheerful wave. “All done, Mr. Barrett! What do you think of the final result?” I thanked him softly, paid him his tip, and saw him out the door. Once I was alone, I walked into the utility closet, picked up a heavy steel claw hammer, and walked back to the living room. I raised the hammer high and swung it with all my strength straight into the center of the glass wall. “CRASH!” A deafening, sharp explosion of shattering glass echoed through the empty apartment. Spiderweb cracks spread violently across the surface before the entire structure caved in, raining sharp shards onto the hardwood floor. With a single strike, I smashed six years of unwavering devotion. I smashed every ounce of love I had ever carried for her. I smashed a marriage that had long since rotted to the core. “Craig,” I whispered to the empty room. “We’re done.” I wheeled my suitcase out into the hallway, pulling up my email app one last time to set a scheduled delivery. Attached to the message was a digital copy of my Stage II gastric cancer diagnosis, alongside a high-resolution photo of the shattered glass covering the living room floor. The body of the email contained a single sentence: [I’m returning the display wall to you. Happy wedding.] I tapped send, walked out of the building, and headed straight to the airport.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “552799”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On moving day, I made sure to reserve the primary suite on the ground floor for my mother. It had a roll-in shower and a smooth, zero-step threshold to accommodate her mobility issues. But when the movers finished unloading the last box, I found out the ground floor room had already been claimed—by Loretta, the mother of my husband’s deceased ex-wife. My mother had been relegated to the fourth-floor bedroom. In a building with no elevator. I watched her lean heavily on her metal cane, pulling herself up step by agonizing step. At every landing, she had to stop, clutching her chest as she gasped for air. I dialed Glenn. His voice came through the receiver, calm and dismissive. “The top floor gets better natural light. Don’t be dramatic.” Yet only an hour earlier, I had seen him on his knees outside Loretta’s doorway, carefully installing a warm motion-sensor nightlight. He was afraid the old woman might trip if she got up in the dark. When Mom finally reached the fourth floor, she leaned against the doorframe, trying to catch her breath, and forced a bright smile for my benefit. “Sweetheart, look how bright it is up here. Your mom loves it.” Her pant leg was rolled up slightly, exposing a dark, nasty bruise across her calf that she hadn’t had time to hide. I looked down the stairwell toward the sleek, custom-built wheelchair ramp on the ground floor. A sudden, cold nausea washed over me. I didn’t want to live in this house for another single day. … I closed the door to the fourth-floor bedroom as quietly as I could. The cold sweat from my mother’s forehead was still slick on my palms. She had swallowed two pain pills and lay on her side, her cane propped against the nightstand, unable to fully draw down her pant leg over her swollen, purple calf. When I walked downstairs, the smooth concrete of the wheelchair ramp looked blindingly white. Glenn had even wrapped the handrails in soft, non-slip grip tape. The kitchen door was pushed halfway open. Glenn had his crisp shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, using a mesh skimmer to lift every trace of floating fat from a heavy ceramic pot. The kitchen smelled rich with slow-simmered herbal broth. On the dining table sat plates of delicate, soft pastries—all of Loretta’s favorites. I held onto the doorframe, keeping my voice low. “Glenn, why didn’t you tell me you gave the ground-floor suite to Loretta?” He didn’t turn around. He just tipped the skimmer into a small porcelain bowl. “It’s just room assignments, Lola. Do you really have to make a scene on moving day?” “My mother has three surgical steel plates in her leg,” I said, my voice shaking. “She had to climb four flights of stairs today. She’s in so much pain she couldn’t even eat dinner.” Glenn turned down the burner. His tone remained perfectly even. “Loretta’s doctor warned us last week about early signs of a mini-stroke. She can’t handle physical exertion. She’s entirely alone in the world now that her daughter is gone. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t step up and take care of her?” I stared at the side of his face. “And my mother? She can barely walk—you’ve seen it with your own eyes.” He finally turned to face me, his brow furrowing into tight lines. “Your mother has you looking after her every single day! What does Loretta have? She lost her daughter. As her former son-in-law, I have a moral obligation.” “A moral obligation?” I pulled up the original architectural blueprints on my phone and thrust the screen in front of his face. “This ground-floor room was designed for my mother from day one. The ramp, the grab bars, the shower bench—every single measurement was customized for her body.” Glenn glanced at the screen for less than a second. “The fourth floor gets better sun. It’s good for an old person’s arthritis. Stop being so small-minded.” My fingertips went numb with rage. “Switch the rooms back. Tomorrow.” He set the metal ladle onto the granite countertop with a sharp, echoing clatter. Glenn wiped his hands on a hand towel and walked over, stopping inches from me. “Loretta can’t take stress right now. If you go down there and cause a scene, if you set off her heart condition, don’t expect me to spare your feelings.” I looked up into his eyes. “Are you threatening me?” He reached out and took my wrist. His grip wasn’t tight enough to bruise, but it was firm enough to lock me in place. “Lola, we’re family. Family can endure a little hardship. But people outside are watching how we handle our responsibilities. Don’t make me look bad.” “So my mother just has to suffer?” “If that’s how you insist on seeing it, there’s nothing I can say.” He let go of my wrist, picked up the covered bowl of broth, and his voice dropped to a cool, distant tone. “I’m taking this soup to Loretta. She hasn’t been sleeping well.” As he brushed past me, a faint scent of sandalwood drifted off his clothes—the calming incense Loretta burned constantly in her room. Standing alone in the kitchen, a violent wave of nausea hit me. I braced my hand against the stainless-steel refrigerator, pressing my palm flat over my lower stomach. My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was an automated reminder from the clinic. “Ms. Lola, you are currently eight weeks pregnant. Please remember to attend your scheduled follow-up appointment.” I stared at the black text on the bright screen. I had planned to tell him tonight, hoping a baby would bring a light of joy into our new home. From down the hall, Loretta’s delicate voice drifted over. “Oh, Glenn… you shouldn’t have gone through the trouble. Lola isn’t upset with me, is she?” Glenn’s low, reassuring voice answered her immediately. “She’s just being childish. She’ll get over it in a bit.” I turned off the screen, but the dull, dragging ache in my lower abdomen wouldn’t fade. Outside the door, Loretta sighed with practiced humility. “An old sack of bones like me… I really don’t deserve such a beautiful room.” “You deserve it,” Glenn said softly. “Don’t think like that.” I leaned my back against the cold refrigerator, my fingers slowly tightening into fists. The next morning, rain beat mercilessly against the windows. Glenn, who had promised weeks ago to drive us to the hospital for Mom’s orthopedic checkup, was nowhere to be found. His car was gone from the driveway. Mom stood in the foyer, holding her cane, wincing at the pain in her leg while still trying to make excuses for him. “Glenn has a busy job, sweetheart. Taking a taxi is just the same.” I clutched my phone, staring at the message he had sent ten minutes ago. “Loretta was craving those specialty fresh pastries from the bakery downtown. I’m standing in line for her. Just order a cab for your mom.” I dialed his number. It rang for a long time before he picked up. In the background, I could hear noisy crowd chatter and street traffic. “Glenn, you promised last night you’d drive my mother to her appointment,” I said, keeping my voice from shaking. “Her leg has been throbbing all night. It’s pouring rain, and no drivers are accepting rides out here.” His voice sounded instantly irritated. “I’ve been standing in this line for an hour, Lola. If I leave now, it’s a total waste of time. Just order an Uber Black. I’ll reimburse you, alright?” “There are over a hundred people in the queue for premium rides! In this weather, no one is picking up!” “Lola, stop turning every minor inconvenience into a tragedy. You’re an adult—do you really need someone to hold your hand to go to the doctor?” Mom gently tugged at my sleeve. Her face was dangerously pale. “Don’t fight, sweetheart… Mom can just walk a little slower.” I hung up the phone and walked to the guardhouse to borrow a large golf umbrella. The rain hammered relentlessly against the canvas overhead. With every step my mother took, the rubber tip of her cane skidded on the slick, wet pavement. I kept one arm locked under her elbow, holding the umbrella over her with the other. “Lean on me, Mom. Don’t put weight on that side.” She was breathing heavily, but she still managed a faint smile. “I’m fine, darling. This old leg used to work the fields in the mud. It can handle a little walk today.” The bus stop was only three hundred yards outside the gated community. On a clear day, it was a short stroll. Today, it felt like crossing a continent. As we reached the curb near a wide puddle, Mom suddenly pulled her arm out of my grip. “You’re… don’t strain yourself. You can’t be lifting heavy things right now. Mom can step over it herself.” My heart skipped a beat. “Mom… you know?” She looked down at my tote bag. “Your lab results slipped out yesterday. I didn’t ask because I wanted to wait until you were ready to tell me yourself.” A sudden wave of warmth and sorrow hit my chest. But before I could speak, the tip of her cane hit a patch of wet algae on the curb. She went down hard. Her knee slammed directly into the concrete curb, and her cane flew out of her hand, skittering beneath the wheels of a parked car. “Mom!” I lunged forward to grab her, but as I pulled, a sharp, violent spasm ripped through my lower belly. Cold sweat broke out across my mother’s forehead, but she immediately pushed my hands away. “Don’t lift me! Don’t move! Call a car… call an ambulance!” I knelt in the muddy water, waving frantically at the road. A few cars sped past, splashing dirty water over us, none of them stopping. My hands shook violently as I dialed 911. Just as I finished stammering out our location to the dispatcher, a notification banner popped up at the top of my phone screen. It was an update from Loretta’s social media page. In the photo, a plate of steamed, golden pastries gave off delicate trails of steam. Next to a porcelain teacup lay Glenn’s hand—his crisp shirt cuff spotless, his long fingers resting casually on the table. The caption read: “Even though my daughter is no longer with me, having half a son who is more devoted than blood is a blessing others can only dream of.” I stared at those words, my fingernails digging into my palms until I broke the skin. By the time the ambulance arrived, my mother was drifting in and out of consciousness from the pain. The paramedics lifted her onto the gurney, the lead EMT frowning deeply as he looked at me. “Why was an elderly woman with prior hardware in her leg walking outside in torrential rain? A fall like this is severe.” I opened my mouth, but no real words came out. “Please… just hurry.” At the hospital, the orthopedic surgeon examined the X-rays, his face darkening immediately. “The internal steel plates have shifted out of alignment, and there is extensive deep-tissue inflammation. Has she been repeatedly climbing stairs recently?” Mom lowered her head, her voice barely a whisper. “We just moved into a new place… my room is on a higher floor.” The doctor turned his stern gaze to me. “She needs absolute bed rest. Moving forward, she must use a wheelchair. No stairs. Under any circumstances.” I nodded numbly. I walked to the billing counter and cleared out the very last of my personal savings to pay the deposit, then rented a heavy, second-hand wheelchair from the medical supply desk. As I pushed my mother toward the exit, Glenn’s call finally came through. His voice was entirely casual. “Did you guys make it to the hospital? Loretta felt a little lightheaded after her tea, so I’m going to be back a bit late.” I looked down at my mother’s water-logged, mud-stained pants. “Glenn. My mom fell.” There was a second of silence. “Is it serious?” Before I could answer, the faint sound of Loretta coughing sounded near the receiver. Glenn immediately lowered his voice. “Look, I have to go. Stop blowing minor scrapes out of proportion. We’ll talk when you get home.” The line went dead. My mother sat in the wheelchair, holding her bent metal cane against her chest like a child. She looked up at me softly. “Lola… that ramp at home… is it really never going to be for me?” My hands froze on the wheelchair handles. Cold rainwater dripped from my coat sleeve into my palm, freezing me to the bone. By the time we navigated the logistics and returned to the house, it was late afternoon. The doctor’s warnings echoed in my mind: “Absolute bed rest. No stairs.” I had rented the wheelchair and hired two off-duty building maintenance workers to help me carry my mother inside, fully prepared to tear the marriage apart tonight if that was what it took to put her in the ground-floor room. But the moment I pushed open the front door, a burst of loud laughter crashed over us. Balloons, elaborate floral arrangements, and a massive seafood spread covered the long dining table. Loretta sat at the head of the table wearing a tailored red silk jacket, a gold brooch pinned to her chest, her face radiant with joy. In the center of the table stood a three-tiered cake piped with silver lettering: “Wishing Godmother Health, Honor, and Longevity.” Glenn walked out from the crowd of guests. When his eyes landed on my mother in the wheelchair, his brows immediately knit together. “What happened to you two? Can’t you be more careful when you walk?” I gripped the wheelchair handles, my voice ice cold. “She fell in the storm because she had to go to her appointment alone. The appointment you were supposed to drive her to.” Glenn glanced nervously at the room full of guests, stepping closer to whisper harshly, “Today is Loretta’s sixtieth birthday. I’m hosting an official ceremony to take her as my godmother to bring some good energy into the house. Don’t ruin this for everyone with that face.” Loretta immediately used the edge of the table to push herself up, her voice dripping with frail sorrow. “Oh, Lola… please don’t blame Glenn. It’s my fault. An old woman like me shouldn’t have caused such a fuss for my birthday.” Her words were full of remorse, but the heavy jade bangle on her wrist gleamed brightly under the chandelier as she gestured. My mother tightened her grip on the armrests. She looked at the crowded room, swallowed her pain, and spoke in a raspy, strained voice. “Lola… I’m tired. Ask the gentlemen to carry me back up to the fourth floor. Let’s not ruin everyone’s gathering.” The maintenance workers exchanged uncomfortable glances, then carefully lifted the heavy wheelchair to carry her up the long flights. My