Category: English

I have a toxic trait: I love the chase. There’s nothing like the thrill of pursuing someone out of my league to spice up a mundane life. Recently, I’ve been chasing a stoic, ice-cold man. I spent two months throwing myself at him, and he barely gave me the time of day. I was very satisfied. But, like always, I eventually got bored and found a new target. A few days later, the Ice Doctor messaged me first for the once: “You’ve been busy lately?” I was currently at dinner with my new target. I replied: “Oh, absolutely. Work has been crazy, sweetie. I’m still at the office.” Ice Doctor: “At the office?” Me: “Uh-huh.” Ice Doctor: “Then turn around.” 1 My best friend, Chloe, broke her leg, so I went to visit her at a high-end private hospital. We were gossiping in her room when the attending physician walked in. I turned around and froze. The man was tall, impeccable in a pressed white coat, with an air of clinical detachment that screamed “do not touch.” He was explaining post-op care to Chloe, his voice sounding like deep, cool water. Standing to the side, I admired the sharp bridge of his nose, his thick lashes, and his long, surgical fingers flipping through the chart. After he left, I exploded. “Give me your doctor’s number. Now.” Chloe looked at me like I was crazy. “Why?” I kept a straight face. “My contact list is missing a high-maintenance emotional challenge.” She rolled her eyes so hard I thought they’d stick. “Just admit your ‘chaser’ syndrome is acting up again.” Eventually, she forwarded his contact card. I sent a request immediately. His name was Ethan Caldwell. His social media was open, so I scrolled through. It was drier than the Sahara—medical journals, disease research, health tips. Definitely a work account. Hours later, he finally accepted. Me: Hi Dr. Caldwell, I’m Riley, a friend of your patient Chloe. Ethan: Okay. Me: When will she be discharged? Ethan: Day after tomorrow. Me: Thanks for taking such good care of her. Ethan: It’s my job. I hit a wall. His strictly professional attitude left me no opening to start my usual flirting routine. No problem. I needed to establish a physical presence first. For the next two days, under the guise of being a “supportive friend,” I practically lived at the hospital. Hair done, full makeup, outfit on point. Chloe wanted to kick me out. But it worked. When I saw Ethan again, his gaze lingered on me for a solid two seconds before moving away. Delighted, I went back to texting him irrelevant fluff. Finally, Ethan paused typing for a long time. Ethan: Ms. Riley. Me: Here! Ethan: We have patients with respiratory issues on this floor. I suggest you ease up on the perfume. Me: … 2 The day Chloe was discharged, I was devastated. Chloe nearly beat me with her crutches. “Give it up, Riley. I asked the nurses. Ethan comes from old money. He’s out of your league. You can’t land him.” I got even more excited. “That’s the point! If I actually landed him, it wouldn’t be fun anymore.” Chloe was silent for a few seconds. “I will never understand your brain.” I smiled. Sometimes, I didn’t understand it either. After Chloe went home, I continued to “harass” Ethan. Of course, I was a professional. I only bugged him when he wasn’t busy. I’d feign medical ignorance: Dr. Caldwell, my neck has been killing me lately. When are your office hours? He sent a link: Book online. Or I’d comment on his dry articles: Wow, so insightful! You work so hard! Learning so much! He ignored all of it. I suddenly realized a critical issue. I didn’t even know if he was single. This was serious. I decided to ask in person. On Tuesday afternoon, I booked an appointment with Dr. Caldwell. The copay was astronomical, but for the sake of the game, I swiped my card. Soon, a nurse called my name and led me into his office. This was my first time alone with him. From less than six feet away, I could see the tiny mole on his nose and the distinct curve of his pale lips. He looked up. My heart skipped a beat. He gestured for me to sit and asked about my symptoms. After I stuttered through a vague description, he asked follow-up questions. I had never been this nervous. Ethan’s eyes were dark, and when he looked at me professionally, there was a focused tenderness that contrasted sharply with his icy demeanor. My brain short-circuited. I rambled about nonsense. Ethan listened patiently for a long time before giving his verdict: “Riley, physiologically, your neck seems fine. If the discomfort persists, I can refer you to physical therapy.” I snapped out of it and shook my head vigorously. Walking out of the office, I realized I’d forgotten my main question. I turned to go back, but Ethan had already left his office and was walking down the hall. I checked my phone. It was past 5:00 PM. I had kept him late. I ran after him. “Dr. Caldwell.” He turned around. “I feel a little dizzy.” He frowned slightly. “Just now?” “Yeah.” “Go get an MRI first. Once we have the images…” He didn’t finish his sentence. My vision went black, and I hit the floor. I lied to Ethan. I didn’t have neck pain. I had hypoglycemia, and I hadn’t eaten all day. 3 In my haze, I felt someone pick me up. The embrace was solid, safe, and smelled like antiseptic and expensive cologne. A while later, after a nurse hooked me up to an IV, I struggled to open my heavy eyelids. Someone was standing next to the bed. I looked up to see Ethan, frowning deeply. “If you’re hypoglycemic, you need to eat on a schedule.” He dropped that advice and turned to leave. “Ethan.” It was the first time I used his first name. He paused and looked back. I finally remembered my mission. “Are you single?” A trace of impatience flashed in his eyes. “Riley, if you don’t have a medical emergency…” “Are you?” I asked again. Ethan paused for two seconds. “Yes.” He turned to leave again, but I grabbed his sleeve. He looked back, visibly annoyed now. I pretended not to notice. I looked up at him with my most sincere, heart-melting smile. “Then… is it okay if I like you?” After I said it, I saw it clearly. Ethan’s dark, irritated pupils trembled. 