Author: Momo Chan

When the new intern, Dylan, texted me at midnight for the ninety-ninth time to ask if a 12-point font was larger than a 10-point font, I didn’t lose my temper. Just like the previous ninety-eight times, I calmly typed back: Yes, Dylan. 12 is bigger. Not only did I keep my patience, but I also signed off on his transition from intern to full-time, handing him the only “Outstanding” rating on our team’s annual review. It was a lesson learned the hard way. In my previous life—before the universe reset the board—I had let my exhaustion show. I’d snapped at him, telling him not to make such rookie mistakes again. That single, impatient remark had planted a seed of absolute malice in his chest. It all built up to the day of our corporate retreat, celebrating what was supposed to be a nine-figure deal. But before we loaded onto the bus, the client sent a text that made my blood run cold: Final confirmation letter hits your inbox tomorrow at 3:00 PM. You have exactly one hour to sign and return it. Miss the window, and I’m signing with your competitor. 1 At 2:55 PM the next day, my eyes were glued to the bottom-right corner of my laptop screen. Meredith’s voice, sharp and unyielding, echoed in my head: “Lauren, the final letter goes out at three. I’m giving you exactly sixty minutes. I need the signed, scanned copy back by four, or the deal is dead.” Meredith was known in the industry as the “Time Tyrant.” The rumors weren’t exaggerated; she once tore up a multi-million-dollar contract on the spot because a partner arrived two minutes late to a Zoom call. She didn’t do second chances. For this nine-figure account, our entire agency had bled for six months. Twenty-seven pitch revisions. Five rounds of rigorous data audits. I had personally flown to Chicago three times just to corner her in hotel lobbies for a five-minute pitch. We were at the goal line. There was zero room for error. Before we left for the Catskills retreat, I’d made sure to log the situation with my department manager, Cecilia. But she was too busy laughing at some joke Dylan was telling, waving me off with an irritated flick of her wrist. “Got it, Lauren. Just handle it,” she’d muttered. Left with no choice, I prepared for the worst on my own. Seeing me tucked away in the corner of the lodge’s lounge, Dylan strolled over, a glass of juice in hand. “Hey, Lauren. Everyone’s out by the lake, and you’re in here grinding. You’re making the rest of us look bad.” I didn’t have the bandwidth for him. “Crucial deadline,” I muttered without looking up. But he wouldn’t let it go. He raised his voice, pitching it so the rest of the lobby could hear. “Come on, what work could possibly be more important than the team retreat? Cecilia literally said this weekend is about unwinding. You’re being such a try-hard right now!” Cecilia strolled over, her brow furrowed. Without asking for context, she immediately threw her weight around. “Lauren, shut the laptop. I said this is a retreat. Stop acting like the martyr Director of Marketing. You’re bringing everyone down.” I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth, forcing my voice to remain even. “Cecilia, Meredith is emailing the final confirmation letter at three. I have to be ready to sign it.” “Meredith?” Cecilia sneered, a smug, self-satisfied look crossing her face. “The deal is practically in the bag. It’s a formality. Why are you acting like the sky is falling? Stop being dramatic, Lauren. The company doesn’t stop spinning just because you take an hour off.” My hands began to tremble with sheer frustration. “You don’t understand how strict she is! One minute late and she pulls the plug!” “Come on, Lauren,” Dylan chimed in, flashing a bright, easygoing smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “If Cecilia says it’s fine, it’s fine. Don’t be a party pooper. Come join us.” He reached out, his hand sweeping toward my laptop lid. I slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch my things!” The rejection seemed to trigger something dark beneath his sunny facade. The warmth drained from Dylan’s face in an instant. Before I could process the shift, he lunged forward, grabbed my laptop with both hands, and slammed it onto the hardwood floor with terrifying, violent force. A sickening crack echoed through the high-ceilinged room. The screen shattered into a spiderweb of black dead zones. The aluminum chassis twisted out of shape, the hinge snapping to reveal the delicate, frayed wiring beneath. My laptop—my entire life’s work for the past six months—was dead. My ears started to ring. I scrambled toward the wreckage, but two of my colleagues grabbed my arms, pinning me back. “Lauren, calm down! Just breathe!” Meanwhile, Dylan had already retreated behind Cecilia, his face a mask of calculated panic. “I didn’t mean to… Lauren, oh my god, I’m so sorry. My hand slipped, I swear…” He looked so fragile, so utterly distraught, that to anyone else, I looked like the aggressor. 2 I wrenched myself free from their grip, my vision blurring with hot, angry tears as I screamed at Cecilia. “That was the only way I could access the server! The Apex account is worth over a hundred million dollars, and the email comes in at three! How am I supposed to review the contract now?!” Cecilia just scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Stop catastrophizing. I told you, the deal is done. It’s a rubber-stamp process. Stop throwing a temper tantrum and ruining everyone’s weekend.” Dylan peeked out from behind her shoulder, his voice dripping with false contrition. “Yeah, Lauren. I said I was sorry. It was an accident. Don’t let it ruin the retreat. That’s what really matters, right?” I didn’t have time to fight them. My mind raced, clawing for a lifeline. The backup. I had saved a compressed project file on my phone just in case. It would be a nightmare to review and sign on a tiny screen, but it was a chance. I reached into my pocket. But Dylan was fast. It was as if he had anticipated my move. Before my fingers could even grip the phone, he snatched it right out of my hand. In one fluid, devastating motion, he flung it across the room. It arced through the air and met the stone fireplace hearth. The glass shattered with a sharp, final pop. Absolute panic clawed at my chest. My laptop was destroyed; my phone was useless. Every bridge to the outside world had been systematically burned. I couldn’t access the email, I couldn’t review the files, and I couldn’t even call Meredith to beg for more time. The grandfather clock in the corner chimed softly. The hands crawled forward. 2:58 PM. Two minutes left. I spun around, looking at the colleagues I had mentored, the people I shared drinks with every Friday. “Please,” I begged, my voice cracking. “Someone lend me a phone. Just one call. I’m begging you.” But they avoided my gaze, shifting their weight uncomfortably. One guy looked down at his hiking boots as if they were the most interesting things in the world. Another stared out the window. A few slipped quietly behind Cecilia’s shadow. “Come on, Lauren, Cecilia’s right here. Don’t make a scene…” someone muttered. “Uh, my phone’s dead.” “Yeah, mine too. I left it in my room to disconnect.” Their excuses were hollow, cowardly. Not a single person would throw me a lifeline. Then, the heavy brass pendulum of the grandfather clock struck the hour. Three deep, echoing chimes. Three o’clock. My heart dropped into a cold, dark abyss. It was over. Six months of sleepless nights, a nine-figure contract, the survival of our team—all evaporating in the mountain air. No. I refused to let it end like this. A sudden surge of adrenaline broke through the despair. Wrenching myself away from the hands trying to hold me back, I bolted toward the front desk. “A computer! Do you have a computer? Let me borrow it, please!” I gasped, grabbing the young clerk’s arm. He blinked in terror, shrinking back. “I… I’m sorry, ma’am. We only have the reservation system computer, and it’s locked in the manager’s office.” “Where’s the manager?” “He’s off-site today. I don’t have the key.” The last ember of hope died. 3 I couldn’t accept it. My brain was screaming: Get out. Get to town. Find a car. I spun on my heel and sprinted toward the double doors of the lodge. We were deep in the wilderness, but if I could just flag down a passing car on the main road, I might still have a chance. But I didn’t even make it to the porch. Two pairs of heavy hands clamped onto my arms, jerking me backward. Cecilia’s loyalists. “Let me go!” I thrashed, but their grip was like iron. Cecilia sauntered over, looking down her nose at me. “You’ve completely lost your mind, Lauren. No one is leaving this resort today. You are going to participate in this team-building event if it kills you.” Dylan slipped his arm through hers, playing the peacemaker. “Cecilia, don’t be too hard on her. Lauren’s just stressed. Maybe… we should just let her cool off by the door?” But even as the words left his mouth, he caught the eyes of the two men holding me and gave them a subtle, vicious nod. They tightened their grip until my shoulders ached. I was pinned against the doorframe, a public spectacle for the entire office. I struggled, screamed, and eventually, swallowed every ounce of pride I had left. I begged. Tears of frustration and sweat stung my eyes. I offered to apologize, to swallow whatever resentment they had, if they would just let me reach a phone. But their faces remained cold, resolute in keeping me trapped. The steady tick-tick-tick of the lodge clock sounded like a countdown. My vision blurred, focusing only on those black hands. 3:40 PM. Twenty minutes left before the offer vanished into thin air. Twenty minutes. The realization burned like acid in my throat. Out of the depth of absolute despair, a raw, primal survival instinct took over. “Get the hell off me!” I roared. I threw my entire weight to the left, ramming my shoulder into the chest of the guy holding my left arm. He gasped, his grip slipping. Before the other could react, I grabbed his wrist and twisted it with everything I had. He cried out, releasing me. Now. I lunged forward, straight at Cecilia. She hadn’t expected me to break free; the smug smirk was still plastered on her face when she saw the fury in my eyes. She tried to step back, but she was too slow. I reached out and ripped her iPhone straight from her manicured hand. “Lauren! Have you lost your mind?!” Cecilia’s shriek pierced the lobby. The entire room erupted into chaos. “Get her!” “Get the phone back!” Dylan shouted, leading a small stampede of colleagues heading straight for me. I clutched the phone to my chest. This was my last stand. Dodging grasping hands and flailing arms, my fingers flew over the screen, dialing Meredith’s number by memory. Someone caught a handful of my hair, ripping my head back in a flash of blinding pain. I ignored it, pressing “Call” with a shaking thumb. Ring… Ring… “Give me my phone!” Cecilia was on top of me. With a burst of desperate strength, I shoved her back and curled into a tight ball on the floor, using my knees and elbows to shield the screen. And then, the line picked up.

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The day I found out I was pregnant was the same day I was diagnosed with terminal stomach cancer. Terrified of shattering my family with the news, I kept the pregnancy a secret. I wanted to use my remaining time to record eighteen years of birthday messages for the child I would never get to watch grow up. But I never expected that through a strange glitch in the recording software, I would end up face-to-face with myself from seven years in the future. “The birthday videos I recorded… she watched them every year, right?” I had asked my future self. “My best friend, Melanie, promised she’d be her godmother. It’s been seven years—did Melanie ever get married? Did anyone stand by her side as maid of honor, the way I wanted to?” The future version of me let out a hollow, bitter laugh at the mention of Melanie’s name. “Melanie didn’t raise your daughter, Cara. Two months after you supposedly died, she married your husband, Jared.” “She deleted every single one of those videos. She told your little girl, ‘Your mother abandoned you.’” “Your daughter is six now. She has no idea you ever existed. She calls Melanie ‘Mommy.’” “Jared tells everyone she’s gentler than you ever were. More understanding. He says Melanie is the woman he should have married in the first place.” “Melanie even kept a journal. In it, she wrote a note thanking you for having terminal cancer, for politely stepping aside so she could take your place.” “Cara… your stomach cancer is a lie. Melanie forged the pathology reports. You aren’t sick at all…” … “Drink this while it’s hot, sweetie. I asked the clinic director to add some extra herbs to help soothe your nerves.” When Melanie pushed open my bedroom door, the tablet’s screen flickered and died, the battery completely drained. The voice of my future self vanished into the sudden silence. I sat frozen against the headboard, my fingers gripping the edge of the duvet so hard my knuckles turned white. The blood drained from my face, leaving me entirely numb. “Why are you so pale? Is your stomach hurting again?” Melanie set the thermos down on the nightstand, leaning over with an expression of frantic worry as she pressed her palm against my forehead. Her hand was warm, but a violent shudder went straight down my spine. Jared and I had been married for three years, and I’d always believed our love was bulletproof. Melanie had been my best friend since high school. We shared everything. She was the one who stood by my side as I picked out my wedding ring. I couldn’t breathe. Just seconds ago, my future self had looked me in the eye and laid bare the ugliest truth: the two people I trusted most in this world had been sleeping together behind my back. And my terminal diagnosis? A brilliant, malicious fiction designed by Melanie herself. “Cara, you’re scaring me. Let me go get Jared.” Melanie’s eyes welled with tears instantly, and she spun toward the door to call him. “I’m fine,” I said, catching her by the wrist. The sheer force of my grip startled even me. Melanie stiffened, a flicker of genuine shock washing over her eyes before she quickly masked it. Swallowing down the bile rising in my throat, I forced a fragile, trembling smile. “Just a sudden wave of nausea. I’m okay now.” Melanie let out a long breath, clasping my hand in hers as her tears spilled over. “You have to fight this, Cara. Miracles happen every day. You can’t give up.” As she spoke, she unscrewed the thermos lid with practiced ease, pouring a thick, dark brown broth into a ceramic bowl. A bitter, medicinal stench mixed with a faint, metallic coppery smell bloomed in the air, instantly suffocating the bedroom. Instinctively, my hand drifted down to my stomach. A tiny heartbeat was beginning to form there. Just eight weeks along. If the woman on that screen was right, then this wellness broth wasn’t a cure. It was a slow-acting poison. “Melanie,” I whispered, staring directly into her tear-filled eyes. “If… if I don’t make it. Promise me you’ll take care of Jared. Okay?” Melanie’s hand jolted. A few drops of the dark brown liquid splashed onto my pristine white sheets. “What are you talking about!” she cried out, her voice cracking with dramatic pain. “I won’t let you die! If you dare abandon me, Cara, I will never forgive you!” If I hadn’t known the truth, I would have wept with gratitude. Her performance was a masterclass. She even timed her tears perfectly, letting one heavy drop fall right onto the back of my hand. “Hey, sweetheart, what’s going on?” The door opened, and Jared stepped in, still wearing his overcoat. He rushed to my side, his eyes filled with a desperate, crushing tenderness as he pulled me into his chest. “Are you hurting? Should we go to the ER?” Leaning against his shoulder, listening to the steady, rhythmic thump of his heart, I felt like I was being buried alive in ice. I tilted my head slightly and caught it—the briefest, most clandestine look exchanged between Jared and Melanie. It was reassuring, intimate, and silent. Melanie gave a nearly imperceptible nod, then looked down to dab her eyes. “Jared, please talk some sense into her,” Melanie murmured. “She’s talking about dying again.” Jared tightened his embrace, his voice thick with a sickeningly sweet devotion. “Don’t talk like that, baby. I don’t care how much it costs. I’ll spend every penny we have to save you.” I watched them play their parts. This beautiful, spacious master bedroom had become a theater, and I was the tragic fool they expected to applaud before my final curtain call. “Okay,” I said softly, gently pushing Jared back. I reached out for the bowl in Melanie’s hand. “I’ll drink it.” But just as the rim touched my lips, I let my wrist go limp. The bowl tilted, spilling the dark broth all over the duvet—while a small portion drained perfectly into the plastic Ziploc bag I’d taped inside my long sleeve. “Oh my god! Be careful!” Melanie gasped, grabbing a box of tissues to dab at the mess. Jared sprang up, heading straight to the closet for clean pajamas. “I’m sorry,” I murmured, looking down at my hands. “I just… I don’t have any strength.” Melanie sighed, glancing at the clock on the wall. “It’s getting late. I should head home and let you rest. I’ll come back tomorrow.” Resting my head back against the pillows, I stared out at the pitch-black sky. “Jared, walk her down. It’s too late for her to walk to her car alone.” Jared grabbed his keys from the dresser, kissing my forehead. “Lie down, sweetie. I’ll be right back.” I nodded sweetly. But the second the front door clicked shut, every ounce of warmth vanished from my face. I threw back the covers, peeled the plastic bag from my sleeve, and hid it safely in my vanity drawer. Then, grabbing my heavy wool coat, I slipped out into the cold night after them. In the shadow of the entryway, under the dim yellow light of the courtyard, Melanie was looking up at Jared. She tilted her chin up, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her into a deep, desperate kiss. They clung to each other like star-crossed lovers. I stood behind the glass door of the lobby, my nails digging so deep into my palms that they nearly broke the skin. They kissed for what felt like an eternity. When they finally broke apart, Melanie rested her cheek against his chest, taking his hand and placing it gently over her flat stomach. Jared froze. Then, he gathered her in his arms, lifting her slightly off the ground. Through the chilly night air, his trembling, ecstatic voice carried straight to me: “Are you serious? I’m going to be a dad?” Melanie nodded, her face lit with a radiant smile. “The doctor said it’s almost eight weeks.” A violent ringing filled my ears, deafening and cold. Eight weeks. My baby was eight weeks, too. Jared had held me once, whispering that he never wanted kids because he couldn’t bear to see me suffer through childbirth. It was all a lie. He didn’t hate the idea of a family; he just didn’t want one with me. “I can’t keep lying to Cara,” Jared said, taking a deep breath, his tone suddenly resolute. “I’m telling her tomorrow. We’re getting a divorce.” But Melanie grabbed his lapels, panic flashing across her face. “Are you out of your mind? She has terminal stomach cancer, Jared! The shock of a divorce will kill her!” Jared ran a hand through his hair, his frustration palpable. “Then what do you want me to do? Your belly is going to start showing soon. I won’t let my child be born a bastard.” Melanie shook her head, tears spilling over as if she were the victim here. “Just wait. Wait until she… until she’s gone. We’ve already ruined her life, Jared. Let’s at least give her some peace in her final months. Let it be our penance.” Jared fell silent. He reached out, gently wiping her tears away with his thumb, and sighed with deep adoration. “You’re too good for this world, Melanie.” I stood frozen in the pitch-dark lobby. Blood was pooling in the creases of my palms, but I couldn’t feel the physical pain. I had been betrayed, mocked, and poisoned. And yet, in their twisted narrative, I was the obstacle making the “saintly mistress” suffer. “Stop driving back and forth with that soup every day then,” Jared said, his hand resting on her stomach with a tenderness I’d never seen from him. “You’re pregnant. I can’t have you exhausting yourself. I’ll make up excuses to come over to your place instead.” Melanie leaned into him, humming softly in agreement. I couldn’t listen to another word. I turned around, crept back up the stairs, and slid under the cold sheets of our bed. Don’t worry, future Cara, I thought, staring at the ceiling. Since you gave me this second chance, I won’t let history repeat itself. I’m going to live. And I’m going to watch them burn. The next morning, I went to a different hospital across town. “Ms. Morton, your stomach lining is perfectly healthy. There isn’t a single trace of any tumor or malignancy.” I stared at the medical report in my hands, my vision blurring with hot, angry tears. “But… my previous report said…” I handed over the “diagnostic report” Melanie had given me. The doctor scanned the paper, his brows furrowing into a tight line. “This stamp is forged. It’s a very clever imitation, but our hospital’s official seal has a microscopic watermark in the bottom right corner. This one doesn’t have it.” I took a deep, steadying breath, slipped the forged report back into my bag, and walked out of the clinic. The crisp autumn air hit my face, but for the first time in months, my mind was crystal clear. As soon as I got into my car, my phone rang. It was Diana, a college friend who worked in toxicology at the state lab. “Cara, the results for the soup sample you sent over came back.” Her voice was heavy. “There’s definitely something in it. Aside from some mild sedatives, there’s a chemical compound designed to induce severe gastric spasms and chronic vomiting. If taken long-term, it alters specific blood markers, perfectly mimicking the symptoms and pathology of terminal gastric cancer.” My grip on the steering wheel tightened until my knuckles turned white. “I understand. Thank you, Diana. Keep that lab report safe for me.” I hung up, slumped over the steering wheel, and let the tears fall. I wept for the three years of devotion I had wasted on a monster, and for the lifetime of sisterhood I had foolishly believed in. But I gave myself exactly ten minutes. When the timer went off, I wiped my face, retouched my makeup in the rearview mirror, and drove home. The moment I stepped through