mother wiped cold sweat from her forehead the entire way up. I watched her pale, trembling lips, a suffocating weight pressing down on my chest. Once the workers came back down and left, I turned my eyes toward the ground-floor suite. A brand-new custom brass plate had been mounted beside the doorframe. “Mrs. Gable’s Suite” Through the open door, I could see a luxury massage chair, a temperature-controlled mattress, an emergency pull-cord by the bed, and a completely flattened doorway threshold. This was the accessible room I had spent months designing for my mother. I walked slowly over to the birthday cake. My fingers reached out and grabbed the edge of the white linen tablecloth. Glenn sensed something was wrong and took a sharp step forward. “Lola! Don’t do something stupid. All our guests are here.” I stared at the word “Godmother” written in silver frosting. Then, with everything I had left inside me, I yanked the cloth upward. Porcelain plates, crystal wine glasses, and the three-tiered cake crashed onto the hardwood floor in a deafening explosion of shattering glass and flying food. White frosting splattered across the hem of Loretta’s silk jacket. The entire living room went deathly silent. Loretta clutched her left chest, her body swaying as she sank toward the floor. “Glenn… I can’t… I can’t breathe…” Her relatives immediately swarmed forward. “Are you insane?! How could a woman be so vicious to ruin an elder’s milestone birthday?!” Glenn’s face turned thunderous. He lunged across the mess, grabbing my shoulder with a violent grip and shoving me away from the table. My back slammed hard against the heavy wooden doorframe. A sharp, searing pain tore through my lower abdomen. “Lola, have you completely lost your mind?!” Glenn roared, his face contorted in disgust. “Your mother falling was her own damn fault for being careless! Why are you taking your pathetic frustration out on Loretta?!” I stared straight into his eyes. “Say that again.” Glenn’s thin lips pressed into a hard line. “Today is Loretta’s birthday. She cannot take this kind of shock. You are going to apologize to her right now.” A cold, hollow laugh escaped my throat. “Apologize?” Before the word fully left my mouth, my inner organs felt as if they were being twisted into knots. A moment later, I felt a heavy, warm rush of fluid trickling down the inside of my thighs. I looked down. A dark red stain was slowly spreading through the fabric of my light gray trousers. Glenn’s eyes followed mine. The anger in his face instantly froze. Right then, Loretta let out a faint, gasping cry. “Glenn… maybe I shouldn’t be alive… I’m ruining your marriage…” Glenn’s body jerked. Instinctively, he turned back toward her, stretching out his arms to catch her as she slumped. In that single second of hesitation, I stopped looking at him. I pressed my icy fingers against the doorframe, leaning all my weight against it. “Glenn. I’m bleeding.” He turned his head back to look at me, his throat working silently. But before he could take a step toward me, the housekeeper came sprinting down the stairs in complete panic. “Ma’am! Ma’am, come quick! The old lady heard the crashing downstairs and tried to come down to stop it—she couldn’t catch her breath and collapsed on the fourth-floor landing!” A loud ringing exploded in my ears. Glenn moved to run toward the stairs, but I surged past him, charging up the steps with a speed I didn’t know I possessed. Drops of red trailed behind me, falling onto the dark wood steps. Glenn’s face turned deathly pale. He started to spring after me, but Loretta’s body went limp, her fingers clutching tightly to his shirt cuff. “Glenn… my heart hurts so much… am I dying…” Glenn stopped. His hands automatically caught her under her arms to keep her from hitting the floor. That single second of delay was all he gave. I never looked back at him again. When the paramedics brought my mother down on a stretcher, Glenn was still sitting on the living room sofa, frantically placing emergency nitroglycerin pills under Loretta’s tongue. As the heavy rear doors of the ambulance slammed shut, my mother’s limp hand slid off the edge of the gurney. The paramedic placed an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth, while the nurse checked her blood pressure with an urgent frown. “You need to contact your family to secure funds immediately. She needs to go straight to the Neuro-ICU. The standard beds are completely full.” I nodded, my palms dripping with cold sweat. At the emergency department, the neurologist came out of the trauma bay within minutes, speaking with rapid urgency. “Massive cerebral hemorrhage. Our standard ward doesn’t have the specialized monitoring equipment available right now. We need to transfer her to the Neuro-ICU immediately, but the system requires a twenty-thousand-dollar deposit to clear the green-channel reservation.” I clutched the paper requisition slip. “My investment accounts mature tomorrow morning. Can we please open the channel first?” The doctor looked at me grimly. “We are doing everything we can to stabilize her, but the ICU system won’t assign the surgical team without the deposit cleared. Every minute increases the risk of irreversible brain death.” I walked to the end of the sterile hallway, sank against the wall, and dialed Glenn. First call: no answer. Second call: he picked up. The background was quiet, like he was sitting in his car. My voice was trembling so badly I could barely form words. “Glenn… my mom had a massive stroke. She needs to go into the Neuro-ICU right now. Please… transfer twenty thousand dollars from our emergency savings account to me.” There was two seconds of silence on the line. Then, his tone came through, dripping with profound exhaustion and annoyance. “Lola, I know your mom passed out on the stairs. Old people get lightheaded when they get agitated. Stop using terms like ‘stroke’ to scare people.” I froze, a wave of sub-zero cold rushing through my veins. “What did you just say?” “I said stop exaggerating her condition just to throw a tantrum,” he interrupted coldly. “Loretta almost had a heart attack because of the scene you threw. I just used that twenty thousand dollars to pay the non-refundable holding deposit for her premium assisted living suite. Your mother just has her usual weakness. Stop using her health as a bargaining chip to compete for my attention.” I pressed my back hard against the wall, a copper taste rising in the back of my throat. “She is in active brain surgery prep! The doctors are standing here waiting for the transfer code! That money is to save her life!” Glenn’s voice dropped into a dark, heavy tone. “The deposit is paid. It can’t be refunded.” He paused, his voice turning into the condescending tone he used when teaching an unruly child. “Lola, adults have to take responsibility for their emotional outbursts. You ruined a major celebration today. You can’t keep expecting to win every argument by throwing dramatic scenes.” The line went dead. I stared at the black screen of my phone. Slowly, I stood up, walked to the billing window, and handed the clerk every single credit card in my wallet, one by one. The clerk kept shaking her head. “Declined. Insufficient funds.” I called relatives, distant acquaintances, real estate brokers—offering to sell my small, pre-marital studio apartment at fifty percent below market value if they could wire cash tonight. But the fastest contract couldn’t settle until the following afternoon. A sudden, continuous flatline alarm echoed from the trauma bay. The double doors swung open. The lead surgeon stepped out, pulling down his surgical mask. His eyes were heavy. “Ms. Lola… we did everything we could. She missed the critical window for surgical intervention. You should prepare to say goodbye.” I stared at his mouth as it opened and closed, but no further sound reached my ears. The nurses pushed my mother out. A white sheet covered her up to her chest. Her arm rested at her side, a fresh purple needle mark visible on the back of her pale hand. I walked over, wanting to take her hand in mine, but my own fingers were so cold they felt completely dead. Right then, a violent, tearing spasm ripped through my abdomen. I looked down. Red drops were falling onto the white hospital floor, one after another. The nurse’s face instantly changed. “Are you pregnant?!” I opened my mouth to say “eight weeks”, but before the words could form, the room tilted, and everything went black. When I woke up, I was lying in a small room in the OB/GYN emergency ward. A female doctor held a clipboard, placing a surgical consent form on the tray beside me. “The ultrasound shows no fetal heartbeat. There is significant internal bleeding. We need to perform an emergency D&C right now. Where is your husband?” I stared at the words “Surgical Consent”. A faint, dry laugh escaped my lips. “I don’t have a husband. I’ll sign it myself.” When the pen touched the paper, my hand shook so violently the signature was barely legible. As the nurse pulled away the paper, she looked at my colorless face, her tone softening. “What’s his phone number? You shouldn’t be alone after a procedure like this.” I flipped my phone face down on the mattress. “There’s no need to call anyone.” The overhead surgical lights clicked on, casting a harsh, cold white glow across my face. In the blinding light, my mind suddenly drifted back to the night we moved into the new house. I remembered that small motion-sensor light Glenn had carefully installed outside Loretta’s door. He was so terrified she might fall in the dark. And yet, he had left my mother to climb four flights of stairs alone in the quiet. … After settling Loretta into her new room, Glenn felt an unsettling flicker of anxiety in his chest, remembering the dark red patch he had seen on my pants before I ran out. He tried to brush it off, but the image wouldn’t leave his head. Finally, he grabbed his keys and drove to the hospital. As he walked past the central nurses’ station in the emergency wing, the staff were standing together, completing their shift change. They kept their voices low, but a few distinct words cut through the quiet hall, striking him like a physical blow. “That poor woman… Lola. Her mother suffered a massive stroke, but they couldn’t get into the Neuro-ICU because they lacked the deposit. The mother passed away right there in the ER.” Another nurse sighed, shaking her head. “And she was eight weeks pregnant. Had a severe hemorrhage and had to sign her own emergency D&C consent form while her mother was being moved to the morgue.” “What kind of absolute monster is her husband?” The car keys in Glenn’s hand slipped from his fingers, clattering loudly against the hard floor.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “552798”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On my twenty-second birthday, my childhood sweetheart boyfriend and my best friend presented me with an award. The title printed in bold letters read: “Best Doormat of the Year.” The citation underneath expressed heartfelt gratitude for writing both of their senior capstone theses, acting as their human mouthpiece whenever they fought, and finishing whatever leftovers they didn’t feel like eating. The room erupted into hysterical laughter. Guests clapped, agreeing that the title couldn’t be more deserved. Luther handed me the framed certificate, his hands shaking with laughter. “Lara, keep up the good work.” Chaya, standing beside him, eagerly high-fived him in celebration. “I told you she’d accept it without complaining! You owe me fifty bucks, Luther.” Luther glanced at me, his eyes gleaming with playful mockery. “Seriously, Lara, how did you turn into such a spineless turtle? You say yes to literally everything.” I looked down at the certificate in my hands. Where my name was supposed to be written, someone had drawn a cartoon turtle retreating into its shell. The deafening waves of chuckles and whispers echoed off the venue walls. I pulled my lips into a slow, faint smile—and tore the framed certificate into shreds in front of everyone. “I’m not a turtle,” I said, my voice cutting through the noise. “I’m a rabbit. And even a rabbit bites when it’s backed into a corner.” … A collective gasp echoed across the room. Luther stared at the paper fragments scattered over the floor, his brows pulling into a tight, dark line. “Lara, you’re taking this way too far.” “Chaya spent hours coming up with that gag. Do you even know the meaning of the word respect?” Behind him, Chaya shrank back, her lower lip trembling as she put on her best victim facade. “Lara… I genuinely thought you’d find it funny,” she whimpered. “Whenever we ask you to run errands for us, you always look so happy doing it. Why are you suddenly acting like this?” The way she described me didn’t sound like she was talking about a friend. It sounded like she was talking about a stray dog trained to fetch. Several mutual friends stepped between us, trying to smooth things over and warning Luther not to ruin my birthday. Luther let out a harsh snort. “What kind of friend can’t take a harmless joke?” He looked at me with a face full of bitter disappointment. “I fell for you in the first place because you were easygoing and open-minded. When did you become so petty?” With just a few casual words, he dumped the entire blame on my shoulders. I pressed my lips together, meeting his gaze head-on. In his eyes, I couldn’t spot a single trace of remorse. My hands clenched into tight fists at my sides as past memories resurfaced with sharp, jagged edges. “A harmless joke?” I asked, my voice dangerously steady. “So when you two had that massive cold war and forced me to run back and forth playing messenger all night, was that a joke too?” “You both knew perfectly well that my final thesis defense was scheduled for the very next morning. Yet you kept me awake until dawn, airing out your petty drama.” Because of that night, I had walked into my defense running on pure exhaustion. The committee tore my presentation apart, and I was publicly humiliated. They almost delayed my graduation. Meanwhile, Luther and Chaya patched things up by lunchtime, leaving me to pick up the broken pieces of my academic life alone. Luther crossed his arms, looking completely unbothered. “You’re our best friend, Lara. Friends help each other out. That’s what friendship is.” He let out a long sigh, taking a step forward and reaching out to grab my wrist. “Besides, you’re my girlfriend. If you were unhappy, you could have just said so. You chose to bottle it inside.” I stepped back, dodging his touch cold and clean. Talk to Luther about my feelings? From the day we started dating, he and Chaya had used me as a dumping ground for every toxic emotion they had. Whenever they felt off, I was expected to listen, soothe, and solve. But on the rare occasions I felt overwhelmed and needed a shoulder to lean on, they stepped back and watched from the sidelines, claiming they were helping me build “emotional resilience.” Seeing me shrink away from his touch, Luther’s face darkened for a fraction of a second before he smoothed his expression back over. “Fine,” he said, forcing his voice into a gentle, coaxing cadence. “Maybe giving you that certificate as a gift wasn’t the smartest move today. If you’re mad, be mad at me. Don’t take it out on Chaya. Her intentions were good.” Chaya nodded, her eyes rimmed with red. “Lara, I really didn’t realize you were carrying so much stress. I promise I won’t trouble you as much in the future.” Luther patted her shoulder gently. “Hey, if you need anything in the future, you can always trouble me. I’d love to be useful.” His eyes flicked toward