4 I violated the first rule of the chase. Rule #1: Be charming, but keep your heart on ice. Never be direct. Ethan’s life was probably rigid and disciplined. He’d likely never met anyone as shamelessly direct as me. One sentence, and I scared him off. Leaving the hospital, I fell into deep regret. I figured I’d probably get blocked on his phone. After hesitating, I sent a risky text: Am I still on your contact list? It actually went through. I tried to unsend it immediately. Ethan replied with an ellipsis: … Ethan: Yes. Me: … Crap, he saw it. Me: Sorry about today. My brain was foggy from the low sugar. I was talking nonsense. He didn’t reply. I scrolled through TikTok for an hour before a notification popped up. Ethan: Okay. Mission failed before it even started. Revealing my hand too early made the rest of the chase incredibly difficult. Over the next few interactions, Ethan basically ignored me. Luckily, I was a veteran chaser. I knew when to retreat. I drastically reduced my frequency and waited for the right moments. A simple “Get some rest” after his night shift, or a “Busy week?” on Sunday night. Once I retreated to a safe, non-aggressive distance, Ethan occasionally replied with a sentence or two. I didn’t push for long conversations. I quit while I was ahead. I had my own life, after all. When I asked “Off work?” and he replied “Yeah,” I knew he didn’t hate my existence anymore. Suddenly, I just wanted to see him. On a slow weekend, I went to the hospital lobby to wait for him to get off work. I didn’t know if I’d actually run into him. But without a strong agenda, I treated it as a vibe check. Whatever happens, happens. Luck was on my side. I saw him. And I witnessed a scene straight out of a soap opera. Ethan had changed into street clothes, but a young woman was blocking his path. I couldn’t hear them from a distance, but I saw Ethan’s furrowed brows and the impatience in his eyes. The same look he gave me that day. Another relentless pursuer, I guessed. As I got closer, I heard them. “Ms. Sanders, personally, I think it would be best if you found another doctor.” “Ethan, I’m not here for a checkup, I…” “Sister,” I walked over and interrupted. “Dr. Caldwell is off the clock. I think he’s done being bothered for the day.” My sudden appearance stunned her. She was young, probably college-aged. She blushed, mumbled an “Okay,” and hurried away. Ethan frowned at me. I wasn’t planning to pester him. I nodded at him, turned around, and walked out the automatic doors. While I was waiting for my Uber on the curb, a black SUV pulled up in front of me. The window rolled down slowly. I raised an eyebrow and walked over, intrigued. “Dr. Caldwell has something to say?” Ethan’s hands were on the steering wheel, eyes fixed straight ahead. His voice was cool. “Riley.” First time he said my name. My heart jumped. “Yeah?” “I don’t like being bothered after work.” I paused. Was he referring to the girl, or me? I looked down and smiled knowingly. “My goal is different from hers.” Ethan turned to look at me. The streetlights cast shadows across his face. His eyes were dark, filled with suspicion and scrutiny. He let out a soft, dismissive scoff. “How is it different?” “I just came to sit. If I see you, great. If not, whatever. I’m not asking for a response. Whether I like you or not is my business. If I’m bothering you, I won’t come around anymore.” The look he gave me was full of confusion. I guess normal people don’t understand my mindset. I smiled again. “Ethan, being liked by me just proves you’re an exceptional guy.” He didn’t respond. I waved. “Get home safe. Bye.”

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Two days after I ran away, Savannah found me outside the hospital. She gripped my wrist so tightly it felt like a cuff, her eyes blazing red. “You ran away because I slapped you once? Are you trying to kill me with worry, Elias?” “How long are you going to keep this up? I’m begging you, just be reasonable—be more like Grant, okay?” This time, I didn’t explain. I didn’t fight back. I simply followed her home, a model of the perfect, compliant little brother. She hated my tantrums, so I never raised my voice again. She accused me of being selfish, so I gave everything I owned to Grant Everett. Savannah thought I was playing a game, a stubborn power struggle to see how long I could keep the act up. But she had no idea. There was no act. I had simply run out of expectation. The day I left home, I went to the ER. That slap—her slap—had ruptured my eardrum, leaving my left ear deaf. It was also the day I unexpectedly found out I had blood cancer. For the rest of the time I had left, I just wanted peace. But I prayed that in my next life, I wouldn’t have a sister. 