Author: Momo Chan

I came home after five years working out, only to find my husband had a new family. Christmas was coming. I took time off early, planning to surprise my husband. I knocked on the door with gifts in hand, bursting with excitement. A stranger opened it—a woman. With a crying baby in her arms. I froze. She looked me up and down. “Can I help you?” “I… I just came back home.” I stammered. The woman scoffed. She leaned against the doorframe, blocking my path. “Lady, you’ve got the wrong place.” “This is my home. My husband’s and mine. Your house couldn’t possibly be here.” Her home? My eyes shot past her into the house. They landed on a massive wedding photo on the wall. In it, my husband had his arm around this woman. Both of them grinning like idiots. The background, the furniture, the layout— Identical to my home. She noticed the gift in my hand. Her tight expression relaxed. “Oh, I get it. You’re here to see my husband about something medical, right?” She stepped aside, clearing the doorway. “He’s got surgery this afternoon, won’t be back till later. Come in and wait if you want.” “But he cannot accept gifts. please take it back.” … I followed her inside like a ghost. My mind was blank. Buzzing. “Don’t bother with the shoes. We’re not that formal here.” The woman adjusted the baby on her hip, gesturing to the couch. “Help yourself to water. I’ve got to settle him down. Dr. Grant’s swamped—you’re not the first patient’s family to track him down at home.” She thought I was some desperate relative here to beg favors. I stood in the middle of the living room. My hands and feet were ice. This house was mine. Five years ago, Grant and I got our marriage license. I was just a waitress. He was a doctor. People whispered we didn’t match—that I was punching above my weight. I didn’t want anyone thinking I married him for his money. So I worked myself to the bone. Double shifts, triple shifts. Saved every tip. I sold the house my parents left me and scraped together the down payment for this penthouse. I wanted to prove I could contribute. That I deserved him. Right after we bought it, I got an offer to work at a casino in Las Vegas. The tips there were insane—some gamblers who win money throw it around recklessly. I could make three times what I made here. But it meant five years away. Grant held my hand and said, “Babe, go. For our future, I can handle the distance.” “Don’t worry about the renovations. Mom and Dad are here. When you come back, we’ll move straight into the new place.” I believed him. For five years, I worked every shift I could get in Las Vegas. Breakfast rushes, lunch crowds, late-night bar service. My feet bled in my shoes. Every month, I kept just enough for rent and food. The rest went straight to Grant. I told him to use quality materials for the renovations. Eco-friendly. Don’t cheap out. He said okay. I told him to get smart appliances. For when we had a baby. He said okay. Now I was back. The house was finished. It looked great. Except the woman of the house had been replaced. In the wedding photo on the wall, Grant’s smile was radiant. Crow’s feet crinkling with joy. The woman in his arms was young, her face full of collagen. She couldn’t be older than twenty-two. “Hey, why are you just standing there?” The woman finished soothing the baby and came over to pour me water. “Dr. Grant looks serious, but he’s a softie. You’re here about a hospital bed, right?” She played the hostess, voice dripping with pride. “All I have to do is whisper in his ear at night. This kind of thing? Easy.” I stared at her face. My stomach clenched. “How long have you two been married?” My throat was dry. The woman paused, then smiled shyly. “Almost two years. The baby’s already six months old.” Two years. Back then, I was pulling triple shifts in Las Vegas. I worked until my ankles swelled, until I couldn’t stand anymore. Came home one night with a 103 fever. I called Grant just to hear his voice. He said he was in a conference. Hung up fast. Turns out, he was here. Researching how to make a baby. My fingers tightened around my purse strap. The leather dug into my palm. “The house is beautifully decorated,” I said, scanning the room. The woman lifted her chin proudly. “Of course. Grant designed it himself. He personally picked out every single piece of furniture.” “He said he wanted to give me the best. He’d never let me suffer.” Designed himself? Personally picked? The high-end coffee table. The crystal chandelier. The leather couch. I paid for all of it. I told him to buy it. My money—money I earned one grueling shift at a time—had become a monument to their love. I’m such a goddamn idiot.

I ran my hand along the armrest. “This couch wasn’t cheap, was it?” She laughed. “Eight thousand. Grant said I work so hard nursing, I deserve it.” Eight thousand. That was two months of tips working the casino floor in Las Vegas. I glanced around the room. “Can I see the bedroom? I heard Dr. Grant’s place is gorgeous. I’d love to get some ideas.” She nodded. “Sure. Take a look.” She led me into the master bedroom. That king-size bed—the brand I’d admired for months but couldn’t justify buying. On the nightstand: their wedding photo. A photo from the baby’s first month celebration. The closet door was ajar. His dress shirts hung next to her sundresses. On the vanity: a full set of expensive skincare. Last month, Grant said his mom’s birthday was coming up. He asked me to wire money for a gift. Turns out, his “mom” is in her early twenties. I pointed at the skincare. “That’s expensive.” She smiled. “Grant bought it. He says women need to take care of themselves. Can’t let yourself turn into a hag.” A hag. I touched my own face. Fine lines from years of working in smoke-filled casinos, smiling through graveyard shifts serving drunk gamblers. I became a hag working doubles for this family. And he used my money to keep her dewy. She grabbed a serum bottle, about to squeeze some onto my hand. “Try this. The repair effects are amazing.” I pulled my hand back. These hands had carried trays loaded with drinks through packed casino floors, dealt with grabby drunks at 3 a.m., and smiled through every humiliation for tips. They didn’t deserve anything this expensive. But she grabbed my wrist anyway, frowning. “Your hands are so rough. You’ve got to take care of yourself. Our Grant can’t stand seeing a woman suffer.” She held up her own hand. Her fingers were pale and soft. The diamond on her ring finger was blinding. “This—he gave me this when he proposed. He said he makes money just so me and the baby can live our best lives.” She kept going. “Last time I mentioned wanting some pizza from across town, he drove over an hour after a midnight surgery to get it for me.” “Didn’t get home till 2 a.m. The pizza was cold, but my heart was warm.” Mine was cold. I remembered one night when I collapsed from dehydration after an eighteen-hour shift. The casino floor had been packed, no breaks, no water. “Babe, I can barely stand.” He cut me off, irritated. “I’m in a meeting. Busy. You’re an adult. If you’re sick, go to a hospital. Stop being so dramatic.” Then he hung up. I said, “He treats you well.” She walked over to the crib, face glowing. “He does. After I had the baby, he got even better. He says childbirth is suffering. He owes me for the rest of his life.” “We never run out of supplements. He says his mom’s health got wrecked giving birth to him. He won’t let me go through that.” I lived on casino staff meals and energy drinks for months to save money for the mortgage. Got acute gastritis from the stress and irregular eating. Curled up in my tiny apartment, writhing in pain. I called him. He said his mom’s back was hurting. He had to take her to the hospital. Told me to tough it out. He knows how to care for people. Just not me. I asked, “You’re so young. Why’d you want a baby so soon?” Her face flushed. “Grant was in a rush. He said he’s not getting any younger, that he loves kids. A family isn’t complete without a baby.” “He says he’ll work hard, make money. Our kid will go to the best schools.” I smiled faintly. The first year we were married, I brought up having kids. He said his career was just starting. Too much pressure. We couldn’t afford it. Turns out, he just didn’t want kids with me. And my money became the foundation for their perfect little life. This whole family bled me dry. I was still thinking when the front door rattled. “Ooh, is my baby awake yet?” That was my mother-in-law’s voice. “Keep it down. Don’t wake the baby.” My father-in-law’s voice. I turned around. My in-laws came through the door loaded down with grocery bags. They saw me standing in the bedroom. Their faces went white. They froze. “J-Jane?” My mother-in-law dropped the dragon fruit she was holding. Red juice splattered across the floor.

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The day I walked out of prison, it was pouring. My husband drove me to the cemetery to visit our daughter’s grave. Rain hammered the headstone. Jerome, a law professor, broke the silence without warning. “The security footage from the day Lily drowned. I had someone destroy it.” I froze. I turned and met my son’s eyes. Not a trace of guilt in them. “I testified that you abused her,” Daniel said. “It was the only way to clear Vanessa’s name.” Over a thousand nights in that cell. None of them came close to what this truth did to me. Blood welled up in my throat. I grabbed Jerome by the collar. “What did I do to deserve this?” Daniel almost smiled. “Lily is dead. Is a pianist like Vanessa really going to rot in prison for this?” “You’re just a housewife, Mom. A few years inside. What’s the big deal?” Jerome pried my fingers loose one by one, his voice flat. “You were my wife, Claire. You had the name, the position, everything that mattered. Vanessa, whatever she gave me, whatever child she bore, she was never going to have that.” “As long as you stay away from her and Pearl, I won’t send you back to rot in prison.” …… I sank to my knees in front of my daughter’s grave. Jerome bent down and brushed the wet hair from my face. “You brought this on yourself. You went digging into Vanessa.” “So I arranged for someone to teach you a lesson.” “I didn’t expect them to go that far. I didn’t know they’d leave you with a permanent injury.” The sound of iron against bone rang through my head again. That day, I’d just found the first lead proving Vanessa had pushed Lily into the water. Before I could even feel relieved, a group of men had me pinned to the ground, driving a rod into my legs over and over. I dragged myself through the blood to the door. “Help me…” The footsteps in the hallway only walked away. Daniel glanced down at me sitting in the mud. “Stop playing the victim.” “Vanessa had a recital coming up. You chose to go after her at the worst possible time.” “Dad didn’t want to do it. You forced his hand.” My own child, speaking for the enemy. The last thread in my mind snapped. I hauled myself upright and slapped him hard across the face. Daniel stood frozen, his hand pressed to his cheek. Jerome lunged forward and shoved me away. “Claire. Don’t you dare touch him.” I hit the headstone hard. Blood and rainwater ran into my eyes and turned the world red. Two bodyguards dragged me to the car and back to the house. Jerome slid an adoption agreement across the table. “Pearl will be registered in your name.” Pearl. Vanessa’s daughter. The child she’d had with my husband. I swept everything off the table, my eyes burning. “You want me to adopt your mistress’s child? Not a chance.” “She killed Lily. I will never raise that girl.” A ceramic shard split the back of my hand. Blood dripped onto the carpet. Jerome frowned and pressed his handkerchief to the wound. “Claire. Stop.” “Accept Vanessa and Pearl. Show some grace.” “You’re still my wife. That position is yours. It will always be yours.” My stomach turned. I yanked my hand away. Jerome’s expression went cold. “You need to calm down.” “When you’re ready to talk, come find me.” He walked out. The door slammed behind him. The room went quiet. Blood kept seeping from my hand, taking the last of the warmth in me with it. I took out my phone and bought a one-way ticket south. I was never coming back to this place.