me, waiting for a reaction. “If anyone wants the job,” I said quietly, “they’re welcome to it. I’m done.” The air in the room froze solid. Fortunately, a waiter chose that exact moment to push a cart with the birthday cake into the room, breaking the agonizing silence. “Come on, Lara,” someone chimed in quickly. “Don’t overthink it. Let’s light the candles so you can make a wish!” Seeing the cake, Luther’s eyes brightened, eager to sweep the awkward tension under the rug. But as the waiter uncovered the cake, his smile stiffened. It was a matcha cake—a deep, vibrant green, identical to the color of a turtle shell. Chaya let out a soft sob. “I’m so sorry, Lara… I only remembered that matcha was your favorite flavor.” She and Luther watched me nervously, terrified I might blow up again. When I remained entirely calm, Luther let out a visible sigh of relief. He quickly stepped in to insert the candles and light them up. The lights went down. Soft golden flames danced in everyone’s pupils. Luther carefully took my hand, pulling me closer to the cake. “Make a wish, Lara.” I clasped my hands together and closed my eyes in quiet reverence. In that brief, dark second, my mind drifted back to a conversation I’d had with my academic advisor earlier that week. She had mentioned an opening in a rural public service teaching program located deep in an isolated, impoverished mountain town in Appalachia. My safety net was already set. Naturally, my wish took shape. “I wish for a clean, permanent breakup from Luther.” I opened my eyes and blew out every single candle in one long breath. “What did you wish for, Lara?” Luther asked the moment the overhead lights clicked back on. He leaned in close, his face filled with sudden urgency. “Tell me. As long as it’s within my power, I’ll make it come true.” The crowd broke into playful teasing, mocking him for suddenly remembering how to play the devoted boyfriend. Luther chuckled, wrapping an arm around my waist. “How could I ever let go of a girlfriend this wonderful? If I lost her, I wouldn’t even know how to run my own life.” I dropped my gaze, making a quiet, cold calculation in my mind. He didn’t need a girlfriend. He needed a live-in maid. Chaya suddenly squeezed herself next to me, grabbing my forearm with a needy tug. “Lara, I’m so jealous. You’re so lucky to have a guy like Luther.” She sighed, pouting slightly. “Honestly, I feel like I’m the real doormat here—just an extra wheel tagging along with you two.” A wave of nausea hit me so fast I almost yanked my arm away in disgust. Luther overheard her whining and waved his hand dismissively. “You’re no extra wheel, Chaya. Since I lost that bet earlier, here’s your prize. I was planning to give it to you anyway.” Chaya’s eyes lit up. She stared at him intently as he reached into his jacket pocket. When he pulled out the object, my heart climbed straight up into my throat. It was another award certificate. Luther cleared his throat, reading aloud in a booming voice while the rest of the room exchanged subtle, uncomfortable glances. “Congratulations to Chaya, officially voted Girlfriend of the Year!” The words felt like a serrated blade tearing through my chest, leaving a cold, hollow ache. Chaya hesitated, deliberately holding back from taking the paper. “Luther, this isn’t right… Your actual girlfriend is standing right here.” Luther offered a relaxed, effortless smile. “She already has the best boyfriend in the world. She doesn’t need a paper certificate to prove her worth. Besides, if she were the type to get jealous over something like this, she wouldn’t qualify as a good girlfriend anyway.” Every pair of eyes in the room shifted to me, waiting in breathless anticipation. Nobody stood up for me. They were all just waiting to see how much humiliation I was willing to swallow. I leaned forward, took the certificate from Luther’s hands, and placed it gently in Chaya’s grip. “Congratulations,” I said, my expression entirely peaceful. Chaya clutched the paper to her chest as if it were made of solid gold. “Thank you for understanding, Lara. I’ll keep this forever. I’d never ruin someone else’s hard work.” At those words, several guests cast lingering looks at the torn paper scraps still resting on the floor near my feet, their eyes glinting with quiet amusement. I was famous on campus for my endless patience. Everyone wanted to test where my breaking point was. During the second half of the party, someone suggested a game of Truth or Dare. Chaya was picked in the very first round. “Dare!” she announced proudly. Her challenge was to princess-carry one of the guys present. She turned to me immediately, her face swimming with fake apology. “Lara, I’m so sorry… Luther is the only guy here I’m actually comfortable with. Can I borrow your boyfriend for a second? I’ll give him right back!” Luther agreed instantly, looking entirely unbothered. “Lara’s naturally generous. She’s helped us out so many times—she won’t mind a small thing like this.” I watched in silence as they attempted the dare. Chaya couldn’t lift Luther’s weight, so the dare flipped: Luther picked Chaya up instead, cradling her snugly in his arms. His warm breath brushed across Chaya’s cheek as he lifted her, and the tips of her ears flushed a deep, crimson red. I offered a faint smile, my heart completely still. Luther was right. I “was” generous. Generous enough that once my boyfriend was borrowed, I had no intention of ever asking for him back. A few rounds passed before the bottle finally pointed at me. “Truth,” I said calmly. The room fell quiet. Nobody dared to ask the birthday girl anything too risky. Luther quickly intervened, suggesting that everyone write down a question on a slip of paper so I could draw one at random. A pile of folded paper slips quickly accumulated in front of me. I reached out and picked one from the top. Unfolding it, I read the text: “Do you ever feel like a complete third wheel when you’re around Luther and Chaya?” The room plunged into silence, followed by a sudden ripple of nervous whispers. Luther bolted up from his seat. “Who wrote this? What a stupid, immature question! Lara, don’t answer that. Let’s just move to the next round.” Watching his righteous indignation, I smiled faintly and dropped the paper slip into the ash tray. “I can’t answer this,” I said quietly. “I’ll take the penalty drink instead.” A flicker of relief slipped across Luther’s eyes before he could catch himself. I turned away from him, pouring myself a full glass of bitter draft beer. Did Luther really believe I wouldn’t recognize his left-handed handwriting? Back in high school, in order to help him finish his late homework assignments, I had spent months imitating his left-handed script until even he couldn’t tell our penmanship apart. The birthday party ended on a sour note. Before leaving, Luther drank heavily, getting himself completely plastered. He stumbled toward me, leaning in for a drunken hug, but I stepped aside swiftly, letting him stagger past. “Lara…” he slurred, catching himself against the table. “I promise I’ll make it up to you with a real birthday present… something you’ll actually love…” Chaya stepped in, wrapping an arm around his waist to steady him. “Lara, I know how much you hate the smell of alcohol. I’ll take Luther home tonight.” I watched the two of them climb into a cab together, then turned to walk back to my rented apartment alone. The night sky was deep and suffocating. As I walked, memories flooded back unbidden. In our three-way friendship, I had always been the one giving everything away. I was the one who planned every detail of our road trips, the one holding the camera for their photos, the one carrying their bags while shopping. Luther used to comfort me by saying they simply couldn’t function without me, that my usefulness was proof of how deeply they loved me. I had believed him. I had believed him right up until today. Now, the veil had been torn away. All his past tenderness was nothing more than an efficient way to squeeze every last drop of labor out of a willing doormat. The cold night air hit my face, making me shiver. Pulling out my phone with trembling fingers, I opened my email app and formally submitted my application for the Appalachian volunteer teaching placement. The confirmation email stated that processing would take one business day. I lowered my phone and jogged the rest of the way back to my apartment. I stepped inside and looked around. Framed photos of Luther and me covered almost every surface. Taking a deep breath, I pulled out storage boxes and systematically packed away every single item that had anything to do with him. There was only one object I couldn’t bring myself to throw away. I held a smooth, icy jade pendant in my palm, staring at it in a quiet daze. Luther had given me this pendant when he confessed his feelings to me after high school graduation. He told me that before his mother passed away, she had handed it to him with a strict instruction: it could only be given to the woman he intended to spend the rest of his life with. Back then, Luther had looked into my eyes and whispered that he couldn’t imagine giving it to anyone else. I closed my eyes, deciding that I would hand it back to him before I left the city for good. I didn’t expect him to show up at my doorstep early the next morning. He stood in the hallway, looking down at his shoes, his voice low and subdued. “Lara… about the certificate thing at your party yesterday… just forget it, okay? I was out of my head. I promised I’d get you a proper birthday gift, and I will—something completely unique.” I shook my head gently, signaling that it didn’t matter, but I kept my body firmly blocking the doorway so he couldn’t step inside. His gaze flicked down to the jade pendant tucked in my hand, and his posture shifted instantly. “Actually, I came over because I need to ask you something. Can you give that pendant back to me for a bit?” “Chaya’s grandmother fell ill recently, and her medical bills are piling up. I was thinking I could sell or pawn the pendant to help her family out.” He looked up at me, his eyes entirely calm. “You’re Chaya’s best friend, Lara. I know you want to help her.” I looked into his eyes, struck by how effortless it was for him to care about someone else. When my own parents were involved in a severe car accident two years ago and I was short a thousand dollars for their emergency surgery, I had literally dropped to my knees to beg Luther for a loan. He had refused, claiming Chaya had a severe case of the flu and needed emergency funds for her clinic visits instead. In the end, I had to take out a high-interest payday loan to cover my parents’ hospital bill, working two part-time jobs night and day for a full year to pay off the debt. A bitter, quiet smile touched my lips. Luther’s favoritism had always been glaringly obvious. I had just chosen to be blind. I tossed the pendant toward him. He caught it instinctively. “If you don’t have anything else to say,” I said, my voice flat, “you should go.” At least it saved me the trip of returning it to him myself. The moment the pendant landed in Luther’s palm, the worried, subdued look vanished from his face, replaced by a triumphant, mocking grin. “Lara, why are you always so obedient?” he chuckled, tossing the stone in his palm. “I ask for something, and you just hand it over. You really can’t blame me for calling you a turtle.” He turned toward the stairwell and called out, “Chaya! You can come out now! You won the bet again!” Chaya came bouncing out from around the corner, her eyes curved into cheerful crescents. “Thanks for playing along, Lara! You made me win another fifty bucks!” She giggled, leaning against Luther’s arm. “Luther said you treated this pendant like your own life, but look at you—you handed it over without even asking a single question.” I stared at the two of them standing side by side in the dim hallway, a cold numbness creeping from my fingers straight to my heart. It had been another setup. A bet. From beginning to end, I was nothing more than a clown performing for their entertainment. Luther weighed the pendant in his hand, then casually thrust it back into my palm. “A bet’s a bet. I have to take Chaya out for a high-end dinner now,” he said lightly. “Hold onto this stone, Lara. But if you hand it over so easily next time I make up an excuse, I might not give it back.” I watched their retreating backs as they walked down the stairs, laughing together. Once they vanished from sight, I turned around and tossed the jade pendant into the trash bin by the door. “There won’t be a next time, Luther.” That afternoon, I received an email from my academic advisor. My application for the Appalachian teaching program had been officially approved. Because my application was submitted late, I was required to board a transport van heading for the rural mountain site in three days. Three days. In three days, Luther, you and I will never cross paths again. Three days passed in a blur. Luther was buzzing with energy, preparing a grand gesture to surprise Lara. He knew he had pushed things too far at her birthday party, so he had spent the last three days meticulously planning a graduation trip for just the two of them. Lara was always complaining that she was the only one who ever made travel itineraries. This time, Luther had handled every hotel reservation, route, and activity himself, ensuring she wouldn’t have to worry about a single detail. He even made a mental note to carry all the heavy luggage himself throughout the trip. With a setup like this, he was certain Lara would be moved to tears. After all, Lara had always been an easy woman to coax. Still, a strange melancholy hovered over him when he realized how few words Lara had spoken to him over the last three days. He shook his head, pushing the creeping unease out of his mind. From the very first day they got together, he had always known that he wasn’t the one dependent on Lara. Lara was the one who couldn’t survive without him. Just as he was double-checking their flight details, his phone rang. It was Chaya. “Luther! Come down to the shopping district right now and help me carry my bags!” Chaya was panting into the receiver. “I bought a mountain of clothes, and my arms are falling off!” Luther knit his brows, annoyed. “Why are you calling me? Call Lara! You know she’ll run right over to play pack mule for you.” At the mention of Lara’s name, Chaya’s voice dropped an octave, turning ice-cold. “She blocked my number. I can’t reach her at all.” Luther froze in place. The subtle anxiety that had been brewing inside his chest over the past few days suddenly expanded, clawing at his heart. A rush of heat surged into his cheeks. “I’ve clearly been spoiling her too much lately. She actually dared to block her best friend?” “Hold on,” Luther snapped into the phone. “I’ll text her right now. Let’s see if she has the nerve to block me.” He pulled up his messaging app and typed out a text. “Message failed to send. You have been blocked by this user.” He tried dialing her number directly. The call went straight to a dead, automated tone. A cold, unfamiliar panic seized Luther by the throat. Without wasting another second, he grabbed his keys, picked up Chaya, and rushed straight to Lara’s rented apartment. When they arrived, the front door was wide open, but Lara was nowhere to be seen. Only an elderly landlady was inside, sweeping the bare floorboards. Sweat broke out across Luther’s forehead. “Where’s the girl who lives here?” The landlady paused, giving them a slow, unimpressed look. “You looking for the young lady?” “She broke her lease and cleared out early this morning.”

