Author: Momo Chan

1 Today was my thirtieth birthday. I specifically ordered a small artisan strawberry shortcake to be delivered to the office. When the box arrived, my coworker looked at me with wide eyes. “Wait, Sophie, I thought you never celebrated your birthday?” I sliced a piece, handed it to her, and forced a smile. “Yeah, well, I just felt like it this year.” This was the very first time in my five years of marriage to Kyle that I was actually celebrating my birthday. The reason was sickeningly simple. His dead first love, his perfect angel, happened to share my exact birth date. Every single year on this day, he would sit in the living room staring at her framed photograph, brooding in utter silence until dawn. Years ago, some friends who knew I loved a good party brought over gifts and a cake. Kyle threw everything straight into the trash. He told me, with ice in his voice, that absolutely no celebrations were allowed on the anniversary of her passing. For five whole years, he had been wearing mourning clothes for that woman. Even as recently as yesterday, I heard him tell a client he was a widower. The vanilla frosting on my tongue was supposed to be sweet, but as I swallowed, all I tasted was a bitter, acidic sting. If his heart was permanently buried in a graveyard with her, then I was done playing the ghost in this lifeless shell of a house. What was the point of a marriage where I couldn’t even blow out a candle on my own birthday? When I finally got home, I put the leftover cake into the fridge. Kyle’s exhausted, hollow voice immediately drifted from the living room. “Did you get the white lilies and the brioche?” “The lilies have to be fresh, and the brioche needs to be from that downtown bakery. Otherwise, she won’t like it.” He didn’t even bother to look up. His gaze was entirely glued to Audrey’s portrait on the mantelpiece. His eyes were red-rimmed, swimming with a sickening amount of tender devotion. This exact scene had played out on loop for half a decade. Every year on this date, Kyle canceled all his meetings, ignored all his calls, and stayed home to keep his dead college sweetheart company. When I didn’t respond, he reluctantly dragged his eyes away from the photo. He glared at my empty hands, annoyance twisting his handsome features. “Where are they? Did you not see my texts?” I saw them. They were just buried at the very bottom of my notifications, pushed down by dozens of birthday wishes from people who actually cared. And honestly, I just couldn’t be bothered to open them. In previous years, I would clock out of work, ride the subway for two hours across the city, stand in the freezing cold before the downtown bakery closed just to get that specific pastry, and then take another train to a specialty florist to buy the most expensive lilies. Then I would drag my exhausted body back home, cook a full meal for him and a dead girl’s photograph, and immediately go tend to his bedridden mother. I would bathe her, massage her atrophied legs, and clean up her messes. By the time I could finally sit down, it would be pushing midnight. And even after bleeding myself dry for him, I never once got a “Happy Birthday” out of Kyle’s mouth. A groan of pain echoed from his mother’s bedroom down the hall. But this time, I didn’t rush in like a well-trained dog. Instead, I opened the fridge, took out my half-eaten cake, set it on the kitchen island, and took a slow, deliberate bite. “My mom is calling for you. Why are you just standing there?” He frowned at the hallway, irritated by the noise, and barked the order at me as if it were my God-given duty. He marched over to the kitchen. I didn’t flinch. I looked him dead in the eye and spoke my first words of the night. “Kyle, I am your wife. Not some free live-in maid your family hired.” He froze. His brain seemed to short-circuit for a second before his eyes darted down to the pink cake on the counter. His face darkened instantly. “Sophie, didn’t I make myself absolutely clear? Today is Audrey’s memorial. You can celebrate your stupid birthday a day early or a day late. Do you really have to jinx her day and make everyone miserable?” It was utterly absurd. It was my birthday. Her death anniversary. And somehow, in his twisted mind, I was the curse bringing bad luck into the house. Right behind him sat Audrey’s portrait. The woman’s delicate, innocent smile was shrouded in the flickering shadows of the candles he had lit. It was a blurry, mocking sight. To his left was the hallway, echoing with the wet coughs and demanding yells of a mother-in-law who verbally abused me on a daily basis, constantly reminding me I wasn’t a fraction of the woman Audrey used to be. And standing right in front of him was me, a woman with absolutely zero presence, zero respect, and zero value in this household. I looked at the living room he had turned into a literal shrine. I listened to the hacking coughs that used to dictate my life. I swallowed the last bite of my cake and tossed the paper plate into the trash. And right along with it, I threw away my five-year marriage to Kyle Pierce. Ignoring his furious glare, I walked straight toward the master bedroom. Before closing the door, I paused and looked back at him. “Kyle. If you didn’t desperately need someone to wipe your mother’s ass five years ago, you never would have married me, would you?” 2 Asking a question I already knew the answer to was just asking for pain. Kyle looked completely stunned. Those sharp, analytical eyes that usually processed high-end corporate data went totally blank. It was as if he couldn’t even comprehend why I was acting out of line. One second. Two seconds. Three. I counted silently in my head, then turned away in disgust. But just as my fingers wrapped around the brass door handle, his patience snapped. “Is the limit on the credit card not enough for you?” “Sophie, if you want a bigger allowance, just use your words. There is absolutely no need to throw a childish tantrum just to get my attention.” I violently twisted the handle and slammed the door shut, locking his arrogant, self-righteous lecture out in the hallway. My legs gave out. I slid down the hard wood of the door, hit the floor, and covered my mouth to muffle the heavy, broken sobs tearing out of my throat. In five years of marriage, this was the very first time we had openly clashed like this. Sure, I had voiced my discomfort about the Audrey shrine before, but he always played the martyr. “She has no family left. No parents, no siblings. If I don’t remember her, no one will,” he would say, looking at me with gentle disappointment. “Sophie, do you really need to be jealous of a ghost?” He always sounded so logical. So painfully loyal and romantic. He made it impossible for me to argue without feeling like a heartless monster. When we first met, everyone told me I had hit the jackpot. They said I came from a totally average background, had an average face, and worked an average teaching job. Snagging a guy like Kyle on a blind date was a miracle. He was incredibly handsome, an Ivy League graduate, and made more in a month than I did in a year. I thought our first coffee date was just a polite, one-off thing. But a few days later, he asked me out again. Then a third time. A fourth. By the fifth date, he asked me to marry him. Back then, I had no clue he was harboring the ghost of a perfect first love. Audrey had been just as brilliant and glowing as him. They were the golden couple on campus until a tragic accident took her life. She became the bleeding, untreatable wound in his chest. A wound he decided to spend his entire life honoring. A wound so deep he actually set up a memorial shelf in our marital home. It was so bad that a week before our wedding, he dragged me to her grave, fell to his knees, and sobbed as he apologized to her headstone. It was so sick that even after we did the obligatory deed as a married couple, he would quietly slip out of bed and go whisper apologies to her framed picture in the dark. For years, I swallowed the pain. I naively convinced myself that if I just loved him enough, he would eventually let go of the past and actually live a life with me. I brainwashed myself into thinking there was no point competing with a dead girl. But what did all that enduring get me? A miserable, exhausting existence. A barren wasteland of a marriage. I finally realized how pathetic my silent suffering had been. It was so painfully funny that I actually choked on a laugh through my tears, the sound hollow and desperate in the quiet bedroom. I don’t know how long I sat there. Eventually, I pulled myself together, crawled into bed, and stared numbly at the city lights bleeding through the blinds. A sudden knock rattled the door. “Sophie. Are you asleep?” “Let’s talk.” When I unlocked it, Kyle was leaning against the doorframe, his expression a tight, complicated knot. He struggled with his pride for a long moment before finally speaking. “I was too harsh earlier. Don’t take it to heart.” The apology spilled out of him rapidly, as if the words physically burned his tongue. Before I could even register the half-baked sentiment, the real reason for his visit dropped. “But regardless of the fight, you really shouldn’t have brought a cake into the house on her anniversary. It would break her heart.” “Just go out there, light a candle, and tell her you’re sorry. Then we can drop this whole thing. Audrey was a sweet girl, I’m sure she won’t hold it against you.” His face was still as strikingly handsome as ever, but as he casually ordered me to bow down to a ghost, his features morphed into something utterly repulsive. For the first time in my life, I looked at my husband and felt pure, unadulterated disgust. Fighting back the bile rising in my throat, I gripped the edge of the door, my knuckles turning white. My voice came out raw and raspy. “Kyle, I want a divorce.” 3 Kyle froze, his eyes narrowing. “A divorce?” He chewed on the word, a mocking, condescending smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. It was like I had just told the funniest joke in the world. “I put three thousand dollars into your account every single month. That’s double your pathetic teacher’s salary. If you divorce me, how exactly do you plan on surviving?” I tilted my head back, looking up at this man who felt entirely like a stranger. He was much taller than me, and the height difference only amplified his suffocating arrogance. For five years, I had constantly looked up to him. I spent so much time craning my neck that I forgot how to stand straight on my own two feet. “Kyle. Do you have any idea how much your mother’s medication costs every month?” I pulled out my phone, opened my budget tracker, and shoved the screen toward him, reading the lines off one by one. “Just her prescriptions this month cost over two thousand. Groceries were eight hundred. Water, electricity, HOA fees. Do you think that pays for itself?” “And then there are the premium candles and imported lilies you make me buy for Audrey every week…” I stopped, swallowing the hard lump in my throat, and pointed a shaking finger at the total at the bottom of the screen. A number far exceeding his precious three grand. “The money burned for your dead girlfriend costs more than my personal expenses combined! I haven’t taken a single dime from you. In fact, I’ve been draining my own savings just to keep this miserable house afloat!” “So tell me, Kyle, what gives you the audacity to think you are providing for me?” Years of suppressed rage erupted like a pressure cooker. I had never felt so terrifyingly light, so incredibly free. Kyle stood paralyzed. His eyes were glued to the meticulous, undeniable ledger on my screen. A look of complete bewilderment washed over his face, an expression I had never seen before. It took him several agonizing seconds to deflate. “Fine. If money is the issue, I’ll transfer another three thousand next month.” “It is not about the goddamn money!” I cut him off cold. I finally spat out the pathetic, humiliating truth that had been rotting inside me. “We are supposed to be married. All I wanted was for you to love me. Is that really so impossible?” In five years, that was the first time I had ever said the word “love” to his face. And it would undoubtedly be the last. My bruised, battered heart was already in shreds on the floor. “I can give you anything else,” he said, his voice dropping low, sounding genuinely tortured. “But I promised Audrey. I promised her I would only love her for the rest of my life.” He smelled of stale wax and clinical grief. Standing there, trapped in his self-imposed misery, he looked so pathetic I almost pitied him. “Oh, drop the act,” I scoffed, my voice dripping with venom. “If you really loved Audrey that much, you wouldn’t have rushed into a marriage with me six months after she died! There’s no audience here, Kyle. Who are you putting on this devoted lover act for?” I ripped right through his hypocritical disguise, severing whatever lingering affection I had left. His eyes snapped up, bloodshot and feral. He lunged forward, his heavy hands clamping down hard on my shoulders. “You have absolutely no right to judge our love!” he snarled, his breath hot against my face. “If she hadn’t died, trash like you would never have been allowed to step foot in my house!” Blinding pain shot through my collarbones. I gritted my teeth and raised my hands to shove him off. Just then, a sickening thud echoed from the guest room. It was followed immediately by Mrs. Pierce’s agonizing wail. Kyle flinched, his grip releasing instantly. He spun around and sprinted down the hall. When he threw the door open, a suffocating, rotting stench rolled out into the hallway. Mrs. Pierce was sprawled awkwardly on the hardwood, covered in her own mess, groaning incoherently. Kyle gagged, immediately slapping a hand over his nose and mouth. He stood frozen in the doorway, absolutely refusing to take a single step inside. His mother’s breathing hitched, turning into a desperate, rattling wheeze. “Sophie… please… help me…” I couldn’t just stand there and watch a frail woman choke on her own fluids. So, despite everything, I stayed. I called 911. I stabilized her. I cleaned the vomit and the filth off her skin. And through it all, Kyle remained glued to the doorframe, as useless as a decorative plant. It wasn’t until the paramedics loaded her into the ambulance and we arrived at the emergency room that he finally snapped out of his trance. “Thank God you were there,” he exhaled, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. “I honestly wouldn’t have known what to do today. Look, whatever you said earlier, I know you were just lashing out. Let’s not bring up divorce again, okay?” I opened my mouth, but before I could utter a single syllable, a nurse called my name to pick up the prescription forms. When I walked back down the hospital corridor, I caught the tail end of a conversation between Kyle and another patient’s family member. “Hey, that young woman running around doing all the dirty work. Is she a nurse you hired from an agency?” the stranger asked. “Man, she is good. You don’t see young people that thorough anymore. Do you think you could ask her if she has time to take on my dad’s case?” Kyle went dead silent for three long seconds. Then, he gave a slow, barely perceptible nod. “Sure.” The pharmacy bags slipped from my fingers, hitting the linoleum floor with a soft crinkle. I didn’t even bend down to pick them up. I just turned around and walked away. This time, I didn’t look back. 4 Not far from the hospital was an intersection branching off in three different directions. I stood frozen in the middle of the pavement, totally lost, having nowhere to actually go. Directly across from me was an old clock tower. It was five minutes to midnight. And so, in the final five minutes of my thirtieth birthday, I closed my eyes and made a wish. A wish I hadn’t dared to make in five years. I wished for freedom. I wished for a clean break. I wished to never, ever cross paths with Kyle Pierce again. Over the next few days, I stayed at a cheap boutique hotel near the high school where I taught. I spent my free periods on the phone with a divorce attorney. My terms were crystal clear. I wanted exactly what was legally mine, including full reimbursement for the massive medical bills I had fronted for his mother. Nothing more, nothing less. While the lawyer was drafting the paperwork, Kyle’s texts started flooding in, increasing in panic with every passing hour. At first, he tried to play it cool. Where are you? Did you go home first? I don’t know how to deal with the hospital staff. You’re off work tomorrow anyway, so get here early. Then, the tone shifted. Are you seriously still throwing a tantrum? Come to the hospital right now so we can talk this out face to face. Give me your new number. I need to call you. Where exactly is your school? I’m coming to pick you up tonight. It was darkly hilarious. We had been married for five years, yet my own husband had no idea what my phone number was or what street my school was on. Yet he could recite the exact date Audrey bought a specific brand of lip gloss. I let out a dry, sarcastic laugh and hit the ‘Do Not Disturb’ button on his contact. I truly didn’t expect him to actually track down my workplace. “Sophie. Why the hell are you ignoring my texts?” He cornered me in the parking lot. He looked rough. His jaw was lined with dark stubble, his clothes were wrinkled, and he reeked of cheap hospital coffee and antiseptic. I gave him a dead-eyed stare, side-stepped him, and kept walking to my car. He lunged and grabbed my wrist in a vice grip. “Listen to me. Every single nurse I hired for my mother quit because she kept screaming at them. So I need you to request a week off work and come back to take care—” Before the sentence even left his mouth, I swung my free hand and slapped him directly across the face. The crack echoed loudly in the quiet lot. “If you need a nurse, call an agency! Stop harassing me!” I yelled, my voice shaking with pure rage. “Or better yet, go to the cemetery and ask your precious ghost to rise from the dead and play happy family with you!” Kyle clutched his stinging cheek, staring at me like I had grown a second head. “Sophie, have you lost your damn mind?” he hissed. “Isn’t this little stunt dragging on long enough? Are you really trying to force a divorce and turn yourself into damaged goods that nobody else will ever want?” I was still shorter than him, but as I looked him in the eyes, I didn’t feel small anymore. “I’d rather be damaged goods than your maid,” I said smoothly. “Honestly, Kyle? Out of everything I’ve done in my entire life, marrying you is the one thing I am most deeply embarrassed by.” He didn’t try to contact me after that day. I wasn’t sure if his massive ego couldn’t handle the slap or if he had actually accepted reality. Honestly, I couldn’t care less. The day the divorce papers were finally ready, I drove back to the house one last time. Mostly to force a pen into his hand, and partially to pack up my clothes. But what I never, in my wildest nightmares, expected to see when I pushed open that front door… Was her. Standing right there in the living room. Breathing. Smiling. Looking exactly like the dead woman in the framed picture on the mantel.

