Category: English

My mother traded my life for a headline. The heart transplant was a success, and the local news was there to cover the miracle. “Dr. Gilbert, we understand your biological son has been on the waiting list for three years…” My mother, Dr. Penelope Gilbert, Chief of Cardiothoracic Surgery, cut the reporter off with a practiced, saintly smile. “As a doctor’s family, Cameron has always understood the core principle of medicine: selflessness. Putting others first. He supports this decision fully.” I remembered three months ago, when she’d told me, her voice clipped and professional, that the heart had an “unforeseen complication” and I’d “have to wait a bit longer.” But now, the recovering recipient, Fitch Connelly, was up on the stage, gazing at my mother with tearful devotion. “Dr. Gilbert is my second mother,” Fitch choked out, clasping her hands. “She waived my fees, she took me into her home, she gave me warmth…” To accommodate him, she’d told me not to come home for six months, claiming my old room was needed for “storage.” The sight of them, locked in that tearful, loving embrace, sent a searing pain through my chest. My vision tunneled. I needed my sublingual nitro. A reporter, sensing a dramatic moment, grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the stage lights. My mother’s smile vanished the moment she saw my face—a grimace of agony, not the joyful support she’d promised the cameras. She recoiled, then forced a dazzling recovery. She announced, right there, that she’d formally adopted Fitch as her “godson,” the poor, deserving student she’d mentored, and instructed me to call him my younger brother. Blood rushed to my head. My heart monitor, still strapped beneath my shirt, probably looked like a seismograph during a quake. Yet, my voice, when it came out, was terrifyingly calm. “Since you’ve found yourself a new son, I think I’ll make my exit from this family.” I looked directly at the camera. “Wouldn’t want to interrupt this touching display of motherly devotion!” 1 I slammed the microphone down and turned to leave. My mother grabbed my arm, her manicured nails digging in. “Cam, Fitch needs long-term rehabilitation. As my son, doing this in front of reporters—what will people think? How much damage will this do to his recovery?” I stared at her, utterly bewildered. My suffering, my heart failure, my agonizing wait—none of it registered. She was only afraid my departure would tarnish her precious new son’s public image. My father, Robert, rushed over to join the damage control. “Cameron, there are twenty reporters here. Where is your decorum? You have to fake it until the cameras are off, for God’s sake!” They dragged me back, forcing me toward the lights to apologize to Fitch. My mother, my father, and Fitch stood hand in hand, a perfect, glowing trinity of familial bliss. I was the interloper, a hostile ghost at someone else’s happy ending. The pressure cooker of my emotions finally blew. I stomped on the congratulatory banner the reporters had brought my mother, grinding the silk under my heel. Then, I grabbed her National Medical Excellence Award and smashed it against the edge of the stage. The gold figurine broke in half. My mother lunged, her hand raised to strike. It stopped inches from my face. “How did I raise such an ungrateful snake?” she hissed, her eyes blazing. I met her glare. “Ungrateful?” My voice sliced through the stunned silence. “When my myocarditis first flared, you called it ‘a common ailment’ and told me to go to the ER for an IV on my own.” “But when Fitch’s blood work showed a slight fluctuation, you flew in a team of specialists from the Mayo Clinic overnight.” The air in the room froze solid. The reporters’ cameras flashed non-stop. My mother rushed forward, trying to block the cameras. “Cam, let’s talk about this privately…” “Privately?” I laughed, but the sound caught in my throat and tears spilled over. “Three years ago, I was lying in the ER, my chest convulsing every time my heart beat. Did either of you visit me?” “The doctor recommended I be admitted, and you said the hospital beds were tight, better left for sicker patients.” “And now I know why.” I looked past the cameras to Fitch, who was shrinking into his chair. “That ‘tight bed’ was being held in reserve for your ‘more deserving son.’” Dad rushed me, trying to yank me away. I shook him off. “And you! You’re my biological father!” “But you knew my heart was failing, that I wouldn’t last the year, and you agreed to let her give my perfectly matched heart to a complete stranger?” I leaned in, my voice low and venomous. “What is it, Mom? Is this pauper your bastard child from some affair?” SMACK! My mother’s open hand finally connected. “You are out of control! Apologize to Fitch right now!” “Apologize?” I laughed again, the sound now raw and broken. “I’ve been rushed to the ICU in critical condition multiple times, and you couldn’t even arrange a private room for me.” “Your colleagues begged you, they offered to pull strings, and you insisted we couldn’t have ‘special treatment.’” “So why? Why is it okay to pull every string in the state for an orphan who wasn’t even terminal?” I was spiraling, trying to find a logical anchor. Even if she was a saint of medicine, wasn’t her job to save the dying? I was the one dying. Why was I forced to yield? “Since you love him so much, keep him. Let him be your son.” 2 I tried to leave, but a lightning bolt of pain shot through my chest, and I doubled over, vomiting a torrent of dark blood. When I woke again, a crushing weight was on my sternum. Each labored heartbeat felt like ripping through shattered glass. Through the glass wall of the ICU, I could hear Dr. Ben Carter, Mom’s colleague, speaking in hushed, urgent tones. “This syncope was a severe acute heart failure exacerbation. His dilated cardiomyopathy… even the most optimistic prognosis gives him less than six months. If he has another acute event like this…” The door hissed open. My mother walked in, still in her white coat. Fitch, eyes red and puffy, stood nervously in the doorway clutching a bouquet. “You’re awake?” My mother stopped by my bedside. Her tone held no concern, only a brittle exhaustion and annoyance. “I’ve managed to contain the reporters for now, but today’s stunt was extremely damaging. Fitch was surrounded, questioned, and almost had a panic attack.” I tried to speak, but my throat was too dry. “Cam, I’m so sorry…” Fitch took a tentative step forward, tears running down his face. “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have accepted the surgery. I… I’ll give the heart back…” “Don’t talk nonsense!” My mother instantly turned, pulling Fitch into a tight, comforting hug. “The surgery was a complete success. You’re recovering beautifully. Don’t say such stupid things.” She rubbed his back with a tender affection I had never once received in my memory. Then she looked back at me, her expression instantly hardening. “Look at how mature Fitch is. He knows what a rare opportunity he was given, and he cooperates fully with his rehab. He never complains. And you? You created a public scene, embarrassed us all, and made things incredibly difficult for him!” My father sighed from the doorway. “Cam, your mother’s been through a lot. Try to be considerate…” “Considerate?” My cardiac monitor shrieked a warning. “I’ve been considerate for twenty-three years! Considerate of your demanding schedules, considerate of your sicker patients, considerate of your public selflessness!” Dr. Carter rushed in. “Dr. Gilbert, the patient cannot be emotionally agitated!” My mother ignored him and pressed on, her voice rising. “Do you know how hard Fitch’s life has been? An orphan, pulled himself through college, and even when he was sick, he kept it a secret because he was afraid of bothering anyone! And you? Privileged from birth, never wanting for anything! Just this one time…” “One time?” I laughed, the tears streaming now. “The first time I was hospitalized with myocarditis, I was ten. You said your department had a critical patient and dumped me on a floor nurse.” “I passed out in gym class at fifteen. The school nurse recommended a full cardiology workup, and you said studies were more important—we’d do it that summer.” “I was diagnosed with my heart condition at nineteen, and you said I was young, I’d be fine with medication.” Each word was a new stab of pain in my chest. “But for Fitch, you arranged consultations with the top specialists in the country, a private, VIP room, and the heart I waited three goddamn years for!” Fitch was sobbing harder. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… Dr. Gilbert, please give the heart to Cam. I… I can wait…” “Wait for what?” I snapped at him. “Your heart is now functioning almost normally. Wait for what? For me to die so you can feel guilty?” “Cameron!” My mother’s voice was a sharp command. “How dare you! Fitch has only the best intentions!” “Intentions?” I fixed my gaze on my mother. “Mom, you are so selfless, so dedicated to your Hippocratic oath, so willing to sacrifice everything for the greater good…” I sucked in a rattling breath. The pain was making the room spin, but I had to finish. “Then why didn’t you donate? You were a match, too. You’re his godmother. Giving Fitch your heart would have made you a true martyr. Wouldn’t that have been the truly great sacrifice?” 3 A paralyzing silence fell over the ICU room. My mother’s face was utterly drained of color. Her lips trembled, unable to form a word. “You… you…” She pointed at me, her finger shaking violently. “What about me?” I leaned back against the headboard, the pain now dull and endless. “You said your family had to understand sacrifice. You said we had to put others first. So, donate! Give Fitch your heart, and I’ll wait for mine. Then no one owes anyone anything! Wouldn’t that be the perfect scenario?” “You’ve lost your mind!” My father was shaking with pure rage. “How dare you speak to your mother like that!” Fitch slid to his knees with a loud thud. He was wailing, a sound of sheer, unadulterated distress. “It’s all my fault! I’m going to find a doctor right now! I’ll get them to arrange surgery to give the heart back to Cam! Dr. Gilbert gave me this life, I’ll return it to him!” He tried to bolt, but my mother held him in a vise-like grip. “You foolish boy, stop talking crazy!” She held Fitch tightly, patting his back. Then she looked up at me. In her eyes, beyond the disappointment, I saw a flicker of raw hatred. “Cameron Allen, I never knew you could be so utterly malicious.” She was visibly broken. “Fitch just had major surgery. You want him to undergo another one to remove the heart? You are asking for his death!” “And am I wrong to fight for my own?” Dr. Carter stepped forward, his face etched with concern. “Dr. Gilbert, the patient is highly unstable. He needs quiet…” “He needs to reflect!” My mother cut him off, walking to my bedside. “Cameron, I am making this clear: Fitch is my son now, and I will care for him until he is fully recovered. As for you…” She paused, making a final, agonizing decision. “When your attitude stabilizes, and you apologize to Fitch, then we will talk.” She took Fitch’s hand and walked out of the ICU without a backward glance. My father looked at me, his eyes full of a strange, complex mix of shame and anger, before following them. The door closed. Through the glass, I watched my mother gently wipe Fitch’s tears in the hallway. My father put an arm around Fitch’s shoulders. The three of them merged into a single silhouette under the corridor lights. I lay in the sterile silence of the ICU, listening to my own heart beat a slow, fading rhythm. Some things, it turned out, were more suffocating than heart failure. Dr. Carter hesitated, then leaned close, his voice a low whisper. “The truth is… last week, there was a brain-dead donor. A heart, fully matched to you.” “But that donor heart… your mother signed off on transferring it to another patient.” I looked at him, motionless. “W-why?” Dr. Carter’s voice shook slightly. “That patient also needed a transplant, but his case was nowhere near as critical as yours. Everyone in the department thinks… it makes no sense.” It made perfect sense. My mother had to prove she had no selfish motive. She had to prove her sacrifice was total, her judgment unimpeachable. Even if the cost was my life. “Thank you for telling me, Doctor.” My voice was muffled by the oxygen mask. “Don’t give up,” Dr. Carter said urgently. “I’ve already contacted other transplant centers out of state. We’ll find a way…” “It’s okay.” I shook my head gently. “Just get me a paper and a pen. I need to write a will to sever all ties.” I looked out at the three figures who were now gone from the corridor. “And then, I need to sign an organ donation agreement.” 4 My parents never reappeared. Fitch, however, started sending me daily video updates. He showed me my old bedroom being redecorated for him, Mom and Dad cooking him special meals, and the trash can where he’d tossed Buster the Bear, my worn-out childhood stuffed animal. Mom had bought me Buster when I was a kid and terrified of being alone during her night shifts. I’d dragged that battered bear through every hospital stay, every fever, every lonely night. Now, I didn’t need him anymore. “Cam, big brother, I don’t think Dr. Gilbert likes you very much. She and Mr. Gilbert are taking me on a little stress-relief trip, but they won’t come see you.” “Why can’t you just apologize? They brought you up, you’ve been so privileged, and you’re so ungrateful… you’re a real snake in the grass…” I stared at the screen. My heart monitor shrieked a frantic warning. Finally, I opened the social media app Pulse, changed my ID to @CamWaitingForAHeart. I posted my official diagnosis, followed by a detailed account of my mother’s lie. Then, I attached Fitch’s video. The caption was simple: What does it take for a biological son to be less important than a charity case? Three hours later, my mother burst into the ICU, her hair a mess. “Cameron Allen! What have you done!” She snatched my phone. “Delete it! Delete it right now!” The screen showed 999+ shares and tens of thousands of comments. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?! Fitch has been doxed! People are tracking down the children’s home he came from! He just had surgery, he can’t handle this kind of stress!” I looked at her, calm now. “And me? I’m lying in the ICU. Do you think I can handle his daily videos mocking me?” “He was concerned about you!” “Concerned?” I smiled faintly. “Or concerned about when I would die, so he could completely replace me?” “You…” My mother raised her hand, then forced it back down. She took a deep breath, shifting into her calm, professional medical voice. “Cameron, your emotional instability and these statements have caused severe negative repercussions for the hospital and me personally. Delete the content and issue a public apology. If you do that, I will not pursue this.” “Not pursue it?” I repeated the words softly. “Mom, what will you pursue? Cutting off my medical coverage, like before?” Her eyes darted away for a millisecond. In that flicker, I had my answer. “Dr. Carter,” my mother turned to her colleague who had just rushed in, “effective immediately, Cameron Allen is discharged. This hospital does not tolerate hostile patients.” Dr. Carter was shocked. “Dr. Gilbert! His condition is critical! He cannot be discharged!” “Then transfer him.” My mother’s voice was arctic. “Our facility is too small for his drama.” She leaned down, her mouth close to my ear, her voice a low, icy chisel: “Delete the posts, apologize publicly, and admit you were emotionally unstable and fabricated the story. Otherwise, not a single hospital in this entire state will accept you.” I looked at her face, inches from mine. That face had once rested against my feverish forehead to check my temperature. That face had once held mine and promised, “Mommy will fix this.” Now, it held only cold indifference and naked threat. “As you wish,” I said. She turned and left. At the door, she looked back. “Cameron, don’t blame me for being ruthless. You destroyed Fitch’s life first.” The door closed. Dr. Carter stood by my bed. After a long moment, he whispered, “I can help you contact hospitals out of state…” “Don’t bother.” I stared at the ceiling. “Dr. Carter, thank you for taking care of me. But I’m tired.” Truly tired. I couldn’t fight anymore, and I couldn’t wait any longer. The next morning, I signed my discharge papers. The bill showed an outstanding balance of twenty-seven thousand dollars. My mother, true to her word, had cut off all coverage. I wired the hospital my last savings, signed a promissory note, and walked out. As I dragged my suitcase away from the main entrance, the pain in my chest was blinding. “Cameron!” My mother’s voice called from behind me. 5 I turned and saw her, my father, and Fitch. They stood together on the hospital steps, a picture of worried elegance. My mother was impeccably dressed and perfectly made up, wearing a look of measured concern. “Cam, why did you check yourself out?” She hurried toward me, reaching out to steady me. “You need to come back in. You’re too weak…” I sidestepped her touch. “Dr. Gilbert. State your business.” Her smile fractured for a second, then snapped back into place. “The reporters want to do a follow-up interview in the conference room. Let’s go talk. Let’s clear up this misunderstanding, okay?” “Misunderstanding?” I looked at the three of them. “What’s the misunderstanding? That I don’t have heart disease, or that you didn’t give my heart to someone else?” “Cameron Allen!” My father hissed, pulling me aside. “Must you talk like this?” Fitch stepped forward, his eyes still red. “Cam, it’s all my fault. I came here today to tell the reporters the truth. I’ll give the heart back, I’ll go back to the children’s home…” “Fitch!” My mother hugged him protectively. “Don’t say such ridiculous things!” She turned back to me, her tone softening. “Cam, your mother was wrong. Just give me a chance. Let’s solve this as a family, alright?” A family. The word was a bitter joke. I studied their faces, watching the performance of concern play out. Then, I understood. The social media post was still trending. The public anger was a firestorm. Hospital management was breathing down her neck. Her career, her honor, was in jeopardy. She wasn’t worried about me. She was worried about her reputation. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll go.” In the conference room, Fitch sat glued to my mother’s side. I sat on the periphery. A reporter began the questioning. “Dr. Gilbert, can you explain your rationale at the time?” My mother took the microphone, her voice dripping with emotion. “As a doctor, I admit my professional judgment may have been overly rational, ignoring my son’s emotional needs. But as a mother, I love my child deeply…” As she spoke, she reached out to take my hand. I pulled it away. Every camera in the room captured the rejection. “Cameron Allen,” a reporter asked shrewdly, “you don’t seem to agree with your mother’s statement?” The microphone was thrust toward me. I smiled. “I agree with my mother. She does love her child very deeply.” A collective sigh of relief went through the room. But my next words sent the hearts of the guilty straight into their throats. “The child Dr. Gilbert loves is her sponsored godson, Fitch Connelly.” My mother’s face went dark. She tried to subtly signal me to shut up. I ignored her. “Of course, you could also interpret it this way: what my mother loves more is her reputation.” “It’s the endless praise she gets, always earned at the expense of my life!” “Cameron Allen!” My mother slammed her hand on the table and stood up, the fury in her eyes threatening to consume me. I stood up to meet her challenge. “You always said I couldn’t have special treatment as a family member, to avoid gossip. I accepted that.” “So, even when my heart was screaming, I checked in, paid my bills, and went to checkups all by myself.” “But why did you personally walk him through the staff entrance the first time he came to the hospital?” I pointed at Fitch. “Every follow-up appointment was with an exclusive specialist. For his surgery, you used every resource you had, even the heart that was rightfully mine…” “Enough!” My mother shot to her feet, knocking the table with a crash. “Cameron Allen! What exactly do you want?” “What do I want?” I was shaking, my heart hammering like a trapped bird. My vision dimmed, but I had to finish. “I want to ask every reporter here, and everyone watching this screen.” I turned to face the cameras, speaking slowly, deliberately: “Can you truly trust a surgeon who would sacrifice her own son’s life to save her reputation?” “Cameron! You’re lying!” My mother was shaking violently. Fitch began to cry. “No, Dr. Gilbert isn’t like that…” The room erupted in chaos. Reporters were shouting, flashbulbs were popping, and hospital executives scrambled to restore order. I couldn’t hold myself up any longer. I collapsed, rigid as a board, and the blood started bubbling from my mouth. My mother tried frantically to stop the cameras. “Don’t film this! He’s faking it! He’s trying to manipulate you!” She grabbed my collar and yanked me up, her strength terrifying. “You ungrateful leech! How could you be so manipulative? What did I ever deny you?” In that final second, I managed a satisfied smile for the camera that captured my mother’s savage, broken expression. Dr. Carter rushed in. The paddles of the defibrillator slammed onto my chest. But the monitor’s frantic beeping slowed, then settled into a single, horrifyingly straight line. “Cameron Allen, male, twenty-three years old, pronounced deceased at 10:06 a.m. following unsuccessful resuscitation.”

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When my little sister was born, Mom and Dad asked if I liked her. I shouted, “Yes! But I love you most!” They laughed, hugged me, and said they loved me most too. I grinned, covered my sister’s ears, and declared, “Then I’ll just love her a little extra, so we all get equal love!” But growing up slowly stole their love from me, piece by piece, giving it all to my sister. “There’s only one spot, Annie. You’re big now—let Lucy have it.” I shook my head, lip trembling, but they just sighed and took Lucy to the amusement park without me. The art supplies promised for raising my grades went to Lucy. The puppy for the next improvement went to her too. Now, the park trip for making the top ten was also for her. [Mom and Dad aren’t my mom and dad anymore.] [They don’t love me most anymore.] [Lucy gets so much more love.] [I hate my sister.] I scribbled angrily in my prize notebook, tears blurring the page. Then, I carefully crossed out the last line and wrote: [If you wake me up tomorrow and make my favorite pancakes, I’ll forgive you for not taking me today.] I tiptoed in and taped the note to their headboard. 1 “Annie Davis!” I scrambled from the doorway back to my bed, squeezed my eyes shut, and pretended to be fast asleep. BAM! My mother threw the door open and ripped the covers off me. “Ann—” “Mom, I forgive you!” I grinned, puckering my lips for a morning kiss. “You’ve gotten completely out of hand!” Her palm cracked across my cheek. She grabbed my ear and dragged me into her bedroom. In the corner, by a cabinet, lay a pile of shattered porcelain. “Very clever,” she sneered, her face a crumpled mask of fury. “Did you really think we wouldn’t find it if you hid it?” I shook my head, terrified. “It wasn’t me, Mom…” “Still lying!” She smacked the note from the headboard against my head, then with a furious sweep of her arm, sent another vase crashing to the floor. Shards flew everywhere. “I didn’t…” Before I could finish, she had grabbed the steel ruler from the desk. I screamed as the sharp pain seared across my legs. Through a haze of tears, I saw Lucy peeking around the doorframe. “It was Lucy!” I cried out, pointing a trembling finger at the corner of her dress as she tried to slip away. The ruler came down hard on my hand. “It must have been her when she was doing her homework in here…” “How dare you blame your sister!” The ruler rose higher, each strike landing harder than the last. “Mom…” Lucy reappeared in the doorway, her hands behind her back and her eyes red-rimmed. “Please stop hitting her.” I huddled in the corner, my face a mess of tears and snot. “It was me, Mom. I knocked it over last night by accident.” Lucy stepped into the room, placing herself between me and my mother. “You can hit me instead.” My mother’s trembling rage slowly subsided. Her expression shifted to surprise as she dropped the ruler. She took two steps forward and reached out. I blinked my swollen eyes, the words “it’s okay” already on my lips, but she walked right past me and scooped Lucy into her arms. “Don’t stand there, sweetie, you’ll cut yourself on the glass.” Fresh tears began to stream down my face. “You’re so smart, Lucy,” Mom cooed, “pushing the pieces under the cabinet so no one would get hurt. But next time, just tell us, okay? Mommy and Daddy would be so sad if you got hurt.” I wanted to cover my ears, but my mother’s soft, gentle voice buzzed like a mosquito, drilling its way into my head. I had to make it stop. “Mom, I didn’t do it!” I yelled. She turned, still holding Lucy, and her gaze fell on me, light as a feather but heavy enough to crush the air from my lungs. “I didn’t do it!” I screamed again, forcing myself to stand, gasping for breath. Mom set Lucy down, smoothed her hair, and walked toward me. I held my breath, watching her come closer, step by step, bending down. I reached out, desperate for a hug, but she simply grabbed a hair tie from the cabinet behind me, walked back to Lucy, and retied her hair into a perfect, pretty ponytail. “Mom, it wasn’t me…” She didn’t look back as she led Lucy out of the room, her voice flat and distant as she tossed three words over her shoulder. “I know, dear.” That wasn’t right. That wasn’t enough. “Mom, you have to say you’re sorry!” I shouted at her retreating back. She didn’t hear me. Or she didn’t care. Her steps remained steady and quick. They were going to have breakfast. Without me. I took a deep breath and blocked their path in the dining room. “Mom, you need to apologize to me.” “Annie will…” forgive you. She gestured for Lucy to go and eat, then looked at me with an exhausted sigh. “I’m already so tired, Annie. Can’t you just be a little more understanding?” My eyes began to sting again. I opened my mouth to argue, but my father, who had been quietly working at the table, spoke up without looking. “How can you be tired from just staying home all day?” he said. “You can’t even handle two kids.” “Richard! You make it sound so easy!” Mom shot back. “Do you really think I just sit around here doing nothing?” The argument exploded from there. I clamped my mouth shut and silently covered Lucy’s ears. “Let’s go back to our room.” Lucy followed me obediently, whispering “I’m sorry” the whole way. “I’ll apologize for Mom.” “Why are you always apologizing for her?” I snapped, glaring at her. Seeing her eyes well up with tears, I sighed and my anger deflated. “I’m sorry.” I looked at the purple bruises forming on my fingers. “I’m not mad at you, Lucy. It just… it hurts a little.” She nodded, not quite understanding. Before I could explain further, we heard the crash of plates and bowls from the dining room. “Don’t be scared,” I said, handing her the breakfast roll and carton of milk I’d managed to grab. “Just eat this and it’ll be okay.” “You have some, Annie.” I nodded vaguely, taking a sip from the straw she offered while keeping my eyes glued to the doorway, listening to the escalating fight outside. Slurp. The milk was so sweet. Wait. This wasn’t milk. It was soy milk. I stared blankly at the carton in Lucy’s hand. “Annie, why are you crying?” Her voice sounded distant. “Your face is getting all red!” I shook my head, bewildered. A sharp sting flared in my throat, and my breath began to catch in my lungs. “I don’t know…” The world went dark. The shouting from outside and Lucy’s panicked cries faded into a distant echo. As I collapsed, only one thought remained. They never even read my note. Neither of them read it. “…Lucy loves soy milk, I just forgot that Annie…” “You forgot? You forgot your own daughter has a severe allergy, Katherine?” “Richard, don’t you dare act like you remembered! You don’t even know how old they are!” Their angry voices seeped back into my awareness. I pried my eyes open to a sterile white ceiling. “Annie, you’re awake!” Lucy was sitting by the hospital bed, the first to notice. The fighting stopped. Mom knelt beside me, her voice still laced with anger. “Annie Davis, if you don’t look at what you’re drinking next time, then you can just suffer the consequences yourself.” I blinked slowly and nodded. “Okay,” I mumbled. Dad glanced at me, then at his watch, and turned to leave. “I have to get back to work.” “It’s always work with you…” Mom started yelling at his back, but he was already gone. I looked timidly back at my mother. She was stroking Lucy’s hair while calling for a nurse. “Mom—” My voice was a useless whisper. I watched them both disappear through the door. The clock on the wall pointed to two. It was Saturday. Time for Lucy’s art class. They just have important things to do, I told myself. I’ll have important things to do when I’m older, too. That’s how adults are. I’m a big girl now. Don’t cry anymore, Annie. I turned my head so the nurse wouldn’t see my tears and squeezed my eyes shut, pretending to fall back asleep. It would be better when I woke up. It would be better when I got home. 2 I was discharged from the hospital on Monday, just in time for mid-terms. Mom and Dad agreed that being sick wasn’t an excuse to miss a test, so I walked into the exam hall with my head feeling completely empty. That night at the dinner table, I stayed silent, shoveling plain rice into my mouth. “Eat your vegetables!” Mom snapped, slamming her hand on the table. I flinched, my hand trembling as I picked up a single green bean. “If you improve your score this time, we’ll sign you up for that writing workshop.” The writing workshop! The one I wanted more than anything! My head shot up, then slowly sank again. “Mom, what if I do really badly this time?” “Then you can stop calling me your mother,” she replied