Category: English

My dad wanted a divorce due to Mom’s cheating. They fought hardest over who’d keep me. Though he’d married into her wealth, he took a job to seek custody. Leaving on a trip, he begged Mom to care for me, his five-year-old. Once he left, she called her lover and went to cook for his cat. She left me with only instant ramen and bottled water. Five days later, feverish, I took the wrong medicine. My heart beat unevenly. I called Mom, gasping, “I’m sick… took wrong medicine. I think I’m dying.” Her voice was groggy and annoyed. “Like your father—a liar. I’ll be back in days. Just sleep.” Nauseous, I pleaded, “Mommy, please, I really—” The phone clattered as she tossed it. A man’s voice asked, “Your kid says he’s dying. Not scared?” Casually, she replied, “Don’t believe him. Honestly, his death would solve problems. He’s why our divorce drags on.” I recalled Dad’s breakdowns over her cheating. He was right: only my death would free him. … With my last ounce of strength, I crawled into bed and grabbed the family photo from the nightstand. I held it close, tucked under the covers. In the photo, Dad is kissing my cheek, his face beaming. Mom is looking at us both with so much love. Dad told me this picture was from when I was two. That was before her first love came back into her life. Back then, all her love was here, in this home. He came back when I was three. After that, the way she looked at me and Dad was distant, distracted. But she always said she loved me. That I was the continuation of her life. Especially after the doctors told her an old injury meant she could never have another child. I was her only one, her everything. Even when Dad offered to walk away with nothing, asking only for custody of me and offering her full visitation rights, she refused. My tears fell like fat raindrops onto his picture. I leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. A crushing weight settled on my chest, and I whispered with my final breath: “Goodbye, Daddy.” As my eyes closed, I saw him again, kneeling in front of my mother. “I’m begging you! Just give me the boy!” “You don’t love us. Stop torturing us.” He was sobbing, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably. Her face was a mask of impatience. “What do you mean I don’t love you?” “You’re the one who can’t appreciate a good thing when you have it!” “If you really loved our son, you’d want him to have a complete family!” “He is my son. I will never give him to you!” Dad’s despair turned to rage. He scrambled to his feet. “You love him? You love our son? Bullshit!” He hated it most when she claimed to love me when her actions showed anything but. He, who was always so gentle, had started screaming in their fights. He brought up every old wound, every single one of her failings. “You love him? He was hospitalized with pneumonia for a week, and you never even showed your face! Where were you? You were in the Arctic, watching polar bears with your lover!” “And you didn’t just not come back, you took every penny we had and spent it on that man!” “You always wanted to know where the money for Leo’s hospital bills came from, didn’t you?” “I’ll tell you! I sold myself! I spent six hours with some old woman so I could pay for our son’s treatment! Are you happy now?!” “I hate you! I hate that you don’t love him but you keep pretending you do!” “I’ve raised him since he was born. Why don’t I have the right to take him with me?” That was the day I understood why Dad always took such long showers. The sound of the water covered the sound of his crying. I would always ask him why his eyes were red, and he would always smile and say I was imagining things. I had begged her, too, hoping to stop his pain. “Mommy, please say sorry to Daddy. Please don’t make him cry anymore.” Her expression soured. She scooped me up, wiping my tears with a rough hand. “Stop being so dramatic, you’re scaring him!” she snapped at my dad. “I’ll say this one last time. Give me custody, and I’ll sign the divorce papers right now. Otherwise, we stay like this. Stop making our lives a living hell over every little thing.” Dad wouldn’t let it go. He grabbed her arm, desperate. “Jessica!” “You say you love our son. What have you ever done for him?” “You cook for your lover’s cat, but has our son, your five-year-old son, ever had a single meal that you’ve made?” “You even stole the birthday money I was saving for him to buy cat food for that man’s cat!” “You buy that man clothes, gifts, you even buy clothes for his damn cat. Has our son ever worn a single thing you bought for him?” These scenes played out every few days. And every time, Mom would just shut down, sighing impatiently. “Go on, throw your fit. No one is listening.” Every argument ended the same way: with my dad screaming into a void, a one-man tragedy. I had tried, too, crying my own eyes out, whispering to her in secret. “Please divorce Dad. He has to take pills just to sleep now.” “He’s always sick, and he never eats. He’s in so much pain.” “Mommy, even if I live with Daddy, I’ll still love you.” “Please, Mommy. Just let me go with him.” Her eyes would turn red, but she would blink back the tears, her large hand gently stroking my cheek. “Your father is just throwing a tantrum,” she’d coo. “Mommy can’t bear to let you go with him. He married into our family. How could he possibly support you?” “We’ll always be a family, okay?” Dad heard that. The truth was, Dad had always worked, but it was at my grandpa’s company. Grandpa watched him like a hawk and only paid him a pittance. Last year, Grandpa drove the company into bankruptcy and couldn’t handle the failure; he jumped from a building. Mom was living off her savings, so Dad stayed home to take care of me. But now, to win custody, he had immediately found a new job. He would cup my face in his hands, his eyes shining with a desperate hope. “Leo, son, just wait until Dad’s job is stable. Then I’ll file for divorce.” “Once I have a steady income, the court will have to give you to me.” “Just give me a little more time, okay?” And every time, I would smile and tell him he could do it. I’d overheard the adults talking. Before I was born, my dad had been a brilliant man, full of talent and promise. After they married, he gave it all up to take care of me and Mom, content to be a nobody at Grandpa’s company. In my memory, he was always busy, from sunrise to sunset. He cooked every meal. He took care of my sick grandparents. Any spare moment he had, he spent reading me stories or playing with me. I often saw him so tired he could barely stand. After he got the new job, he was gone before I woke up and came home long after I was asleep. It only gave Mom another reason to complain. “You’re neglecting your family for some stupid job!” He was done fighting. He just focused on his work, on earning that steady paycheck he needed to take her to court. Mom, of course, didn’t change at all. When she was in a good mood, she might pick me up for a few minutes before putting me down to giggle at her phone, texting that man. She’d kiss my cheek and say, “I just love my big boy so much.” I couldn’t remember any other warm moments with her. Mostly, I just remembered her screaming at Dad about the divorce, smashing things, and me wailing in a corner, terrified. But it was okay now. I was dead. They wouldn’t have to fight over me anymore. Dad came home that night. My soul lingered in the house, a silent observer. “Sweetheart, Daddy’s home!” He was dusty from travel, pulling his suitcase behind him. In his other hand, he held a new capybara toy and a bag of my favorite snacks. I ran to him instinctively, wanting a hug, but my arms passed right through him. My transparent spirit drifted through his body. I remembered then. I was already dead. Dad looked around at the messy living room, at the ramen wrappers and empty water bottles littering the floor. The air was stale and smelled sour. He was a neat freak. He fanned the air in front of his nose and set down his suitcase, walking further into the house. “Leo? Leo, Daddy’s home,” he called out, looking around. He muttered to himself, “It’s only been a few days, and this place is a pigsty. What kind of mother is she? And she thinks she can fight me for custody?” I floated beside him, reaching out to take his hand. Just like when I was alive, when his big hand would swallow mine as we walked. Only now, I couldn’t feel its warmth. I looked up at his face. “Daddy, I’m dead now.” “You can divorce Mommy.” “You don’t have to fight with her anymore.” He couldn’t hear me. He went to the bedroom, still looking for me. And then he saw my small form, lying in the bed. A happy smile spread across his face. He tiptoed over, his eyes soft with love. He watched me for a long moment, then blew a gentle kiss in my direction, careful not to wake me. My nose stung, and tears fell like broken pearls. I cried and hugged his legs. I knew with absolute certainty that he was the only person in the world who truly loved me. And I loved him most of all. I wanted him to be free, but I was terrified that finding me dead would break him completely. In that moment, I finally understood what he meant when he used to say, “You’re my only weakness.” Back then, I would tell him to stay away from Mom, thinking naively that if he did, he wouldn’t be sad, that he’d be able to sleep at night. He would just hold me tight and say, over and over, “Daddy will get you out of here. I will never leave my baby boy.” But Daddy, I’m sorry. I left you. He quietly closed the bedroom door and went to the bathroom, the room furthest from mine, to call Mom. The phone rang for a long time before she answered. He covered his mouth, his voice a furious whisper. “Where the hell have you been?” “Were you with him again?” “Jessica, you are so heartless!” “How could you leave our son home alone?” He was trying so hard to keep his voice down, but his face was red with rage. Mom’s voice was, as always, annoyed. “I have my own life, you know!” “Stop looking for reasons to start a fight!” “Leo is five years old. He’s a good boy. He can be alone!” “If you can’t stand it, then quit your job and come back to take care of him yourself!” Beep. She hung up. Dad furiously redialed, but she had turned her phone off. Tears of rage welled in his eyes. He clutched his chest, wiping his face again and again. A choked sob escaped him, twisting his features in pain. I held him, my transparent arms wrapped around him, whispering, “Daddy, don’t cry. You can leave her now.” His shoulders shook in my ghostly embrace. Finally, his eyes red and swollen, he started cleaning the house. Just like he always did, quietly picking up the pieces. And just like I always did, I followed him around like a little shadow. When the house was clean, he opened the fridge and found it empty. He was about to figure out what to cook for me when his boss called. He needed a proposal drafted, immediately. Dad dropped everything, sat at the living room table, and opened his laptop. I rested my chin on the table, watching him work. A moment later, his phone rang again. It was Grandma. “How long are you going to waste your life on her?” “It’s not like you can’t have other children. Just give her Leo and get the divorce over with!” I’d heard these words so many times I could recite them myself. As always, Dad’s voice was firm. “This is my business. Don’t worry about it. I am not giving her Leo.” Grandma’s voice rose. “You think I want to worry? That heartless Jessica, she mortgaged the house you live in! She bought that lover of hers a luxury car!” “That man came to show it off to your father and me. Your father got so angry he had a heart attack!” “He’s been in the hospital for five days! I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry!” The news hit Dad like a physical blow. He never imagined she would be so cruel. A sharp pain shot through his chest, and he weakly patted it with his hand. After a few minutes, he picked up his phone and called a woman. “I can be your lover. But I want a divorce, and you have to help me get custody of my son.” The woman on the other end laughed and readily agreed. I remembered her. She was ten years older than my dad. My dad, who was so clean and proud, how could he be with someone he didn’t love, just for me? I stomped my ghostly feet. “Daddy, I’m dead! Just go look in the room!” “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do anymore.” Dad sat in a daze for a long time. His phone vibrated again. It was his boss, summoning him to the office for an emergency meeting. He hadn’t eaten all day, and his stomach ached with hunger. He only had time to swallow half a glass of water. He grabbed his briefcase and rushed out the door, calling Mom one last time. “I’m going to the office. You get your ass home and watch Leo right now.” “If I get back and he’s still alone, I swear I will go find that man and I will make you regret it.”