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1 The post-holiday haze had barely lifted when my phone buzzed, the name on the screen a surprise. It was Victoria, the CEO of the company I had just left. I swiped to answer, and her voice, sharp and furious, immediately assaulted my ear. “Where the hell are you, Simon? The project deadline is today. If this falls apart, it’s on you. Get over here, now.” Her tone was a whip crack, an absolute command, as if I were still her employee on a 24/7 leash. Before I could even get a word in, she hung up. A moment later, HR called. It was Greg, the department head, his voice laced with a rehearsed disappointment. “Simon, what’s going on? You haven’t shown up. Victoria is losing it. You’ve always been the most reliable guy here. Even if you’re pissed about the bonus, you can’t just ghost us.” A dry laugh escaped my lips. I explained, patiently, that my absence wasn’t a protest. I had officially resigned and completed my exit paperwork before the holidays. … “Oh, that,” Greg’s voice was suddenly light, dismissive. “Yeah, I saw the paperwork. So did Victoria. But you know how crazy it gets before the break. We never had a chance to really discuss it. Now that the holidays are over, let’s sit down and talk, okay?” “Talk about what?” I asked. My resignation was finalized. As far as I was concerned, there was nothing left to say. “Your terms, obviously!” Greg jumped in. “Victoria is willing to bump your salary by two hundred a month. In this economy, that’s a generous offer. Do the math, that’s almost twenty-five hundred extra a year.” I did the math, but not on his pathetic offer. I thought about the slackers in my department, the ones who clocked out at five on the dot and never saw a project through. They each got a ten-thousand-dollar bonus. Last year, I single-handedly generated millions in revenue for the company. The flagship project I managed from scratch had an eight-million-dollar contract. I did the work of three people, logged more overtime than anyone in the department, and never once called in sick. But at the annual awards ceremony, every project I bled for was credited to Alex, my junior. He walked away with a fifty-thousand-dollar bonus and the latest iPhone. My bonus? Fifty dollars. The absurdity of it was still staggering. “Greg,” I asked, my voice flat. “Why was my bonus fifty dollars?” The line went silent for a few seconds. “Look, Simon,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “You have to understand, the company has its policies. You do great work, but you can be a little intense. You’re not much of a team player, you always skip the team-building events, you barely talk to your colleagues. The bonus has to reflect your overall performance.” I had to laugh, a bitter, angry sound. That weekend hike? I was working. That Friday happy hour? Finishing a proposal. That karaoke night? I declined because I had a major client meeting the next morning. Every single time I missed a “team event,” it was to do my job better. And now, they were using that to crucify me? And the others? What were they doing while I was working? Drinking, singing, posting filtered group selfies with captions like #workfamily and #teamgoals. So that was “overall performance.” “Any other reasons?” I pressed. Greg hesitated, then lowered his voice. “Well, Victoria also mentioned… that a couple of your projects last year had some, uh, negative client feedback.” “Which client? What feedback? When did they complain? Why am I hearing about this for the first time?” The questions shot out of me, rapid-fire. “I’m… not sure about the specifics. It was just hearsay.” Hearsay. I heard he did a bad job. I heard there were complaints. I heard he wasn’t a team player. So they gave me a bonus that was a slap in the face. The last flicker of hope died. “I understand, Greg,” I said, my voice calm, empty. “But as I said, I’ve already resigned. I followed the proper channels.” “Simon, don’t be so stubborn! Just listen to me—” “Greg,” I cut him off. “For seven years, I never missed a day of work, never took a sick day, never refused overtime. I gave this company everything. If you need me to assist with the transition, I will. Otherwise, don’t call me again.” “Simon Chen!” His voice turned shrill. “What is that supposed to mean? I’m trying to help you, and you’re throwing it back in my face!” I hung up. I wasn’t going to let my former company poison the first day of my new life. Five minutes later, my phone buzzed again. A video call request from Alex, the subordinate who stole my award. I declined. A stream of messages immediately followed. “Dude, why aren’t you answering?” “Victoria’s on a rampage. You should really text her back.” “You’re usually the guy everyone can count on. Why are you being so difficult? You’re making things hard for her.” I stared at the screen, feeling nothing. I had personally trained Alex, pulled him up from an internship. I taught him how to handle clients, how to fix problems on the fly. In return, he stabbed me in the back. Another long message popped up, a tone of frustration bleeding through. “Look, man, I know you’re upset about the bonus, but you can’t blame the company. Times are tough for everyone. Victoria actually really values you. If you quit over a little bit of money, it’s going to look bad. Besides, the company invested so much in you. Can you really walk away with a clear conscience?” Conscience. I stared at the word and almost laughed. I typed back a reply. “Who secretly copied my client files while I was out sick? Who repackaged my creative concepts and presented them as his own in the weekly meeting? Who bought the entire department boba before the annual review and ‘forgot’ me?” “You’re the last person on earth who gets to talk to me about conscience.” Less than three minutes later, he responded, his tone now condescending, as if scolding a foolish child. “What’s the point of bringing all that up? You’re only hurting yourself by making a scene. Where do you think you’re going to go? There are kids with Master’s degrees who can’t find jobs. You’re thirty, single, with a Bachelor’s. All the ‘accomplishments’ on your resume came from the resources this company gave you.” “Greg already said it. If you don’t come back today, Victoria is going to put the word out. No one in this industry will touch you.” A threat. I scoffed. My phone buzzed again. “Dude? You gonna say something? We’re all waiting.” I opened the chat and sent one last reply. A single, passive-aggressive smiley face emoji. Then I blocked him and got out of bed. Today was my first day at the Veridian Group. My new employer was the client from the eight-million-dollar project. The division head, Ms. Croft, was sharp, no-nonsense, and a pleasure to work with. When she’d heard about the bonus fiasco, she had sent me a message: Simon, we desperately need someone with your talent. You’re wasted there. Name your salary. The offer is open whenever you’re ready. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. This year, I was going to live differently. I walked through the glass doors of the Veridian Group. The receptionist recognized me. “Hey, Simon! Ms. Croft is waiting for you in her office.” Her office door was open. She looked up from her computer and smiled. “Simon, you’re here. Have a seat.” I sat across from her. “There’s something I’d like to discuss with you,” she said, getting straight to the point. I sat up straighter. “Of course.” “That eight-million-dollar project from your old company. It’s time for the final acceptance review. I was going to assign it to someone else, but you managed it from start to finish. Nobody knows it better.” “So, I’d like you to go,” she said, her gaze steady. “Go to your old office this morning and conduct the final project review.” I met her direct gaze and thought of the day I resigned, how Victoria hadn’t even looked up from her screen. I thought of Alex on stage, his voice thick with fake emotion as he accepted my award. I thought of Greg telling me my bonus was a reflection of my poor social skills. I thought of the barrage of calls this morning—commands, threats, and finally, impotent rage. A slow smile spread across my face. “Absolutely. I’d love to see what their first day back looks like.” After leaving her office, I went to HR and completed my onboarding. They handed me a new ID badge. It read: Project Director: Simon Chen. Back at my new desk, my phone rang. It was Victoria. For seven years, that number had been a harbinger of doom—late-night emergencies, weekend work orders, last-minute tasks while I was on vacation. Every single time, I had answered immediately with a “Yes, Victoria,” “Right away, Victoria,” “No problem, Victoria.” I answered. “Simon Chen!” she snarled. “So you’ve finally decided to grow a pair? Ignoring my calls, blocking everyone! You think you’re hot stuff now?” “Let me tell you something,” she seethed. “If you don’t show your face here today, I’m firing you for job abandonment! I’ll put it in your permanent file, and we’ll see who’s brave enough to hire you then!” Fired. A hollow laugh echoed in my mind. “Victoria,” I said, my voice perfectly level. “I’m on my way to your office right now.” Her tone instantly shifted to smug triumph. “Hah. Took you long enough. Get here. I’m waiting.” When I received Ms. Croft’s offer, I didn’t accept right away. But after the humiliation of the awards night and the insult of the fifty-dollar bonus, I lay awake until dawn. And in those dark, quiet hours, one thing became crystal clear. My old company didn’t value talent. It valued sycophants. It was a place where you worked, you took the blame, and you watched from the shadows as someone else stepped into the spotlight you built. That night, I made my decision. My thoughts returned to the present. I stood up and clipped my new ID badge to my shirt. I wondered what their faces would look like when I walked in not as a supplicant, but as the client. The taxi pulled up to the familiar office building. I pushed through the revolving doors. Nothing had changed. I was only a few steps inside when Greg appeared, holding a mug of tea. “Well, well, look what the cat dragged in,” he sneered, sizing me up. “After that attitude on the phone this morning, I thought you were off to conquer the world. What happened? Flew a little too close to the sun and came crashing back down?” I just smirked and said nothing. My silence seemed to fuel him. “What’s the matter? Playing nice now? Where’s all that fire from this morning?” He deliberately glanced at my chest. “Whoa, what’s this? That’s not our company’s ID. Simon, did you get lost? Or wait—” His eyes lit up with a look of mock revelation. “Oh, I get it! You’re a food delivery guy now! That blue lanyard, that’s what they all wear, right? Hahahaha!” The badge had flipped over, so the company name was hidden. Alex’s voice joined the chorus. “Dude, you’re finally here! C’mon, you’ve made your point. We need you to wrap this project up. The client is sending someone over any minute.” He reached for my arm. I swatted his hand away. His face hardened. “I’m trying to help you,” he hissed. “Victoria’s in a foul mood. Just finish the work and don’t make it worse. The last thing you need is the client showing up and watching you get chewed out.” “This project?” I said with a laugh. “I thought you completed it independently. That’s what Victoria said at the ceremony. That you carried it all on your own. An outstanding job.” “Your award, your bonus. Why do you need me to finish it?” Greg chimed in. “Come on, Simon, now’s not the time for that. Just get to work!” I didn’t move. The standoff was broken by a roar from the main office. “Where is Simon Chen? Get him in here, now!” Victoria stormed out, her heels clicking angrily on the floor. She gave me a long, contemptuous once-over. “So, you decided to crawl back,” she said, looking down her nose at me. I nodded calmly. “I’m here on business.” “Hah!” she scoffed. “I’ve seen your type a million times. You work a little hard, feel a little slighted, and throw a tantrum hoping the boss will beg you to stay. Let me tell you, it doesn’t work! The world keeps spinning without you. You think the company will collapse? What a joke!” She planted her hands on her hips. “And here you are. Back with your tail between your legs. Late on the first day, too. I’m docking your entire month’s pay. Maybe that will teach you some respect.” She stared at me, waiting for the familiar, submissive apology. Instead, I laughed. “Are you sure you want to take this tone with me?” Alex piped up. “Victoria, calm down. Simon’s probably just in a bad mood. I asked him to work, and he just snapped at me.” Victoria glared at me. “A bad mood? You think you can just abandon your responsibilities because you’re in a bad mood? This is a workplace, not your home. No one’s going to coddle you!” She waved a dismissive hand. “Get yourself together. The client is sending someone today to review the project. You’re handling the meeting. They’re the ones signing the checks, so be nice and don’t screw it up.” “Victoria,” I said calmly. “The client is already here.” She froze. “Here? Where?” “Right here.” I flipped my ID badge over. The three of them stared at the words printed on the plastic. Their faces froze.