coldly, placing a piece of chicken on Lucy’s plate. “But I was sick, next time I’ll—” “That’s not an excuse,” Dad said, not even looking up from his paper. I didn’t dare say another word, just silently prayed that my teacher would be generous with her grading. Please, Mrs. Davison, please. But Mrs. Davison clearly hadn’t heard my prayers. I came in third from the bottom. “Annie Davis, you’ve really outdone yourself,” Mom said, her long fingernail jabbing at my forehead. She turned to Lucy, her voice instantly softening. “How about we take you to the aquarium this time, sweetie?” “I want to go too,” I whispered, mustering all my courage to echo the way Lucy used to ask for things. Mom’s hand struck my back, hard. “With grades like that, you have the nerve to ask for anything?” “But Mom, my art supplies, the puppy, the amusement park… they all went to Lucy…” “I knew it! I knew you were keeping score!” she shrieked, grabbing the steel ruler again. “Lucy gets first place every single time! Doesn’t she deserve those things?” “And besides,” she continued, her voice rising, “don’t you have art supplies now? Don’t we have a dog in this house? Don’t you have pictures from the amusement park?” I nodded, sobbing uncontrollably. But Mom, the art supplies I have are Lucy’s old ones. The dog was supposed to be named Buddy, not her Lucky. And the pictures from the amusement park are from when I was a tiny little girl. I can’t even remember what it feels like to be there anymore. “Mom, stop hitting her!” Lucy ran out of her room and stood in front of me, holding out her own brand-new set of colored pencils. “Here, Annie! You can have them all back!” “I don’t want them!” I shoved her hands away, and the pencils scattered across the floor. “How dare you yell at your sister! You ungrateful little brat!” Mom’s strikes became harder, more frantic. “That’s enough,” Dad finally said, stopping her arm before it could fall again. “Lucy’s right here.” Glancing at her weeping younger daughter, Mom threw the ruler back on the table and knelt to hug Lucy. Dad rolled up his sleeves and walked slowly toward me. I knew what was coming. “Dad, I’m sorry,” I pleaded, shaking my head frantically. “I won’t yell at Lucy again. I’ll get into the top ten next time, no, the top five! Please, I don’t want to go to…” “Annie.” He was already heading for the stairs. “You’re a good girl, right?” No! No! I wanted to scream, but Dad’s belt hurt even more than Mom’s ruler. All I could do was nod. I left Lucy’s muffled sobs and Mom’s comforting murmurs behind me and slowly followed my father upstairs. He led me to the room at the end of the hall. He handed me my test paper, and I sat down quietly in the chair bolted to the center of the floor. The light faded to black. The last thing I saw was the big red 54 circled on my test. 3 My father didn’t believe in corporal punishment, he said, even though he hit me harder than anyone. After the first time I failed a test, he’d broken two belts on me and then hired a designer to create my “reflection room.” It had no windows. The stark white walls were plastered with motivational posters and every single one of my report cards. [FAILURE NOW IS FAILURE FOREVER.] [IF YOU’RE NOT FIRST, YOU’RE LAST.] [SUCCESS IS THE ONLY OPTION.] It was pitch black, but I didn’t need to see. I had memorized the location of every single piece of paper. “You need to be sharper!” “How could you get such a simple question wrong?!” “Why are you so stupid?” “Why can’t you be more like your sister?” “What’s the big deal about letting her have it?” A static hiss filled my ears as my parents’ voices argued inside my head. “Stop it, stop it,” I whimpered, trying to bat away the words flashing in the darkness, but the restraints on the chair held me fast. “We love our Annie so much!” “We just want our little girl to be safe and happy.” “Annie is the best little girl in the whole wide world!” “I’m not, I’m not…” I sobbed, shaking my head violently. My body convulsed, a wave of nausea rising in my throat. I screamed until my voice was raw, and then silence fell. My brain felt like a rusted gear, straining to turn but going nowhere. I just stared into the void. Whoosh. Whose breath was that? Whoosh. Was it mine? I closed my eyes. Or did I? I couldn’t tell. It was so quiet. So dark. “Mommy, Daddy, I won’t do it again.” “I’ll be nice to Lucy.” “I’ll study harder.” “I’ll be just like her. I’ll get first place every time.” My thoughts grew fuzzy. I mumbled one last thing. “Please don’t hate me anymore.” “Can you just love me a little bit again?” “I’m a little scared.” 4 [Good news: Mom and Dad locked the reflection room.] [Bad news: They said they’re done with me.] [It’s all my fault. I’m getting dumber and dumber. I can’t remember anything. I’ve failed three tests in a row.] [If I improve by twenty spots next time, will they forgive me?] I turned to a new page and continued to write, carefully, stroke by stroke. [If Mom or Dad calls me ‘Annie’ just one more time, I’ll forgive you for saying you’re done with me.] I tore the page out neatly and tucked it under my pillow. There. Now I could love my mom, my dad, and my sister properly again. I walked out of my room and greeted my parents, who were sitting on the couch. No one answered. I knelt down and reached a hand under the sofa. “Good morning, Buddy!” “His name is Lucky,” Mom said without looking at me. My fingers curled. I corrected myself brightly. “Good morning, Lucky!” The puppy wagged his tail, and I had just started to pet his head when Mom stood up. “I’m taking Lucky out to pick up your sister.” I slowly pulled my hand back and nodded, watching them leave. “Dad, can I sit here and read with you?” He remained silent, so I tentatively sat on the other end of the couch. A small smile touched my lips, but then he stood up, rolled his magazine into a tube, and walked away. I looked around the empty living room, feeling adrift. It was like this house didn’t need me anymore. I blinked, my eyes feeling dry and sore, like I was a lemon turning sour. “Okay. I’ll get Buddy’s—Lucky’s—dinner ready.” I copied my mother, getting the bag of dog food from the cabinet. I read the label three times to make sure it was the right one before pouring it into his bowl. “What are you doing?” Mom’s cold voice came from behind me. Lucky was already gobbling up the food. “I’m helping, Mom.” “I don’t need your help.” She took Lucy’s backpack from her and disappeared around the corner. “Annie, Buddy really likes you!” Lucy chirped. “His name is Lucky,” I corrected, trying to push down the swelling feeling in my chest. Lucy opened her mouth to say something else but gasped instead. “Buddy, he’s—” The warm, furry body under my hand went stiff. Lucky started to vomit, then convulsed twice and lay still. “Lucky?” I whispered, my hand frozen on his back. “Annie! What did you do?!” Mom shoved me aside and frantically dialed the vet’s number. I looked from my stoic father to my frantic mother to my crying sister, and finally, down at Lucky’s small, still body. Mom drove Lucky to the animal hospital. When she came back, her face was grim. “He’s gone,” she said, her voice flat. Then she slapped me, hard. “The vet said he ingested some kind of poison.” Her eyes were filled with a hatred I had never seen before. “Annie, I thought you were just bad at school! I never thought you were a bad person!” “If you didn’t want him around, you should have just killed yourself! What did he ever do to you? Why did you have to kill him?!” “I didn’t… I checked the bag, it was the same one he always eats…” Mom pulled a wailing Lucy into her arms, her voice dripping with disgust as she delivered the final blow. “I regret the day you were born.” A roar filled my ears. I stumbled backward and fell to the floor, staring up at my father, who looked down on me with cold disappointment. “Annie, you are a profound disappointment.” “I don’t understand how I could have a daughter like you.” “How could I have ever thought you had potential?” “Someone like you… living is just a waste of resources.” He paused, his voice dropping to a low, chilling whisper. “Listen to your mother. Maybe you’d be better off dead.” My throat was dry. I couldn’t think. I scrambled back to my room in a daze. “I regret the day you were born—” “Living is just a waste—” “We love our Annie so much!” “How could I have a daughter like you—” “Annie is the best little girl in the world!” “You should have just killed yourself—” “Better off dead—” “Just die!” “JUST DIE!” “JUST DIE!!!” “Alright,” I whispered to the empty room. “Mom, Dad… I’ll grant your wish.”

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Everyone said I wouldn’t last three months in his hands. On our wedding night, he stared at me for a long time. I was born different. Intersex. In the eyes of others, I was a freak. “D-don’t… don’t look.” “What are you crying for? I paid good money for you. Serving me isn’t a hardship.” At that time, I thought he just saw me as a toy. And honestly, I treated myself like one too. I didn’t cry, I didn’t fuss. I just obeyed him. Later, I found out I was pregnant. It happened right when the rumor mill said his “first love” was coming back to town. I left the neatest note I’d ever written in my life: [We are even.] Carrying his seed, I ran away overnight to the big city in the South. Chapter 1 I was a debt payment. Nothing more. My father, Frank, had racked up gambling debts he couldn’t pay. He was planning to sell me off to some backwoods hermit in the mountains. Then Silas Vance passed by. He threw a stack of cash onto the poker table. “I’ll take this one.” Veins popped on Silas’s forearms, his bronze skin glistening with sweat. He looked at me with eyes like a feral dog that had never been tamed. I shrank back in fear, but I didn’t resist. He dragged me back to his place. Silas’s home was just a couple of run-down cabins that let the wind in. But I didn’t have to sleep on straw. He laid out a brand-new, fluffy cotton quilt for me. Rumor had it, he was saving that quilt for when he married his college sweetheart. People in town said Silas had a “one that got away.” Her name was Claire. She went off to university and left him behind. I looked a little bit like Claire. We both had pale skin and big eyes, and looked soft and weak. So, I knew my place. I was a substitute. A substitute meant to keep his bed warm. Chapter 2 On our wedding night, I was a nervous wreck. My body was unique. To the world, I was a monster. But Silas… that first night, he stripped me down and stared at that part of me for a long time. “D-don’t… don’t look.” I bit my lip, tears falling like broken beads. Silas’s large, rough hands forced my knees apart. His voice was hoarse. “Red as a peach.” “It’s pretty.” Suddenly, he looked up, his gaze fierce. “What are you crying for? I paid money for this. Serving me isn’t a punishment.” I thought he saw me as a thing. So I felt aggrieved. But I also saw myself as a thing. So I didn’t dare make a sound. I just endured it. Chapter 3 Silas was rough. But in bed, even though he talked dirty, he never actually hurt me. I thought Silas looked down on me. Because aside from the stuff in bed, I couldn’t do anything right. I tried to cook for him, but I burned my hand with hot oil. When Silas came back, I was blowing on my hand, my eyes red-rimmed. He threw his hoe onto the ground with a loud clang. Before, I would have shaken with fear. But now, I knew he just had a bad temper. Silas strode over, grabbed my hand, his brows knitted tight. “Who told you to touch the stove?” “You think I can’t make enough money to buy you dinner?” I whispered, “I wanted to save you some money…” “Save shit.” Silas cursed, turned around, and rummaged through the cabinet for a precious jar of burn ointment. He smeared it on my hand roughly. “Don’t do rough work from now on.” He tossed my hand aside, then added unnaturally: “Your hands are soft like tofu. If you ruin them, they won’t feel good to touch at night.” So, he was only good to me because this skin and flesh served him well. Like raising a cat or dog—when he was happy, he gave me a treat. But I was greedy for that little bit of sweetness. At night, the fan creaked overhead. Silas pointed the fan directly at me. He was shirtless, sweating in the heat. Looking at his solid chest muscles, I extended my foot like I was possessed. My pale toes brushed against the hard muscle of his calf. “Husband… are you hot?” I tried to mimic the tone the other wives in the village used. I wanted to call him over, to share the breeze. Silas’s breathing instantly became heavy. In the dark, his eyes shone terrifyingly bright. The next second, the world spun. He pressed me into the mattress, his lips tasting of tobacco as he kissed me fiercely. “Ellis, you started this.” That night, Silas went crazy. He panted in my ear, biting my earlobe, asking me over and over: “If one day I have no money, will you still stay with me?” I trembled in fear, daring not to answer. In the end, Silas stopped asking. He just said, “Better if you don’t follow me. You aren’t meant for a hard life…” Chapter 4 Lately, Silas had been leaving early and coming home late. I heard the old ladies in town say he was doing some risky business, moving goods. I remembered what he asked that night. I was worried and wanted to ask, but I didn’t dare. Until one day, while washing his clothes, I found a wallet in his pocket. The wallet was old, the leather peeling. Inside the fold, there was a black-and-white photo. It was a girl in a white dress, standing at a school gate, smiling brilliantly. It was Claire. Or rather, Claire before she left for the city. So, he really was still thinking about his first love. I looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes and brows really did look a bit like the person in the photo. My heart felt like it had been stung by a wasp—a sour, stinging pain. After thinking for a long time, I put the photo back. That night, Silas came back with a roast chicken and a jar of expensive face cream. It was high-end stuff, only sold in the department stores in the city. “Bought it for you. Put it on your face.” He tossed the items to me, his eyes dodging mine, but the tips of his ears turned red. Before, I would have been happy. But now, looking at that cream, I only felt he wanted me to maintain this face that looked like Claire. “Silas.” I gathered my courage to call him. “What? You feeling sick?” Silas immediately reached out to touch my forehead. I dodged him. Silas’s hand froze in mid-air, his face darkening. “Ellis, what are you throwing a tantrum for now? I didn’t hurt you last night.” “Are you… saving money to go to the city to find Claire?” I gripped the hem of my shirt tightly and asked. Silas’s expression instantly became weird. Like his secret was exposed, but also shocked. He went silent. That silence was an admission. My heart went cold. I don’t know how I survived that night. Silas wanted to hold me, but I pushed him away. He didn’t force it. He just turned his back to me and didn’t speak. In the middle of the night, I heard him sigh. He took the blanket that covered him and quietly tucked it around me. “Ellis, just wait a bit longer…” “Once the deal is done, everything will be fine.”