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The spiritual medium said that my brother, who had been missing for ten years before being brought home, was deeply traumatized—his soul fractured. He needed my memories as fuel for the ritual candles. Only by draining them every day for forty-nine days straight could his spirit finally be anchored. The first time my memories were extracted, I forgot that I was lethally allergic to shellfish. I ate a prawn my older sister placed in my bowl, suffered anaphylactic shock, and ended up in the ICU. My parents stayed in the adjoining room watching cartoons with my brother. Complaining that the incessant beeping of my heart monitor was too loud, they shut the connecting door. By the twentieth ritual, I forgot how to crave my parents’ praise, or how to long for their affection. By the fortieth ritual, I forgot what it felt like to stay up late into the night, sitting by the window, waiting for my sister to come home from work. Today is the forty-ninth day. The final session. My sister came down into the basement carrying a bowl of hot porridge—a gesture so rare it felt almost alien. “Once we extract the last bit today, consider your debt paid for taking up ten years of his life,” she said, her voice smooth. “After this, we’ll treat you like a real brother.” I raised my head and stared at her in silence. Then, nervously, I wiped my dirty, calloused hands against my tattered trousers. Reaching deep into my pocket, I pulled out a tarnished quarter and held it out to her. “Thank you for your kindness… for sheltering me,” I whispered softly. “This is all the money I have. Is it enough to buy this bowl of porridge?” The faint, gentle smile at the corner of my sister’s lips froze instantly. What she didn’t know was that just a moment ago, the last thread snapped. I had completely forgotten who I was. And I had forgotten how desperately I once loved them. … My older sister stood there, holding the steaming bowl of porridge. The subtle arc of her smile stiffened, fracturing piece by piece until it collapsed completely. She stared down at the grime-covered coin sitting in the palm of my hand, her brows knotting tightly together. “Sam, what kind of childish game are you playing now?” “A game?” I flinched, pulling my shoulders inward. I looked down at the coin in my palm. The hand holding it began to tremble uncontrollably. “I’m… I’m sorry. If it’s not enough, I can sweep the basement for you. I can work it off…” My sister’s face turned deathly pale, shadowed with anger. She slammed the bowl of porridge down onto a nearby wooden crate. The scalding broth splashed over the rim, reddening the back of her hand, but she didn’t seem to notice. Instead, she grabbed my wrist in a crushing grip. “Enough!” her voice cracked through the damp air. “How long do you plan on dragging out this amnesia act?” Her fingernails dug deep into my flesh. The sheer force of her pull dragged me upright, the sudden pain jerking hot tears into the corners of my eyes. “The forty-nine days are over! You’ve paid your penance!” she snapped, hauling me up the narrow basement stairs as I stumbled behind her. “There’s no need to put on this pathetic victim routine in front of us anymore!” The searing pain in my wrist made me struggle instinctively, but her hold was relentless. I stumbled out of the dark into the blinding light of the main floor. “Why are you dragging him like that?” A soft, mildly scolding female voice echoed through the foyer. I forced my tear-blurred eyes open. A middle-aged woman in a silk loungewear set was stepping out of the kitchen. Her brow furrowed as she reached out and swatted my sister’s hand away from my wrist. She glanced at my frayed sleeves and my filthy, smudged face. Her eyes faltered for a fraction of a second. She reached a hand toward me, then hesitantly pulled it back. “Honestly, Sam, it was just a memory ritual,” our mother said, letting out a weary, resigned sigh. “It’s not like they harvested your bone marrow. Why must you throw a fit and make yourself look like a street beggar?” She sighed again, a subtle compromise softening her tone. “Fine. Now that the ritual is over, let’s just move past it and live normally. Go take a shower and put on some clean clothes.” As she spoke, she glanced up toward the second floor, deliberately dropping her voice to a whisper. “Your brother Tobias is sleeping upstairs. Keep your footsteps light. His nerves are fragile, and it took forever for him to fall asleep.” I stood awkwardly on the edge of the plush, expensive rug, completely out of place. My fingers fidgeted uselessly against my sides. “Excuse me…” I asked in a small, tentative voice. “Where… where should I wash up?” The air in the room suddenly went dead silent. Beside me, my sister let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Look at him, Mom. He’s still acting.” My mother’s brows knit even tighter, whatever faint flicker of sympathy she had instantly replaced by annoyance. “You don’t even know where your own bedroom is? Second floor, at the very end of the hall. Go on.” She paused, adding sternly, “And don’t use the shared bathroom in the hallway. Toby finds it dirty when other people use his things.” With that, she turned to the stove and ladled a steaming portion of chicken soup into a large porcelain bowl. I watched the broth, my throat working as I swallowed hard. Noticing my hollow stomach, she pulled a smaller bowl from the cabinet and ladled a tiny portion for me. “Drink this before you go up. I made extra, so there’s some for you too.” Yet, as she carried the larger bowl upstairs for Tobias, her footsteps were quick and eager. My sister stayed behind, arms crossed, looking down at me with cold detachment. “There. Mom gave you a way out, so don’t push your luck. Drink the soup, and we’ll let bygones be bygones. From now on, you’re still a Norman. Whatever Toby gets, we’ll make sure you get a share too.” If the old Sam had heard these words, he might have burst into tears of validation. He might have furiously knocked the bowl over, demanding to know why ten years of shared life meant less to them than a DNA match. But I didn’t. Instead, I looked around the pristine kitchen, my eyes landing on a yellow cleaning rag by the sink. Under my sister’s bewildered gaze, I walked over, picked up the rag, and knelt on the floor. I began wiping away the dirty footprints I had accidentally left on the polished marble, rubbing them clean inch by inch. When I was finished, I stood up and carefully placed the tarnished quarter right next to the small bowl of soup. “Miss, ma’am… I won’t drink the soup,” I said softly. I took two steps back and gave the tall, elegant woman a polite, quiet bow. “For the porridge earlier… I don’t have enough money right now. But I can collect plastic bottles outside and sell them to pay you back, okay?” I raised my head, my eyes entirely devoid of anger or resentment. “Please… just don’t lock me back in that dark room. I’m very quiet. I can do heavy chores.” My sister stood frozen where she was, her arms dropping to her sides. Following the older woman’s instructions, I walked up to the second floor, keeping my footsteps as light as air. The moment I pushed open the door to my room, I saw how every trace of my existence had been slowly devoured. My memory wasn’t completely wiped; fragmented, faint recollections still floated in my mind like distant echoes. Two months ago, Tobias had brought several massive designer shopping bags home and carelessly tossed them onto my bed. When I carried the bags back to his room, he had broken down into soft, tragic sob. My mother had berated me without hesitation: “Sam, Toby spent ten years living on the streets without any security! He hoards things because he’s traumatized. How can you be so selfish as his older brother? Why must you fight him over every little thing?” From that day on, my bedroom became Toby’s secondary closet, overflowing with his streetwear and overflow junk. On the corner of the desk sat a small desk lamp with a chipped base. I had bought it years ago with the very first paycheck I earned handing out flyers in the snow. Later, Toby decided his room was too dim and wanted my lamp. When I refused, a struggle broke out just as my sister walked upstairs. Without asking a single question, she snatched the lamp from my hands and smashed it onto the hard floor. “Are you insane, Sam?” she had screamed at me. “It’s a twenty-dollar piece of junk! Is it worth making your brother cry over? I’ll have my assistant buy you a hundred new ones tomorrow. Now apologize to Toby immediately!” Of course, she never bought me a new one. I closed my eyes, forcing the rising tide of bitterness back down into the dark. It didn’t matter anymore. The person I was now didn’t need to remember any of it. I walked into the adjoining bathroom and turned on the shower. Freezing water poured down over my head, soaking my clothes. My mother had told me to use my own bathroom, but she had forgotten one thing: the hot water pipe in this room had burst a week ago and was never fixed. I used the cold stream to scrub the grime from my skin. Where the water hit my raw skin, it stung like needles—yet it didn’t hurt nearly as much as the hollow ache in my chest. When I finished, I huddled in the corner by the bathroom door, sitting on the cold tile beside a discarded cardboard box. I lost track of time. Suddenly, the bedroom door was pushed open with a heavy, impatient bang. “Sam, how long are you going to throw this temper—” My sister’s voice cut through the air, sharp with suppressed anger. But the words caught in her throat. Her eyes drifted downward, fixing on the corner of the floor. “What… what are you doing on the floor?” Her voice trembled slightly. “Why aren’t you in bed?” I shuddered, pulling myself backward in terror. “I’m—I’m sorry, Miss! I didn’t know this was your storage room… I shouldn’t have come in…” I swallowed hard, keeping my voice as low as possible. She dropped to her knees, reaching out to grab my arm. “Sam, get up first… the floor is freezing…” “Don’t hit me!” I shrank back frantically against the wall, shielding my head. “I’ll dry my clothes right now! I won’t ruin the floor! Please, Miss, don’t hit me…” She stared at my defensive posture, her gaze landing on my shivering shoulders. She reached out and seized my upper arms. “Why are your clothes ice cold? Your hair is freezing! Did you take a shower in cold water?!” “I…” I swallowed hard, my eyes darting nervously around the room. “The lady of the house said… I shouldn’t use the hallway bathroom because I might dirty the young master’s things. My room— I mean, the storage room’s shower… doesn’t have hot water. I was afraid I’d smell bad and upset you, so I just used cold water.” My sister’s throat constricted, her breath catching violently. She hadn’t known the shower had no hot water. A week ago, when the pipe ruptured, I had tried to tell her. But she had been busy helping Tobias assemble a limited-edition Lego set worth tens of thousands of dollars. Without even looking up, she had snapped at me: “Do you really need to bother me with every little thing? Are you doing this on purpose because Toby is back? Trying to start drama?” After that, no plumber was ever called. “I…” My sister opened her mouth, her voice dry and rasping. She looked at my lips, which were turning blue from the cold, and instinctively reached down to unbutton her suit jacket to put it over me. Just then, faint footsteps sounded outside the doorway. “Jennifer? Why are you in Sam’s room?” Tobias stood in the doorway. Hearing his voice, my sister’s body stiffened noticeably. She instinctively took a step back, widening the distance between us. “Toby? Why are you awake? Did we disturb you?” Her tone softened in an instant. Tobias bit his lip, his eyes welling with tears on command. “I had a nightmare… Jennifer, is Sam still angry at me? If it’s my fault, I can give him his room back. I’ll go live in the basement. Please don’t fight because of me…” My sister rushed to comfort him. “Toby, don’t say such silly things. How could any of this be your fault? You suffered so much while you were lost. Living in the best room in your own home is only right. Sam… Sam just finished the ritual, so his head is a little confused. Don’t take it to heart.” Hearing the commotion, my mother came hurrying up the stairs in her slippers. The moment she saw Tobias standing there with tear-stained eyes, her expression darkened into a scowl. She marched into the room, shoving Tobias safely behind her back. “Sam! How much longer are you going to keep this up?” She glared down at me. “Toby has weak nerves and finally fell asleep, and the second you get out of that basement, you start making trouble for the whole house! We just asked you to take a bath, and you sit there looking like a corpse for who to see?” I huddled deeper into the freezing corner, wrapping my arms around my knees, shivering violently. I kept my head buried low. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m not angry… I’ll leave right now. I’ll get out…” I made a move to crawl toward the door, my hands scraping against the dirty floorboards. My mother watched me. She had come up the stairs armed with a barrage of sharp scoldings, but now it felt as though her punches were landing on thin air. Her face turned a sickly shade of pale frustration. “Mom… look at him. He seems… really…” My sister stared at me, her mouth slightly open, as if a terrible suspicion was finally dawning on her. “Jennifer, is he actually crazy now?” Tobias sniffled softly. My mother let out a cold snort, pulling Tobias back a step. “He’s acting fake. Fine, play dumb all you want. Did you really think pulling a stunt like this would win back our affection? Since his head is messed up, I’ll have a doctor look at him tomorrow.” She turned away coldly. “Toby, let’s go back to your room. Ignore him.” Her voice was laced with pure impatience. Before walking out, she turned to my sister. “Jennifer, lock the door from the outside so he doesn’t wander around at night and scare Toby. And tomorrow, throw out all the dirty old junk in his room. It’s an eyesore.” “Got it, Mom,” my sister replied softly. She stole one last glance at me before obediently following them out into the hallway. The door clicked shut, and the heavy iron lock turned from the outside. Listening to their fading footsteps, I slowly pulled myself up from the floor. Reaching into the very bottom of the battered cardboard box, I pulled out a small, waterproof pouch I had hidden long ago. Inside was a private debit card I had secretly opened, containing the meager savings I had scraped together over the years from side jobs, alongside a one-way train ticket I had bought weeks ago. Clutching the ticket stub in my palm, my mind suddenly flashed back to my eighteenth birthday. We had taken a family portrait together that day. My mother had wrapped an arm around my shoulder, and my sister had held up a birthday cake, smiling warmly. Back then, it felt as though they truly considered me family. They loved Tobias so much. In that case, they should let Tobias stay with them forever. At dawn, the bedroom door was unlocked and pushed open once again. This time, my mother walked in holding a steaming bowl of sweet glutinous rice ball soup. “Sam, you must be hungry. Hurry and eat this,” she said, stepping over to the bed and reaching out to pat my hair. “Yesterday, your sister and I were just overly anxious. Toby isn’t in good health, and we panicked when he got upset. Don’t take what we said to heart.” My sister walked up behind her, letting out a soft sigh. “Sam, the spiritual medium spoke to us again last night. She said Toby suffered too much during those ten years away, so his spiritual aura is extremely weak. Meanwhile, you lived comfortably in the Norman house for ten years, so your presence naturally clashes with his. That’s why he suffers chest pains and nightmares whenever you’re around.” She pulled a smooth jade pendant from her pocket and took my hand. “Sam, this is the absolute last time. The final sacrifice the family will ever ask of you. You just need to use a few drops of your blood to consecrate this jade. It will absorb the negative energy and protect Toby. After this, we will double our efforts to make it up to you. We’ll treat you as a real son and brother, and we’ll never let you suffer again, okay?” Watching the picture-perfect scene of family reconciliation unfold before me, I felt only a profound, hollow irony. Tobias sat on the small armchair nearby, his voice choking up. “Brother, my chest hurts so badly every night… If you just help me this once, I’ll share half of Mom and Jennifer’s love with you from now on. I’m begging you…” Under the weight of their three converging gazes, I raised my head, trembling. “If I give my blood… Toby won’t be in pain anymore?” I swallowed hard, looking frightened. “Then… Miss, ma’am… will you really like Sam after this? You won’t lock Sam back in the dark basement?” “Of course! I promise you, from now on, you are the second young master of the Norman family,” my mother agreed instantly, a glint of desperate greed flashing in her eyes. My nose stung with a sudden wave of warmth. In a fleeting moment of hallucination, I remembered cutting my finger while peeling an apple last year. My sister had panicked, tearing through the entire medicine cabinet looking for bandages, whispering, “Don’t cry, Sammy. Sister will blow on it, and it won’t hurt anymore.” Now… I closed my eyes. I would consider this single cut the final repayment for ten years of shelter. “Okay… Sam will be good. Sam will protect brother…” I sniffled, submissively extending my right hand. Seeing me agree, a sharp light flared in my sister’s eyes. Without a single word of warning—without even telling me to brace myself—she seized the sharp, jagged edge of the jade stone and dragged it forcefully across my palm! “Miss! It hurts! It hurts so much!” A strangled cry tore from my throat. My body jerked violently as I tried to pull my hand back by instinct. But my sister held my wrist in a vise grip, pressing harder. “Don’t move! Just hold still a little longer! Be a good boy, Sam. We told you this is the last time, why are you being so difficult?” When I was little and scraped my knees bleeding on the pavement, she had carried me on her back all the way home, her forehead drenched in sweat, comforting me every step of the way. Now, sitting beside us, my mother didn’t show a single trace of pity. Instead, her face twisted in disgust as she gently patted Tobias’s back. “It’s just a little bit of blood,” my mother muttered coldly. “Is it anywhere near the suffering Toby endured wandering the streets for ten years?” Late that night, the entire Norman mansion sank into absolute silence. By afternoon, Tobias’s “chest pain” had miraculously vanished. To celebrate, the three of them had booked a table at the most luxurious restaurant downtown. As for my hand, which wouldn’t stop bleeding, they hadn’t even left behind a single band-aid. When they left that evening, I had watched from the window as my sister opened the car door for Tobias, and my mother lovingly straightened his jacket collar. Just like they used to do for me. Listening to the steady, quiet hum of the empty house, I opened my eyes. The moment my feet stepped over the threshold of the Norman estate, I knew I was never coming back. I boarded a late-night taxi heading straight to the train station. I’m done playing your games. I powered off my phone and leaned my head against the cold glass of the car window. At that exact moment, sitting at the candlelit restaurant table downtown, my mother’s phone buzzed with a text message from her brother: “Helena, Tobias’s physical exam results just came back. Everything is normal. But there’s a massive problem… I remember both you and Richard are blood type O. How could you possibly have a child with type AB blood?” “Helena, did you bring home the wrong kid?”