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1 Five years ago, a car crash killed my husband Matt and our one-year-old son Phillip. It left me with endless grief and a $300,000 debt to a loan shark. To repay it, I worked day and night. I hauled concrete, delivered food, and drove for a rideshare service, sleeping just three hours a day. My best friend Jessica told me, “The debt died with them. You’re killing yourself for nothing.” But I couldn’t bear the thought of Matt’s name being cursed. On this year’s anniversary, loan sharks found me at the cemetery. They wrecked the offerings and stole everything except one small paper gold ingot. That night, overwhelmed, I posted online: “Matt, I’m so tired. Why won’t you and Phillip visit me in my dreams?” Soon, a notification arrived from an account with a cartoon star as its avatar: “Who are you? Why are you posting pictures of me and my dad?” Phillip’s nickname had been “my little star.” Trembling, I opened the profile. The background photo showed a family: a father, a mother, and a son. The man was unmistakably Matt. The woman beside him was Jessica. … I was frozen, my fingers shaking as I typed out a reply. “That’s my dead husband and son. Who are you?” Just as I was about to hit send, the comment vanished. The account with the star avatar was suddenly set to private. A cold dread washed over me. Jessica had gotten married five years ago, right around the time Matt and Phillip had “died.” She’d said it was a quiet affair, a high-society arranged marriage that had to be kept out of the papers. Lost in my own grief, I hadn’t questioned it. I glanced at the clock. An idea sparked. I grabbed my keys and drove toward the most exclusive private elementary school in the city. My mind raced. Right after we found out I was pregnant, Matt had bought an apartment in this school district, paying in cash. He’d also made a two-hundred-thousand-dollar donation to the school for a new library. “Our son will have the absolute best education,” he had sworn. School wasn’t out yet. The security guard at the gate stopped me. “Can I help you?” I hesitated, a bitter taste in my mouth. “I’m here to pick up Phillip Pierce.” The guard eyed me suspiciously. “I know Phillip’s parents. I’ve never seen you before.” Another parent waiting nearby chimed in. “She’s probably the new nanny. Mrs. Pierce is far too glamorous to be doing school runs herself.” “That’s true,” another parent agreed. “They’re such a lovely couple. They always pick him up together. I wonder why they sent the nanny today.” I looked down at my faded blouse and worn-out jeans, a familiar wave of shame washing over me. Before I could respond, the final bell rang. A few minutes later, a black Maybach purred to a stop at the curb. Even though I had prepared myself, the man who stepped out of the driver’s seat made my vision swim. My whole body started to shake uncontrollably. It was Matt. Alive. He opened the passenger door, took Jessica’s designer handbag, and then took her hand, leading her toward the gate. I ducked behind a large oak tree, listening to the other parents greet them. “Mr. and Mrs. Pierce! Here for your boy!” “Phillip is such a wonderful child! Top of his class! I wish my kids were half as brilliant.” “Well, look at his parents! With a loving home like that, of course he’s going to be a star!” I clamped a hand over my mouth, my nails digging into my palm so hard I thought I might draw blood. I couldn’t believe this was real. After he died, I had prayed every single night just to see his face one more time in a dream. Now, seeing him here in the flesh, all I wanted was for this nightmare to end. A flood of children poured out of the school. A boy, about six or seven, came bounding out and leaped into Matt’s arms. “Mommy! Daddy! I got a hundred on my test again!” When he turned his head, I saw the small, distinct birthmark behind his ear. A choked sob escaped my lips, and tears streamed down my face. It was Phillip. My Phillip. The son who was supposed to have died in that car crash with his father. And now, my son—the baby I carried and birthed—was calling my best friend “Mommy.” The sight squeezed the air from my lungs. The pain was a physical force, threatening to tear me apart. I stepped out from behind the tree. I met Matt and Jessica’s wide, shocked eyes and said, in a voice I barely recognized as my own, “Long time no see.” 2. Matt’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t speak. He hadn’t changed a bit in five years, yet the way he looked at me—like I was a complete stranger—was a world away from the love he once held in his eyes. Jessica snapped out of her shock first, rushing forward to grab my hand, her voice a desperate whisper. “Catherine, let’s go somewhere and talk. It’s not what you think…” Looking at her, at the woman I once considered my sister, filled me with a sickening revulsion. I ripped my hand away and slapped her hard across the face. “I gave you everything, Jess. I treated you like a sister. And you stole my husband. You stole my son. How could you?” My voice rose, shaking with fury. I turned my glare on Matt. “And you! Was it fun? Watching me suffer for five years while you played house?” Matt’s face hardened, and he stepped in front of Jessica, shielding her. “If you have a problem, take it up with me. This has nothing to do with her.” The sight of him protecting her sent a fresh wave of rage and heartbreak through me, and my vision blurred with tears. Jessica and I had been inseparable since childhood. Her home was a nightmare—an alcoholic mother, a gambling father. They beat her. I was always dragging her over to my house for dinner, for homework, for safety. One time, when her father was about to hit her with a belt, I jumped in front of her. I woke up in the hospital to her crying, her eyes swollen shut. “You saved my life, Catherine,” she’d sobbed. “You’ll always be my best friend.” And now, that same best friend had stolen my entire world. My shouting had attracted a crowd of onlookers. Matt frowned, reaching for me. “This isn’t the place for this. Let’s go somewhere else to talk.” My throat was raw. I was about to refuse when a small body slammed into me, pushing me back. “You’re a monster! Don’t you hurt my mommy!” Phillip stood before me, his little face contorted in rage, looking at me like I was a wild animal. “Say you’re sorry! Or I’ll hit you!” I stared at the son I had endured so much to bring into this world, my heart aching with a bitter sorrow. Five years ago, when he was just a toddler, he was already my little protector. I remember cutting my finger on a broken glass, and he had toddled over, taking my hand in his tiny ones, whispering, “Don’t cry, Mommy. Phillip will kiss it better.” Matt had gently scolded me for being clumsy as he bandaged my finger. In that moment, I had felt like the luckiest woman alive. Now, my husband was alive and with my best friend. My son was defending her against me. The crowd went silent. Matt was the first to speak. “Catherine, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cold and detached. “I fell in love with Jessica. The truth is, you and I… we grew too far apart. We have nothing in common anymore.” “My company needs the connections and support Jessica can provide. And Phillip needs a mother with an Ivy League education like Jess.” “I know you’ve had a hard five years. Name your price. I’ll compensate you.” His words were a knife, twisting in my gut. I let out a hollow laugh. “You’re not afraid of karma, are you, Matt?” I first met him in middle school. My father sponsored his education. He was a brilliant orphan who tutored me in his spare time. When my father’s business went bankrupt and he was sent to prison my senior year, my world shattered. Matt offered to drop out of school to repay our family’s kindness. I refused. “You’re destined for the Ivy League,” I told him. “I’m a lost cause anyway. You go. I’ll take care of my mother. I’ll support you.” I worked three jobs to pay his tuition. When I handed him the money for his first semester, he traced the calluses on my fingers, his eyes full of pain. “Catherine,” he promised, “the day I graduate, we’ll get married. I’ll take care of you forever.” He was offered a spot in a PhD program. He wanted to turn it down, but I wouldn’t let him. “My father’s dream was to see you succeed. Go. I’ll wait for you.” So I worked even harder. After he graduated, he started a company with some classmates. It grew, and he grew more distant. I, with my high school diploma, couldn’t keep up with his talk of venture capital and market shares. He had no interest in the price of groceries. But he always defended me. “Catherine paved the way for my success with her own sacrifice,” he’d say. “I’ll be grateful to her for the rest of my life.” When the news of the “car crash” came, the loan sharks showed up. That’s when I found out he’d borrowed a fortune to start his business. The weight of it all nearly broke me. I wanted to die. But I pulled through, determined to pay back every cent so he could rest in peace with his name cleared. For five years, I worked in construction, washed dishes, delivered food, and drove a taxi. I slept three hours a night. I paid it all back. And it was all a joke.

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The sterile scent of the hospital was what finally dragged me back, but the grotesque scene from that midnight still clung to my mind like a phantom limb. Three months pregnant, I’d been jolted awake by a searing cramp in my abdomen, only to find the bed beside me cold and empty. Was he, Adam, working late again? I clung to the wall, dragging myself to the next room, hoping to find my live-in “mother-in-law” for help. The door was unlocked, a gentle push all it took to open it – and my blood ran ice cold. Adam’s arm was draped beneath the woman’s head, their bodies spooned together, sound asleep. The agonizing twist in my stomach combined with the horror unfolding before my eyes sent me spiraling into unconsciousness. When I next opened my eyes, I was in a hospital bed. The more I thought about it, the more wrong it felt. My hands shaking, I dialed Mr. Roberts, Adam’s father, who lived in the countryside. When I mentioned “my mother-in-law,” Mr. Roberts’ voice on the other end was laced with confusion: “Mother-in-law? Adam’s mother?” “Adam’s biological mother passed away when he was ten, honey. Where did you get a mother-in-law from?” Mr. Roberts’ words hit me like a thunderclap, sending shivers down my spine. 1 My hands began to tremble uncontrollably, barely gripping my phone. Adam’s mother died when he was ten. So who was the woman who’d lived in my house for three years, the woman I’d called “mother-in-law” for three whole years? My phone was on speaker, so my parents, sitting beside me, heard Mr. Roberts’ words too. Seeing me frozen, my dad snatched the phone. “Mr. Roberts, are you certain?” “Adam’s mother passed away twenty years ago?” Mr. Roberts’ voice still held a hint of amusement, as if he’d heard a ridiculous joke. “My dear man, what kind of talk is that? She was my wife, Adam’s birth mother. You think I wouldn’t know if she was alive or dead?” Dad’s face was beet red, he was about to say more, but I grabbed the phone back. “Okay, Dad, I understand.” After hanging up, I sat on the hospital bed, unmoving, tears streaming down my face. Mr. Roberts’ words confirmed my suspicions. The so-called “mother-in-law” living in our home was absolutely not Adam Roberts’ mother! Seeing my tears, Mom frantically tried to comfort me, but couldn’t help tearing up herself. “Aurora, please don’t cry. You just lost your baby, and you’re in your postpartum recovery. You absolutely mustn’t cry. You’re so young, what if you damage your eyes?” Dad’s face was livid with rage. “That scoundrel! That absolute scoundrel!” “Don’t worry, Dad won’t let him off easy. I’ll make sure he gives you answers!” I fiercely wiped away my tears, looking up at my parents. “Dad, Mom, trust me this once.” “I want to handle this myself.” No sooner had I spoken than Adam and my so-called “mother-in-law,” Elaine Walker, pushed open the hospital room door. The moment he entered, Adam rushed to the bedside, his face etched with anxiety. “Aurora, please let me explain. It’s really not what you think. Last night, my mom wasn’t feeling well, her back was aching terribly. I was just helping her with a back rub. It got late, and I accidentally fell asleep in her room. You truly misunderstood.” Before I could even speak, Dad couldn’t restrain himself and was about to curse him out. I shot Dad a look, and he reluctantly held back his fury, though his tone was still stiff. “You’re thirty years old! Don’t you know the basic decency of a grown child keeping their distance from their parents? Adam! You caused the death of your own child, you’re an animal!” Adam hung his head low, unable to meet my father’s gaze. Elaine, seeing this, looked heartbroken, but knowing they were in the wrong, she dared not quarrel with my parents. “My dear in-laws, please don’t say such things. It’s all my fault, I didn’t raise him well. Don’t worry, I’ll be more careful from now on, this kind of situation definitely won’t happen again.” Mom was about to speak, but I gently squeezed her hand. 2 “Mom, let it go.” Hearing my words, Adam looked up, his face brightening with surprise. “Aurora, you forgive me?” My parents looked indignant, but remembering my earlier instruction, they ultimately kept silent. I landed two sharp slaps across Adam’s face. “This slap, that’s for me!” “This one, that’s for our baby!” Elaine’s face was a mask of pain, but she bit her lip, not daring to step forward. They were clearly in the wrong, so they couldn’t say much. What exactly was going on between him and Elaine? I absolutely needed to find out. Though I couldn’t push for a divorce just yet, I wasn’t going to swallow this insult. Three days later, I was discharged from the hospital. Despite my parents’ worry, I declined to recover at their house and went back home with Adam and Elaine. Shortly after we arrived, Adam, who hadn’t been to work for three days, rushed off to the office. Elaine also grabbed her grocery basket and headed to the supermarket. Seizing the opportunity while they were both out, I made my way into Elaine’s room. Before, I always believed in maintaining boundaries between in-laws, so I’d never entered her room. But my gut told me there was something I needed to find in there. Sure enough, in the bottom drawer of her wardrobe, I found a stack of photographs. The subject of almost every photo was Elaine. There were pictures of her wearing an apron, cooking in the kitchen; watering plants on the balcony; wiping tables in the living room. And even some intimate ones, utterly inappropriate, taken in a bedroom. These photos clearly suggested a relationship far beyond a normal mother-son bond. Besides the photos, I discovered numerous love letters, all written by Adam to Elaine. Adam was thirty now, and judging by the dates, they had been together for twelve years. At that time, Adam was eighteen. And Elaine was already thirty-nine. I steadied myself, took photos of all the pictures and letters, then carefully put everything back exactly as I’d found it. After I finished, I returned to my room, tears silently falling. Though I had suspected it all along, seeing the truth laid bare was utterly sickening. It all made sense now. Everything clicked. When we first met five years ago, Adam told me his parents were divorced, that he was from a single-parent home, and had grown up with his mother. Two years later, we decided to get married. But when it came time for our families to meet, Adam told me his parents had a bad relationship after the divorce, so we’d have to meet them separately. Before I met his father, he even warned me not to mention his mother. Elaine didn’t even attend our wedding. My parents and I didn’t understand, but we just assumed the divorce had been messy and painful. Fearing we’d stir up old wounds for Adam and his dad, we didn’t press for details. After we married, Adam’s father stayed mostly in the countryside and never once encountered Elaine. Looking back, from the beginning of our relationship until now, Adam had already brought Elaine into my life under the guise of being his mother, and she had lived with us for three years. The thought of it made my stomach churn, and I leaned over the bed, dry-heaving. At dinnertime, Elaine brought a bowl of chicken noodle soup into my room. She placed the soup on the bedside table. “Aurora, the chicken noodle soup is fresh, have some to tide you over. Dinner will be ready soon.” I glanced at the soup, a layer of grease floating on top. “Too oily.” Three minutes later, Elaine returned with a fresh bowl of soup. 3 I took a sip, then set it down. “Too bland.” A little while later, Elaine came in with another new bowl of soup. I didn’t even look at it. “I don’t want chicken noodle soup anymore.” “Go buy a fresh salmon, I want salmon chowder.” Elaine bit her lower lip, looking as if she’d suffered a tremendous injustice. After a moment, she seemed to compose herself, forcing a weak smile. “Alright, I’ll go get it right away.” Adam didn’t return until dusk. Perhaps Elaine had spoken to him, because the moment he entered the room, Adam sat beside me, his face etched with exhaustion. “Aurora, my mom is getting old, please don’t make her run around so much…” Adam’s words were cut short by a sharp slap across his face. “I’m making her run around?” “Adam! Whose fault is it that I lost our baby?” “I just wanted some salmon chowder. Is that a capital crime?” Adam stared at me for a long time, but ultimately said nothing, rising and leaving the room. I watched Adam’s retreating back, pondering deeply. Why? Why could Elaine stand by and watch Adam marry someone else? Why would Adam risk everything to give Elaine a fake identity, just so she could live under the same roof as us? If their love was so profound, why did he need to marry me? A million questions swirled in my mind. But I knew it wasn’t the right time yet. For the next week, I tormented Elaine relentlessly. I complained that her cooking was terrible, that she didn’t wash clothes properly, that her loud movements around the house disturbed my rest. Finally, one midnight, thinking I was asleep, I heard Adam open Elaine’s bedroom door. Barefoot, I crept to Elaine’s door and pressed my ear against it. Elaine’s voice sounded tearful and resentful. “Maybe we should find someone else, Aurora is absolutely driving me insane these past few days.” “She finally got pregnant after three years of marriage, and now the baby’s gone. Who knows if she’ll ever get pregnant again?” “If that’s the case, we might as well get someone younger, maybe she’ll conceive faster.” Adam seemed to hesitate, and then, after a long moment, he spoke. “But her work performance is outstanding, she’s practically secured all the company’s current contracts.” “And besides, she just lost a baby. If I brought up divorce now, she definitely wouldn’t handle it well.” “Alright, Elaine, just bear with it a little longer. Once she recovers and gives birth, I’ll divorce her. Then we’ll be a proper family, the three of us, and no one will ever make you suffer again.” Elaine’s voice was choked with emotion. “Okay then, once she’s recovered, you need to get her pregnant quickly, and I’ll cook her more nourishing soups.” “Adam, you have to understand, if I weren’t too old to have children, why would I have put up with this for so many years?” “I’m doing all of this for you, for the Roberts family to carry on its lineage. If you ever betray me, I swear I won’t forgive you.” Soon, the room filled with intimate sounds. I staggered back to my room. The moment I closed the door, I couldn’t hold myself up any longer and slid down the wood, collapsing onto the floor. So, to them, my only purpose was to be a baby-making machine. From the very first day of our marriage, Elaine would constantly make me various nourishing soups, and the topic of having children was always on her lips. Though it made me uncomfortable, I just assumed it was an old “mother-in-law” who yearned for grandchildren.