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My period was two months late, so I called my ex-boyfriend. “I think I might be pregnant.” He sneered. “Is this a flex?” I said weakly, “No, it’s yours.” He warned me coldly, “Don’t think just because you’re pregnant I’ll get back together with you.” “I have a girlfriend, and she would mind.” After a few seconds of stunned silence, I smacked my forehead. “Sorry, my bad. I just remembered I got my period the day we broke up.” Chapter 1 Work had been insane lately, and I just forgot. Ethan went silent on the other end of the phone for a few seconds. Then he scoffed. “Boring.” He hung up impatiently. So he already had a new girlfriend. I couldn’t help but unblock him to check his social media. I wanted to see this new girl. In the photos, the usually serious Ethan was actually making funny faces with her. The girl had a sweet smile and dimples. She looked like the kind of girl who grew up surrounded by love. Since he had someone new, I shouldn’t keep his contact info. Just as I was about to delete him, a notification popped up. Ethan: [Transfer: $10,000.00] Me: [?] I was typing to ask why he sent money when he called. “Sarah, go to the hospital and get checked properly to see if you’re pregnant.” He spoke in the tone he used with subordinates: “If you are, take this money and get an abortion.” My heart felt like it had been pricked by a needle. “Didn’t I tell you? I’m not pregnant.” I regretted calling him earlier. “Besides, I got my period the day we broke up. Even if I was pregnant, you don’t have to worry about me pinning it on you.” Ethan’s voice rose, and I could feel his anger through the phone. “True. Even if it’s not mine, it could be someone else’s.” “Is that the kind of person I am to you?” Pregnant with someone else’s child two months after breaking up? And asking my ex to take responsibility? “You have a history, after all.” Ethan’s tone was contemptuous. “It’s normal to get lonely.” “Anyway, I’ve given what I should. Don’t come looking for me again.” He hung up violently. A new girlfriend just two months after breaking up. Who was the one who couldn’t handle being lonely? I tried to transfer the money back. Red exclamation mark. He blocked me on Venmo. I tried bank transfer. Limit exceeded. Luckily, Zelle worked. I found his account. The profile picture was unfamiliar. It was a cartoon character he used to despise. I double-checked it several times. He must have really found a girl he liked more. To do things he once disdained, like matching profile pictures. I transferred all the money back. Then blocked him everywhere. After doing all this, I felt drained. He broke up with me and found a sunny girl. Wasn’t this what I always hoped for? I should be happy. But why did everything feel so flavorless? Chapter 2 The next morning, I went downstairs to go to work. Ethan was standing in front of his car waiting for me. He walked straight toward me. “Get in.” “What are you doing here? I have to go to work—” Ethan frowned, his tone still cold. “Take leave.” He glanced at my abdomen. “I’m taking you to the hospital to check if you’re pregnant.” Because of my childhood trauma, I’ve always resisted hospitals. “Didn’t I tell you? I’m not pregnant.” His eyes were still suspicious. “The last time we were together, the condom broke…” I couldn’t help but retort, “Aren’t you a little too confident in yourself?” “I’m worried that if there really is a baby, I’ll be kept in the dark.” Men always think they possess superpowers in this department. “I said I’m not pregnant! Even if I was, it has nothing to do with you!” Being delayed for work made me irritable, and my voice rose unconsciously. Neighbors passing by glanced at us. My face heated up instantly. Ethan’s face darkened. “Get in. I’m taking you to the hospital. I already made an appointment.” “I can go myself.” I refused further contact. “I need to see the checkup with my own eyes to be at ease.” Ethan lowered his voice, speaking in a tone asking for a punch: “If you don’t come with me, I’ll keep blocking you here. It won’t take a day for you to become famous in this neighborhood.” I gritted my teeth and got in the car. As the car started, I thought for a moment. Picked up my phone to ask for leave. [Mr. Davis, I need to take the morning off to go to the hospital.] He replied instantly. Liam Davis: [Are you okay? Where do you feel uncomfortable? Is half a day enough?] I didn’t expect my boss, Liam, to be so caring. Three questions in a row. Quite different from his usual taciturn self. I typed tremblingly: [I’m fine, just a stomach ache. The morning is enough.] Liam Davis: [Approved. If you still feel unwell, take more days off.] Me: [Okay, thank you Mr. Davis.] Ethan, driving beside me, asked coldly: “Who are you texting so intently?” “Got a situation?” Seeing I didn’t answer, he continued: “No wonder you were so eager to cut ties with me! So you’ve already found your next target.” Ethan’s words carried a subtle malice. Making me uncomfortable. “I’m asking my boss for leave.” “Oh.” He glanced at my phone casually. “Never seen a boss care so much about a subordinate asking for leave.” He held the steering wheel, speaking in a knowing tone: “We’re both men. I can tell he has other intentions for you.” Although Ethan didn’t continue. I knew him too well. His micro-expressions, his tone. I could accurately interpret his implication. He wanted to tell me that my boss just wanted to play around with me, don’t be fooled. “Is that so? Then I’ll pay more attention to his behavior in the future.” “You!” He scoffed. “You’re amazing!” Ethan gripped the steering wheel tighter, veins popping. I didn’t know where his inexplicable jealousy came from. After all, when we broke up, he roared at me: “Sarah, if I break up with you, I’ll never care about you again.” Although he said that. Mutual friends told me he was still asking about me. Asking if I was doing well. Calling him last night was actually a gamble. Ethan might ignore me, but he wouldn’t ignore a “child,” right? But I was too anxious and forgot that possibility didn’t exist at all. Ethan slammed on the brakes. Inertia almost threw me into the windshield. Luckily the seatbelt held me. Only then did I notice the toy steering wheel attached to the passenger side dashboard. He even prepared toys for a child? That’s way too early. “Don’t overthink it.” Ethan said lightly. “That toy has nothing to do with you.” Chapter 3 His eyes softened for a moment. “It’s for my girlfriend.” Ethan smiled warmly. “She gets bored in the car, so I let her play with the steering wheel.” “Isn’t it romantic?” He asked me proudly. “Forget it, why am I talking about this with someone unromantic like you.” I hesitated, but decided to speak. “Um…” Ethan looked over smugly. “I wanted to remind you, if there’s an accident, the airbag might not deploy.” “Can you discuss with your girlfriend about changing to something else…” His smile vanished, voice squeezed from his throat: “Sarah, you really are allergic to romance.” Seeing his frown, I chose to shut up. Ethan continued driving, neither of us speaking another word. The silence was terrifying. Then Ethan’s phone rang. His face softened as he cleared his throat: “Hey, babe, what’s wrong?” I don’t know what the person on the other end said. Ethan spoke nervously: “Okay, okay, I’m coming right now.” After hanging up, Ethan turned to me: “Get out.” I looked at the road outside, incredulous: “Here?” “Yes.” He unbuckled my seatbelt without explanation and reached to open the door. I pressed his hand down, confirming: “There isn’t even a bus stop here. You’re making me get out here?” Ethan nodded indifferently. “My girlfriend has an emergency, I have to go to her. Go to the hospital yourself.” “Although it’s hard to get a cab here, the hospital is only two miles away. Treat it as exercise.” He pulled me out of the car. Before driving off, he rolled down the window and instructed: “Remember to tell me the results. It’s better for both of us.” Then left me with a cloud of exhaust. I laughed in anger. Called me out early in the morning, made me take leave. Then dumped me on the road and ran. Just as I was about to call a cab. My lower abdomen hurt suddenly. Luckily there was a public restroom nearby. Sure enough, my period came. So I didn’t go to the hospital. Instead, I went back to work. On the way, I texted Ethan. Told him I wasn’t pregnant. Then blocked and deleted him again. This time, it was really goodbye. Chapter 4 Maybe because it had been too long since my last period. This time it was exceptionally painful. Finally, after Liam signed all the documents. I prepared to leave his office, when my legs gave out. I fell forward. Just as I thought I was about to hit the floor. Pain didn’t come as expected. Liam held my waist and pulled me back. “Thank you, Mr. Davis.” He scrutinized my face. “Not feeling well? Did the hospital results come out?” “I’m fine, just my period.” I answered truthfully. The company allowed half a day of menstrual leave, but I had already taken the morning off and didn’t want work to pile up. Liam averted his eyes slightly, ears turning red. “You should take leave and go home to rest. I’ll arrange the work.” I remembered the shareholder meeting in the afternoon. If I quit now, the efforts of the past few weeks would be wasted. “No need, Mr. Davis. I can handle it.” I returned to my desk to prepare materials. But the pain got worse. I worried about fainting during the meeting. “Here.” I saw a box of Ibuprofen and two heating pads on my desk. Liam looked around unnaturally. Colleagues weren’t there. “I searched online. They said these help women in pain.” “Thank you, Mr. Davis! I really needed this!” Liam nodded. “Good.” His ears turned pink again. I suddenly remembered Ethan’s words. Does Liam really have ideas about me? But I dismissed it quickly. Liam was just a considerate boss. And he saw my hard work. Yes, that’s it. Finally off work, I couldn’t wait to go home and rest. Didn’t expect to see Ethan walking towards me downstairs. “Sarah, why didn’t you go to the hospital?” “Didn’t I tell you I wasn’t pregnant?” He seemed not to understand, pulling out a pregnancy test from somewhere, grabbing my hand: “Your word doesn’t count. Come with me.” “Since you won’t go to the hospital, test it in front of me.” It was rush hour, colleagues stopped to watch. I was annoyed by his unreasonable demand. Embarrassing me at my apartment wasn’t enough. Now at my workplace too? “I said no means no! I’m on my period, how can I be pregnant?” Ethan froze. “You’re lying. Your cycle starts on the 25th, not the 8th.” I felt powerless. “What, do you want me to take off my skirt for you to check?” “Can I?” Ethan asked seriously.

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To save my husband and my mother, I tackled a bomber off a bridge. The blast took both my legs. I went from a rising star attorney to… nothing. A woman with no legs. A deep, suffocating depression swallowed me whole. In a fit of rage, I smashed everything in our home. My mother just held me, her tears soaking my hair. “Let it out, sweetie. Just cry. Mom’s here. I’ll take care of you forever.” When I grabbed a knife to end it all, Caleb’s hands shot out, his fingers closing around the blade until they bled. His eyes were wild. “If you die, I die with you,” he choked out. “We go together.” After that, I tried. I fought to cage the darkness inside me, for their sake. I didn’t want to be their burden. Until my mother’s birthday. All I said was that my legs were hurting. Suddenly, she swept the birthday cake to the floor. “I almost wish you’d died in that explosion!” she screamed, her face twisted in anguish. “At least then this daily torture would be over!” Before I could process her words, Caleb grabbed me by the throat and started dragging me toward the balcony. “You want to die so bad? Then do it! Be brave for once and jump!” I didn’t cry. I just waited for the push that would send me falling. But another woman lunged forward, throwing her arms around Caleb. “Mia, your life is already over,” she pleaded, “but do you have to drag Mom and Caleb down with you?” I knew her. Sophia. Caleb’s mentee from the firm. The woman he had introduced to the world on camera as his “soulmate.” She was gentle, kind. Full of life and laughter. She could be the daughter and the wife I no longer could. And I… I needed to disappear from their world for good. … The pressure on my throat was immense; I could feel the world starting to go dark. I let my body go limp, helping Caleb angle me over the railing. I even managed a faint smile to soothe him. “It’s okay.” His eyes, bloodshot and frantic, suddenly widened. He let go of me, stumbling back, and started slapping himself across the face, hard. “I’m sorry, Mia, I’m so sorry… I’m a monster, I’m not human…” He and my mother worked in a practiced tandem, pulling me back inside. One started cleaning the mess on the floor; the other tended to me. Sophia, her heart aching for Caleb, took the mop from his hands. As she did, my mother slipped on a wet patch. Both Caleb and Sophia reached out to steady her. Sophia shot me a glare. “We can’t even stay in this house anymore. Let’s go out. We’re going to give Mom a proper birthday dinner.” I tried to crawl toward my mother, to offer some comfort, but Caleb’s voice cut through the air like a whip. “Stay back!” I froze, my body flat against the cold floor. I watched as Sophia helped my mother into a new coat she’d bought for her, then turned to wrap a scarf around Caleb’s neck. With her, their smiles were real. My mother didn’t have to hide her pain, and Caleb didn’t have to mask his exhaustion. She was right. I was the poison in their lives. If I died, they could finally be a real family. My eyes scanned the room. My mother’s sleeping pills were on the dining table. Caleb’s utility knife was on the nightstand. I used to hoard my mother’s pills, planning my escape. I’d used that same knife to slice open my arms, my neck. After they found out, they locked everything away. I couldn’t remember when they started leaving them out again, in plain sight. It dawned on me then. My mother and Caleb… they’d been waiting for me to die for a long time. The prosthetics I wore were chafing my skin raw, blood seeping through the fabric of my pants. They were a gift from Caleb. They’d been the wrong size from the start. I never said anything. Neither did he. My mother never mentioned it either, not even as she forced them on, the metal clasps biting deep into my flesh to hold them in place. They wanted me to stand again. And I wanted to, for them. Even if it felt like walking on knives, I would have done it. Maybe it was the gentle look on my mother’s face as she made her birthday wish that made me want to feel close to her again, just for a moment. All I did was whisper that my legs hurt. But it was the final straw. It broke them. Sophia was right. I couldn’t keep torturing them. I pulled myself into my wheelchair and left the apartment. I didn’t touch the pills or the knife. I wouldn’t die in their home. My mother was terrified of blood, and the sight of it would give her nightmares. Caleb was a judge with a brilliant future; a wife’s suicide at home would stain his career. I wheeled myself to the bridge over the Inner Harbor and pushed myself over the edge. The water was freezing, filthy. But I didn’t struggle. I just hoped the current would carry me far away, to a place where my mother and Caleb would never have to see me again. My soul detached from my body, a weightless