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Ethan’s first love was accidentally locked in the office. To punish me, he locked me in an abandoned cold storage unit to reflect on my actions. “You need to taste what Lily went through, so you’ll learn your lesson!” He locked me inside with only a bowl of water. But he didn’t know it wasn’t abandoned. After he left, the unit turned on. I froze, trembling uncontrollably, crying for help until my bloody handprints covered the door and walls. Seven days later, he wanted an apology and had the unit opened. He found a frozen corpse. 1 Ethan checked the time after a busy day. “It’s been three days. Has Chloe admitted her mistake yet?” “That woman is stubborn!” His first love, Lily, entered with chicken soup. “Ethan, let it go. She didn’t mean to.” “Three days is enough.” Ethan’s expression softened when he saw her. “You’re too kind. If Chloe had even a fraction of your understanding, it would be great.” “Don’t be mad at her. She just cares too much about you.” Hearing this, Ethan took out his phone and called his subordinate. “Has Chloe admitted her mistake?” “No, there’s no sound from inside. Mr. Ethan, could something have happened?” “What could happen? Since she won’t admit her mistake, let her stay there!” Hanging up, he returned to his cold demeanor. Lily looked smug beside him. Ethan, you’ll never get my response. Because I’m already dead! I died three days ago. That “abandoned” cold storage unit turned on after they left. I was trapped inside, crying out to no avail. At first, there were voices outside. I banged on the door and begged, but got only indifference from the guards. “Mr. Ethan said you need to reflect in there, ma’am. Please don’t make it difficult for us.” “No! Please, the unit is on! Someone help!” But there was no sound outside anymore. They left. At first, I was calm, looking for a way out. But as the temperature dropped, I couldn’t think. I ran in circles to generate heat. In the end, I couldn’t run anymore. I felt frozen stiff. I curled up in a corner, hoping to get warm. This place was originally for seafood storage. After the goods were moved, only shelves remained. I piled the shelves in front of me, hoping to block the cold air. But it was useless. The moment I realized I was dying, my heart went cold bit by bit. When I saw my own corpse, I was shocked! The frozen me in the corner, eyes full of despair, door and walls covered in bloody fingernail marks. Just as I was about to go over, a force sucked me out, and I ended up beside Ethan. Hearing his words now, I found it ridiculous. Ethan, I reflected with my life. I hope I never have to see you in the next! I stood by, watching Ethan and Lily look into each other’s eyes. Lily handed him her phone. “Ethan, I booked tickets for the art exhibition. Come with me tomorrow!” “Okay. It’s late. Go rest.” Lily took his hand. “I’m afraid of the dark. Stay with me.” Ethan reluctantly agreed. I forgot, Lily lived in our house. After returning from abroad, the first thing she did was contact Ethan. Using the excuse of being unfamiliar with the place, she asked to move into our home. Ridiculous. She was local. Five years abroad and suddenly she’s unfamiliar? When I objected, Ethan looked impatient: “Chloe, her parents aren’t here. Do you know how dangerous it is for a girl to live alone?” I knew. Before marriage, I also lived alone in a rented apartment. Ethan said to me then: “Chloe, girls should respect themselves. I don’t want to cohabit before marriage.” Now thinking about it, he played the double standard game perfectly. Ethan accompanied Lily to the guest room. It was called a guest room, but it was right next to our master bedroom. I originally intended it for the nursery. But as soon as Lily arrived, she said the room had good lighting and she liked it, so Ethan gave it to her directly. 2 I watched coldly as Ethan walked her to the guest room. Lily was about to leave when a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky. With a crack of thunder, she screamed and threw herself into Ethan’s arms. Ethan stiffened, and Lily held onto him tightly: “Ethan, I’m so scared. Can you stay and keep me company?” Ethan’s hand lingered on her back for a moment, then he patted her, “Okay.” At that moment, I felt like a clown because I was also afraid of thunder. I remembered when I lived alone, a sudden heavy rain and thunderstorm came one night, and the power went out. I was so scared I almost cried. So I called him, wanting comfort. But what did Ethan say? “How old are you to still be afraid of thunder? Chloe, don’t use this method to get my attention. You need to know that you are an adult and independent. Be good, okay?” He hung up the phone, and that night I tightly wrapped myself in the quilt, relying on the phone flashlight to get through. I couldn’t fall asleep until dawn. Thinking back now, I was truly humble. Clearly, Ethan didn’t care at all. There seemed to be a wall between him and me forever. I laughed bitterly. Although I was dead, I was still afraid of the thunder. I hugged my arms and shivered. I wanted to leave, but I couldn’t go anywhere. I could only stay and watch Ethan comforting Lily in his arms. And she shrunk into Ethan’s arms, her eyes sharp and proud. I sighed. Lily would always be the vermilion mole in Ethan’s heart. What was I? I shook my head and looked outside. Even in death, I was still afraid of thunder. Fortunately, this moment didn’t last too long. The thunder stopped after an hour, and Ethan left the guest room. Lily watched his back and smiled proudly, murmuring to herself: “Ethan. You will always be mine, no one can take you away!” I was a bit surprised to hear this. She still wanted Ethan even now. Then why did she leave back then? Ethan too. Since he couldn’t forget her, why did he marry me? After returning, Ethan acted uncharacteristically. He looked at my photo on his phone and said in a deep voice: “Chloe, I hope you can learn a lesson. If you soften up and admit your mistake, I’ll let you out!” Looking at Ethan’s face, I just felt ridiculous. Soften up? Admit mistake! What did I do wrong? I didn’t lock Lily in the office! But Ethan wouldn’t listen to my explanation at all because Lily acted like a green tea bitch, saying she didn’t blame me, so Ethan was certain I did it. He locked me in the abandoned cold storage unit, killed me, and now wants me to admit my mistake? Ridiculous. Ethan is also a smart person, being able to sit in the position of company president means he’s not brainless, but when it comes to Lily, he becomes deaf and blind. The next morning, the guards of the cold storage unit felt something was wrong and reported tremblingly: “Mr. Ethan, should we let the madam out? There’s no sound at all from inside, and a bowl of water can’t last for five days!” Ethan hesitated for a moment, then said coldly: “Without food or drink, a bowl of water is fine for ten days. Since she’s so stubborn, let’s continue. I want to see how long she can hold on!” “But, but there’s no sound at all from inside. We are worried, what if the madam…” “Don’t worry, Chloe is just pretending!” 3 Ethan’s sentence sealed my fate, so the guards didn’t say anything more. At this time, Lily walked in and heard him say this, a smile appeared on her lips, “Ethan, forget it, it’s been several days, I’m fine!” “No, she made you stay locked in the office for so long, she should be punished.” Lily had a smile on her face, but said: “Ethan, isn’t it too much? After all, she is your wife.” “She treated me… it’s also my fault, always troubling you, making her jealous. Just let her go!” Lily sounded nice, seemingly excusing me, but every sentence nailed me down. Ethan fell for it. “Lily, you are always soft-hearted. Fine, for your sake, I’ll give her a chance!” Lily’s face stiffened, not expecting Ethan to say this. “What’s wrong?” Seeing her expression changed, Ethan asked: “What’s wrong?” “Nothing, just thinking that I haven’t seen her for days, better bring a doctor along!” Is Lily that kind? I doubted it. But she was right, bring a doctor to confirm my death. To save trouble later. Ethan, I looked forward to you finding out the truth, really wanted to see your expression when you know I’m dead. Ethan took a deep breath and held Lily’s hand, “If only she had a fraction of your understanding.” “Ethan, she is your wife after all.” Ethan’s eyes were complex, and I sneered. I never intended to fight Lily for anything. Wife? This title was ironic. Even without this so-called reflection, I planned to divorce him. I really had enough. It’s just a pity about that little life. I involuntarily touched my lower abdomen, feeling pain in my heart. At this time, Ethan’s face darkened, and his voice was unquestionable: “No need, you don’t need to plead for her. Chloe is just putting on an act!” “Every time it’s either this pain or that pain, or saying she didn’t do it. I’ve seen through her!” “None of you are allowed to plead for her!” “Unless she apologizes, she is not allowed out!” Hearing this, Lily seemed relieved and stood aside without speaking, while I was a little stunned. Ethan, so this is what I am in your heart. A sting in my heart. Fortunately, I’m dead, I don’t care anymore. Ethan finally remembered me and took people to the abandoned cold storage unit. When they got to the door, the guards were trembling, “Mr. Ethan.” “Has Chloe softened up yet?” “Mr. Ethan, no. We asked through the door, no response from inside.” “Madam, could something have happened?” “I’m worried…” Ethan snorted coldly: “What’s there to worry about? Just playing tricks!” “Open the door! I want to hear this woman apologize personally!” Lily smirked, and the guard quickly went over. They were dumbfounded when they opened the door of the cold storage unit. Ethan’s voice came from behind, “Let her come out!” “Mr., Mr. Ethan, the cold storage… the cold storage seems to have started!” Ethan walked over, “What started? You want to shirk responsibility, right!” At this time, he was standing at the door, and the cold air from inside continued to pour out, making people shudder! Ethan’s face turned pale, “Chloe, don’t think I’ll forgive you just because you turned on the cold storage. Get out here!” Silence. Everyone around looked at each other. Ethan was furious. After hesitating for a long time, he said coldly: “Bring her out for me!” As soon as the voice fell, several people rushed in. When they saw the frozen corpse curled up behind the shelves, they were terrified! “Madam… Madam froze to death!” 4 Ethan flew into a rage, “Nonsense! How could she die!” He rushed in, and vaguely saw a person curled up behind rows of shelves. Ethan trembled. I followed him. Although I was prepared, seeing my own corpse still scared me. I opened my eyes and looked straight ahead, staring at him, my face covered with frost, and my ten fingers were full of dried blood. There were traces of my struggle everywhere on the ground and walls. The moment our eyes met, Ethan staggered twice and knelt down in front of me with a thud. He stretched out his hand trembling, wanting to touch but daring not. “No, this is not her, impossible!” “The cold storage unit was abandoned, how could she freeze stiff!” “Get the surveillance video for me, see what happened!” He turned his head and saw the bloody handprints on the wall, his lips quivered, he stood up and rushed to stroke the wall, then looked at me in the corner. Although my hands were frozen hard, they were still bloody, all ten fingers covered in blood. Ethan went mad, suddenly rushed forward and hugged me, “Chloe, you did it on purpose, didn’t you? This is all fake, you are scaring me, aren’t you? Get up, get up!” “I don’t believe you just left like this, Chloe, hurry up, I don’t blame you anymore, I won’t punish you anymore, you don’t need to reflect, quick! Get up!” “Speak to me!” He pulled and dragged me frantically, but my body was frozen stiff. Being pulled by him, I hit the ground with a thud! Ethan staggered twice and fell to the ground. Lily outside the door was so frightened that her face turned pale, then a trace of calm flashed in her eyes, “Ethan, she’s dead, you need to restrain your grief.” Ethan turned his head to look at her, and roared the next second: “She’s not dead! How could she die, impossible!” The doctor he brought came forward directly, shook his head and said: “Mr. Ethan, there are no vital signs.” At this time, the guard ran over in a hurry, “Mr. Ethan, the surveillance was destroyed, but our people have been guarding outside the gate!” Ethan was stunned. If so, it meant that when I went in that day, it was already a functioning cold storage unit! His eyes were about to burst as he looked around: “How did you guard it!” He took off his clothes and wrapped me up, hugging me and rushing out! “Chloe, I’ll take you to the hospital, you won’t die!” “If you can’t be saved, I’ll make all of you be buried with her!” Ethan went mad, stepped on the gas pedal and rushed out, heading straight for the hospital! I followed all the way, seeing him hysterical, couldn’t help sighing. “Ethan, what are you pretending for now? When I begged you heartbrokenly to investigate the truth, you just didn’t believe me and insisted on punishing me.” “Now that I’m dead, what deep affection are you acting here? So boring!” A touch of mockery appeared on the corner of my mouth, watching Ethan holding me rushing into the hospital, the doctors were all shocked by him! “Hurry up and save her! Hurry up!” The doctor saw him holding the frozen me over, his pupils tightened instantly. After confirming that I had no vital signs, he shook his head: “Sorry, the patient has died.” “Nonsense! She was obviously still breathing, why don’t you save her!” “Why!” Ethan made a scene in the emergency room. Helpless, the hospital could only call the police. When the police arrived and saw me, they were also incredulous, because I was frozen to death alive. It’s summer now!

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I had been roommates with Asher Hayes for three years. I had met several of his ex-girlfriends. One day, he laughed and said, “Someone confessed to me today.” I wasn’t surprised. He had always been popular. But then he added: “It was a guy.” 1 He was squeezing my knuckles as he said this. My hands were smaller than his, and paler. But they were still a man’s hands—bony knuckles, veins visibly protruding beneath thin skin. I pulled my hand back. Looking at my reddened fingertips, I asked softly: “A guy?” Asher was good-looking. His features were sharp, with a cold, wild edge. But not aloof. He played hard, had tons of friends. He attracted everyone, men and women alike. Men hitting on him wasn’t uncommon. He usually ignored it; this was the first time he brought it up himself. Asher leaned back, looking like he was recalling something. The smoke he exhaled blurred his sharp profile: “Yeah, he looked okay. His eyes… were pretty nice.” Others at the table started jeering: “What? Did Ash finally swing the other way?” Asher tapped the ash off his cigarette, laughing: “How is that possible? No matter how good-looking, it’s still a dude. I’m not into that.” Everyone laughed. I forced a smile along with them. Right. Asher wasn’t into that. He never had been. 2 I was always slow on the uptake when it came to Asher. I couldn’t pinpoint when it started. Maybe it was because he knew I was lactose intolerant. Because he was the only one who called me during holidays. Because he carried me down six flights of stairs when I had a high fever. Always going to class together, eating together. Or maybe just because… He was Asher. Seeds germinate silently in the soil. By the time you notice, the vines have already entangled everything. We left for class together. At the fork in the road, he bumped my shoulder. “Let’s grab dinner tonight.” “With my girlfriend.” There was always someone by his side. I blinked slowly. And nodded. 3 Her name was Chloe. Tall, fair, with beautiful almond eyes. They looked good together. I avoided her watery gaze and ate quietly. When asked, I’d say a few words. Chloe didn’t eat much. Asher was busy chatting. In the end, I ate until I felt sick. Chloe said there was a light show by the riverfront, she wanted to see it. So I said goodbye to them. And walked back to campus alone. December. Winter in the South was just starting to feel chilly. I pulled up the hood of my hoodie. Walked slowly. After a few steps. I squatted down, unable to bear it. Gulped down a few mouthfuls of cold air. Before standing up to continue walking. 4 Morning. Asher knocked on my bunk: “Get up, or we’re gonna be late.” I didn’t have early classes on Wednesdays, but I usually went out with him for breakfast. He went to class; I went to the library. I exposed half my face from the blanket. “I want to sleep a bit longer.” Asher nodded and left first. “Wait for me after class then, we’ll get lunch.” At noon. We weren’t together; he left with Chloe. I only returned to the dorm when the library closing bell rang. Asher wasn’t there. He didn’t come back that night. 5 Time drifted to the end of the semester. Asher finished his exams and saw Chloe off to the airport. He came back to school and stayed an extra day. The next day, he took me to the station. He pushed my luggage, taking long strides. Greeting people intermittently along the way. I followed behind him. Staring at his back. Watching him stop, turn around, and wave at me. Telling me to walk faster. The winter sun shone on his defined face. Handsome, unrestrained. I lowered my head. My pace remained slow. The city had two high-speed rail stations, one near, one far. I chose the far one. Ten miles; with traffic, it could take forty minutes. Soft female vocals played in the car. Asher focused on the road ahead. Lyrics about unrequited love played. Before the next line came out. I skipped to the next song. Traffic was smooth. We arrived in twenty-five minutes. Asher flicked the brim of my hat. Leaning his arms on the steering wheel, he turned to smile at me: “Go on. Remember to miss me.” Every time he said this. I would nod. Hand on the door handle. My hand slipped twice before I pushed the door open. Before entering the station, I looked back. The car was long gone. 6 Second semester of senior year. Asher and Chloe broke up. Drunk, Chloe vomited by the roadside. She squatted on the ground. Face buried in her arms, crying. I hesitated for a few seconds. Went up and placed a bottle of water and tissues by her feet. Found a spot five meters away and sat down. She stifled her sobs. Only faint whimpers blew into my ears with the cold wind. Later, she finished crying and staggered away. I followed, watched her enter the dorm building. Turned and left. Chloe and Asher were over. She would soon forget Asher and find a new boyfriend. Asher would forget Chloe too, and meet a new girlfriend. They would all start over. Keep moving forward. I looked down at my elongated shadow. What about me? 7 The graduation party. Asher got drunk. I carried him to the sofa. Turned him on his side. In case he threw up, so he wouldn’t choke. I sat directly on the carpet. Examined him in the dim light. His eyelashes were neither long nor curled, nose bridge high, cheeks a bit flushed. Lips slightly parted, glistening. I could smell the alcohol on him. I grabbed a cushion and pressed it on my lap, looking away. A few minutes later, I looked up again. Called him softly. “Asher.” He was drunk, sleeping like the dead. Whatever I did, he wouldn’t know. Like a petty thief convincing himself. I slowly leaned in. Called out again: “Asher.” I watched the distance between us shrink. Twelve inches. Eight inches. … The dead-asleep person suddenly turned over. I sat in the darkness. My heart, which had been in my throat, dropped. Dropped into some bottomless abyss.