1 New Year’s Eve. Savannah spent the night out with Grant. On my dime. Before my grandmother died, she’d left me a debit card with $20,000, telling me it was my “starter fund” for the future. A few days ago, Savannah had called me petty and small-minded. So, I’d turned over all my valuables to Grant. Including that card. My phone kept buzzing with transaction alerts. First, they dropped five thousand on a fireworks show. Then, a ridiculously expensive dinner. Finally, a club downtown. At midnight, the last fifty dollars on the card was swiped. Grant posted a highly visible story on Instagram: [Who wouldn’t be jealous of a sister like this?] The picture was his hand, resting suggestively on a model’s slender waist. Savannah had hired him three high-end escorts. Savannah was wealthy—she owned several successful companies. Wiping out my grandmother’s last gift, then letting Grant post that photo? She was doing it on purpose. She believed I was in a months-long sulk, always testing me to see when I’d finally break. Yet my heart was perfectly still, flat as a calm lake. Not a ripple. My stomach felt hollow. I went to the kitchen and cooked myself a bowl of ramen. After I ate, I swallowed my medication. I was about to toss the empty pill bottle when the front door of the mansion swung open. I jumped, startled. My hand slipped, and the bottle clattered to the floor, rolling under the coffee table. Savannah, clearly drunk, paused when she saw me standing there, frozen and exposed. She sneered. “Still awake? Did spending your ten grand keep you up, Elias? Did you lose any sleep over it?” I didn’t answer. She went on, talking mostly to herself: “Three months of pouting. You have incredible stamina.” “Elias Bellweather, let’s see how long you can keep this charade going.” She stumbled. I instinctively moved to help her, but Grant shoved me away. “Can’t you see your sister’s drunk? Stop creating a scene.” He pushed me aside and helped Savannah into her bedroom. I picked up the designer jacket she’d dropped, hung it up, and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. Just as I was about to bring it to her room, Grant emerged. His eyes were full of venom. “Elias Bellweather, do you ever stop?” “You already ran away—why didn’t you go somewhere Savannah couldn’t find you? Why come back and keep bothering her?” 2 I hadn’t meant to be found. Three months ago, Grant had tearfully told Savannah I was a lost cause—flunking out of school and running with “gutter trash.” He even forged a few compromising photos of me in bed and showed them to her as irrefutable proof. Savannah believed him. No matter how I pleaded, her face was a black storm cloud. She had only one thing to say: “Elias, you’re truly disgusting.” I was beyond defending myself. The outrage made my whole body ache. I lost it, slapping Grant across the face. Savannah immediately returned the favor—for him. Her swing was massive; the blow knocked me to the floor, my ear ringing a loud, sickening buzz. Clutching my face, I stared at her in disbelief. The feeling of betrayal was too much. I bolted out the door. I was going to crash at a cheap motel for a few nights. But the pain in my ear became unbearable, and ached all over. The doctor diagnosed a perforated eardrum in my left ear, then dropped the second bomb: late-stage blood cancer. The doctor frowned. “That ear will never hear again. If someone hit you, you should report it.” He continued, “As for the cancer, I recommend conservative care…” The implication was clear: it was terminal. I walked out of the hospital, still in shock. Everyone rushed past, looking purposeful, most of them with family nearby. I sank down onto the curb, hiding in a corner, and just wept. My phone was dead. I hadn’t charged it since I left. Two days later, Savannah tracked me down. She roared, livid: “Why didn’t you come home? Do you know how long I looked for you?!” “You’re the one who screwed up, and all I did was hit you once. Was that really worth running away over?” She looked haggard, a wreck of anger and exhaustion. She grabbed my wrist, pleading: “Please. Just—just cut me a break, will you?” In that moment, I remembered something my grandmother used to say: “If you die full of hatred, you’ll become a vengeful spirit, and you won’t get a good rebirth.” My grandparents had a lifelong love story. Then, on her deathbed, my grandmother found out my grandfather had two illegitimate children. Yet, she found a way to let go of that resentment. What did I have to hold onto? So I went home with Savannah, and we never spoke about the past again. In those first weeks, the thought of dying would hit me, and I’d cry in secret. A few times, Savannah caught me. She would coldly snap, annoyed: “Crying, crying, crying. I have no idea why you’re constantly tearing up. Can’t you learn to be a man, like Grant?” I tried to mention my diagnosis once. She didn’t take it seriously, instantly dismissing it as a lie. After that, I stopped trying. She complained I was loud, so I never spoke to her first. She called me selfish, so I handed everything over to Grant. When she finally couldn’t find a fault in me, she decided I was just pouting. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was my own peace. Every day ahead was just waiting to die. I was far more excited about the next life. At midnight, I lit fireworks alone in the backyard. I didn’t want to wake Savannah and Grant, so I used the cheap, dollar-store sparklers. The fire sizzled and cracked from end to end. I made a wish: to make it through the new year. I slept in late the next day. When I got up, Savannah was sitting on the sofa. Our eyes met. The sheer rage in hers was barely contained. My heart sank. “What’s wrong?” She opened her palm. Lying there was the pill bottle I’d forgotten to pick up yesterday. I thought she knew. I clenched my fists, a tiny, desperate flicker of hope rising in my chest. Now that she knew about the cancer, would she finally care? Would her attitude soften? The next moment, she spat out the words, cold as ice: “Elias Bellweather, you’re an addict.” 