the front door, Jared rushed out of the living room, barefoot and frantic. The relief on his face was almost convincing. “Cara! Where the hell have you been!” He threw his arms around me, pulling me so close it bruised my ribs. I could feel his body trembling, his voice cracking with emotion. “Do you have any idea how terrified I was? Why weren’t you answering your phone?” “I called Melanie, and she said she hadn’t heard from you either. I was out of my mind, Cara… I thought you did something crazy…” He cupped my face, his eyes red and brimming with tears. His panic was a masterpiece of acting. “Please, baby. Promise me you won’t do this to me again.” I watched him perform. Looking at the face I used to adore, I felt absolutely nothing. Just a vast, cold emptiness. If I hadn’t stood in the shadows last night, I would have fallen for this routine for the rest of my short life. I took a slow breath and patted his back with a dry chuckle. “Come on. Since when do you cry like this?” I slipped out of his embrace and sat down on the sofa, keeping my voice soft and detached. “Jared, when I’m gone, you’re going to have to learn how to take care of yourself.” Jared’s face paled. He rushed over and knelt on the hardwood floor in front of me. “Don’t say that! You’re going to beat this, Cara. We’re going to grow old together.” I looked into his eyes and smiled. “Jared, while I’m still strong enough to walk around… I want to throw a living funeral.” Jared blinked, completely thrown off. “A what?” “A living funeral,” I said, enunciating every word clearly. “I don’t want to be lying in a casket, unable to see who came to say goodbye. I want to look everyone in the eye and say it myself while I still can.” A flicker of unease crossed Jared’s eyes before he masked it, squeezing my hands. “Okay. If that’s what you want, sweetheart, we’ll do it.” I smiled warmly, squeezing back. “Thank you. I want Melanie to help with the venue and decorations. Is that okay?” He lowered his gaze, hiding the brief panic in his eyes. “Of course. She’s your best friend. She’d love to do that for you.” When Melanie arrived at our place, she grabbed my hands, her eyes instantly overflowing. “A living funeral? Cara, please don’t think like that! You’re going to get through this!” I leaned back against the cushions, looking frail. “Melanie, it’s my final wish. I’m running out of time. No one knows my taste better than you. I won’t trust anyone else with this.” Melanie choked back a sob and nodded, though her eyes darted briefly to Jared standing near the kitchen counter. From that day on, Melanie became a permanent fixture in our house. Under the guise of planning my final farewell, she and Jared spent every waking hour together. On the first day, we went to a high-end florist. I pointed to a picture of imported white bellflowers, mentioning how much I loved their symbolism of unchanging love. Jared frowned. “Bellflowers are too plain. And they wilt too fast.” But a second later, he pointed to a massive display of expensive, deep pink Freud roses. “Wrap those up,” he told the florist. “Ninety-nine of them.” I thought they were for me, but he spun around and handed the bouquet to Melanie. “Melanie’s been working so hard for us. These roses are hypoallergenic. Great for pregnant… I mean, great for sleep. Girls love flowers in their rooms.” Melanie blushed, accepting them with a playful roll of her eyes. On the second day, we were finalizing the menu for the reception. Sick and exhausted from the “poison” in my system, I murmured that I’d love some of that special wild mushroom risotto from the bistro downtown. Jared glanced at his phone, sighing. “Cara, downtown is an hour away with traffic. I have a major meeting this afternoon. Can I just DoorDash you something?” I didn’t say anything, just nodded. But half an hour later, I walked past the kitchen and saw a pot of organic bone broth and bird’s nest simmering on the stove. Jared was carefully adjusting the flame, whispering to Melanie in the hallway, “You’ve been looking pale lately, Melanie. I made this premium wellness soup for you. You have to finish every drop.” On the third day, we drove up to a cemetery in the foothills. The wind was freezing at that elevation. Jared immediately ushered Melanie into the heated VIP lounge. “You have a delicate constitution, Mel. Stay in here and have some hot tea.” Then he turned to me, his tone dry and businesslike. “Cara, you need to choose your own plot. Let’s head up the ridge.” I stood in my thin wool coat, shivering in the biting wind for an hour, while he lazily pointed at various headstones, impatient to get back inside. The day of the funeral, the hall was packed. The decorations felt less like a funeral and more like an intimate celebration of life. Amidst the sea of white chrysanthemums, Jared stood by my side in a tailored black suit, his expression a picture-perfect mask of grief. Melanie stood right behind us in the family section, her eyes puffy and red, looking as though she might collapse at any moment. As the guests arrived, many broke into tears upon seeing my pale, thin frame. “Thank you all for coming today,” I spoke into the microphone, taking Jared’s hand as I walked up to the small stage. The spotlights caught us, and I felt his palm slick with nervous sweat. “This is my farewell. Before I go, I want to take a moment to thank the two most important people in my life.” I looked toward Melanie and gestured with a warm smile. “Melanie, please, come up here.” Under the watchful eyes of our friends and family, I held my husband’s hand on my right, and my best friend’s on my left. “First, I want to thank my husband. The day I got my diagnosis, he drove all over the city just to find the roasted chestnuts I was craving.” Soft sniffling rippled through the crowd. Jared squeezed my hand, looking down at me with absolute, fabricated devotion. “Second, I want to thank Melanie. When she found out I was sick, she stayed up late every night researching treatments, booking specialists, and comforting me.” Melanie covered her mouth, a perfect tear sliding down her cheek. “Third, I thank Jared again. No matter how sick or gaunt I became, he never turned away. He made sure I had warm broth every single night.” “And finally, I thank Melanie. She promised me that if I leave this world, she will live well on my behalf, and take care of the man I love.” With every word, the room grew more emotional. Several of our closest friends were openly sobbing. I saw the subtle tension drain from Jared’s and Melanie’s shoulders. They thought this was the perfect handoff. They thought they had successfully fooled me to my grave. Then, I paused. The warm smile melted from my face, piece by piece. “But today, on this very special occasion, I have one final gift for the most important people in my life.” I turned around, facing Jared. I leaned in, standing on my tiptoes to whisper in his ear, in a voice meant only for him: “Jared, let’s talk about our divorce.” Jared’s body went completely rigid, his features freezing in place. Before he could react, I added in a soft, mocking purr: “You sign over everything, and I keep Melanie’s pregnancy a secret.” Jared’s pupils dilated with sheer terror. I took a step back, pulling my hands free from both of them. I raised the microphone, looking out at the crowd, my voice suddenly clear and cutting through the silence. “And now, everyone, please look at the screen behind me…”

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I ran into Denis at the clinic during my prenatal checkup. That morning, he had slipped out of the house early, claiming a sudden crisis at the office. Yet here he was, hovering over his foster sister, Susie, guiding her with a protective tenderness that made my chest tighten. He was completely devoted to her early pregnancy, while I—five months pregnant with his child—stood there entirely alone. I walked up to him and handed him a slip of paper. “Since you’re here, sign this.” Guilt flickered across his face. He quickly signed the paper without even looking at the content, eager to explain himself. “Susie’s husband is out of town on business, and she couldn’t handle the checkup alone. I only lied about work because I didn’t want you throwing another tantrum like last time.” He was terrified of Susie being inconvenienced for a single morning, but perfectly fine leaving his five-month-pregnant wife to navigate a crowded hospital alone. It was laughable. But instead of screaming or crying like I used to, I simply took the paper back, turned, and walked away. Startled by my quietness, Denis called out after me. “Wait, Nicole. What did I just sign?” I paused, a bitter smile touching my lips. “An abortion consent form.” 1 Denis froze, but before he could process my words, Susie’s hand slid around his arm. She looked at me, her eyes wide with carefully manufactured disapproval. “Nicole, I know you’re upset that Denis is here with me, but you shouldn’t make sick jokes like that!” As always, one word from Susie was all it took to dismantle Denis’s doubts. His furrowed brow smoothed out, and he gave me a weary, patronizing sigh. “Honey, stop playing games. Let me finish helping Susie, and I promise I’ll come straight home to be with you.” Five years. One thousand, eight hundred and twenty-five days. I had heard variations of that promise thousands of times. On our first anniversary, he said, “Once I get back from taking Susie on her birthday trip, I’ll take you to see the sunrise in Maine.” On my first birthday after we married, he said, “Let me finish helping Susie move, and I’ll be home to blow out your candles.” The night I was t-boned by a truck and rushed to the ER in an ambulance, he said, “Once Susie’s fever breaks, I’ll drive over.” The truth was, those promises never came to fruition. Susie always had a new crisis, a new demand. And in Denis’s life, I was always a secondary thought, forever relegated to the back of the line. I clutched the signed form, spun on my heel, and walked back toward the OB-GYN ward. Waiting for my name to be called, I rested my palm on my belly. One last time, I whispered to myself. I will give him one last chance. If he came looking for me before they called my name, I would walk away and keep the baby. Minutes bled into an hour. Finally, the PA system crackled to life. “Number thirty-two. Nicole Kelly.” The page repeated three times. The hallway remained empty. I laughed quietly at my own foolish hope. Standing up, I slipped my wedding ring off my finger and tossed it into the trash can. Then, I pulled out my phone and sent a pre-scheduled email to HR: I am officially applying for the relocation to our London branch. … By nightfall, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Denis: It’s late. Why aren’t you home yet? Clutching my empty, aching stomach, my face pale, I got into a cab and typed back: On my way. The driver, a warm-hearted older man, noticed my shivering. “Rough night, miss? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Why didn’t your husband pick you up?” “He’s busy,” I replied quietly. When Susie called, he always had time. But when I called him terrified because a stranger was tailing me down a dark street on my way home from work, he told me to call an Uber. “There are streetlights everywhere, Nicole. Stop being paranoid.” I never asked him for a ride again. The driver shook his head in disapproval. “No man should be too busy to pick up his sick wife.” I stared out the window. It began to rain, blurring the city lights. As we neared my building, I sent Denis one last text: [It’s pouring and I don’t have an umbrella. Can you meet me at the gate with one?] His reply was instant: [On my way down.] The cab pulled up. I asked the driver to wait a minute. But one minute became ten. Ten became thirty. Denis never showed. I dialed his number. Seven times it went straight to voicemail. On the eighth, he finally picked up. “Where are you?” I asked. “The thunder scared Susie,” he said, his voice entirely casual. “I had to drive over to keep her company.” “Then how am I supposed to get inside?” A sudden, dramatic gasp echoed from his end of the line, pulling his attention away. “I have to go,” he said hurriedly. “You’re always healthy, Nicole. A little rain won’t hurt you. I’ll make you some warm ginger tea when I get back—” The call went dead before he even finished the sentence. The driver gave me a look of pure pity. He handed me a spare umbrella. “Take it, kid. Go get some rest.” I held my phone tight, a dull, heavy ache settling in my chest. I transferred an extra hundred dollars to the driver, took the umbrella, and stepped out into the cold rain. 2 I stepped into the dark apartment and flicked on the light. Sitting on the entryway console was a luxury maternity lumbar massager. I recognized the brand immediately. I had looked at it dozens of times during my first trimester but couldn’t bring myself to spend the eight hundred dollars. Back when my back was aching constantly, I had complained to Denis. He had merely kissed my forehead and said, “Hang in there, sweetie. It’ll pass.” And now, here it was. But I didn’t need it anymore. I picked up the box and slid it into the bottom of the closet. I didn’t leave the hallway light on for him like I usually did. I just went straight to bed. Sometime in the middle of the night, someone shook my shoulder roughly. “Nicole! Where is the package I left in the entryway? Did you take it?” My head throbbed. I blinked through the darkness, disoriented. “What?” Denis’s voice flared with irritation. “The maternity massager. Did you hide the massager I bought for Susie? She’s in her first trimester and her back is killing her. Why do you always have to take things meant for her?” My mind cleared instantly. Of course. It wasn’t for me. I got out of bed, ignored his glaring eyes, walked over to the closet, and handed him the box. “Don’t worry. I didn’t touch it.” I remembered our third anniversary. He had come home with a delicate silver heart pendant. Assuming it was for me, I had eagerly tried it on and turned to show him. His face had stripped of all warmth. “Take it off. It’s not yours.” I froze, hurt paralyzing me. He didn’t wait. He reached out and snatched it from my neck, leaving a red scratch across my collarbone. Later, while applying ointment to the scratch with guilt-ridden hands, I asked him quietly, “Who was it for?” The tenderness immediately returned to his eyes. “Susie. She’s been wanting it for months. It cost me half my monthly bonus.” I waited for him to mention my gift. When he didn’t, I asked, “And what did you get me for our anniversary?” He blinked, then casually pulled a cheap pink claw clip from his briefcase. “Here. This is for you.” I found out later that the clip was a free gift-with-purchase. Susie didn’t want it, so it became mine. The signs of his indifference had always been there. I had just chosen to ignore them. Suddenly, a paper bag was shoved into my hands. Having put away the massager, Denis guided me toward the sofa. “I brought you some warm ginger tea. You got wet in the rain. Drink it so you don’t catch a cold.” I set the bag on the coffee table. “I’m not hungry.” He opened the container anyway, frowning. “You’re eating for two, Nicole. Don’t be childish. Do it for the baby.” A bitter smile touched my lips. My stomach was already flatter, but he hadn’t even looked closely enough to notice. When we first got married, if I so much as nicked my finger slicing an apple, he would panic, rushing to find antiseptic and band-aids. By the time he was done fussing, the scratch would already be healed. I used to laugh, wrapping my arms around his neck, telling him he was overreacting. “I can never overreact when it comes to you,” he’d whisper, holding me tight. “You’re my whole world.” But promises are cheap. He had a foster sister—his secret first love. They had dated in secret for eight years before his parents found out and forced them apart. To him, I was merely the safe, acceptable compromise. “Drink it while it’s hot,” he urged, pressing the thermos into my hands. To avoid an argument, I took a few sips. But within minutes, my chest tightened. My airway began to close, and hives erupted across my arms. I grabbed his wrist. “What… what did you put in this?” His eyes widened in panic. “Just brown sugar and ginger… and a little peanut powder for flavor. Nicole, what’s happening?” “I’m calling 911! Stay with me, Nicole, please…” His hands shook violently as he held me. In my fading consciousness, I realized it had been years since I had seen him this terrified for me. The ambulance arrived, and they loaded me onto a gurney. But just as Denis was about to climb in after me, his phone rang. It was the custom ringtone he had set only for Susie. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering. Susie’s sobbing voice filled the air. “Denis, I cut my wrist on a glass bottle! There’s so much blood… please help me…” Without a second thought, he stepped back from the ambulance. “I’m coming, Susie. Don’t panic. Apply pressure to the wound…” The paramedics yelled at him, but he was already running toward his car. My gasping, suffocating state wasn’t enough to make him stay. I spent the night in the ICU under an oxygen tent, battling severe anaphylactic shock. The next morning, I opened my eyes to see my mother sitting by my bedside, her eyes red from crying. “When the hospital called, I thought my heart was going to stop,” she whispered, stroking my forehead. “Everyone knows you have a lethal peanut allergy, Nicole. How could you have ingested it?” Before I could answer, the door swung open. Denis walked in, ushering a tearful Susie inside. 3 I looked at Denis. “Did you know there was peanut powder in that tea?” Susie stepped forward, sobbing. “I’m so sorry, Nicole! Please don’t blame Denis. It’s my fault!” “I read an article saying peanuts are great for prenatal development, so I suggested he grind some into the tea. I didn’t mean to…” I closed my eyes, forcing down the rage. “You knew I was severely allergic. You put it in there anyway. Are you trying to kill me?” Before Susie could even whimper, Denis shielded her behind his back. “Nicole, that’s enough. Susie is gentle and kind. She was only trying to help.” My mother, unable to contain her fury, stood up and slapped Denis hard across the face. “How dare you?” she spat, her voice trembling. “Nicole is your wife! She was carrying your child, and you’re defending this girl over her?” Denis touched his reddened cheek, his first instinct to defend her: “Mom, Susie isn’t an outsider. She’s my… she’s my sister.” Susie rushed to touch his face, glaring at my mother. “How could you hit him? We’re just trying to help!” My mother’s anger boiled over. “Save the fragile little victim act, you manipulative snake—” But in the next second, Denis shoved my mother away to protect Susie. My mother lost her footing, her head striking the sharp metal corner of the bedside table. Blood began to seep onto her hair. Denis stood over us, his eyes cold as he kept Susie behind him. “Mom, you can hit me, and I’ll take it. But Susie is pregnant. No matter what, you do not put your hands on her.” “You protect your own, and I protect mine. You care about Nicole; I care about Susie.” He cast a freezing look at me. “I’ll come back when you’ve calmed down.” With that, he guided Susie out of the room. I scrambled out of bed, weeping as I called for a nurse. As my mother’s head was being bandaged, my chest ached with a physical, suffocating regret. I regretted every single second of the five years I had wasted on him. My mother tried to comfort me. “I’m fine, sweetie. Don’t cry. It’s bad for the baby.” I wiped my tears. “There is no baby, Mom.” She froze. “What?” “I had an abortion three days ago. And I’m divorcing him.” After a long silence, my mother pulled me into her arms, gently patting my back. “Whatever you decide, I’m with you. You have me, Nicole. Always.” I buried my face in her shoulder and finally wept for the marriage that had died long before the child did. Three days later, my relocation request was approved. I booked a one-way ticket to London for that very night. 4 I went back to the apartment to pack my things. To my surprise, Denis was actually home. He was in the kitchen, wearing an apron, simmering a pot of soup. In the living room, Susie was lounging on my custom-ordered sofa, wearing my favorite silk robe, eating chips while watching a reality show. When she saw me, she didn’t bother to sit up. “Oh, hey, Nicole. I’d get up, but my doctor said I need bed rest. Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge.” She acted more like the mistress of the house than I ever had. Denis emerged from the kitchen, acting as if nothing had happened. “You’re discharged? Why didn’t you call me? I would have picked you up.” “I made some nourishing soup for Susie. There’ll be leftovers if you want some.” I ignored him and went upstairs to pack. Behind me, I heard Susie’s whiny pout. “Denis, is Nicole mad at me?” “Don’t worry about it,” he replied easily. “She’s just throwing a tantrum. She’ll get over it in a few days.” That was his signature move: the cold shoulder, waiting for me to exhaust my own anger so he could pretend nothing had happened. But today, the cycle ended. When I rolled my suitcases downstairs, Denis was blow-cooling a spoonful of soup for Susie. He froze when he saw the luggage. “Why are you packing? Where are you going?” “A business trip,” I said flatly. He frowned. “You’re five months pregnant. Why is your company making you travel?” Then, his eyes drifted down to my midsection. He stiffened. “Your stomach… it’s…” Before he could finish, a sharp crash shattered the silence. Susie had knocked her bowl off the side table. Hot soup and grease splattered across the handmade rug I had spent weeks picking out. Susie wailed in pain. Denis immediately scooped her up, his face pale with worry. As he rushed past me, he threw a command over his shoulder: “Don’t leave yet. Wait for me to get back. My firm has a partnership with your agency—I’ll make them cancel your trip.” I didn’t answer. He didn’t care. He ran out the door with her in his arms. I took one last look at the place we had shared for three years. On the mantel sat a framed photo of Denis and Susie. In the display cabinet were matching mugs they had painted together. The gallery wall was filled with photos of their trips. My entire existence in this apartment fit into two small suitcases. I closed the door, walked out, and hailed a cab to the airport. When my flight landed in London, I turned on my phone. It exploded with hundreds of missed calls and texts from Denis.