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Everyone agreed on one thing: I was the unwanted kid. My parents divorced when I was small. My father vanished, my mother remarried, and the only person who ever cared for me, my grandmother, passed away. The year she died, she left me a run-down shack and exactly $214.37. I survived on the kindness of neighbors to walk out of the deep country, and I financed my education with student loans. During my internship, I worked myself into the ground and secured a decent job, which turned into a full-time position upon graduation. I’ve been hustling ever since. This year, with the final holiday bonus check, I finally paid off every last debt. I had saved my very first nest egg. As the clock struck midnight and the fireworks exploded outside, ushering in the New Year, I made a promise to myself. My rotten life was over. The good one? It was finally my turn. 1 The day they buried my grandmother, everyone in Black Creek assumed my mother would take me with her. After all, I was only thirteen. In this world, outside of her, I had no one left. I thought so too. I packed my worn backpack and stood by the door, waiting for her to tell me it was time. Instead, she shouldered her suitcase, walked straight past me, and boarded the Greyhound bus. She didn’t look back until the bus vanished around the last dusty bend in the road. It was as if my arrangements—my life—had never once crossed her mind during her entire visit. I walked back into the small, dimly lit house and, by pure instinct, called out: “Grandma, I feel sick.” The house answered with a dead, hollow silence. That was the moment the realization hit me: Grandma was buried under the cold, hard dirt. From now on, I was the only thing breathing in this house. Fear, cold and sharp, rushed in like a tidal wave. What was I supposed to do? I sat on the front porch stoop all night. When the sun finally rose, I grabbed my backpack and went to school. My eighth-grade history teacher, a kind woman from the city, once told me that education was the only road out of the mountains. If my mother wouldn’t take me, I would walk myself. My classmates looked at me strangely. “Why are you still here, June?” “Are you really just… alone?” I didn’t want their pity, and I definitely didn’t want their mocking faces. I stood taller than my five feet and lied loudly. “Mom says pulling me out of Northwood Middle now would mess up the transfer credits. I’ll finish eighth grade here, then she’s moving me to the city.” It was a dignified lie. It sealed their lips. Life had to continue. I learned to build a fire in the old iron stove and cook for myself. I learned to haul water from the well to water the meager vegetable patch. I survived day after day on the last of Grandma’s flour and the sweet potatoes from the field. Until one night, I heard the sound of shattering porcelain from next door. My neighbor, Bella, was crying, and her father was yelling. They were fighting over the $100 needed for her GED study materials. I huddled against the wall, listening, a creeping dread chilling me to the bone. In two years, I would be going to high school. High school was in the county seat, and it wasn’t free. I had to pay tuition and buy books. If I couldn’t come up with the money, would I be stuck here? What then? Bella gave me the answer. The next morning, before the sun cracked the horizon, she was gone. She carried the faded backpack that used to hold her textbooks. Today, it held her few clothes. She was heading south to work in a construction site—to earn money for her family, specifically the money for her younger brother’s eventual wedding down-payment. Watching her silhouette disappear into the fog felt like a raw wound inside me. I couldn’t follow her path. I wanted to read. I needed to learn. But where would the money come from? The $214.37 Grandma left wouldn’t last the year. The only person who could help was my mother, Brenda. I remembered the time my little brother, Caleb, hugged my stepfather, Roy, begging for a new remote-control truck after getting a perfect score on a quiz. Mom’s eyes crinkled with love, and the next day, he had the most expensive toy on the market. What if I got a perfect score? What if I was the top student in the entire school? Would Mom, just for the sake of appearances among the extended family, throw a little tuition money my way? It was a lifeline, and I grabbed it with both hands. I attacked my books like a madwoman that semester. I studied during class, and at night, I did problem sets by candlelight. When I felt my eyes close, I pinched myself hard. At the final exams, I really did earn the top spot. The villagers were stunned. “The wild child with no oversight, pulling first place?” “Working the field and hitting the books—the girl’s got fire in her bones.” Marge Dawson, the mayor’s wife, a kind neighbor, leaned on the fence, cracking sunflower seeds. “Take that award to your mom, June. Maybe she’ll finally buy you a new coat for Christmas.” I looked down at myself. I was wearing Grandma’s patched-up, black denim jacket. The sleeves were frayed at the cuffs, the lining peeking out. I hadn’t had a new item of clothing since I was six, before Caleb was born, when Mom used to bring me a bright red dress for the holidays. It was long gone now. I had relied on hand-me-downs from cousins for years. But Grandma’s death had severed those family ties, too. I was facing the winter wrapped only in a dead woman’s clothes. As the holidays approached, the migrant workers started coming home. Bella returned, too, looking polished and wearing expensive-looking clothes. I spent every afternoon waiting beneath the old oak tree at the edge of the village. 2 On Christmas Eve, the snow was thick and heavy. My fingers and toes were numb. My eyelashes were covered in ice crystals. Finally, I saw a familiar, yet distant figure walking toward me, trudging through the snow. She was leading a small, neatly dressed boy. “June? Wake up.” My eyes snapped open. A blast of icy wind rushed down my collar. There was no mother. No brother. No new clothes. Only Bella’s anxious face. It had been a fever dream. I had been squatting too long in the cold and had caught a nasty bug. Bella sighed, pushing a few white pills into my hand. “Take these. For the fever. You can’t die out here, June. No one will even know to look.” I swallowed the bitter pills and looked out at the distant mountain range. “Bella, is the outside world beautiful?” Her eyes flashed with a brief, painful light before darkening. “For the rich, it’s gorgeous. Neon lights and endless parties.” “But for us? It’s shift work, assembly lines, and aching feet. Still better than begging the dirt for a living, though.” She looked at me, her expression serious. “June, don’t bother with high school. Come back to the construction site with me. They’re hiring, and they pay for room and board.” I clutched the rough fabric of Grandma’s jacket and shook my head. “I want to read. I want to go to school.” Bella chuckled, a dry sound. “With what money? No cash, no classroom, June.” I dropped my gaze. I didn’t want the construction site. Every girl who went to the construction site from our village came back two years later to marry and have kids. Bella was the same. The man she brought back would be her fiancé after the New Year. Once a girl married here, she was trapped. I refused to accept that fate. I wouldn’t trade one cage for another. Seeing my silence, Bella sighed again and walked back home. On New Year’s Eve, the sound of firecrackers shook the village. I sat alone in the empty house until the night was black, but my mother never showed. The last of the rice was gone. My stomach burned with a hunger that felt like fire. The scent of BBQ drifted over from the neighbor’s house, hooking into my soul like a claw. I pushed the door open and stumbled out. In the alley, a mangy stray was hunched over, tearing at a piece of bone with strips of gristle and meat still clinging to it. I stared at that bone. My throat tightened. I couldn’t stop the saliva from pooling in my mouth. My rational mind screamed at me that it was dog food. But instinct drove me. I glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then lunged forward, snatching the bone right out of the dog’s mouth. “June? What in God’s name—!” Marge Dawson, the mayor’s wife, had come out with a bucket of slops and saw the entire thing. I froze, the saliva-coated bone still gripped in my hand. My face was instantly on fire. I threw the bone back down in a panic, desperate for a hole to swallow me whole. Marge stood there for a long moment, then sighed, a sound heavy with sorrow. She went back inside and returned with a large bowl heaped with smashed potatoes, topped with a slab of sausage. “Eat,” she commanded. I forgot all pride and dignity, taking the bowl and devouring the food. After I ate, Marge led me straight to the mayor’s house. “This child has been alone for nearly six months, Mayor. I checked her pantry today—it’s empty. What is she going to do? You have to figure something out.” Mayor Dawson studied me, his face etched with concern. Finally, he spoke: “I’ll call her mother to come get her.” My heart seized up. I immediately stood straighter. What would Mom say when she picked up the phone? 3 The mayor dialed the number, but a moment later, the loud, tinny voice of the automated service filled the room: “We’re sorry. The number you have dialed is no longer in service…” I stood there, stunned. My mother had changed her number. She had finally, irrevocably, cut the cord. The mayor put the phone down, looking troubled. “June, the Township Aid funds are limited.” “We have elderly folks who would starve without it. You don’t have local ties, and you’re an out-of-towner; the money… it’s hard to justify.” The room fell into a heavy silence. Finally, Marge spoke up. “Tell you what. If this girl agrees, she can come to my house every day for a bowl of smashed potato and gravy, and then she can visit the other homes for a side dish of vegetables or meat.” “There are dozens of families in this village. We won’t let her starve.” I sank to my knees and bowed my head to the floor. “Thank you, Ma’am. I will.” As long as I could live, as long as I could study, I would beg. For the next year, I carried my container through every alley and to every kitchen door. I learned to read faces. When someone was reluctant, I would politely accept the bread and eat it alone. By the time the next New Year came, I had learned not to expect anything. My life was a cycle of books and begging. On the day the high school acceptance letters were posted, my hands were shaking as I held the envelope. I got into the best high school in the county. But I couldn’t smile. Tuition plus room and board was over two thousand dollars a year. For a girl who survived on handouts, it was an astronomical sum. I sat on the stoop, staring at the letter. Give up? Never. Just as I ran out of hope, my mother came back. 4 My mother, Brenda, set down her suitcase and looked me over. “I can’t believe how tall you’ve gotten,” she said flatly. No matter how high I had built the walls around my heart, hearing that one familiar sentence caused them to crumble. Tears poured down my cheeks. I rushed over and wrapped my arms around her waist, trying to expel two years of loneliness and hurt in one massive sob. “Mom, I missed you so much.” Her body went rigid. She neither pushed me away nor hugged me back. When I finished crying, I wiped my eyes. My hand trembled as I pulled the warm, folded acceptance letter from my jacket pocket. “Mom, I got into the best high school.” “Could you… lend me the tuition? I promise, I’ll pay you back double when I start working.” She took the letter, glanced at it, and her face tightened. “What’s a girl need books for? Girls who read too much get ideas, and what good is an idea when you’re just going to settle down and raise a family?” A wave of cold dread washed over me. I stared at her, disbelieving. She lit a cigarette, taking a long drag. “I’m here to sell your grandmother’s shack. Your brother needs a down-payment for a starter home in a good school district.” “Money’s tight, June. You’re grown up now. It’s time to help out.” “Pack your things. My boss at the textile mill needs hands. I told him about you, and he agreed to hold a spot.” She hadn’t come back to help me read. She had come back to sell my inheritance to finance my brother’s education and then sell me into construction site labor. I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat. “I won’t go! I’m going to school!” My mother’s brow furrowed into a tight knot. She slapped her hand on the table. “You won’t go to the construction site? What, are you going to be a princess? Where do you think I’ll get the cash to indulge you?” I froze, completely helpless. The yard gate suddenly flew open. Marge Dawson strode in and immediately pointed a finger at my mother. “Brenda, have you no shame?” “This child grew up here like a stray dog, and you didn’t check on her once. Now you think she can earn a wage, you remember you have a daughter?” My mother scoffed, flicking her cigarette ash. “All the girls around here end up in the construction site. It’s the way of things.” Marge gave a nasty laugh. “But the other girls weren’t eating my pot roast!” “Other workers send money home. You disappear the moment your own mother dies. You just waited for this child to grow big enough to become your cash cow, didn’t you?” Marge planted herself in front of me, like an angry old hen protecting her chick. “You want to take her? Fine. Pay me back two years of food and support. I won’t charge interest. Just two thousand dollars.” My mother angrily stubbed out the cigarette, her face pinched. “I don’t have that kind of money right now.” Marge pointed to the door. “Then get out!” Neighbors, drawn by the yelling, started to gather, whispering and pointing fingers. My mother’s face turned the color of beet-red. She shot me a look of pure hatred, grabbed her suitcase, and scurried away. Watching her retreating back, I burst into tears again. Marge knelt down, patting my back. “June, don’t blame me for running off your mother.” I shook my head, wiping my face. “I don’t blame you, Ma’am. She was the one who abandoned me first.” In that moment, I finally accepted the cold, hard fact: I was an unwanted child. Marge sighed, looking at the acceptance letter in my hand, her face full of worry. “But June, I can’t help you with the tuition either.” “This village relies on what the land gives us. We only bring in about six thousand a year. Your uncle, the mayor, gives most of that to the families who need it more.” I stopped crying, my mind a terrifying blank. The tuition. Two thousand dollars. It was enough to crush an adult, and it was certainly enough to crush a thirteen-year-old girl. Just then, Bella came out of her house. She leaned against the doorframe and said in a low voice: “I have a way. It just depends on whether you’re willing to go through with it.”