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When the acute stomach spasms hit in the dead of night, I called Galen, asking if he could take me to the ER. His response was prompt, clipped, and devoid of warmth: “Kendra’s running a fever. She just moved to Austin, lives alone, and has no one else. I need to drop off some medicine for her first. Just hang in there for a bit, okay?” She was always his exception. For three years, I had trained myself to step back. During dinners with my family and friends, he would duck out early because Kendra sent a text saying she was feeling down. Even our anniversary dates—months in the making—were routinely derailed by a single, desperate call from her. I used to believe that my patience would eventually earn me a place of priority in Galen’s life. Left with no choice, I gripped my aching abdomen, doubled over, and made my way to the hospital alone. During the slow drip of my IV, boredom set in, and I absentmindedly refreshed my Instagram feed. The top post was from Kendra. It was a photo of a steaming bowl of homemade porridge Galen had cooked for her. Her caption read: “Always there to catch me. Always choosing me.” A draft from the hospital window cut through the room, carrying the chill of late autumn. In that quiet, sterile space, the fog finally cleared from my mind. I was done keeping vigil for a relationship that burned through my spirit while giving nothing back. I opened my phone, switched to my inbox, and pulled up the job offer from the headhunter in Chicago. … The outpatient infusion room was sparse, occupied by only a few night owls and exhausted patients. Across from my station, a couple sat squeezed together in a double recliner. The young man held his girlfriend’s hand—the one hooked to the IV—rubbing her skin to keep it warm, carefully blowing on a plastic cup of tea before handing it to her. I watched them from afar until a sudden prickling behind my eyes forced me to look away. I unlocked my phone. My feed was still parked on Kendra’s post. Kendra was a junior from Galen’s alma mater, someone he had sponsored and mentored through college. Galen viewed her fragility as a sacred duty he was obligated to shoulder. Yet he consistently overlooked the fact that I was carrying heavy loads of my own. The memory of 2:00 AM came flooding back—that sharp, wringing pain in my upper abdomen. I had spent the last two weeks pulling fifteen-hour days to pull off a major client launch. My stomach had been sending warning shots for days. Before I left for an out-of-town conference last week, I had pulled Galen to the medicine cabinet, pointing out that our supply of GI medication was completely depleted. He had nodded, his thumb flying across his screen as he typed a reply to Kendra. “Got it, babe. I’ll restock it,” he’d said with effortless ease. So when I found myself doubled over on the cold hardwood at two in the morning, blindly digging through the drawers, all I found were empty blister packs and boxes that had expired two years ago. In our three years of living together, every domestic errand—from stocking paper towels to buying cold medicine—had fallen on me during my rare hours off. Galen couldn’t tell detergent brands apart, nor could he distinguish Advil from Tylenol. It was as though keeping our shared life running was entirely my burden to bear. With trembling fingers, I had dialed his cell. Even as the line rang, a foolish spark of hope lingered in my chest. He didn’t even ask, “How bad is the pain?” “Kendra just moved into her own place downtown,” he’d said instead. “She’s got a bug, and she’s all by herself.” “I have to drop off some meds. Can’t you just tough it out until morning and hit an urgent care then?” My breath came in ragged shallow gasps. “Galen, I can barely stand up. Can you just bring her the meds and then come back to take me? I’m really scared.” His answer was laced with unmistakable irritation. “She’s a young girl alone in a high-rise late at night. Do you know how unsafe that is? You’re a grown woman, Daphne. Can’t you just call an Uber? Stop being so difficult.” “A grown woman.” As if being an adult meant I was required to suffer agonizing pain alone in the dark. I had gripped the warm plastic of my phone, my chest feeling colder than my stomach. Without another word, I hung up and booked a ride to the emergency room myself. Now, Kendra’s photo of the warm porridge still lingered on my screen. It reminded me of last month, when I had running a 102-degree fever. Galen had dropped a bag of lukewarm takeout on the entryway table, tossed out a hasty “Eat something while it’s warm,” and walked right back out the door to take Kendra out for some fresh air because she was stressed about work. They stayed out past midnight, posting photos from a night market. His tenderness, his patience, his meticulous care—none of it had ever been reserved for me. My phone buzzed, startling me. It was a call from the head of HR, a woman I considered a personal friend. Her voice was hesitant. “Daphne, I’m going to be straight with you,” she began softly. “The promotion to Marketing Director was slated for you. But Director Adler brought up Kendra in the leadership sync today. He argued that as a fresh grad, she needs the foothold more. I wanted you to have a heads-up.” The rhythmic “drip-drip” of the IV bag amplified in the quiet hall, beating against my brain like a relentless clock. I had given three years of my life to this firm, pulling countless late nights, landing three multi-million-dollar accounts, and maintaining the top performance metric in the entire department. I had bled for that director seat. And with a casual, “She’s under more pressure,” Galen was going to hand it over to her on a silver platter. In life and in work, I was forever relegated to second place behind Kendra. I pulled up the long-ignored email from the Chicago executive search firm. My thumb hovered over the green button that read: “Accept Offer.” The last shred of hesitation in my heart shattered right there in the hospital waiting room. The following day was our three-year anniversary. After being discharged, I made a detour to a boutique decor shop. I carried home a heavy bag filled with fairy lights, custom balloons printed with photos of us, and a bottle of the vintage Cabernet Galen had been talking about for months. A pathetic, self-deceiving part of me still hoped that once he saw how badly off I was, he might finally grasp what mattered. Suppressing my physical weakness, I spent the afternoon decorating the living room. By early evening, everything was set. I sat on the couch in the dimming light, waiting. At 8:00 PM, my screen lit up with a brief text from Galen: “Kendra’s landlord is giving her trouble and she had a meltdown. Taking her out for dinner to calm down. Don’t wait up.” Not a single question about my stomach. Not a mention of what day it was. At 11:00 PM, the front door clicked open. Galen walked in carrying the chill of the midnight air, holding a small box containing half a slice of strawberry shortcake. He glanced around the illuminated room, his brow furrowing in immediate disapproval. “Why did you turn the place into this? It doesn’t match the condo’s aesthetic at all.” He paid no mind to the quiet exhaustion in my eyes. He casually thrust the half-eaten dessert toward me. “Kendra loves strawberry shortcake. Here’s what was left.” The doctor had explicitly instructed me to stay on a strict liquid diet for the next few days. I stared at the leftover cake sitting in his hand and felt a sudden, hollow urge to laugh. I didn’t take it. Without a word, I stood up and began stripping down the decorations, packing them away in silence. Galen assumed I was throwing a silent tantrum, heading off to shower and sleep without another thought. That weekend, our parents had arranged a joint dinner to mark our anniversary and formally discuss our engagement. The night before, I had caught Galen by the arm, stressing how critical this dinner was. I intended to use the presence of our families to finally talk to him about the stolen promotion—to demand the fairness I was owed. He was busy typing a response to Kendra, nodding vaguely. “Got it. Relax. I’ll be there the whole time. I won’t leave early.” We reserved a private dining room at an upscale steakhouse. My mother had brought a large box of artisanal smoked meats and preserves—Galen’s favorites—asking him to take them home afterward. Throughout the meal, the elders dropped gentle hints about wedding dates. I forced smiles and played along, waiting for the right moment to pull Galen aside to discuss work. Halfway through the main course, Galen’s phone vibrated violently on the table. Kendra’s name flashed across the screen. He answered. Within two minutes, his face hardened into an expression of acute panic. He pushed his chair back and stood up. I instinctively caught his wrist, keeping my voice low. “You can’t leave right now, Galen. Both of our families are sitting right here.” “The power went out in Kendra’s building,” Galen snapped, shaking off my grip. “She’s the only one on her floor, and she’s terrified.” “Can you be reasonable for once?” his tone turned accusatory. “She needs me.” Ignoring the stunned silence that fell over the table, he grabbed his coat and strode out of the private room. My relatives exchanged uncomfortable glances, asking where he was off to in such a hurry. My fingers dug into the linen tablecloth. I forced a composure I didn’t feel and lied, “An urgent crisis came up with one of his key accounts. He had to handle it personally.” The remainder of the dinner felt like an eternity. Whispers circulated among the extended family, the unspoken consensus clear: Galen did not care about me. My mother sat beside me, her eyes filled with aching sympathy. She took my hand under the table, squeezing gently. “Daphne, sweetheart… I can tell he doesn’t put you first. You need to think long and hard about this engagement.” The box of handcrafted treats sat quietly in the corner of the room, forgotten. When I got home that night, I pulled up the recruiter’s email and scheduled the final interview for the Chicago position. Whatever was keeping me tethered to this city had run its course. Galen didn’t return until well past 1:00 AM, reeking of bourbon. The moment he walked through the door, he turned on me: “If you hadn’t tried to hold me back today, Kendra wouldn’t have had to sit in the dark terrified for an hour. You’re being incredibly selfish.” “She was already having a rough week. Why can’t you be a little more understanding?” I stood under the hallway light, looking at him in total silence. The last flickering ember of love inside me died out completely. At the end of the workday on Tuesday, I pushed open the front door of our apartment and froze at the entryway. On the top shelf of the shoe rack sat a pair of plush, cream-colored slippers. Size six—her size. They were thick, soft, and bore the discreet logo of a high-end department store. By contrast, my own grey slippers sat in the corner, worn thin and frayed at the toes. I had asked to replace them several times, but Galen had always brushed it off, saying they were fine for around the house. I walked into the master bathroom. More than half the vanity was now occupied by a set of luxury skincare products—the exact order I had seen hit Galen’s credit card statement two weeks ago. He had never bought skincare for me in three years. At the time, I had naively assumed it was a surprise anniversary gift. The guest bedroom door was standing open. The bed was made with fresh, high-thread-count sheets. The closet was hung with Kendra’s clothes, and a plush stuffed animal from her childhood sat on the nightstand. Every corner of the apartment bore her imprint. It felt as though I was the intruder in my own home. Galen walked out of the guest room holding a glass of warm water, offering a casual explanation: “A pipe burst in Kendra’s rental. The drywall is soaked, and it’s unlivable for now.” “Our place is closer to her office anyway. The extra room was just sitting here going to waste, so I told her she could crash here for a bit. Don’t overthink it.” “Crash here?” My voice trembled as my eyes swept over her belongings. “She has her entire wardrobe and skincare line set up. You call this “crashing”?” Galen’s brows knit together, his voice laced with the familiar annoyance that signaled I was being “irrational.” “It’s just a few personal items. Do you really have to be this petty?” “She’s a young girl trying to make it on her own. What’s wrong with me helping her out a little?” Three years of quiet resentment surged to the surface. I turned, walked into the home office, and pulled open the bottom drawer. I tossed a thick stack of printed bank statements onto the coffee table. Every expense over the past three years was meticulously line-itemed. Every utility bill, every grocery run, every mortgage contribution split strictly fifty-fifty between us. When Kendra had crashed on our couch in the past, those extra expenses had come out of our shared account. She had never contributed a cent. I pointed at the statements, my voice cold and measured. “When she stayed over occasionally in the past, we split the costs. I let it go.” “Now she’s moving in long-term, and you’re furnishing her entire life out of our funds. How do you plan to settle this?” Galen glanced at the paperwork and waved his hand dismissively. “Fine, I’ll cover her share out of my personal account. Is it really that big of a deal?” “I didn’t realize you were keeping a tally of every penny. It’s pretty calculating.” “Besides, my name is on the deed to this condo. Who I allow to stay here isn’t up to you to dictate.” With one sentence, he demolished three years of shared labor, shared dreams, and shared investment. I looked at the man I had trusted with my youth and my heart, feeling only an overwhelming, hollow chill. To him, three years of my devotion