thing, and drifted back to them. They were in a private dining room, posing for a family portrait. Afraid of ruining the happy scene, I shrank into a corner, even knowing they couldn’t see me. I waited until the camera flashed before floating closer. A waiter brought in a new cake, complimenting them on having such a devoted son and daughter. My mother beamed, wrapping an arm around Sophia. “She’s the only daughter I have,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. She took Sophia’s hand and placed it in Caleb’s, holding them together. “And this is my son-in-law.” As she leaned over the candles to make a wish, my mother repeated it, her voice a low prayer. “I wish for Sophia to be my daughter, and for Caleb to always be my perfect son-in-law.” A tear escaped and traced a path down her cheek. She mouthed two words, silently. I’m sorry, Mia. I didn’t feel sadness. Only relief. Your wish came true, Mom. Three years ago, a case Caleb presided over had made him a target for a powerful criminal syndicate. They came for us during a family trip. In the final moments, as the bomber counted down, I pushed them away and threw myself, and him, off the bridge. The blast took my legs. My mother had never forgiven herself. “If I hadn’t insisted on that trip, if I hadn’t made you two come with me, you never would have been hurt!” She had that same look on her face now. My ghostly hand reached out, wanting to wipe her tears away. Don’t cry, Mom. If I had to choose a thousand times, I’d still choose to save you. I don’t regret it. My mother slid the family heirloom, a delicate sapphire bracelet, onto Sophia’s wrist, then gave Caleb a meaningful look. “Some friends are waiting for me. I’ll leave you two to talk.” The door to the private room clicked shut. Sophia leaned in close to Caleb, her touch intimate as she wiped a smudge of tea from the corner of his mouth. He slumped forward, resting his forehead wearily on her shoulder. After my… accident, he had refused all promotions. His life became a grueling cycle: investigating cases by day, studying nursing care at night, and taking me to physical therapy during his lunch breaks. All while dealing with my episodes of self-harm. I hovered above him, seeing how half his hair had turned a stark silver. A bitter ache filled my non-existent chest. I wanted to stroke his hair, to smooth away the lines of exhaustion. Sophia’s hand got there first. “You’ve spent all this time trying to save her, Caleb,” she murmured. “But who is going to save you? It breaks my heart to see you waste away like this.” She tilted her head. “Let me take care of you. Please?” Caleb was silent. After a long moment, he raised a hand and cupped her face, his voice trembling. “Okay.” Sophia melted into his arms. “Caleb,” she whispered against his chest, “stay with me tonight.” His arms, which had started to lift by instinct, hovered in the air for a second before wrapping tightly around her. He pulled out his phone and sent me a text. Working late. Ordered you some takeout. Make sure you eat. Tears I could no longer shed streamed down my face. Don’t worry about me anymore, Caleb. I knew that without Sophia’s love and support these past three years, he would have completely shattered. I was grateful to her. Because of her, my mother had a new daughter, and my husband had a new wife. My mother returned home late, humming a cheerful tune. She noticed the takeout bag by the door. “Mia, dinner’s here!” My bedroom door was closed. Silence. Her face instantly hardened. “What is it now? Are you throwing another tantrum? I swear, you’re driving me insane!” She dropped the bag in front of my door with a thud and slammed the door to her own room. It was better this way. It was her birthday. She shouldn’t be upset because of me. I drifted through the wall and hovered beside her. She was scrolling through Sophia’s social media. A video showed Sophia in a kitchen, stirring a pot of soup. Caleb came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. His voice was a low, intimate murmur. “Thank you,” he said, “for making me feel alive again.” My mother liked the post and left a comment: “My beautiful children, live your lives well. I’ll officiate your wedding.” My eyes were fixed on the new diamond band on Caleb’s ring finger. I flew back to my own room, searching frantically. I found it in a corner, covered in dust. My old wedding band. Inside, the name he had engraved himself was worn almost smooth. I wasn’t heartbroken. He was getting his life back. He wasn’t being dragged down into hell with me. This was a good thing. Caleb didn’t come home until after midnight. He was humming, a faint lipstick smudge visible on his collar. He tripped over the cold takeout bag, and his good mood vanished. “Mia! If you don’t want to eat, then starve!” He stormed into his study. He’d just fallen asleep when his phone buzzed. It was Sophia. Caleb was sleeping too deeply to hear it. I circled frantically, hoping nothing was wrong. Finally, he stirred and answered. A terrified scream came through the speaker. “It’s all my fault! I couldn’t stop myself from falling in love with you!” “Caleb, please, just make your wife leave me alone! Please!” She sent a video. The sapphire bracelet my mother had given her was shattered on the floor. “She saw it on my social media feed! She sent people to my apartment to take it back, and they broke it!” The camera spun, revealing Sophia’s face, red and swollen with handprints. “She had them beat me… and… and she used these to threaten me!” Behind her, on the floor, was a pair of bloody, severed prosthetics. And scrawled on the white wall in what looked like blood were two words: HOMERWRECKER. DIE. I froze, for a moment forgetting I was a ghost. Caleb, you know me! I don’t even know where she lives! How could he possibly believe this? But then he was on his feet, rushing out of the study and kicking my bedroom door with furious force. “Mia, can you act like a human being for once? Torturing me and Mom wasn’t enough? Now you’re hiring thugs to terrorize Sophia?” “I must have been cursed the day I married you, you monster! Why don’t you just DIE?” I was completely still. A ghost isn’t supposed to have a heart. But I felt as if someone had just ripped mine out of my chest, leaving a gaping, frozen void. Colder than the winter river. I tried to console myself. This is a good thing, Mia. He has to hate you to truly let you go. I followed Caleb as he sped to Sophia’s apartment and watched them cling to each other. Caleb’s eyes were cold as ice. “I’m calling the police. A few nights in a holding cell will teach Mia a lesson.” Sophia, looking guilty, tried to defend me. “No, Caleb, don’t blame her. It’s my fault. I couldn’t control my heart.” “Just stay with me. Please don’t leave.” Caleb didn’t call the police. He took Sophia to a hotel. And there, he gave in to temptation, falling into bed with her. I found I couldn’t leave. I was trapped, forced to bear witness. All I could do was turn away. Sophia’s voice was a seductive moan. “Caleb… you have to take responsibility for me now.” His ragged breaths filled the room. “Thank you,” he gasped. “Thank you for freeing me from that monster.” “I’m filing for divorce tomorrow.” Caleb didn’t wake until noon the next day. He surveyed the messy hotel room, a flicker of regret in his eyes. He went to the balcony and smoked an entire pack of cigarettes, his gaze eventually falling on the fading red marks on Sophia’s face. His expression hardened. “This was my mistake. She shouldn’t have hurt you.” He turned to make a call, not seeing Sophia’s eyes flutter open behind him. “Miller? I need to report my wife. Assault, trespassing, intimidation. Can you bring her in, hold her for a few days…?” The voice on the other end was loud and chaotic. Shouting in the background. “Careful, it’s a floater! Heavily bloated… Caleb, look, we’re swamped right now!” “We pulled a Jane Doe from the Inner Harbor. Mangled by a boat propeller… we can’t even piece her together…” “The whole precinct is on overtime trying to get an ID. I’ll handle your thing when we’re clear.” My non-existent heart clenched. Caleb was sharp. Terrifyingly so. I was afraid he’d go to the scene, that he’d realize I had killed myself. And that my body was… ugly. Just then, Sophia let out a pained cry from the bed. “Aah—” Caleb’s head snapped toward her. She was whimpering in her sleep, tears on her cheeks. “Please don’t hit me… please, I’m begging you…” Caleb’s knuckles turned white. “Miller, just get someone over to my house as soon as you can. I’m afraid Mia might hurt someone else.” After a moment’s silence, the captain agreed. Still furious, Caleb called my mother. “Mom, Mia went after Sophia again…” My mother, sedated by her sleeping pills, had slept through Caleb’s rampage the night before. She was in the kitchen, making porridge for me, when the call came. She listened for a moment, then her face went cold. She turned off the stove. After hanging up, she poured the freshly made porridge down the drain. Then she picked up the cold takeout bag from my doorway and threw it in the trash too. “Maybe starving for a day or two will teach you a lesson. How did you become so vicious?” She sent a voice message to Sophia. “Sophia, honey, you’ve been through so much. Mom is on her way to take care of you.” She packed up all the expensive supplements and tonics in our house and left. As she stepped out of the building, she noticed a crowd gathered by the riverbank. She paused. I panicked, rushing to block her path. Don’t go, Mom! They just pulled my body out! You’ll see the birthmark… it will kill you! But she didn’t move. She was listening to a reporter giving a live update nearby. “Someone fell in,” she murmured, her expression unreadable. Then she whispered, “I wish it had been Mia.” I felt as though a hand was squeezing my throat, suffocating me. After a long moment, a bitter smile touched my lips. It was me, Mom. Your wish came true. My mother and Caleb met at Sophia’s apartment. They cleaned her place, and my mother cooked a meal. At the dinner table, she placed her bank card in front of Caleb. “This is my decision. You need to divorce Mia.” “This is for you and Sophia. A wedding gift.” Sophia snatched the card, her face alight with glee. “Thank you, Mom! Caleb and I will take good care of you after we’re married!” Caleb was silent for a long time before pushing the card back to my mother. “It doesn’t matter who I marry. You’ll always be my mother. I’ll take care of you.” “As for Mia… I’ll have her moved to a long-term care facility…” My mother didn’t see the venom in Sophia’s eyes. She took the card back, shaking her head as tears began to fall. “Caleb, Mia and I have been too much of a burden on you. I’m thinking of taking her to Switzerland… for euthanasia.” “I’ve heard they have these pods… you just fall asleep…” Her voice was choked with sobs, but her face was filled with an unmistakable look of relief. Caleb bolted from the table and rushed to the bathroom. I followed him, watching as he sagged against the closed door, crying without a sound. Mia, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t strong enough. I couldn’t hold on. He slapped himself twice, hard. I couldn’t touch him, but I cried with him. It’s not your fault. It really isn’t. You did more than enough. For three years, he hadn’t had a single full night of sleep. The medication made me sick, and every night he would be up, cleaning up my vomit. Countless times he was jolted awake by my sobs, only to find me sitting in a pool of my own blood, a razor in my hand. He’d have to fight back his own despair to patch me up and coax me back to sleep. If our roles were reversed, I don’t think I could have done what he did. Caleb, I owe you everything in this life. In the next one, let me be the one to love you. I drifted back to my mother. Sophia was holding her hand, crying as well. “Mom, I’m so sorry… Caleb and I… we slept together.” My mother just smiled and shook her head, about to offer her blessing when Sophia cut her off. “And last night… when Mia sent those men… they beat me so badly… I lost the baby. The doctor said… I can never have children now.” The smile froze on my mother’s face. I screamed, trying to make them hear. She’s lying! She’s framing me! I never did any of that! Tears of blood streamed from my spectral eyes. I knew it was useless. My mother believed her. She left in a rage, calling my phone again and again. No answer. When she got home, she kicked my bedroom door open. The curtains were drawn, blocking out all light. She hurled her phone onto my bed. “Mia, I wish you had died in that explosion with that bomber! It would be better than the shame you’ve brought on me now!” “You made that girl miscarry! That’s murder!” Caleb followed her into the room. He held out a signed divorce agreement. And a pair of handcuffs. “You can have the house, the money. You’ll go to a care facility, and I’ll take care of Mom.” “I’m sorry, Mia. I can’t do this anymore.” He stepped forward with the handcuffs, reaching into the darkness to pull back the covers. “I’m taking you to turn yourself in. We can plead for a lighter sentence.” There was no reply. After a moment, Caleb’s voice was hard. “If you don’t cooperate, I’ll have to call the precinct and have them bring you in by force.” My mother pounded her fist on the bed. “Mia, after you get out, I’m taking you to a psychiatric hospital. You’ve gone completely mad! I don’t even recognize you anymore!” She let out a sob. “If only Sophia were my daughter.” A tearing pain ripped through my core. Mom, don’t believe her! She’s evil, she’ll never be good to you! But I was dead. They couldn’t hear me. Thud. Caleb fell to his knees beside the bed. “Mia, I’m begging you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Please. Let my mother and me live.” I already have, Caleb. I already made my choice. If there were even a sliver of light, they would see that the bed was empty. Just then, Caleb’s phone rang. It was Captain Miller. “Caleb, we got an ID on the body from the river. It’s your wife. Coroner puts the time of death at two days ago…”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “389485”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 My daughter is pathologically righteous. When her male classmate accidentally bumped her elbow while doing his homework, she reported him to the principal. He was forced to transfer schools. When a male teacher was tutoring a female student after class, she snapped a picture, posted it on the school’s online forum, and accused them of having an affair. The teacher was fired. I tried to reason with her, my voice tight with frustration, but she was defiant. “Mom,” she’d said, her chin jutted out, “men and women should keep their distance. I won’t tolerate any indecency, not from anyone.” “Not even from the people I love most.” Last night, I worked late again. My colleague, Mark, gave me a ride home. The next morning, I was a trending topic. A picture, taken from a deliberately misleading angle, was plastered all over the internet. The comments were a tidal wave of vitriol. And there was my daughter, livestreaming from the living room. “Mom,” she said, her voice cool and steady for her online audience, “this time, you need to learn your lesson. With the whole world watching, maybe you’ll finally learn to behave.” My heart sank. With her twisted sense of right and wrong, she was systematically destroying my life. But what she didn’t know… Was that “Mark,” the man who drove me home, was her father. An