3 I froze, stunned, and for a second, I felt like my right ear had gone deaf too. “An addict? What are you talking about?” Her face was dark. She uncapped the bottle and poured the contents onto the table. White powder. My eyes went wide with shock. My pupils shrunk. “I didn’t believe Grant when he told me, but I see it now. Not only are you messy in your personal life, but you’ve taken up something illegal!” Savannah was incandescent with fury, her voice a shrill, sharp weapon: “No wonder you’ve been acting so strange lately. This is what you’ve been doing!” I was plunged into an ice bath. I scrambled to explain: “This is my cancer medicine! I didn’t put anything in it! I don’t know—” “Still lying!” Savannah cut me off, her eyes like knives. “Just tell me this: Is this your bottle?” “Yes, but—” “There are no ‘buts’!” Her rage was uncontrollable. She crossed the room in three strides, raised her hand, and slapped me hard. Snap. My left ear started ringing again—that familiar, sickening buzz. She was shaking with raw fury. “Elias Bellweather, what is your endgame? Are you trying to destroy me?” “I forgave you for your personal issues, but now you’re breaking the law. Do you want to do a few years in prison just to calm down?” I couldn’t stop the tears this time. They streamed down my face. I clutched my ear, my voice hoarse. “Grant switched my medicine! We can go to the hospital and test me for drugs! I don’t have anything in my system!” “You’re going to be ruined if you go to the hospital!” She jabbed a finger at my forehead, her eyes welling up. “I don’t know why I have a brother like you. Elias, you are such a disappointment!” “From today on, you don’t leave the house. I check everything you eat and drink.” I was utterly defenseless, sweating with panic. I grabbed her arm. “Savannah, I didn’t do anything! I can call the police!” She ripped her arm away and threw my phone to the floor, shattering the screen. Then she picked it up and pocketed it. “Call the police for what? So the whole world knows my brother is a junkie and laughs at me?” She shut off the phone and, without another word, shoved me into the basement. “You’re staying here. You can come out when you’re clean.” The heavy door slammed shut. Bang. Darkness swallowed me whole. I pounded on the door, screaming until my lungs were raw: “Let me out! I’m telling the truth!” Savannah’s voice, muffled through the door, sounded distant. “Don’t lie to me. I know you, Elias. This is for your own good. I am saving you.” 4 I was locked in. The basement was a cold, dim cell, a perfect prison. After an indeterminate amount of time, Grant came down with my meal. The sight of him made me lunge. “Why are you doing this to me? You’ve ruined me once. Wasn’t that enough?” He easily caught my flailing hand, a predatory glint in his eyes. “Who told you to come back, Elias? You left—you should have stayed gone!” “I just want you to know that there’s no place for you here anymore.” My chest heaved. My eyes burned with pure, distilled hatred. I couldn’t speak. He was perfectly composed, radiating calm. “Honestly, that pill bottle was just flour. I told Savannah two sentences and she believed me. Just like last time.” “Admit it, Elias. I’m just more important to your sister than you are.” “I’ve been trying to hold on! Haven’t I been miserable enough for the past three months? What more do you want?” I screamed, my eyes bloodshot. He snatched a handful of my hair, a grotesque smile twisting his lips. “What do I want? I want Savannah to hate you a little more before you die.” “Elias Bellweather, you have blood cancer, right? If you don’t take your meds, it must hurt like hell…” His voice was a soft, cold whisper—the voice of a demon—sending shivers down my spine. “You’re insane, Grant. You are a complete lunatic!” He slowly dropped the smile. Then, without warning, he kicked out, sending me flying into the corner. The pain and the anger. The three months of suppressed emotion finally burst. I scrambled up, not thinking, and launched myself at him. When my palm landed on his face, he didn’t dodge. He took the hits and started screaming. “Savannah! My sister! He’s gone crazy, come here, please!” I barely registered his words. All I knew was that if I didn’t unleash this storm of fury, I would choke and die on the spot. I fought for every second, punching and kicking with every ounce of strength I had left. Harder, harder! Suddenly, the basement door flew open again. Savannah stood in the doorway, her face instantly turning to stone. Grant struggled and yelled: “Savannah! He’s having a fix! He demanded I go buy him more and when I said no, he attacked me!” “I didn’t!” I roared the denial, but I didn’t stop hitting him. He wailed, and in an instant, Savannah grabbed my wrists, her grip iron. “Elias Bellweather, stop the madness!” She pinned my shoulders down, her eyes burning with a mix of fury and worry, a look of utter disappointment. “I’m trying to figure things out for you. Can you please stop causing trouble for me?” My head was a loud, empty whirring. Everything had dissolved into chaos. In my complete breakdown, only one coherent sentence left my lips: “I am not an addict!!” Savannah pressed her lips into a thin line, looking angrier than me. “Of course you’re not going to admit it, Elias. Stop talking nonsense.” “You are going to stay right here. When you’re better, I’ll let you out.” She found a length of heavy rope and quickly, forcefully, tied me to a chair. Then, she pulled Grant with her, walking out of the basement without a glance back. As the door closed, I could still hear her worried voice: “Grant, what about your face? Elias has always been spoiled, please don’t be mad.” “Let’s get you some antiseptic…” I clawed at my palms, my nails digging deep into the flesh. I struggled until the chair toppled over, taking me with it. The ropes were impossibly tight, cutting into my skin, drawing blood. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the agony in my heart. I thought that by letting go of everything, Savannah would at least be a little kinder. Yet, Grant’s smooth lies were all it took for her to lock me up. Tears splattered the concrete floor. My blood felt like it was turning to ice, growing numb, then a burning ache. I couldn’t even stand up. I lay on the cold ground, a worthless, useless mess. From that day on, I was a prisoner in the basement. Without my pain medication, the agony in my body intensified daily. Grant brought me food, sometimes, throwing in a taunt or two. I would just curl up on the floor, too weak to even acknowledge him. My mind began to slip. I couldn’t tell reality from dreams. Sometimes my soul felt like it was lifting from my body, looking down at the tormented wreck of myself on the floor. I knew my time was almost up. This day, I dreamed of Mom. It was the first time I’d seen her since she died. She held me like she did when I was a child, gently stroking my head. I found my harbor and cried, telling her Savannah had been cruel to me. Mom’s eyes grew red. “How can that be, Elias? Savannah always loved you the most, since you were a baby.” I kept talking, telling her how Savannah favored Grant, how she hit me. Mom was quiet for a long time. Finally, she stroked my cheek, her voice laced with sorrow: “My boy. You have suffered.” Splash. I didn’t hear what Mom said next. A bucket of cold water was dumped over my head, jolting me awake. I opened my eyes. Mom was gone. Standing over me, bucket in hand, was a grim-faced Savannah. 5 It was all a dream. The warmth evaporated, leaving behind the penetrating cold of the water, chilling me to the bone. I looked up at Savannah, not understanding. What had I done this time? I’d just been sleeping. She read the question in my eyes. Her face was dark as thunder. “You were convulsing a minute ago. Was that your craving acting up?” “It’s been a month, Elias. If you don’t get better soon, I’ll have no choice but to send you to rehab!” “I dreamed of Mom.” Her words made the emptiness in my chest grow. The resentment and despair finally hit. I started to choke, overwhelmed. “Savannah, please, call the police.” “I can’t stand being humiliated like this anymore…” She was silent for a moment, then clenched her fists. “You think I don’t want to call the police?” “If I wasn’t trying to save face for you, I would have sent you in a long time ago.” “Elias Bellweather, saving your life back then was the biggest mistake I ever made.” “Knowing this, you should have just died sooner!” I remembered what Mom told me. When I was barely a year old, I got a high fever in the middle of the night. My parents weren’t home, so Savannah carried me to the hospital. It was a cold winter night. She was only five, too young to call a taxi or ask for help. She walked for two hours with me on her back, saving my life. The doctor said I would have died if she’d been any later. Savannah was my lifesaver. Mom also said Savannah had loved me the most, always. I forced a bitter smile. “Savannah, since you saved my life, let me give it back to you.” Her breathing hitched. She turned away in frustration, muttering to herself as much as to me: “Stop with the dramatics.” The basement door closed again. I shut my eyes. I couldn’t endure it. Not one second more. So what if I became a vengeful spirit? It was better than being this inhuman, living ghost. Slowly, I sat up, fixing my eyes on a forgotten fruit knife tucked in the corner. This blood in me hurts too much. It’s time to drain it clean. 6 Grandma was wrong. Dying with resentment doesn’t turn you into a demon. My soul floated out of my body in the basement. I saw my own corpse, crumpled in a pool of blood. I died ugly. My hair was a mess, my face a pale mask. The wound on my wrist was a gruesome slash, flesh torn open, utterly tragic. I could only look for a second before turning away. My soul passed through the wall and left the basement. Outside, Savannah sat on the sofa, tiredly rubbing her temples. Her voice was hoarse as she asked Grant, who sat across from her: “Was I too harsh just now? I didn’t mean it. I just said those things in the heat of the moment…” Grant gave a light laugh, soothing her. “Not at all, Savannah. You’re doing this for Elias. You found out he was addicted—you can’t just coddle him. You have to be tough, or how will he ever get clean?” Listening to Grant, Savannah’s brow furrowed deep in thought. “I don’t know why Elias turned out like this. He was such a good, quiet boy when he was little.” “I should really talk to him properly someday.” I gave a silent, bitter laugh. Someday, Savannah. I won’t be here to talk to you. And the things I didn’t say before? They don’t matter now. A flicker of malice crossed Grant’s eyes. “Savannah, he won’t listen to you. If he would, he wouldn’t have done this.” “In my opinion, you should just stop dealing with him…” “No, I can’t do that. It’s almost the new year. I have to let him out.” Savannah interrupted him without hesitation. “He has to be clean before the holiday. Don’t take him dinner tonight. Let’s see if that teaches him.” I sighed. Savannah was far too late with that idea. Grant hadn’t been feeding me properly since the start. Sometimes it was once every two days, sometimes once every three. He had already been punishing me on her behalf. Of course, Grant wasn’t going to tell Savannah that. He nodded obediently. “Don’t worry, Savannah. I understand.” “Grant, you’re so mature.” Savannah gave him an affectionate look. “It’s almost the New Year. What gift do you want?” “I want you to take me on a trip!” Grant’s eyes sparkled. Then he added: “Just the two of us!” Savannah nodded. “Okay. After the New Year, Elias should be stable. I’ll transfer some company shares to him then, and we’ll go traveling.” They chatted for a while longer, then went to bed. No one checked the basement that night. Or the next day. The closer it got to the holiday, the busier Savannah became, leaving Grant in charge of me. Grant couldn’t be bothered. With Savannah gone, he was out with his friends, only stumbling home in the dead of night. Finally, on Christmas Eve, Savannah finished her work and came home. She hesitated for a long time before stopping at the basement door. “Elias Bellweather. It’s been days. You’re not going to go crazy again, right?” “It’s Christmas Eve. If you promise you’re okay, I’ll let you out.” The basement was silent. No reply came for a long time. She frowned. “Are you still mad? What I said the other day was just anger talking. I didn’t mean it.” Still silence. Her face hardened. She turned to leave. But she stopped after two steps, thinking of something. She turned back suddenly and awkwardly pushed the heavy basement door open.