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The exact moment my son was about to slide the gold band onto his bride’s finger, I burst through the chapel doors, still smelling of river silt and death. I marched straight up the altar, snatched the ring from his hand, and pushed the bride aside. “The wedding is off,” I announced, my voice cutting through the soft organ music. “My son is not getting married.” Ted stared at me, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Mom, what the hell are you doing? Gloria and I went through absolute hell to get here. When you nearly drowned in the reservoir last summer, she was the one who performed CPR and saved your life!” Roger, my husband, hurried up the steps, his brow furrowed as he grabbed my arm. “Ruth, have you lost your mind? Gloria just paid off our half-million-dollar debt. How can you be this ungrateful?” Gloria, her eyes turning red, reached into her satin bridal clutch and pulled out a box of pain-relief patches. “Mom… I know your back is acting up from the recovery dive today. I always keep these on hand for you. I didn’t ask for a single dime in a prenup, and I didn’t care about having my name on the house deed. If I did something wrong, please tell me.” The guests in the pews began to whisper, their judging glares pinning me as the classic, bitter mother-in-law. Gloria knelt before me, lifting a cup of warm chamomile tea she had taken from the reception table. “Mom, whatever it is, I promise I’ll change.” I looked down at the steaming tea. With a swift kick, I sent the porcelain cup shattering across the altar. “I said the wedding is off,” I cold-shouldered her. “You will never set foot in my house.” 1 Ted grabbed my hands, his face a mask of desperation. “Mom, please. It took us so long to build this life. You approved of her. You gave us your blessing!” I thought of the cold, stiff body I had just dragged out of the dark river currents an hour ago. A violent, hollow ache bloomed in my chest. I forced myself to shove my son away. “If you marry her,” I said, each word heavy as stone, “you no longer have a mother.” Ted froze, utterly shattered. Gloria let go of her bouquet, gathered the heavy tulle of her white gown, and dropped to her knees on the floor. “Mom, tell me what I did. I love Ted with all my heart. Please don’t cast me out.” One of our old neighbors stood up from his pew to play peacemaker. “Ruth, this is crossing the line. We’ve all seen how much Gloria does for your family. She’s treated you and Roger like her own parents.” It was true. Gloria was an orphan, and from the moment Ted brought her home, she had showered us with devotion. When Roger was hospitalized last winter, she stayed up for three nights straight coordinating with specialists. My job as a search-and-recovery diver took a brutal physical toll on me; Gloria was always there with expensive therapeutic supplements and massages. When Ted was struggling to find a job, she used her connections to secure him a position, slowly lifting our family out of a dark financial hole. Every holiday, she made sure we had the finest gifts, ensuring we kept our heads high in front of our peers. The neighbor shook his head at my silence. “You’re acting like a monster, Ruth.” I glared back at him. “If she’s so perfect, take her into your own home.” Roger’s temper finally flared. “You’ve ruined everything, Ruth! On our son’s wedding day, you’ve made us a public joke!” Gloria wept, her delicate updo falling apart as she bowed her head to the floor. “Mom, I beg you! Don’t do this. Roger, please talk to her. Don’t let her tear us apart.” I kicked her away from me. “Stop howling. Nobody died. Get your miserable face out of my sight!” Suddenly, a loud commotion erupted at the chapel entrance. My chest tightened. It was them. Frankie, a notorious local loan shark, strolled down the aisle with two burly men behind him. “Well, look at this. I figured a wedding would bring in plenty of cash gifts. Time to settle the interest, Ted.” Gloria stood up, her face tear-stained as she shielded me. “We paid you the settlement last week—” Frankie sneered. “That was the principal, sweetheart. This is the interest.” While they were distracted, I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. Ted lunged at me, his voice cracked with panic. “Mom, what are you doing? Why are you calling the police? If they investigate me, my life is over!” The massive debt Ted owed wasn’t a family expense; it was the result of his underground sports gambling. For months, I had stayed silent, terrified of ruining his future. But today, looking at the chapel doors, I knew I had to do it. If I didn’t call the law now, our family would be entirely consumed. Gloria’s expression shifted into something sharp and desperate. “Mom, I can cover the interest. We don’t need the police. Think about Ted’s career!” I slapped Ted’s hand away from my phone, my gaze icy. Ted looked at me with pure betrayal before pulling Gloria into his arms. The police arrived within minutes. Frankie and his thugs were arrested for extortion, and Ted was led away in handcuffs for his involvement in the illegal gambling ring. Gloria chased the squad car down the asphalt road, tripping over her long train, falling repeatedly until her white silk dress was stained with mud and blood. When she dragged herself back to us, her eyes were swollen and her voice was a raspy whisper. “Dad, Mom… Ted is gone, but I’ll stay. I will take care of you. From now on, you are my real parents.” I spat on the ground near her feet. “You’re a jinx. Get the hell away from us.” 2 I went back to the altar, apologized to the remaining guests, and returned every single cash gift. When we finally unlocked our front door at home, Roger’s rage exploded. “What is wrong with you?” he screamed, smashing a glass against the kitchen counter. “You put our own son in a cell! You threw away a girl who would have laid down her life for us! You’ve destroyed this family!” I sat on the sofa, silent, staring at the wall. The image of that cold, gray skin beneath the river water refused to leave my mind. Roger and I had been married for nearly thirty years, and he had never once raised his voice at me like this. “If you think she’s so perfect,” I said quietly, “go live with her.” The doorbell rang, followed by a neighbor’s frantic shouting through the screen door. “Ruth! Get down here! You need to see what your daughter-in-law is doing!” I walked to the window and looked down. Gloria was crawling up our suburban driveway. At every step, she bowed her head to the pavement, clutching a bag of groceries. A small crowd of neighbors had gathered on the lawn, filming her on their phones and whispering. After what felt like hours, her raspy voice echoed through our front door. “Mom… I know I must have displeased you. Please, forgive me.” The fabric over her knees was torn, soaked through with blood and dirt. Her hair was a tangled mess, and her face was raw from crying. I opened the door. Gloria’s eyes flickered with a desperate hope. “Mom…” I picked up a bucket of ice water I had prepared and threw it directly into her face. “You’re a curse,” I said. “Get off my property. My family wants nothing to do with you.” The freezing water drenched her white clothes, making her body shiver violently, her teeth clicking together. Yet, she remained kneeling. “Mom, no matter how you treat me, I will wait for Ted.” Roger tugged at my sleeve, whispering frantically in my ear. “Ruth, that is enough. Whatever she did, she’s paid for it. This is torture.” I threw him a glare so venomous he immediately stepped back. Gloria kept her head bowed, her posture suggesting she would freeze to death on our porch before she gave up. I turned back into the house, walked to the trash bin, and pulled out a dry wreath of decorative wild roses—thick with long, jagged thorns—that we had discarded weeks ago. I tossed them onto the concrete right in front of her. “You want to show your sincerity?” I sneered. “Kneel on those.” Gloria’s face lost every ounce of color. She stared at the sharp, woody thorns, bit her lip, and shifted her weight directly onto them. The thorns pierced her thin trousers, sinking deep into her skin. Crimson blood bloomed across the wet white fabric. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she trembled, barely keeping herself upright. I pulled out my phone, opened a decibel meter app, and tossed it onto the porch beside her. “Make sure your groveling hits at least fifty decibels. I want the whole neighborhood to hear your apology.” With that, I stepped back and slammed the heavy oak door shut. By late afternoon, Roger ran into the living room, holding his phone like it was a live grenade. “Ruth, you’re trending. The local forums are tearing you apart. Look at the comments.” 3 Roger held the screen in front of my face. “She made her kneel on thorns? This is literal domestic abuse. The poor girl’s face is completely white.” “Didn’t this girl pay off their family debts? What a nightmare of a mother-in-law.” Outside, a heavy fist pounded on our door. “Ruth! Gloria collapsed!” Through the peephole, I saw her slumped over on the porch, her knees covered in deep punctures, blood pooling on the concrete. I didn’t unlock the door. Eventually, the outraged onlookers lifted her up and rushed her to the local clinic. Roger peered through the blinds, his expression filled with guilt. “Ruth…” “She brought this on herself,” I replied coldly. “If you feel so bad for her, we can file for divorce tomorrow.” I walked into the bedroom and locked the door behind me. The next thing I remember, I was waking up to the smell of gasoline and cold wind. I was outdoors, tied tightly to a wooden post over a tall pile of dry firewood. A crowd of people wearing cheap plastic masks surrounded me in a tight circle. In the center stood a man holding a megaphone. “Welcome, everyone, to the Court of Public Justice.” My heart hammered against my ribs as I struggled against the rough hemp rope chafing my wrists. The man with the megaphone began listing my crimes to the crowd: ruining my son’s wedding, sending him to a holding cell, and torturing my devoted daughter-in-law until she was hospitalized. Muttered agreements rippled through the masked crowd. “She’s a psychopath. Classic codependent mother.” “She’s a recovery diver. She spends too much time with corpses. She’s probably lost her mind.” The host stepped forward, holding a lit torch close to my face so the cameras could capture my panic. “Remember, we are cleansing our community of monsters!” He tossed the torch into the dry wood beneath me. Flame caught instantly, roaring up the pine logs. The heat hit me in a wave, scorching my skin. I screamed, the smoke filling my lungs. Just as the fire began to lick at my shoes, the distant, rising wail of police sirens cut through the night. “Run! The cops!” The self-righteous crowd dissolved into chaos, scattering into the dark woods. Through the thick smoke, a figure rushed toward the flames. It was Gloria. Ignoring her bandaged knees, she tore at the burning ropes, pulling me down from the platform just as the structure collapsed. “Mom! Are you okay? I’m sorry I took so long to find you,” she sobbed, dragging me to safety. Roger arrived seconds later, panting, and helped support my weight. As soon as the smoke cleared from my throat and I felt my legs under me, I grabbed a discarded wooden branch from the dirt and struck Gloria across her shoulder. “You bring nothing but trouble!” I screamed. “It’s because of you I was targeted!” An officer rushed over to pull me back. “Ma’am, stop! If it weren’t for your daughter-in-law tracking your phone’s signal, we wouldn’t have found you in time.” Roger joined in, pleading with me. “Ruth, please. Gloria literally discharged herself from the clinic to hunt for you. Her knees are permanently ruined because of this.” Gloria kept her head low, her shoulders shaking as she wept. “I’m sorry, Mom. If my presence causes you this much pain, I will never show my face to you again.” She wiped her tears, her voice small. “But your home isn’t safe anymore. The internet knows where you live. I have a small condo downtown. You and Dad should stay there for now.” I spat on the ground near her shoes. “Save your crocodile tears.” 4 After the madness of the kidnapping settled, I returned to my shift at the search-and-recovery unit. The moment I walked into the station, the atmosphere turned freezing. My coworkers avoided my gaze. During lunch, they sat at the far end of the cafeteria, whispering whenever I looked up. By mid-afternoon, the captain called me into his office. “Ruth, you’re a senior diver here,” he said, staring at his coffee mug. “This isn’t the old days when we operated as independent volunteers. We represent the county now. Your personal affairs… they’re reflecting poorly on the department.” I understood. The video of the wedding and the porch incident had gone viral. As I walked out of his office, a younger diver stepped into my path, looking deeply conflicted. “Ruth… your daughter-in-law is out front.” He looked at me with genuine disappointment. “You’ve always been so patient with us when we made mistakes on deep dives. Why are you acting like this toward her?” I ignored him and pushed past. Gloria was standing near the front desk, distributing boxes of pastries and coffee to the on-duty staff. I marched over, grabbed the boxes, and threw them into the industrial trash bin near the door. “Who gave you permission to come here? Get out!” A colleague stepped in to shield her. I pointed a finger at his face. “Those things are poison! Eat them if you want to end up in a body bag!” Gloria stood frozen, looking small and humiliated. The colleague gently guided her out of the lobby to spare her further public shame. Before I could even catch my breath, the station alarm blared. A dispatcher radioed in: a body had been spotted caught in the rapids of the Blackwood River. The Blackwood was notorious for its unpredictable undercurrents. Most of the team hesitated, but with the body about to wash down the spillway, I threw on my dry suit and oxygen rig, diving straight into the freezing, turbulent water. “Mom!” Gloria’s voice screamed from the shoreline. I fought the current, reached the submerged debris, and secured the recovery harness around the victim’s waist. But as I turned to swim back, a sudden surge slammed me against a submerged boulder. A sharp, white-hot pain flared in my lower back—my old spinal injury flared up instantly. My limbs went entirely numb. As the dark water began to drag me down, a hand gripped my safety harness, pulling my head above the surface. Gloria, drenched and pale, dragged me onto the muddy bank. She collapsed beside me, coughing up river water. My colleagues rushed over, wrapping us in emergency blankets. One of them looked at me, shaking his head. “She jumped in the second she saw you go under, Ruth. We couldn’t even grab her. You have no idea how lucky you are to have her.” I gritted my teeth against the agony in my back. “If you want this curse, you can have her.” Gloria broke down, her cries raw and desperate. “Mom, what did I do? Why do you hate me so much? Just tell me what to do to make you happy!” The rest of the team looked at me with disgust. “She paid off your son’s debts, Ruth. She just saved your life twice.” Gloria dragged herself over, kneeling in the wet gravel before me. “Mom, I’m sorry I lost my temper. Please, if it makes you feel better, just hit me.” I didn’t hesitate. I slapped her across the face with all the strength I had left. The force of the blow knocked her sideways. Her head struck a jagged rock on the shoreline, and her body went completely limp. My coworkers gasped, rushing forward to check her pulse while someone shouted for an ambulance. By the time we reached the hospital, Roger had arrived, his face pale with anxiety. “Ruth, when does this end? What did that girl ever do to deserve this?” I watched the red light of the emergency room through the glass partition. Without a word, I reached into my coat pocket, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and slapped it against his chest. Roger unfolded it. As his eyes scanned the text, the color drained from his face. He clutched his left arm, gasping for breath, and collapsed onto the linoleum floor.