Through the closed door, the maids’ voices drifted in from the hallway. “Mr. Harlow really does spoil little Pearl. Tomorrow’s adoption banquet is even bigger than the wedding was.” “Young Master Daniel flew to Paris overnight just to commission her a custom diamond gown.” I sat with my back against the cold wall, my phone screen casting pale light across my face. In prison, I’d run a fever of a hundred and three. I’d dragged myself on a broken leg and beat on the iron door all through the night. It turned out that same night, the TV had been looping news coverage of Jerome spending a fortune on Vanessa. The voices outside kept going. “Isn’t tomorrow the anniversary of the young miss’s death? Why would Mr. Harlow pick that day?” “Watch your mouth. Don’t say ‘young miss.’” “Tomorrow’s banquet is being broadcast live across the whole city. From now on, there’s only one daughter in this family.” My thumbnail split my palm open. Blood welled up. On Lily’s memorial day, Jerome was going to throw a celebration. Standing on the bones of his dead child, for his mistress’s daughter. Not long after, the bedroom door opened. Jerome set a cup of warm milk gently on the nightstand. “Claire, I’ve contacted the top orthopedic specialist in Germany.” “Your leg can still be repaired. I’ll arrange the surgery for next week.” He reached toward my hair. I knocked his hand away. The softness left his face. His voice went hard. “I do everything for you. I find you the best doctors.” “Claire. How long are you going to keep this up?” I looked at him coldly. “You do everything for me? You had my leg broken.” “You do everything for me? You covered for the woman who killed our daughter.” Jerome sighed, his tone heavy with impatience. “You spoiled Lily. She was barely five and already screaming insults at grown women.” “Vanessa barely touched her. Who could have known she’d fall into the lake?” “Vanessa has been torturing herself with guilt ever since. She’s suffered enough.” “You can’t put all of this on her.” Something tore in my chest, so sharp I could barely breathe. To defend a murderer, he was smearing a five-year-old child. I was eighteen when I collapsed to the ground, covered in blood. My father’s body was at my feet. My mother had just slit her wrists beside him. Jerome burst in and held my trembling body tight. “Don’t be afraid, Claire. I’ll spend my life protecting you.” Every word he’d ever said to me turned to ash. “Jerome. I want a divorce. I’ll let you go.” “All I’m asking for is Lily’s ashes.” Jerome went quiet. His expression grew darker and darker. Then he gave a cold laugh. “Divorce? Not a chance.” “Tomorrow’s banquet. You’ll attend as my wife.” “Refuse, and you will never find out where Lily’s real ashes are.” He let go and slammed the door behind him. I stumbled out of the room and stopped at a familiar door. I pushed it open. Designer gowns, a full wall of Hermès bags. Lily’s desk, her toys, her bed. All gone. A huge portrait of Vanessa and Pearl hung on the wall. Limited-edition jewelry Jerome had given her was arranged on the vanity. This room had become their private dressing suite. “Like what you see?” Vanessa leaned in the doorway in a silk robe. “When that little brat was dying, she kept calling for you.” “I held her under, again and again.” “She fought for about five minutes before she went still. Her eyes were wide open at the end.” My blood rushed straight to my head. I raised my hand and hit her with everything I had. Vanessa didn’t move. She just smiled. A wave of dizziness hit me. Everything went black and I went down hard.

A bucket of ice water hit my face and I jolted awake. A bodyguard forced a dress over me and dragged me into the banquet hall. Under the blazing lights, every bit of my ruined state was on display. “That’s the woman who killed her own daughter?” “How does she have the nerve to show her face? It’s disgusting.” “Poor Professor Harlow. Stuck with a crippled lunatic.” Laughter came at me from every direction, each voice like a slap. Vanessa walked in holding Pearl’s hand, glowing. She was wearing a white gown I recognized immediately. Jerome had given it to me the year his company turned its first profit. His first real gift to me. “Claire.” Vanessa’s eyes were soft, her voice gentle. “You’ve been through so much.” I stared at that gown. My stomach turned over. Pearl suddenly ran at me and drove her heel hard into my injured leg. The pain exploded. I cried out and pushed her away. Pearl let herself fall and hit the floor, wailing. “What are you doing!” Daniel shoved through and scooped Pearl up. “Haven’t you been in prison long enough? Now you’re going after Pearl too?” Jerome grabbed my wrist. “This is an important occasion. I will not have you causing a scene.” I wrenched free and moved toward the exit, dragging my leg. Vanessa’s tears were already falling, her voice rising over the room. “Claire abused Lily, fine. But why take it out on innocent little Pearl?” “As Jerome’s foster sister, it isn’t my place to interfere. But I can’t stand by and watch.” “Pearl is just a child. How can you be so cruel?” She wept beautifully. Guests around her shook their heads. The screens at the front of the hall lit up. A group of reporters I’d never seen closed in around me. “Ms. Harlow, our sources indicate your father had a history of domestic violence and your mother killed him before taking her own life.” “Is it possible you inherited your mother’s violent tendencies? Is that what happened with your daughter?” Camera flashes strobed. Microphones pressed close to my face. I stood frozen, the noise drilling into my skull. Then I found my voice. “I was framed.” “Vanessa is not his foster sister. She is his mistress.” “Pearl is their illegitimate child. They killed my daughter and put me in prison to cover it up.” The room went completely silent. Vanessa’s face drained white. She swayed and nearly fell. Jerome reached out and steadied her, his arm going around her naturally. He looked out at the room with practiced calm. “Please forgive her. My wife has been unstable since her release. The trauma of incarceration.” He turned and put his mouth close to my ear. “Apologize to Vanessa. Tell them you were jealous. Tell them you made it up.” I looked straight ahead. “No.” Jerome opened his phone. One message on the screen, already composed. Destroy the ashes. My whole body went cold. “Jerome. You’re insane. That’s your own daughter.” “You won’t do it. You won’t.” Jerome looked at me without expression and pressed send. “No!” I dropped to my knees. Tears came without warning. “I’m sorry. I was jealous of Vanessa. I lied about her.” “I take it back. I apologize.”

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The text came ten minutes before the wedding. My fiancé sent it. “Daisy’s in the ER. I have to go. Can we push the ceremony back?” The makeup artist was still tracing my lip line with a brush. Behind me, my maid of honor was adjusting the folds of my veil. Outside the dressing room door, the wedding coordinator was already running through the timeline. The officiant’s mic checks bled through the walls. The terrace at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden hummed with champagne-bright energy. I looked down at my phone. And then I laughed. Maya caught it first. She grabbed the phone from my hand and read the screen. Her face went pale. “Has Caleb lost his damn mind?” She kept her voice low, but the fury still cut through. “It’s your wedding. He’s running off to play hero for Daisy Reed?” The room went dead quiet. The makeup artist froze. The bridesmaid stopped moving. Everyone was staring at me. I was calm. So calm it almost made me want to laugh at myself. I’d been up since six that morning getting hair and makeup done. At seven, my mom made blueberry muffins. She said it was the big day. Couldn’t do it on an empty stomach. At eight, Caleb called. He said he was on his way. Told me not to be nervous. At nine, he sent a text. “You’re going to look insanely beautiful today.” At nine-fifty, he told me he was going to be with another woman. Unbelievable. The coordinator knocked. “Amelia? Almost time to go in.” Maya’s hands were shaking. “Mia. Say something. What do we do? I’m calling Caleb right now. I’ll rip him apart so hard he’ll question his entire existence.” I reached over and took my phone back. I looked down at the text one more time. Short. No explanation. No guilt. Not even a decent apology. He was informing me. Like a wedding could be paused. Like a bride could just wait. Like two hundred guests and both sets of parents could step aside for Daisy’s emergency. Like that was the natural order of things. I twisted the ring off my finger. Slowly. It was tight. It left a red mark on my knuckle. The second it came off, something inside me let go. “We’re not starting,” I said. Maya froze. “Mia?” I looked up at myself in the mirror. Flawless makeup. The Vera Wang gown was stunning. The veil draped over my shoulders. It was just like my hopes for this wedding. Light as air. Pull one thread and it all unravels. “The wedding’s off.” *** Ten minutes later, I walked onto the terrace in my wedding dress and heels. The string quartet hadn’t even finished their piece. The guests had been smiling. When they saw me walk out alone, those smiles stiffened and died. My mom rose from her seat. Her face went white. Caleb’s parents sat in the front row. They looked panicked. The officiant tried to smooth things over. He held his mic and forced a laugh. “Looks like our groom might be preparing a very special surprise for the bride…” I reached out and took the mic from his hand. The terrace fell silent. “No surprise,” I said. “Just an announcement.” My voice carried through the speakers. Clear. Every single person heard it. “The wedding is canceled.” The crowd detonated. Gasps. Whispering. Phones coming out to record video. I looked at all those stunned faces and felt something absurd settle in my chest. I’d spent four years in high-end event planning. I’d built contingency plans for countless couples. What to do when the lighting failed. When the flower wall collapsed. When the groom was stuck on the Long Island Expressway. When the bride got cold feet. I’d prepared for every disaster. I just never thought the first wedding to go off the rails would be my own. I held the mic and kept going. “We’ll handle all gift returns shortly. The reception and dinner will proceed as planned. Please enjoy yourselves. Consider it my treat for a less-than-perfect hosting.” The silence was so absolute you could hear ice cubes hitting glass. Someone whispered, “Where’s the groom?” I looked down and smiled. “He went to be with someone more important than his own wedding.” The atmosphere imploded. Caleb’s mother shot up. Her face twisted. She started toward me. “Amelia, don’t you dare. Caleb had an urgent situation, that’s all—” “Mrs. Hayes.” I looked at her. My voice was quiet. “I’ve already been more than gracious today.” She choked on her next words. My mom stood below the stage. Her eyes were red. Her lips trembled. But she still looked up at me. I knew she was aching for me. She also knew I wasn’t the kind of woman who cried in front of a crowd. I handed the mic back to the officiant. I gathered my skirt and stepped down. Halfway to the exit, my phone started buzzing. Frantic. Caleb. Call after call. I didn’t answer. He texted. “Mia, don’t make a scene.” “Daisy’s in bad shape. I can’t just leave her.” “Hold things together at the venue. I’m coming back now.” I stared at those words. Seven years together. And it all looked like a joke. I didn’t reply. I pulled up his contact. Hit “Block This Caller.” Then I dropped the phone in my bag.

Back in the dressing room, Maya was furious. Her eyes were bloodshot. “He actually had the nerve to tell you to hold things together?” I sat down and took off my veil. “He’s always been like this.” Maya went still. She knew about Caleb and Daisy. Everyone in our circle knew. I used to cover for him. I always did. They were just childhood friends who grew up together. They just happened to leave their small Ohio town for the city together. Daisy had a complicated family background. She was all alone in New York. It was hard for her. She got conned by some guy when she was struggling. He ran off and left her drowning in debt. Caleb just wanted to help. That’s all. Just that. Too many times. Too many justifications. They piled up into a blade. By the time it finally sank into my chest, even I thought the pain was what I deserved. Seven years with Caleb. The year we graduated college, he had nothing. I lived with him in the cheapest basement apartment in Bushwick. I helped him push his dead used car through a thunderstorm. When his startup needed cash, I emptied my savings for the bridge round before his angel investment came through. His mother was distant. She never remembered my name. Every time we met, she called me “that girl.” Caleb always just shrugged. “That’s how she is.” He never fought for me. Not once. We were supposed to get married. I picked the dress myself. I pulled two all-nighters designing the venue layout myself. I dragged him to three jewelry stores to pick the ring myself. I tried so hard to marry him. If it weren’t for that text today, I might still be lying to myself. This wasn’t the first time. The night I had a 102-degree fever, he went out to get me medicine. On the way, Daisy called. Her pipe had burst. He stood outside CVS for three seconds. Then he turned around and went to her place. I took an Uber to the ER alone. I sat there on an IV drip until dawn. And the night he proposed. He booked the Michelin restaurant. He bought the flowers. I even knew the exact second he was going to pull out the ring. Then Daisy got drunk. She called from Brooklyn Bridge Park, sobbing about ending her life. He left me alone in that candlelit private room. Ran out. The waiter came over awkwardly. “Ma’am, do you still need the flowers?” I sat by the window. That was the first time I tasted what it felt like to smile while your hands shook under the table. Seven years. So many moments like that. Every time, he told me it was the last time. Every time, I believed him. Because I loved him. Because I thought if we just got married, the boundaries would finally be clear. Once that certificate was signed, I’d become his priority. Legally. Officially. Irrevocably. Now I understood. A man who puts you second on your wedding day will keep you second for the rest of your life. The dressing room door swung open. Caleb was back. His jacket was draped over his arm. His tie was crooked. Sweat soaked his forehead. He looked like he’d sprinted the whole way. The moment he saw me, relief flickered across his face. Then his expression hardened. “Amelia. What the hell is this?” I looked up at him. There was a stain on his shirt cuff. Something dark. I didn’t know whose it was. He walked up to me. Kept his voice low. “I told you to hold things together. Why did you cancel the whole wedding?” I stared at him. I almost laughed. “You’re asking me why?” “Daisy was showing signs of a miscarriage. She’s pregnant. She had no one. Who else was supposed to go?” “Where’s the father?” I asked. Caleb frowned. “You know that bastard ran off.” “So you stepped in?” His breath caught. Like he finally heard how insane that sounded. “Mia. It’s not what you think with Daisy.” “Then what is it?” I stood up. The layers of my gown pooled around me like a cloud pressing down on my chest. “Ten minutes before our wedding. You left your bride to rush another woman to the ER. Tell me, Caleb. What exactly would qualify as ‘something’?” His jaw tightened. “Can you stop being unreasonable at a time like this?” Unreasonable. I looked at the man I’d loved for seven years. He felt like a stranger. “Caleb.” My voice was soft. “Did you really believe I would always forgive you?” He flinched. “Was it because I forgave you every single time before? Did that make you certain? That today I’d stand on that stage like a good girl and clean up your mess? Wait for you to come back? Listen to you say sorry? Pretend nothing happened?” His throat moved. But his voice stayed hard. “I didn’t think that.” “That’s exactly what you thought.” I picked up the ring from the vanity and placed it in his palm. “The wedding’s off. We’re done.” His face crumpled. “Mia. Don’t be impulsive.” “I’m not being impulsive.” I met his eyes. “I’m finally seeing clearly.” He grabbed my wrist. His grip was tight. “Do you have any idea how many people came today? Do you know what you made me look like in front of two hundred guests?” That sentence. It hit me like a bucket of ice water. Even now. He was thinking about his image. Not about me. Standing alone on that stage with every pair of eyes on me. Not about my mother. Sitting in the crowd listening to people whisper. Not about the wedding I’d spent a year planning. Crushed under someone’s heel. He was worried about how he looked.