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1 My suitcase stood packed by the bedroom door. Tonight, I was leaving the place I had called home for three years for good. Living with Frederick, the hardest part wasn’t the love fading away. It was the Ragdoll cat named Cotton, who belonged to his ex-girlfriend Sophie. It had become the unbearable, constant burden of my life. I followed every fussy instruction about imported cat food, tofu litter, and special baths, despite my severe cat allergy. Every morning, I woke with swollen eyes. Frederick would just hand me an allergy pill and say, “Hang in there a little longer. Sophie will take the cat back as soon as she finds a pet-friendly apartment.” That “little longer” stretched into fourteen months. Sophie moved three times, each with the same excuse: no pets allowed. So, Cotton stayed. My allergies turned from seasonal to a year-round nightmare. Yesterday, the doctor warned me clearly: if I didn’t get away from the cat, I could develop asthma. I sent the diagnosis to Frederick. He saw it but never replied. That night, I saw Sophie’s new post: a screenshot of her video-calling the cat. The caption read, “Long-distance parenting! Big thanks to Frederick for being the best cat-sitter an ex could ask for.” In that moment, everything became clear. I packed the empty allergy medication boxes into my suitcase, alongside a relationship that had long since spoiled. … The suitcase was waiting by the bedroom door. Zipped tight, it was filled with clothes and art supplies I’d bought for myself. Not a single thing in it was a gift from him. It wasn’t out of spite. It’s just that in three years, I could count the gifts he’d given me on one hand. Two boxes of macarons, a cheap silk scarf for my birthday, and an endless supply of allergy pills. Cotton, at some point, had leaped onto my suitcase. With a flick of her tail, a cloud of fine white fur drifted into the air and straight into my nose. I sneezed three times, hard. My eyes immediately began to swell, my vision shrinking to a slit. I lifted the cat off and placed her on the imported cat tree in the living room. The cat tree cost five hundred dollars. The allergy pills, twenty dollars a box. I’d been doing that math for fourteen months. The lock clicked. Frederick was home. The first thing he did after slipping on his house shoes was check the cat’s food bowl. It was empty. He frowned, tore open a bag of the expensive cat food, and poured it into the bowl. The kibble rattled, and Cotton came running. Only then did he notice the suitcase by the bedroom door. “Going on a trip?” “Moving out.” His hand froze. Kibble spilled from the bag, scattering across the floor. He ignored the mess and walked over, his hand closing around my wrist. My eyes were swollen, tears of allergic reaction clinging to my lashes. For the first time, a flicker of panic crossed his face. “Ava, I know this has been hard on you.” He pulled out his phone, showing me his chat history with Sophie. His last message to her: “Sophie, you have to pick up Cotton this weekend. No more excuses.” She’d replied with a string of crying emojis. “Frederick, the new landlord really won’t allow it. Can you just give me one more month? Please? I’m already looking for a new place.” Frederick put his phone away and looked at me, his expression earnest. “Just one more month, Ava. I promise, this is the last time.” I almost laughed. I opened the notes app on my phone and pulled up a file titled “The Last Time.” Entry 1: Last March. “She’ll be moved in by next month.” Entry 2: Last April. “Just a bit longer, she’s waiting on her security deposit.” Entry 3… Entry 4… There were fourteen entries in total, spanning fourteen months. Each one was dated. I didn’t show him. He pulled me into a hug, resting his chin on the top of my head. His sweater was covered in cat hair. Where my bare arm touched the wool, a red, itchy rash began to form. I didn’t push him away. “I’ll take you to the doctor tomorrow,” he murmured. “We’ll get the best imported medicine.” I pushed the suitcase back into the bedroom. It wasn’t because I’d softened. It was because I couldn’t let my anger derail my life. My drafting table was still here, and I had three original pieces for a brand collaboration due next week. A one-point-two-million-dollar contract. I wasn’t about to jeopardize that over a move. It was 2:43 AM. I woke up unable to breathe. My chest was tight, each inhale a struggle, a thin wire pulling taut in my throat. Cotton was curled up next to my pillow, her fur tickling my lips. I scrambled out of bed and rushed to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. A drop of blood, then another, hit the white porcelain of the sink. A nosebleed. I stuffed some tissue up my nose and went back to the bedroom. Frederick was fast asleep. His phone screen lit up. A new message. From Sophie. “Thank you for sticking up for me today, Frederick. Sometimes, knowing Cotton is still with you makes me feel like we’re still connected, you know?” It was followed by a heart emoji. I placed the phone back where it was. The tissue was soaked through. I replaced it with a fresh one. The streetlight outside cast a glow into the room, making Cotton’s eyes shine in the dark. She tilted her head, looking at me, so innocent. She didn’t know she was the string. One end tied to Frederick, the other to Sophie. And I was just the inconvenient knot tied in the middle. 2 The doorbell rang early Saturday morning. I wasn’t even out of bed yet. By the time I stumbled into the living room, wrapped in a robe, Sophie was already sitting on our sofa. Cotton was curled in her lap, her tail swaying gently. She was wearing a linen housecoat. My linen housecoat, the one that had been hanging on the hook in my bathroom. “Cotton scratched Sophie’s clothes, so I let her borrow yours,” Frederick explained, poking his head out from the kitchen. Three breakfast plates were set on the coffee table. Eggs Benedict, avocado toast, and pour-over coffee. All of Sophie’s favorites. My oat milk latte was made with whole milk. I’m lactose intolerant. After three years of living together, he remembered every detail of Sophie’s palate but couldn’t remember that whole milk would make me sick. Sophie saw my swollen eyes and immediately set the cat down, standing up. “Ava, I’m so sorry! Did Cotton bother you again? I can put her in her carrier if you want.” Her voice was soft, her eyes brimming with apology. Frederick quickly stepped in. “Cotton’s never been in a carrier. It’ll stress her out, and the vet bills for that are even worse.” He turned to me. “Why don’t you take one of your pills, Ava?” The cat’s stress was more important than my allergic reaction. I sat down and reached for the latte. But Sophie was faster. She picked up the mug from the coffee table and took a long drink of water. It was my mug. The one with the stardust pattern I’d hand-painted myself. A one-of-a-kind piece. She smiled after her drink. “This mug is so pretty.” Frederick chimed in, “Ava painted it. I’ll have her make one for you, too.” No one asked me if I wanted to. I went to my workspace to get my draft illustrations. Sophie followed me. She stood behind me, watching for a moment, her eyes lighting up. “Ava, you’re so talented! Frederick sent me your new ‘Moonlight Jellyfish’ series, and I tried copying it for practice, but I just can’t get the same feeling.” My hand, holding the drafts, froze. The Moonlight Jellyfish series. The core visual for next month’s brand collaboration launch. The contract explicitly stated, “Under no circumstances shall the work be disclosed in any form prior to the official launch.” I turned and looked at Frederick. He was on the sofa, scratching his nose. “Sophie’s learning illustration, so I thought she could use your work as a reference. It’s not like she’s using it commercially. It’s no big deal.” The confidentiality clause of a $1.2 million contract was “no big deal”? The doorbell rang again. Frederick’s mother had arrived. The first person she hugged was Sophie. “Sophie, you’ve gotten so thin! It must be hard living all by yourself.” Then, she glanced at me. “Oh, Ava’s here too.” I didn’t answer, heading to the kitchen to pour her a cup of tea. In the living room, Frederick’s mother held Sophie’s hands, chatting warmly. “You two were such a perfect match. If only Frederick hadn’t been so focused on his career back then…” She glanced my way and trailed off. She didn’t have to finish. I knew the rest. The rest was: he wouldn’t have settled for someone else. Before she left, Frederick’s mother pulled him aside. “The company’s brand launch is next week. Bring Sophie with you. It’s not easy for her out there on her own. You should help her network with people in the industry.” Frederick nodded. “Okay.” I stood in the kitchen doorway. I had drawn every single visual for that launch. Seven months, twelve original pieces. No one had asked if I was going. Sophie stayed for dinner. She and Frederick stood side-by-side in the kitchen, laughing about old stories of raising Cotton. The cat weaved around her legs, purring. She bent down, scooped Cotton into her arms, and kissed her. The scene was perfect. Standing there in the kitchen, she looked like the lady of the house. I retreated to my bedroom and shut the door. My phone buzzed. It was my best friend, Zoe, with a screenshot. It was an Instagram post from Sophie, dated three days ago. The photo showed the floor-to-ceiling window of her new apartment, bathed in sunlight. A cat tree stood by the window. Cat toys were scattered nearby. The caption: “Finally got the new place all set up. The sunlight is perfect for all-day napping.” Her apartment was pet-friendly. Fourteen months. Every single “the landlord won’t allow it” was a lie. I heard the jingle of the cat’s bell from the living room. And Sophie’s voice as she left. “Frederick, today was so wonderful. It felt just like old times.” She was right. This home had always been their “old times.” I was just a temporary guest. 3 Monday. Three days until the brand launch. I put the final stroke on the last piece at my drafting table. Twelve original collaboration pieces. Seven months of work. Each one was hand-drawn with a 0.03mm pen, each with a collector’s value in the six figures. The entire contract was worth $1.2 million. I stretched, rubbing my aching fingers. The door opened. Frederick walked in, with Sophie trailing behind him. “Ava, the company decided to add a last-minute showcase for an emerging artist at the launch. We want to give Sophie a chance to display some of her practice pieces.” He walked up to my table, his tone casual. “We’ll just use the last twenty minutes of your exhibition slot. It’s a great opportunity for her to get some exposure.” “No,” I said, flatly. Seven months of my heart and soul. Not even for twenty seconds. Frederick frowned. “Ava, can you see the bigger picture for once? Sophie is just starting out. What’s the harm in helping her out?” Sophie lowered her head. “It’s okay, Frederick. If it’s inconvenient for Ava, we shouldn’t bother her. I’ll find another opportunity…” Her voice trailed off as she turned to leave. Frederick sighed, watching her go, then turned back to me. “See? Now look how you’ve made her feel.” I ignored him and began carefully gathering my originals. Just then, Cotton slipped into the studio from somewhere. She leaped onto my drafting table. I reached out to lift her down. The cat, startled, kicked out with her back legs, her claws digging into the table’s surface. Her claws raked across three of the twelve originals I had laid out to dry. Deep gashes tore through the paper, severing the delicate ink lines. They were ruined, beyond repair. I stood there, frozen. Seven months. Every single line drawn by hand, one by one. Sophie rushed in from the doorway and scooped up the cat. “I’m so, so sorry! Cotton didn’t mean to do it!” she sobbed. Frederick’s first move was to check the cat’s paws, turning them over and over to make sure she wasn’t hurt. Only then did he look at the shredded artwork on my table. “Can you fix them?” “No.” “Then just print out digital copies to replace them. The client will never know the difference.” He said it so calmly. The originals had a six-figure collector’s value. The prints were worthless. But to him, there was no difference. I said nothing. That evening, the head of the brand called me. Her voice was ice. Three of my line-art illustrations, she said, were “highly similar” to a submission in a competition for new artists. She asked me if I had plagiarized the work. I told her it was impossible. She sent me the side-by-side comparison. The name of the “new artist” was Sophie. The submission date was two weeks before I had delivered my final drafts. She had used the files Frederick had secretly sent her to enter a competition in advance. The brand representative’s words were sharp. “Ms. Reed, this raises a serious dispute about originality. We have to suspend the collaboration and launch an investigation.” The $1.2 million contract was frozen. I called Frederick. In the background, I could hear Sophie’s voice. “Thanks for taking me to get Cotton’s paw checked today.” He was dropping her home. The cat’s paw was more important than my $1.2 million contract. I didn’t waste words. I sent him the recording of my call with the brand. He was silent for a full five seconds. “I’ll handle this,” he said finally. “Sophie wouldn’t do this on purpose. She just doesn’t know the industry rules. I’ll talk to her. Don’t worry.” He hung up. I stared at the three ruined originals and the “contract suspended” notification on my phone. Seven months of work. Three years of a relationship. And he wanted to brush it all away with a simple, “She didn’t mean to do it.”