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The day the Harrington Group collapsed into bankruptcy, my husband, Alex, was pushed off a cliff to protect me. His body was never found. To pay off the mountain of debt he left behind, I had no choice but to step onto the stage of a dim, neon-lit underground club. Three years later, as I stood in the center of that stage wearing nothing but a cheap silk slip dress, a familiar voice cut through the rowdy, whistling crowd. My former best friend, Camille, stood right in front of the stage, pressing a hand over her mouth to suppress a giggle. “Oh, Alex, you won again!” “Who would’ve thought Elsa loved money so much that she’d actually survive in a place like this for three whole years just for you?” I froze on the stage, my eyes locked onto Alex—alive, breathing, and standing right there. With a completely indifferent expression, he stepped up and snatched the cash right out of my hand. “Elsa, I knew you only loved me for my money. It was wrong of Camille and me to make that bet, and I’m sorry for faking my death and bankruptcy to test you.” “But you’re still a Harrington. How could you humiliate yourself—and me—by exposing yourself in a filthy place like this?” “Whatever. I know you did it for me. But let’s not keep this dirty money.” He tossed the bills into the air, letting them flutter down like dry leaves. My chest felt hollowed out, as if a rusted blade had carved out my heart. A cruel, fleeting prank to him. But for me, it meant falling from my heights as the principal dancer of a world-renowned contemporary ballet company to a cheap novelty act, dancing for the amusement of drunk strangers. What he didn’t know was that I had already paid off his supposed massive debts. And the money he just threw away? It wasn’t dirty. It was every cent I had saved—now that I was dying of stomach cancer—to buy a quiet burial plot where I hoped we could rest together. … My mind went entirely blank. Instinctively, I dropped to my knees to gather the scattered bills. But Alex grabbed my wrist, his grip tight and suffocating. His brow furrowed in deep disgust. “Stop it! Look at yourself. How did you let yourself sink this low?!” The physical pain in my chest finally caught up to me, sharp and agonizing. I looked down at my cheap, threadbare dress, at my bruised knees, and let out a dry, quiet breath of a laugh. When I didn’t say anything, his eyes flared with irritation. “Fine. I’m apologizing, okay? What more do you want?” Beside him, Camille’s eyes welled with tears. She whispered softly, “Elsa, please don’t be mad. If you hadn’t… well, Alex wouldn’t have felt the need to test you like this. He still loves you. Don’t make him angry, please?” I looked at her, my lips still curled in that hollow smile. “So, I should thank you? Thank you both for conspiring to drag me into hell?” She flinched, her shoulders trembling as she reached out to grab Alex’s sleeve. “No, Elsa, it wasn’t like that…” “Enough!” The brief flicker of warmth in Alex’s eyes vanished. He shoved me away. “You chose this! You chose to degrade yourself!” I lost my balance and crashed hard against the cold, sticky floor of the club. My stomach violently spasmed. A copper-sour taste surged up my throat. I bit my lower lip hard, forcing the nausea and the blood back down. Alex’s gaze softened with a brief, conflicted hesitation. He reached a hand out toward me, then quickly pulled it back, hardening his expression. “I already apologized. What else do you want? Do you have to make a scene and embarrass us both?” I didn’t hear him. I blocked out his voice, waiting for the worst of the spasm to pass before pushing myself up. One by one, I began picking up the crumpled bills. Irritated, Alex stepped over and snatched the small stack from my fingers again. “I said, don’t touch this dirty money! Are you deaf?” My eyes burned, tears hot and uncontrollable. “It’s my money. I earned it. How is it dirty?” He laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. “Earned it? By stripping? By selling yourself?” He stopped mid-sentence. Seeing how the color drained from my face, he looked away uneasily. “Elsa! You were a principal dancer. Now you’re here, shaking your body for change. Are you really going to tell me this was all for me?” Camille sighed, her voice dripping with pity. “Elsa, even if you were desperate for cash, you shouldn’t have thrown away your dignity like this.” She paused, her eyes lingering on my bare shoulders with unmistakable contempt. Emboldened by her words, Alex glared at me. “If you had an ounce of self-respect, you would’ve found any other job. You only stayed here because it’s easy, fast money.” I stared at him, stunned. Then, a laugh escaped me—bitter and sharp. “What other job, Alex? What else can I do? Go back to the stage? Audition for the ballet?” I dragged myself up, ignoring the throbbing pain. Under their watchful eyes, I took two uneven, halting steps forward, dragging my stiff right foot behind me. “Look at me, Alex. I’m a cripple. I can’t dance anymore.” Three years ago, when Alex faked his death, the loan sharks cornered me at our front door. They dragged me down the steps. Someone planted their heavy boot on my ankle and pressed down until the bone shattered. When I finally woke up in the hospital, I had lost our baby. And I had lost my career forever. I looked down, reaching out to snatch my money back from his hands. I needed this cash. My life had been a miserable tragedy. Now that I was dying, the least I could do was buy a piece of earth to bury myself in. Alex’s eyes flared red. He kicked a nearby speaker cabinet, the heavy thud echoing through the empty venue. “Who did it?! Who did this to you?!” The club owner, who had been watching from the shadows, scurried over. He exchanged a quick, knowing look with Camille before speaking. “Mr. Harrington, back then, she got involved with some wealthy businessman. His wife found out and had her beaten… It had absolutely nothing to do with our club!” A rush of blood roared in my ears. I screamed at the owner, “You’re lying! That’s a lie! I never did that!” Alex froze. The disgust and contempt in his eyes returned, colder than before. Before I could say another word, his hand swung out, slapping me hard across the face. “Elsa, you are pathetic.” I collapsed onto the freezing floor. The impact shattered the fragile hold I had on my stomach. I turned my head and retched, dark blood splattering across the concrete. As my vision began to fade into black, I thought I saw Alex’s face twist in sheer panic, rushing toward me. I closed my eyes. If there was a God, I prayed I would never have to see him again. When I opened my eyes, the sterile smell of disinfectant filled my nose. I was lying in a hospital bed. Alex was standing nearby, flipping through a medical chart. He looked up, his expression a tangled mess of emotions. “I gave you everything when we were together. How could you ruin yourself like this?” My fingers curled against the coarse hospital sheets. Did he know? Did he finally look at the chart? Camille, her eyes red, gently took my hand. “Elsa, stop being so stubborn. The doctor says your stomach ulcer has worsened. If you keep pushing yourself, you’re going to kill yourself.” I stared at her. I caught the brief, frantic flicker of panic in her eyes, and in that instant, I understood everything. But I didn’t say a word. I was too tired. I just wanted to go home. Even if home was a damp, dark basement apartment of less than a hundred square feet, it was better than being near them. I reached up and pulled the IV needle from the back of my hand, my voice flat and hollow. “This is none of your business.” Alex lunged forward, pinning my hand down, his brows knitted together. “Stop acting out! You’re sick, Elsa. Let them treat you!” I looked up at him. I didn’t even have the energy to be angry. I just let out a soft sigh. “Alex, I don’t have any money.” I picked up my cheap, cracked phone from the bedside table, unlocked it, and showed him my bank account balance. $104.23. That was everything I owned in this world. I glanced around the luxurious private suite. A dry laugh caught in my throat. “This room must be expensive. Thousands a night, right? My life is cheap. I don’t belong in a place like this.” My words seemed to cut through him. His eyes turned glassy and red. “Who says your life is cheap? Elsa, as long as I’m here, you will have a good life. I promise you.” The words poured out of him automatically, and then he froze. The room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. I lowered my eyes. I knew what he was remembering. He was remembering the past. When we were in middle school, my father passed away, and my mother treated me like an unwanted burden. I rarely had enough to eat. But the moment Alex saw me, he clung to me. “You look so sad,” he had said, tilting his head. “Does nobody want you? Can I take care of you instead?” I had shrunk back, terrified and confused. But he kept his word. He took care of me. He brought me fresh breakfast every morning. He walked me home every day after school, holding my hand tightly. Camille had quickly befriended me too, pretending to be my sister, but I could always see the sharp, venomous envy hiding behind her smiles. Once, a group of girls locked me in a bathroom stall and poured buckets of ice-cold water over my head. Through the door, their laughter rang out: “Elsa, you’re nothing but a stray dog! Wagging your tail for Alex’s scraps. It makes me sick just looking at you!” I had curled into a tight ball on the wet floor, too terrified to make a sound. Suddenly, the door was kicked open. Alex stood there, his face dark with fury. “Who says Elsa is cheap? As long as I’m here, she will have the best life!” He had lifted me gently into his arms, wrapping his dry jacket around me, whispering sweet promises. Standing behind him, Camille’s gaze had been like a poison-tipped blade. Back then, I truly believed Alex was a gift from heaven. So, without a second thought, I clung to him. And he had patted my back, repeating over and over, “I’ll always be here. I’ll make you the happiest girl in the world.” I believed him. And for a long time, he kept that promise. He treated me like a princess, helped me cut ties with my toxic mother, and gave me a safe space to focus on my dancing. For the first time in my life, I felt cherished. Until the year we graduated from college. A massive leak of the Harrington Group’s confidential files caused their capital chain to snap, bringing the company to the brink of bankruptcy. Alex went mad trying to find the traitor. In the end, every single piece of evidence pointed directly to me. My mind went blank. I denied it frantically, desperately. But I couldn’t explain the sudden, mysterious transfer of $500,000 into my mother’s bank account. He had stared at me, his eyes bloodshot, his hands shaking. “Tell me you didn’t know. Tell me it wasn’t you.” I nodded desperately, looking into his eyes. “It wasn’t me, Alex. Please, you have to believe me!” He was silent for a long time before finally pulling me into his arms. At the time, I thought the storm had passed. I forgot that, through it all, he had never actually said the words: I believe you. The sharp sting on the back of my hand snapped me out of the memory. Dark red blood was backflowing into the IV tube. I pinched the needle and pulled it out without hesitation. Blood welled up immediately, but I ignored it and swung my legs out of bed. Before I could even stand straight, a white-hot pain stabbed through my stomach, twisting my insides. As I began to fall, a pair of warm arms caught me by the waist. The familiar, woody scent of his cologne filled my senses. I pushed him away with all the strength I could muster, leaning against the wall as dry heaves tore through me. Alex’s face turned an angry shade of bruised purple. He grabbed my wrist and threw me back onto the mattress. “Elsa! What the hell do you want from me?!” He towered over me, the veins on his temples pulsing. “You almost destroyed my family’s legacy back then, and I didn’t even hold it against you!” “I only asked you to pay back that $500,000 so we could put it behind us and start over! Why can’t we just live our lives?!” The copper taste rose in my throat again, but nothing came up. My lungs felt squeezed. Unable to speak, I fumbled through my bag, pulled out a bottle of cheap over-the-counter painkillers, and swallowed two dry. I sat there trembling, waiting for the medication to take the edge off. It seemed my condition was worse than I thought. Even the high-dose pills were barely working anymore. I took a ragged breath and looked up, exhausted. “Alex… I’m sorry. I was too greedy back then.” Too greedy for his warmth. Too dependent on his presence. I stared blankly at the ugly, jagged scar winding around my right ankle. “I paid the money back. I paid the price… Please, just let me go home.” Camille gently tugged on his sleeve. “Alex, don’t get upset. Why don’t you step outside and clear your head? Let me talk to Elsa.” His face was dark. Without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed out. The silence in the room stretched until I finally forced my raspy voice to break it. “It was you, wasn’t it? All of it.” Camille let out a soft, mocking giggle. “Well, look at you. Not as stupid as you look.” I didn’t answer. The quiet girl in school who suddenly became the target of relentless bullying. My estranged mother, who somehow managed to get her hands on a $500,000 transfer from my account. I would have to be blind not to see the patterns now. Suddenly, the door was kicked open. A group of burly men rushed in, dragging me off the bed and forcing me onto my knees on the cold floor. Camille stepped up, her face twisting into something ugly and unrecognizable, and slapped me hard across the cheek. “Elsa, you worthless stray dog. What makes you think you can steal my Alex?” “We grew up together! He belongs to me! You filthy bitch!” With every word, another heavy blow landed on my face. My cheeks burned and swelled, while Camille watched my agony, her lips curling into a satisfied smile. She slowly reached into her designer bag, pulled out a black-and-white printout of an ultrasound, and waved it in front of my face. “Recognize this, Elsa? The little bastard you couldn’t even manage to carry to term.” My pupils dilated. Something inside me snapped. I broke free from the guard’s grip and lunged forward, desperately clawing for the paper. She scoffed and planted her heel directly into my chest. I flew back, hitting the metal frame of the bed. A mouthful of dark blood sprayed across the floor. I glared at her, but the men pinned me down again, their fists and boots raining down on my back and ribs. The baby I never got to hold. My only real family. He had only lived inside me for four months. Before he could even open his eyes to see the world, he was gone, leaving behind nothing but this crumpled piece of paper to prove he had ever existed. Blood dripped from my lips, mixing with my tears on the linoleum. I coughed, my voice cracked and broken. “Give it back… Camille, please… give it back…” My vision blurred into a hazy, crimson smear. Then, a furious roar echoed from the doorway. “What the hell are you doing?! Get away from her!” Alex rushed into the room, shoving the men aside and scooping me into his arms. His eyes were wide with panic. Camille’s face paled for a fraction of a second before her eyes filled with tears. “Alex… these people said she was sleeping with some married man and got pregnant with his bastard…” She cut herself off, feigning shock, and tried to hide the ultrasound behind her back. The arms holding me instantly went rigid.