were worth nothing. I stopped arguing. I walked silently into the bedroom, pulled my suitcase from the closet, and began packing my clothes. I didn’t sleep a wink. At the department meeting the next morning, Galen announced that the company’s flagship account for the year was being handed entirely to Kendra. All premium client accounts and promotional budgets were to be diverted to her team. I was assigned to do administrative wrap-up work on depleted accounts. It was all setup for the upcoming Director evaluation next week. He wanted Kendra to walk into that board review with an enviable portfolio to impress the executive panel. During the lunch hour, I stepped into his office and laid out two firm conditions: First, every piece of Kendra’s personal property had to be removed from the condo immediately. I would not share my living space with another woman. Second, work resources must be allocated fairly. I deserved an equal share of the flagship project based on merit. Galen leaned back in his leather chair, his face painted with profound disappointment. “Daphne, why have you become so small-minded and bitter?” “Kendra has no family here. She’s completely alone in this city. It’s my responsibility to guide her. Why do you insist on competing with her for everything?” Realizing the futility of the conversation, my heart hit absolute zero. I turned and walked out without another word. On the morning of the evaluation, Galen left the condo before sunrise. When I finished organizing my presentation slides and went down to the garage, my car was gone. I texted him repeatedly and called his cell. It took twelve calls before he finally picked up. “I took your car to pick up Kendra,” he said casually. “She’s nervous about her presentation today, so I picked her up early to run through her deck on the drive over.” “My car is in the shop for routine service. What’s the big deal if I borrow yours?” A wave of sheer absurdity washed over me. I gripped the phone, my voice shaking despite my best efforts. “You know how important today is for me, Galen.” “I’ve spent three years pulling eighty-hour weeks for this position. Everything comes down to today.” On the other end of the line, Galen’s voice remained detached, almost chastising. “I know.” “But whether Kendra can establish herself in Austin is clearly more important than a single promotion review for you.” As the line clicked dead, I finally understood that words were useless. I forced down the rising sting in my throat, walked out to the street, and pulled up a rideshare app. It was peak morning commute. The wait for an Uber took forty minutes. When I finally arrived at the corporate center, I ran through the lobby in high heels, the stiff leather digging into my ankles until blood seeped into my nude flats. By the time I reached the executive floor, out of breath and disheveled, the presentations had been underway for fifteen minutes. The administrator at the desk looked at me impassively. “Late arrivals exceeding ten minutes are automatically disqualified from the evaluation process.” As the workday drew to a close, an official notification popped up in the company-wide Slack channel: “Announcing our new Director of Marketing: Kendra Wu.” Subtle, pitying glances began shifting toward my cubicle. A short while later, Galen walked over to my desk, leaning down to whisper: “You took a hit this time, but I’ll make it up to you on the next major client pitch.” I looked up at him. The plastic straw from a custom boba tea—the kind Kendra drank—was still sticking out of his shirt pocket. My phone chimed in my hand with a new text. It was a formal offer letter from the search firm in Chicago. “Start Date: Next Monday. Title: Senior Vice President of Marketing. Compensation: Double current package.” In that moment, I felt no sorrow. Only an overwhelming sense of liberation. I went straight back to the condo after work. The air inside still smelled faintly of Kendra’s signature vanilla perfume. I walked into the storage room to grab the rest of my things and pulled open the top cabinet. More than half the space was stuffed with wrapped gift boxes and imported snacks—all gifts Galen had bought for Kendra over the past year. In the far corner sat a tiny cardboard box containing everything he had ever given me over three years: two dollar-store hair ties and a cheap, tarnished silver-plated necklace. I packed the rest of my belongings. After living in that apartment for three years, everything I owned fit into a single suitcase. Half the lights in the stairwell were broken. I dragged my heavy suitcase down the steps alone. The sharp metal corner of the luggage banged hard against my shin, and I felt warm blood trickle down my skin. I knelt down, wiped it away with a tissue, and kept moving. I didn’t shed a single tear. Instead, I felt lighter than I had in years. At 1:30 AM, Galen returned home after taking Kendra to a movie to celebrate her promotion. The foyer was bare. Every trace of my presence in the apartment had vanished. His immediate reaction was not to look for me, but to dash into the guest bedroom, meticulously checking Kendra’s items to make sure nothing was missing. Once he confirmed her belongings were untouched, he finally remembered to text me. A red exclamation mark flashed on his screen. He dialed my number, only to be met with an automated recording: “The party you are trying to reach has blocked your number.” LinkedIn, email, Instagram, Slack—every line of communication was severed. Only then did he realize that something was terribly wrong. He began frantically reaching out to anyone who might know where I was.

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It was the ninety-ninth time my boyfriend and my best friend had pretended to be a couple. They had easily snatched first place in the mall’s Valentine’s Day giveaway—a seven-day, all-expenses-paid trip to Zermatt. By the time I rushed to the airport terminal, out of breath and pulling my luggage behind me, Gavin simply handed me a standby ticket. “Regular seats were all booked,” he said, not even looking up. “Just make do with this.” I stood there, dumbfounded, holding the flimsy slip of paper. They were already moving toward the priority line, talking fast and laughing over inside jokes from some obscure foreign show I had never seen. Standing in the middle of the surging crowd, I was left behind. Again. “Ma’am, standby tickets don’t include checked baggage,” the gate agent said flatly. “The cabin overhead bins are full. You’re going to have to leave a few things behind.” At the counter, three airline employees crowded around me while an impatient line of passengers offered a chorus of heavy sighs behind my back. Panic hit me like a physical blow. My severe social anxiety flared up instantly; my hands trembled, and sweat broke out along my hairline. My suitcase lay open on the scuffed airport floor, its contents exposed like a woman stripped naked in public. I knelt on the cold tiles, sorting through everything over and over again. Their heavy ski equipment couldn’t be thrown out. The matching outfits provided by the contest sponsors couldn’t be thrown out either. In the end, my hands closed around a garment bag containing a wedding dress I had kept for five years. I lifted it out and handed it over to the agent. “Ma’am,” the agent paused, her eyes softening with a flicker of hesitation. “Are you sure you don’t want this?” I zipped the suitcase shut, forcing a bitter smile as I shook my head. “Yes. I’m sure.” “The man worth wearing it for doesn’t exist anymore.” … The plane touched down. At the foot of the Swiss Alps, the temperature dropped drastically. I wrapped my heavy wool coat tightly around myself and walked into a small chalet market near the station. An unexpected, sticky sensation between my thighs sent a wave of panic through me. Standing at the checkout, my French was so rusty and stammered that my back was soaked in cold sweat before I could even explain what I needed. “Excuse me, could you stop wasting everyone’s time?” I turned around and found Gavin standing right behind me in line. I didn’t know how long he had been watching. Even so, a surge of relief washed over me. “Feminine pads, please,” I muttered. Gavin sighed loudly. “Careless as always. Can’t you even remember your own cycle?” He paid for the pack and handed it to me. Just as a small ember of warmth sparked in my chest, a sudden chill swept over my shoulders. Gavin pulled my coat off me without a second thought. “Kendra gets cold easily,” he said, already draping my coat over her shoulders. “Lend it to her.” Past Gavin’s shoulder, I saw Kendra standing in a thin pleated skirt, shivering in the drafty air. She was blowing onto her hands to warm them up, and Gavin reached out, wrapping his large hands firmly over hers. “Thank goodness Josie was here,” Kendra said, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Otherwise I really would have frozen to death.” “It’s your own fault for not wearing layers,” Gavin scolded softly, though his voice was entirely fond. “Luckily, Josie takes care of us.” Kendra blew a playful kiss across the air toward me, then shoved both of their rolling suitcases into my hands. “The sponsors need our check-in photo right away. Josie, roll the luggage outside first, okay? Gavin, do you remember the pose?” The two of them chattered endlessly as they headed straight for the picturesque photo spot outside the glass doors. They left me standing there, tasked with hauling three oversized, heavy suitcases across the slick floor alone. When I finally pushed through the exit doors, a blast of icy wind hit my face, slicing into my lungs like a razor. I couldn’t stop a violent shiver from racking my body. It took thirty minutes for them to come back. Kendra shoved her phone screen directly in front of my face, pouting about the shot. “Josie, give us an honest review,” she complained. “Does Gavin’s hand look too low on my waist in this one?” I didn’t answer. My eyes were glued to Gavin’s hand, resting firmly and naturally on the curve of her hip in the photo. I stood frozen for a long time. “See? I told you,” Kendra said to Gavin. “Josie thinks so too.” “She didn’t even say a word,” Gavin replied. “I know her better than you do. Silence means agreement.” They bickered casually between themselves, slipping into a comfortable rhythm that completely erased me—just as they had done for the past ten years. When had Gavin become so comfortable with this kind of physical intimacy? It probably started the very first time they suggested pretending to be a couple. It was outside our office building, where a brand was running a promotional event: couples who could finish a pretzel rod in three seconds would win a pair of custom novelty rings. I was too socially anxious to participate, and Gavin claimed he was too shy for public affection. Only Kendra was eager to jump in. She had blinked at me with a charming grin. “Josie, let me borrow your boyfriend for a sec! Don’t worry, I know where the boundary is. Hands off bestie’s guy—I get the rules.” I had felt uncomfortable, scrambling in my mind for a polite way to decline. But Gavin had nodded before I could speak, reassuring me with a quick smile. “It’s just a silly game, Josie. Don’t overthink it.” “One second! We got it!” The event host snapped a photo and immediately posted it on the wall of contestants. In the picture, their lips were pressed tightly together. They were both laughing. Later on, fake-coupling became an addiction for them. I had been angry once. I had asked them what the point of it all was. Gavin had just ruffled my hair, exchanging a knowing glance with Kendra. “It’s just lighthearted, exciting fun. You have an issue with taking things too seriously—you wouldn’t get it even if we explained.” And now, standing in the biting wind, watching their retreating figures walk closer and closer together, I finally realized the truth. That one temporary “borrow” had lodged itself straight into their hearts. And I had become nothing more than a glaring, pathetic outsider. “Josie, why are you just standing there like a statue?” Gavin turned around, frowning. “Don’t be an idiot—come over and grab a suitcase.” He finally stepped away from Kendra, taking one of the bags from my hands. “Are you mute today? If you need help, speak up.” He paused, lifting my bag up and down. “Wait, why is your suitcase suddenly so light?” He looked at me with genuine confusion. “I threw away the wedding—” “Forget it,” Gavin cut me off with a scoff. “You really need to start treating yourself better, Josie. Packing so little just to make a point… don’t come crying to us later to borrow our clothes when you freeze.” With a mocking shake of his head, he turned and walked away. The icy wind whipped into my eyes, stinging until they watered. “You’re right,” I thought silently, watching his back. “I should cut my losses and start treating myself better.” Outside the terminal, they were nowhere to be found. Instead, a text message popped up on my screen from Kendra. “Josie, the shuttle car is completely full! Grab a local taxi and meet us at the hotel. You have all our IDs in your handbag, so hurry up! Waiting for you!” Standing on the curb of an unfamiliar foreign town, crippled by my social anxiety and unable to understand the local language, panic engulfed me entirely. It took fifty minutes to flag down a taxi in the freezing eight-degree weather while a bitter wind howled past. I stood there shivering in my thin shirt. By the time I finally climbed into the back seat, my fingers were so stiff and blue that it took several minutes to regain any sensation in them. Outside the window, the scenery rolled backward, and the looming snow-capped peak drew closer. The whistling wind seemed to turn back the clock, pulling me straight back to Valentine’s Day five years ago. “Gavin, when are you actually going to propose to me?” “That depends on when Kendra and