I pulled my hand free. One finger at a time. “And what did I look like in front of those two hundred people?” I stared at him. “Like a pitiful abandoned woman? Or like an accomplice covering up your lies?” Something flickered in his eyes. He opened his mouth. I didn’t let him speak. “Forget it. Don’t bother thinking about it. From now on, my life has nothing to do with you.” I gathered my skirt and walked around him. He called after me. “Amelia!” I didn’t look back. I didn’t go back to our apartment that night. Maya took me to her place. She spent the entire forty-minute drive cursing Caleb out. She didn’t repeat a single insult. I listened. I felt almost nothing. When we got inside, she kicked a pair of slippers toward my feet. Then she went to boil water. Halfway through, she ran back and threw her arms around me. “Cry if you need to. Don’t hold it in.” When she held me, my nose finally stung. But the tears didn’t come. “Maya.” I said. “I don’t think I can cry anymore.” Her eyes went red. “That’s worse.” Yeah. It was worse. The deepest pain doesn’t come with tears. It comes with numbness. Like getting punched in the chest so hard your lungs forget how to expand. I sat on her couch. My phone screen kept lighting up. Caleb. His mother. Even Daisy called. I didn’t answer any of them. Then Daisy sent a voice message. “Mia, I’m so heartbroken it came to this… Caleb was just worried about me. You know how he is. He’s too soft-hearted. You must be so strong. Not like me. I honestly don’t know what to do right now…” Her voice was light. Soft. With just the right amount of tearful quiver. A year ago I might’ve replied. Told her to take care of herself. Now it just made me sick. I transcribed the audio. Read it. Then I blocked her number. Maya came back with hot water. She saw what I’d done and froze. “You finally cut her off?” I stared at the steam rising from the mug. Gave a quiet hum of acknowledgment. “Took you long enough,” she said. I smiled. “Yeah. Way too long.” The next morning I went back to our apartment. Caleb wasn’t there. Probably at the office. Or the hospital. I didn’t ask. The apartment was in Williamsburg. Two bedrooms. Thirteen hundred square feet. I’d supervised every inch of the renovation. I picked the couch in the living room. I built the plant shelf on the balcony. The white dinnerware set in the kitchen took me weekends of browsing home stores. I used to imagine our whole future there. Marriage. Kids. Growing old. Now it just felt like a cruel joke. I dragged out a suitcase and started packing my things. Clothes. Skincare. Laptop. Documents. Photo albums. Inside the bottom drawer of the nightstand, I found a bank transfer slip. Sender: Caleb Hayes. Recipient: Daisy Reed. Amount: $5,000. Date: Two weeks ago. The memo line was blank. I held that slip for a long time. My fingers went cold. Two weeks ago. That was when we were paying the final deposit for the wedding venue and the honeymoon hotel. I’d asked Caleb why our joint account was short. He said the company needed temporary cash flow. He’d replace it in two days. He did replace it. I didn’t think twice. Now I knew. That five thousand dollars didn’t go to the company. It went to Daisy’s account. I sat down on the edge of the bed and let out a low laugh. I’d been played. Completely. Every layer of it. I took a photo of the slip. Saved it. Then I tore the apartment apart. I found every piece of paperwork connected to money I’d put in. The down payment transfer record. Renovation material receipts. Appliance invoices. Wedding deposit contracts. A huge stack. Maya stood in the doorway watching me sort everything across the coffee table. “Mia. You don’t look like you’re going through a breakup. You look like you’re preparing for court.” “I am preparing for court,” I said. Her eyes lit up. “You finally came to your senses?” I slid the last receipt into a file folder and zipped it shut. “I’m not here to talk things out with him. I’m here to settle accounts.”

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“Your wife’s medical application has been rejected. Again.” Three years in a row. Her leukemia had progressed from early stage to terminal. Standing outside her husband’s office door, she heard him say: “She’s been traveling with the military her whole life. What serious illness could she possibly have?” The slots are limited. Give them to someone who needs them more.” The person he deemed “more in need” was the female student he sponsored. For a mild concussion, he mobilized every medical resource he had. The seven years of savings she had put aside to save her own life — he spent them on a New Year’s gift for that girl. She didn’t push the door open. Didn’t cry or make a scene. She just turned and walked into the freezing snow. Three days later, she collapsed. When he finally opened her medical file, he saw the diagnosis: Leukemia. Terminal. He fell to his knees, begging for forgiveness. She signed the divorce papers with a smile. …… “We are so sorry, Dr. Elara. Your application for the Military Family Medical Coverage has not been approved. We apologize.” This was the third rejection. Elara accepted her fate. “You denied Elara’s Medical Coverage application again this year?” Colonel Hayes’ voice was laced with confusion. After the rejection, she had made a simple decision. She would spend whatever time she had left by her husband Liam’s side. That was all she wanted. She had not expected this. Three days on a train, exhausted and worn to the bone, and the first thing she heard standing outside his office door was that single sentence. She went completely still. The door was slightly open. Warm yellow light bled into the dark hallway. The voices inside were sharp and heated. “You know how rare this slot is. Once a year, one chance. The last two years I kept quiet because you gave it to your comrades. But this year you handed it to Chloe for a mild concussion?” Every word reached her ears. Elara’s expression froze solid. The cold started at the soles of her feet and crept slowly upward through her whole body. It was like being dropped into ice water. Chloe. A college student Liam had been financially sponsoring. A girl from a broken home. Gambling father. Dying mother. Elara’s jaw clamped shut. The first time she had applied for the Coverage, her leukemia was still early-stage. When she was denied, she assumed she simply was not sick enough to qualify. The second time, she decided she had been unlucky. Someone else had needed the slot more. This was the third time. And it came at the exact moment she had made peace with her fate. The exact moment she had stopped fighting and come home simply to be near the man she loved. That was when she heard the truth. “I am the Commander,” Liam said. “She is the Commander’s wife. If she cannot push through a minor difficulty, she does not deserve that title.” “Chloe grew up with nothing. She never had enough food or warm clothes. Her body is naturally weaker. ” “Elara spent years traveling with the military. What illness could she possibly have that would justify wasting a slot this valuable?” “Liam!” Colonel Hayes’ voice shot up. “You rejected her application without reading a single word of it?” He had not even known what illness she had. The realization made Colonel Hayes visibly angrier. “I know Elara,” Liam said. “No matter how hard things got, she never once complained. She is fine. The New Year is one week away. When she comes home I will take her to the hospital myself.” “I genuinely cannot figure out what Chloe has done to get inside your head like this.” “This has nothing to do with Chloe,” Liam said. “I would have made the same call for anyone.” Colonel Hayes’ voice dropped, heavy with resignation. “And if Elara has something life-threatening, Liam? If blocking her application is the same as blocking her only chance to live?” The office fell completely silent. Outside in the corridor, Elara slowly lowered her outstretched hand. So it had never been fate working against her. “It had been him. The one person she had spent her entire life loving.” She wanted to push that door open. She wanted to look him in the eye and demand an answer. “Everyone else’s pain mattered to him. Did hers mean nothing?” She stood there for two full seconds. Then she turned and walked away without a sound. On her way out of the base, she stopped at the guard post and pressed the gift she had brought into the hands of the soldier on duty. “Do not tell the Commander I was here,” she said softly. She turned and walked straight into the bitter wind. Liam. Since I was never worthy of your slot, I do not need it anymore.

If that was the case, she refused to accept her fate. A thought took hold of her. If no one was coming to save her, she would save herself. She sat down at the desk and wrote a letter. A new application. This time, in her own name. After finishing it, she gathered up the savings she had accumulated over the years. “In the seven years she had been married to Liam, she may not have held the same standing as him, but she was far from an ordinary Combat Medic. She was a Mortuary Restorer for Fallen Heroes.” And it was precisely this role that might allow her to apply for a partial military medical subsidy. Combined with the money she had saved over the years, perhaps it could save her life. After doing all this, she felt a flicker of appetite for the first time in a long while. She walked into the kitchen and made herself a bowl of noodles. The clock on the wall showed it was nearly eleven at night. She made a quiet plan: first thing tomorrow morning, she would go to the post office and mail the application. Then, footsteps sounded outside the door. Liam pushed it open and stopped when he saw her. “You came back and didn’t tell me?” At the sound of his voice, she looked up. Across the room, the radio on the low cabinet crackled with static. The snow outside was interfering with the signal. Liam glanced at it, walked over, and turned it off. “I’ve told you not to listen to the radio.” “It’s late. The base’s subsidies haven’t come through yet this year. Cut back.” No word of welcome. No question about how she had been. She had spent three days on the train. Even a casual acquaintance would have asked if she was tired. Elara’s chest ached with a dull, persistent pain, but her voice remained steady. “I haven’t eaten all day. I was starving. And I only used a little.” By the time she finished the sentence, bitter tears were already silently slipping from the corners of her eyes. The truth was, she could barely eat anymore. Her body no longer had the strength to digest food properly. Liam was a commander. His monthly salary alone exceeded a thousand dollars, plus additional supply subsidies. There was no shortage of food. But in his eyes, she was made of iron. She didn’t get sick. She didn’t need to eat. Yet for Chloe, a mild concussion, he had unhesitatingly mobilized medical resources. Bitterness spread through Elara’s chest, growing heavier and heavier, until it was almost suffocating. Then, without warning, a sharp, piercing pain erupted in her chest. Moments later, the metallic taste of blood filled her nose. A single drop of blood fell onto her pale hand, blooming outward. She instinctively raised her hand to wipe it away. But the blood kept coming. Before she could stop it, it had splattered across the lower half of her face. Liam walked toward her, his voice impatient. “I was just reminding you. There’s no need to lose your temper at me.” “You—” He stopped mid-sentence, staring at the blood spreading across her face. His tone shifted. “What… what’s wrong with you?” Her voice came out weak and choked. She couldn’t hold it in any longer. Fighting through the pain and the grievance, she forced out the words, one by one: “That is my blood, Liam.” The emotional turmoil made everything worse for a body that was already barely holding together. Her legs gave way beneath her. She swayed, steadying herself only by gripping the edge of the table. She wiped the tears from her eyes and looked up at Liam. And she realized—she no longer recognized the man standing before her. Had these years together been nothing but her imagination? It was Liam who had pulled her out of that suffocating, backward family. It was he who had used every connection he had to persuade a military doctor to take her as an apprentice, so she could stay by his side. He had broken his own principles. Just this once. All for her. “You’re bleeding so much… Are you—” As she thought this, the light in Elara’s eyes dimmed, leaving behind only emptiness and numbness. Perhaps he would have done all this for anyone. Perhaps she had never been special. Perhaps she had simply been lucky. After all, he had broken his principles again. For Chloe. He had given up a spot without hesitation. For a girl with a minor injury. She wanted to ask him why. But before the words could leave her mouth, a searing, needle-like pain stabbed straight through her chest. Breathing became difficult. She forced herself to endure it. “It’s nothing.” Then, without another word, she turned and walked out of the room, step by unsteady step, until she reached the courtyard.