undercover agent working on a top-secret international case. I stepped out of my front door and was met with a barrage of hostile stares. My neighbors, who usually greeted me with a friendly wave, now looked at me with a mixture of disgust and suspicion. Before I could even attempt an explanation, a text from my office pinged on my phone. Human Resources was “gently suggesting” I take the day off. Defeated, I turned back home. The moment I opened the door, a phone was shoved in my face. Dahlia’s eyes were cold, her voice like ice. “Hey everyone,” she said to her livestream, “this is my mom. She has a thing for late-night dates with strange men. And she’s always leaving me home alone.” I looked at her, and it was like seeing a stranger. The daughter I had raised was gone, replaced by this cold, judgmental creature who spoke of me with utter contempt. The number of viewers on her stream was climbing. Fueled by her narrative, the comments poured in. “What a sad excuse for a mother. Only cares about her own pleasure.” “She looks like a slut. I knew she was no good.” “Damn, she’s still got it though. Hey, send me her number!” The vile words echoed in my ears. Dahlia followed me, a relentless shadow with a camera, documenting my every move. “My mom can’t control herself,” she narrated. “To make sure she doesn’t run off with another man, I’ll be livestreaming her 24/7. Please, join me in keeping her accountable.” I went to the kitchen; she followed. I went to the bathroom; she was right behind me. I snapped. I grabbed the phone and threw it across the room. “Dahlia, have I been too lenient with you? Have you completely lost your mind? The bathroom is a private space! Are you really going to film me in here?” She calmly picked up her phone and blocked the bathroom door with her body. “If you’ve done nothing wrong, you have nothing to hide. What are you so afraid of?” “Mom,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion, “I’m going to watch your every move. I’m going to make you repent.” The daughter I had raised for over a decade now looked at me with the eyes of an enemy. I couldn’t hold back my anger any longer. I raised my hand to slap her. She didn’t even flinch. She just leaned in closer. “Go ahead,” she challenged. “The whole world is watching. If you hit me, it’s child abuse. It’s domestic violence.” “And I’ll have all the evidence I need to give to the police.” I was speechless. My home, once a sanctuary, now felt like a prison, suffocating me. I couldn’t stand to be there another second. I slammed the door and left. On the street, the stares of strangers felt like needles in my back. Their whispers followed me. “You’d never guess by looking at her, but she’s that kind of woman.” “Her own daughter exposed her. She must be a prostitute.” “Stay away from her. Who knows what diseases she’s carrying.” I felt like a turtle, retreating into my shell, my head bowed in shame. I spent the night at my best friend’s place. She tried to console me, telling me Dahlia would grow out of it, that she would understand one day. But my heart ached. She used to be such a sweet, clever little girl, always clinging to me, begging for cuddles. How had she become this monster? When I returned home the next day, the house was full of strangers. They were a cleaning crew, hired by Dahlia. She emerged from the living room, a frown on her face. “Mom, with your… lifestyle, you could be bringing all sorts of germs into the house. I’m having the place disinfected.” The air was thick with the acrid smell of some industrial-strength cleaning agent. The new wallpaper I had just put up was already stained and discolored. Rage boiled up inside me. I snatched the spray bottle from one of the workers and threw it to the ground. “What do you think you’re doing? Get out! All of you, get out of my house!” Dahlia stepped in front of them, a human shield. “I hired them. They’re providing a service. Until we’re sure you’re not carrying any diseases, you have no right to make them leave.” The cleaning crew muttered amongst themselves. “That Dahlia is such a good kid. How did she end up with a mother like that?” “Exactly! It’s people like her who spread diseases, and she won’t even let us disinfect!” “This is infuriating. That poor girl.” Their whispers were a chorus of condemnation, all centered on my supposed promiscuity. And Dahlia just stood there, her face impassive, as they methodically destroyed my home. 2 The next day, I planned to go to my office and explain everything to my boss. But before I could even rehearse my speech, I got a call from Dahlia’s school. “Mrs. Dalton, we need you to come to the school immediately.” The principal’s grim tone told me it was serious. When I arrived, I found out that Dahlia had accused me of collecting “inappropriate materials” that were having a “negative impact on her mental and emotional well-being.” The teachers in the office stared at me, their eyes like daggers. I walked up to my daughter, my voice shaking with disbelief. “I’m your mother!” I almost screamed. “Why are you doing this to me? What inappropriate materials? Show them to me!” Dahlia’s expression was unnervingly calm. She reached into her backpack and pulled out my old physiology textbook from when I was studying for my medical license, along with a few copies of a women’s magazine I liked. The textbook had been on my desk for years. The magazines were a guilty pleasure, a bit of nostalgia. She flipped through the textbook to the chapter on the reproductive system, the pages filled with detailed anatomical diagrams. She handed it to the school administrators, her voice ringing with the authority of a prosecutor. “Mom, can you honestly say this is a normal book? It has explicit drawings of private body parts.” The administrators, despite their education, flushed with embarrassment. She wasn’t done. She opened the magazines. I had to admit, the headlines were a bit sensationalized, but I kept them tucked away, out of sight. Dahlia, like a triumphant rooster, continued to list my crimes. “Mom, because of your promiscuous lifestyle, I’ve decided to post your professional license and your ID online. As a warning to others.” The school administrators tried to intervene. “Dahlia, I’m sure your mother didn’t mean any harm.” “She knows she was wrong now. Let’s just let it go, okay? Let her go home and reflect.” “Mrs. Dalton, what do you say? We can just forget about posting your information online.” Until now, the humiliation had been mostly anonymous. The pictures she’d posted were blurry, and not everyone was terminally online. But this… posting my official documents, my professional license, my ID… it would be social suicide. Every parent at her school, everyone at my job… they would all know. It would be like walking around naked. Before I could answer, my phone rang. It was my niece. “Auntie, why is Dahlia at my office? She’s demanding they fire me!” The world went black for a second. My niece had just passed her probationary period at her new government job. “How did you even find your cousin’s office?” I demanded. Dahlia sneered. “Last month, I saw her holding hands with a man on the street. It was disgusting. A person like that has no place working in public service.” I was shaking with rage. My niece was a grown woman. It was perfectly normal for her to be dating. “Dahlia, your cousin is in a perfectly normal relationship! Holding hands is not a crime!” I shouted. “You’re going to ruin her life!” She just tilted her head back. “Improper conduct is a serious matter. I don’t care what she does, but if I see it, I will report it. I have zero tolerance for immorality.” I was so angry I could barely breathe. I had to spend the rest of the day smoothing things over with my niece’s boss, promising it would never happen again. After that incident, my brother and his wife cut off all contact with us. 3 My information went up on all the major websites anyway. My clearest photos, my full name, my elementary school, my high school, my place of work, even my department. My address was posted, too. I was put on a digital pillory. My every move was documented and dissected. The word “slut” was permanently attached to my name. My office quickly found out. The online rumors spread like wildfire, each new version more exaggerated than the last. Tabloid reporters and clout-chasers camped outside my house. My phone was inundated with obscene text messages. “Hey beautiful, how much for a night? Can I book you for tonight?” And calls, from a rotating cast of blocked numbers. “I sent you a text, you bitch! Stop playing hard to get! How much? I’ve got the money!” I would scream at them to leave me alone, throwing my phone across the room, but I could still hear their jeers. “What a whore! Pretending to be all high and mighty. Her own daughter said she sells her body!” I was too afraid to look at my phone, too afraid to go online. I became a prisoner in my own home. I tried to talk to her, to reason with her. “Dahlia, I’m not seeing anyone. It was late, I couldn’t get a cab, and Uncle Mark gave me a ride.” She turned to look at me, her eyes like poisoned darts. “Hmph. I’d rather you didn’t come home at all than have a man bring you. You say you were working late. But who knows what you were really doing.” Her insinuation hung in the air, thick and venomous. My voice trembled with rage. “What was I doing, Dahlia?” Faced with my hysteria, her expression remained chillingly calm. “You don’t have to ask me. You know what you did.” I took a deep breath, trying to quell the fire in my chest. She was still my daughter. Deep down, I still loved her. I pulled out our old family photo album. A happy, loving family. A sweet, adorable Dahlia. I never could have imagined she would turn into this. Back then, Mark hadn’t yet taken on this deep-cover case. Three years ago, he had to change his name, his entire identity, for this international operation. Her father was her hero, the person she admired most in the world. I tried to appeal to that love. “Dahlia, look. Look how happy we were. Your dad should be back next year. The first thing we’ll do is take a new family photo.” She snatched the photo from my hand, took a pair of scissors, and cut my image out of it. She carefully placed the picture of just her and her father back in the album and gently wiped it with a soft cloth. She gave me a cold look, her voice low but sharp as a razor. “You don’t deserve to talk about him.” 4 To be spoken to with such venom by the child I had nurtured and loved… it was like being flayed alive. She continued, her voice flat, her words designed to inflict maximum pain. “Mom, Dad would be so disappointed to see you like this.” “Dad is a hero. It’s been 223 days since he left. When he comes back, we’ll never be apart again. As for you… you can go wherever you want. I feel dirty just being near someone with your loose morals.” Before he took this case, our life was sweet. Mark doted on Dahlia, treated her like a princess. She was always the proudest kid in her class because her dad was a cop. But when duty called, he didn’t hesitate. Dahlia cried for three days and three nights when he left. But because of the sensitive nature of his mission, we couldn’t tell her the truth. The people he was after were ruthless. If his cover was blown, our entire family would be in mortal danger. Because we couldn’t explain why he left, Dahlia jumped to her own conclusion: that our marriage was falling apart. She had asked me countless times. “Mom, are you having an affair? Is that why Dad left?” And every time, I would give her the same answer. “Dad is on a very important assignment. He’ll be back as soon as he’s done.” She was skeptical, but she would count the days, waiting for his return. But the case was complex, with international ties, and the timeline kept getting extended. Dahlia stopped believing me. She became convinced that I had cheated on him, that I had driven him away. Looking at her familiar yet alien face, my heart sank. I demanded that she take down all the posts about me. She didn’t argue, and for a moment, I thought I had gotten through to her, that her conscience had finally kicked in. The next day, I realized how wrong I was. The situation was infinitely worse. They had doxxed Mark. It was his undercover name, but it was still him. The post was vile. [Undercover agent Mark Dalton caught in late-night tryst with married woman. This is a disgrace to the force. We demand an official explanation.] They had tagged the local government’s official account. And they had included a picture of him, a clear shot of his profile. The moment I saw it, my blood ran cold. The whole reason he had changed his name was because he had made too many enemies in his line of work. Exposing him like this was a death sentence. I ran to find my daughter. “Take that post down! Right now! Take it down!” A smirk played on her lips. “What’s the matter? Worried about your lover? You two were on a late-night date. If I won’t tolerate it from you, what makes you think I’ll let him get away with it?” Every minute that post was up, his life was in more danger. People in the comments were already trying to dig up more information on him. My voice was shaking. “Do whatever you want to me! I won’t fight you! Just please, take down the post about Mark! I’m begging you!” She just laughed. “Still denying it? You did something disgusting, just admit it! Here’s the deal: you post a public statement online confessing that you’re a whore, that you cheated on Dad and drove him away, and that you’re sorry. Post it for three days straight. Then, maybe I’ll consider your request.” Tears streamed down my face, my heart twisting in agony. But for Mark’s sake, I did as she asked. After that, my life was completely ruined. I couldn’t take public transport. Going to the grocery store became an ordeal. My job had already sent me a termination letter. I was a puppet, trapped in my bedroom. But when I thought of Mark, it felt worth it. His case was at a critical juncture. We couldn’t afford any mistakes. I had asked him before if we should just tell Dahlia the truth, but he had insisted it was too dangerous. He said that as soon as the case was closed and the criminals were behind bars, we would explain everything to her, and she would understand. I realize now how naive we were to have faith in her. One day, I was scrolling through the news and saw it. Dahlia had taken down the online post. But she had printed it out as a flyer and was handing it out to people on the street. The moment I saw it, I ran out of the house to stop her. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic prayer repeating in my head: Please let him be okay. Please let him be okay. When I found her, she was as defiant as ever, methodically handing out the last of her flyers. A small crowd had gathered, curiously reading the papers in their hands. A few had been dropped, scattered by the wind. The scene drove me mad. “Stop it! Dahlia, stop!” But she ignored me, launching into a detailed account of my “crimes” for the curious onlookers. I didn’t care anymore. I lunged forward, trying to snatch the flyers from her hand. We grappled, a messy, undignified scuffle. She grabbed my hair, pulling hard, refusing to let go. I don’t know how long we fought before my phone rang. It was Mark’s unit. My worst fear had come true. My hand was trembling so hard I could barely answer the phone. It felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. “Ma’am, it’s about Agent Dalton. There’s been an incident.” I was too late.