I finally win that trip to the Alps, doesn’t it? We made a deal, didn’t we?” I had been curled up in his arms while a storm raged outside our apartment window. “But we aren’t broke anymore,” I had whispered. “Why do we have to keep waiting for a contest?” “Where’s your sense of romance?” He had reached for a pull-tab from a soda can on the coffee table and carefully slipped it onto my ring finger. “When the time comes, I’m going to drop to one knee right in front of the golden alpine sunrise and put my family heirloom ring on your finger. Framed by the morning light—won’t that be absolute perfection?” That was the vision I had held onto for five long years. Because of that promise, a wedding gown had lived permanently inside my luggage, and that heirloom ring had been worn around my neck, resting right over my heart every single day. But now, the distant peak showed through the melting ice. My wedding dress was gone. And that promised perfection? I didn’t want it anymore. … When I arrived at the hotel lobby, the two of them were fast asleep on the lounge chairs, leaning closely against each other. They looked like a real couple. It brought an aching sting to my nose. “Josie, what took you so long?” Gavin jolted awake, wiping his eyes before snatching the passports and IDs from my hands with a deep scowl. “I never should have trusted you to hold these.” He glared at me, his eyes landing on my short sleeves and my pale, frostbitten face. “Are you doing this on purpose?” he demanded, his voice laced with annoyance. “Trying to guilt me into giving you my coat?” I stared at him, utterly stunned. I looked at the heavy trench coat he was wearing, remembering the countless times in the past when he would wrap his jacket around my shoulders without a second thought the moment the temperature dropped. Once upon a time, he had actually been able to see me. “Josie, are you cold?” Kendra rubbed her sleepy eyes, making a dramatic gesture as if to pull off her jacket. Gavin immediately reached out, holding her coat firmly in place. “Don’t enable her!” He whirled around to face me, his tone harsh. “Josie, making everyone constantly guess what you’re thinking is exhausting. You don’t have the life of a princess, but you certainly have the attitude of one.” After throwing those words at me, he grabbed Kendra’s hand and led her toward the elevator. “I just asked the front desk—they’re completely booked out,” he added over his shoulder without looking back. “Figure out your own lodging.” As the elevator doors slowly slid shut, I saw Gavin lean down, placing a gentle hand against Kendra’s forehead. I even caught his soft words through the narrowing gap: “You’re not warm. Don’t worry.” “But Gavin… do you have any idea how burning hot my head feels right now?” The moment I pushed open the hotel exit doors, the freezing wind slammed into my chest, making it hard to breathe. I stopped in my tracks and made a choice. I turned around, walked back to the front desk, and forced myself to dig deep for every ounce of courage I had. Using the rusty conversational skills I had picked up while sitting in on foreign language electives in college with Kendra, I spoke to the receptionist. “The presidential suite, please.” Gavin was wrong about one thing. I, Josie Morgan, actually “did” have the means to live like a princess. It was just that from this moment on, he had officially lost the right to be my prince. … The presidential suite happened to be on the exact same floor as their room. As I walked down the carpeted hallway, their door was slightly ajar, and I caught sight of them laying together on a couple-themed canopy bed. “Gavin… will Josie be mad that we’re staying in the same room?” “The contest organizers insisted on it,” Gavin replied, his voice drifting into the hall. “If she gets mad over this, she’s just being completely unreasonable.” A window at the end of the corridor wasn’t closed properly. A draft swept through, making me shiver violently. Just as I raised my keycard to unlock my door, Gavin’s voice floated out once more. “Still, it’s freezing out there. I wonder if she found a place to stay.” “With her social anxiety, she won’t actually freeze on the streets, will she?” “Beep. Please enter.” I closed the door on their delayed, hollow concern. Then, I collapsed headfirst onto the plush, warm bed, drifting into a heavy, feverish sleep. … Hours later, I woke up to a splitting headache. I struggled to sit up and checked my phone: 9:00 PM. My messaging inbox was completely dead—not a single text. Yet, my social media feed was completely flooded with Kendra’s posts. “Caption: “Checking off local cuisine! Eating with the right person doubles my appetite!” “Photo: Kendra feeding Gavin a piece of fresh tuna sushi, while Gavin frowned affectionately at her.” But wasn’t Gavin severely allergic to seafood? “Caption: “Riding the Ferris wheel! Just as romantic as a scene from a movie.” “Photo: A selfie of them at the highest point of the wheel, their heads pressed together, Gavin smiling brightly at the camera.” But hadn’t Gavin been terrified of heights since he was a young boy? It turned out that in Gavin’s world, Kendra was the sole exception. She was the exception he would take allergy medication for just to accompany, and the exception he would force a bright smile for even when his knees were shaking from acrophobia. A single tear escaped my eye, falling onto the phone screen. By cruel coincidence, it landed directly on the heart icon, leaving a “like” on her post. In a panic, I tried to retract it, but it was already too late. Gavin’s call came through instantly. The moment I picked up, his sharp voice unleashed a barrage of accusations. “Josie, what is your problem?” “It was an accident,” I whispered. “I tried reaching you all afternoon! Kendra thought about how socially anxious you are and went out in the freezing wind to buy you food,” Gavin barked through the speaker. “And what do you do? You sleep in a hotel room all afternoon, wake up, and immediately try to start drama?” “I didn’t.” My voice was weak and raspy, but to his ears, it probably sounded like guilt. “Gavin, don’t yell at Josie,” Kendra’s sweet, hurt voice sounded in the background. “She probably just misunderstood…” I didn’t have the energy left to play their exhausting game. I pressed the red button and hung up. A second later, the landline phone in the room rang. “Miss Morgan,” the concierge’s warm voice came through. “We noticed you haven’t left your room all evening. Considering your thin clothing earlier, our staff suspected you might be unwell.” “Yes,” I croaked into the receiver. “I have a fever.” “Understood. Please rest, our staff will be right up with assistance.” I gripped the receiver, my hand trembling faintly as tears welled in my eyes. A complete stranger I had met once could tell I was sick. Yet two people I had spent ten years with had chosen to look past me the entire day. In that quiet moment, the truth hit me with brutal clarity. In this three-person relationship, I was, and had always been, entirely obsolete. “After this trip… we’re completely done,” I thought to myself. A soft knock sounded at the door. It was a young hotel attendant carrying a large box. In broken English mixed with careful gestures, she explained what she had brought: fever medicine, cooling patches, a bowl of hot porridge, and a thick, high-end thermal ski jacket. Before leaving, she gave me a gentle, warm hug. “Even when you are alone… please take good care of yourself!” After she left, I turned on every single lamp in the suite. The warm, yellow light flooded the room, feeling as comforting as her hug. I finished the hot porridge, feeling a small wave of strength return to my body, and placed a dissolving tablet into my mouth. It tasted terribly bitter, but the label noted that dissolving it under the tongue offered the fastest relief. Ten minutes later, a text from Gavin lit up my screen. “Where are you? Kendra brought you food.” “Next door,” I typed back. “?” A minute later, loud knocking pounded on my door. I wrapped a thick wool blanket around my shoulders and opened it. Gavin stood in the hallway, his jaw dropping when he saw the interior. “You booked the presidential suite?!” “Is there a problem?” I asked softly. Gavin shoved past me, walking inside. As he took in the marble floors, the sprawling living area, and the panoramic views, his expression darkened to a terrifying scowl. “Josie, have you completely lost your mind?” he yelled, turning to glare at me. “We agreed to save every penny for a down payment on our house! How are we supposed to get married if you’re throwing away money like a spoiled brat?” He clenched his fists, his eyes bloodshot with rage. I looked at him calmly. “Then let’s not get married.” “Or better yet, you can ask Kendra if she’d like to marry you instead.” My tone was completely serene. Gavin stood frozen in place, staring at me as if I were a stranger. “Fine,” he spat out through clenched teeth. “Don’t you dare regret this.” He slammed the container of cold leftovers onto the table and stormed out, slamming the heavy wooden door behind him so hard the walls vibrated. I quietly turned off the lights. In the faint moonlight, I stared out the window at the dark, snowless peak of the mountain, staying awake until dawn. … At three in the morning, another knock sounded. It was Kendra. “Josie, Gavin didn’t sleep a wink last night,” she said softly, looking at me with concern. “Just go apologize to him, okay?” “What did I do wrong?” I asked. “Look, I know you’re upset, but you can’t throw around the topic of marriage just to win an argument,” Kendra chided gently. “He’s been preparing for this proposal for so long. And I just looked outside—there’s fresh snow on the peak today. Even heaven wants to fulfill your dream. Why do you have to ruin it by throwing a tantrum?” A tantrum? They truly believed I was just making a scene. I shook my head and let out a faint, dry laugh. When had getting married turned into a desperate, one-sided obsession of mine? As if I were some domineering woman forcing him into a life sentence against his will. Gavin stepped up behind her, his voice stiff. “Fine. I forgive you.” “Let’s go. Good lighting doesn’t wait around, and we shouldn’t waste the day. Where’s your wedding dress?” He stepped past me, opening my suitcase—only to find it practically empty. “I threw it away,” I said quietly. “The bag was overweight.” “Threw it away?” Gavin looked surprised, but quickly scoffed. “Well, whatever. It’s freezing up there anyway—only an idiot would wear a thin wedding dress on a mountain. Let’s go.” As I stepped into the hallway, I could feel Gavin’s gaze pinned to my back the entire way to the lobby. But that attention was far too late. I didn’t need it anymore. … When we reached the observation deck near the summit, the morning light was just beginning to break through the clouds. It wasn’t full sunrise yet. I sat down on a stone bench, quietly waiting. I was waiting for one final sunrise to bring a formal end to five years of foolish longing. “Gavin… the contest sponsors said we have to film the fake proposal scene right here,” Kendra said awkwardly, checking her phone. “What should we do?” Gavin rubbed his temples in frustration. “What a hassle. Let’s just get it over with quickly so we can focus on our own schedule.” “But… I don’t have a ring,” Kendra murmured, looking at Gavin, then darting a quick glance at me. Gavin walked over to where I was sitting and pointed at the heirloom ring hanging from the red string around my neck. “Let us borrow it for the photo shoot, alright?” I raised my head, looking directly into his eyes. All I saw was impatience. “Are you sure?” I asked softly. He nodded without hesitation. “Yes.” “Alright.” I reached up, grabbed the ring, and pulled hard. The silk string snapped. I held out my hand and dropped the ring into his palm. “Here. Take it.” The ring that had spent ten years resting against my skin, belonging to the man who had once been carved into my soul… was given away just like that. Their “proposal” was sloppy and transactional, lasting only long enough to snap a few promotional photos. “Take it off, quick. The sun is about to come up,” Gavin urged anxiously, watching the sky brighten. “Gavin… it’s stuck!” Kendra panicked, her voice cracking as she tugged at her ring finger. “What do I do? It won’t come off!” The heirloom ring was jammed tightly on her finger. The two of them scrambled in a frantic mess, completely flustered. In their chaos, they missed the golden moment of the sunrise. And Gavin lost me forever. … The trail leading down the mountain was steep and slick. I took every step with immense difficulty, while the two of them flirted and walked ahead. Halfway down, a terrifyingly familiar tightness gripped my chest. My asthma was flaring up. I couldn’t draw in a single breath. My lungs burned, and my fingernails and lips began turning a faint shade of blue. I fumbled for my emergency inhaler, but pressing it yielded nothing—it was completely empty. The suffocating sensation of impending death dropped me to my knees on the gravel. Using the absolute last thread of strength in my body, I called out to his back. “Gavin… help me!!” “Ouch! I twisted my ankle!” Kendra’s high-pitched cry rang out at that exact moment. “Gavin, you have to carry me down!” Before darkness swallowed my vision, I saw Gavin turn his head and look back at me. Then, he turned away, picked Kendra up in his arms, and hurried down the trail. In that final moment of clarity, I understood. To them, I was occasionally useful. But right now? I was entirely disposable. … When I woke up in the local clinic, the room was empty. I stared out the window at the melting snow on the distant peak, my heart completely still. I picked up my phone and dialed a number I hadn’t called in a long time. “Dad…” I said softly into the receiver. “Is that arranged marriage with Everett still an option?”