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My boyfriend said he had to do one hundred little things for his first love, and once he was done, he’d come back to me. On the night of our seventh anniversary. My boyfriend, Declan, proposed to his first love, Sienna. He did it with 999 red roses and the exact Tiffany ring I had been dreaming of for years. His group of frat-boy friends went crazy liking the post on Instagram, leaving comments saying they were “born for each other.” I silently typed a comment under that viral video: “I wish you both happiness.” Declan called me almost immediately. His tone was dripping with impatience. “Harper, stop making a scene. This is just the 99th thing on the list. Once I do the last one, I’ll come back.” … The video of Declan standing in a sea of flowers proposing to Sienna had been filmed by countless bystanders. It was uploaded to TikTok and Instagram, trending instantly. The comments section was filled with strangers praising them as the perfect couple, saying “true love always finds a way.” I clutched my stomach, which was cramping from hunger. I stared at the steak dinner in front of me that had gone stone cold hours ago. My heart sank to the bottom of the ocean. Today was supposed to be our seventh anniversary. Ever since Sienna came back into the picture, Declan and I had been drifting apart. I had planned to have one final, serious talk with him tonight. He had promised me that today would be Sienna-free. Just the two of us. This morning, he even bought my favorite Napa Valley Cabernet. But this afternoon, he suddenly texted saying there was an emergency at the startup. He said he’d be late and told me to wait for him. So, I sat at the dining table from 6:00 PM until 1:00 AM. I never expected that while I waited, I’d be watching a livestream of him passionately proposing to another woman. Mechanically, I chewed on a piece of cold, tough steak and opened Sienna’s Instagram. In her latest Story, Sienna was blushing, standing on her tiptoes to whisper something in Declan’s ear. “For the last thing,” she whispered, “I want you to propose to me right now. And then kiss me.” Declan froze for a second. But then, without hesitation, he dropped to one knee and pulled out the ring box he had prepared long ago. “Sienna, will you marry me?” I stared at the ring in his hand, completely stunned. A few days ago, I found that little blue box in his jacket pocket. I thought it was my anniversary surprise. After all, I was still wearing the simple silver band he gave me when we were broke and launching his tech startup in Silicon Valley. I remember the first time I put on that silver ring. He hugged me, his eyes red with tears. “Harper, I’m sorry you have to suffer with me. I swear, one day, I’ll buy you a ring ten thousand times better than this.” I smiled and told him, “Then I want a Tiffany.” I told him I wanted him to belong only to me for the rest of his life. He promised me everything back then. It turns out, the Tiffany ring was for Sienna. No wonder he snatched the box away so nervously when I said “I love this” the other day. He lied and said his buddy Brody was storing it with him for a proposal. In the video, Sienna covered her mouth, moved. She extended her slender fingers and nodded gently. “Declan, I do.” The silver ring Declan used to wear was gone. There was only a faint tan line on his ring finger where it used to be. After slipping the ring onto Sienna’s finger, they embraced and kissed deeply while his friends cheered in the background. I picked up my phone and dialed Declan’s number. Sienna answered. She only got out a “Hello?” before the phone was snatched away by Declan. I heard her mutter unhappily in the background, “I’m going to go take a shower first.” So, they proposed, kissed, and went straight to a hotel room. Terrifyingly efficient. Declan’s voice was icy cold. “What is it?” I pressed my lips together. He clearly didn’t know he was already viral on the internet. “Where are you?”

“I’m working overtime at the office. If you have something to say, make it quick.” He seemed to walk away from the bathroom, and the sound of the shower faded slightly. My eyes were still fixed on the paused video of them kissing. “Declan, let’s break up.” “Harper, I am really busy right now. I don’t have time to play these games with you.” He paused, his tone shifting to a warning. “I’m serious.” After saying that, I hung up. … I packed my luggage and checked straight into a hotel. I slept until eight o’clock the next morning. When I turned on my phone, a string of texts from Declan popped up. “Didn’t I tell you I’d be late? Where the hell did you go to mess around?” “I’ve been exhausted all night, and you just have to make a scene?” “Don’t tell me this is about Sienna again.” Because I hadn’t replied for so long, his later texts obviously lost patience. I didn’t know if he was too busy to scroll through his phone or if he had turned off all social media notifications. I didn’t reply to his messages. I silently added him to my block list. Honestly, I should have done this a long time ago. Ever since Sienna showed up with that notebook where Declan had written down “100 Things To Do For Her” years ago, he granted her every wish. I couldn’t understand it, so I cried and fought. But Declan said it was a promise he made after Sienna saved his life in the ocean years ago. He claimed it had nothing to do with love; he just wanted to honor his word. Back then, I didn’t realize the severity of the situation, and I couldn’t bear to let go of our seven-year relationship. So, I was forced to accept it. I accepted everything. From Declan going out to buy tampons for Sienna, to accompanying her to bars late at night when she was sad. He even went on a spontaneous road trip with her. And I had to swallow all the grievances and sadness alone. I watched my boyfriend go through fire and water for another woman. If I raised even a single question, he would call me “petty,” “immature,” or “jealous and mean.” The funny thing is, I actually thought that once he paid off his “debt” to Sienna, we could go back to how we were. It wasn’t until now that I clearly saw how ridiculously wrong I was.

After deciding to give up on Declan, my work efficiency skyrocketed. My manager asked if I wanted to compete for a spot in the London transfer program. I was a bit stunned. It wasn’t until he emailed me the company’s talent development plan that I realized what was happening. Leaving work that evening, I walked out of the office building and saw Declan’s tall figure standing downstairs. He attracted quite a few glances from my colleagues. In the past, I would have run over proudly to hug him and claim him as mine. But now, I pretended not to see him and turned to walk away. He caught up in a few strides, calling my name as he ran. I dodged the hand he reached out to grab me with, stopping to look at him. I used to love his hugs and kisses, enjoying those simple intimacies. He seemed surprised that I dodged him. His hand hung in mid-air, and his expression turned cold. “I’ve barely talked to Sienna lately because of you. What are you angry about now?” “Nothing. There are a lot of people here after work, I don’t want to make a scene,” I said calmly, making up an excuse. He studied me for a moment. Once he was sure I wasn’t throwing a tantrum, he put his hand back in his pocket and smiled. “Shy?” There was a hint of smugness in his eyes. His tone softened, which was rare. “I was so busy yesterday I forgot our anniversary. I’ll take you out for a good meal tonight.” I wanted to refuse, but more and more colleagues were looking over. I was in a critical period for the overseas transfer, and I didn’t want personal drama affecting my career. I had no choice but to get in the car. When I walked to the passenger side, he opened the door for me. Immediately, I saw a Polaroid of Sienna stuck to the vanity mirror. Written on it in sharpie was: Sienna’s Exclusive Seat. Clipped to the photo was a strand of curly brown hair. Declan casually tore the photo off, plucked the hair, and threw them away. “Sienna was just pranking. Don’t mind it.” “It’s fine.” I silently closed the passenger door and walked to the back seat myself. He looked at me in shock. Only when I reminded him to unlock the back did he react. Sitting in the car, I saw a pair of black stockings stuffed in the corner. The scent of Sienna’s favorite rose perfume lingered in the air. I could pretend not to see the stockings. But I am allergic to rose pollen. I couldn’t help but sneeze twice in a row. Declan remembered this too and quickly rolled down the windows to air it out. Through the rearview mirror, I noticed his eyes looked uneasy. He opened his mouth several times but said nothing. This was the first time since Sienna returned that I observed him so calmly. On his wrist, he was wearing a light pink hair tie—Sienna’s favorite. There were faint lipstick marks on his collar. On his shirt cuff, a small letter “S” was embroidered in pink thread. His wallet was tossed casually on the passenger seat. If I remembered correctly, opening it would reveal a selfie of him and Sienna. Not to mention the little trinkets—lipsticks, mirrors, stickers—that he never allowed me to keep in his car. Now, Sienna’s things were scattered everywhere. Those “100 little things” had infiltrated every aspect of our lives like an invisible web, strangling me. I had been avoiding these details for so long. But now, looking at this version of Declan, soaked in Sienna’s labels, I realized something. The things that used to make me toss and turn at night could no longer hurt me. Even if they gathered into steel needles and stabbed me, I felt nothing. Fresh air filled the car, and my nose slowly felt better. I rubbed my nose and took the bottled water he handed me, squeezing the plastic unconsciously. Seeing my expression return to normal, he quietly sighed in relief. “I’m glad you understand. I’m done with what I promised Sienna. Just be good, stop being so paranoid.” Is it really… done? Thinking of Sienna’s Instagram and the congratulations from his frat brothers, I felt incredibly bored. “Mhm,” I gave a muffled, perfunctory response. We didn’t speak again. Just as I was dozing off, the screeching sound of emergency brakes woke me up. I looked at him in confusion. He had just ended a call, looking torn. “Sienna says her stomach hurts really bad. How about we drop her at the ER first, then go eat?” I looked at the sunset glowing outside the window. The last shred of illusion in my heart shattered completely. He and Sienna would never end. The one who needed to end things completely was me. I shook my head. “No need. You go. I’m a bit tired from work, I want to rest early.” “Don’t overthink it, I’m just afraid something will happen to her.” “I know. Just drop me off at the intersection past this suburban highway.” I thought what I said was perfectly reasonable. But he suddenly turned to look at me, furious. “Sienna is crying from pain, do you have to be so passive-aggressive? Even if you’re jealous, that’s a human life! Do you only want to be happy if she dies?” I looked at him indifferently. “I didn’t say anything. I didn’t stop you from going to her. Why are you dragging this to me wanting her dead?” He choked on my question, seemingly too lazy to argue further. “Either come to the hospital with me or get out now.” “What?” I blurted out subconsciously. We were on a loop highway around the city. Getting out here meant walking for at least two hours to get an Uber. And I was wearing high heels. He completely lost patience and slammed the car door shut. Then he roughly dragged me out of the back seat. “Reflect on yourself!” He drove off, leaving me standing in a cloud of dust. I stood blankly on the roadside, my eyes tearing up against my will. … When I got back to the hotel, the skin on my heels was rubbed raw, and I had two bloody blisters on my soles. I popped them with a needle, the pain making my nose sting. After bandaging the wounds, I sat eating a burrito I picked up from Chipotle. My mom called, asking how Declan and I were doing lately. I held the phone, my hand unconsciously picking at the takeout box. Tears finally couldn’t be held back, dropping plip-plop into my rice. “We’re good.” “That’s good, that’s good. Do you have enough money? Is Declan treating you well?” “I have enough. He treats me very well.” My throat felt like it was blocked with wet cotton. I made up an excuse to end the call. A moment later, Mom transferred me two thousand dollars. Note: Harper, keep this money. Your dad and I don’t need much at home. My last bit of strength collapsed. I bit my lip and sobbed out loud. Through blurred vision, I sent the money back. Text: No need, Mom. Did you forget? Declan is a successful entrepreneur now. He treats me well and loves spending money on me. Actually, my job in San Francisco isn’t far from my parents’ home in Oakland. But to take care of Declan, I hadn’t gone back to visit them in a long time. I made a silent decision. Once the transfer was settled, I would go home and spend real time with them. While I was lost in thought, Declan called from a different number. “Are your feet okay? You should really learn from Sienna. Stop being so jealous and competitive.” He opened with his typical tactic: a slap followed by a piece of candy. It was his go-to method for manipulating me all these years. Punish me, then offer symbolic concern. Usually, I would feel like I was the unreasonable one, beg for his forgiveness, and thank him for his “tolerance.” When he didn’t hear my apology after a long silence, he was surprised. He called my name. “Mhm,” I responded. He continued, “Sienna’s stomach really hurts.” Realizing my reaction was off, he actually explained, which was rare. “The doctor said it’s a stomach ulcer. She needs an IV drip. How about… I order you some takeout?” I swallowed the burrito in my mouth. “No need. I already ate.” Declan fell silent, probably not knowing what else to say. On the other end of the line, Sienna whimpered twice. He said, “I gotta go,” and hung up. After the call, I opened Sienna’s Instagram. Her latest Story was updated three minutes ago. In the video, Declan was gently holding her, rubbing her stomach. The background was the living room of Sienna’s apartment. I stuffed another mouthful of rice into my mouth and silently blocked this number too.