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I was in the hospital for a month and had three surgeries. The doctors issued a critical condition notice twice, and both times, I was the one who had to sign it, alone, outside the ICU. Not a single phone call from my son. My texts vanished into a black hole. On the day I was discharged, I dragged my weak body back to an empty, silent apartment. The next day, my son finally called. His first words were: “Hey Mom. My father-in-law wants a new car. Can you wire me sixty grand?” I was stunned into silence for three seconds, then I said calmly, “Son, Mom is out of money.” “What do you mean?” His voice immediately shot up. “Your mortgage payment. I stopped it.” The other end of the line erupted. 1 In the sterile white corridor of the ICU, my fingers wouldn’t stop shaking. The pen weighed next to nothing, but in that moment, it felt as heavy as lead. “Family of the patient, please sign here.” The nurse’s voice was flat, the sound of someone who witnesses life and death as a daily routine. I looked up, my gaze drifting past her to the end of the long hall. In front of the other rooms, anxious family members huddled together, sitting or standing in worried clusters. But I, Evelyn, was completely alone. The harsh fluorescent lights stretched my shadow long and thin across the polished floor, like a giant, mocking question mark. A flicker of sympathy, almost imperceptible, crossed the nurse’s face. She lowered her voice. “Ma’am, is there any family we can call for you? The hospital chaplain, perhaps?” My throat was dry. I managed a smile that felt more painful than tears. “I have a son. I have a son.” The nurse’s expression turned awkward. She didn’t press the issue, just nudged the pen a little closer. I signed my own name. Each stroke felt like it was being carved into my heart. Back in my hospital bed, every cell in my body screamed in pain. I fumbled for the phone under my pillow. The screen lit up, showing the same familiar chat window. Mom’s sick, at City General Hospital. Could you come visit when you have a chance? The message sat there, unanswered. Beneath it, the word “Unread” felt like a tiny, sharp needle in my eye. Before the second surgery, my surgeon approached me with the consent forms, his face grim. “Mrs. Miller, this procedure is high-risk. We absolutely must have a signature from a next of kin.” I forced myself to sit up, my voice weak but firm. “My son is on a business trip. He’s on his way. I’ll sign for now. I take full responsibility for myself.” The doctor looked at my face, pale as a sheet of paper, and finally sighed, handing me the pen. Again, my own name: Evelyn Miller. There were three of us in the room. The lady in the next bed had a daughter who brought her different kinds of homemade soup every day. The woman in the bed across from me had a husband who never left her side. When mealtime came, the room would fill with the comforting aroma of real food. I opened the plastic container delivered from the hospital cafeteria. White rice, a few limp green beans, and two thin slices of mystery meat. I could hear the soft cooing from the next bed. “Mom, I made you chicken soup today. Drink up, it’ll give you strength.” I poked at my rice. A tear fell, unbidden, then another, splashing hot against the cold food. In the dead of night, a searing pain from my incision ripped me from a shallow sleep. Cold sweat soaked through my hospital gown. I curled up into a ball, like a small, abandoned animal. Once again, I reached for my phone and pulled up the number I knew by heart. Alex. My finger hovered over the call button for a long, long time. In the end, I let my hand fall, defeated. It’s been ten years, Evelyn. You should be used to this by now. After the third surgery, they sent me straight to the ICU. The second critical condition notice followed. When the nurse found me to sign it, I just looked at the paper and started to laugh. I laughed out loud, my shoulders shaking, laughing so hard that the young nurse just stood there, stunned. She probably thought I’d lost my mind. I was just wondering, if I really did die this time, would he come? Would Alex finally make the trip back home, the home he hadn’t returned to in a decade, just to claim my body? When my consciousness was at its foggiest, a warm hand took mine. “Evelyn!” It was Susan, my old colleague, my only true friend in this world. She looked at me, with tubes running in and out of my body, and burst into tears. “How much longer are you going to put up with him?” she choked out, her voice trembling. I shook my head, too weak to even speak. Susan, furious, snatched my phone and dialed Alex’s number directly. It rang for a long time, so long that Susan was about to give up when someone finally answered. The background was loud—music and laughter. It sounded like a party. “Yeah? Who’s this?” Alex’s voice was sharp with annoyance. “Alex! Your mother is in critical condition in the ICU, do you have any idea?” Susan yelled into the phone. “Look, I’m busy right now. Just text me whatever it is.” He hung up. Just like that. Susan was shaking with rage, about to call back when my phone chimed with a notification. It was a text from the bank. A transfer of $1,100.00 from your account ending in xxxx was completed on xx/xx. I stared at the text. It was the automatic transfer I had set up the month before, the day before I was admitted to the hospital. The money for his mortgage. Right on time. A chill, colder and more piercing than the 24/7 air conditioning in the ICU, shot through my bones. Susan saw it too. She grabbed the phone, her eyes red. “He remembers the day his mortgage is due,” she seethed, “but he can’t remember if his mother is alive or dead!” 2 I lay in bed that night, wide awake. The last ten years played over and over in my mind like a broken film reel. My son, Alex, hadn’t set foot in this home since he got married a decade ago. Christmas? He had to spend it with his in-laws. My birthday? He was taking his wife and kids on vacation. The excuses were always perfectly valid, leaving me with no room to argue. I still remember at his wedding, his father-in-law, Robert, clapping me on the shoulder and booming for all the guests to hear, “My dear Evelyn is a retired teacher! So cultured, with a great pension. Alex and Jessica are going to need your help to get by!” At the time, I brushed it off as polite wedding chatter and smiled and nodded. I never imagined it would become a ten-year prophecy. The first month after the wedding, Alex called. “Mom, we want to get some new furniture. Jessica found a set she loves from Restoration Hardware. We were thinking…” I didn’t hesitate. I transferred five thousand dollars. The next month, he called again. “Mom, we want to remodel the house. Jessica thinks the old style is so dated.” I transferred another ten thousand. I once tried, full of excitement, to visit their new home, to see the “Restoration Hardware style” that my life savings had paid for. I showed up with bags full of groceries and called Alex from the gate of their community. He stammered on the phone. “Oh, Mom, the house is a total mess right now, we haven’t finished unpacking. Don’t come up. Next time. I’ll pick you up next time.” That day, I stood outside that upscale gated community from afternoon until dusk. I watched as lights flickered on in one window after another, but not a single one was for me. In the end, I gave the groceries to the security guard and took the last bus home alone. For ten years, I was like a wind-up toy. Every month, on schedule, I transferred $1,100 for his mortgage. For holidays, a check for two or three thousand. For his in-laws’ birthdays, another thousand or two as a “gift of respect.” I scrolled through my mobile banking history, my finger swiping through page after page. Car for Alex: $30,000. Renovations for Alex: $15,000. Birthday gift for Alex’s father-in-law: $5,000. Wedding gift for Alex’s sister-in-law: $8,000. Tuition help for Alex’s father-in-law’s nephew: $3,000. Every transfer had a noble-sounding reason, and every reason revolved around his perfect, respectable family. Meanwhile, my own home, his childhood home, hadn’t seen him in a decade. Even when he did come back, it was just to pick up money. He never stayed, never even came inside. I remember it so clearly. Three years ago, on my sixty-fifth birthday. I spent the day before shopping, and I made a huge batch of his favorite lasagna. I worked up all my courage and called him. “Alex,” I said, my voice timid. “Tomorrow… it’s Mom’s birthday. Could you… could you come over for dinner?” There was a pause on the other end. “Oh, Mom, what a coincidence. It’s actually my father-in-law’s birthday tomorrow too. We’ve had plans for weeks. I really can’t get away.” After he hung up, I sat alone at the dining table, staring at the big pan of lasagna as it went from steaming hot to cold and stiff. It was only later that I found out from Susan, completely by chance, that it wasn’t Robert’s birthday at all. My son had lied to me, just to avoid coming home. Susan once sat down with a calculator and added it all up for me. “Evelyn, you get seven hundred dollars a month from your pension. That’s not bad. But where are your savings? You’ve given him everything! You’re still living in this thirty-year-old apartment from your teaching days. The paint is peeling off the walls, and you won’t even spend the money to fix it.” At the time, I had argued back, full of righteous indignation. “He’s my only son. If I don’t give my money to him, who else would I give it to?” Lying in this cold hospital bed now, those words sound utterly ridiculous. A nurse came in to change my IV drip. She saw my red-rimmed eyes and asked softly, “Ma’am, is the incision hurting again?” I shook my head and turned my face away. It doesn’t hurt. My heart went numb a long time ago. How could it possibly feel any pain? I was just remembering things. Things I had deliberately forgotten, lies I had told myself for years. 3 Susan came again the next day. She carried a large thermos filled with a bone broth she had been simmering all morning. She fed it to me spoonful by spoonful, as gentle as if I were a child. “Evelyn, your daughter-in-law… her name is Jessica, right?” she asked suddenly. I nodded. “In the ten years they’ve been married, how many times have you seen her?” I counted on my fingers, seriously. There was the wedding. Then the few times she came down to the car with Alex when I was dropping off money; she’d stand a few feet away and give a cool nod. All told, no more than five times. Ten years. Five times. I could barely even remember what she looked like. I only recalled her at the wedding, in her white dress, coming to serve me the traditional tea. She had smiled so sweetly. “Mom, we’re a family now. Alex and I will come visit you all the time.” Ten years later, that sentence had become the funniest joke I’d ever heard. The irony was, half the time Alex asked for money, the reason was related to Jessica’s family. “Mom, my mother-in-law hasn’t been feeling well, she’s in the hospital. As her family, we have to show our support.” “Mom, Jessica’s sister is getting married. As the brother-in-law, I can’t show up with a cheap gift, you know?” “Mom, it’s my father-in-law’s big birthday. We’re planning on getting him a nice watch. We were thinking…” I used to be so naive. I thought if I supported them without reservation, they would at least have some affection for me. I thought if I emptied my own pockets, I could buy my son a respectable life with his in-laws, could ensure his marriage was happy. But I never imagined that when I was critically ill, in the hospital for a whole month, Jessica’s family wouldn’t make a single phone call. Not one. It was as if I were a complete stranger. An ATM. Susan saw the distant look in my eyes and sighed. “Evelyn, do you know what Jessica tells people about you?” My heart clenched. “She complains to the neighbors in her community that her mother-in-law is eccentric and antisocial, that you’re impossible to get along with. She says that’s why they never visit.” Susan’s face was tight with suppressed anger. “My niece heard her with her own ears. They live in the same community. She thought you were some kind of monster-in-law!” I was floored. I had been a teacher my whole life. My reputation, my integrity, meant everything to me. I’d never said a harsh word to her. I’d barely even seen her. Where did “eccentric and antisocial” come from? Susan saw the color drain from my face and seemed to hesitate, as if she had more to say. I grabbed her hand. “Susan, what else? Tell me.” She paused, then finally said, “She also said… she said that you have a good pension and savings, so you’re supposed to be helping them. She called it an ‘investment.’ She said when you get old, of course they’ll take care of you, but right now, they’re young and under pressure, and as a mother, you just have to be understanding.” Understanding? Who was there to understand me when I was alone outside the ICU, signing my own critical condition notice? Who was there to understand me when I was in so much pain I couldn’t sleep, living on painkillers? Susan’s words were a dull knife, twisting in my heart. No blood, but the pain was suffocating. I suddenly remembered something. Last month, a week before I was hospitalized, Alex had called in a panic. He said Jessica was feeling unwell and needed ten thousand dollars for a minor surgery, urgently. I was so worried, thinking something terrible had happened to my daughter-in-law. Without a second thought, I transferred all the money I had set aside for my own medical bills. Thinking back on it now, was there ever a “minor surgery”? Or was it just another lie, cooked up to get more money? The door to my room opened, and an orderly helped a new patient in. She was an elderly woman with white hair. Her daughter bustled around her, efficiently making the bed, swapping the hospital sheets for fresh ones from home, and pouring a glass of warm water. The old woman beamed, comfortable and cared for. I quickly turned my head and stared out the window at the gray, overcast sky. The tears I’d been holding back finally broke free, streaming down my face. 4 After a full month in the hospital, I was finally discharged. The doctor gave me stern instructions. It was major surgery, and my body was severely weakened. I had to rest at home, avoid any strenuous activity for three months, and come back for regular check-ups. I noted it all down, nodding. When I was handling the discharge paperwork, it was the same young nurse. She saw me struggling with my suitcase and couldn’t help but ask, “Ma’am, isn’t your family here to pick you up?” I stretched my lips into what I hoped was a decent smile. “I can manage. I don’t want to bother them.” The nurse’s expression flickered, but she didn’t say anything more. Susan had offered to drive me, but I refused. I needed to be alone. I needed to think. A month on the brink of death had clarified a lot of things for me. I hailed a cab. The driver was a kind, middle-aged man. He saw my pale face in the rearview mirror and started a friendly conversation. “Just got out of the hospital, ma’am? You don’t look too well. Make sure you get plenty of rest.” When we arrived, he insisted on carrying my suitcase up the stairs for me, all the way to my front door. I felt bad and tried to give him a generous tip for his trouble, but he just waved his hands, smiling warmly. “No, no, ma’am. You just take care of yourself. That’s more important than anything.” I closed the door and leaned against the cold wood, my nose stinging. A complete stranger, a taxi driver I’d never see again, showed me more concern than the son I had raised. When I opened the door to my apartment, a wave of stale, musty air hit me. A month of being empty had left the place coated in a thin film of gray dust, devoid of any signs of life. I shivered. If I had died in that hospital, how long would it have taken for anyone to find me here, in the home I’d lived in for most of my life? I dragged my weak body to the refrigerator and pulled open the door. The fruits and vegetables I had bought before my hospital stay had rotted completely, emitting a sickeningly sweet stench of decay. I squatted down, pulled out a trash bag, and started cleaning them out, one by one. With every rotten piece of fruit I threw away, my heart grew a little colder. The tears started again, dripping silently into the putrid mess. By the time I had cleared a small space to live in, the sky outside was dark. I was so exhausted I could barely stand. I found a packet of instant noodles in the cupboard and boiled some water. Huddled in my small kitchen, slurping the bland noodles, I started crying again. Just then, my phone rang, the sound jarring in the silence. My heart leaped. My first, instinctive thought was that it was Alex. I hastily wiped my tears and grabbed the phone. But the screen showed a text message from the bank. Dear Customer, the automatic mortgage payment from your account ending in 8888 has failed due to insufficient funds. This has resulted in a late payment. To avoid a negative impact on your credit score, please deposit the required amount as soon as possible. It hit me then. Before I went to the hospital, I had transferred the last of my money to Alex for Jessica’s supposed surgery. My own account was empty, not even enough to cover the mortgage payment. My first impulse was to call Alex and tell him to deposit the money immediately. But my finger froze over the screen. A thought, like a bolt of lightning, cut through the fog in my brain. Why was I the one panicking? He was the one living in the house. He was the one enjoying it. If the mortgage went into default, my credit would be hit first, but shouldn’t he be the one worried about it? Slowly, I put the phone down. I decided to do nothing. I would just wait. I wanted to see just how long it would take for him to remember this. To remember that he even had a mother. 5 And so began the longest wait of my life. I rested at home, clutching my old smartphone, refreshing the screen over and over again. Waiting for the call I had been waiting for for ten years. A day passed. Silence. Two days passed. Still nothing. Three days. Nothing but a few spam texts. It felt like I was conducting some kind of absurd experiment. The hypothesis: if I don’t initiate contact, how long will it take for my son to remember I exist? This was the first time in a decade I had ever done this. In the past, I was always the one who kept track of the dates, who worried he was too busy, too forgetful, or short on cash. I was always the one who called first, who transferred the money first. On the fourth day, the doorbell rang. My heart hammered against my ribs. I practically flew off the sofa. It had to be him! It must be! The bank’s warnings were serious. He couldn’t possibly be this careless! Clinging to a final shred of hope, I stumbled to the door and peered through the peephole. Standing outside was a delivery driver in a yellow uniform. In that instant, a tidal wave of icy disappointment washed over me, drowning me completely. Susan came to visit again. She brought fresh vegetables and meat from the market and went straight to my kitchen, moving with familiar ease. She looked at my gaunt, haggard face and sighed. “You’re still waiting for him, aren’t you?” I just gave her a bitter smile, unable to speak. At the dinner table, Susan suddenly became very serious. “Evelyn, I did some checking for you at the county records office. You’re not destitute.” I stared at her, confused. “You have three properties in your name.” “One is this old apartment we’re in now. It’s yours.” “Another is the house your parents left you. It’s downtown. It’s old, but it’s in a prime location.” “And,” she paused, looking me straight in the eye, “the mortgage you took out in your name to buy your son’s marital home… the title deed for that house is also in your name!” I was completely stunned. “That house… isn’t it in Alex’s name?” I whispered. Susan shook her head. “Absolutely not. I had my contact double-check. You are the borrower on the loan, and you are the sole name on the title. Alex is, at best, a tenant.” My mind reeled. I remembered when we bought the house. Alex had said that since he was just starting his career, he wouldn’t qualify for a large enough loan. But as a retired teacher with a stable income, I would be easily approved by the bank. At the time, all I cared about was helping my son settle down, so I agreed without a second thought. I never imagined that this casual decision, made only to help him secure a loan, would become my only lifeline today. Susan continued, “Think about it, Evelyn. Your pension is seven hundred dollars a month. If you weren’t paying his $1,100 mortgage, you could live quite comfortably. And that old house from your parents? You could rent that out for at least a few hundred a month.” I had never thought about any of this. For ten years, my only thought was: what’s mine is my son’s. But now, lying in that hospital bed, thinking about that cold text from the bank, thinking about his annoyed voice as he hung up on Susan… I started to wonder. I had treated everything I owned as his. But had he ever treated my life as if it were his own? On the seventh day, a second notice arrived from the bank. The language was harsher, explicitly stating that if payment was not made, legal proceedings would begin, and my credit score would be severely damaged.