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To surprise my husband for Valentine’s Day, I lied about going on a business trip, but secretly came home. The moment I pushed open the front door, I saw a strange woman lying on the bed, and a furious rage ignited within me. I rushed over, grabbed her hair, ready to unleash my anger on this shameless homewrecker, but as I turned her over, a chilling dread froze me to the core. Her eyes were vacant and lifeless, staring fixedly at me. A grotesque knife wound on her neck was gushing blood, staining the entire bedsheet crimson. Just as my heart seized with terror, I heard my husband’s key fumbling in the lock at the front door. Panicked beyond belief, I scrambled, desperately hiding in the bedroom closet. The closet door had barely swung shut when my fingertips brushed against cold, stiff flesh. I looked down, and another woman’s corpse was curled up inside! 1. My heart hammered against my ribs, threatening to shatter them. I clamped my hand over my mouth, terrified that even the slightest sound would bring about my demise. The scent of mothballs, combined with the chilling odor of the stiff corpse beside me, was suffocating. Through the narrow slats of the closet door, I watched as Chris walked in, casually closing the bedroom door behind him. My husband, the man who usually spoke in gentle tones, who was always agreeable to me, who worried if I even frowned. But now, there was no surprise or panic on his face, not even a hint of emotion. He simply cast a calm glance at the woman lying on the bed, freshly deceased, blood still gushing from the horrific wound on her neck, staining the pristine white sheets a sickening red. His gaze was as indifferent as if he were looking at an ant on the floor. Then, he walked to the bed, bent down, and with a disturbingly unhurried motion, picked up the paring knife that had fallen nearby. The tip of the knife still glistened with crimson droplets, which splattered onto the light-colored rug with a soft plink, spreading into a small, dark red stain. He held the knife, plunging it into the woman’s corpse, again and again, fiercely and precisely. The dull, wet thwack of the blade sinking into flesh echoed clearly in my ears. He stabbed her seven or eight times before finally stopping, tossing the knife aside. He turned the body over, gently cradling it in his arms, his gaze tenderly sweeping over her face. Then he pulled out a few wet wipes, meticulously and patiently, little by little, wiping away the blood spatters on her face and hair. He even tenderly smoothed her tangled auburn hair with his fingertips and gently straightened the wrinkles in her shirt. “You’re really not being good.” He spoke, his voice low, with an eerie, almost doting intimacy, just like when he’d coax me after one of my little tantrums. “Why do you insist on knowing my secrets? Hmm?” A chill shot from my feet straight to the top of my head. Secrets? What secrets did he have? Had this woman discovered something that led to her murder? What about me? Chris and I had been together for almost seven years, would I be next? After speaking, he gazed at the corpse for a moment longer, then placed an incredibly gentle kiss on her forehead before leaving the room. I didn’t know where he was going. I just tried to put as much distance as possible between myself and the corpse, then scanned the room for an escape route. But I found nothing before Chris returned. My hands and feet were icy cold, and I was curled up in the farthest corner from the body, watching the situation outside. Chris sat on the bed, resting the corpse on his lap as he sipped his tea, stroking her ashen cheek. After finishing his tea, he retrieved an oversized, thick black duffel bag from a storage cabinet. With practiced ease, he dragged the corpse over, stuffed it inside, and zipped it up. The entire process was seamless, without a hint of hesitation or wasted movement, so practiced it sent shivers down my spine. This was definitely not spontaneous; this level of expertise… I dared not think further. My whole body trembled uncontrollably, like a leaf in the wind. My teeth chattered involuntarily, making faint clicking sounds. Even worse, from extreme fear and prolonged crouching, my legs and feet were completely numb, feeling like a thousand needles were pricking them. Instinctively, I tried to shift my numb ankle, but my knee accidentally bumped the inner wall of the closet. “Click.” A faint scrape of wood, in the deadly silent room, broken only by the sound of the zipper, was like a clap of thunder. Chris, who was tightening the duffel bag, froze! He suddenly lifted his head, his gaze, sharp as a hawk’s, cutting like a physical blade directly towards the closet where I was hiding! Those eyes, usually filled with gentle smiles, were now cold, alert, and full of scrutiny and murder. I instantly froze completely, my blood seeming to stop flowing, my mind a blank. I was doomed! He found me! I’ll be the next one in the bag! 2. Yet, Chris merely narrowed his eyes, staring intently at the closet for a full ten seconds, a slight frown on his brow. Then he slowly lowered his head, muttering to himself. “Heh, just getting ahead of myself.” He resumed his task, but the speed at which he dragged the duffel bag and cleaned the blood from the floor noticeably increased. The duffel bag was temporarily tucked into the bedroom corner, partially obscured by the curtain’s tassels. Chris didn’t immediately move it. Instead, as if nothing had happened, he meticulously checked his shirt and hands, ensuring no bloodstains, then opened the bedroom door and walked out. Soon, the sound of a news broadcast drifted from the living room, a female anchor’s clear voice reporting on irrelevant international affairs. Then came the sound of running water, the squeak of a wet mop on the floor, and his occasional off-key humming. He was cleaning up, as normal and natural as any meticulous husband doing chores after work. I bit my lip hard, letting the metallic taste of blood spread in my mouth. I had to do something! I couldn’t just cower here like a lamb to the slaughter, waiting to die! I forced myself to calm down, beginning to cautiously grope around the narrow, dark closet, filled with the smell of unnatural things. My fingertips once again touched the cold, stiff body beside me, and the icy sensation sent my stomach churning. I suppressed the urge to vomit and the extreme fear, carefully searching her body. Maybe I could find something to identify her? Or, find a weapon for self-defense? Suddenly, my fingers brushed against something hard. It was on her hand, which hung limply at her side. It was a ring, on the woman’s ring finger. The design was highly unusual, like a snake biting its own tail, its body coiling, scales intricate, and its eyes set with two dark emeralds, glowing eerily in the faint light within the closet. I knew this ring, a very clear memory of it! Just a few months ago, I had seen its design sketch in a corner of a locked drawer in Chris’s study! At the time, I’d curiously asked about it, but he had just casually dismissed it as an old practice drawing he’d long forgotten. My heart pounded in my chest, threatening to burst from my throat! This was evidence, irrefutable proof directly linking Chris to this unknown woman! This unique ring was very likely the reason she was killed! Trembling, I tried to slip the ring off her stiff finger, but the corpse was completely rigid, the joints unyielding. The ring was stuck at the knuckle, unmoving. I dared not use force, fearing I’d make too much noise, so I had to give up for now. Perhaps… perhaps leaving it, for the police to discover later, would actually be crucial evidence to incriminate him? A faint flicker of hope ignited in my chest. Just as I tried to shift my position to relieve my almost numb legs and feet, and continue searching for other clues, my ankle accidentally hooked an object deep within the closet. It was a dusty, old wooden box, which slid further in when I nudged it, making a faint shhh sound as it scraped against the rough wooden floor of the closet. The sound wasn’t really loud, especially inside this fairly soundproof closet. But at that very moment, the TV volume in the living room was precisely lowered, and the mopping sound stopped. Heavy footsteps resonated, light but purposeful. He stopped just outside the bedroom door, utterly still. Through the thin door, I could almost feel his gaze, palpable and predatory, scanning the entire room. My palms were drenched in cold sweat, clutching tightly the small, decorative button I had instinctively torn off my jacket earlier. 3. Just then, the doorbell rang without warning. Chris, outside the door, seemed to freeze for a moment too. Immediately, his footsteps changed direction, heading towards the front door, a little more hurried than before. “Chris, open the door! It’s me, Archie!” Archie’s distinctively loud voice, my best friend, carried clearly from outside, laced with an obvious impatience and urgency. An overwhelming surge of joy instantly washed over me! It was Archie! My best friend! But the euphoria lasted only a second, receding as quickly as the tide, replaced by an even deeper fear and dread. Chris was a merciless devil now. How would he deal with Archie? What if he… what if he hurt Archie too? “Coming.” Chris responded, his voice instantly reverting to its usual gentle tone, even with a hint of annoyed resignation at being disturbed. I heard him walk quickly to the entryway, then the click-clack of the door opening. “Archie? What brings you here at this hour? Is something wrong?” His tone was perfectly pitched with surprise and a familiar, slight complaint. “Aurora’s suitcase!” Archie’s voice came through clearly, tinged with anger, “She left it with me earlier, to trick you into thinking she was on a business trip! She said she’d pick it up around five or six this evening, and we were supposed to have dinner! It’s almost eight now, and there’s no sign of her. Her phone has been unreachable since this afternoon—first no answer, then it went straight to voicemail! What’s going on? Where is she?” I held my breath, my heart pounding in my throat, every nerve in my body stretched taut. I desperately hoped Archie would notice something amiss, that she would be assertive, that she would barge in! Chris was silent for a second or two, then his lighthearted laugh came, tinged with doting helplessness. “That scatterbrain! She hasn’t arrived yet, I’m waiting for her too. Just leave the suitcase with you for now, Archie, thank you so much for coming all this way! I’ll make sure she treats you to a big dinner later!” He was lying! “Hasn’t arrived? No way!” Archie’s voice instantly rose an octave, laced with obvious, undisguised suspicion. “I clearly dropped her off at the apartment complex entrance around four this afternoon! I saw her walk in with a small suitcase myself!” “Chris, what’s your game? Make her answer the phone! Now! Immediately! Or let me in to wait for her! I need to know what’s going on!” My heart felt like it would leap out of my throat. I wanted Archie to come in, but I also wanted her to leave quickly. Chris’s voice took on a decisive firmness, even subtly hinting at an imperceptible coldness and threat. “Archie, look, I’m preparing a surprise for her. The apartment’s a mess with balloons and streamers, I haven’t cleaned up, it’s really not fit for guests.” “The moment she gets home, I’ll have her call you back right away, I promise you’ll be the first call, alright? Don’t worry so much.” Silence fell for a few seconds outside. This brief stillness was filled with Archie’s hesitation, suspicion, and calculation. I could almost picture her frowning, scrutinizing Chris from head to toe, trying to find a crack in his facade. “…Fine.” Archie’s voice finally broke the silence again, laced with clear reluctance and lingering doubt. “Chris, I’m telling you, if even one hair on Aurora’s head is harmed, you and I are through! The moment she arrives, you tell her to call me! Immediately! You hear me?” “Don’t worry! Absolutely! I promise!” Chris’s tone was filled with relieved sincerity. Then, the sound of the door closing forcefully. Immediately followed by the distinct, chilling, and final— “Click.” The sound of the deadbolt locking. It wasn’t loud, but it was like a heavy gate crashing down before me, severing all my connections to the outside world, to life itself. Outside, a deadly silence. Then, I heard Chris’s voice. No longer the feigned gentleness or resignation, but stripped of all masks, raw, metallic, and utterly cold. His voice wasn’t loud, but every word, piercingly clear, penetrated the door and drilled into my ears: “Aurora…” He paused, as if savoring the name, or perhaps confirming that his prey finally had no escape. “So your surprise for me was to watch me perform?”