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Everyone at Hayes Medical Group knew I was the CEO’s model wife. Then my son died, and I became a ghost. I stopped pressing Carter’s suits at dawn. Stopped timing dinner to his schedule. And today I came alone to fill out Leo’s death certificate. The clerk took my paperwork and asked without looking up, “Where’s the father?” “His father’s dead.” She frowned. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but our records show the father is Carter Hayes, CEO of Hayes Medical Group. Mr. Hayes is alive.” “Alive or dead,” I said. “What’s the difference anymore.” “Why didn’t you wait for me?” I went stiff but didn’t turn around. Carter strode up beside me, voice tight. “My assistant found you here. I’m Leo’s father. Why the hell would you shut me out?” I finally looked at him. “You’re busy. I didn’t want to interrupt.” I saw the anger in his eyes. Maybe more than that. I used to ask permission for everything, like which wine to serve at dinner parties, whether she should cut her hair. Always checking with him first. Since Leo died, I’d stopped asking. “Mr. Hayes!” His assistant burst in, cutting him off. “Another incident at the hospital. That nurse, Tessa, mixed up patient meds again. The family’s threatening to sue!” Carter’s jaw went tight. Annoyance flickered across his face. “How many times do I have to tell her to be more careful?” But his body was already turning toward the door. Feet already moving. He glanced back at me. Half a second of hesitation. “Wait here. I’ll handle this fast and come back.” He didn’t wait for an answer. Just walked out, his expensive shoes clicking against the tile until he was gone. I stared down at the death certificate in my hands. Then I laughed. Tears hit the paper before I even felt them coming. Again. Always Tessa. Carter and I grew up in the same world. Old money, summer houses, prep school. He built Hayes Medical Group into a billion-dollar empire by thirty. I graduated top of my Ivy League research program with offers from institutions all over the world. Everyone thought I’d chase that. But I turned it all down for Carter. Walked away from my career to become Mrs. Hayes to stand beside him at galas, run his household and give him a son. And for years, Carter had cherished me. When my migraines got so bad I couldn’t see, he used to drive across town at 2 AM to get that specific herbal tea I liked. When I mentioned a vintage Hermès bag once—once—he spent weeks tracking one down. When insomnia kept me up, he’d read to me in bed, moonlight on his face. I loved him completely. No conditions. And in return, I made his life run like clockwork. Society magazines called me the perfect wife. Every year we topped the Power Couples lists. Then we had Leo.He was a beautiful boy with Carter’s eyes and smile like me. I thought it would last forever. Then Tessa showed up. She was an orphan the Hayes family had taken in after her parents died. Carter, playing the hero, gave her a job as a clinical assistant at his private hospital. I’d welcomed her myself. And helped her settle in. I never imagined that kindness would become my nightmare. The day Leo spiked a fever, his face flushed red, crying nonstop, I panicked and rushed him to the hospital. Tessa was on duty. I left Leo in her care, reminded her twice about the medication, and ran home for his medical records. Fifteen minutes. That’s all it was. When I got back, Leo was convulsing. Tessa stood there frozen, face white, hands shaking. It was already too late. I held his cold body and screamed until I had nothing left. The memory broke apart. I gripped the death certificate, chest cracking open, barely able to breathe. I wiped my face, stood up and went home. The mansion was empty. Leo’s toys still on the coffee table. His little sneakers lined up by the door exactly where he’d left them. I went to the study. My hands were shaking when I dialed the number I’d buried for years. “Hello?” “Dr. Sterling. It’s Serena Hayes.” My voice came out quieter. “That research position in Switzerland. I’ll take it.” A beat of silence. “Serena? Are you sure? It’s a ten-year contract. You might not see Carter for a long time, the NDA alone—” “I’m sure,” I said. “I don’t love him anymore.” “Don’t love who anymore?” The door slammed open. Carter stood in the doorway, face drained of color.

I tightened my grip on the phone for a split second before hanging up. “Just a guy from my old research program who keeps asking me out. I told him I’m not interested.” Carter’s shoulders dropped slightly, though his jaw stayed tight. “This is exactly why I never wanted you working. Too many men hovering around.” He stepped closer, studying my face like he was looking for cracks. “So you do still love me, right, Serena?” I didn’t answer. I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at nothing. Carter waited. I could feel his patience thinning, some edge of anxiety creeping into his silence. Finally I gave the smallest nod. Barely anything. Could’ve been nothing. But he caught it. The tension in his chest visibly loosened. He reached toward my hair, fingers stopping just before making contact. Fine. She’s still grieving, but he could wait. The front door lock clicked. Tessa breezed in like she owned the place. “Carter! You were amazing today!” She spotted him immediately and threw her arms around him without hesitation. “If you hadn’t shown up, those people would’ve destroyed me. I made one tiny medication error and they’re acting like I killed someone. I didn’t do it on purpose!” Halfway through her complaint, she seemed to notice the silence in the room. Her eyes slid over to me on the bed. “Oh. Serena. Didn’t see you there.” Carter’s expression darkened. He didn’t want her words dragging me back to Leo. “Enough. Go to your room.” Tessa pouted but caught his look and left, slowly and with obvious reluctance. That night, Carter showered and climbed into bed beside me, skin still damp. We hadn’t been close since Leo died. He watched my back, turned away from him, then slowly wrapped his arm around my waist and pressed his lips to my neck. “Serena…” My whole body went rigid. I didn’t turn over. I just shifted away until I was nearly off the mattress. His arm dropped. “Serena, what the hell do you want from me? Last time you said you had your period. Time before that you felt sick. What is it now? I’m your husband.” I buried my face in the pillow. “I’m tired.” Three words. He stared at me for a long moment, then threw back the covers. “Fine. Rest.” He grabbed his jacket and left. The door clicked shut behind him. Only then did I let my body go slack. Around midnight I got up for the bathroom. Passing Tessa’s room, I noticed the door was slightly open, and strange sounds drifted out. It was suppressed breathing and low moans. Then Tessa’s voice, sweet and deliberate: “Carter… does this feel good?” I froze. “So good…” Carter’s voice, low and rough. “These past two months, Serena’s been so lost in her grief. Thank god you’ve been here to help me through it.” “Aren’t you worried she’ll hear?” “She sleeps like the dead. Nothing wakes her. Don’t worry about it.” The floor dropped out from under me. My ears rang. I clamped my hand over my mouth before the nausea could come out. So that was it. Carter wasn’t defending Tessa out of pity for some orphan. It wasn’t family obligation. They were sleeping together. I pressed myself against the wall to keep from going down. I don’t remember walking back to my room. I just found myself sitting on the bed, phone in my shaking hands, barely able to dial. “Dr. Sterling. It’s me. How soon can I leave?” “…Seven days at the earliest. We’ll send someone to pick you up and take you straight to the airport. I’ll expedite everything on my end. Serena, are you absolutely sure?” I closed my eyes and breathed. “I’m sure.” I hung up and pulled the blanket tight around myself. The sounds from next door continued for a long time. I lay there with my eyes open and let the night go on forever.

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With more than ten patents, I smoothly earned me my tenure. At the faculty honors ceremony, my husband Ryan suddenly turned on me in front of everyone. “Does this university have no standards? You’d give tenure to someone who abuses animals?” I had no idea what he was talking about, but Ryan pointed to the dog beside him, his voice dripping with contempt. “The vet said the dog had internal injuries, obvious signs of deliberate abuse. Do I need to throw the proof in your face?” “Stella, what kind of person beats an animal behind closed doors? A sick one.” “Now it all makes sense, you keep a dog nobody else wanted just so you have something to hurt when no one’s watching.” The room exploded. My tenure was revoked on the spot. I was suspended, reprimanded, and within the hour, I was everyone’s target. I pushed through the crowd and got in Ryan’s face. He looked back at me, unbothered. “You should’ve let Zoey have the award. Consider this a lesson.” “She’s young. You’re a grown woman. Stop being so petty.” Zoey? That talentless pretty girl? I stepped away and called my father overseas, the anger burning through my chest. “Dad. It’s time to bury his company.” — The students who used to greet me in the hallways now had fire in their eyes. “Get out of Columbia! Get out of this country!” “Sick freak! Someone punishes her!” Reporters swarmed me with cameras and microphones. Rotten eggs and garbage rained down. I was soaked, my forehead split open and bleeding. Zoey pushed through the crowd, clapped a hand on my shoulder, and put on a show. “Stella, just admit what you did. Don’t worry. I’ll put in a good word with the president.” She turned to face the crowd, all righteous and composed. “Everyone, please go home. I’ll talk some sense into Professor Stella.” The rage shot straight to my head. I wanted to rip her apart right there. “Save the crocodile tears, Zoey.” My vision blurred at the edges. My voice came out louder than I intended. “I did not do anything illegal.” “If you have actual evidence, take it to court—stop throwing accusations with zero proof.” Ryan crossed his arms, jaw tight. “Evidence? You think I’d make this up?” “Stella, marrying you is the biggest mistake of my life.” Everyone praised him for it and said he had the guts to expose his own wife, that he’d torn off my mask and saved more innocent animals from me. Seven years. And he was hell-bent on burning me down for that girl toy. All those years, when Ryan wanted to start his company, I stayed in this city under a false name, feeding him patents, technical support, everything I had, working myself into the ground for his business. The early days were tight, but back then, his whole world was me. I still remembered his arms around my waist, his voice quiet and certain. “Stella, you’re going to be the youngest tenured professor at Columbia. And when that day comes, I’ll light up the whole city for you.” I could still hear it. But that man was gone. I slipped away from the crowd and headed to the president’s office. But the situation was already out of control. People online had dug up my phone number, my home address, everything. My phone wouldn’t stop ringing the entire walk over. “You call yourself a teacher? You’re not even fit to be human.” “I swear to God, if I see you, I’ll cut you myself.” When I finally walked into the office, President Janet took one look at me and covered her nose, disgust all over her face. “You have the nerve to show up here?” Something sour rose in my throat. I kept my voice level. “President Janet, I understand the school needs to act. Suspend me—I’ll cooperate. But you cannot publish a formal disciplinary notice. That’s a false accusation.” She slammed her hand on the desk, grabbed a folder, and threw it at my face. Her finger jabbed at my nose. “False accusation? Your own husband said it. How is that false?” “Stella, either shut up and take it or get out.” “Columbia isn’t appropriate for someone like you.” I pressed my back teeth together. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Then the door opened. Zoey walked in on Ryan’s arm, chin up, heels clicking like she was walking into a room she already owned. President Janet’s whole face rearranged itself. She scrambled forward, voice slick. “Mr. Ryan, you didn’t have to come yourself—” “I promise, Zoey will have the tenure offer locked in within three days.” “As for Stella, she’s already suspended. Whatever happens next is entirely your call.” Ryan gave a slow, satisfied nod. “I’ll add three million on top of the original donation.” I stood there, frozen. There was nothing left to figure out. This wasn’t just a suspension, wasn’t just a disciplinary notice—they had planned the whole thing. The goal was to destroy my reputation and clear the way for Zoey. But none of Ryan’s success would exist without me. Where did he think all those patents came from? Years of my work turned into the knife they used to stab me. My chest heaved. I bit down and said it through my teeth. “Forgetting qualifications, Zoey graduated from a third-rate school, has zero patents, zero research output. She doesn’t meet a single requirement for this award.” “And this is bribery. This is a crime. You think I won’t take you to court?”