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“Miss, I think you might have the wrong suitcase.” “How could I be wrong about my own suitcase?” “Because this one,” he said, “is mine.” “Yours? Does it have your name on it? Who saw you with it?” At the airport’s baggage claim, a fragile, tearful voice clung to a sakura-pink suitcase, refusing to let go. Beside her, a man stood like a bodyguard, shielding her as he shot a dismissive glare at the suitcase’s true owner. A sharp throb pulsed in Sophia’s temples. This business trip was turning into a complete nightmare. The carousel whirred, a monotonous drone in the chaotic, bustling arrivals hall. She had spotted her suitcase instantly. The sakura-pink one. She’d had a designer friend in Italy custom-make it; it was the only one of its kind in the world. The shell was a special material, the color a unique shade of pink perfected after a dozen different dye tests. She strode over, reaching to lift it off the belt. But another hand, pale and slender, was faster. A girl in a white dress, her makeup flawless, snatched the suitcase first. She looked to be in her early twenties, with long hair cascading over her shoulders and a face of pure innocence. Sophia paused. “Excuse me, miss,” she said politely. “I’m sorry, but that’s my suitcase.” The girl looked up, her large eyes blinking in feigned confusion. “Yours? That’s impossible. I just bought this.” Her voice was syrupy sweet, laced with a hint of grievance, as if Sophia were the one making an unreasonable scene. Sophia took a deep breath, fighting to keep her patience. She pointed to the side of the case. “This suitcase is a custom piece. It has my initials, S.R., engraved on it.” Hearing this, the girl immediately hugged the suitcase tighter, turning it away. “Where? I don’t see anything. Are you trying to pull a fast one?” Just then, a tall figure stepped between them. The man was decked out in designer streetwear, his hair slicked back with gel. He looked down at Sophia with condescending eyes. “What do you think you’re doing? Trying to rob someone in broad daylight?” His name was Aiden, and he was the girl’s, Lily’s, boyfriend. Lily immediately ducked behind him, peering out with reddened eyes. “Aiden, she’s so aggressive. She keeps insisting my suitcase is hers.” Aiden wrapped a protective arm around his girlfriend, his glare at Sophia turning hostile. “Ma’am, you look presentable enough. Why would you stoop to something like this? I bought this suitcase for my girlfriend. You must be mistaken.” Sophia almost laughed out loud. Since when were thieves so brazen? Her patience was wearing thin. The contents of that suitcase were a thousand times more valuable than the case itself. If anything happened to them, it was a loss she couldn’t afford. “I’ll say this one more time,” Sophia enunciated each word, her voice turning cold. “That suitcase is mine. I don’t have time to waste with you.” Aiden scoffed. “Oh, putting on a show now? You just saw my girlfriend’s suitcase is a limited edition and you want it for yourself, don’t you?” He looked her up and down. “I’ve seen your type before. Not a single designer label on you, but you’re desperate to latch onto a rich guy. Too bad you picked the wrong target.” From behind him, Lily chimed in softly, “That’s right, Aiden. You had to pull so many strings to get this for me. I absolutely adore it.” Their performance was seamless. The commotion had started to draw a crowd of other travelers, who stopped to watch. The murmurs were quiet but clear enough. “That young girl doesn’t look like a liar. Maybe the other woman really is mistaken?” “You never know. There are so many gold diggers these days. She probably saw the guy was rich and tried to make a move.” Sophia’s expression darkened completely. She hadn’t wanted to make a scene, but it was clear that a simple request wasn’t going to work. These two had mistaken her for a pushover. “Fine. You say it’s yours, right?” Sophia suddenly became calm, a faint smile even touching her lips. Aiden and Lily exchanged a smug glance, assuming she was about to give up. “Of course it’s ours!” Aiden said, his chin held high. “Alright,” Sophia nodded, then pulled out her phone. “Then let’s call the police. Or we can get airport security over here and let them sort it out.” “Let’s see just who this one-of-a-kind suitcase really belongs to.” 2 At the word “police,” a flicker of panic crossed Lily’s eyes. But Aiden remained unfazed. “Go ahead! Who’s scared? We’ve got nothing to hide!” he boomed, playing the part of the righteous victim, his loud voice attracting even more attention. Seeing his confidence, Lily straightened up, clutching his arm and whining, “Aiden, how could she? We were trying to be nice, and now she wants to call the police? She’s slandering us!” Such acting talent was wasted outside of Hollywood. Sophia scoffed internally. Fine. They wanted to play dumb until the bitter end. She dialed the airport information desk and concisely explained the situation. In less than three minutes, two uniformed security officers arrived. “What’s going on here?” one of them asked sternly. Aiden immediately jumped in, twisting the story. “Officers, thank God you’re here! This woman is claiming my girlfriend’s suitcase is hers, and she even tried to snatch it!” He pointed an accusatory finger at Sophia. “We felt sorry for her, a woman all alone, and tried to reason with her, but she threatened to call the police. It’s unbelievable!” On cue, Lily squeezed out a few tears, sobbing, “This suitcase… it was my favorite birthday present. I really can’t lose it…” She cried beautifully, a picture of fragile misery. The tide of public opinion immediately turned against Sophia. “Oh my God, that woman is such a bully.” “Yeah, picking on a poor young couple.” “Look, the girl is about to faint from crying.” The security officer frowned and turned to Sophia. “Miss, do you have any proof that this suitcase belongs to you?” Sophia met the crowd’s judgment without flinching. She looked calmly at the officer. “I do.” She pointed to a nearly invisible spot where the handle connected to the case. “First, this suitcase is custom-made. Three centimeters below the handle, there are laser-engraved initials, ‘SR.’ You can’t see them unless you look very closely.” “Second,” she continued, “one of the spinner wheels was scuffed on my last trip. There’s a scratch, about half a centimeter long, on the inner side of the wheel.” “And third, most importantly, I was in a hurry, so I filled out the luggage tag by hand. It doesn’t have my name on it, but an address and the words ‘For Mr. Lancaster’s Personal Attention.’ I tucked the tag into the side mesh pocket.” She laid out the facts, one by one, her voice clear and steady. With every point she made, the color drained a little more from Aiden and Lily’s faces. They didn’t know a single one of the details Sophia had just described. Aiden stubbornly puffed out his chest. “How do we know you’re not just making that up? Maybe you were following us the whole time, eavesdropping!” Sophia looked at him as if he were an idiot. “I was following you? All the way from the design studio in Italy to here?” The security officer was clearly more convinced by Sophia. He stepped forward and addressed Lily. “Miss, could you please hand over the suitcase for inspection?” Lily clutched the case for dear life. “No! This is my suitcase! You can’t touch it!” Her reaction said it all. The officer’s expression hardened, his tone becoming severe. “Miss, I need you to cooperate with our investigation. Otherwise, we will have to involve the police.” At the mention of police intervention, Lily’s body trembled. Aiden, seeing her fear, pulled her behind him. “Check it, then! What’s the big deal? Let’s see what you have to say after you’ve checked it!” He seemed to believe that as long as they kept denying it, no one could do anything to them. The officer took the suitcase and first inspected the handle. After a moment of feeling around the area, he found it. Two subtle, raised forms in the hidden corner. “There are initials here,” he confirmed. He then crouched down to inspect the wheels. “And there is indeed a scratch right here.” Finally, from the side mesh pocket, he pulled out a handwritten luggage tag. The writing on it matched Sophia’s description exactly. The truth was out. The crowd’s murmurs instantly shifted direction. “So they were the thieves all along!” “Wow, those two have some nerve!” “How pathetic, pretending to be the victims.” Aiden and Lily’s faces cycled through shades of red and white, as if they had been slapped repeatedly. Lily, who had been weeping so dramatically just moments before, was now deathly pale. 3 “Now,” Sophia’s voice was quiet, but it landed like a hammer blow on the couple’s hearts. “May I have my suitcase back?” Aiden’s pride was shattered. He snarled, a cornered animal trying to look tough. “So what if the details match! It could be a coincidence! If you’re so sure, why don’t you open it?” He was betting she wouldn’t. After all, who would share their luggage combination with strangers? As long as she couldn’t open it, they still had room to argue. Lily, grasping at this last straw, quickly chimed in. “Yeah! Open it! If you can open it, then I’ll admit the suitcase is yours!” She was certain Sophia couldn’t possibly know the combination to the notoriously complex lock. Sophia looked at their pathetic, last-ditch effort and found it almost laughable. “Open it?” she raised an eyebrow. “Alright.” She walked to the suitcase, not even glancing at the combination dials. Instead, she pressed her finger lightly onto a tiny, unassuming square next to the lock. It was a fingerprint scanner. This custom case used the latest biometric security. Only a person with a registered fingerprint could open it. A soft beep. Then, to the astonishment of everyone watching, the latch sprang open with a sharp click. The world went silent. The air in the terminal seemed to freeze. Aiden and Lily’s eyes bulged, their mouths hanging open wide enough to fit an egg. The expressions on their faces morphed from arrogance to disbelief, then to horror, and finally settled into a mask of ashen despair. This was more humiliating than a physical slap. The crowd of onlookers erupted in a wave of laughter and derisive jeers. “Hahaha, talk about a public takedown!” “She told her to open it, and all it took was one finger. Classic!” “How embarrassing! What a total train wreck!” The security officers just shook their heads, looking at the pair as if they were fools. “Well, folks,” one of them said, turning to the couple. “Do you have anything else to say? Please come with us.” Lily’s knees gave out, and she nearly collapsed. Aiden was in a full-blown panic. He wanted to reach for Sophia, to beg for mercy. But Sophia wasn’t even looking at them. She knelt and gently lifted the lid of the suitcase. When the contents were revealed, the noisy crowd fell instantly, deathly silent. A collective gasp rippled through the onlookers. The moment Sophia’s eyes landed on the single, hairline fracture marring the perfection of her work, her blood ran cold. The world around her faded into a dull roar. The gasps of the crowd, the panicked whimpers of the couple, the stern voices of the security guards—it was all just noise. All she could see was that tiny, devastating crack on the castle’s tallest spire. It was a whisper of a flaw, almost invisible to the untrained eye. But to her, it screamed of violation. Of carelessness. Of destruction. Her heart, which had been pounding with adrenaline and anger, now felt like a leaden weight in her chest. She slowly, deliberately, closed the lid, the soft click of the latch echoing in the sudden silence. She rose to her feet, her face a mask of cold fury, and leveled a gaze at the two people who had caused this. They were still frozen, their faces pale with shock and dawning horror. Sophia’s voice, when she finally spoke, was quiet, devoid of all emotion, which made it all the more terrifying. “You’re finished.”