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Later, he stood in the rain all night, begging for my forgiveness. “Maya, as long as you forgive me, I’ll do anything. I swear.” I packed up every gift he had ever given me into trash bags and tossed them into the dumpster right in front of him. “Then go redeem yourself in hell. How about that?” 1 It was the third year of our long-distance relationship, winter break. I was back home, FaceTiming Liam. “What time is your flight tomorrow?” I asked, checking the schedule. “I’ll drive over to pick you up at ten. That should be enough time, right?” Through the phone screen, Liam’s smile was playful and gentle. “No rush, babe. You can sleep in a bit longer.” I blushed slightly. “I just want to see you sooner.” Junior year had been brutal academically; the last time we saw each other was over the Thanksgiving break. “Me too.” Liam paused for a second, then suddenly added, “Hey, I might bring a friend back to crash for a few days this time. She’s from the West Coast, never really seen real snow before. She’s curious.” I sharply noticed the slightly intimate tone he used when mentioning this person. So, I asked, “Guy or girl?” “A sophomore. She joined the photography club, and we’ve been on a few shoots together.” His attitude was open and natural, so I didn’t think much of it at first. The next day, when I went to pick him up at the airport, I met this “sophomore” Liam mentioned. Her name was Emily. She was pretty, with a delicate frame and refined features, but her personality was surprisingly loud. As soon as we met, she threw her arm around my shoulder, turning to ask Liam: “Liam, bro, what do I call your girlfriend? Do I have to call her ‘The Missus’?” Uncomfortable with such immediate intimacy from a stranger, I frowned slightly and looked at Liam. He noticed my discomfort right away and swatted Emily’s hand off my shoulder. “Knock it off. My girlfriend isn’t into that. She’s the same year as me, just call her Maya.” Emily clutched the back of her hand, seeming stunned for two seconds, then obediently called out, “Maya.” On the drive back, Liam asked me, “How’s Mochi doing?” “Got fat again. My mom said I need to play with him more and cut down on the wet food.” Liam leaned back against the seat, laughing. “He just has no limits when it comes to eating. I’ll see him in a bit. Haven’t seen him all semester, wonder if Mochi still recognizes me.” Just as I was about to reply, Emily suddenly interjected from the back seat: “Liam, who’s Mochi?” “A cat we found together back in middle school. He’s always lived at Maya’s house.” Before leaving, I had specially placed a bottle of his favorite craft soda in the center console cup holder. He took a sip and placed it back into the side door pocket. Yet, not long after, Emily naturally reached over, grabbed that same bottle, twisted it open, and took several large gulps. I saw this happen in the rearview mirror. My hands instinctively tightened on the steering wheel. “Oops, grabbed it out of habit. My dad always puts his water there.” Liam chuckled, not touching the bottle again. “Don’t go mistaking me for your dad now.” While stopped at a red light, I turned to glare at him. Liam reached over, covering my hand on the steering wheel, and whispered: “Haven’t seen you in months, why are you glaring at me already?” The slight irritation I felt vanished at his touch. I shook my head gently and said, “My mom went out early to buy ingredients for her pot roast. She says you definitely miss her cooking. She’s never made this much of a fuss even when I come home.” “Oh—” Liam dragged out the syllable. “So, is my little May jealous? Think your mom likes me better?” “Liam!” “Okay, okay.” He rubbed the top of my head like he was petting a cat. “My mom prefers you too, always has. Every time you come over, she cooks a feast with zero spice. I have to get my own hot sauce just to eat.” I admit, bringing up the past with Liam always carried a bit of intentionality. Maybe it was intuition, but from the very first glance, I didn’t really like Emily. Obviously, Liam sensed this too. When we parked, he took advantage of Emily getting out of the car to lean into my ear. “Upset? Don’t worry, she’s just a regular friend. Absolutely nothing will shake my May’s supreme position in my heart.” After we got out of the car, Emily suddenly smiled and said, “You two have such a great relationship.” “Jealous?” Liam looked back at her. “If you’re jealous, go find your own boyfriend.” “I wouldn’t dare. Too many toxic guys out there, I’m afraid I can’t spot the red flags. But… if it were someone like you, Liam, I totally would!” Liam raised an eyebrow. “Bring any prospects around, I’ll vet them for you.” The hotel Emily booked wasn’t far from our neighborhood. After parting ways, I pursed my lips and walked ahead. Liam caught up and grabbed my wrist, making a pitiful face: “Did your loyal subject upset the Princess again? We agreed on a big hug when we met, haven’t had that hug today.” I