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Ever since I was a little girl, my mother had one golden rule: “You’re the older sister, Hannah. You have to let Lexie have her way.” And so, I yielded. I gave up my toys, my snacks, and eventually, the chance to go to a four-year college. My SAT scores were high enough for a good state school, but my mother insisted we couldn’t afford tuition for two kids. So I stepped aside, entered the workforce early, and started grinding to make a living. When Lexie finally graduated from community college, she complained that every entry-level job was too exhausting and didn’t pay enough. She ended up crashing on my parents’ couch for three years, doing absolutely nothing. Meanwhile, I worked for five years, dutifully sending eight hundred dollars home every single month. My mother promised she was putting it in a high-yield savings account for my future wedding fund. I believed her. For five long years. Until the afternoon I took a sick day and went home early. I walked through the front door only to hear my mother boasting to our neighbor over the fence: “I’ve managed to put away twenty grand for Lexie. It’ll cover the down payment on a new SUV, no problem.” Lexie. My jobless younger sister. I confronted her the moment the neighbor left. “Where did that twenty thousand dollars come from?” Her face instantly hardened. “It’s money I saved. Do I need your permission to spend my own money? Your sister needs a reliable car for job hunting. Shouldn’t you be helping her anyway?” Lexie strolled out of her bedroom, wearing a brand-new designer jacket I’d never seen before. She didn’t even look up from her phone. “Hannah, it’s just twenty grand. Once my career takes off, I’ll pay you back tenfold.” I stared at her face—a face that looked so much like mine—and said, “You’re not getting a single dime of that money.” 1. The air in the living room turned to ice. My mother stood up abruptly. “What did you just say?” “I said, no. That’s my money. I’m keeping it.” My mother’s face flushed red, and she pointed a trembling finger at the front door. “Get the hell out of my house! If you won’t support your sister, you don’t belong under this roof. I don’t have a daughter like you!” I stood my ground. I didn’t move. Lexie leaned against the wall, sipping her iced coffee, and chimed in with a mock sigh. “Hannah, Mom’s blood pressure is up. Don’t be so dramatic. Just let it go for once.” I ignored her. I turned, walked into my bedroom, pulled open my desk drawer, and shoved my birth certificate, social security card, and passport into my bag. My mother chased me into the room. When she saw what I was grabbing, she went completely ballistic. “You ungrateful leech! You think you can just cut us off?” She lunged forward, grabbing my bag and yanking it toward her. I held on tightly. Then, she slapped me across the face. A sharp, stinging pain bloomed across my cheek. My grip loosened. She grabbed my bag, flung it out into the dark hallway, and followed it by throwing my coat, my phone charger, and a bag of groceries I’d brought home. “Go! And don’t you dare come crawling back!” I knelt in the dim hallway, picking up my belongings one by one. Lexie stood in the doorway, cradling her drink, a faint, smug smirk playing on her lips. I zipped my bag, stood up, and walked down the stairs. Behind me, my mother’s voice echoed down the stairwell. “If you walk out that door, you’re dead to me!” The motion-activated light in the lobby was broken. It was pitch black. By the time I reached the street, night had fallen. The streetlights cast a dim, amber glow over the asphalt. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from my mother: Transfer the twenty thousand to my account, and I’ll let you come home. I didn’t reply. A moment later, another text arrived: Keep being stubborn. Let’s see how long you survive out there on your own. I slid the phone into my pocket and hailed an Uber. The driver asked where to. “Back to the city,” I said. As we pulled away, I looked back at the second-story window. The blinds were drawn tight. No one was watching me leave. 2. When I got back to the apartment I shared, my roommate, Fiona, was still awake. Fiona was six years older than me and worked as a Director of Operations at a tech firm. She usually worked late, so we didn’t cross paths often, but she’d always been easygoing and kind. She saw my suitcase and the red mark swelling on my cheek, but she didn’t pry. “Have you eaten?” I shook my head. She went into the kitchen, whipped up a bowl of quick garlic butter noodles with a fried egg, and set it in front of me. I ate in silence, my tears dripping into the bowl. She slid a tissue across the table and sat quietly, waiting until I finished. Once the bowl was empty, I poured my heart out. I told her about the eight hundred dollars a month, the twenty thousand dollar “wedding fund,” the SUV down payment, the slap, and being thrown out. Fiona didn’t offer the usual platitudes like “she’s still your mother.” She just asked one question: “Do you still have the transaction records?” “Yes, on my banking app.” “Take screenshots. Print out the bank statements. That’s your paper trail.” I blinked, confused. “What paper trail?” “Your mother explicitly stated she was holding that money to save for your future. Legally, that’s a custodial or bailment arrangement, not an unconditional gift. You can sue her to get it back.” I froze. Sue my own mother? It had never crossed my mind. Fiona noticed my hesitation and patted my shoulder. “Don’t stress about it tonight. Get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.” The next morning, Fiona was already in the living room when I woke up. She handed me a business card. “My company has an opening for an administrative manager. Nine-to-five, weekends off, eighty thousand a year.” “Your experience as a coordinator at your current agency makes you more than qualified.” “I already submitted your resume to HR. The interview is next Monday.” My hands trembled as I held the card. “Fiona, I don’t know what to say…” “Don’t thank me. You’re a hard worker, Hannah. I’ve seen how diligent you are. That’s worth more than a flashy resume.” I tucked the card away, my throat tight. For the first time in my life, someone valued me for my capability, not my utility to someone else. Not because I was the “older sister who had to sacrifice,” but because I was competent. I took a deep breath. It was time to move forward. But then, the phone calls started. First, Lexie. “Hannah, Mom was so upset she couldn’t sleep all night. Just swallow your pride, transfer the money, and apologize. Is dragging the family through this drama really worth it?” “That is my money, Lexie.” “Your money is family money! Mom raised you. How can you be so selfish over a few bucks? If you don’t pay up, Mom says she’s going to show up at your office and make a scene. You want your coworkers to see that?” I hung up. Then, my father called. His voice sounded incredibly weary. “Hannah… your mother speaks harshly, but she has a soft heart. Just come home, apologize, and let’s put this behind us.” “Dad, what did I do wrong?” Silence stretched over the line. “She’s still your mother.” “And I’m still her daughter.” I hung up. Finally, my mother called. Her voice was like shattered glass. “Hannah, I’m asking you one last time. Are you giving us that twenty thousand or not?” “No.” “Fine. Don’t regret this.” She slammed the phone down. I didn’t fully grasp what she meant by “regret” until Monday. My interview at Fiona’s company went incredibly well. The department VP practically hired me on the spot, telling me I can start next week. I walked out of the office building feeling lighter than I had in years. Then my phone rang. It’s Tyler, a colleague from my current job. “Hannah, where are you? Your mom and sister are outside the office lobby holding a giant poster board!” My head spun. When I rushed back to my current workplace, a small crowd had gathered near the entrance. My mother was holding a cardboard sign that read: HANNAH IS AN UNGRATEFUL DAUGHTER WHO ABANDONED HER SICK MOTHER! Lexie was filming on her phone, narrating live. “This is my heartless sister. She’s been working for five years, hasn’t given our family a single cent, and now she’s completely cutting us off…” My mother spotted me and raised her voice, projecting to the onlookers. “Look at her! There she is! I raised her for twenty-eight years, and now that she’s making good money, she treats me like trash!” People in the crowd whispered and pointed. “That’s awful.” “No matter what, that’s her mother.” My face burned with a hot, suffocating shame. Security finally arrived and escorted them off the property. But minutes later, my phone rang. It’s HR. “Hannah, you didn’t report to your desk today, and you didn’t request PTO. Furthermore, the incident outside our lobby has caused a significant disturbance. The partners feel this reflects poorly on the firm. We’re going to have to let you go.” I don’t bother explaining. There’s no point. I stood on the sidewalk, staring up at the building where I spent three years of my life. The afternoon sun was blinding. On my phone, Lexie’s video was already circulating on local community Facebook groups. The comment section was brutal. What a terrible daughter. Her poor mother. Find out where she works, she deserves to be exposed. I sank onto a concrete bench, burying my face in my hands. Then, Fiona called. “Hannah, I just heard. Did your mother show up at your office?” “Yeah. I got fired.” Silence on the other end for a few seconds. “Don’t be afraid. You passed your interview here. You start next Monday. If your mother tries to cause a scene at our building, our security team will have her arrested for trespassing.” I stood up. My legs were trembling, but I took a step forward. This time, I wasn’t backing down. 3. The new company was called Stratus Tech, an enterprise software firm. Fiona was the Director of Operations. I reported directly to her as the Administrative Manager, making eighty thousand a year—nearly double my previous salary. On my first day, Fiona showed me around. It was a tight-knit team of about forty people, and the atmosphere was collaborative and professional. I sat by a large window overlooking a row of birch trees. The leaves were still green, whispering in the breeze. I took a deep breath. A fresh start. But within forty-eight hours, the storm caught up with me. Somehow, my mother tracked down my new office address. On Friday afternoon, she and Lexie showed up. This time, there are no signs. They bypassed the main security gate by tailgating an employee, slipped into the reception area, and my mother literally flung herself onto the lobby floor, wailing. “My own daughter has abandoned me! I have nowhere else to go!” Lexie stood beside her, playing to the room. “Can anyone help us? My sister makes six figures now and won’t contribute a dollar to our sick father’s medical bills. She has no soul!” Employees started stepping out of their cubicles. Some looked uncomfortable; others pulled out their phones. Fiona stepped out of her office, her face set in stone. “Mrs. Davis, this is a private place of business. You need to leave immediately. Any family matters must be resolved privately.” My mother glared up at Fiona. “Are you her boss? Let me tell you, this girl is a snake. If you keep her on your payroll, she’ll ruin your company.” Fiona didn’t engage. She picked up the house phone and called building security. Two burly security guards escorted them out of the lobby. As the elevator doors closed, my mother’s voice echoed down the hall: “Hannah! Get out here! If you don’t give me my money, I’ll come back every single day!” I stood behind the glass partition, my hands slick with cold sweat. Fiona walked over and spoke softly. “This can’t go on, Hannah. If they keep disrupting the office, leadership will eventually have to step in.” “I know.” “Have you decided? Are you going to keep taking this, or are you ready to end it?” I clenched my fists. “I want to end it. For good.” Fiona nodded. “A close friend from college is a family law attorney. She specializes in domestic disputes and asset recovery. I’ll send you her contact info.” That night, I text the lawyer, Nancy. She’s in her early thirties, sharp and completely no-nonsense. I laid out the entire timeline: the bank transfers, the text messages, the online harassment videos Lexie posted. Nancy replied almost immediately: The paper trail is solid. The fact that your mother repeatedly used the phrase ‘saving it for your future’ in writing is crucial. Legally, she was acting as a custodian. It was never a gift. We can file a civil suit for the return of the twenty thousand dollars. Additionally, their harassment at your workplace and the defamatory videos online—which have thousands of views—constitute targeted harassment and defamation. We can pursue civil damages and file a police report. “I want to sue. On all counts,” I texted back. Are you sure, Hannah? Once we file, there’s no going back. It will permanently sever your relationship with your mother. “It was severed a long time ago.” Nancy began drafting the paperwork. I set my phone face down on the nightstand and stared at the ceiling. The streetlights outside filtered through the curtains, casting long, watery shadows. My phone buzzed. A voicemail from my mother. Her voice was hysterical. “Hannah! I heard you’re getting a lawyer to sue me? You ungrateful bitch! If you take me to court, I’ll swallow a bottle of pills and make sure everyone knows it was your fault!” I don’t reply. In the past, those threats would have terrified me. I would have stayed up all night, crying, terrified she’d actually do something desperate. But now, the fear was gone. I knew she won’t do it. She loved herself far too much. And besides, she still had an SUV to buy for Lexie. 4. After the legal complaint was served, my mother went absolutely ballistic on the family group chat. Hannah is actually suing me! Look at what this heartless monster is doing to her own mother! But this time, the chat was mostly silent. My Aunt Susan finally posted: Helen, you took twenty thousand dollars of Hannah’s hard-earned money. If she wants it back, you should pay her. Dragging this into a courtroom is embarrassing for the whole family. My mother immediately fired back: Shut your mouth! Easy for you to say when it’s not your kid turning on you! Whose side are you on anyway? Susan didn’t reply to the group. Instead, she sent me a private text. Hannah, don’t back down. I’ve got your back. I’ll testify in court if you need me to. Thank you, Aunt Susan, I replied. But before our court date, my mother took her frustrations out on my father. Since his construction injury years ago, my father had run a tiny neighborhood convenience store, selling newspapers, snacks, and soda to scrape by. My mother stormed into his shop, knocked over several metal display racks, and sat on the floor weeping. “Look at the daughter you raised! She’s suing me! Are you just going to sit there and do nothing?” My father knelt silently, picking up the scattered bags of chips and candy. He didn’t say a word. Once she screamed herself hoarse, she left. The next morning, my father called me. His voice sounded older, thinner than usual. “Hannah… can you… can you drop the lawsuit?” “Dad, that’s my life savings.” “I know, sweetheart. But your mother… her nerves are shot. She can’t handle this stress.” “When she brought Lexie to my office to humiliate me and get me fired, did she care about my stress?” The silence on the line was heavy. “Your sister… she’s pregnant.” My stomach dropped. “Her boyfriend walked out when she told him. She’s going to have to raise this baby alone. Your mother was planning to use that twenty thousand to help her get a reliable car and set up a nursery.” “Hannah, please… just do this for your sister…” “Dad, I’ve spent twenty-eight years doing everything for Lexie. Haven’t I paid enough?” My father sighed and hung up. I held the phone to my ear, my fingers cold. It wasn’t anger that I felt. It was just a profound, freezing numbness. Sensing that intimidation wasn’t working, my mother tried a different tactic. She asked Aunt Susan to broker a truce, inviting me over for a “family dinner” to talk things through. Fiona warned me not to go. “You know exactly what she’s doing. It’s a trap.” I thought about it, but I went anyway. Not because I was wavering. But because I wanted to see exactly how far she was willing to go. I arrived at my parents’ house at dusk. The neighborhood was quiet. My mother was sitting on the sofa. For once, the television was turned off. Lexie was holed up in her bedroom, the door shut tight. My mother forced a tight, awkward smile. “You’re here. Sit down, let me get you some tea.” I sat on the edge of the armchair, refusing the tea. “You said you wanted to settle this. How?” My mother rubbed her palms together. “Hannah, I’ve been thinking. I’ll pay you back the twenty thousand. But I have to do it in installments.” “Over what timeline?” “Ten years. Two hundred dollars a month.” I did the math. Over ten years, that doesn’t even cover the full principal, let alone the interest or inflation. “No. I won’t accept an installment plan. I want the lump sum returned immediately.” My mother’s expression instantly sours. “I don’t have that kind of cash lying around! Your sister is pregnant, she needs resources!” “That’s your problem, not mine.” “Hannah!” My mother stood up, her voice rising. “Are you trying to drive me to an early grave?” “You’re the one driving us both there.” “Fine. Fine.” Suddenly, she stopped shouting. She sat back down, her voice dropping to a terrifyingly calm whisper. “If you won’t drop the suit, don’t blame me for what happens next.” She gets up, walks into her bedroom, and shuts the door. A cold knot formed in my stomach, but I pushed it aside, stood up, and left the house. The very next day, my father landed in the emergency room.

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While waiting for my wedding dress fitting, I aimlessly scrolled through the local CityThread forum to pass the time. Darren had texted me thirty minutes ago, apologizing. He said he was tied up in a critical lab meeting for his state-funded research project and couldn’t make it to help me choose. At the top of the trending page was an urgent advice thread. The original poster wrote: “Help! A stray dog just licked my hand in the elevator. No open cuts. But ten minutes later, my boyfriend kissed my hand and pinned me against the car seat, kissing me wildly. Do we both need rabies shots?” The comment section below was filled with teasing and jokes: [Get the shots, girl! And absolutely no sex before that. This stuff spreads through body fluids.] [Oh my god, what if you get pregnant? You’re going to give birth to a puppy lol!] As an infectious disease specialist, I scoffed under my breath. I was about to swipe away from the sheer lack of basic science when my eyes caught the attached photo. It was a picture of two hands, fingers tightly locked. Slipped just under the man’s jacket sleeve was a distinctive sapphire cufflink. It was a rare piece I had spent a fortune to win at an overseas auction. Just this morning, I had personally fastened it onto Darren’s sleeve as an engagement gift. My gaze drifted back to the comment about “giving birth to a puppy.” I tapped reply: “Get the shot. Aim straight for the temple. Otherwise, it won’t work.” 1 Inside the fitting room of the bridal boutique, the vanity lights were blindingly bright. The stylist adjusted my train, smiling warmly. “Dr. Sawyer, Professor Mercer has incredible taste. This gown is absolutely perfect for you. He even called ahead to specify that the veil should be a soft, low-saturation blue to match your engagement cufflinks.” I looked at my reflection in the mirror, staying quiet. My phone screen was still open to that photo on CityThread. I tapped on the poster’s profile. Her avatar was a cartoon dog, and her bio read: DaisyDreams. Her posts suggested she was a college student. I went back to the attached photo. The fingers were tightly intertwined, the girl’s nails painted a glossy cherry red. The man’s sleeve was pulled back just enough to reveal the cornflower blue sapphire, catching the dim light of the car interior. Before leaving the house this morning, I had fastened them myself. I had spent six months tracking down those cufflinks through an international auction house. They were a one-of-a-kind set. He had leaned down, letting me adjust his cuffs, and smiled. “Something this expensive? I’m going to have to treat it like a sacred relic.” I zoomed in on the image. In the dark reflection of the car window next to the cufflink, a blurry set of characters was visible. Level B2, near the west elevator. It was the underground parking lot of St. Jude’s Medical Center. Where Darren always parked. “Dr. Sawyer, should we take the waist of this gown in a little more?” the stylist’s voice broke through my thoughts. I turned off my screen and looked up. My gaze settled on my reflection in the floor-length mirror. “No need to alter it,” I said, my voice flat. The stylist stepped closer, looking puzzled. “But Professor Mercer called this morning specifically to tell us that you’ve been losing weight from working so many surgeries. He insisted we line the waist with the softest silk satin so it wouldn’t pinch you.” Hearing those words, a cold dread began to pool in my chest. Before leaving today, Darren had played the part of the perfect fiancé. He had stood by the entryway, gently adjusting the collar of my coat. His hands had been so warm as they brushed through my hair. “Help me take it off, please,” I said, turning away from the mirror. The stylist hesitated, her hands hovering. “Don’t you want to take a few photos to send to Professor Mercer? He handpicked this design himself.” “No,” I replied, my tone distant. After changing back into my street clothes, I grabbed my bag and walked out. The crisp spring breeze carried a chill, instantly washing away the sweet, heavy scent of the bridal boutique. As soon as I got into my car, my work phone vibrated aggressively. It was an urgent notification from the emergency department’s internal consult group. [Urgent consult requested at the Rabies Clinic. Patient suspected exposure to a stray dog. Requesting Infectious Disease evaluation. Patient Name: Daisy Collins.] Daisy Collins. DaisyDreams. The words from the forum post echoed in my mind: “…pinned me against the car seat, kissing me wildly.” A wave of nausea hit me. Rabies has a long incubation period with absolutely no symptoms. Once the disease manifests, the mortality rate is one hundred percent. It is completely incurable. So is betrayal. I took a deep, steadying