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Giselle and I shared the exact same birthday. Our parents had been close friends since college, which meant our lives were tangled together long before either of us had a say in the matter. Giselle was radiant, quick-witted, and effortlessly charming. Every year, when our joint celebration rolled around, the entire room naturally gravitated toward her, leaving me hovering in the shadowy periphery like an uninvited guest. When I was ten, I finally gathered the nerve to whisper to my parents that I didn’t want to share a birthday anymore. They shut me down before I could even finish the sentence. “Giselle gets straight A’s and leads the school choir,” my mother scolded, her voice laced with disappointment. “You should be trying to learn from her, not throwing a fit.” “And she actually knows how to speak to adults,” my father added, shaking his head. “She greets everyone with a smile. You stand there like a mute wallflower. Who’s going to like a girl who doesn’t even try?” This year, for our twenty-fourth birthday, I built up enough courage to bring my boyfriend, Galen, home to meet my parents for the first time. Twenty minutes into the party, I offered to run down to the lobby convenience store to buy a lighter for the candles. On my way down, the elevator shuddered violently, dropped two full floors, and jammed between levels. The emergency call button gave nothing but a hollow dial tone. My phone screen flashed red—one percent battery remaining. With shaking hands, I dialed Galen. Once. Twice. Five times. He never picked up. It took an hour for the fire department to force the doors open and pull me out into the hallway, where I collapsed on the tile, gasping for air. When I finally dragged myself back up to the apartment, my parents were clustered around Giselle in the living room. Galen was standing a few feet away, holding up his camera, directing her poses under the warm glow of the fairy lights. One of my cousins glanced toward the doorway and spoke up. “Hey, Galen, Val tried calling you a bunch of times. Might be urgent.” Galen didn’t even lower his camera. His brow furrowed in visible annoyance. “God, can’t she give it a rest for one night?” he muttered. “Giselle, tilt your chin up slightly—yes, just like that. Stunning.” I stood frozen at the threshold. Cold sweat had plastered my hair to my forehead, and my hands were shaking so hard I could barely hold my purse. Looking at the scene in front of me, something inside my chest went completely still. If, in their eyes, I was always going to be the dull, invisible shadow next to Giselle’s golden light—then I didn’t want any of them anymore. … Giselle stood beneath the string lights in a tailored champagne cocktail dress. Her makeup was soft and polished, her dark hair styled into glossy, loose waves. My father couldn’t stop beaming at her. “Giselle gets more gorgeous every year. You look like a movie star, sweetheart.” “Doesn’t she?” my mother agreed warmly, clasping her hands together. “So much more elegant than our Valerie! Val was such a cute baby, like a little porcelain doll. Who knew she’d turn out so plain? She didn’t inherit a single good gene from either of us.” She sighed, half-joking, half-wistful. “If only Giselle were my daughter.” I had heard variations of these words my entire life. I wasn’t striking, I wasn’t glamorous, and if you placed me in a crowd, I was the kind of person your eyes would slip right past. I thought I had grown immune to the sting over the years, but hearing it again tonight, right outside the room, made a sharp, familiar ache blossom behind my ribs. I swallowed the lump in my throat, forced my chin up, and walked into the living room. Someone finally noticed me. “Oh, Val’s back!” Galen turned around, his eyes locking onto mine. There was no relief in his face—only immediate frustration. “It was just a lighter, Val. What took you so long?” he demanded, his voice carrying over the music. “Everyone’s been waiting on you. You never take anything seriously.” I stared at him, keeping my voice as steady as I could. “Galen, I was trapped in the building elevator. For a full hour.” He blinked, caught off guard. “What? Why didn’t you call me?” A bitter laugh escaped my chest. “Why didn’t I? I called you five times until my battery died.” I pulled my dark, lifeless phone out of my pocket and tossed it onto the sofa cushion. “Or were you too busy taking photos of Giselle to care?” A flicker of panic crossed Galen’s face. “My phone was on silent. I didn’t see it.” I pulled my lips into a cold, hollow smile. Galen stepped toward me, softening his tone in a display of sudden patience. “Alright, don’t be dramatic. It’s Giselle’s birthday, and since photography is my hobby, I just offered to snap a couple of shots for her.” Giselle glided over, her eyes glistening with delicate tears. “Val, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault,” she whimpered gently. “I had no idea you were trying to reach Galen. Please don’t be mad at him—he was just being sweet. I know you wanted photos too, even though your makeup looks a little… unfinished today. But that’s okay! Once he’s done taking mine, I can help you edit yours before we cut the cake.” My gaze drifted past her shoulder toward the dining table. The cake was elaborate—a two-tiered masterpiece frosted in pistachio green, decorated with delicate sugar butterflies and shimmering chocolate pearls. It was Giselle’s favorite aesthetic. And knowing her, the inside was undoubtedly filled with fresh mangoes. Giselle loved mangoes. I was severely allergic to them. And today was my birthday, too. Not a single person in the room remembered. “Come on, Val,” Galen said, reaching out to grab my hand. “It’s our birthday night. Don’t ruin the mood over nothing…” I took a step back, letting his hand fall empty into the air. His eyebrows pulled together instantly. “What is that supposed to mean?” “It means I’m done,” I said quietly. It wasn’t just about the lighter, or the elevator, or the photos. It was about him. It was about all of them. I pulled the lighter from my jacket pocket, set it quietly on the side table, grabbed my dead phone, and turned on my heel toward the front door. Galen caught up to me in the hallway outside. “Val! Stop!” he called out, sounding thoroughly annoyed. “Why are you throwing a fit? Just because I wasn’t there to pry the elevator doors open myself?” I kept walking toward the exit. He let out a sharp, exasperated breath. “Even if I had picked up the phone, all I could have done was call building maintenance anyway! Why are you making such a massive deal out of a minor inconvenience? Just come back inside and cut the cake. Giselle is waiting.” “Giselle. Giselle. Giselle.” Her name rolled off his tongue like a habit he didn’t even realize he had formed. I didn’t say another word. I pressed the button for the stairs and hurried down without looking back. When I reached my small rented apartment, I plugged my phone into the wall. The moment the screen flickered to life, it began ringing. It was my mother. I declined the call. She called again immediately. Then a third time. Then a fourth. I took a deep, shaky breath and tapped answer. My mother’s voice exploded through the speaker before I could even say hello. “Valerie! Have you completely lost your mind?” she yelled. “Everyone is sitting here waiting for you to cut the cake, and you just walk out without saying a word to anyone?” I sat on the edge of my unmade bed, still wearing my jacket. My ankles ached terribly from standing in the cramped elevator for an hour. “Did you only just notice I left?” I asked softly. The line went quiet for a beat. Then my father’s heavy, stern voice cut through. “We came here tonight to celebrate both of you, and you insisted on pulling a face from the moment you walked in,” he snapped. “Now you’ve stomped off to play the victim, leaving Giselle in tears! She feels so guilty she can’t even stop crying!” “Giselle cries, and the whole world stops to comfort her,” I blurted out, my voice breaking. “I was trapped in a tiny, suffocating box for an hour, terrified out of my mind—and neither of you gave a damn! Did either of you even ask if I was okay?” “Well, you’re sitting at home talking to us, aren’t you?” my mother snapped impatiently. “You got delayed in an elevator, big deal! You’re acting like someone assaulted you! Get back over here right now. If you want to throw a tantrum, do it after we cut the cake!” “You are becoming more unmanageable every single day!” my father added coldly. “How did we end up with a daughter like you?” Tears spilled over my lashes, hot and sudden, burning down my cheeks. “Giselle is pretty, so she stands in the center of every photograph,” I sobbed, my entire body trembling. “She knows how to flatter you, so you love her more. What about me? When I was eight, there was only one candle on the cake, and you let Giselle blow it out. When I was twelve, Giselle wanted the new dress you bought me, and you made me hand it over because ‘she looked prettier in it.’ And tonight—tonight I brought Galen home for the first time, and you seated him next to her because you were afraid “he’d” be bored talking to me! He is “my” boyfriend!” I scrubbed at my face with the back of my sleeve, but the tears kept coming. “My entire life, I’ve had to share my birthday with her. Whenever I asked for my own cake, you said I was being selfish. Whenever I wanted a flavor I actually liked, you told me to stop being difficult. Today wasn’t just Giselle’s birthday—it was mine too! Just because I’m not as pretty or as loud, why do I have to surrender every shred of love and attention to her? Why?” The silence on the other end of the line was absolute. Heavy, unnatural, and suffocating. After a few agonizing seconds, I heard a faint, awkward cough from one of my aunts in the background. Then, my mother’s panicked, hushed voice hissed into the microphone: “What kind of crazy nonsense are you talking about?” My throat closed up. A moment later, Giselle’s tremulous, tear-soaked voice drifted through the speaker. “Val… I had no idea you hated me this much,” she sobbed softly. “If my presence makes you so miserable, I—I won’t ever celebrate my birthday again. Please don’t be mad at your parents. Don’t be mad at Galen…” My heart plummeted into my stomach. They had put me on speakerphone. Every raw, humiliating truth I had buried for over a decade—my pathetic jealousy, my crushing insecurity, my deepest resentments—had just been broadcast to a room packed with relatives and family friends. They had heard every pathetic word. I gripped the phone so hard my knuckles turned ghostly white. All my life, my biggest fear was letting people see how inadequate Giselle made me feel. I had fought so hard to hide my envy because I was terrified of looking ugly in front of others. But now, the mask was gone. There was nothing left to save. I took a shaky breath and let the bitterness flood my voice. “You’re right, Giselle. I do hate you,” I said, leaning close to the receiver. “I hate the way you take everything that belongs to me and then cry like you’re the victim. And I hate how you play the delicate angel so that whenever I get hurt, I’m the one who looks cruel.” “Valerie!” my mother screamed through the phone. I ended the call. I sat on the edge of the mattress in the dark, my face drenched in tears, shaking uncontrollably. It took a long time for the tremors in my hands to stop. When they finally did, I wiped my cheeks, stood up, and pulled my rolling suitcase out from under the bed. By the time Galen arrived at my apartment, I had already packed my clothes. He pushed the door open, breathless, and froze when his eyes landed on the open luggage on the floor. Panic flickered in his eyes. “Val? What are you doing?” I kept my back to him, zipping up my toiletries bag. “I’m leaving.” “Because I missed your phone calls?” he asked, stepping closer. I pulled my ID and wallet out of my desk drawer and slid them into my purse. “It was never about a phone call, Galen.” “Then what is it?” He stepped into my line of sight, blocking me. “Because of Giselle?” He looked down at me, his expression softening into an almost condescending tenderness. “Val, I know I messed up tonight, okay? I’m sorry. Please don’t do this. There’s nothing going on between me and Giselle. You went down to get a lighter, I had nothing to do, so I took a couple of shots for her. I was going to take yours as soon as you came back.” I didn’t answer him. Galen let out a long sigh and rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, Val… what you said over the phone tonight was really out of line. The elevator breaking down wasn’t Giselle’s fault. You shouldn’t have taken your anger out on her.” I looked up, meeting his eyes. “So you came all the way here to defend her honor?” Galen caught himself, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “That’s not what I’m saying. I know you were shaken up by being trapped. But you need to step back and ask yourself “why” everyone loves Giselle so much.” My fingers went stiff against my purse strap. He continued, his tone smooth, like a adult trying to reason with an unreasonable child. “She doesn’t steal things from you, Val. She’s just warm, easygoing, and knows how to make people feel comfortable. And you?” He sighed gently. “You’re always so closed off. You wear those oversized, drab gray clothes that make you blend into the walls. Today was your birthday, and you wore a plain, baggy T-shirt. Look at Giselle—she knows how to dress for an occasion. And your makeup… it’s always a little off, isn’t it? Your blush makes you look bruised, and your brows are never quite even. You could really stand to learn a thing or two from her.” I listened to every single word, feeling the last tender place inside my heart go completely numb. My parents had spent my whole life telling me I was inferior to Giselle, that I needed to copy her if I ever wanted to be loved. I had foolishly believed that Galen was different—that he loved me for who I was. When I first brought him around my family, I had been terrified he would fall under Giselle’s spell. Back then, he had wrapped his arms around me and laughed softly: “What’s going on in that silly head of yours? To me, you’re the most beautiful girl in the world.” It was all a lie. He was no different from my parents. He didn’t love my mind, my spirit, or my heart. He just wanted a project—a rougher, quieter version of Giselle that he could mold into something presentable. It was exhausting. It was suffocating. I reached up, unclasped the thin silver ring Galen had given me on our one-year anniversary, and set it softly on the wooden nightstand. “Let’s break up, Galen.” He stared at the ring, then back at me, as if I were speaking a foreign language. “What did you just say?” “I said, we’re done.” His face hardened instantly. “Are you seriously using a breakup to threaten me right now?” “I’m not threatening you,” I said quietly. “I’m telling you.” Before he could respond, the apartment door swung open. My parents walked in, followed closely by Giselle, who was clutching the uncut butterfly cake to her chest like a peace offering. Her eyes were red and swollen. My mother set the cake box down on the small coffee table with a loud thud. The moment she saw my suitcase, her expression darkened. “So you’re really pulling a runaway stunt?” My father stood by the door, arms crossed, his face cold. “You’ve got some nerve, Valerie. You humiliated us in front of the entire family tonight, and now you’re throwing a dramatic scene?” Giselle tugged gently at my mother’s sleeve, her voice soft and trembling. “Auntie, please don’t yell at Val… It’s her birthday too. She’s just hurt. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have let Galen take photos of me…” Tears spilled over her lashes right on cue. My mother immediately pulled Giselle into a protective embrace. “How could any of this be your fault? You’re always too sweet for your own good, Giselle. That’s why she thinks she can walk all over you. She’s bitter and unlovable, so she blames you for being better than her!” I stood there, looking at the four of them, and a quiet, terrible laugh bubbled up from my chest. “Mom,” I said softly. “Today is my birthday, too.” My mother froze. I pointed at the box on the table. “Why is there only one cake?” Her brows pulled together defensively. “You always said you didn’t care about—” “I cared!” I cut her off, my voice echoing against the thin walls of the apartment. “I cared every single year! I cared that the birthday song was only ever sung for her. I cared that you always bought her favorite flavor, completely forgetting that mangoes literally put me in the emergency room! I cared that when I was trapped in a dark elevator for an hour tonight, not one of you even noticed I was missing! And I cared that when I finally told you I was terrified and hurt, you called me dramatic and selfish!” My mother’s face turned blotchy. “Why do you always have to drag up ancient history?” My father stepped forward, furious. “No normal child acts the way you do! Giselle’s parents have been like family to us for twenty years, and you’re treating her like an enemy!” I looked past my father to Giselle. She was tucked safely against my mother’s shoulder, weeping delicately, playing the tragic victim to perfection. “Val,” Giselle sniffled, looking up at me with wide, pitiful eyes. “I never meant to take anything from you. If my presence hurts you this much, I’ll just stay away from your parents from now on…” “Look at what you’re doing to her!” my father roared, pointing a finger at my face. “You apologize to Giselle right now!” I clutched my suitcase handle tightly. “No.” “What did you say?” “I said no! I didn’t do anything wrong!” I yelled, the words tearing out of my chest. “I don’t like her, and I don’t like any of you! I hate sharing my life with her! I don’t want to see any of you ever again—” “SLAP.” The sharp crack echoed through the small room. My head snapped to the side, and a sudden, ringing stillness filled my ears. Everyone froze. Slowly, I raised a hand to touch my burning left cheek. The skin was hot and numb. But strange as it was, no tears came to my eyes. The well had completely run dry. My mother’s hand was still shaking in the air, but she braced herself, her chin trembling with anger. “That slap was to bring you to your senses! Valerie, how can a daughter be so malicious? Giselle was trying to have a nice birthday, and you ruined it on purpose!” Galen moved toward me, his voice cautious. “Val… your mom is just overwhelmed. Just apologize, okay? Let’s just get through tonight.” It was always like this. They hit me, and I had to apologize. They cast me aside, and I had to be the sensible one. For twenty-four years, I had played my part in their little play. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. “Okay.” They all visibly relaxed, assuming I was finally caving in. Then I opened my eyes and looked directly at Galen. “Galen, I am officially breaking up with you.” I turned to my parents. “And as of tonight, I am cutting you out of my life.” My father let out a harsh sneer. “You wouldn’t dare! Valerie, you walk out that door tonight, and don’t you dare come crying back when you realize how hard the real world is!” I pulled up the handle of my suitcase, turned toward the open hallway, and walked out without looking back. Behind me, my mother’s voice cracked into an angry scream. “Go on then! Leave! See if we ever care again!” The heavy door slammed shut behind me, severing the warm light of the apartment. I stood alone in the dim hallway. My cheek was still throbbing with a dull, steady heat, but inside my chest, a tight, suffocating knot that had bound me since childhood suddenly snapped open. The elevator doors slid open in front of me, bright and empty. I stepped inside and pressed the button for the ground floor. As the doors drew together, I caught one last glimpse of the hallway, then closed my eyes. “Valerie,” I told myself quietly in the quiet hum of the descending cab, “from this moment on, you are the only person in the world who needs to love you.”

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