Zoey’s face crumpled into something wounded. “It’s all my fault, Ryan. I don’t deserve this honor. I’ll step down and give it back to Stella—” She wiped at tears that weren’t there. Ryan’s face flooded with concern. He turned and shot me a hard look. “Take us to court? With what?” “Even if the cops showed up, all they’d find is you smearing innocent people.” “Apologize to Zoey. Right now.” President Janet looked me up and down, voice flat with contempt. “Stella, you can’t win this one. Apologize to Mr. Ryan and maybe you’ll still have a place at Columbia. Otherwise—” I looked at all three of them. Then I laughed. “No need. I quit.” Janet ran her mouth plenty, but she got one thing right—Columbia wasn’t good enough for me. I turned and walked out through their cursing without looking back. When I got home, someone had spray-painted my door. The smell burned my eyes. The hallway was full of neighbors staring at me like I was something that crawled out of a gutter. “Living next to something like this is so disgusting.” “Anyone with pets, keep them far away from this freak.” I walked in without expression and pulled the divorce papers out of the desk drawer. When I’d given them to Ryan before all this, he’d been too busy throwing Zoey a birthday party to even look at them, just scrawled his name and handed them back. I picked up my phone and scrolled straight into Zoey’s latest Instagram post. [Grateful for Ryan’s incredible gift! As Columbia’s new tenured professor, I’ll keep working hard and won’t let anyone down!] In the photo, she was leaning against a Maybach, grinning ear to ear. The comments were a pile of praise. [Insane!! Youngest tenured professor in history!] [So talented! Professor Zoey, please look after us!] I zoomed in. It was the car I’d ordered last week. I hadn’t even picked it up yet. My blood ran hot. I typed a comment. [Stealing cars now? Do Columbia professors really make that little?] I hit post. Ryan called before the screen even dimmed, his voice sharp. “What is that comment supposed to mean?” “Do you know Zoey just got publicly announced? She can’t have any scandals right now.” “Delete it. Record a video apology. Now. Or we’re getting divorced.” I almost laughed. Why? Why did I have to hand over everything I had to that woman? I gripped my phone. “Fine. Let’s get divorced. I’ve been waiting.” “And if that car isn’t returned to me within two hours, I’m calling the police.” I hung up. In the comments, my Columbia colleagues had already picked a side. [Someone is just bitter. Can’t earn tenure yourself so you trash-talk everyone else.] [Oh she definitely earned something. The dog can confirm.] I pressed my palm flat on the table and started packing. A while later, the restaurant called to confirm my reservation. I’d booked a private room to celebrate my tenure. But Ryan had burned that. And my colleagues had scattered the moment the wind changed. I went alone, sat down in front of a full table of food, and drank. Shot after shot. The liquor went down hot, and everything from that day got sharper, not duller. From the private room next door, cheering broke through the wall. “Congratulations, Professor Zoey, Columbia’s newest tenured professor!”

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The third year Marco Ricci kept me locked away in his family’s remote estate was the year I finally learned to obey. He came to pick me up with his pregnant mistress, Sofia. I naturally took the designer handbag from Sofia’s hands and held the car door open for her. “From now on, you will take care of Sofia,” Marco’s voice was ice, completely empty of emotion. “She and our coming heir… they are your new family.” I nodded obediently. After he orchestrated the car crash that stole my father’s life, the Don of our family, he had now “graced” me with two more “family members.” Once we returned to the mansion that was once mine, I started waking up at five every morning to study old Italian recipes that were good for pregnant women. At eight, I would wake Sofia and accompany her to her private Pilates class. At ten, I’d prepare delicate pastries and fresh juice, listening as she and the other mob wives giggled on the terrace, praising me as a “well-trained dog.” … The days bled into one another, until Sofia finally gave birth to the Ricci family heir. When the new family portrait was hung on the wall, Marco stared at the three of them, so perfect and close in the photo, and his voice trembled slightly. “Aurora, why didn’t you make a scene about being in the picture?” A scene? In this mansion, the only things I had learned were how to be docile, and… how to drive a normal person insane. … Hearing Marco’s question, I just calmly wrung out the cloth in my hands. “Sir, I don’t like having my picture taken.” He frowned, his eyes burning into me, as if trying to figure out if I was lying. I quietly wiped a speck of dust from the portrait’s frame, adjusting it slightly until it was perfectly, flawlessly straight. Sofia stood on the staircase, a flash of triumph in her eyes. She pounced into Marco’s arms like a cat, standing on her toes to kiss his lips. “You’re home.” “I tried putting the baby to sleep by myself today, and guess what? He actually fell asleep.” Marco’s eyes instinctively shot to me. I immediately nodded, a sincere smile on my face as I praised her. “Yes, Madam is truly amazing. She put the young master to sleep with no trouble at all.” Marco’s brow furrowed even deeper. But I didn’t have time for his guessing games. A nourishing bone broth was simmering on the stove for Sofia. I hurried into the kitchen, put on the oven mitts, and carefully brought out the soup. Sofia sat at the dining table, her smooth legs brushing against Marco’s suit trousers. Marco smiled at her fondly, but the smile froze the moment his eyes landed on me. I carefully ladled the soup into Sofia’s bowl, waiting patiently for it to cool to the perfect temperature. Sofia gave me a gentle smile. “Aurora, you should sit and eat with us.” Marco pulled out a chair for me, his voice soft. “You’ve worked hard taking care of the baby. You should rest.” I lowered my eyes and smiled as I refused. “It’s my honor to serve Madam and the young master. I’m not tired at all.” Sofia’s lips curled in satisfaction. She wrapped her arm around Marco’s and purred. “Aurora is just so good at taking care of people. Darling, you have to remember to give her a raise.” I stood obediently by the table, remembering the last time. All Marco did was accidentally brush his hand against mine, and Sofia had declared the soup was too salty. As punishment, she made me kneel on the gravel path in the courtyard under the scorching sun until dark. My knees were scraped raw and bloody, and a layer of skin peeled off my entire body. I knew what she was doing. She was putting me in my place. Marco Ricci, this man, was no longer mine to touch. After the meal, Sofia pushed the choicest piece of meat left in the tureen towards me. I didn’t understand her meaning at first and moved to scrape the leftovers into the trash can as usual. Suddenly, Sofia shrieked. “Aurora, if you don’t want it, you could have just told me!” “I know you’ve been weak, so I saved the most nourishing piece of meat from the soup for you.” “That’s prime veal! How could you just waste it like that?” Marco, holding the baby, looked over with a slight frown. I immediately bent down in a panic, picked the piece of meat out of the filthy trash can, and shoved it into my mouth. “Thank you, Madam, for your generosity.” Marco’s eyes were wide with horror and concern. He rushed over, not even thinking about the baby in his arms, and reached to pry my mouth open. “Spit it out! Now!”

My stomach churned violently. I fought back the overwhelming urge to vomit, swallowed the piece of meat, and then looked up, smiling gratefully at Sofia. Marco’s pupils constricted, his face a mask of disbelief. After all, the old Aurora DeLuca, the Don’s only daughter, was a notorious germaphobe. I wouldn’t even use utensils that someone else had touched. So, when I discovered that Marco—the man my father had raised from nothing—was keeping a mistress, I told him to get the hell out of my life without a second thought. But he refused to let go. In just a few short weeks, he engineered an “accidental” car crash that killed both my parents, allowing him to seamlessly take over the entire DeLuca family. My parents’ funeral was a rushed affair. The very next day, Marco moved Sofia into my father’s house. I hated them. I took the old dagger from my father’s desk, ready to send that fucking pair to hell. But after I accidentally slashed Sofia’s expensive handbag, Marco brought in the family’s private doctor, who wrote me a certificate declaring me “mentally unstable.” He locked me away in this remote estate in Sicily, where he planned to grind away all my sharp edges and teach me my “place.” And he and Sofia? They shamelessly enjoyed the vast empire and connections my father had built with a lifetime of blood and wisdom. My fingers trembled uncontrollably, but I managed to steadily take the wailing baby from his arms. “Shh… shh… it’s okay, baby…” My gentle soothing worked. The baby cried himself out and fell into a deep sleep in my arms. Marco looked at me, his mouth open as if to say something, but no words came out. I avoided his gaze and carried the baby back to the nursery. A sliver of light shone from under the door. Sofia swirled a glass of red wine, contemptuously tossing a bottle of industrial-strength disinfectant at my feet. “Eating from the trash is so filthy.” “Aurora, you need to get yourself clean. Then I might feel safe enough to keep using you.” I picked up the bottle and bowed my head gratefully. “Thank you, Madam.” Sofia didn’t leave. Instead, she watched me with a smirk. I understood immediately. I went into the tiny servant’s bathroom and poured the entire bottle of disinfectant into the tub. Shamelessly, I stripped off my clothes, picked up the steel wool brush used for scrubbing floors, and started scouring my own body. My skin broke and bled, turning the water in the tub a horrifying shade of pink. The disinfectant seeped into the open wounds. I had to bite my lip until it bled to keep from screaming. My entire body felt like it was being stung by a thousand hornets, pierced by a million tiny needles. Just as I was about to pass out from the pain, Sofia finally spoke, her voice dripping with mock pity. “Once you’re clean, get dressed. I’m taking you somewhere.” I didn’t have time to tend to my bleeding wounds. I just threw on my clothes and followed her. Marco was leaning against the staircase, smoking a cigar. The moment he saw me, he instinctively stubbed it out. “Don’t eat out of the trash again.” “Aurora, if you just behave, no one will punish you.” Before I married him, Marco was just a nobody in the family, always smoking to deal with his stress. When he was trying to win me over, I told him I hated the smell. He quit in two weeks, using the money he saved to buy me bouquet after bouquet of roses. After we were married, there were always fresh roses in our bedroom. He even planted a rose garden for me himself. “If Aurora likes them, I’ll plant them all over the estate for you.” Sofia stood in the living room, dangling a set of car keys, a flicker of impatience in her eyes. “Aurora, it’s time to go.” I gave Marco a polite nod, indicating for him to move. His frown deepened as he grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron. “Aurora, you were never like this before.” Before? Did he mean when I was naive enough to fall in love with him? When I convinced my father to hand over the family’s core businesses to him, while I chose to be a doting housewife? Did he mean when I used to greet him at the door every day, take his coat, and have dinner ready for him? Or did he mean the nights I spent tangled in his arms, laughing and whispering how much I loved him? Too bad. We could never go back to that.

Sofia clicked across the floor in her high heels. Just before Marco could pull me into his arms, she linked her arm through his. “Darling, why don’t you drive us?” He nodded, and I automatically moved away from the passenger seat. The scenery outside the window blurred past, and a knot of dread tightened in my stomach. This was the road to the DeLuca family’s private cemetery. Before the car even came to a complete stop, I threw the door open and scrambled out. The neat rows of black marble tombstones were gone. In their place was a newly planted vineyard. In the distance, a few workers were watering the young vines. I stumbled towards them, my throat raw. “Excuse me, wasn’t this the DeLuca family cemetery?” “Why is it like this now? What happened to the people who were buried here?” An older worker looked at me, confused, then his face cleared with understanding. He pointed to a small hill nearby. “It used to be a cemetery, yeah. But Mr. Ricci tested the soil and found out it was perfect for growing grapes, so he’s making wine now.” A young girl weeding nearby looked up, her eyes full of envy. “It’s true. I heard Mrs. Ricci has a taste for a special kind of wine, so Mr. Ricci spent a fortune to buy this land for her.” A few yards away, Marco guiltily looked away. Sofia, however, was smiling. She reminded me sweetly, “Don’t worry, Aurora. So you wouldn’t have trouble finding your parents’ graves, I had the workers pile up all the broken pieces on top of the hill.” My mind went blank. My legs felt like they were filled with lead. I ran up the hill without looking back. At some point, the sky had opened up, and a torrential rain began to fall. The raindrops hit my skin like tiny stones. I collapsed onto my knees in the mud, completely drained of strength. The entire hillside was covered in shattered tombstones. I couldn’t make out any of the faded names. I caught a glimpse of a familiar family crest out of the corner of my eye and started clawing frantically at the sharp pieces of stone with my bare hands. A sharp pain shot through my fingers, and the wounds on my body split open again. An agonizing pain spread through me. I cried until my voice was gone and my vision was blurred. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, Papa, Mama… It’s all my fault. I’m the one who let the wolf into our home… The rain fell harder, and a thick fog rolled in. I heard Marco’s worried voice from behind me. “Aurora, where are you?” Sofia found me first, the hatred in her eyes finally on full display. Her sharp nails dug into my wounds as she grabbed my throat and shook me. “Aurora DeLuca, why the hell did you have to come back?” “If you were dead, I’d be the real Mrs. Ricci, and Marco would only have eyes for me!” I couldn’t breathe. Sofia dragged me like a rag doll to the edge of a steep slope. Through my blurry vision, I saw Marco getting closer. Sofia whispered tauntingly in my ear. “Aurora, who do you think he’ll choose this time?” Before I could react, Sofia threw her arms around me, and we tumbled down the hillside together. She used her body to pin me down, and just before we hit the bottom, she twisted us around, using me as a human shield. A tearing pain ripped through my shoulder blade. I forced myself to look down and saw a tree branch as thick as my wrist sticking straight through my shoulder. The taste of blood filled my throat. As my consciousness faded, I saw Marco holding Sofia, his touch so gentle. He wiped the mud from her face like she was a fragile porcelain doll. It was just like that time, years ago, when a rival family launched a surprise attack. He had chosen to protect Sofia without a moment’s hesitation, leaving me buried in the rubble of an explosion. My legs were crushed by the debris that day. I almost lost them. Tears mixed with the rain on my face. My voice came out as a broken, hoarse whisper. “It hurts… it hurts so much…” Marco’s eyes finally found me. He took half a step towards me, but then Sofia went limp in his arms, her fingers hooking around his pinky as she whimpered. “Marco, my leg… it hurts…” A single, perfect tear fell onto the back of his hand. He immediately looked away from me, scooping Sofia up in his arms. “Aurora, just hold on. I’ll go get help right away.” As I watched him walk away without a backward glance, I tightened my grip on a sharp piece of a broken tombstone. Just before everything went black, I thought I saw my parents. They were stroking my hair, their touch full of love. “My Aurora, you’ve done so well.” And I cried my heart out, “Papa, Mama, I swear I’ll get revenge for you…”