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There is always a heroine who willingly plays the role of a doormat. She lowers herself into the dust for the male lead. She endures humiliation because of the man’s “one that got away.” People mock her. They call her a simp he can’t get rid of. And she takes it all in silence. Maya is exactly that kind of pathetic heroine in this “substitute” novel. And Asher is the male lead. Until the day Maya and his “true love” faced danger at the same time. Asher didn’t hesitate. He chose to save his true love. In the process, his face was injured. That was the moment Maya finally gave up on Asher. She stopped simping. Because Asher no longer looked like the man she actually loved… She brutally revealed the truth to him. Staring at the scar under his eye where a distinctive red beauty mark used to be, she said: “It’s a shame. You don’t look like him anymore.” “Actually, you were never anything more than a stand-in for the man I really loved.” She thought Asher would break down. She thought he would go crazy. Instead, Asher looked at her like she needed a psych ward. “If you really loved him that much,” he asked, “why would you ever go looking for a cheap copy?” The one who had a mental breakdown… Was her. 01 Inside the Penthouse suite of the city’s best hotel. Many familiar faces were there. Though three years apart had made things a little distant. The reckless friendships of our youth now carried a hint of calculation. I was whispering with Asher. Even sitting on the sofa, he was a head taller than me. To match my height, he lowered his head, smiling as he listened to my stories about grad school abroad. His face was still handsome. But the boyishness was gone, replaced by a mature, steady charm. Under his eyes, which shone like stars, was a small, distinctive red beauty mark. It added a layer of allure to his face. Our private conversation was interrupted by Chad. An old friend from our circle. “Alright, you two, give it a rest.” “Asher flies out to see you every chance he gets.” “And you’ve been back in the states for days but only just came out to see us.” “I thought you had important business, but you’ve just been glued to this guy?” Chad took a sip of his drink. “It’s good you’re back, Blair.” “If you stayed away any longer, that girl who looks a bit like you… she’s persistent.” “Like a stray dog that won’t leave Asher alone.” “If you were any later, Asher might have just used her as a rebound since she bears a passing resemblance to you.” Asher and I both frowned at his tone. “Don’t worry though,” Chad continued, oblivious. “Even if Asher did anything with her, it would just be for fun. A substitute.” “You’re abroad, he’s a man with needs. It’s normal to find someone to blow off steam with.” “The fact that he picked someone who looks like you just proves how much he loves you.” “You should be secretly flattered that a guy this rich and handsome is so obsessed with you.” The veins on Asher’s forehead popped. I felt nauseous. If Asher actually hooked up with a look-alike substitute while I was getting my degree… That’s not love. That’s trash. I went abroad to study, I didn’t pass away! He likes me, so he finds a duplicate to sleep with? And I should be flattered? Should I pop some champagne to celebrate his infidelity? Even if I had died, him finding a look-alike would still be disgusting. Just then, a row of text floated across my vision like a livestream chat. [Blair knows Maya is just a substitute. She must be so smug right now.] [Our Maya’s existence must make her feel threatened. Why else come back now?] [It’s the classic trope. The vicious ex goes abroad to party, and only comes back to mark her territory when the male lead finds a replacement.] Me: “…” Is it possible, just maybe, that I came back because I finished my Master’s degree? I will never understand the logic of these “evil female leads” in substitute novels. Knowing the guy got a stand-in… shouldn’t the first reaction be that he’s cheating? Not slapping him is already an act of mercy. Why fight another woman for a cheating piece of trash? I’m an heiress. I can have any man I want. Why would I fight over a cheater? And be happy that he found someone who looks like me? Garbage belongs in the dumpster. Only flies fight over trash. 02 Just as Asher was about to explode at Chad. The doorbell rang. Chad winked at us mysteriously. “Surprise.” He opened the door. A girl walked in. She looked about 50% like me, but her style was the complete opposite. I was wearing a red dress, voluminous curls, and four-inch heels—bold and sharp. She was dressed simply. A white cotton dress, canvas sneakers, face scrubbed clean without a drop of makeup. She looked introverted and shy. Chad crossed his arms, ready for a show. We watched Maya bite her lip. She walked up to Asher and me. She opened her palm. A small pink box. Strawberry-flavored condoms. Maya looked downcast and whispered to Asher: “Mr. Wei, I bought the things you asked for.” Asher frowned, rubbing his temples. “I didn’t ask you to buy anything.” Hearing this, a strange light flickered in Maya’s sad eyes. The corners of her mouth twitched upward. Chad laughed. He walked over to put a hand on Asher’s shoulder. “Haha, she really is a simp.” “I texted her saying you needed a box of condoms delivered to the hotel because you and Blair were in a hurry.” “She actually bought them.” He leaned in, his tone suggestive. “I bet if you told her to clean the sheets after you and Blair were done, she’d do that too.” “Never seen someone with so little self-respect.” He winked at us and shoved the condoms into Asher’s hand. “Since she bought them, you and Blair should use them tonight.” “Using condoms bought by the substitute… that’s gotta be extra spicy.” There was zero respect in his voice. Asher let out a cold laugh. Before Chad could react, Asher’s large hand clamped onto his jaw. He stuffed the box of condoms directly into Chad’s mouth. His expression was terrifying. “You like spicy?” “Is this spicy enough for you?!” A solid punch landed squarely on Chad’s cheekbone. “Your mouth is filthy!” “Did you forget to brush your teeth?” Punch after punch landed on flesh. It sounded painful. I didn’t say a word to stop Asher. Only when Chad started begging. “Bro… Bro, stop, it hurts…” “I was wrong… I won’t… run my mouth again!” Only then did Asher stop. “Get out.” Chad scrambled away like a frightened rat. Someone whispered, “Don’t get mad over a guy like that, it’s not worth it.” Others looked at Maya with thinly veiled mockery. “Chad was a jerk, but he wasn’t wrong. Before Blair came back, Maya was basically stalking Asher.” “On Valentine’s Day, she delivered flowers publicly.” “Chad humiliated her with the condom thing, and she still did it.” “Too bad. No matter how hard she tries, she’s a cheap copy.” They gossiped louder and louder. Maya heard every word. She didn’t dare fight back. Her eyelashes trembled, mist forming in her eyes. I interrupted them. “Enough. The mood is ruined. Let’s call it a night.” The floating comments, however, were not grateful. [I bet Blair told Chad to make Maya buy the condoms just to humiliate her!] [She’s pretending to be nice. She probably paid those people to mock our Maya. Disgusting!] I really want to know… did these commenters drink sewage for breakfast? Why is everything coming out of their mouths so foul? A perfectly good party, ruined. 03 The day I visited Asher’s company. Asher’s executive assistant was leaving the office. Maya blocked her path. She looked at the assistant with eager eyes. “Does Mr. Wei need something? Can I help?” The assistant hesitated. She had forgotten to organize some files and needed to catch up. “Well, yes, but…” She looked at Maya’s flushed face. “Why is your face so red? Are you okay?” Maya touched her burning cheek. She didn’t care about her health. “I’m fine.” She volunteered, “What does he need? I can go.” The assistant paused, then gave in. “Mr. Wei wanted some cake. Strawberry shortcake from that bakery.” Maya couldn’t wait to take the job. “I’m free right now. I’ll go.” The assistant sighed in relief. “Okay, thanks.” When Maya appeared in front of Asher and me, she was panting heavily. She was sweating profusely. Not just her face—all her exposed skin was an unhealthy shade of red. Her eyes were filled with hope. “I bought the cake.” Asher took the box from her hand. He opened it. He took out the sliced strawberry cake. And pushed it in front of me. Seeing this, the color drained from Maya’s fever-red face. “The cake… is for her?” Asher chuckled lightly. “Who else? For you?” The comments went crazy with heartbreak. [Male lead, stop! Our Maya has a 102-degree fever!] [She waited in line for over an hour!] [How can he just give the cake she suffered for to that evil woman!] [A substitute really can’t replace the original.] [If it were Xander, he would never treat Maya like this.] Maya looked devastated. Just as she turned to leave in despair. Asher called out: “Wait a second…” I instinctively looked at Maya. I realized something. Maya looked back at Asher with intense expectation. Specifically, she was staring at the red beauty mark under his eye. Her gaze was burning. As if she were looking at… someone else. The comments cheered up. [Did the male lead find his conscience?] [Is he going to give the cake to Maya?] [Omg, eating cake given by a man who looks like Xander… it’s like getting cake from Xander again!] [Look how happy Maya is.] But then, we heard Asher say: “If I recall correctly, that bakery is famous.” “The line is always at least an hour long.” Maya looked greedily at Asher’s face. “Even though I stood in the sun for an hour, I didn’t feel tired.” “It didn’t matter.” The comments echoed her. [Standing in the sun for an hour just to buy him cake. He has to be moved now.] [Maya’s love is finally being rewarded! Happy! Happy!] 04 Asher let out a cold laugh. “You didn’t think I was going to praise you, did you?” “Leaving your post during work hours without permission.” “Ignoring company policy.” “If everyone acted like you, this company would collapse.” “Do you want to be the CEO?” Asher’s voice was sharp. “Go to HR and report a half-day absence.” “If you pull a stunt like this again, pack your things and get out!” Maya’s pupils dilated. She looked at him in disbelief. Maybe it was the anger. Combined with the high fever. Thud! She fainted, hitting the floor hard. Asher frowned. We worked in sync. A simple exchange of glances was enough. He called 911. I picked Maya up and laid her on the sofa. Her body was terrifyingly hot. I didn’t understand. Why stand in the sun for an hour with a high fever just to buy cake for a man? Self-abuse isn’t love. While waiting for the ambulance, I fed her some warm water. I glanced up and saw the chat scrolling fast. [Did anyone else think Blair looked hot picking her up with one arm?] [Damn! I want to be held!] [Maybe the ‘villain’ isn’t so bad. She’s feeding Maya water.] [Don’t be fooled! She’s acting nice in front of the male lead!] [True! The evil female lead always pretends to be an angel to please the man.] [The male lead is disgusting too! Always hurting our heroine for the villain.] [It doesn’t matter. Maya only treats him as a stand-in for her true love anyway.] [I can’t wait for him to find out!] [Haha, when he finds out, he’ll hate her but beg her to use him as a substitute again.] They were gloating. [The villain is going to pay. The male lead will make her suffer a hundred times what Maya suffered.] I raised an eyebrow. From beginning to end, I haven’t done anything. If Asher hurts Maya for me… Shouldn’t Asher be the one punished? Why me? Also, my family is as powerful as the Wei family. If he wants to touch me, he needs to weigh the power of the Qin Corporation first.

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After a brutal track practice where I was forced to run laps, I was hiding under my duvet using a vibrating massage gun on my sore legs. My uncle’s best friend—the man who basically raised me—walked in, his voice cold: “Is it really that good?” I nodded like my life depended on it. A deep-tissue massage is truly heaven. Later, he took off his tie and looped it around my wrists. “That thing is too small,” he whispered. ? “The speed is too slow, too.” ?? “Try me instead.” ??? Uncle Silas, it’s literally just a massage gun! 01 My school is insane. They made us run laps after the final bell. Cursing under my breath, I pulled out the massage gun I’d ordered online and flicked the switch. A wave of numbing vibration surged from my thigh. Pure bliss. I was just about to let out a long, satisfied groan when my door was shoved open. Silas stood there, framed by the light from the hallway, his eyes unreadable. The “Ahhh~” I was about to let out died in my throat. I sat bolt upright, feeling incredibly awkward. “Uncle Silas, you’re back.” Terrified he’d catch me skipping my post-run stretches and give me more laps, I guiltily tried to hide the device under the blanket. But in my panic, my foot kicked the dial to the highest setting. In the sudden silence of the room, there was only a mysterious bulge under the covers between my legs. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. “What are you doing?” His voice was a bit raspy. “I’m just using this…” I reached down to grab the vibrating thing to turn it off, but he suddenly turned his head away. The tips of his ears were turning a deep shade of red. “How can you just show me that? Put it away!” Is he serious? He’s a grown man—is he really that conservative that he can’t handle a medical massager? He spends all day hunched over a desk at work; his back must be killing him! A wave of sympathy washed over me. I decided I needed to show him how good this massager was. I cleared my throat. “You don’t have to be weird about it. You should sit down and try it. This thing feels so amazing!” 02 The vein in his forehead throbbed visibly. “Do you have any idea what you’re saying right now?” Well, I couldn’t blame him for being a little intimidated. The massage head was hammering away like a jackhammer under the blanket. It was a bit intense. I quickly dialed it down to the “Relax” setting. I made a fist and moved my palm up and down against the vibration to demonstrate. “It just mimics a human touch, Silas. It’s just a little more… forceful. It hits all the deep spots and lets the muscles completely relax. It’s actually more effective than a real person!” Silas’s brow furrowed, and his voice dropped an octave. “You’ve tried a ‘real person’ before?!” “Well, no.” Watching him rub his temples in frustration, I felt a pang of guilt. Since he took me in years ago, he’s been working himself to the bone. No wonder he doesn’t have time to keep up with new things. I decided to take charge. I rolled up my sleeves and grabbed his leg. “Don’t be scared, Uncle Silas. Let me help you get used to the feeling first. You’re going to love it.” Wow. These muscles are tight. I took the chance to feel the muscle, leaning my head against his knee. Honestly, this was a win for me. Suddenly, I felt like a male lead from a romance comic had come to life. If I were one of those heroines, I’d totally fall for him! But just as I was about 0.01 millimeters away from his abs, I was suddenly hoisted into the air like a kitten. “Maya!” I shivered. A small note from my best friend, which we’d been passing in class, fell out of my pocket and landed on the floor. Dorm girl talk is NOT for public consumption! “Don’t look!” But it was too late. His long fingers had already smoothed out the paper. Best Friend: 【Why are you daydreaming?】 Me: 【Thinking about getting some action from my husband. Shut up.】 It wasn’t a real husband. Just a celebrity crush. I’m a fan-girl. But if I tried to explain that to an old-fashioned guy like Silas, it would only make things worse. I didn’t expect my silence to make him lose his composure. “You have… a boyfriend?” It was the first time I’d ever heard his voice tremble with that much coldness. “Is that why you bought that… device?” His eyes were as dark as a starless night. The massage gun was actually an official collab with my celebrity crush. So… technically… I nodded awkwardly. His breathing grew heavy. He crumpled the note and threw it on the floor, his hand shaking slightly. “Stay away from him.” He practically ground out the words. “And from now on, I don’t ever want to see that thing in this house again!” Why is he banning my massage gun?! I almost burst into tears. “But… what am I supposed to do when I’m in pain?” He took a deep breath, his tone becoming one of weary resignation. “You really like that feeling that much?” I nodded, biting my lip and giving him my best “pity me” look. “Maybe… you could help me instead?” I figured if Silas got tired of massaging my sore legs by hand, he’d eventually let me go back to using the gun. His eyes deepened until they looked like pools of ink. “Please.” I pouted, reaching under my sleep shirt to rub my aching quads. I’d run five laps before track, and then the coach made me do five more as a penalty for talking. No girl can handle four miles in one day! He gritted his teeth and caught my hand. “Stop moving!” Then he closed his eyes and let out a long, ragged breath. “Go shower. Meet me downstairs.” Yes! 03 A rare opportunity like this had to be maximized. I didn’t just turn the sofa into a bed; I also set up the projector with a marathon of steamy dramas. I was just waiting for Silas to show up! While scrolling through my phone, I saw a hot new local post. 【I’m in love with a girl who has a boyfriend, but she just asked me to spend the night with her. What do I do?】 What a legend. A total player. I clicked in instantly. 【The girl I’ve raised for fifteen years told me today she has a boyfriend, but then she asked me to help her “relax.” What do I do?】 Raised for fifteen years? That sounded weirdly familiar. And a little bit strange. But as a chronic gossip, I didn’t overthink it and replied: 【She definitely has feelings for you. If she didn’t, she would have left ten years ago.】 The guy, whose handle was [Heartbroken_Dog], seemed truly miserable. He replied within seconds: 【But she always avoids me. She acts like she’s afraid of me.】 For some reason, I thought of Silas. He’s always confiscating my novels. He has a 10:00 PM curfew, and if I’m a minute late, he’s at the door. I shivered and typed: 【Maybe it’s because you’re too strict?】 【I’m several years older than her. I tend to manage her life a bit much.】 Case closed! I continued to comfort him: 【She definitely likes you. I bet the boyfriend is a lie just to test you. Try to make a move—she’ll fold instantly!】 I locked my phone, feeling a surge of pride. Helping a lost soul find love! I’m basically Cupid. But for some reason, Silas’s face wouldn’t leave my head. He’s controlling, yeah. It’s annoying. But… I know I can’t live without that “annoyance.” In fact, I kind of like the way he’s so possessive. I covered my face, wondering if I was a freak. I wondered if Silas had a side to him I’d never seen. Would he ever show me? My face felt hot. Then, I heard his footsteps on the stairs. Coming closer. I looked up at him, and my pupils shrank. Because my phone screen was still bright—and it was showing the exact post I had just replied to! Wait. Silas isn’t [Heartbroken_Dog]… is he?! I looked down immediately, my heart racing. I had to find out. 04 “Shy?” His tall figure loomed over me. I felt the sofa sink under his weight, and my tongue felt like a knot. “A little.” Surrounded by his scent—pine and cedar—I frantically grabbed the remote and clicked on a random Hollywood movie. “Silas! Let’s watch a movie first!” “Okay.” He rested his hand casually on the back of the sofa behind me. The scent of his soap drifted into my nose. It was intoxicating. “A movie might help you get into the… mood.” Are successful businessmen always this extra? Since when do you need a “mood” for a massage? Before I could answer, a scene flashed on the screen. The leads were locked in a kiss. The suggestive sounds filled the quiet living room. I turned my head away, only to lock eyes with his burning gaze. “Does he know we’re watching this kind of movie?” What is he talking about?! And who is “he”? The air felt thick and humid. My brain was slowing down. And… The guy in the movie started unbuttoning the girl’s shirt! I swallowed hard. My back felt all tingly. Silas leaned in, brushing a stray hair behind my ear. His voice was like a spell. “Does he know we’re about to start?” As he spoke, his hand moved from my neck to the buttons on my collar. His fingertips brushed against my skin, sending a jolt of electricity through me. My heart was going a thousand miles an hour. I hate him. How can I be this flustered and breathless while he sits there so calmly? He looked like he was in total control. Just as his hand reached my top button, I grabbed his wrist. He froze, staring at me. There was a flicker of expectation in his eyes. “Do you have something to confess?” Confess? No. You should be the one confessing. Tell me if you’re the one who has been by my side for fifteen years, loving me in secret.