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1. I used to have a knack for playing Cupid for everyone around me. Looking back, that was the start of my nightmare. I remember introducing my best friend to my brother, and my roommate to my cousin. Who would’ve thought my best friend would betray my brother on their wedding day? The whole thing sent my mom to the hospital with a heart attack, and my brother became the laughingstock of the entire family. What was worse, my brother didn’t just lose face; his vengeful ex-wife ruined his career after the divorce. In despair, he jumped into a river, ending his life. As for my roommate, my cousin swindled her out of all her dowry and wedding gifts after they married. She was even subjected to domestic abuse when she got pregnant. She blamed me for introducing them, convinced I had ruined her life. One day, she stormed into my house, stabbed me to death, and then took her own life right there. Two marriages, three tragic deaths. My heart was heavy with regret. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the day I introduced my best friend to a potential partner. This time, with a trembling hand, I suggested my cousin instead. … The moment I sent the recommendation, a voice message from my best friend, Cheryl, popped up: “Is this your cousin? He looks pretty decent in his profile. Tell him to take us out for dinner.” In my previous life, I had foolishly asked my own brother to treat her. Cheryl, of course, showed up with a bunch of colleagues and insisted on a high-end sushi place, running up a bill of five or six hundred dollars for my brother. Thinking of my cheapskate cousin, Lance, I couldn’t help but chuckle. That evening, at the sushi restaurant, Cheryl indeed brought a few colleagues. As Lance and I walked in, his brow furrowed, and he muttered to me, “Your friend really knows how to spend, huh? Sushi? What’s wrong with the diner next door?” I snickered internally, but outwardly I soothed him, “First impressions, you know? You have to show a girl you’re serious.” Lance clamped his mouth shut. Cheryl saw us and quickly said, “I brought a few colleagues. You guys don’t mind, do you?” To my surprise, Lance was remarkably generous. “Not at all. We’re not that petty.” I was a bit taken aback. Lance and Cheryl seemed to hit it off, laughing together several times during dinner. Midway through, I went to the restroom. Cheryl followed me in and whispered, “Your cousin isn’t as much of a bumpkin as you made him out to be. Get ready to call me sis-in-law!” I could only offer an awkward smile. I thought Lance had genuinely turned over a new leaf. He even rushed to pay the bill. But after settling it, he declared, perfectly straight-faced, “Total bill was six hundred and twenty bucks. Just venmo me a hundred and three dollars and forty cents each.” 2. Cheryl’s colleagues mumbled, “I thought he was treating. If I’d known it was this expensive, I would’ve gone next door.” “Seriously. Why pretend to be generous if you’re not going to pay?” Cheryl’s face darkened, and she shot me a furious glare. “Didn’t you say your cousin had money? He can’t even spring for one meal?” I could only offer a sheepish grin. “Maybe the sushi was just too pricey. If it was the diner, he probably would have.” Lance acted as if he hadn’t heard a thing, urging Cheryl to pay. “I barely ate anything just now. Technically, I shouldn’t even be splitting it. You guys aren’t thinking of skipping out on the bill, are you? And you, Tiffany, even if you’re my cousin, close family still settles their debts. You need to pay up too.” So, I paid my share. Back home, Cheryl was fuming, swearing she’d block Lance. I was secretly thrilled. Who would’ve thought that two days later, they’d be an item? I asked Cheryl what made her change her mind so suddenly. She beamed. “You wouldn’t believe it. After that night, he not only paid me back my share but also transferred back everyone else’s money.” “He said our money shouldn’t benefit outsiders.” I paused for a moment before asking, “Don’t you think my cousin is a bit cheap?” Cheryl rolled her eyes. “Your cousin makes a fortune. He’s not short on cash. He was just testing me.” My mind drifted back to my honest, straightforward brother. In my previous life, he had paid the bill without a fuss, only to be called unromantic and stingy by Cheryl, who complained he should have sent her roses after dinner. After they got together, Cheryl took his debit card and became a stay-at-home girlfriend, buying luxury bags and clothes non-stop. She even took a sixty thousand dollar dowry when they married. But on their wedding day, she was caught cheating with the male photographer in the dressing room. My brother wanted a divorce, but she managed to take a large chunk of his assets, and her antics even cost him his job. Meanwhile, my jobless cousin ended up marrying my kind and hardworking roommate. After marriage, my roommate had to work and take care of my cousin and my demanding aunt. Even then, my cousin wasn’t satisfied. He disparaged her for her humble background and even physically abused her when she was pregnant. My roommate was beaten to the point of miscarriage but couldn’t get a divorce. From then on, she harbored a deep hatred for my cousin and me. But she couldn’t fight my cousin, so she sought revenge on me, even taking me with her in death. Just then, a knock echoed on my bedroom door. I opened it to find my roommate, Serena, her eyes red and swollen from crying. I quickly asked her what was wrong. Serena said, a little embarrassed, “My parents are rushing me to go home and get married, but I don’t want to. Once you get married back home, you can’t leave the boonies.” “Tiffany, do you know anyone suitable? Could you introduce me to someone?” 3. I was about to refuse, but looking at her tear-filled eyes, I couldn’t bring myself to say no. I had wronged her in my previous life. I thought my cousin was just lazy, not a scheming jerk. Just then, my phone rang. It was my brother, Tony. “Mom said I should pick you up for dinner. When are you coming down?” My eyes lit up. I took Serena’s hand and said, “I actually know just the right person. My brother. Do you want to meet him?” Serena nodded, and I quickly told Tony, “Don’t go home yet. I’m introducing you to a friend. Let’s all have dinner together.” Tony wasn’t sure what we liked, so he booked a table at a high-end seafood buffet nearby. In the car, Serena hesitated, whispering, “Will it be too expensive? I’m almost out of money this month.” I gave her a reassuring look. “My brother’s treating. We don’t need to pay a thing.” During dinner, Tony was a quiet guy. All he did was peel shrimp and crack crabs for us. He wasn’t much for conversation. Serena was a bit shy at first, but gradually relaxed, and the atmosphere was decent enough. Later, they exchanged numbers. Serena tried to venmo Tony for the buffet, but he refused. Tony secretly asked me, “Did your roommate not like me? Why would she try to pay me? Was there something I did wrong?” I could only advise him not to take her money and suggest Serena treat him next time. After going out a few more times, they officially started dating. Cheryl’s relationship with Lance was progressing even faster. Soon, it was time to meet the parents and discuss marriage. I thought about it and decided to be honest with Cheryl. “Lance isn’t my biological cousin. He’s my cousin on my mom’s side, and he doesn’t even have a job. Are you sure you want to marry him?” To my surprise, Cheryl already knew. “He told me all about it. He’s in business, makes a few hundred thousand a year. Way better than your actual brother, the programmer who could lose his job anytime.” I almost laughed. “You actually believe that? How is he better than my brother?” Cheryl’s tone grew cold. “Are you just jealous of my happiness? You’d be happy if I ended up with your brother, wouldn’t you?” I quickly shut my mouth, terrified she might actually fall for Tony. Serena’s family was pressuring her to settle down, so after discussing it, she and Tony decided to get engaged too. Serena put a lot of thought into the gifts she brought to our house, even knitting a scarf for me. My parents were overjoyed, doubling their initial engagement gift from a thousand to six thousand. I remembered my previous life. Cheryl’s first visit to our house. She wore designer clothes but only brought a case of fruit. She claimed she didn’t want us to look down on her. Even then, my parents had treated her with such warmth, let alone a considerate girl like Serena. Cheryl, on the other hand, had a mishap the moment she met Lance’s family. She called me, crying, “Your aunt and uncle actually made me wash dishes!” 4. I quickly tried to comfort her. “That’s terrible. If it’s too much, just break up.” But Cheryl suddenly calmed down. “Lance said it’s his mom’s test. After we get married, there’ll naturally be someone to do the dishes.” “Tiffany, stop trying to make me break up with him. Do you think I don’t deserve to marry your cousin?” “Lance told me you originally wanted to introduce me to your brother, that IT guy, didn’t you? Everyone knows IT guys are out of a job by thirty-five. You think I’m going to marry a charity case?” I decided to just keep quiet, offering my best wishes. After the engagement was settled, my parents prepared a sixty-thousand-dollar dowry plus a house. Serena was overwhelmed, saying her family couldn’t afford a matching dowry. But my parents and brother didn’t care. My mom, beaming, held Serena’s hand and said, “We’re giving this to you because you deserve it. It has nothing to do with your family.” Serena’s family came from a very poor rural area, but even so, her parents scraped together a thousand dollars as a wedding gift for her, hoping she’d be happy. I saw Serena wiping away tears on the balcony and suddenly felt incredibly sad. In her previous life, she had married such a jerk. How heartbroken her parents must have been. Cheryl and Lance were also preparing for their wedding. Coincidentally, we ran into each other while scouting wedding venues. Cheryl saw us, her eyes wide. “Tiffany, your brother and Serena want to book a venue this expensive too?” I retorted, annoyed, “Are you the only ones allowed to?” Lance grinned. “We just figured you wouldn’t be able to afford it. After all, your brother’s almost thirty. He won’t be making money for many more years.” Serena whispered, “Maybe we should switch to a different hotel.” Cheryl rolled her eyes disdainfully. “A hairdresser thinking she can marry into money and climb the social ladder.” Serena opened her mouth, her face flushed crimson. I was instantly furious. What hairdresser? She’s a professional stylist, thank you very much! I was about to argue when I heard my brother ask, “How much is this venue?” The manager, who had been watching the scene unfold, quickly stepped forward. “You’re both booking on popular dates, and it’s a holiday weekend. The venue fee is thirty-eight thousand, and the banquet costs are separate.” My brother spoke directly. “Fifty thousand. We’ll take it.” Serena tugged on his sleeve. “Don’t spend that much money.” Cheryl immediately shot a glance at Lance, who then declared, “We’ll offer eighty thousand!” My brother raised it to a hundred thousand. Lance, caught up in the moment, shouted, “How about two hundred thousand?!” Cheryl shot us a triumphant look. To our surprise, my brother didn’t raise his offer. “Fine, you can have it then.” Cheryl and Lance were completely stunned. My brother and the manager directly booked another ballroom in the same hotel. Cheryl and Lance were left arguing with the manager nearby. As we left, Cheryl glared at me, seething. “You deliberately set us up, didn’t you? Just wait for the wedding day!”

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1. I never dreamed my husband, the man whose hands sweat just driving a car, could ever do such a thing. The day my sister Diana was kidnapped, he transformed. His usual timid demeanor vanished into frantic urgency. He only said, “Wait at home,” and rushed off. I thought he was calling the police. Then I saw the news: police surrounding an abandoned factory, and a man driving an SUV straight through the gates. The camera zoomed in. It was clearly my husband, Matthew. The report praised a retired special forces hero who rescued the hostages. Diana was safe. But watching it, I laughed a bitter laugh. “You said driving made your hands shake,” I challenged him. “When our daughter had a 104‑degree fever, you refused to drive her to the hospital, afraid of an accident. Back then we had no money for her treatment. Now you crash a car with fifty thousand dollars to save someone else. What a hero.” Matthew stood speechless, stammering. Then Diana, leaning weakly against him, explained, “Don’t blame him, Tiffany. Years ago, he accidentally hurt me in a car accident. After that, he promised he would only ever drive for me.” “Sis, you really shouldn’t misunderstand him.” … Inside the hospital room, Matthew grabbed my arm, wanting to speak to me outside. “Say it right here!” I fiercely shook off Matthew’s hand, demanding an explanation. Matthew sighed. “Don’t misunderstand, I just… I was afraid you’d become too dependent on me if you knew I was a retired special forces operative.” “I wasn’t exactly hiding it, either. Why didn’t you ask me?” “Besides, what difference would it make if you knew? What could it change?” Mom and Dad carefully adjusted Diana’s blankets. Dad lowered his voice. “Your sister just fell asleep. Matthew’s right. Why didn’t you ask?” “Matthew wasn’t hiding anything from anyone. If you want to blame someone, blame yourself for not asking, for not caring about your own husband. Who are you blaming now?” I looked at my uncomprehending parents, a bitter taste rising in my throat. Hadn’t I cared enough about Matthew? Matthew and I had been married for six years. Matthew said he’d experienced a major earthquake while volunteering and suffered from PTSD. He was timid and easily scared, afraid to drive, afraid to go out at night, afraid to argue with anyone. He even feared going to crowded places to buy groceries. I supported him for six years. I worked three jobs a day, saving money to find Matthew the best therapist. I became a fierce lioness, holding our household together. When Matthew got into a fight and was taken to the precinct, I, heavily pregnant, knelt before the other party, begging for their understanding. Because of an outsider’s comment that Matthew was a kept man, I, fearing he’d overthink it, took all our savings to open a business for him. Even when the business failed completely, leaving us in debt, I didn’t say a word. Our daughter was frail, getting a fever every change of season. That night, her temperature soared to 104 degrees, but Matthew’s hands trembled on the steering wheel. His PTSD was acting up, preventing him from driving. This was despite the fact that he had just driven for his nephew’s parent-teacher conference that very afternoon. I gritted my teeth, scooped up our daughter, and rushed to the hospital. But it was too late. Our daughter ended up in the ICU. Matthew’s eyes turned red with anger. He frowned deeply, then spoke through gritted teeth. “You’re so ungrateful. I saved your sister. Why are you so mad?” “Can’t I be mad?” “I sold our house to pay for our daughter’s medical bills, and you just conjure up fifty thousand dollars as a down payment?” “You had money, but you wouldn’t use it to treat our daughter. You took our marital assets and spent them on another woman. You pair of cheating dogs!” My words grew uglier and uglier, fueled by the thought of our daughter, lying alone in her hospital room. My accusations silenced Mom and Dad. Furious, Dad kicked me in the chest. For a moment, I felt a coppery taste well up in my throat. “What cheating dogs? That’s your sister!” “If you want to blame someone, blame us! Do you expect me to give you an IOU?” “That money belongs to Matthew. What does it have to do with you?” “Are you trying to disown us? You ungrateful daughter!” “If you’re so unhappy, then get a divorce!” A chill spread through my heart. “Divorce!” 2 Agreement: The Bitter Truth Matthew no longer bothered to keep up the pretense. He parked his SUV casually downstairs, one hand on the steering wheel, the other flicking his burning cigarette out the window to extinguish it between his thumb and forefinger. Matthew handed me a folder, instructing me to sign. “Diana was afraid you’d misunderstand and want a divorce, so she insisted I explain everything clearly.” I looked through the marital property agreement he handed me. Only then did I realize that my good-for-nothing husband was actually the big boss of an international security company, with countless properties and assets to his name. “Honey, don’t make a fuss. Our daughter has her own trust fund. She can access it after she turns eighteen. As long as she doesn’t elope with a man at eighteen like you did, I guarantee she’ll be financially secure for life!” My fingertips, gripping the document, turned white. “I eloped at eighteen? Matthew, how shameless are you? I followed you when I was eighteen. You’re saying I eloped at eighteen!” “You’re the shameless one, running off with me at eighteen!” Matthew slammed his hand against the steering wheel. He paused, a flicker in his eyes, avoiding my gaze. “That’s not what I meant, don’t misunderstand!” My teeth ground together, and I spoke each word distinctly. “I’m not misunderstanding. I wasn’t joking about the divorce. And my daughter doesn’t need your trust fund.” “Let’s get a divorce!” Matthew clicked his tongue impatiently. “Why do you have to get a divorce? Yes, I kept it from you, but why didn’t you ask me?” “Our daughter has cerebral palsy. She can’t take over my company!” “My assets will still go to your family, won’t they? They’ll go to your sister’s child!” Matthew told me to be content. He said that not finding another woman to have children with was already a testament to his love for me. He said it was better to leave the company to my sister’s child than to someone else. “You and our daughter will still have someone to depend on later, right?” After Matthew finished speaking, he seemed to be waiting for me to be utterly grateful to him. I refused to sign and didn’t want to communicate with him anymore. I simply told him to wait for the court summons. When I went to pick up our daughter, I found Diana and my nephew, Peter, there. Diana was six years older than me, but simply by appearance, an outsider would easily mistake me for the older sister. The dark green silk scarf she used to carry her Hermes bag was one I had always wanted but never bought. I noticed the charm on Peter’s backpack. It was a character from our daughter’s favorite cartoon. When my daughter tugged at it a couple of times, Peter angrily stomped on the charm. “I broke it, and you still won’t get it. I’ll just have Uncle Matthew buy me another one!” Diana offered an apologetic smile, but the look in her eyes felt like a challenge. “Matthew specially took Peter abroad to buy this birthday gift!” Diana was there specifically to explain things to me. “Lily, Matthew rescued me because I’m a manager at his security company. I handle many important projects. I can’t afford to have anything happen to me!” “I’m not like a housewife such as yourself! I can help Matthew with his career!” “Matthew never hid anything from you. Both Mom and Dad and I knew what Matthew did. You’re the only one who didn’t know. Why didn’t you ever care about your husband?” “He’s a hero!” “Matthew said he just didn’t want you and your daughter to rely on him too much!” Listening to Diana, I felt my heart clench, a searing pain gripping me. Matthew didn’t want my daughter and me to rely on him. He pretended to be poor, deceiving me, making me live like a madwoman for six years. “Get out!” “Get as far away from me as possible!” Before I could finish speaking, I heard Peter place my daughter’s food bowl on the floor. He used a string to pull at her neck. My daughter choked and coughed, two distinct white marks appearing on her throat. He wanted her to eat like a dog on the floor. “Puppy, come eat!” “What are you doing?!” In a panic, I pushed Peter, and he cried, scared by my intensity. Mom embraced Peter, comforting him. Dad said I was making a big deal out of nothing, targeting Peter, targeting Diana. My eyes burned with anger. Matthew had appeared at the doorway at some point. Diana noticed Matthew’s displeasure. My daughter, seeing her father, instinctively reached out her small hands. “It’s all my fault, all my fault. I didn’t raise Peter well, and Peter doesn’t have a dad to teach him!” “Peter, apologize to Uncle Matthew quickly!” Diana, her eyes red, apologized to Matthew. Matthew told me to let bygones be bygones. 