breath and gripped the steering wheel. A bit of silver glitter from the wedding dress had rubbed off on my coat sleeve, sitting there like a layer of ash that wouldn’t wash away. 2 “Dr. Sawyer, thank goodness you’re here. This patient is incredibly hysterical.” The moment I stepped into the ER lobby, Dr. Harris hurried over to meet me. The door to the exam room at the end of the hall was cracked open. Even from a distance, I could hear soft, trembling sobs coming from inside. “Dr. Mercer, am I going to die? I haven’t even graduated yet. I don’t want to die.” Then came Darren’s voice, low and comforting. “Don’t think like that, Daisy. It was just a lick. There’s no broken skin, so you’re going to be fine. I’m right here with you.” I stopped in my tracks and looked through the glass pane. Darren was sitting on the edge of the examination bed, holding Daisy gently against his shoulder. One hand patbed her back in slow, rhythmic circles, while the other held her hand, inspecting it with deep concern. It was a look I hadn’t seen on his face since we first started dating ten years ago. I pushed the door open, my heels clicking sharply against the linoleum floor. “If Professor Mercer is so certain she’s fine, why are we wasting emergency room resources and calling for an urgent ID consult?” Darren whipped his head around. The moment he saw me, the tenderness on his face froze, replaced by a sudden, stark panic. He instinctively let go of Daisy and stood up straight. “Marina? What are you doing here?” “The consult was posted to the department group. Why wouldn’t I be here?” I walked in slowly, my eyes sliding over the two of them. He swallowed hard. “I… I didn’t mean it like that.” “Didn’t you say your research project was at a critical stage? So critical that you couldn’t even make time to see me try on wedding dresses because you had to monitor the data yourself?” My voice was steady, completely devoid of emotion. Darren’s throat worked as he struggled to find words. “Yes… it is. I just stepped out of the lab for a moment and happened to run into Daisy. She was terrified by a dog.” “I’m her advisor. It’s my responsibility to look after my students’ well-being.” “Happened to run into her?” I let out a dry, quiet laugh. “What was the topic of your discussion today? Whether rabies can be transmitted through a kiss?” Darren’s face flushed deep red, his voice rising. “Marina! What are you implying? This is a hospital. Don’t start a scene over nothing!” Daisy shrank back on the bed, her shoulders trembling as tears spilled over. “Dr. Sawyer, please don’t blame Dr. Mercer. I was just so scared, and I grabbed onto him. If I’ve upset you, I’m so sorry.” Looking at the two of them, I felt nothing but a profound sense of absurdity. I pulled on a pair of sterile gloves and stepped up to Daisy’s side, completely professional. “Show me your hand.” Daisy hesitated, looking at Darren for permission before slowly extending her hand. I bent down to examine it. The skin was entirely intact. No redness, no swelling, no abrasions. “According to standard protocols, this is a Category I exposure,” I said, pulling off the gloves and tossing them into the biohazard bin. “No vaccine is required. Just wash it with soap and water.” Daisy bit her lip, her voice shaking. “Dr. Mercer, will I really be okay?” Before Darren could offer more comfort, I spoke up. “With proper hygiene, the risk is negligible. The real danger is when people assume everything is fine, let things linger, and fail to address the underlying issue.” Daisy stared at me. “But I don’t feel sick at all.” I set the chart down on the counter. “That is the most terrifying part of the disease. During the incubation period, there are absolutely no symptoms.” The room fell into a heavy silence. I began filling out the intake form, asking about the dog’s vaccination status and where the encounter took place. Daisy’s answers were a mess—first she claimed it was a rescue dog from a shelter, then she said it was a stray near the elevators. Halfway through, I paused and looked up. “Which one was it?” She clutched her phone, staying silent. Darren answered for her. “It must have been a stray. Let’s just treat it as a standard exposure for now.” I raised my eyes to meet his. “You are her academic advisor, Darren, not her spokesperson.” Darren’s expression darkened. 3 “Marina, don’t make this something it isn’t. Daisy is one of my brightest students, and she has no family in the city. She was simply out of her mind with fear.” Darren took a step forward, reaching out to grasp my hand. I stepped back, letting his hand hang awkwardly in the air. His face tightened with embarrassment. “Marina, do you always have to be this cold and confrontational?” he muttered. “It was a minor incident. There’s no need to speak to her so harshly.” I looked at him, my expression blank. “Confrontational? I am stating clinical facts.” Suddenly, Daisy gasped, clutching her chest as she leaned back against the pillows. “Dr. Mercer, I feel so dizzy… My heart is racing.” “Is the virus already in my bloodstream?” She drifted sideways, falling naturally toward Darren. He caught her immediately, his face etched with panic. “Marina, please, just run another exam! The incubation period varies, but what if she’s an exceptional case?” As a senior general surgeon at St. Jude’s, Darren knew the basic pathology of viral transmission perfectly well. But his judgment was clouded by concern—or perhaps he was simply enjoying the thrill of being so desperately needed by a young girl. “An exception?” I picked up the clipboard and signed the chart with a swift, fluid motion. “Medicine doesn’t deal in ‘what ifs.’ If she’s experiencing sudden dizziness and palpitations, I suggest a psychiatric consult to rule out hysteria.” Just then, the duty nurse walked in with the standard pre-exposure prophylaxis intake sheet, ready to verify Daisy’s information. Without looking up, the nurse began reciting the routine questions. “Daisy Collins, correct? Any chance you might be pregnant, or are you currently trying to conceive?” It was a standard question before administering certain clinical interventions. Daisy flinched violently. Her head snapped up, her eyes flying to Darren. Darren went entirely pale, a look of sheer panic crossing his features. I watched them, my gaze locked onto Darren’s face. Daisy bit her lip hard, her voice barely a whisper, yet loud enough to echo in the quiet exam room. “Dr. Mercer… what we did last night, could that have any effect?” The room fell dead silent. The nurse’s pen froze over the paper, and she let out a tiny, sharp intake of breath. The confession was far more damaging than any formal accusation of an affair could ever be. I remembered the advice thread online. No sex before that. This stuff spreads through body fluids. The irony was swift, cutting straight through me. Darren gasped, trying desperately to salvage the situation. “Daisy! You must be running a fever. What on earth are you talking about?” Daisy seemed to realize her slip of the tongue. Her face went translucent with dread. She scrambled to sit up, reaching out to grasp Darren’s arm. In her haste, her hand caught the fabric of his shirt cuff. Clink. A small, sharp sound echoed through the room. The sapphire cufflink hit the linoleum floor. Daisy gasped, losing her footing, and stepped directly onto it. With a sickening, crunching sound, the rare cornflower blue sapphire shattered into a dozen pieces. 4 The air in the room grew heavy. The engagement gift I had spent months searching for, pulling strings just to bid on at an auction, was crushed under a student’s shoe. Along with ten years of my life, it was reduced to glittering dust. Daisy covered her mouth, her eyes wide with terror. “I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry, Dr. Sawyer! I didn’t mean to. I just felt dizzy and lost my balance.” Even as she apologized, she shrank further behind Darren’s shoulder. Darren looked down at the blue shards on the floor, his brow furrowed. Instead of reprimanding her, he turned to me, his voice laced with irritation. “Marina, look at how badly you’ve frightened her.” “It’s just a cufflink. It’s broken now. I’ll just buy you another one.” Buy me another one. The piece was irreplaceable, and he had no idea of its value, let alone the effort I had put into finding it. He simply didn’t care. “Just a cufflink? Darren, do you have any idea what that meant?” I stood up, a dull ache starting to throb in my chest. Darren pulled at his tie, his impatience flaring. “What could it possibly mean? It’s a piece of jewelry, Marina.” “You are always like this—so rigid, so demanding. You take every little thing and turn it into a federal case.” “Do you have any idea how suffocating it is to be with you?” Suffocating. The word hung in the air, scraping against my nerves. I had stayed by his side from his days as a struggling resident to his current position as a respected surgeon. I had turned down prestigious fellowships abroad to help him build his career. And now, he found me suffocating. Daisy peered out from behind him, offering me a paper tissue. “Dr. Sawyer, I am so incredibly sorry. Let me pay you back for it. I know I’m just a student, but I can set up a payment plan…” As she reached out, she deliberately tilted her phone toward me. The screen lit up. The wallpaper was a photo of Darren sleeping soundly, bare-chested. Daisy was snuggled against his shoulder, flashing a peace sign at the camera. The background was the master bedroom of the condo we had just bought together. What we did last night. The pieces of the puzzle clicked together, and the last of my composure vanished. They hadn’t just kissed in his car. They had been sleeping in my bed. I looked coldly at Daisy, ignoring her tissue. “A poor student? You’re living in my apartment and sleeping with my fiancé. You seem to be doing quite well for yourself.” Daisy’s face drained of color, clearly not expecting me to lay everything bare in front of the nurse. She quickly tucked her phone away, her eyes filling with tears. “Dr. Sawyer, what are you saying? I don’t understand…” She reached out, trying to grab my arm. “Please don’t be angry with me. I really didn’t mean to…” I instinctively pulled my arm back. “Don’t touch me.” Daisy screamed, throwing herself backward and hitting the floor with a loud thud. “Daisy!” Darren snapped. He lunged forward, pushing me back with force. “Marina, you’ve gone too far! She’s just a kid who looks up to me. How could you be so vicious?” Caught off guard, I stumbled back several steps. My back slammed hard against the glass-fronted medicine cabinet. Crash— The sound of shattering glass filled the room. Heavy shards rained down. One large piece sliced deep into the palm of my right hand. Blood began to pour, dripping onto the clean white floor in bright, terrifying pools. My right hand. My surgical hand. I leaned against the cabinet, my entire body shaking with white-hot pain. But Darren didn’t even look at me. He was already on his knees, gently checking Daisy’s arms and legs for scratches. Looking at the blood on my hand, a strange, quiet sense of relief washed over me. The sickness that had been incubating in our relationship for years had finally shown its face. It was fatal, and there was no point in trying to cure it anymore. I pressed my left hand over the wound, holding it tight as I walked toward the door. “You’re free, Darren. We are done.”

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Ever since I was a little girl, I knew that whatever I wanted, no matter how ridiculous, would always be mine. At six, when I wanted to ace my exams, every single question on the paper was something I had memorized the night before. At twelve, when a girl bullied me, her family unexpectedly packed up and moved out of the city the very next day. At twenty, I casually mentioned how much I missed the snow; at my midsummer birthday gala, artificial flurries blanketed the entire estate like a winter wonderland. But my mother was the sole exception to this rule of my universe. She never held me close. She never spoke a single word of warmth or affection. Desperate to force even a fleeting glance from her, I began a spiral of self-destruction. I drag-raced down dark highways, cut my wrists, and finally, at my own engagement party, drank a glass of poisoned champagne with a smile plastered across my face. Yet the next morning, I woke up completely unscathed. And my mother, true to form, never came to check on me. It wasn’t until the third day after the engagement party that I found an unfamiliar phone resting on my nightstand. The screen was still glowing. On it was an app I had never seen before. A new notification popped up. [Player is nearing death.] [Transfer control to daughter?] … 1 I reached out and tapped the screen. The game loaded painfully slowly, a single line of text materializing in the center of the display: [Life Simulator.] A second later, a character status panel flashed open. I stared at a face that was identical to my own. The same name: Gwen. The same birthday. The same age. Even the faint, tiny mole just beneath my right eye was perfectly replicated. My finger hovered over the screen, frozen. The character attributes were nothing short of flawless. [Beauty: 100] [Wealth: 100] [Health: 100] [Fortune: 100] [Connections: 100] [Wish Fulfillment: 100] [Loved Status: 99] I let out a soft, humorless laugh. It made sense. This character’s profile was a mirror image of my life. Growing up, I was beautiful, brilliant, wealthy, and possessed an absurd amount of good luck. Everyone whispered that I was a child favored by God. But when I scrolled down to the very bottom, the final category was grayed out. [Motherly Closeness: 0] I stared at that digital zero, a sudden, heavy tightness squeezing my chest. Even a game knew the truth. I had everything. Except a mother. I remembered getting a terrible fever when I was a child. One hundred and three degrees. My nanny had been on the verge of tears, the family doctor had rushed over in the dead of night, and even my father had stood by the bedside, his brow furrowed with rare concern. Only my mother sat quietly in the armchair near the headboard, her head bowed, staring at her phone, playing a game. Delirious with fever, I had reached out, weakly tugging at the edge of her sleeve. “Mom, please hold me.” Her fingers paused on the screen. For a fleeting, hopeful second, I thought she was finally going to look at me. But then a crisp notification chime echoed from her phone. Tapping the glass, she didn’t even look up as she muttered, “You’ve had your medicine. Go to sleep.” I slowly pulled my hand back beneath the heavy duvet. The medicine worked wonders that night. My fever broke before dawn. But I lay awake for hours. Because I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. Why was she willing to give me the best doctors, the most expensive medicine, and the softest blankets—but couldn’t bring herself to hold me, not even once? During a parent-teacher conference in elementary school, she sat in the very back row, wearing a pristine white coat. The teacher stood at the podium showering me with praise. She told the room how bright, well-behaved, and effortless I was—the easiest child in the entire grade. The other parents turned to look at my mother, their eyes filled with unmistakable envy. I clenched the hem of my school uniform skirt. More than anything, I wanted to hear her praise me. I even bargained with myself in the quiet corners of my mind: If she just holds me today, I’ll stop caring about how she always plays on her phone. But she just sat there in the back. Head down. When the teacher handed me my award and the classroom erupted into applause, she didn’t even raise her eyes. The moment that truly broke me happened when I was sixteen. I had accompanied her to the hospital for a routine follow-up. In the sterile corridor, a little girl running too fast tripped and fell right in front of her. Her knee was scraped and bleeding, her face stained with tears. To my absolute shock, my mother knelt down. She gently drew a tissue from her purse, wiping away the girl’s tears, her voice incredibly soft. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. I’m right here.” Standing just feet away, I froze, the breath catching in my throat. So, she did know how to comfort a crying child. She was capable of speaking with such tenderness. It wasn’t that she lacked warmth. It was just that her warmth was never, ever meant for me. After we got home, I deliberately tripped and fell right in front of her. My knee slammed hard against the sharp wooden edge of the coffee table. The pain was sharp and real, and tears immediately welled in my eyes. I looked up at her, waiting. She frowned slightly. “Why are you so careless?” Her phone buzzed again. She immediately looked down and went right back to her game. In that moment, I realized just how pathetic I was. Back in the present, a sudden surge of desperation took over, and I began frantically tapping the [Motherly Closeness] stat on the screen. A prompt flashed. [This value cannot be purchased.] Refusing to accept it, I tapped it again and again. [This value cannot be modified by the daughter.] A bitter laugh escaped my throat. Of course. Summer could bring snow. Lethal poison could lose its venom. The entire world could adore me. But never my mother. I prepared to close the app. Just as my thumb brushed the back button, the screen flickered violently. At the very bottom of the character sheet, a line of incredibly faint, translucent text appeared. [View hidden attributes?] I paused. Driven by some inexplicable impulse, I tapped it. The display went pitch black. Every single attribute began to rearrange itself. And there, at the very bottom, a brand-new metric emerged—one I had never seen before. [Maternal Love: 100] 2 I stared at that glowing “100” for the rest of the night, unable to move. When dawn finally broke, I took the phone and walked downstairs to find my mother. She was in the sunroom, a thin shawl draped over her shoulders. Her face was alarmingly pale, her lips completely drained of color. Yet, her fingers were still wrapped tightly around her phone, the screen brightly lit. She was still playing that game. I walked over and stood directly in front of her. “Mom.” Her fingers stuttered on the screen, but she didn’t look up. I stared down at her, my throat tightening. “Do you love me?” She finally raised her eyes to meet mine. For a split second, a wave of sheer anxiety washed over me. I told myself that if she said yes—just once—even if it was a whisper, even if her face remained cold, I would let go of all those years of quiet resentment. I would forget it all. But she merely stared at me, her complexion somehow turning even more ghostly. “Why are you asking this again?” My hands slowly clenched into fists. “Because I need to know.” She looked down, averting her gaze. “Stop acting out.” Those words again. I had heard them a thousand times growing up. When I begged her to hold me: Stop acting out. When I begged her to celebrate my birthday with me: Stop acting out. Even when I woke up from drinking poison, searching for any shred of concern on her face, she had looked at me and said: Stop acting out. My father came down the stairs just in time to hear her. His face darkened instantly, and he pulled me protectively behind his back. “I told you, Gwen, don’t bother asking her.” “If she were capable of loving you, would you have spent your childhood crying yourself to sleep?” My mother’s fingers curled slightly around her phone. My father let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Why the pity act now, Diana?” “When she was burning up with a fever, you were glued to that game. When she won awards at school, you were on that game. Even when she almost died at her own engagement party, you couldn’t tear yourself away from that damn game.” “Have you ever cared about anything other than that stupid phone?” My mother kept her head bowed, her shawl slipping loosely off her shoulders. It was only then that I noticed how terribly thin she had become. She looked fragile, like a piece of paper that could drift away in the wind. Yet, she didn’t utter a single word of defense. A hollow ache bloomed in my chest. I wished she would fight back. Even if she just screamed, That’s not true!