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I hadn’t asked my mother for money in three months. She must have thought I’d finally learned to be a good, obedient son, because a message arrived, dripping with condescension: “I’ve already had Richard pay the registration fee. Now be sensible. Stop trying to bleed the family dry.” “I know your father isn’t an easy man, but since you chose to live with me, you need to be on my side.” She didn’t know it yet, but I had already moved my residency. No one would believe that Noah Shawn, the supposed heir to the Shawn-Davenport Group fortune, owned nothing but the clothes his parents bought before their divorce. Three full years passed without a single new addition to my wardrobe. Every single dollar I spent in private had to be requested, debated, and approved through a ridiculous shared expense portal. Even the cost of a required school event uniform demanded an attached screenshot of the notice and a price quote. Every expenditure had to be vetted by my stepfather, Richard Hayes. My mother was perpetually convinced I was “working for the other side,” paranoid that I would sneak money to my father. A month ago, I needed a mere one hundred dollars for a prestigious regional Math Olympiad application. Richard rejected the request repeatedly. “Insufficient justification,” he wrote. “Why is this specific competition necessary?” “Wait for the end-of-month review.” By the time he finally clicked “Approved,” the registration window had closed. What my mother didn’t know was that I had endured those three years only for the residency status—the key to getting into a top-tier university in Boston. Now I had secured a full scholarship and early admission to Georgetown University. This “home” had served its purpose. I had no reason to stay. 1. I laid the photocopy of the residency transfer papers on the table in front of my mother. She was watching Brad, Richard’s son, play a video game. I recognized the designer logo tee Brad was wearing. I’d seen it in a department store window last week, the price tag pushing four figures. The faded sweatshirt I wore had frayed cuffs. “What is this supposed to mean?” My mother, Veronica, picked up the paper, her brows knitted in confusion. I said, calmly, “The residency is moved. I’ll be living on campus from now on.” Brad’s game sounds cut off. He blinked his large, innocent eyes at me. “Bro, don’t be dramatic. Mom’s just trying to look out for you.” Richard walked over, holding a fruit platter, and chimed in smoothly: “Noah, your mother works hard for her money. Brad’s sports training is expensive right now. We’re a family; we need to be considerate of one another.” It was the same tired rhetoric. For three years, every time I wanted something, I was met with this condescending “consideration.” “I’m not asking for permission,” I told my mother, meeting her eye. “I’m informing you.” Veronica laughed, a harsh, disbelieving sound. “Noah Shawn, you think your wings are fully grown? Without me, you won’t even be able to afford tuition!” “I have a full scholarship to Georgetown. Tuition is covered.” “As for living expenses? I’ll earn those myself.” “A scholarship?” She paused, then looked at Richard. “Is that true?” Richard’s smile faltered for a split second before he recovered. “Oh, Noah, why didn’t you tell us sooner? Look at the fuss this is causing… But even with a scholarship, living in D.C. is costly…” “I don’t need your money,” I cut him off. “For three years, every dollar I spent in this house required an application and approval. I had to justify why I needed a new pen.” “Meanwhile, Brad can just flash your corporate credit card and buy the whole lacrosse team smoothies.” My mother impatiently waved a hand. “Brad is younger, and he’s an athlete! He needs the right nutrition! How old are you, still whining about petty things?” “I’m not whining,” I said, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. “I’m leaving.” She clearly didn’t take me seriously. As I turned, she added, her voice cold: “Fine. Go on, then. Just don’t come back begging! Let’s see how long this rebellious streak lasts!” She expected me to fold within a few days, just like I always had. Like the time I wanted to buy a competition prep textbook and he rejected it, citing “pirated versions are online.” I swallowed my pride and rewrote a more detailed application in the portal. Like the time before that, when I needed money for a university research trip, and Richard claimed “those trips are a waste of money.” I had to ask my advisor to personally email him to prove its academic necessity. But now, none of it mattered. If that one hundred dollars for the registration fee had arrived on time a month ago, perhaps I would still be enduring this. But she hadn’t taken my call. I had written in the expense application: “Math Olympiad registration deadline today. Need $100 fee. Attached are the competition notice and the payment screen.” Richard’s reply: “Rejected. Please state the necessity and the projected benefit of attending this competition.” I resubmitted: “Winning this competition significantly boosts the odds for early admission programs. It’s critical for my applications.” He rejected it again: “Benefit not quantifiable. Please provide metrics.” The third time, I was practically pleading: “The teacher is waiting. Deadline is 5 PM. Can you approve it now? I will provide the metrics later.” Read. No reply. At 4:30 PM, he finally messaged: “Just checked with Brad. He says the Olympiad is mid-tier and suggests focusing on final exams instead. Concentrate on your schoolwork for now.” I ran to my mother’s home office. She was on the phone, waving me off, signaling for me to wait. I heard Brad’s whining voice from the receiver: “Mom, I need these new sneakers. I have a huge game next week…” “Buy them. If you like them, buy them,” my mother laughed warmly. “How much? Two thousand? It’s fine, Mom will transfer the money.” I waited by the door. When she finally hung up, I spoke, my voice hoarse. “Mom, the competition sign-up…” She glanced at her watch. “Ask Richard about those small things. I have a meeting in five minutes.” “But he…” “Noah,” she frowned. “You need to learn to be considerate. Richard manages this household, and it’s not easy. Everything he does is for your own good.” In that moment, I knew. Nothing I said would ever matter. 2. After I left the house, I didn’t go to my father. Three years ago, he cried, begging me not to leave him for my mother. I had said terrible things to him then. I was too ashamed to go back now. I settled into a sparse dormitory room at the university. My student advisor, upon hearing the situation, helped me secure a small grant and an on-campus work-study position. The library director patted my shoulder. “Noah, I heard. Don’t worry. Tell us if you need anything.” That evening, my math teacher, Ms. Peterson, called me into her office. “Noah.” She pushed up her glasses and took a piece of paper from her desk, placing it in front of me. I looked down and froze. It was the confirmation for the Math Olympiad. My personal information was filled out. The status read: “Paid.” “Ms. Peterson, this…” “I contacted the committee and pulled a few strings. I registered you myself,” Ms. Peterson said quietly, her eyes filled with a familiar, genuine concern. “I covered the fee. You don’t need to rush to pay me back.” “Thank you,” I choked out, my voice thick. “I promise, I will pay you back.” From that day on, I started a different life: Six AM wake-up call to work in the dining hall for a free breakfast; classes and study sessions; evenings working in the library shelving books; two hours of private tutoring after closing. It was busy, but it was real. No more writing those ridiculous expense requests. No more justifying why I needed a textbook, why I had to pay class fees, or why I wanted to attend a lecture. A month later, a text came from an unknown number: “Noah, it’s your mother. Richard says you blocked him? Stop being so difficult. Just come home. Your brother Brad even misses you.” I deleted the text immediately. A minute later, the phone rang. It was Veronica. I answered. “Noah, that’s enough. I had Richard put two thousand in your account. That should last you a while. Come home for dinner this weekend. There are no lasting grudges in a family.” I glanced at my laptop screen, where I’d just finished the final code for my first freelance contract—a job that paid three thousand dollars. “No, thank you. Keep the money.” I said. “I won’t be coming back.” “You!” She struggled to control her temper. “Where are you? I’ll send the driver to pick you up.” “I’m exactly where I need to be.” I hung up. Minutes later, a WeChat message from Brad: “Bro, don’t be mad at Mom. She really cares about you. Rich is just worried you’ll develop bad spending habits. Just come back. I got a bunch of new sneakers; I can split a pair with you.” Attached was a photo: his shoe closet, overflowing, brightly lit, a veritable shrine to materialism. I saved the screenshot. My reply: “Keep them. After all, your dad said athletes need equipment, they need the gear.” “I, however, have been used to wearing hand-me-downs for years.” Brad immediately replied with a string of crying emojis: “Bro, why would you say that? Mom will be so upset if she sees this…” Predictably, Veronica called again. This time, her voice was laced with fury: “Noah Shawn, what kind of talk is that to your brother? Brad was being kind, and that’s the attitude you give him?” “Was he really being kind?” I asked. “Mom, do you know my Math Olympiad registration was delayed until the deadline passed?” She paused. “What competition? Richard said it wasn’t a good use of your time…” “Do you know that for three years, I had to write an application in a portal just to buy a pair of socks?” “That… that was to teach you financial responsibility!” Her voice rose. “Are you blaming me now? I housed you, clothed you, and paid for your school! I did all that only to be proven wrong?” It was always this. Always. I was exhausted. “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “You will always think you were right.” Silence hung on the line for a few seconds. Then, her tone softened. “Noah, your mother is trying to make things right. Okay? I’ll have the finance department transfer your allowance directly every month, no more portal. Does that work?” “And you have your scholarship—what do you want as a reward? A new phone? A computer? I’ll buy it.” “Brad’s birthday party is next month. Come home. We’re family…” I closed my eyes. She still didn’t understand. She thought I was throwing a tantrum, demanding more attention, more material goods. “Mom,” I interrupted her. “I don’t need a new phone, and I won’t be at the birthday party.” “I just need you to understand this: Leaving this house was not a sudden impulse. It was premeditated.” “Three years ago, when my father begged me not to leave, and I chose you for the Boston residency, I knew it was a transaction.” “The deal is over.” 3. The next time I saw my mother was at a Georgetown University admissions and recruiting fair. I was there as a student volunteer, helping direct traffic, dressed in a simple white T-shirt and jeans—clothes I had bought with my own money. She arrived with Brad and Richard. Brad was applying for the D1 athlete program. When she saw me, my mother clearly froze. Brad spoke first, his voice sickly sweet. “Bro? What are you doing here? Working a side job?” Richard eyed my volunteer T-shirt, a flicker of something close to contempt in his expression, though his tone was genial. “Noah, long time no see. Helping out? Hope you’re not letting this interfere with your studies.” I ignored Richard and Brad, addressing my mother. “Can I help you?” Veronica’s expression was a complicated mess of surprise, annoyance, and perhaps… a touch of shame? She was silent for a few seconds before speaking in a low voice: “Brad wants to apply for the sports program here. We came to check out the details.” She paused, then looked up at me, her voice laced with a strange realization. “You… you really did get the scholarship.” It wasn’t a question, but a painful, late confirmation. Perhaps she’d known all along, but she’d never truly allowed herself to believe it. Richard’s smile was strained. “Noah is so accomplished. We would have thrown you a proper party if we’d known for sure.” But my mother suddenly remembered something, and her face clouded over. “That Math Olympiad you mentioned… Would winning have helped with the scholarship?” I said nothing. Brad panicked, tugging her arm. “Mom, let’s go to the advising table. We’re running out of time…” Richard quickly intervened. “It’s in the past, Brad. Noah’s doing great now. Let’s focus on your application.” But my mother stood her ground. She looked me in the eyes, her voice dry. “That competition… you missed it because the fee wasn’t paid on time?” Brad interjected quickly. “Mom, that competition was useless, seriously! None of my friends won anything…” “Did I ask you?” My mother’s tone with him was sharper than I had ever heard. Brad’s eyes immediately welled up. Richard stepped in front of his son. “Veronica, why are you yelling at Brad? He was just trying to support his brother!” I watched the unfolding drama, feeling only an immense sense of absurdity. “Does it matter?” I asked my mother. “I got the scholarship anyway.” She opened her mouth, trying to speak, but finally just sighed. “Noah, I didn’t know the competition was so important… Richard probably just didn’t understand…” “He didn’t understand?” I smiled. “Brad participated in the National Youth Track Meet last year. The registration and equipment cost five thousand dollars. You transferred the money that same day. Was that competition really more important than mine?” My mother was stunned. Richard’s face went pale. “Noah, how can you compare the two? Brad is a D1 athlete; that meet was vital for his future!” “And my competition wasn’t vital for mine?” I shot back. “Or is it that in your eyes, only Brad’s future is a future, and mine could be casually derailed?” People in the hall began to look over. My mother, mortified, hissed, “Take this home, Noah! Don’t make a scene here!” “Home?” I shook my head. “That’s not my home.” I turned to walk away, but my mother grabbed my arm. “Noah, I’ll make it up to you.” “What do you want? Study abroad? I’ll finance your entire graduate school!” “No need.” I pulled my arm free. “What I wanted was never any of those things.” 4. After the fair, my mother began to contact me frequently. Sometimes it was a text: “Noah, I passed that gourmet wing place you used to love. I bought your favorite flavor. Want to come pick it up?” Sometimes it was a call: “Do you need anything for your dorm? I can drop it off.” Once, she came directly to campus to see me, carrying several shopping bags. “This is the newest phone, and I bought you the highest-spec laptop,” she pressed the bags into my hands. “And these clothes—Brad says these are the brands young men like now…” I looked at the logos, feeling a profound irony. “Mom, do you know my clothing size?” She froze. “Do you know my favorite color?” “Do you know I don’t care about electronics as long as I can write code on them?” The expression on her face slowly morphed from hopeful anticipation to blank confusion, and finally, sheer embarrassment. “I… I could ask…” “Don’t bother.” I pushed the bags back to her. “Keep these. Give them to Brad.” She grew desperate. “Noah, I genuinely want to be a good mother! I ignored you before; I’ll change. I promise.” “How will you change?” I looked at her. “Will you split the love you give Brad in half? Or have you just suddenly realized that you have another son who needs to be cared for?” “Mom, I am not a child anymore. I don’t need your belated compensation.” She stood there, looking like a chastised child, though she was fifty years old. “What do you want me to do?” Her voice was hoarse. “Noah, tell me. What must I do for you to forgive me?” I stayed silent for a long time. “Mom, do you remember what my father told me the day I chose to move in with you?” She shook her head. “He said: ‘Noah, you chose her, so don’t regret it. But always remember, in another man’s house, you will always be an outsider.’” “I didn’t believe him then. I thought, She’s my biological mother. How can she be an ‘outsider’ to me?’” “But for three years, I lived in your house, spent every penny only after your husband’s approval, and had to write a justification for a fifty-dollar textbook.” Brad could use your card for anything, and I had to deliberate over the wording to buy socks.” “That’s when I understood my father was right. In the unit you, Richard, and Brad formed, I was definitely an outsider.” My mother’s eyes were red. “That’s not true, Noah. You’re my son. How could you be an outsider…” “Then why was Brad’s shoe closet bigger than my wardrobe?” “Why did his private sports coaching cost six hundred dollars an hour while my request for a fifty-dollar study guide was rejected?” “Why did he get to treat his entire class to a birthday dinner while I couldn’t get one hundred dollars for a critical competition?” Each question was a thrust of a knife. My mother could not answer a single one. “Mom, I don’t hate you,” I said. “You gave me the residency status I needed for Boston. That was the transaction. You kept your end of the bargain, and I paid the price with three years of forbearance.” “Now, the deal is over. We’re even.”