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He said she was just his best friend. He said it on her birthday. On their anniversary. In the ER waiting room. He said it one too many times. So I left. While his life spiraled into regret and ruin, I already returned to the racing world and became the champion I was always meant to be. …… The seventh candle burned down to its base. Wax dripped down the stainless steel cake stand and pooled on the oak table of my small Silver Lake apartment—a small, scar‑like puddle of waxy white. In front of me sat a chocolate cake, delivered fresh that morning from Magnolia Bakery. I had cut seven slices myself. One for every hour Jude hadn’t shown up. At 1:23 a.m., an Instagram notification lit up. @JudeKane posted a carousel. I tapped it. First slide: Sunrise over Mulholland. Mia Vance wrapped in his black jacket, holding Red Roses. Second slide: She sat on the hood of his Porsche 911, laughing carelessly. Third slide: Their silhouettes. He was tucking her hair behind her ear. The caption took me three reads to believe I wasn’t seeing things: > *”Every guy needs a ride‑or‑die. Thanks for being mine. “* The comments had already passed four hundred. > **@racewithryan**: Bro, your girl will jealous? > **@miaonthegas**: Don’t say that, Cleo won’t mind~ We’re just friends I stared at the screen. My fingertip hovered above the glass for three full seconds. Then I tapped *like.* Slowly, I typed: > **@cleo.ward**: Hope you two ride forever. Send. I put the phone down and slid the ring off my finger—the one I had worn for three years. There was a faint red mark around my skin. Like a rope that had been tied too long and finally loosened. It turned out some things weren’t impossible to take off. I had just never been willing to pull hard enough. …… I looked at the seven cakes on the table and remembered a night three months ago. > *”Cleo, you’re my girlfriend. Don’t go picking fights with my best friend.”* That was the first time Jude said it. > Three months ago · Emergency Room > > My stomach hurt so badly I couldn’t stand straight. I called an Uber to hospital myself. > At 2 a.m., I curled up on a plastic chair and texted him: **“Where are you?”** > Twenty minutes later, he answered: **“Babe, Mia’s car got a flat tire. I’m driving out to pick her up. I’ll make you pancakes in the morning.”** > I stared at that message. My stomach felt like someone had clenched it and let go. > Two months ago · Beach House > > An Airbnb I’d booked a month in advance. He canceled it. > *“Too tired, babe. How about next weekend?”* > The next day, Mia posted an IG story: **“Camping guide unlocked! Thanks Jude for planning the whole thing.”** > I texted him: **“What about our weekend?”** > He replied: **“Cleo, don’t be dramatic.”** > Last month · Our third anniversary > > Dinner reservation at 7 p.m. > I waited until 9:45. The waiter came to refill my water for the third time. >He called. *”Cleo, Mia got into it with someone at the car meet, I gotta go handle it. Just eat without me, okay?”* > I had said: **Jude. Do you even know what today is?** > He had paused for one second. Then he had laughed. *”Babe. Not now.”* Every time, I had asked. Every time, a *don’t be dramatic* had pushed me back into place. I had thought I was fighting with him. It took me too long to realize — I had been talking to a wall with his name painted on it. …… I opened my phone again and scrolled to an email buried deep in my inbox. Sender: **Coach Lena Marquez**, Head of Driver Development, Formula Regional European Championship. She had invited me back for three years in a row. Every year, I gave her the same answer: *“I’m not ready.”* I hadn’t been ready to hold a steering wheel again. Not ready to go back to the kind of road that had taken my parents from me. I opened a nail salon on a quiet corner and pretended to be just a girl who did nails and didn’t race. But sitting there, with seven slices of cake going stale in front of me, I finally understood- The pain of staying with Jude had grown bigger than the crash I had been afraid of my whole life. My fingertips hovered over the keyboard. In the end, I typed two words. > **I’m ready.** Send. Right above it, Jude’s IG lit up with another comment. > **@racewithryan**: Dude, your girlfriend’s comment *“hope you two ride forever”* — that’s got teeth in it. I looked at it, powered off the phone, and threw it into the deepest drawer, next to the ring. That night, my birthday wish was simple. **Leave him.**

Jude came home at nine. He smelled like dew off the top of Mulholland. In one hand, a paper bag from the bagel place on Larchmont — my favorite everything bagel, lox and cream cheese. “Still mad?” His voice was so familiar it sounded like nothing had happened. He set breakfast on the kitchen island and crossed the room to put his arms around me from behind. I tilted my head away. His arm stalled for half a second, then he laughed it off. “Babe, there was no 5G signal up on the mountain. I really didn’t mean to ignore you. Cleo, you know how I feel about you, don’t you?” Of course I knew. Jude Kane had been tender before. I didn’t eat cilantro, and every time he ordered Sweetgreen he typed *NO CILANTRO PLEASE* three times in the notes. When my cramps got bad in the middle of the night, he would drive to the 24-hour CVS for heating pads. When my nail salon first opened and no one walked in for days, he had gone floor by floor through every office building on the block, handing out flyers until building security threw him out. He’d just rub his nose and grin. *”It’s fine. I’ll hit a different building tomorrow.”* I had thought a man who would give me his time was a man who really loved me. I didn’t realize love could fork in the road. He had drifted, slowly, into someone else’s lane. …… He opened my latte, stuck a straw in it, and slid it toward me. “Don’t be mad, babe. I made a reservation at Bestia tonight.” I was about to say something when his phone rang. Speaker. Mia’s voice spilled out. > *”Ry! You said you were taking me to that new sushi spot in WeHo today! I already confirmed our table — “* > > *”Don’t bail on me, I literally skipped breakfast waiting for you! “* Jude looked at me, palmed the receiver, and smiled. “You wanna come with?” I didn’t answer. He seemed relieved. He reached over and ruffled my hair. “See? Mia doesn’t mind eating with you at all. Cleo, stop treating her like your rival.” The voice on the phone kept calling. > *”Cleo’s coming too? Even better! I’ll order, I know exactly what Ry likes!”* Jude laughed into the phone. “Okay. I’ll tell her.” He hung up. Reached for my hand. I pulled back. “Jude.” “Yeah?” “I want to ask you something.” I looked up at him. “What am I to you?” “Cleo — ” His smile froze for a beat. “What do you mean. What I am. Girlfriend, roommate, friend. One word.” He sighed. That *here we go again* sigh. “Cleo. You’re being dramatic again.” I laughed. Not bitter. Not even sad. Just the kind of laugh that comes out when you finally figure out a question doesn’t have an answer. That was the moment I stopped asking. After Jude left, I opened the salon as usual. In the afternoon, a few regulars came in for fills. They picked colors and traded gossip the way young women always do. “Wait — you guys haven’t heard about Mia Vance? @MiaOnTheGas? Like, 180K followers, racing girl?” I didn’t look up. I kept brushing top coat across my client’s nails. “Oh yeah. She’s been thirsty lately.” “Her burner IG once posted something like, *‘Men with girlfriends treat me the best.’* So cringe.” “She’s always been like that. Remember Eli Cross? She called him *best friend,* did the whole *one of the guys* thing, had him fixing her car, and ran his girlfriend out of the scene.” “Right! Her favorite line is: *‘We’re just best friends, you’re overthinking it.’*” My gel brush paused for half a second. “She’s done this before?” One of the clients leaned in, suddenly more interested. “Oh, *honey.* The whole LA car scene knows. She targets guys with girlfriends. The angrier the girlfriend gets, the more Mia tells everyone the girlfriend is the jealous one. And the guys eat it up. They think she’s chill, understanding. not as much drama as their actual girlfriends.” The salon lights hit the gel polish, sharp and a little too cold. I kept smiling. Kept listening. Kept drawing more out of them with every coat. And suddenly Jude struck me as something pitiful — and a little ridiculous. His taste, it turned out, was nothing special. So before I walked out the door — I might as well leave him a parting gift.

The car meet had a Sunday canyon run planned. Mulholland trailhead. Jude offered to pick me up. He wore a black Aether jacket, his hair casually perfect, like a supporting actor from a GQ cover. “Let’s go, babe. Time to *properly* meet everyone.” He pulled the passenger door of the Porsche open for me and leaned in to buckle my seatbelt himself. “You always said I take Mia but not you.” He said, smiling. “So today, I’m taking you.” I knew what he was really doing. He wasn’t bringing me into his circle. He was pushing me in front of everyone so I would learn to *accept* Mia. …… At the Mulholland starting point, more than a dozen cars were already lined up. 911s, GT‑Rs, a modified RX‑7, an orange Lambo. The engines growled like restless beasts. Mia spotted me. Her eyes curled into crescents. “Cleooo! You actually came! Ry, you finally brought your *girlfriend* out to show off!” She drifted over, smiling. “Are you not gonna be scared in Ry’s passenger seat? See, I’m the opposite — the louder the brakes squeal, the more it gets me going. That’s just how I am.” The other car guys cheered. Jude frowned slightly. But Mia had already pulled open the passenger door. “Just kidding, Cleo. Don’t be nervous. I’m just worried you’re not familiar with the canyon roads. There are a lot of sharp turns. I’ll help Ry keep an eye on things will be easier.” Jude rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Mia knows the route well. Babe, you sit in the back. Safety first.” *Back seat. Canyon. Tight turns.* The three words snapped together and closed around my throat. …… > *Wet pavement* > *Screeching brakes* > *Mother’s blood‑swollen eyes* > *Tumbling sight* > *Swinging rescue lights* I had been nineteen. Mid-season in Formula Junior. A rainy night, driving home from a track day. I was at the wheel. My parents were in the back. I wasn’t the nail‑salon Cleo Ward back then. I had run a go‑kart development program. Won three consecutive West Coast championships. Coach Lena said I had guts and fast reflexes. If I kept training, **Formula 1 was a matter of time**. My father used to say it too. *”My daughter drives steadier than I do.”* But one rainy night, all those words shattered against the guardrails of Pacific Coast Highway. ……. The old dream rose up and drained the color from my face. I stood there, frozen. Jude thought I was making another scene. “Cleo, don’t embarrass me in front of everyone. It’s just a different seat. If you’re scared, I’ll drive slower. Okay?” Mia was already in the passenger seat, seatbelt fastened, waving at me. “Cleo, come on! I’ll help you watch the road!” The door closed. The city slid away behind us. Mulholland began to climb. At first, Jude really did drive slowly. He glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “You okay?” I looked out the window. “Slow down.” “Okay.” Then Mia lifted her phone and went live on Instagram. The camera swept over the mountain road ahead, then over Jude’s hands on the wheel. *“Hi guys! Ry’s taking me flying tonight! This road is absolutely insane!”* The comments rolled in fast. “Ry, you used to carve that next corner so clean. C’mon, give us one!” Jude frowned. “Mia, don’t.” “Oh, come on, driving slow is boring.” She pushed the camera closer. “Is it because Cleo’s in the car? You scared?” The in‑car radio also had people egging him on. “Ry, don’t be a wuss!” “Show your girl what you’ve got!” I stared at the pavement ahead. It had rained the night before. Water stains still lingered in the shadows. I couldn’t help speaking. “The road’s wet.” Mia’s smile cooled a little. “Cleo, relax. We’ve run this road a million times.” I repeated, “Don’t carve.” In the rearview, Jude’s eyes flicked to mine, his brow pinched with impatience. “Cleo, I know you’re not feeling well, but don’t ruin everyone’s fun. I know what I’m doing.” I gripped the seatbelt with both hands. My breath kept shrinking, getting thinner. I heard my own voice come out small. “Stop the car.” No one heard. Or no one wanted to hear. ……. The car suddenly fishtailed. Tires scraped against the wet pavement. The world tilted. > *Brakes.* > *Mom’s scream.* > *Glass.* All the memories flashed before my eyes in an instant. Mia screamed first. “RYDER—!” After Jude steadied the car, his first reaction was to reach over and hold her. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’ve got you.” He unbuckled his own seatbelt, leaned half his body toward her, and pressed his hand to the back of her neck. I sat in the back seat, my ears ringing. I tried to open the door, but my hands wouldn’t work. A long beat passed before he remembered to turn around. “Cleo, look how scared Mia is. And you’re still making that face? We’re all out here trying to have a good time. Can you not be so tense?” In the rearview mirror, Jude kept talking. I didn’t hear most of it. With trembling hands, I pulled out my phone, found a moving company’s website, and sent them my address. 【Please come on time the day after tomorrow.】