—at least I could cling to that lie to comfort myself. But she remained silent. She accepted the silent accusation, behaving as though she truly was the cold-blooded mother everyone believed her to be. My father gently patted my head, his voice softening. “Sweetheart, don’t waste your breath on her.” “Daddy loves you.” “Whatever you want, I will always give it to you.” I looked up at him. “What if I just want my mom?” My father fell silent for a long moment. Then, he said softly, “She isn’t worth it.” As those words hung in the air, I saw the last remaining drop of color drain from my mother’s face. The second time I sought her out was later that afternoon. She was in the study. The curtains were half-drawn, plunging the room into shadow. When I pushed the door open, she was hunched over, coughing. It was a soft, muffled sound, as if she were desperately trying to hide it. The moment she saw me, she quickly flipped her phone face down on the desk. I stood in the doorway, watching her. “Are you sick?” “I’m fine,” she said. “You look terrible.” She knit her brows. “Get out.” I let out a dry laugh. “See? You’re always like this.” “I ask if you love me, and you tell me to stop acting out. I ask if you’re okay, and you tell me to get out.” “Mom, what did I do to make you hate me so much?” She closed her eyes. “You are perfect.” “Then why can’t you just hold me?” The air in the room grew heavy and still. Outside the door, the soft footsteps of a maid approached and then quickly scurried away. Everyone in this household knew the unspoken rule: I had everything, but I didn’t have a mother. That night, I went to find her for the third time. She was sitting in a dark corner of the living room. The lights were off, and the cold blue glow of her phone screen illuminated her face. She looked even ghostlier than she had that morning. Yet, the instant she noticed me, her immediate instinct was to hide her phone behind her back. In that fraction of a second, the last trace of my fragile sadness crystallized into pure, unadulterated anger. I pulled out the mysterious phone, unlocked the game screen, and thrust it directly in front of her face. On the left, the grayed-out stat read: [Motherly Closeness: 0] On the right, a blindingly bright stat glared: [Maternal Love: 100] “Mom,” I stared at her, demanding answers. “Tell me. What on earth does this mean?” The moment her eyes registered the screen, her entire body went rigid. A second later, she lunged to her feet, a look of sheer, frantic panic taking over her face for the very first time. “Where did you get this?” 3 I looked at her, suddenly finding the situation morbidly funny. I thought she never cared about me. Why was she so terrified of a silly mobile game? She reached out, trying to snatch the phone from my hand. I instinctively took a step back, keeping it out of her reach. My father walked through the front door right then. Seeing my tear-stained face, his expression hardened instantly. He shot a freezing glare at my mother. “What are you doing to her now?” My mother ignored him entirely, her eyes locked on the screen in my hand. Her lips parted, her voice incredibly hoarse. “Don’t touch that game.” The very last sliver of hope in my heart withered away. “So there really is a secret. Something you’ve been keeping from me.” She closed her eyes. “Just be good.” I hated those words more than anything. My whole life, she never held me, never comforted me, never explained herself, and never let me near her. She only ever demanded that I “be good.” As if being good was enough to pretend I wasn’t bleeding inside. Turning on my heel, I ran upstairs, slammed my bedroom door, and locked it. The game was still open on my bed. I began tapping wildly on the screen. Tapping the main interface did nothing. Tapping the stats yielded no change. But when I clicked a tiny, overlooked gray gear icon in the top right corner, a prompt popped up. [View Mother-Player Action Log?] I tapped it. The very first entry dated back to when I was seven years old. [Target is unconscious with high fever.] [Mother-Player made unauthorized contact with forehead 17 times.] [Penalty: Pain synchronization for 24 hours.] I froze, my breath caught in my throat. I barely remembered that fever from when I was seven. I only recalled floating in a warm, delirious haze, sensing a cool, gentle hand repeatedly soothing my burning forehead in the dark. The hand had been incredibly light and comforting. When I woke up, I had asked my nanny if it was her, but she had denied it. The next morning, my mother had come down with a high fever too. My father had stood by her bedroom door, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “The kid gets sick, and she has to fake it to get attention.” Back then, I had believed him. I scrolled down, my heart hammering against my ribs. [Target wins first place at parent-teacher conference.] [Mother-Player attempted to praise target.] [Speech blocked.] [Penalty: Loss of voice for 3 days.] I remembered that day clearly. I had deliberately paraded my blue ribbon around the living room. I wanted her to notice me. I wanted her to say I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. Just once. But she had sat silently on the sofa, never uttering a single word all evening. I had assumed she was just ignoring me. It turned out she physically couldn’t speak. The log entries kept scrolling down, one heart-wrenching line after another. [Target crying at night, age 13.] [Mother-Player made unauthorized entry into target’s bedroom.] [Duration: 7 minutes.] [Penalty: Sleep deprivation for 72 hours.] It all came rushing back. I had been ostracized by my best friends at school, crying silently into my pillow until I could barely breathe. The next morning, I woke up to a glass of warm water and an unwrapped strawberry candy sitting on my nightstand. I had assumed the nanny left it there. My eyes burned with hot tears, but I forced myself to keep reading. The final entry was from the night of my engagement party. [Target initiated self-destruction/death event.] [Mother-Player initiated forced correction.] [Violation level: Maximum.] The penalty section below was obscured by a thick block of black pixels. I couldn’t click it open, but a stark red warning was plastered beneath it: [Player’s remaining authority is insufficient.] Suddenly, her recent sickly pale complexion made sense. She had grown so painfully thin, looking as though a gust of wind would shatter her. A soft, hesitant knock sounded at my door. The latch clicked, and the door swung open. My mother stood in the doorway, her face terrifyingly pale. She stared at the phone in my hands, her voice barely a whisper. “Don’t look anymore.” “Please.” I looked at her. She had to lean heavily against the doorframe just to keep her balance. Yet, seeing the screen in my hands, she summoned every ounce of her remaining strength to take a trembling step forward. “Gwen, please… give the phone back to Mom.” I clutched the phone to my chest, and my tears finally broke free, spilling down my cheeks. “Give it back to you?” I thrust the screen toward her, my voice shaking violently. “So you can keep me in the dark? So I can go on believing you hate me?” “So I can keep acting like a fool, begging you to hold me for twenty-six years?” Her eyes filled with a devastating, silent agony. Her lips trembled, but she couldn’t find the words. I stared at her, my chest tearing apart with a physical pain. It wasn’t that she didn’t love me. It was that she couldn’t. “Mom, you love me. You’ve always loved me. Why couldn’t you just tell me?” “Do you have any idea what it was like? Every night, I wondered what was wrong with me. Was I not smart enough? Not good enough? Is that why my own mother hated me?” My mother took another agonizing step toward me. Suddenly, the phone in my hand began to vibrate violently, the screen flashing a blood-red warning. [WARNING: Mother-Player is approaching target character.] [Proximity restriction is about to trigger.] Before I could process the words, my mother was standing right in front of me. She looked at me, tears streaming silently down her pale cheeks. “My sweet girl.” My entire body went rigid. It was the very first time she had ever called me that. The next second, completely ignoring the shrill, deafening alarms blaring from the phone, she reached out and pulled me into her arms. The embrace was incredibly gentle. I stood frozen in her arms, terrified to move. I wanted to wrap my arms around her. But I was terrified. I feared that if I reached out, she would vanish like a ghost. But then, her hand softly patted my back. My hands began to shake as I finally reached up, clutching the fabric of her coat. Her touch was awkward, tentative, and filled with a desperate care. “Don’t cry,” she whispered. “Mom is here.” I sobbed, the tears choking my throat. But we had only held each other for a few seconds before her body suddenly shuddered violently. A dark crimson cough of blood escaped her lips, staining her pristine white shawl. “Mom!” I panicked, desperately trying to support her sagging weight. My father burst into the room, alerted by the commotion. When he saw the blood splattered across the floor, his face drained of color. He lunged forward to pull me away, but I violently shoved his hand off. “Don’t touch her!” I screamed. My father frozen, stunned. I dropped to my knees, cradling my mother in my lap, frantically wiping the blood from her chin with my sleeve. But no matter how hard I wiped, the blood wouldn’t stop. Yet, a soft, peaceful smile spread across her pale lips. She looked at me, her eyes filled with a tender warmth, as if her deepest wish had finally been fulfilled. “I wanted… to hold you every single day, my sweet girl.” “But the system said… if I got close to you, you would lose your fortune. Your perfect life.” “You would feel pain. You would get sick, meet misfortune, and get hurt by this world.” “Your mother was weak.” “I had to pretend I didn’t love you.” I shook my head violently, tears blinding me. “I don’t care about fortune! I don’t want to be the main character! I just want you to live!” She raised her hand, her cool fingertips brushing against my cheek. This time, the system’s alarms shrieked so loudly they threatened to split my skull. But she didn’t pull away. “My baby was meant to be loved by the whole world.” “But Mom forgot…” “…all you ever wanted was me.” Her hand slipped limply from my face. The screen in my hand flared with a blinding crimson light. [Mother-Player HP: 0.] [Original player is disconnecting.] [Direct bloodline detected. Transfer system control to daughter?]

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We got a new nepo baby at the office. She was the kind of person who genuinely believed that those of us doing the heavy lifting were just corporate drones rotting at the bottom of the food chain. The very first time we met, she slammed her hands on my desk and threatened to fire me. I didn’t even blink. I packed my bag, stood up, and threw her a double middle finger on my way out. My boss tried to play mediator, bringing her to my door for what was supposed to be an apology, but instead, he pulled me aside to give me a warning. “All those stories online about star closers being irreplaceable? Don’t let them go to your head,” he said. “Without the platform I built for you, you’re nothing.” It was almost funny. He knew damn well I was his top producer. Did he really think I was going to swallow that kind of disrespect? So, I walked. I started my own firm, and I took our entire core team with me. My former boss and his little nepo darling lost their minds, promising they’d blackball me from the industry. But here’s the hilarious part: halfway through blackballing me, they ended up on their knees begging for my mercy. Honestly, I preferred them when they were arrogant. 01. “Gabrielle, you barely show your face at the office, and when you do, you’re just face-down at your desk sleeping?” “If everyone were as lazy as you, how is this company supposed to run?” I rubbed my eyes, blinking through the exhaustion. Looking up, I saw a woman standing over me, hands on her hips, her expression tight with self-importance. This had to be Teresa. The legendary nepotism hire the office had been whispering about for a week. On her very first day, she had cozied up to the other executive hires, loudly proclaiming her philosophy: “I get you guys. You can’t carry your Chanel bags or drive your sports cars around here. If the corporate drones see it, they can’t even hide their pathetic little jealousy.” “But hey, we won the genetic lottery. We were born into this. Dealing with the envy of the lower class is just a burden we have to bear.” “These drones are just garbage at the bottom of the food chain.” “My dad always says, never be too nice to the help. If you give them an inch, they’ll take a mile, and then they’re impossible to manage.” The other connected hires had looked uncomfortable and immediately backed away. Even in high society, there’s having privilege, and then there’s being stupid enough to broadcast it. Within days, Teresa became a pariah. But she didn’t care. She posted dramatic quotes on her Instagram: Heavy is the head that wears the crown. Or If this were the old days, none of you would even be fit to wipe my boots. Seeing her now, looking down her nose at me. I had a throbbing headache from sleep deprivation. I rubbed my temples. “I’m sleeping because I’ve been working thirty days straight. I just got back from an international pitch, and my body clock is completely shot. I…” Teresa cut me off, her face darkening. “I don’t care about your excuses. You were late, and you were sleeping on company time. Those are facts.” She glared at me, chin tilted high. “If you can’t fall in line, you won’t be here much longer.” As soon as the words left her mouth, a quiet snort echoed from across the silent room. Then another. I couldn’t help it—I laughed too. I pointed a finger at my chest. “You’re firing me? Does Richard know about this?” Teresa’s face flushed crimson at the laughter around us. It was obvious she had wanted to use me to establish dominance, to make an example of the office veteran. Now she was backed into a corner. “I am the newly appointed Head of HR,” she said, her voice dropping to a cold, defensive hiss. “I have every right to terminate employees.” She crossed her arms, her eyes dripping with condescension. “I can’t stand people like you. Coasting on your tenure, acting like you own the place. You and your team treat this office like a retirement home. The company hired me to get results, and I’m going to make sure they get their money’s worth!” She went on and on, her voice rising in righteous indignation. I looked down at my desk. Laptop, charger, notebook. No family photos. It was the perfect clean slate. I unplugged my charger, shoved it into my pocket, and stood up. “Stop right there! What do you think you’re doing?” Teresa screeched behind me. “You just fired me, didn’t you?” I called over my shoulder. “Why do you care what my attitude is?” More stifled laughter broke out across the bullpen. Teresa looked like she was about to burst a blood vessel. “Gabrielle! If you walk out that door, don’t you dare think about coming back! I will make sure your termination is processed immediately!” I turned, flashed her a bright, mocking smile, and said, “Eat shit, Teresa.” And then, I raised my middle finger high in the air. 02. “Gabrielle, you’re a legend. She literally smashed two planters in the lobby after you left.” “It takes a monster to tame a monster. I’ve been taking her crap for a month, and I was about to lose it.” “Where did Richard find this lunatic? Calling us human capital and garbage.” “I heard her family is insanely connected. She fired three of Richard’s useless cousins last week, and Richard didn’t say a word.” “Gabrielle, tell me you’re not actually leaving. Take me with you!” “Relax, Gabrielle is the top producer. Firing her? Richard would have to beg on his knees at her doorstep by tomorrow morning.” “Lmao.” This was our private Slack channel—no bosses allowed. Then, the official company-wide announcement channel chimed. Teresa had posted: [Termination Notice: Gabrielle Fletcher] It was a long-winded, corporate-speak diatribe about how Gabrielle Fletcher had failed to clock in, was chronically tardy, skipped shifts, and had created a toxic work environment. Therefore, she was terminated immediately to set an example. Our private channel went dead silent. I typed a single response in the main channel: [I respect the company’s decision. However, since this is a wrongful termination in violation of my contract, please have my severance package ready. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.] The second I hit send, I was removed from the workspace. My phone started blowing up with screenshots from my teammates. Some had tried to argue, pointing out that sales agents had flexible hours and weren’t bound by standard desk-clock policies. I texted them back: [Don’t waste your breath arguing with an idiot. Focus on your work for now. Let me handle this.] I leaned back against the headrest of my Uber, feeling like a ghost. I was too exhausted to fight them today. For a month, I had slept on planes, survived on espresso, and pushed myself to the brink of collapse just to secure our European expansion. I had come in today to present the signed contracts. Well. Now I didn’t have to. The next morning, a heavy pounding on my front door woke me. I dragged myself out of bed, checked the security camera, and smiled. 03. Standing on my porch was my boss, Richard, and behind him, a deeply resentful-looking Teresa. “Well, look who it is,” I said, opening the door with a lazy grin. “Are you here with my severance check, Richard?” Richard sighed, giving me a weary, apologetic look before nudging Teresa forward. “Teresa is new to the corporate structure here. She didn’t understand how we operate. I brought her to apologize.” Teresa stood rigid, her shoulders tense. She forced out three words through clenched teeth: “I am sorry.” Then she whipped her head toward Richard. “I apologized. Are we done?” She threw me one last venomous glare, spun on her heels, and stormed down the driveway. I stood there, letting out a dry laugh. Richard rubbed his hands together, looking deeply uncomfortable. “Look, Gabrielle. She just got back from finishing her degree in Europe. She doesn’t understand the nuances of how things work here. Don’t take it personally.” “Her father is the head of the State Business Alliance. You know how it is. Sometimes you have to play the game.” “I’ll apologize on her behalf. The firing? Forget about it. It’s null and void.” I stared at him. Richard looked every bit the tired, middle-aged executive, his face etched with the compromises he’d made over the years. He was a master at smoothing things over, at pretending a mess was just a minor misunderstanding. “Oh, she understands nuances just fine,” I said. “She just chooses who she plays them with. She treats the assistants and the support staff like servants, threatening to fire them over nothing. She fired Maria, our cleaning lady of ten years, because she was ten minutes late changing her trash can.” “But when it comes to the local senator’s nephew or the city commissioner’s daughter, she’s handing out promotions and raises before she even knows their names. You’re practically handing her the keys to your company.” “Her father is just a business alliance president, Richard. He’s not God. Why are you bending the knee to this girl? What are we doing here, preparing the whole office to be her personal servants?” “If I didn’t know how much you loved Enid, I’d think you were sleeping with her.” Richard’s face drained of color, then flushed a violent, angry red. He had been holding back, trying to play the benevolent boss, but my words shattered his composure. “Gabrielle, watch your mouth,” he snapped, his voice trembling with rage. “You’re a girl from a small, dead-end town. Your credentials are mediocre. Your degree is from a state school. I gave you a platform to show what you could do. You should remember where you came from.” “And Teresa isn’t entirely wrong. Look at how those junior agents follow you around like a cult. It’s a toxic clique. If I don’t nip this in the bud, who’s actually running this company? You or me?” “You think you’re the only one allowed to build an alliance? Teresa is building relationships that actually matter. The people under you are just like you—clueless about how the real world works!” He was practically shouting now, his chest heaving as he spat out his frustration. “Don’t get cocky just because you had a few good quarters. Those stories about irreplaceable top sellers? They’re fairy tales. Without my platform, you’re absolutely nothing.” “I came here to give you your dignity back. If you want to come back to work, fine. If not, do whatever the hell you want.” He slammed his car door and sped away. I stood on my porch, replaying his outburst in my mind. What had I said that made him snap like that? We had argued over business before, but it had always been professional. He had never made it personal. He had never insulted my background. When a man lashes out with that much unprovoked venom, you’ve touched a nerve. A cold, sickening realization began to form in my chest. An hour later, I went down to my building’s leasing office and requested the security footage from the elevator, the parking garage, and the lobby. The footage was crystal clear. In the elevator, Richard and Teresa were holding hands, their fingers laced together. In the parking garage, Teresa was throwing a muffled tantrum, and Richard was pulling her into his arms, kissing her, whispering in her ear. My stomach dropped. I didn’t care about Richard. But my heart broke for Enid. Enid was the co-founder of the firm. She had built it alongside him before stepping back to raise their family. She was the only reason I had stayed loyal to that company for so long. 04. I met Enid at a quiet coffee shop downtown. I sat in a booth, my hands wrapped around a warm mug, my stomach in knots. When she walked in, smiling as she spotted me, a wave of sadness washed over me. It had been a year since we last caught up. Back then, she had looked tired from managing the household, but there was still a spark in her eyes. Now, she had deep, dark circles under her eyes, and streaks of silver had overtaken her soft brown hair. But what shocked me most was the gentle swell of her belly. She noticed my gaze and blushed slightly, resting a hand on her lower back as she carefully slid into the booth. “I know, I know. A geriatric pregnancy. No hair dye, no Botox… I look like a ghost, don’t I?” She and Richard already had two daughters, one in middle school, one in high school. Getting pregnant at forty-eight… it was obvious what she was trying to do. She was trying to save her marriage. “No,” I said softly. “You look beautiful, Enid. You always do.” “You always know just what to say. Why the sudden invitation? Richard told me you’ve been working yourself to the bone.” She looked at me with genuine warmth. “Sometimes I wanted to call you, but he always insisted I shouldn’t distract his star player.” I forced a tight smile. “I just missed you. Can’t a girl grab coffee with her favorite mentor?” I gripped my phone tightly in my pocket, the video file resting on the screen. Part of me wanted to keep quiet. Mind your own business, the rational part of my brain screamed. Don’t destroy her life. But Enid wasn’t just my former boss. She was the woman who had saved me. When I was a teenager in a suffocating, impoverished Appalachian town, Enid’s charity foundation had sponsored my education. She was the one who paid for my textbooks, who sent me letters of encouragement, who gave me the courage to apply to college. Years later, at a career fair, I stumbled upon a tiny booth for a startup run by her and her then-boyfriend, Richard. The company was struggling, and barely anyone was looking at their table. I turned down a prestigious corporate offer and handed Enid my resume. She hadn’t recognized me at first, but she had been thrilled by my credentials. Later, as we worked late nights side-by-side, she realized I was the girl she had sponsored. She had wept tears of joy, seeing how far I’d come. She was the anchor that kept me at that firm. “Gabrielle? Gabrielle, honey, are you okay?” Enid’s voice pulled me back. “Yeah,” I breathed, blinking back tears. “I’m okay.” “You have so many broken capillaries in your eyes. You’re still pushing yourself too hard,” she said, her voice dripping with maternal worry. “I made some soup for you. It’s in the car. You have to take it home and eat. You look like you haven’t had a real meal in weeks.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. People hate the messenger because they associate them with bad news. In the adult world, the unspoken rule is to look the other way, to let people live in comfortable ignorance. But I couldn’t let her live a lie. I looked straight into her gentle, tired eyes. “Enid, there’s something I need to tell you.” “And if you hate me after you hear it, I’ll understand.”