3 Favoritism: Sisters at Odds I filed for divorce in court and moved with my daughter into a small, dilapidated apartment. I had already consulted with a lawyer. Since our daughter was under three, custody would naturally go to me. I scrolled through Diana’s social media. Photos showed Diana and Matthew standing side by side, Mom and Dad on the sofa, holding Peter. It looked just like a young couple bringing their child to visit the grandparents. A relative commented, “Matthew is so filial, buying so many things again.” “Doesn’t your sister ever visit your parents?” Diana replied, “No, Tiffany is very busy. She has to take her child for physical therapy every week!” “Filial or not, there are always excuses. Luckily, she married a good man! If it weren’t for the elopement causing such a scandal, he would have been your husband.” “But either way, he’s still family.” Diana’s social media was no longer set to a three-day viewing limit. I scrolled through her posts, seeing snapshots of Matthew’s life over the past six years. As a son-in-law, Matthew was absolutely exemplary: celebrating birthdays with Mom and Dad, bringing gifts and transferring money for holidays. As a husband and father, he patiently tutored children, attended parent-teacher conferences, and stayed up all night with his wife when she needed an IV drip. But that woman wasn’t me. The people Matthew was filial to weren’t my parents. I tightly hugged my daughter, tears streaming down my face. Just after I commented on that post, Matthew’s call came through. I took a deep breath, pressed the answer button, and deliberately let my voice sound husky from crying. “Hello?” “Lily? What’s the meaning of your comment? Diana is crying.” Matthew’s voice carried suppressed anger. “I’ve already explained everything to you clearly. How can your mind be so twisted?” “Are you implying Diana and I are having an affair?” “I’ve set up a trust fund for our daughter, and I’ll transfer money to you every month for household expenses. What more are you dissatisfied with?” “You’re a housewife, so don’t meddle in company affairs.” “Delete that comment.” I scoffed internally, but on the surface, I feigned distress and panic. “I didn’t. You were the one who hid marital assets first. Diana is draped in gold and silver, while I have to borrow money just to buy a bowl of noodles.” “You don’t even allow me to vent my emotions?” As I spoke, I quietly pressed the record button. I had just discovered when making a payment today that all my bank cards and payment accounts were frozen. Silence stretched for a few seconds on the other end. After a while, Matthew sighed. “Freezing your accounts was meant to make you calm down, to realize what hardships you’d face without me.” “Your accounts will be unfrozen in a while. Think it over and come back.” “From now on, I’ll be your support.” Before hanging up, Matthew made me a promise. I found it utterly ridiculous. I hadn’t relied on him since we got married. Matthew didn’t spare a thought for how my daughter and I would live while my accounts were frozen. He didn’t offer to bring us back either. I knew he was taking Mom, Dad, Diana, and Peter on an overseas trip soon. Even if Mom and Dad weren’t my biological parents anymore, my daughter and I couldn’t stand in the way of his filial piety.

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1. Five years ago, my stepsister, Annabelle, burst into my life. She was a master at charming my father, and soon, even my fiancé was captivated by her. Once, to force me to tend to Annabelle’s injury, Father ordered someone to cut off my mother’s oxygen supply during surgery. I bit back my fury and bandaged Annabelle’s wound, but she turned around and accused me of deliberately pressing down hard on it. My fiancé, without hearing me out, cursed me for being vicious and unethical, then roughly pushed me away. He had me locked in our marital suite, saying I wasn’t allowed out until I apologized. That night, under the cover of darkness, I jumped from the window and fled the country. Today, five years later, I was invited back to the States to treat an important figure. But the moment I stepped off the plane, I was intercepted by men sent by my father and ex-fiancé. They tried to forcibly take me to treat Annabelle, whose old illness had relapsed – a chilling replay of five years ago. But what they didn’t know was that the person who invited me back was someone they absolutely couldn’t afford to cross. … Perhaps because I was wearing sunglasses, the man leading the group—my father’s confidant, a man I’d known as Uncle Arthur for twenty-odd years—didn’t recognize me. He spoke with respectful indifference, “I heard a highly skilled doctor was returning on this flight. You must be Dr. Stone, the specialist. Our young lady’s old illness has flared up again. We’d appreciate it if you’d come with us.” “Why should we? Do you have any idea who invited Dr. Stone? Hijacking someone at the airport—is there no law and order anymore?” My assistant, Amy, loudly challenged him, pulling out her phone to contact our client. Uncle Arthur smacked the phone out of her hand. “Law and order? My apologies for not introducing ourselves properly to Dr. Stone. The people asking for you are not ordinary citizens. They are the Thompsons and the Parkers, influential families in Harrington.” “We’re not familiar with Dr. Stone’s background, but you,” Uncle Arthur looked at Amy, “you’re a local. You’ve lived here for twenty-two years. Surely you’ve heard of the Thompsons and the Parkers.” Amy gasped, pulling my arm and whispering, “They’re the ones…” “I know. It’s fine.” I cut her off, then addressed Uncle Arthur. “What if I refuse?” “Then you still don’t understand. To be blunt, the person you are to treat is the only daughter of the Thompson family, and she is also the fiancée of the Parker family heir. Regardless of your purpose for coming to Harrington, the Thompsons and Parkers have their ways.” “So, Dr. Stone, there’s no need to struggle.” With that, he signaled to the bodyguards beside him. One of them immediately reached for my surgical instrument case. In the struggle, the case flew open, scattering instruments across the floor. I rushed to retrieve them, but could only watch in horror as they were trampled underfoot, broken into a thousand pieces. I was furious, shouting at them, “Those are my custom surgical tools! Without them, how am I supposed to operate?” Uncle Arthur sneered. “Don’t worry, Dr. Stone. What surgical tools can’t we buy? The hospital has a full set of equipment ready, just waiting for you.” Buy a damn thing, my rage flared. How could he know that my hand had been broken in a shove, then immediately locked away, missing the best treatment window? Because of that, I spent two years abroad in grueling rehabilitation before I could even pick up a scalpel again. Later, I treated the family member of an international magnate, who specially commissioned a complete set of custom surgical instruments for me at great expense. Even a single pair of forceps cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. And this wasn’t just a matter of money. Without them, how could I perform surgery on my client? The thought of that venerable old man having to suffer for a few more days made my teeth ache with anger. Amy was sobbing hysterically, crying out, “Dr. Stone, what do we do? What do we do?” Uncle Arthur glared at her impatiently. “Now is not the time for your wailing. If you continue to drag your feet and delay Miss Thompson’s treatment, the Thompsons and Parkers will make sure you both disappear without a trace.” I scoffed, “Oh really?” “Of course. For Miss Thompson’s sake, Mr. Thompson and Mr. Parker would give anything. They once, for her, even…” Uncle Arthur trailed off, a sigh escaping him as his tone softened. “Dr. Stone, you’re both young. Be sensible.” “They once, for her, had one kill his own wife, and the other harm and imprison his ex-fiancée?” I finished his unspoken sentence. “Dr. Stone, what are you talking about?” Amy asked, confused. The men opposite me froze. “Uncle Arthur, do you remember me?” I took off my sunglasses. 2. “Miss… Miss Thompson?” Uncle Arthur tentatively stepped forward, carefully scrutinizing my face. Confirming it was truly me, he said, “Mr. Thompson asked me to bring you back.” His tone had changed quickly. I ignored him, took Amy’s hand, and prepared to leave. “Miss Thompson, stop right there.” He shouted, and the bodyguards once again surrounded us. “Miss Thompson knows Mr. Thompson’s temper. If you insist on leaving, please don’t make things difficult for us. Allow me to report to Mr. Thompson.” He pulled out his phone and called my father. “Dr. Stone is indeed Miss Lillian, yes, she’s alive. It’s true. Good.” He handed the phone to me. “Mr. Thompson wants to speak with you.” I didn’t move, so he had to put it on speakerphone. My father’s voice came through. “So they were talking about you, Dr. Stone. I thought you had died when you jumped from the window that year. It seems you simply ran away.” “If you had stayed by Annabelle’s side, she wouldn’t have relapsed. This is your fault. Come back and make amends.” His tone held no joy at my being alive, only an unyielding command. I chuckled softly. “Mr. Thompson, even if you control everything in Harrington, I do not fear your power. I have other commitments. I regret that I cannot treat your beloved daughter.” “Lillian Thompson, I am your father.” The static of the phone crackled in my ear. I laughed lightly. “Mr. Thompson, you’re mistaken. I am Lillian Stone. I have no relation to you.” “Besides, Annabelle is the only daughter of the Thompson family. How could you possibly have another daughter?” The phone went silent for a moment, save for the sound of heavy breathing. When I was twenty-four, I successfully completed a highly complex, high-profile surgery in my field. At the celebration, Annabelle burst in, claiming to be the daughter of my father and his first love. Father took her to his study. I don’t know what they discussed. When they emerged, I had a stepsister. Everyone offered congratulations and flattery, praising Father as a decisive and passionate man. No one cared about my anger or my mother’s forced smile. My mother advised me, “Annabelle’s mother only found out she was pregnant later. It’s rare that she knew your father was married and didn’t try to break up our family. Besides, Annabelle is innocent. Her mother has passed away, and she is seriously ill. Let’s not dwell on the past.” I knew that besides being kind-hearted, my mother was primarily thinking of me. She worried that my father and I would turn against each other because of this. To put her at ease, I conceded step by step. Annabelle said she grew up in poverty, so Father told me to give her my clothes and jewelry. Annabelle said my room was suitable for recuperation, so Father told me to vacate it immediately. Annabelle said she was afraid of going to the hospital and always forgot to take her medicine. So Father told me to arrange everything for her, reminding her to take her medicine three times a day. Finally, when she changed her surname back to her father’s, she refused to share any characters with my name. “My mom named me Annabelle, hoping I’d be safe. Now, my sister’s name also has ‘Ann’ in it. So whose safety is this?” Father still asked me to be understanding. I couldn’t bear it any longer. “My mother also named me. Why should I make concessions for your illegitimate daughter?” “Annabelle is right, you really do look down on her.” Father ignored my objections and bribed the staff. My name changed from Annabelle Thompson to Lillian Thompson. After going abroad, I simply took my mother’s surname. Since he wanted to change it, I might as well give him back the surname altogether. Father was silent for a long moment, then finally said in a low voice, “Keep an eye on her,” before hanging up. Uncle Arthur’s men stared menacingly. We stood in a silent standoff in the airport terminal. A few minutes later, a trembling voice broke the stillness. “Lillian, is that really you?” 3. The next second, I was held tightly in a trembling embrace. Brandon Parker’s eyes were bloodshot. “You’re alive, you’re really alive.” I pushed him away, my voice cold. “Once, I couldn’t stop my fiancé from holding another woman, but I can refuse another’s fiancé from holding me. Mr. Parker, please have some self-respect.” He stiffened, releasing me, his question laced with angry embarrassment. “Lillian, how heartless you are. Five years, a whole five years without a single word from you. Why did you secretly leave? Otherwise, we would have been married by now. If you had just taken care of Annabelle, with her healthy and our family living harmoniously, wouldn’t that have been better? Why couldn’t you tolerate her? Why did you play games with us?” I looked at the face I had loved for so many years and felt a wave of nausea. I remember the day Annabelle appeared. He held me in his arms, saying that even though I wasn’t Father’s only daughter, I would be his only love. Whatever Annabelle took from me, he would buy me double. When Annabelle moved into my bedroom, he discussed our wedding date with Father, hoping I would have my own home soon. So, when I refused to change my name, he also asked me why I was targeting Annabelle. I couldn’t help but wonder if his heart had changed. His face suddenly shifted. He said my thoughts were twisted, that he merely pitied Annabelle’s similar fate. I deflated, because he, too, was initially an unacknowledged child of the Parker family. His heavily pregnant mother was driven out by the elder Mrs. Parker. He was only recognized because the Parker family’s lineage was dwindling. I had no intention of opening Brandon’s old wounds. To apologize, I booked the most expensive hotel and stayed up all night for a week planning his birthday. When I arrived at the hotel, I only received a call from him. “Lillian, thinking about the past, I suddenly don’t feel like celebrating my birthday. I’m sorry.” I had no choice but to cancel, apologizing to each invited friend. Turning around, I saw a party being held in the marital suite he said was still under renovation. Those friends who had been comforting me just minutes before were now shouting “Happy Birthday!” Brandon had his arm around Annabelle’s shoulder, their gazes filled with tender affection for each other. My father, standing nearby, looked utterly gratified, as if he had forgotten this man was the fiancé of his other daughter. Now, how could he have the audacity to say he was family with me? To me, he was worse than a stranger. “Impossible.” He looked at me with a half-smile. “Stop lying. You’re clearly jealous. How many times have I told you, I only have brotherly affection for Annabelle. If I hadn’t thought you were dead, I wouldn’t have gotten engaged to her.” “Lillian, as long as you cure Annabelle this time, we’ll get married right away.” I couldn’t listen anymore, interrupting sharply. “You used your position as a hospital shareholder to block my advancement opportunity—an opportunity I’d been looking forward to for three years—forcing me to operate on Annabelle. You violently shoved me because of her simple slander, causing me to break my right hand. You locked me in a dark room to force me to apologize to Annabelle.” “Brandon, I wish you were dead. How could I ever want to marry you?” My hatred flared. A flicker of panic crossed his eyes, and he quickly reached out to examine my right hand: “I didn’t know, I truly didn’t know. No, Lillian, you clearly still love me. I checked. You didn’t take anything with you when you left, only our engagement ring. If you hadn’t been unable to let go… you still care, and you’re deliberately trying to trick me, aren’t you?” “Enough, Brandon.” I shook off his hand. “I didn’t take the ring. My finger bone was broken, and it fell off somewhere.” “No, impossible.” Brandon shook his head, closing his eyes. “Regardless, you have to come with me now.” “Wake up.” I raised my hand to slap him, but it was blocked before it could land. Father had arrived at some point. He sneered. “Dr. Stone, you say you’re not my daughter? Very well.” He pointed to my neck. “Explain this then.”