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My childhood best friend accidentally discovered my secret: I’m intersex. Panicked, I threatened him: “Don’t tell anyone!” His Adam’s apple bobbed slightly. “Then let me see it, and I’ll keep your secret.” “Deal?” 01 Playing League of Legends late at night, I was on a ten-game winning streak. Feeling cocky, I immediately sent a screenshot of my match history to my childhood friend, Carter Hayes. [Hehe, look at me go. Am I awesome or what?] I expected a couple of “You’re a beast” compliments, but Carter replied with something baffling. [?] [Let me see.] I was confused. See what? Didn’t I just send the screenshot? Before I could react, a FaceTime call popped up. I answered blankly. Carter’s handsome face appeared on the screen. He must have just showered; his hair was wet and messy, and his dark eyes were staring straight at me through the screen. I tilted my head. “It’s late. Why are you video calling?” “Didn’t you say ‘look at me’?” “I sent you the screenshot, are you blind—” Suddenly, I paused. I realized what this jerk was implying. Damn it… “Carter, do you have no shame?” “If the girls chasing you knew you were this much of a perv behind the scenes, they’d regret ever liking you.” I laughed and cursed at him. Carter didn’t get angry. A hint of a smile appeared on his usually cold face. “You asked me to look, so naturally, I have to support you.” “Besides, we’re both guys. What’s the harm in looking?” Then, his gaze turned profound. “Ezra, unless you have a secret in your pants you don’t want me to know about?” 02 My expression froze for a second, then quickly returned to my lazy demeanor. “Secret my ass.” “I’m mainly afraid you’ll feel inferior after seeing it.” Carter looked enlightened. “So that’s why you never went to the bathroom with me at school, never showered together after gym, and haven’t slept over at my place in ages? All to protect my fragile ego?” I gave him a thumbs up. “Congratulations on learning to deduce. Good boy, now go to sleep.” I don’t know which word amused him, but Carter rolled over in bed. The lighting cast shadows on his handsome face, making him look incredibly good. He continued to stare at me, his tone indulgent. “Ezra, you’re fierce as hell.” “Bullshit, how am I fierce?” “Always bristling like a cat.” “Hey, I’m not a cat.” I retorted grumpily, chatting nonsense with him. My mood soared for no reason. Just before hanging up, I remembered what our friend Big Mike said during the game. “Carter, Big Mike wants to organize a trip to a hot spring resort for a couple of days before the holidays. You in?” “If you go, I go.” “Okay, I’ll tell him.” “What about sleeping arrangements? You sharing a bed with me?” Carter asked casually. My eyelid twitched violently. I feigned disgust. “There are plenty of rooms at the resort. Why do you have to stick to me? Sleep by yourself.” “What if there aren’t enough rooms?” I hedged. “Not enough… we’ll cross that bridge when we get there. How could a huge resort run out of rooms?” The repeated rejections made Carter’s expression cool down a bit. He became somewhat distant and imposing. This was his normal state in front of outsiders. But having grown up with him, I knew instantly I had upset him. Usually, when we joked around, he didn’t care, even indulging me. But when he was really angry, just one look from him made me cower. “Fine, fine. We’ll sleep together if we have to. Don’t be like that.” He didn’t accept it, asking coolly: “Ezra, did I offend you somehow?” “No, it’s… it’s my own issue.” “What issue? I always feel like you’re hiding something from me, and this secret is keeping you distant.” My heart jumped. I forced down my panic and lied. “Don’t overthink it.” “We’re grown up now. We can’t be glued together like when we were kids. Two guys acting like that is weird.” “If anyone’s clinging, it should be a girlfriend.” “…” Carter looked expressionlessly at my guilty face through the screen. His eyes held a scrutinizing look. As if he could see through my secret. Cold sweat trickled down my back. But a moment later, he returned to normal. “Mm, got it. Go to sleep early.” He hung up. I didn’t know if he believed me or not. Clutching my phone, I collapsed on the bed, staring blankly. After a long while, I sat up and pulled open my pajama pants. Looking down, my eyes filled with disgust and helplessness. Because there was something there that didn’t belong on a man. It was pink, pretty, but deformed. 03 Since I can remember, my parents always felt guilty toward me. I didn’t understand when I was little, but gradually I understood. Because I was like Carter, but also not. He was a normal boy, and I was a freak. I possessed female parts. I started to hide this secret carefully. In school, I used germaphobia as an excuse to avoid using public restrooms or showering with others. Even in college, I never went to public bathhouses. I acted like a normal guy with my bros, arms around shoulders, but I never dared to play childish games like comparing sizes. Living in fear every day. I dared not let anyone know except my parents and doctors. Especially Carter. He was great. Cold personality, brilliant, just his face alone made him the center of envy. He was also my best bro, childhood friend, neighbor. When I was silently sad because of this deformity, he comforted me without knowing why. When I was bullied as a kid because my growth was delayed due to this condition, he fought for me. But I never dared to tell him why I was sad. I was afraid that if Carter knew, he would look at me with disgust and distance himself. Even more afraid he would tell others, ruining my reputation forever. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him; I just didn’t dare to gamble. So I deliberately avoided him. But now my avoidance made him angry. Damn. Is it worth giving me attitude just because I won’t sleep in the same bed? Annoying. He’s so annoying. I rubbed my face against the pillow glumly. After a while, I DM’d Big Mike and told him to book a room with two double beds for me and Carter. No choice. Just have to sleep. I’ll just wear two layers of underwear and pajama pants. That way, I can maintain our relationship without exposing my secret. Three layers of protection. Maximum security. Unless Carter has X-ray vision. 04 On the day of the hot spring trip, Carter naturally found out at the front desk that we were sharing a room. He looked at me with some surprise. Raised an eyebrow. “Not disgusted by me anymore?” I scoffed. “Barely tolerating you.” Carter smiled. It looked really good. The cold war of the past few days officially ended. We went back to bantering. But I wasn’t stupid enough to completely let my guard down. Back in the room, I needed to change into a bathrobe for the hot springs. I avoided Carter and went to the bathroom. After taking off my pants, I didn’t dare look down. Blushing, I put on two pairs of underwear first. Uncomfortable, but it added a layer of protection. After checking carefully to ensure nothing showed, I opened the bathroom door. Only to be startled by Carter standing right outside. I didn’t know how long he’d been standing there, silent. Seeing me come out, he looked me up and down. Remembering the bathroom door was frosted glass, my heart jumped. Did he… see anything? But I kept calm on the surface. “Playing doorman?” “Wanted to use the bathroom, but you were in there forever.” Carter’s gaze landed on my face, voice flat. “Ezra, do you despise me even when changing clothes?” Great, he’s being dramatic again. I explained hopelessly: “Nothing like that. Didn’t I agree to share a room tonight?” “If that’s not enough, want to share a blanket tonight?” He nodded instantly. “Sure.” “?” I tried to salvage it. “I was joking, bro.” Carter’s eyes were dark. “I took it seriously.” “…” I wanted to slap my big mouth. Doomed. Looks like I need to wear another pair of boxers tonight.

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After chasing Julian Blackwood for ten years, I finally got tired. I gave up on him and got together with Asher Vance, who liked me. Asher set off fireworks all night across the city and bought a private island to propose to me. But on the eve of our wedding, he disappeared. When I found him, I heard him sneer to his friends: “I only chased Harper to spite Julian.” “Now that I have her, it’s actually pretty boring.” “But I’m not satisfied yet. So, wouldn’t it be fun to leave her at the altar and humiliate her?” So, I ran away first, making him the laughingstock of the city. Later, I heard that the proud heir of the Vance family turned New York upside down, but couldn’t find his missing bride. 01 A month before the wedding, Asher Vance disappeared. I searched the entire city but couldn’t find him. On the seventh day of his disappearance, I received news that he was in Miami. I flew there overnight. On a yacht, I finally saw him. Just as I was about to knock on the door, I heard his sneer: “I only chased Harper to spite Julian.” “Now that I have her, it’s actually pretty boring.” I stopped in my tracks. He didn’t sound drunk; on the contrary, he sounded very sober. So, very cruel words came out of his mouth: “And after tasting her, I realized she’s quite dull.” Ambiguous laughter erupted around him. “As expected of Lord Vance, taking down the Ice Queen.” Asher seemed to enjoy this compliment and continued: “Don’t look at how desperate she was chasing Julian before, she’s actually frustratingly pure. It’s a pity…” “Pity what?” Asher slowly exhaled a puff of smoke: “Pity that although I was her first man, I wasn’t the first man she loved.” “She loved Julian for ten years. Who knows if she’s cleared her heart out yet?” “If it weren’t for my deadly rivalry with Julian, thinking of chasing Harper to disgust him, I wouldn’t bother playing the role of the silently guarding devoted man.” Someone teased: “You’ve been dating for three years now. Why is Lord Vance getting sentimental?” Asher looked annoyed, his voice cold: “Just because I chased her for so long, I feel unsatisfied.” Someone in the crowd continued: “I heard she’s looking for you everywhere, going crazy. You’ve been gone for so many days, is it okay?” Asher took a drag of his cigarette, exhaling smoke with a scoff: “Running away at the altar to embarrass her, wouldn’t that be fun?” I saw no guilt, pity, or love in his expression. Only the satisfaction of revenge. Only the feeling of finally reaching this day. My fingernails dug into my palms, my heart felt like it was being pricked by needles, suffocatingly painful. I always thought Asher was my salvation and my destination. I only agreed to him after ensuring my feelings were not just gratitude, but like. That day, he was so happy he set off fireworks across the city. After three years together, he bought an island in my name to propose, filling the sky with sky lanterns. I thought this was love, romance. I didn’t expect it to be a play he put on to take revenge on Julian. So, those ten years of deep affection and help, were they all an act? 02 In a trance, I recalled some past events. At twelve, I was brought back to the Sutton family from a small southern town, uneasy, inferior, and timid. Back then, Julian only blocked bullying for me once, and I fell hopelessly in love with him. I chased him until everyone knew. But he was disgusted with me to the extreme. Later, I finally found it utterly meaningless, and I gave up on him. I saw Asher, who had been silently guarding me. That night, it was raining heavily, and he held an umbrella for me the whole time. He said: “Harper, I don’t ask you to see me. I only ask that you be free and follow your heart from now on.” How ridiculous. I swept my heart clean to welcome Asher’s arrival. When I fell step by step into his tenderness. When I started fantasizing about a sweet future with him. I didn’t expect to give him a chance to execute a lingering death on my heart. Cut by cut. Blood dripping. My nose stung, and uncontrollable pain filled my eyes. A tear fell, quickly wiped away by me. The voices inside continued, all giving him ideas: “To take revenge on a woman, naturally, you should make her fall from the height of happiness into the abyss. Isn’t that more interesting?” “Right, so Lord Vance, you should go back. Go back and accompany her to choose wedding dresses, send out invitations together. Act like nothing happened, then on the wedding day, leave her alone in humiliation. I bet Harper will go crazy.” All disgusting laughter. I suppressed the nausea, waiting for Asher’s reply. How I wanted to hear him say, “Stop joking, I love Harper.” Or, “That’s going too far for a girl.” But after a long silence. I heard Asher agree in a deep voice: “Mm, that’s a good idea. Let’s do that.” Boundless anger crushed me, almost suffocating me. I forced a pale smile, but tears fell recklessly. Asher, you want to play, right? Then I’ll play along. I also really want to see your expression on the wedding day when you find out I ran away. 03 I erased the traces of my trip to Miami and returned to the apartment I shared with Asher. I took out the gifts he gave me over the years and destroyed them one by one. Strange. I wasn’t thinking about anything, so why were there so many tears? I once heard a saying. Heartbreak is like rheumatism; on sunny days, it’s fine. But on rainy nights, it hurts to the bone. Maybe this is just my withdrawal reaction. I got up and laid the custom-made wedding dress flat on the floor. Expressionless, I used scissors to make a tear. I needed to remind myself. Feelings are like this. Once there is a crack, no matter how you mend it, it can never go back to the beginning. After cleaning everything up, I put these things in the study, which Asher rarely entered. Lying in bed sleepless, scrolling through short videos, I saw a push notification from someone I might know. The name was [The One Who Loves Ah-Yan]. Like a ghost possessing me, I clicked in. It was a record of a girl’s secret crush on a man. The latest one, her location was in Miami. Caption: [The man I’ve liked for ten years is getting married next month. I want to summon the courage to confess. Cheer for me.] In her picture, I saw a familiar hand. Wearing a wedding ring on the ring finger. That was Asher. 04 I didn’t wait for news from Asher, but received a call from Julian. “Guess who I met in Miami?” “Julian, I’m not in the mood. Stop changing numbers to call me.” Just as I was about to hang up, I heard the suppressed gloating in his voice: “Harper, why do you think Asher disappeared for so long? Don’t you know? He doesn’t want to marry you. He minds that you chased me.” “He only approached you to take revenge on me. He’s not worth entrusting your life to.” “What exactly are you trying to say?” I was getting impatient. “Harper, at least besides you liking me for ten years, there haven’t been other girls around me…” I sat up, raising my voice: “Julian, you’re doing this on purpose, right?” “Five years have passed, and you’re still so keen on sowing discord between him and me.” “But let me tell you, no matter what, this is my choice. I accept the bet and the loss, and I will never turn back.” Julian was silent for a moment, answering irrelevantly: “I sent you something. You’ll be interested.” After hanging up, I received a video. Under dim lights, a girl and Asher stood face to face. He exhaled a smoke ring, his expression as lazy as ever. Amidst cheers, the girl stood on tiptoe and kissed his lips. And he did not dodge. The video ended there. I opened the girl’s social media account. The status had been updated: [How can this not count as success?] The picture was of the two kissing. I felt nauseous, ran to the bathroom, and hugged the toilet, retching for a long time. Only then did I remember I hadn’t eaten all day. What could I throw up? At this moment, my stomach cramped with pain. I forced myself to sleep on the bed, curled up in a ball. Suddenly, I remembered when I first started dating Asher, I wanted to see the stars from the mountain top at midnight. He didn’t ask a single question, indulging my little whim, driving me to the mountain top overnight. In the cool midnight air, he held me gently, his warmth transferring to me. He leaned down and asked carefully: “The moonlight is so beautiful, Harper, can I kiss you?” We can never go back. Sleeping groggily until midnight, I heard movement in the living room. Cold sweat broke out, and I had no strength to get up. The next second, the bedroom light turned on. The blinding light made it impossible to open my eyes. I heard Asher’s anxious voice: “Harper, what’s wrong?”