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The day Christian returned from Wall Street as a newly minted hedge fund titan, everyone in our social circle toasted to my impeccable taste. They told me I’d bet on the winning horse. He had bought out the sky, lighting up the Hamptons with three consecutive nights of private fireworks leading up to my birthday. He’d even sent over a custom-made, million-dollar couture gown via his personal assistant, alongside a team of celebrity makeup artists to prep me for tonight’s gala. But beneath the layers of silk and diamond powder, my chest was tight with a cold, inexplicable dread. Because the moment I opened my eyes in the dressing room, I saw her. A ghost. She stood directly behind me, her hair matted, her face a map of bruises and lacerations. Her eyes were swollen to terrifying slits, fixed entirely on me. “Cara,” she whispered, her voice like dry leaves scraping pavement. “Don’t trust him. Don’t go to the gala tonight. If you do, he will destroy you. You won’t survive him.” It was absurd. I shook my head, trying to blink her away. “He spent months planning this night for me. Everyone is waiting. How could I not go?” I smoothed down the heavy skirts of my gown, my makeup immaculate, and turned to leave. But the specter lunged forward, blocking the door. She reached up with trembling fingers, parting the tangled curtain of her hair. The moment her face became clear, the corsage I was holding slipped from my fingers, shattering a crystal vase on the floor. She had my face. She was me. 1 “You’re terrified, aren’t you?” the ghost said, a tragic, hollow smile twisting her lips. “I don’t blame you. I am you. Ten years from now. They broke me, Cara. They killed me, and now I’m just a stray soul wandering the dark.” I stared at the mirror image of my own features, my voice trembling so hard the words barely formed. “That’s impossible… Christian loves me. He’s been nothing but devoted.” “Devoted?” The ghost let out a sharp, bitter laugh. She pulled back the sleeve of her tattered dress, revealing a patchwork of scars—some silver and faded, others jagged, raw, and angry. “Look at this. Every single one of these is his doing.” “Tonight,” she continued, stepping closer until I could almost feel the chill radiating from her, “Christian will get down on one knee in front of the entire city. He will slide a ring onto your finger, and you’ll cry tears of pure joy. You’ll say yes, believing it’s the beginning of your fairytale. But it’s the gateway to your execution.” My fingers clawed into the silk of my dress, my nails digging deep into my palms. “Once you’re married, the mask will slip,” she whispered, her eyes burning with an ancient, toxic hatred. “You’ll slowly realize his warmth was nothing but a calculated performance. He has a mistress, Cara. Marina. Your best friend. The only woman he has ever truly wanted. To them, you’re just a prize Marina wanted to steal from you. He used you as a stepping stone to build his empire, and the second he didn’t need you, he cast you aside. He stood by and watched while Marina took my life.” A freezing sweat broke out across my collarbone. Marina had been my shadow since high school. We were inseparable. She was the one who had practically organized every detail of tonight’s gala. “I don’t believe you,” I said, shaking my head, my voice sounding thin and detached. “Marina hates Christian. She’s always found him insufferable. She would never do this to me.” I remembered when I first started dating Christian back when he was a broke, struggling analyst. Marina had rolled her eyes so hard I thought they’d get stuck. “Honestly, Cara, you’re a Henderson. You could have any old-money heir in the state. Why are you dumpster-diving in the slums for a boyfriend? This is charity work, not a relationship.” I had smiled, keeping my secrets. “You don’t see it, Mari. He’s got hunger. He’s a long-term investment.” She had just scoffed. The ghost seemed to read my memories. A tear slipped down her bruised cheek. “She played her part well, didn’t she? She pretended to despise him so you’d never suspect her. But inside, she was rotting with jealousy. Even back then, when she stayed over at your apartment, she’d slip into Christian’s bed in the dead of night. They mocked you behind your back. You won’t find out until it’s far too late to run.” “I don’t know what kind of sick trick this is,” I gasped, backing away until my spine hit the vanity. “But I won’t let you poison my mind against my boyfriend and my best friend!” The ghost looked at me with profound pity. “You still doubt me? Tell me, Cara. Do you have a small, strawberry-colored birthmark right at the base of your hairline on the back of your neck?” My breath caught. “How… how could you possibly know that?” It was tiny, hidden by my thick hair. Even Christian had never noticed it. “Because I am you,” she said softly. She turned her back to me and swept her matted hair to one side. There, in the exact same spot, was the identical red mark. My world tilted. “I had to die to finally see the truth,” she whispered. “Please, Cara. I am begging you. Do not go down to that party. Break it off with him. Leave tonight. If you don’t… you’ll see Marina show up in the exact same couture gown as you. She will demand the first slice of your cake. And Christian… Christian will slap you in front of everyone, call you hysterical, and carry her out of the room.” I stumbled backward, a breathless, hysterical laugh bubbling up in my throat. “That’s insane. Christian would never.” We had been together for three years. He anticipated my every need. He dried my hair after every shower; he put on my socks when my feet were cold. Everyone envied us. He had gone to Wharton, conquered Wall Street, and came back only to put a ring on my finger. He had never even raised his voice at me. Right then, his warm, smooth baritone floated up from the bottom of the stairs. “Cara, darling? Are you ready? The fireworks are about to start.” 2 I turned around and saw Christian standing at the foot of the spiral staircase, looking breathtakingly handsome in his tailored Tom Ford tuxedo. “Everyone is waiting for you,” he said, holding out a hand, his smile radiant. “My leading lady.” Behind me, the ghost screamed, “Don’t go, Cara! If you step foot in that room, there is no turning back!” I whipped my head around. The corner of the dressing room was empty. “What’s wrong? You look pale,” Christian said, stepping up the stairs and cupping my cheek. His eyes were filled with the familiar, tender concern that had always been my anchor. My eyes stung with sudden tears. I shook my head. “Nothing. Just… a daydream, I think.” I cast one last glance at the empty corner. Who was I supposed to believe? A bruised apparition, or the man who had spent three years building a life for us? Yet, a dark seed of doubt had been planted. I took his hand and let him lead me to the gala. If he was playing a game, I needed to see his hand. The party was held in the massive glass conservatory on our estate, lit up like a crystal palace. Hundreds of guests from New York’s high society chatted over champagne. As we walked in arm-in-arm, Marina glided toward us, carrying a massive bouquet of white roses. “Cara! Happy birthday, babe!” she cried, her face bright as she pressed the flowers into my arms. “Oh, that dress looks absolutely divine on you. I knew it would!” I didn’t answer immediately. My eyes traveled down her body. Sensing my gaze, she looked down at herself and laughed airily. “I know, I know. It’s your big night. But we’re practically sisters, right? I couldn’t resist. You don’t mind that we’re matching, do you?” A sudden, heavy silence fell over our immediate circle. Guests looked between Marina and me, their whispers rustling like dry leaves. “Oh my god, how awkward. I literally thought she was the birthday girl from behind.” “Isn’t this Cara’s night? Even for a best friend, that’s incredibly tacky.” Looking at the midnight-blue silk of Marina’s gown—an exact, stitch-for-stitch replica of my custom couture—my chest tightened. She will show up in the exact same couture gown as you. She will demand the first slice of your cake… “I thought you said you were wearing the blush pink gown tonight, Marina,” I said, my voice dangerously quiet. Marina blinked, her lower lip trembling instantly. “Cara… are you mad at me?” “The pink one had a broken zipper,” she whimpered, looking utterly defenseless. “And I was just so obsessed with your midnight-blue dress. I asked Christian if there was any way his designer could make a second one.” She reached out, sliding her hand comfortably around Christian’s free arm. “Thankfully, your fiancé is a sweetheart. He pulled some strings and got me this one.” I stared at her hand on his arm. Christian usually loathed being touched by anyone else. Yet, he didn’t pull away. He stood there, letting her cling to him, a faint, indulgent smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “It does suit you, Marina,” he murmured. Seeing the ice in my eyes, Christian quickly added, “Cara, honey, Marina is family. You always told me to treat her like a sister. When she asked, I didn’t think twice. You’re not actually going to make a fuss over a dress, are you?” A man in a bespoke suit walked up to Marina, holding two glasses of champagne. “You must be Christian’s fiancé. Stunning, absolutely stunning. A match made in heaven.” Marina blushed, pointing a manicured finger at me. “Oh, no, you’ve got it wrong. My best friend Cara is the lucky girl.” The man stammered an apology and hurried away. Marina turned to me, still holding Christian’s arm. “Cara, don’t be silly. I’m just basking in your glow tonight. People are just blind, that’s all.” Before I could demand she go change, Christian patted her hand. “Alright, Mari, stop teasing her.” Marina giggled, letting go of him, and ran toward the center of the conservatory. “Cara! Come over here! The cake is ready!” I walked over, only to freeze. The gorgeous, five-tier custom cake had already been hacked into. Frosting was smeared across the marble table. My blood ran cold. “Who did this?” 3 Cutting the cake before the guest of honor arrives is a massive insult, especially before making a wish. Marina stood there, looking entirely innocent. “Oh, Cara, you were taking forever in the powder room. My birthday is next week anyway, so I figured we could share. I made a wish for both of us! You don’t mind, right?” Anger flared deep in my gut, but I forced my face to remain a mask of cold composure. She held my birthday bouquet, smiling at the surrounding guests. “Just stealing a little bit of Cara’s luck tonight!” A prominent socialite laughed. “You two are adorable. Sharing birthdays like real sisters.” “We are,” Marina chirped. “Cara never minds.” She picked up the silver knife, cut a slice, and took a bite straight from the plate. “Mm, delicious.” I stared at her. I had always known Marina could be self-centered, but this was a pathological level of disrespect. I stepped forward, keeping my voice level. “Marina. That cake was custom-ordered. My name is written on the plaque.” Marina’s smile faltered, replaced by a defensive pout. “I know that, silly. Are you seriously angry because I took a bite? Cara, don’t be so petty.” She reached out to grab my hand, but I stepped back. “I do mind.” “Marina is just excited, Cara,” Christian interjected, his voice carrying a sudden, sharp edge. “Let her have her moment. You can make your wish on the rest of it. It’s not a big deal.” I turned to look at him, my heart feeling like it was being squeezed by a heavy fist. “I said, I mind.” Marina’s eyes welled with tears. “Cara… I just wanted to make sure it tasted okay for you…” “It’s my birthday,” I cut her off. “Who gave you permission to touch it?” The entire conservatory went dead silent. Guests held their breath, their eyes darting between us. Christian’s brow furrowed. “Cara, you’re embarrassing yourself. You’re being cruel.” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “My party. My cake. She ruined it before I even walked in, and I’m the one being cruel?” Marina clutched Christian’s sleeve, tears spilling over her cheeks. “Christian, I’m so sorry… I didn’t know Cara would react like this. Please, talk to her…” Christian’s expression softened as he looked down at her, then hardened when he turned back to me. “She apologized. Drop it, Cara. It’s just cake. Why do you have to ruin your own night over something so trivial?” Every word from the ghost echoed in my skull. The man who supposedly lived to make me happy was standing in front of a hundred people, painting me as a hysterical bully. I took a slow, deep breath, looking Marina dead in the eye. “Fine. I’ll let the cake go. But the dress? Take it off. Now.” Marina turned white. She covered her chest defensively. “Cara, I know it’s your birthday, but you don’t have to humiliate me like this.” “I won’t ask a second time,” I said. “Either you take it off, or my security team will assist you.” Marina bit her lip, looking like a cornered rabbit. “Cara, Christian bought me this dress. Forcing me to strip is spitting in his face.” She shrank back behind Christian. Christian’s face darkened with pure rage. “I ordered the dress. If you have an issue, take it up with me.” A profound, icy loneliness washed over me. I thought of the ghost, her scarred arms, her tear-stained face, her desperate warnings. “Is that so, Christian? What if I insist?” “Stop acting like a spoiled brat, Cara,” Christian growled. I turned to the edge of the room. “Security. Grab her.” Two of our estate guards stepped forward, laying hands on Marina’s shoulders. I marched up to her and grabbed the neckline of the duplicate dress. Christian lunged, grabbing my wrist with a crushing grip. “Cara, that’s enough! Dragging your best friend’s clothes off in public? Where are your manners?” I tried to keep my composure, but a tear finally slipped down my cheek. “Christian, I want to know why my fiancé and my best friend are acting like they’re the ones celebrating an anniversary tonight.” Suddenly, Marina snapped. She clawed her way out of the guard’s grip and screamed at me. “Oh, cut the princess act, Cara! Just because you were born a Henderson doesn’t mean the rest of us have to spend our lives kneeling to you! I am sick to death of your condescension!” “Do you really think Christian wants to marry you? Ask him! Why do you think he fled to Wall Street for all those years? He was trying to get away from your suffocating, entitled shadow!” I didn’t answer. I reached for a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon from a passing tray and threw it directly into her face. The dark red liquid soaked her hair, dripping down the front of the midnight-blue dress in a grotesque, bleeding stain. Marina shrieked, wiping her eyes. The room was so quiet you could hear the drip of the wine hitting the marble floor. Christian rushed forward, pulling Marina into his arms. He ripped off his tuxedo jacket and wrapped it around her shivering shoulders. “Cara!” he roared, his eyes blazing. “Have you completely lost your mind?” 4 Before I could process the shock, a sharp pain exploded across my cheek. He had slapped me. I stumbled back, clutching my burning face, staring at him in utter disbelief. “You hit me?” “You brought this on yourself,” Christian said, his voice dripping with disgust. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small red velvet box. “I was going to ask you to be my wife tonight. I had this entire night planned to show you how much I loved you.” “But you’re nothing but a spoiled, tyrannical child. Marina is your sister in everything but blood, and you humiliated her in front of our peers.” “A woman like you isn’t fit to be a wife.” With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the velvet box out the open window, into the dark grass of the lawn. Marina clung to him, sobbing softly. “Christian, it’s my fault… I shouldn’t have worn the dress… I’m so sorry…” “You have nothing to apologize for,” Christian murmured gently, adjusting his jacket around her. He swept her up into his arms, carrying her bridal-style. As he walked past me, he didn’t even look at me. But just before he reached the heavy double doors of the conservatory, he paused. “Reflect on what you’ve done, Cara. When you’re ready to crawl back, apologize to Marina, and act like a civilized human being, maybe I’ll consider throwing you another party.” The doors slammed shut. The remaining guests quickly made their excuses, leaving one by one to avoid the fallout. Only a few close friends lingered, looking at me with pity. “Cara, are you okay? We can help you clean this up…” “No,” I whispered, my throat tight. “Please, just go.” They slipped out, leaving me alone in the wreckage of the glass palace. My mutilated cake sat under the harsh lights, my name sliced in half. I stood there for a long time, frozen. Then, a cold hand touched my bare shoulder. “Now do you see?” The ghost stood behind me. Her pale face was streaked with tears, her swollen eyes staring at the empty doorway. “He never loved you, Cara. He was sleeping with Marina before he even left for New York. He came back to drag you into a living hell.” Before I could turn to face her, a heavy, chemical-soaked cloth clamped over my mouth from behind. A suffocating, sweet odor filled my lungs. I thrashed, but my vision quickly dissolved into black. When I finally opened my eyes, the air was freezing and smelled of rust and damp concrete. I was tied to a rusted leather chair in an abandoned warehouse. “She’s awake.” Two men stepped out of the shadows. The taller one grinned, showing yellowed teeth. “Well, well. Boss Christian said that since you love stripping people in public so much, it’s only fair we return the favor.” My heart hammered against my ribs. The shorter, heavier man stepped closer, brandishing a heavy video camera. “And Boss Christian was very specific. He wants high-res, cinematic footage. If it’s not humiliating enough, we don’t get paid. So cooperate, princess.” “Don’t touch me!” I screamed, pulling against the thick ropes binding my wrists to the chair. The short one cursed, lunging forward and grabbing a handful of my hair, jerking my head back. The pain was blinding. The tall one turned on the camera, pointing the lens at my face. “Cry louder. He said the wilder you look, the better. Get her dress open, Frank.” Frank’s thick hands reached for my collar, tearing the delicate silk. The sound of ripping fabric echoed in the empty space. I forced myself to look at them, trying to swallow the panic. “This is kidnapping. You’ll spend the rest of your lives in a federal penitentiary.” They both laughed. “A federal pen? Do you know who we are, sweet cheeks?” the tall one sneered. “We’ve got backing that makes us untouchable. You should worry about yourself instead of our legal troubles.” “Wait,” I sobbed, lowering my head, pretending to break. “Please, I’ll give you whatever you want. Money, jewelry, anything. My fiancé is Christian—the Wall Street mogul. You must know him. Please, let me talk to him…” Frank slapped me across the face, a brutal backhand that left my ears ringing. “Wake up, babe. Christian is the one who hired us.” “You think you’re still the precious Henderson heiress? Christian’s got a new queen now. Her name is Marina.” He reached down to tear the dress further when a slow, mocking applause echoed from the doorway. “Bravo! Truly a beautiful performance.” Marina stood in the entrance, draped in Christian’s Tom Ford jacket, looking down at me with absolute triumph. “You never saw this coming, did you, Cara? The great, untouchable Cara Henderson, brought to her knees by the man who claimed to worship her.” She walked over, crouching down to tilt my chin up with the stem of a champagne glass. “I have spent my entire life suffocating in your shadow,” she whispered, her eyes manic and dark. “Why did you get to be the rich heiress with the perfect life and the brilliant boyfriend? It wasn’t fair. But starting tonight, everything you own belongs to me.” “You threw wine in my face. You tried to strip me. Well, the tables have turned.” She nodded to the two men. “Have your fun, boys. Make sure she remembers tonight for the rest of her very short life.” She smirked, turning to leave. “Let’s see how you escape this one.” “Is that so?” I let out a soft, cold chuckle, my head tilting back. “I knew you were stupid, Marina. But I didn’t think you were this reckless.” I looked up, my eyes locking onto hers. “The only one who isn’t leaving this room tonight… is you.”

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