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The Head of Surgery’s roar still echoed in my ears, yet all I felt was utter absurdity. Just because I, a neurosurgeon, had treated a patient’s head wound, my assistant had turned around and reported me. “Hospital regulations prohibit operating beyond your level, Dr. Ellis, you’re fired!” When he flung those words at me, I couldn’t help but ask—who in this entire hospital could stitch better than me? But the Head of Surgery only sighed helplessly: “Dr. Ellis, when a superior takes over a subordinate’s work, it counts as exceeding your level.” “Suturing is an assistant’s responsibility. Your job is to be the lead surgeon!” His words were like a thorn, drawing a cold laugh from me. As I left the hospital without a backward glance, I thought this was just a minor blip in my career. It wasn’t until a week later, when the news came that the billionaire’s father urgently needed brain surgery and specifically requested me as the lead surgeon, that I heard the Head of Surgery had completely panicked. … 1. A patient came into the ER this morning. He’d fallen from a factory platform, suffering severe head bleeding, in critical condition. He was already semi-conscious when they brought him in. His family was wailing and begging, even kneeling to the medical staff for help. I had just gotten off the operating table when I saw the scene. A nurse ran over, calling my name and updating me on his condition. I quickly went over, took a look, and immediately decided to suture and stop the bleeding in the treatment room before doing a full-body check. It was this completely impulsive act, driven by a desperate desire to save a life, that landed me in serious trouble. 2. As a neurosurgery specialist, I quickly brought the patient’s deteriorating condition under control. The bleeding stopped, and the suturing was successful. After informing the family of his condition outside, I instructed the nurses to admit him and check for any other injuries. The family was overjoyed, bowing and expressing their gratitude profusely. I smiled, waved them off, and told them to go complete the admission process. No sooner had the family left than my assistant, Leo, arrived, fully geared up and looking flustered, just as I was about to change. “Where’s the patient? Get the disinfectants ready!” he commanded the nurses in a rush. The nurse told him the suturing was already done. Leo’s gaze immediately fell on me. He scrutinized me from head to toe, his eyes flashing with displeasure. “The patient’s condition was quite urgent earlier, with severe bleeding, but it’s been handled now,” I explained simply. Leo had only recently joined the hospital and hadn’t been out of medical school for long. He highly valued clinical experience. He had privately approached many doctors, taking on all the dirty and difficult work. His goal was to get more opportunities for surgical procedures. I knew this. So, for the sake of collegial relations, I explained it to him to avoid any misunderstandings. “Dr. Ellis, were you being deliberate?” Leo suddenly asked me this. Then he continued, “Is it because I told the Head of Surgery last time that you were drinking glucose, and you’re holding a grudge?” “You must know that a rookie doctor like me values such opportunities greatly. You did this on purpose!” 3. Due to fluctuating temperatures, blood vessels were prone to issues, leading to a surge in neurosurgeries last week. I had performed several consecutive operations and was feeling exhausted, so I drank a bottle of glucose to replenish my energy. Leo saw this. He didn’t react then but immediately reported me to the Head of Surgery, Dr. Bennett, after the surgery. Dr. Bennett was my girlfriend; we met in college. Upon hearing the report, she was unusually puzzled. She lambasted me, demanding to know how I could make such a rookie mistake. She wouldn’t listen to my explanation, just reprimanded me, and then told me to leave. The next day, at the all-staff meeting, she used me as a prime example. She was passionately lecturing everyone about preventing such incidents, her emotions so high that it seemed she might fire me at any second. That’s when I produced the receipt for the glucose. I told her, “Knowing there would be several surgeries and no time to eat, I prepared it in advance.” The meeting was supposed to last half an hour. After that incident, it ended in fifteen minutes. Afterward, Dr. Bennett accused me of disrespecting her, asking why I hadn’t shown the evidence sooner and why I had humiliated her in front of so many people. “You didn’t give me a chance to explain.” I simply replied. Then I continued, “If you’re tired of seeing me, just say so. I can leave.” 4. My thoughts returned to the present. Looking at Leo, who seemed on the verge of exploding, I simply told him, “The patient’s condition couldn’t wait. I wouldn’t gamble with a patient’s life just to give you an opportunity.” With that, I walked away. The nurses, having witnessed everything, whispered to each other, glancing in Leo’s direction. Back in the doctors’ office, I was about to organize the patient’s medical records when Dr. Bennett’s call came through. Her voice was cold. “Come to my office.” My right eyelid twitched a few times. I smirked at my reflection. What exactly was Dr. Bennett up to? Entering the Head of Surgery’s office, Dr. Bennett’s sigh was the first sound. “You’ve been reported again.” I nodded. “I figured. It’s the new assistant, Leo.” Dr. Bennett paused, then leaned back in her chair, immediately adopting a helpless demeanor. She began lecturing me in her official, authoritative tone. “Dr. Ellis, you’re an experienced professional. You must see that Leo has connections, right? Couldn’t you be more careful under his nose?” “I know he likely has connections, and he definitely knows about our relationship,” I replied, as calm as water. Dr. Bennett frowned. “No one knows about our relationship. That’s what we agreed on.” Hearing that, I laughed. I didn’t know if she was playing dumb or thought I was. “Out of all the doctors in the hospital, he’s only reported me, and twice in a row.” “He’s always respectful to others, but only cold to me.” Dr. Bennett immediately denied it. “You’re overthinking.” I chuckled softly, not replying. What was the point of saying more to someone who refused to admit the truth? “If there’s nothing else, I’ll leave.” I didn’t want to stay any longer. “Wait, we haven’t discussed the main issue.” Dr. Bennett called out to me. The moment I turned, I caught a glimpse of guilt in her eyes. Her voice dropped. “You’re fired.” Even though I knew there was something wrong with this, I never expected Dr. Bennett to fire me over this incident. I asked, “Why? Just because I sutured the patient’s wound?” Dr. Bennett nodded slowly, then said pompously, “Dr. Ellis, acting above your station is also considered exceeding your level.” “Suturing wounds is what an assistant should do. Your main job is surgery.” Hearing this, I couldn’t help but laugh. My heart felt pierced by countless needles. I wanted to ask her, have you fallen for someone else? But the words died in my throat. I felt it would only make me seem more pathetic. So I simply asked her, with professional detachment, “What if the patient died waiting for him to arrive?” “Medicine always has risks. No one can avoid them.” “But I had confidence I could save him,” I pressed. “That’s just your judgment. Your judgment doesn’t represent everything!” Dr. Bennett stood up, somewhat annoyed. “Even if someone died because of it, and the family made a scene, the hospital’s patient relations office would handle it. It would have nothing to do with you. But your current actions clearly violate hospital regulations!” Watching Dr. Bennett’s furious face, I asked, “How did you become like this?” She used to rush any small animal hit by a car on the street to the vet clinic, even missing an important exam once. How could someone who respected life so much have changed so drastically? “You changed the moment you became Head of Surgery. If you were still a doctor, would you say such things?” “Don’t twist my words!” Dr. Bennett’s eyes darted away. She sat back down, her voice cold. “The position you’re in dictates your awareness. The past is the past, and now is now.” “You should leave. Pack your things and go. For old times’ sake, I don’t want to provoke you further.” There were no old times. If there were, I wouldn’t be targeted. My heart had completely chilled. But, “I won’t resign.” 5. Dr. Bennett’s eyebrows shot up, as if I had offended her deeply. “Dr. Ellis, what did you say?” “I’m not resigning,” I repeated. Dr. Bennett grew impatient, scolding me. “Don’t be so thick-skinned, okay? Can’t you see what I mean? Don’t you know this just makes me dislike you more?” “You’re likely mistaken. I’m staying not to harass you, but because in a few days…” “Enough!” Dr. Bennett cut me off. “You know my family background. I got this position, and you had a chance to be hired, all thanks to me!” I didn’t deny this. I had indeed gotten in because of her. I said, “This matter, I…” “What are you still saying? Without me, you’re nothing! Now I’m telling you to leave, so leave!” She erupted in anger. Her words completely shattered my dignity. I didn’t say anything, just stared at her. Dr. Bennett took a few deep breaths, then raised her hand. “Leave this hospital, and I’ll find someone to get you into another one. Consider it my way of giving you an out.” “I said I’m not leaving. I have an important surgery coming up, and no one else but me can perform it.” “Dr. Ellis!” Dr. Bennett’s eyes widened. “I’ve given you enough face, enough consideration for your dignity. I advise you not to push me to say harsher things!” I forced a faint smile. “I’ll talk to you after you’ve calmed down.” I turned to leave. The file box she threw flew past my cheek, smashing loudly against the door. 6. In the hospital corridor, I took a deep breath. I hoped the billionaire’s father would arrive soon. The billionaire had been kind to me. My family was poor, and I earned my college tuition by washing dishes. The hotel owner, upon learning of my situation, gave me a raise and provided me with housing. Later, somehow, the story reached the billionaire. He covered all my college expenses. Without him, I would have had to work multiple part-time jobs, with no time to focus on my studies. I would probably have graduated as just another greenhorn with a diploma. Actually, during graduation season, the billionaire offered to arrange a job for me, but with Dr. Bennett by my side then, I didn’t want to trouble him. Later, my medical skills steadily improved, and I became one of the top specialists in the field. When I heard that the billionaire’s father needed brain surgery and specifically requested me as the lead surgeon, I naturally had no reason to refuse. Now, I hoped they would come soon. Because I was afraid that if too much time passed, I wouldn’t be able to hold on, and the old man’s condition would be delayed. 7. Back in the doctors’ office, I saw Leo with his arms crossed, directing a few nurses to move things from my desk. “Throw those files in storage. If anyone needs them, they can dig through them later.” “Ellis here is so eager for everyone to know he’s working, piling up discharge reports from years ago on his desk. What a show-off!” “Also, replace this chair for me. I don’t like sitting in chairs other people have used.” “And throw out those potted plants. A grown man with houseplants? He wouldn’t even know if someone gave him a cuckold’s horn, hah.” “What are you doing?” I stepped forward quickly. The nurses immediately stopped what they were doing, explaining as if they’d found a savior. “Dr. Ellis, he said…” “Yes, I said it. Clear out your workstation. From now on, I’m the interim lead surgeon for Neurosurgery.” Leo turned to me, his nose in the air. I was amused by the unfamiliar term “interim lead surgeon.” It meant he’d lead surgeries when he could, and bring in outside help when he couldn’t. Dr. Bennett was truly playing with lives. Leo had almost zero surgical experience. Not long ago, a patient’s wound burst open after being discharged due to inadequate suturing, nearly causing a medical error. The doctor who gave Leo the opportunity was terrified. Luckily, someone with immense power reached an agreement with the family, and the hospital never even questioned it, acting as if nothing happened. But now, someone who hadn’t even mastered basic skills was being appointed “interim lead surgeon.” They didn’t value human lives. “I haven’t agreed to resign, so you can’t have this position.” I told the nurses to stop. The nurses, ignoring Leo’s protests, immediately left the office. Leo was furious, pointing at me and raging. “Ellis, you’re not an idiot. Can’t you see what’s happening? I advise you not to make a fool of yourself!” “You’re the one making a fool of yourself. Someone who can’t even hold a scalpel properly dares to wear this hat.” I said indifferently, pushing him aside and sitting in my chair. Just then, Dr. Bennett suddenly arrived. “Ellis, this is your termination notice.” She slapped a document onto my desk. “You’ll receive all the compensation you’re due, not a penny less. Pack your things and leave.”

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