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The nursing home called. They said my father had checked in. I instinctively replied, “You have the wrong number. My father, George Stone, passed away three years ago.” I heard the rustle of papers on the other end. “The intake form lists George Stone, age sixty-five, a recipient of the eminent domain buyout, and his daughter, Harper Stone. This is your cell number.” The hand holding my phone started to tremble. My father was George Stone, and I was Harper Stone. And yes, our dilapidated family home had recently been condemned by the city, qualifying us for a substantial seven-figure buyout. Every single detail was correct. But my father’s urn was sitting on the memorial mantel in my living room. How could he possibly be in a nursing home? “You must have made a mistake. My father died of a heart attack three years ago. His ashes are right here.” A two-second silence. More paper rustling. “Ms. Stone, I’ll verify your information. You are Harper Stone, you work at Deloitte, correct?” “Yes,” I said, frowning. “And your family property was recently approved for the East District Buyout, is that right?” A chill ran down my spine. How did this person know such specific information? “Yes, but my father truly…” The voice cut me off. “Then I suggest you come down immediately. Your father isn’t doing well. He keeps crying out for his daughter.” Then the line went dead. I stared blankly at my cell phone, my heart pounding with a sudden, inexplicable dread. Half an hour later, I pulled up to the Green Meadows Assisted Living Facility. The moment I pushed open the reception room door, I saw a frail, silver-haired man sitting on the small sofa. He was a roadmap of wrinkles, but his eyes lit up the instant he saw me. “Harper!” The old man jumped up, arms wide, ready to hug me. I took a reflexive step back. I had never seen this face before. “Who are you?” I asked, my voice tight with suspicion. Just as the words left my mouth, someone darted out from the side. Smack! A stinging blow across my face sent me stumbling backward. Half my face felt instantly hot and swollen. “You have the nerve to show up now!” The man who hit me was my younger brother, Leo Stone. He was wearing a filthy, crumpled t-shirt, his hair was greasy, and his eyes were bloodshot. “Leo, are you insane?” I gripped my cheek. “Insane? You dumped Dad here three months ago and never looked back! You left me—your poor brother working an honest job—to be hounded by collection calls every damn day! Who’s insane?” He jabbed a finger inches from my face, spittle flying onto my skin. I suppressed my rising fury and turned to the woman behind the desk, the facility manager. “Ma’am, please show me the intake form.” The manager impassively pushed a clipboard toward me. The form clearly read: George Stone, Male, 65, Buyout Recipient. Emergency Contact: Harper Stone. A photocopy of a driver’s license was clipped to the form. I picked it up. The photo was an exact match for the old man sitting on the sofa. But my father was supposed to be three years… “How long are you going to keep up the act, Sis?” Leo smirked, pulling out his cell phone. He shoved a photo into my face. “This is you, three months ago, on the security footage, dropping him off. Still going to deny it?” In the picture, a woman in a sharp professional suit was helping an elderly man through the facility’s front doors. The clothes, the build—it looked disturbingly like me. “That’s not me,” I ground out. “It’s not you?” The old man, the imposter, spoke up, his voice a raspy whisper. “Then tell me, was our old house on Maple Street, Apt 3B?” I froze. “When you were ten, you broke your leg, and I carried you to the clinic. The doctor said you needed a cast, and you cried so hard the whole hospital could hear you.” As the old man spoke, his eyes welled up with tears. My head swam. Those were details only my father would know. The man’s trembling hand reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, embroidered handkerchief with a clumsy, off-center ‘G’ stitched into the corner. “You gave me this for my tenth birthday. I’ve carried it ever since.” I stared at the stitching. It was unmistakably my work from childhood. But… “Enough of this reunion! Pay the bill!” Leo shoved me hard. The other residents’ families gathered, watching and pointing. “These young people today, they think their parents are an embarrassment. Denying your own father.” “Look at her. Dressed like a queen, heart black as pitch.” A large woman rushed toward me and gave me a violent push. “An ungrateful viper like you deserves the worst!” Caught off balance, I fell, my knee striking the chair leg with a sickening thud. Leo didn’t help me up. Instead, he pulled out his phone and started filming. “Look everyone! This is my sister! She dumped her own father in a facility, ignored him for months, and now she’s pretending she has amnesia! I’m putting this video online to expose her!” I lay on the floor, my knee throbbing. I looked up at the stranger dabbing his eyes. But my father’s urn was on the mantelpiece. What in God’s name was happening? I gripped the chair and hauled myself up. I fumbled for my own phone and pulled up the photos from the funeral three years ago. “Look closely! This is a photo from his wake. I have the cremation certificate. This man is not…” Before I could finish, Leo lunged, snatching my phone. Crash! He slammed it onto the floor. The screen instantly shattered and went black. “You evil witch! You’re actually fabricating evidence that Dad is dead? Have you lost your mind trying to hoard the Buyout money?” Leo’s scream vibrated in my eardrums. The old man buried his face in his hands, his shoulders convulsing with sobs. “Harper, what did I ever do to deserve this? To be cursed by my own daughter…” “I’m not cursing you!” I pleaded. Leo suddenly tore open his t-shirt, revealing a network of old scars and calluses. He dropped to his knees in front of the old man. “Dad! Look how your sister treats us!” He wailed, tears and snot smearing his face. “She’s been an ungrateful viper since childhood! I’ve been hauling concrete and working construction to send money home, and look at my hands—they’re raw!” “She sits in her air-conditioned office collecting a six-figure salary, and now she wants to kill you off just to steal your money!” The onlookers gasped. “That woman is cold-blooded.” “Hurting her own father? She’s not human.” The manager tapped her desk. “Ms. Stone, please be mindful of your behavior. Your father is clearly distressed.” A middle-aged woman in a caregiver uniform hurried over, leaning in to whisper. “Ms. Stone, I’m Donna, the lead nurse. When the resident first arrived, he was disoriented, kept saying he wasn’t George Stone. He’s only stabilized recently. I suspect he has advanced dementia…” “Shut the hell up!” Leo leaped to his feet, jabbing a finger in Donna’s face. “You cheap hired help! Don’t you dare spew your medical garbage! I’ll get you fired!” Donna paled and backed away, silenced. I stared at the old man, my mind racing. “Then answer this: What was my mother’s name?” The old man froze, his eyes darting away. He stammered, his lips moving soundlessly. “Eleanor!” Leo jumped in. “Eleanor Stone! What kind of daughter doesn’t know her own mother’s name?” “My mother’s name was Eleanor. But we called her Ellie,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “Eleanor Lee Stone.” Leo didn’t flinch. “Lee was her maiden name! Ellie was her family nickname! You’ve forgotten your own mother’s name, you traitor! I think you’re the imposter!” He grew louder, spitting his accusations. “You hated us because we were poor. You left for college and never came home. Mom cried your name until the day she died, and you didn’t come back! And now you want to pretend to be the dutiful daughter?” The crowd murmured in agreement. “Too educated for her own good. Disowned her whole family.” “She needs to be on the news.” I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. The manager stood up, her face grim. “Ms. Stone, your father has an outstanding balance of eight thousand dollars. Please settle it immediately, or we will have to call the police for abandonment.” “That’s right! Pay up!” Leo lunged, grabbing a handful of my hair from behind. “Ah!” The agonizing pain from my scalp made me gasp. He started slamming my head against the wall. Thud! Warm liquid trickled down my forehead. “Pay up! You bloodsucker! This is Dad’s life savings, and you’re trying to hoard it! I’ll kill you today!” Leo continued to slam my head. It felt like my skull was splitting open. “Hit her harder! That’s what an ungrateful daughter deserves!” “Teach her a lesson!” I could hear people cheering him on. My vision blurred; all I saw was red. I heard Leo’s curses, the crowd’s jeers, and the old man’s sobbing. Then, I laughed. “What are you laughing at, you psychopath!” Leo released me. I crumpled to the floor. The old man, Victor, pulled a worn photograph from his jacket and handed it to the manager. “This is our family portrait. Harper was only five…” The manager took the photo. I looked up. It was a shot of a young couple standing in front of a carousel at an amusement park. The mother was holding a little girl in pigtails. That little girl was me. I remembered that trip—it was for my fifth birthday. The date handwritten on the back read: June 15th, 1990. My birthday. But the man in the photo… I shot to my feet and snatched the picture. The angle was natural, and the lighting suggested it hadn’t been digitally altered. “See? Iron-clad proof!” The manager’s expression hardened. “Ms. Stone, the photo proves you are avoiding your responsibility. I am calling the police right now to report elder abandonment.” The surrounding families pulled out their phones, snapping pictures of me. “Take her photo! Put her on blast!” “She has to be exposed!” Leo grabbed the picture back, holding it aloft triumphantly. “You see this? This is my sister! She thinks she can get away with not paying a penny!” He spun toward the crowd, his voice shrieking to a fever pitch. “I’m telling you! My father is sitting on a $750,000 buyout fund! My sister wants to hog every cent, she’s a snake!” “$750,000?” The crowd gasped. “No wonder she’s pretending he’s dead!” “Betraying family for money. She’s toxic.” A man in a suit pushed through the crowd, flashing a badge. “I’m a city mediator. I received a call from the facility.” He looked at the photo, then at me. “Ms. Stone, the evidence is overwhelming. You need to fulfill your duty of care, pay the balance, and sign a commitment agreement. Let’s resolve this now.” I wiped the blood from my face, my eyes fixed on the photo. The “father” in the picture had his left hand resting on the “mother’s” shoulder. On his left ring finger, there was a small, dark mole. I closed my eyes, recalling the hand of my real father. There was no mole. There was a scar—a jagged, white line from a construction accident when he was young. I opened my eyes, a slow, cold smile touching my lips. “Fine. I concede.” Leo stared at me. “What did you say?” “I said I concede. This is my father.” I reached into my purse and pulled out my wallet, extracting a credit card. Just then, Leo slammed an arm around my neck from behind. “Don’t you dare try anything! You’re not leaving until that money is paid!” His knee ground into my lower back, choking the air from my lungs. The mediator frowned. “This is a family matter. Keep your hands off her.” He turned his back. My face was turning purple, and my vision dimmed. I clawed at Leo’s arm, finally prying his grip open, gasping for air. “I said I concede.” I braced myself against the wall, straightening my suit. I looked at the old man. “However, my father, this George Stone, is mentally ill.” The old man’s face changed instantly. I pulled out my cell phone—the old, broken one—and searched for a page on advanced dementia symptoms. “Look, everyone. Memory loss, cognitive impairment, emotional instability. He fits every criteria.” I read the symptoms out loud, one by one. “He initially claimed he wasn’t George Stone. That’s a classic case of identity recognition failure—mid-stage Alzheimer’s.” Nurse Donna’s eyes widened. She nodded frantically. “Yes! That’s exactly how he was when he arrived!” “Furthermore, he exhibits violent tendencies. He was extremely agitated just now. If his condition deteriorates, he could seriously harm the other elderly residents.” The facility manager’s face went pale. I looked at all the horrified faces. I spoke slowly, distinctly: “As his daughter, I must be responsible for him, and for the safety of everyone else in this facility.” “I am sending him to the state psychiatric hospital for a mandatory hold.” The room went dead silent. The old man collapsed back onto the sofa, his face a sheet of white. “No, please don’t…” “You’ve gone mad!” Leo roared, lunging toward me. “You evil bitch! You want to lock Dad up in a lunatic asylum? Over my dead body!” He rushed to the mediator. “Aren’t you going to do something? This is elder abuse!” The mediator looked uncomfortable. “Ms. Stone, I don’t think that’s appropriate…” “Why not?” I pulled out the working cell phone from my jacket pocket—a backup—and dialed the city psychiatric intake line. “Hello, I need to arrange for the immediate transfer of an elderly patient with Alzheimer’s. He has displayed violent behavior and requires a mandatory psychiatric hold.”

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The campus heartthrob said his chest was feeling tight. I reached out and touched it. Felt pretty good to me. The next second, he froze and started screaming that I was a pervert. I rushed up and ripped his jacket open in one go. “Son of a b*tch, weren’t you the one trying to seduce me? “Talking about your chest hurting… “Some ‘innocent’ heartthrob. I bet you’ve been community property for a long time!” 1 “Don’t touch me!” Caleb shoved me away with all his might. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to cover his thin black tank top. His bony shoulders trembled like butterfly wings, and the teardrops on his eyelashes glistened under the streetlights. A few goth girls on loud motorcycles roared past. Seeing Caleb, they immediately slammed on the brakes and whistled. “Damn, Daddy! He’s fresh! “Look at that Adam’s apple! Can’t even hide it! “How much for a night? Is five hundred enough? Speak up, pretty boy!” Caleb trembled all over. I watched him with interest. The moment the girls got off their bikes, Caleb finally broke. He gripped the hem of my shirt and begged, “Help me.” I smiled. “I can help, but everything has a price.” He bit his lip, silent. I reminded him, “Make up your mind. Is it going to be just me, or four of them?” He closed his eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks. “One. I only want you…” Hearing that, I stepped forward, blocking him from view, and glared coldly at the punks. “Can’t you see I’m disciplining my man? “Even if he’s loose, he’s mine. What are you barking at?” The leader of the pack stopped smiling. “Is this really your man? “Sister, you aren’t trying to eat alone, are you? That’s not very sisterly. “If you can’t handle him, we can play together. We’ll chip in.” Caleb pinched my shirt harder. I stopped smiling, pulled out a switchblade, and twirled it in my hand. “Do you not speak human?” The girls jumped back, scared. The leader recovered and shouted in anger: “Fine, whatever! Why pull a knife? “Damn sissy behavior. Can’t fight with fists so you use a blade? You’re an embarrassment to women everywhere!” She spat on the ground and left, cursing under her breath. 2 The street returned to silence, the evening wind rustling the autumn leaves. The adrenaline sobered me up. Caleb went limp, leaning against the wall, head down, weeping. His clothes were disheveled, looking like he’d been ravaged. His chest muscles had red friction marks that rose and fell with his breathing. If he hadn’t met a gentlewoman like me, he really would have been taken right there. I tsked and threw my jacket over him. He stunned, then put it on. “You just…” “I drank too much. Don’t take it to heart.” He lowered his lashes and murmured a response. “So… we’re not doing it?” “Hmm?” He didn’t answer. I didn’t press him, just lit a cigarette and leaned against the wall. After a while. He whispered, “Actually, I can.” Caleb didn’t dare look me in the eye, but his white knuckles betrayed his nervousness. I understood immediately. It was the price for saving him. I laughed. Men are so dramatic. Just a moment ago he was acting like a martyr, now he’s throwing himself at me. Lucky for him, I wanted to play too. I raised an eyebrow. “Boy, you won’t regret this?” He nodded. I chuckled and pointed to the motel down the street. “Follow me.” His face flushed red instantly. He closed his eyes, accepting his fate. 3 I have to say, college boys hit different. Over the years, plenty of men have thrown themselves at me, but Caleb was definitely the most innocent and tender. He was thin-skinned; the slightest touch turned him pink. His youthful, tight chest muscles trembled occasionally, and his low whimpers were like the strongest wine. It was the most satisfying night I’d had in years. Afterward, I ordered him a Plan B pill via a delivery app. His face turned pale as he looked at me weakly. “Do I have to take it? “I want to keep it… can I?” I tapped the ash off my cigarette and looked at him calmly. In that moment, I knew he had fallen in love with me. Men’s love is so inexplicable. I was the one who put him in that dangerous situation to begin with, yet he only remembered that I saved him. Too bad. Too bad I’m not some knight in shining armor or a ‘good woman.’ I’m a career woman, young and free. Why would I tie myself down to a piece of grass? “You’re a good boy, Caleb. I don’t want to hold you back.” I poured a glass of water and pushed it toward him. He smiled, but it looked painful. “It’s okay. I’m not afraid of being held back.” “But you’re already secondhand goods.” I sneered, glancing down at his body. “Going to a motel with a woman so easily… aren’t you afraid of diseases? “I don’t marry boys who don’t have self-respect.” I ignored his pale face. I dug five bucks out of my pocket for his cab fare and left without looking back. 4 I thought those harsh words would make Caleb give up. But after that day, he started showing up downstairs at my dorm. My roommates were drooling at the window. “Mother of God, look at Caleb’s legs, that chest, that Adam’s apple. He’s stacked.” “Whoever sleeps with him has won at life!” “Why is the Campus Heartthrob wandering around the girls’ dorms every day? Is he looking for a hookup?” “Have you guys noticed? Caleb looks… haughtier. Like he’s been nourished. Do you think he finally lost his v-card?” I was too lazy to listen and went down to the cafeteria. Not long after I sat down, a pair of bouncy pecs pressed against my back. A boy’s bright, youthful voice rang out: “Hey, Jordan! Where have you been lately? Why haven’t you been gaming?” I looked back. It was a junior I was mentoring.

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