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All because Elias, the self-proclaimed Ascended, coughed during his morning mantra, my father’s business was gutted by sundown. The Guru, perched atop his mountain of self-righteousness, proclaimed: “Your father’s deliberate distraction during my spiritual cleanse was a transgression. This is the universe’s necessary correction.” I dragged my crippled right leg—a souvenir from a night I regretted—and filed the lawsuit. The cost was instant and brutal: the company’s swift, ignoble collapse, followed by my father’s fall from our penthouse balcony. He didn’t die, but the shock cleaved his mind in two. They locked him away in a sterile, padded room. In that raw pit of despair, my wife, Sherry, tossed in the final stick of dynamite. She grabbed my left leg—the good one—and leaned in, her eyes cold as chips of glacier ice. “Drop the suit. Now. Or you and your father can both rot in hell.” It was the moment the illusion shattered. Every cruelty, every loss, had been Sherry’s carefully orchestrated defense of her ‘spiritual guide.’ As the crushing weight of betrayal pinned me to the floor, my father’s cell phone, which I’d salvaged, suddenly buzzed. On the other end was the voice of my eighteen-year-old self. “Dad! I finished my last final! You and Mom just keep working—I can walk home myself.” That walk home. That was the day I’d found Sherry being jumped in a dark alley. The day I played hero. The day I earned this mangled right leg. A frantic, electric hope surged through me. I choked out a warning to the past. “Don’t save her, do you hear me? Don’t save Sherry! For God’s sake, I’m begging you!” I needed to see it. I needed to know if without my intervention, without my money and protection, she could still ascend to the heights she’d reached, leaving ruin in her wake. Eighteen-year-old Gabe was understandably bewildered. “Sherry who? And who are you? Why do you have my dad’s phone?” I fought to keep the desperation from my voice. “It’s me. You. The twenty-eight-year-old version.” “Are you kidding me? Give the phone back to my father or I’m calling the police!” The memory of my dad’s vacant, institutionalized stare tightened my chest like a garrote wire. “Your father can’t talk right now, but I can prove it. You have a heart-shaped birthmark on your inner thigh, and you’re planning to buy a strawberry layer cake on the way home to celebrate.” The birthmark had appeared my senior year. Nobody knew about it. The cake idea had literally just popped into my head the moment I left campus. A pause stretched across the line, heavy with disbelief and dawning fear. Then: “You’re really me? Okay, then tell me—am I successful at twenty-eight? Do I have a happy life?” No. You fell in love with a beautiful poison, and it destroyed everything you ever cared about. Just then, I heard footsteps on the stairs. Sherry. Panic made my voice a desperate rasp. “Listen! Don’t walk home today. Don’t try to save anyone, ever. That person will be the reason you’re crippled, and the reason your family suffers!” The basement door was thrown open. Sherry stood framed in the dim light, her expression cold and hard. I fumbled, slamming the phone shut and shoving it deep into my jeans pocket. “Who were you talking to?” she demanded, her voice an icy threat. “No one,” I ground out. She crossed the room, grabbed my throat, and squeezed. “Trying to call for help? I suggest you save yourself the effort of resistance.” A second later, her bodyguards dragged me out by the back of my collar and violently dumped me into the room she had converted into my father’s makeshift wake. Elias, dressed in flowing linen robes, stood over me, holding a long, flexible switch—a cane fashioned from a slender branch—like a holy weapon. “Mr. Gabriel,” Elias said, his voice dripping with condescension. “Your repeated attempts to undermine the faith have clearly opened you up to possession. I must perform an exorcism.” “For cleansing the heart and purifying the body,” he added, gesturing to the guards. “Strip him.” My fingernails dug into my palms. Rage tasted like metal on my tongue. “I’m not possessed! You are the sickness! Sherry, I’ll drop the suit! Just don’t let him defile my father’s memory like this!” Sherry hesitated, a flicker of something—maybe doubt, maybe pity—in her eye. Elias cut her off, his voice injured. “You’ve refused to drop the suit for months, but a single day in the dark basement breaks you? This is the cunning of the evil spirit! He’s feigning submission to seek retribution later. Ms. Sherry, do you trust him or do you trust me?” Sherry’s face hardened. She chose him. “I trust you, Elias. Guards, take his clothes.” They swarmed me. My struggles were futile against four men, especially with one bad leg. The cloth was ripped away piece by piece. Humiliated, naked, I was forced to kneel before my father’s photograph. The shame was a physical blow. I wanted to smash my head against the wall and end it all. The next second, Elias’s switch whipped down, biting deep into my skin. A white-hot slash of pain ripped across my back, followed instantly by a bead of blood. Elias’s voice was sanctimonious, ringing in the room. “Your father’s spirit would not wish to see his son controlled by a demon. He was kind to Ms. Sherry in life, so she will bear witness to the casting out of this evil, so his soul may finally rest.” I tried to scramble away, but Elias’s leather boot slammed down onto my injured right knee. I collapsed, face-first, gagging on dust and pain. Sherry watched. Her brow was furrowed, but she made no move to stop him. She knew. She knew exactly how I’d earned that injury. Time dissolved into agony. Finally, Elias grew tired. My back was a raw, bloody mess. I lay on the floor, barely breathing. Sherry walked over, knelt down, and tenderly cradled my cheek. A flash of something that looked agonizingly like sorrow crossed her eye. “Elias does everything in adherence to the higher law, Gabriel. Don’t blame him,” she murmured. “Just be sensible, and no one will ever take your place as my husband.” I looked into her eyes, silent, a tsunami of hatred roiling in my heart. It’s been an hour. My eighteen-year-old self must have avoided her now. Soon, Sherry would be nothing more than a ghost. I was transferred to a hospital, more dead than alive. The doctor, a kind man, shook his head sadly. “The lacerations on your back are severe, no water for days. But there’s good news, inexplicably. Your right leg—it’s healed. Overnight. Like it was never broken.” I stared, stunned. Before I could process the miracle, a flurry of hushed voices drifted in from the hallway. “Did you hear? CEO Sherry was in a nasty car wreck on her way to the office. Her right eye is completely gone.” I froze. Then, my father’s cell phone rang again. It was my younger voice, excited. “Finally! I managed to call you back. I took an Uber home last night, and guess what? I saw an alley where a bunch of thugs were roughing someone up. Someone had their right eye gouged out! Crazy, right?” Gouged out. The original timeline: I saved Sherry, losing my right leg. The new timeline: I didn’t save her, my leg healed, and she lost her right eye. The trade was made. But the victory felt hollow. I frantically searched for news about my parents. My mother’s suicide headline was still there. The photo of my father in the asylum was still trending. Why? I avoided Sherry. Why hadn’t their tragedy been erased? Then, the young voice on the phone continued. “Oh, and Mom and Dad gave me a million dollars! I’m going to start a company. I’m meeting with investors next week.” A rush of forgotten memory. After I saved Sherry, I took her in, discovered her terrifying business acumen, and used my family’s money to fund her. That was the start of the massive Sherry Empire. The original tragedy must have been locked into the past, regardless of the injury swap. It meant the funding was the key. Sherry will be at that investment meeting. “Listen to me, this is critical,” I urged the younger me. “Next week, if you meet a woman named Sherry, no matter how brilliant she seems, do not pick her. Don’t even talk to her. Pick the other one. The one named Andrea.” Andrea (Andrea) was Sherry’s greatest rival, a brilliant mind who’d died young from an illness exacerbated by financial stress. If I funded her and ensured her health, she could become our family’s shield, or better, our sword. Young Gabe, now completely terrified, agreed without hesitation. I stayed in the hospital for a week. Sherry never visited. The news, however, was filled with images of her and Elias. Elias sitting in three days of meditation, praying to heal her eye. Elias building fifty-five “wellness shrines” in her name. I laughed, a dry, bitter sound. I tried to call young Gabe again, but the phone just gave a dead signal. Our connection was fragile, only active when he reached out first. The day I was discharged was the day of the investment meeting. I walked out, a free man with two good legs, sick with worry, hoping young Gabe had chosen Andrea. I arrived home that evening. The front door was ajar. A guttural, agonizing sound was coming from the living room. Father. A knot of dread cinched my stomach. I sprinted inside. My father was lashed tightly to a support column. In front of him sat a basin of murky black fluid. Elias stood over him, holding a surgical scalpel. “Elias, what the hell are you doing!” I screamed, slamming into him and sending him sprawling. Elias scrambled toward Sherry, whimpering. “Darling, Gabriel’s father is cursing you from the asylum! That’s why your eye is damaged! He’s possessed! I was trying to drain the malignant blood and replace it with a purified plasma, to give him a clean slate!” Sherry was pale but supportive. “Elias is only trying to help your family, Gabriel. Don’t be hysterical.” I looked at the woman I had loved for a decade. She was a stranger. “You are the ones who are possessed! Sherry, he’s not a guru, he’s a damn monster!” SMACK. Sherry’s palm stung my cheek. Her eyes flashed with fury. “Do not disparage my Ascended! Not another word, Gabriel.” Elias shot me a triumphant smirk. Then, with a practiced motion, he slashed the scalpel across my father’s wrist. Blood immediately sprayed onto the floor. “Stop! Stop it!” I screamed, lunging forward. Sherry’s fist slammed into my jaw. The world went dark. I woke up on the sofa. Sherry’s jacket was draped over me. She sat nearby, looking at me with that complex mix of guilt and disdain. I bolted up, grabbing her by the jacket lapels. “My father! Where is he? What did you do?” “His evil spirits were too potent, even for the sacred text,” Elias announced, standing nearby, his arms crossed. “A true pity. Such a sin, I weep for him.” I swung, catching Elias with a desperate, heavy backhand. “You animal!” Sherry’s grip snapped onto my wrist, her voice glacial. “Enough, Gabriel. I’ve already sent your father to the city hospital. With the professional doctors, he’ll be fine.” I shoved her away and ran, blindly, to the hospital. The doctor there told me, “Mr. Elias withdrew all funds for the procedure. We can’t operate.” I collapsed. I called Sherry. Elias answered. “Ms. Sherry is currently in a deep meditation. Do not disturb her.” “You took my father’s surgery money! Give it back, you bastard!” I screamed into the phone. Elias sounded utterly detached. “The Enlightened is compassionate. Your father, if he had led a life of good deeds, would already be out of danger. The surgery is three hundred thousand dollars. That money can fund so much genuine charity. That’s enough virtue to save your father for the rest of his life. I will not return it. And all your bank accounts are frozen.” He hung up. I sat on the cold floor, watching the heart monitor flatline to a single, terrible line. I changed the past. I saved myself. But the core tragedy remains. Just as the finality of the loss consumed me, a voice cut through the sterile silence. “I’ve paid for Mr. Gabriel Senior’s surgery in full. Prepare the operating room immediately.” I looked up, dazed. A woman stood there, familiar yet unrecognizable. It was Andrea—Andrea—the rival who’d died five years ago. She was alive. Young Gabe had done it. My father was saved. I rushed to Andrea, my gratitude a torrent. She just smiled. “You should be thanking yourself, Gabriel. If you hadn’t funded me all those years ago, I wouldn’t be here today.” I watched over my father as he recovered. Whether it was the surgery or young Gabe’s altered choices, my father woke up mentally sound. He was lucid, not the drooling wreck I had known. But my mother’s death remained a fixed point. This meant my entanglement with Sherry was not over. Young Gabe contacted me again. He’d gotten his test scores. They were excellent. He was debating between the top American university—the one Sherry attended—or a study abroad program. The university is too close to her orbit. “Go abroad! You must study overseas! And never, ever come back!” I told him. If he missed Sherry entirely, the tragedy would be erased. Young Gabe promised that my parents were selling everything and moving the entire family overseas in one week. A week later, on the day my father was discharged, Sherry announced she wanted to visit him. I took her to the small shrine I had secretly built for my mother and father. But as we arrived, a construction crew was already dismantling it. Elias was leading them. I lunged forward, pushing the workers back. “What are you doing! My father is gone—can’t you let him rest!” Elias’s tone was indifferent. “Your father’s virtue was insufficient, Gabriel. I plan to convert this site into a public meditation center. It serves the community. A final act of virtue on his behalf.” Rage blinded me. I slapped him. Sherry instantly shoved me away. “Gabriel, have you lost your mind? Get out of here! This is not your place to cause trouble.” I slapped her too. Harder. “Sherry, I regret the day I saved you. I should have left you to those thugs in the alley!” Her eyes widened, shocked, a complex blend of confusion and a flicker of something ancient and terrible. Elias clutched his stinging face and cried out to her, “Darling, you promised you would always love me! He attacks me, and you do nothing? You lied! I’m leaving you!” Sherry’s brief moment of confusion evaporated, replaced by cold fury. She immediately ordered the guards to seize me. My father, just out of the hospital, saw the scene and went ballistic. He grabbed a nearby metal bar, swinging it wildly at Elias and Sherry. Sherry didn’t flinch. She simply pushed him. He stumbled, hitting the back of his head hard against a concrete headstone. Silence. Then a gurgling sound. I rushed to him, cradling his head. “Dad! Dad!” Sherry looked down at me, her expression a chilling disappointment. “Gabriel, I warned you not to make a scene. You brought this upon your father. You will never pay for the sin you’ve created.” Then the phone rang. Again. Young Gabe. “Our flight leaves in five minutes. I’ll call you when we land.” I smiled. A real, deep, satisfied smile. Sherry looked at me, her face clouded by fear. A construction worker suddenly shouted, “Ms. Sherry! This is an empty coffin! There’s no urn, no remains!” My heart soared. I managed to unlock the phone and search the news for my mother’s death. It was gone. Instead, an article popped up about a celebrated American businesswoman achieving a massive breakthrough in her overseas firm. The name: Eleanor Z. The knot in my chest dissolved. I looked up at Sherry, taking in her scarred eye, her frantic expression, and the dead man at my feet who was no longer my father. “Sherry,” I whispered, relief washing over me, “It’s finally over for us.” The world faded to black.

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