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In the eighth year of our marriage, Cole posted a high-profile photo on Instagram with his female assistant. In the picture, their heads were touching, their smiles intimate. The caption read: [Finalizing our most important merger yet.] I liked the post. Moments later, it was deleted. Cole FaceTimed me immediately. With his friends and that assistant visible in the background, he shouted at me. “It was just a joke, Nina! Why do you have to be so sensitive? God!” Five minutes later, a new photo appeared in his assistant’s bio. It was a close-up of her face pressed against Cole’s cheek. In the past, I would have lost control. I would have rushed over there and made a huge, embarrassing scene. But this time, I truly didn’t care. … When Cole got home, I was clearing the food and cake off the table. Yesterday was his birthday. He had told me he wanted to bring a few friends home for a party. I took half the day off work and spent the entire afternoon cooking. But I waited all night, and Cole never showed up. If I hadn’t seen Chloe’s Instagram Story, I wouldn’t have known he changed his plans last minute. He rented out a VIP section at a trendy bar downtown. “Did you bake this cake yourself?” Cole swiped some frosting and smeared it on my face. When I nodded, he forced a fake smile. “No wonder it looks so… homemade.” Before, a comment like that would have made me desperately try to defend myself. But right now, I was too lazy to argue over a single word. Watching me clean up in silence, Cole’s brow furrowed slightly. “Nina, I brought you some leftover lobster bisque. You love that place.” “I saw it.” Cole was always like this. He would humiliate me, then bring home food. It was his unspoken signal for a truce. “I’ll heat it up for you.” Before I could refuse, he walked into the kitchen. Ten minutes later, the smell of burning food filled the air. Cole was on a call in the bedroom and didn’t come out, so I turned off the stove myself. As I was ladling the soup, his phone on the counter lit up. It was a text from Chloe. [Cole, thank you. I was so happy last night~] Before I could look away, a cold voice came from behind me. “Who said you could touch my phone?” “I didn’t… Ouch!” Cole squeezed past me in anger, bumping my arm. The boiling soup spilled over my left hand. Instant blisters formed on my skin. He glanced at me like I was an idiot, annoyed, and offered to drive me to Urgent Care. The pain was intense, so I didn’t argue. I got in the car with him. As soon as I sat in his Tesla, I saw a custom sticker on the passenger sun visor. [WARNING: Reserved Seat for the CEO’s Chief Navigator] Cole’s expression shifted slightly. “Chloe was just messing around. You know she likes doing silly things like that.” I replied calmly, “Oh. Creative.” The car fell into a brief silence. Cole looked at me with a strange expression. “Aren’t you going to tear it off?” I blinked. Why would I tear it off? The old me would have shredded that sticker to pieces immediately. But now, I didn’t even care about Cole himself. Why would I care about these childish territorial games? “Just drive. I have to get to work later.” Hearing my indifference, he drove faster. Just one block away from the clinic, Cole’s phone rang. It was the special ringtone he assigned to Chloe. Chloe was crying on the other end. She said she was hungover, had a splitting headache, and her claustrophobia was kicking in. She felt like the walls of her apartment were closing in on her. Cole hung up. Without looking at me, he made a U-turn and drove straight toward Chloe’s luxury apartment complex. He parked the car and grabbed the Advil and electrolytes I had prepared for him from the glove box. He spoke to me casually. “Chloe sounds bad. I’m going to run up and check on her. I’ll be right back.” Then, Cole locked the car and went upstairs alone. An hour passed in silence. I sat in the sweltering heat of the California sun. I waited until I was nearly dehydrated and fainting. Cole never came back. I used the emergency safety hammer to break the window. With pale lips, I climbed out of the car. With the help of a kind doorman, I called an Uber and went to the hospital myself. That evening, when Cole returned home, I was eating Thai food I’d ordered on Uber Eats. “Nina, why didn’t you order some for me?”

He knew my hand was injured. He knew I couldn’t cook. But why didn’t I order for him? He had texted me thirty minutes ago saying he was coming home. In our eight years of marriage, I had always replied to his texts instantly. He didn’t expect me to shrug indifferently and give a lazy excuse. “Phone was on silent. Didn’t see it.” Cole tightened his grip on the shopping bag in his hand. He pursed his lips and held the bag up to my face. “I remembered your Le Labo perfume was running out.” I looked up from my Pad Thai. I met his gaze, which looked like he was bestowing a great charity upon a beggar. I spoke politely but distantly. “You can give it to someone else. I switched brands.” Thirty minutes ago, Chloe had posted a photo shopping at a luxury store. In the corner of the photo, you could clearly see Cole’s right wrist wearing his Vacheron Constantin watch. Seeing the bandages on my hand and my calm focus on the reality show on TV, Cole frowned. He leaned in, trying to check my injury. I instinctively dodged his touch. I accidentally knocked over the shopping bag. The perfume bottle shattered on the floor. Cole let out a cold laugh. “Nina, just because I made you wait in the car a little longer? Do you really have to drag this mood out until now? Can you grow up?” “I’m not in a mood.” I was telling the truth. But all I got in return was his ruthless mockery. “You obviously are. Nina, can you stop dramatizing everything in your head? You’re hopeless.” I was three years older than Cole. Every time we fought, he would attack me for being “emotional” or “overthinking.” Then he would sit back and enjoy watching me break down. But this time, I didn’t cry. I didn’t hysterically ask if he regretted marrying me. I just said, “Think whatever you want.” I cleaned up the trash, grabbed my purse, and opened the door. In the past, whenever I threatened to leave, he never once chased after me. But today, Cole actually followed me to the elevator. “It’s late. Where are you going?” I lied effortlessly. “My mom needs me to pick up something.” Cole looked like he wanted to say more, but the elevator doors closed. Less than two hours later, I was chatting with friends at a bar. My phone buzzed with a text from Cole. It was just a question mark. [?] I ignored it completely. My best friend, Olivia, looked shocked. “Nina, did the sun rise in the west? Cole actually reached out to you? If you don’t reply, isn’t he going to blow up?” My friends knew I was terrified of upsetting Cole. But that night, I not only ignored him, I stayed out partying with them until 2:00 AM. When I got home, Cole was standing by the fridge drinking water. He didn’t ask where I had been. I didn’t acknowledge him either. I went straight to the bathroom to shower. As soon as I lay down in bed, Cole pressed up against me. He kissed me for a few seconds. I pushed him away hard. He finally lost his patience and flicked on the bedside lamp. “Nina, don’t tell me you forgot what days these are.” Cole and I were trying for a baby. So, during my fertile window every month, he would perform his “duty.” I turned my back to him. “I’m too tired today. Goodnight.” Hearing the same excuse I had heard him use countless times, Cole froze. Eventually, he stormed out of the bedroom with a dark expression. I knew he would sleep in the guest room for the next few days. Before, whenever he slept in a separate room, I would panic and suffer from insomnia all night. But that night, I slept incredibly well. The next day at work, my productivity was through the roof. When my boss jokingly asked what reward I wanted, I looked at her seriously. “That divorce lawyer you mentioned last time? Can I get her contact info?” On the ninth day of sleeping separately, Cole woke up unusually early. He made bacon and eggs—my favorite—then went back to the bedroom to sleep without saying a word. At 3:00 PM, I saw a photo in a group chat sent by Cole’s friend, Ryan. It was from Ryan’s wedding party. The photo showed Cole with Chloe holding his arm. She was smiling shyly, leaning into him.

Less than five minutes after the group photo was posted, Cole called me. He sounded hesitant. “Nina, don’t misunderstand. Ryan’s wedding was on a weekday, and I needed a plus-one…” I was genuinely confused. “What is there to misunderstand?” “You’re not mad?” “Why would I be mad?” He fell silent for a moment. “Wait for me at your office after work. I’m taking you to the reception dinner.” He hung up before I could refuse. When Cole picked me up, Chloe was sitting in the passenger seat. “Hi, Nina! What a coincidence, you’re coming too?” Facing Chloe’s fake smile, I gave a calm smile back. I opened the back door and got in without complaint. The whole ride, Cole kept trying to catch my eye in the rearview mirror. I kept my head down, scrolling on my phone. I answered him with one-word replies until I eventually stopped talking altogether. When we arrived at the private dining room, Ryan rushed over with exaggerated regret. He said it was the biggest tragedy of his life that I missed the ceremony. I knew he was covering for Cole. But I wasn’t angry at anyone. “Don’t say that. I should be the one wishing you a happy marriage.” Seeing that I held no grudge and just sat down to eat, Ryan’s jaw dropped. Over the last year, he had covered for Cole many times while Cole was vacationing with Chloe. Once, I even exposed his lie to his face. Back then, he wasn’t nearly as shocked as he was now. Halfway through dinner, the restaurant manager brought in several bottles of expensive wine. He asked Cole, “Mr. Jenkins, these are the bottles you and Miss Chloe saved last time. Should we open them now?” The atmosphere in the room froze. I decided to help him out. “Open them all. Don’t let them go to waste.” I stood up and walked out of the room. Cole chased after me immediately. He looked rarely nervous. “Nina, the company closed a big deal a while ago. The wine was bought to celebrate that.” I waved my hand dismissively and walked into the restroom. When I returned to the room, Cole was drinking Chloe’s wine for her to stop her from getting drunk. Two years ago, at a dinner just like this. I was allergic to alcohol, but his friends kept pressuring me to drink. Back then, Cole didn’t help me. He held my shoulder and said coldly, “It’s just one glass. Drink it. If it gets bad, I’ll take you to get your stomach pumped later.” That night, I started running a fever. Two days later, I was rushed to the hospital with severe abdominal pain. The doctor told me I had been one month pregnant, but I had lost the baby. When Cole heard about the miscarriage, he rushed to the hospital. He screamed at me. “I told you not to go, but you insisted! You idiot, this is the price you pay for trying to squeeze into a man’s world!” Remembering this, I walked back to my seat, grabbed my purse, and left. Cole followed me all the way home, furious. “Nina, are you sick? You just leave without saying a word? You embarrassed everyone. Are you happy now?” I remained silent. He loosened his tie and sneered. “If you’re going to be this immature, we might as well get a divorce.” This was the second time he had mentioned divorce. The last time was because he thought I looked through his phone. Back then, I had knelt at his feet with zero dignity, crying and swearing I would never upset him again. But this time, I looked him in the eye. I spoke clearly. “Okay.”

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