stopped and turned to look at him. “Wasn’t that because I was afraid hugging would trigger your little friend?” Before I finished speaking, Liam grabbed my waist and pulled me into his arms. “Forget her.” He buried his face in the crook of my neck, whispering, “Three months apart. I missed kissing you so much.” 2 Liam and I had spent our lives together since we were very small. From elementary school through high school, we even walked the same route to and from school. After high school graduation, under the campus bleachers, Liam confessed his feelings to me. Everything felt natural, like water flowing into a canal. But when college acceptance letters came, due to a twist of fate, we were admitted to different schools. I stayed In-State, and he went a thousand miles away to the East Coast. At first, I didn’t think long-distance mattered. We had over a decade of emotional foundation and shared memories. Even if we weren’t together day and night, we had endless things to talk about. When classes weren’t busy, Liam would fly back to see me, stay for three or five days, and then go back. The slight strangeness generated by the distance would vanish the instant we met. I brought Liam back home and opened the door. Mochi ran over, but stopped a few feet away, curled into a ball, looking at us somewhat bewilderedly. Liam dropped his suitcase and squatted down. “What, don’t recognize me after three months?” I picked up a treat stick from the table and handed it to him. Mochi slowly nudged over to eat it, then rubbed affectionately around his ankles. After lunch, Liam and I helped my mom wash the dishes, then went into my room one after the other. As soon as I closed the door, he grabbed my wrist and pinned me against the door panel. “Lock it, May.” The next second, a searing kiss landed on my lips. I closed my eyes to fully immerse myself, but a knock came from outside: “Maya, Liam, come out and have some fruit.” I nearly jumped out of my skin, but the amusement in Liam’s eyes just grew stronger. He called out, “Okay, Mom, we’ll be right out.” Then he opened his suitcase to rummage for the gifts he brought me. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I sharply spotted a strange pink bag in the corner of his suitcase. Just as I picked it up, Liam snatched it back. “Don’t touch that, that’s Emily’s camera.” I was stunned. “Why is her camera in your suitcase?” “Oh, her bag is small, couldn’t fit everything, so she stuffed it in mine. I’ll take it to her tomorrow.” Liam answered nonchalantly, then showed me the gifts he prepared. It was an incredibly soft cashmere scarf, and the newest model iPad. “Didn’t you say you needed it for grad school prep? Use it for your online courses.” Holding the tablet, I couldn’t tell if I felt happy or confused. Liam’s house was in the complex across the street. His parents were still away and hadn’t returned, so he ate dinner at my place before going back. When he left, it was snowing outside. Liam wouldn’t let me walk him out. “It’s snowing, too cold. Go back inside.” I stood at the apartment entrance, grabbing the corner of his jacket, whispering, “No one’s at your place anyway, why not just stay here tonight?” After a moment of silence, Liam shook his head. “It’s fine. Been a while since I’ve been back, I need to clean the place up anyway.” I went back inside and chatted idly with my parents. In the gaps of conversation, I picked up my phone and casually opened Instagram, then suddenly froze. Ten minutes ago, Liam posted a new Story. It was a silhouette of him standing under a streetlamp against the snow. The caption read: “Been a while since I’ve seen snow.” My high school best friend, Sarah, commented underneath: “You’re home! Did Maya take this for you?” Liam replied to her: “No.” 3 I stared blankly for a good while before clicking in to message Liam. “You didn’t go home?” He didn’t reply immediately. I sat on the couch, Mochi curled up next to me fast asleep. I absently rubbed his head until my phone vibrated. The boundless emotions in my heart seemed to suddenly solidify into a tangible shape. “Emily called me on the way back, said she wanted to take photos of the snowy night. So I dropped the camera off to her. I’m home now.” He replied to me, “Why aren’t you asleep yet?” “Waiting for your message.” Then Liam voice-called me directly. “May, it’s getting late, you should sleep. Your heart condition isn’t great, don’t stay up late.” Unsure if it was the connection, but his voice sounded slightly raspy. I fell silent for a moment. “…Have you been drinking?” “Drank a little. I was out shooting the snow with Emily earlier. She was hyped, ran and bought some beer, but couldn’t finish hers, so I had to—” He stopped abruptly, as if realizing he’d slipped up. The atmosphere went dead silent, quiet enough to hear each other breathing. After a moment, I whispered: “Liam, I feel like I don’t know you anymore.” The phone hung up. I returned to the bedroom, lay on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. My brain kept replaying the scene in the car earlier today. Emily was so natural when she picked up the drink Liam had sipped from, as if she had done it countless times before. This semester, Liam and I only saw each other that one time at Thanksgiving. And in the countless conversations before that, he had never mentioned this person to me. There was movement outside the door. Footsteps approaching, then a knock: “May, are you asleep?” “…” After coming in, Liam said, “I deleted the Story.” “That beer… I didn’t drink from the same can as her. I asked the clerk for a paper cup.” “I already told Emily. She came just to see the snow, now she’s seen it, and it’s almost Christmas. Told her to head home early.” He said so much in one breath, but I still had no reaction, just silently kneading the plush toy in my hands. That was also one of the gifts Liam gave me for my birthday many years ago. After a long while, I finally spoke: “Can you delete her?” “Yes.” Liam agreed without hesitation. He took out his phone, deleted Emily as a friend right in front of me, then sat on the edge of the bed and gently held me. “Babe, don’t be mad.” He said, “I looked forward for so long to seeing you today. Just hang in there for another year—one more year and I’ll be back for good.” He very rarely called me that; his voice was incredibly gentle. My heart softened instantly. For the rest of the winter break, I was almost glued to Liam’s side. The distance caused by being apart disappeared bit by bit. After school started again, because I had to begin studying for grad school entrance exams, I had to reduce the frequency of chatting with Liam. Several times, I’d leave FaceTime on while I studied or did practice problems on my end. Whenever I looked up, I’d see him staring intently at me. In April, for Liam’s birthday, I specifically requested time off from classes and flew out East to surprise him. I didn’t tell Liam before going. So, when I stood at the south entrance of his campus, phone out to message him, I ran straight into Liam, camera around his neck, laughing and talking. With Emily. We both froze on the spot. 4 I turned to leave. Liam chased after me fast, his tone helpless: “May, at least listen to me explain…” I turned to look at him, expressionless. “Fine, explain.” “The photography club had an outing this morning. When we left, I left my camera on the lawn. Emily said she forgot her hat too. We went back together to find our stuff, that’s why we fell behind the others alone.” As he spoke, he showed me the group chat messages on his phone. Indeed, forty minutes ago, Liam had tagged someone else in the group, telling them to lead the team back to campus first, saying he had to go back for his camera. But how could it be so coincidental? My hand tightened silently on my backpack strap. Emily followed over, looking full of guilt: “I’m so sorry, Maya. Please don’t misunderstand, I didn’t mean to be alone with Liam.” Liam frowned, turning his head to say: “If you can’t say anything helpful, just shut up.” Emily froze, a flash of grievance in her eyes. “Sorry… I didn’t mean it like that.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose irritably. “You go back first, I need to talk to my girlfriend.” I suddenly wanted to laugh. And then I really did laugh out loud. “Liam, what are you doing?” I said. “Are you two putting on a show? Should I give you both an award?” The sun was slowly setting on the horizon. The fiery light hit Liam’s face, and suddenly, his eyes looked weary. “Stop it, May.” He said, “There really is nothing going on between me and Emily. We rarely get to see each other, let’s not make it like this, okay?” I fought back the choke in my voice: “So you added her back as a friend, didn’t you?” “Yes, I added her. That’s because last week I was sick at the hospital and my debit card wouldn’t work. She covered my co-pay, so I had to pay her back.” Liam’s expression went cold. He tapped his phone a few times and handed it to me. “Here, look. Besides the money transfers, have I said a single word to her?” “You were sick last week?” I was stunned. “Why didn’t you tell me?” “You were busy reviewing and taking practice tests, how could I make you worry? When we FaceTime, I want to talk to you, but you just brush me off to study.” Liam sighed gently. “May, I know grad school is important to you. But we are in a relationship, could you spare some time to care about me too, okay?” I held his phone and looked down. On the screen, there were only two lonely transaction messages for sending and receiving money. Apart from that, not a single extra word. “If you’re unhappy about it, I can delete her again right now.” Liam reached out to take the phone back. I whispered, “Forget it, don’t delete her.” He probably heard the apology in my tone. After a moment, he composed himself and opened his arms to me: “Come here, give me a hug.” That night, Liam stayed with me in a hotel off-campus. He kissed me for a long time, but stopped right before the final step, rolling over to sit up. “I’m gonna get some water to cool down.” In fact, because I wanted to save that for after marriage, in the three years we’d been together, Liam and I had never gone all the way. But in this moment, an impulse from out of nowhere made me grab his wrist: “Don’t go.” Liam turned to look at me. Under the warm lamplight, his defined features looked incredibly alluring. “May…” His Adam’s apple bobbed slightly. “Do you know what you’re doing?” His voice was incredibly hoarse, his tone carrying a danger that made my heart tremble. I retreated, pulling my hand back and pulling the duvet over my face. “Never mind.” Liam chuckled low. “I’m in no rush. Let’s save it for our wedding day.” The next day was Liam’s birthday. I went with him to the aquarium and took the scenic tram up the mountain. In the evening, he called a few friends from the photography club, saying they had agreed to grab dinner together beforehand. When we met up, I realized this group included Emily. Just yesterday we confirmed there was no other contact between them. But seeing Emily’s smiling face, in that moment, an uncomfortable feeling inevitably surged in my heart. On the way to the restaurant, someone suddenly stopped in front of us, saying to Liam and Emily: “I’m a photography student, doing some street photography. I feel like you two are a really matching couple, could I take a few couple photos of you?” I turned my head sharply, only to realize that Emily, walking on the other side, was practically glued to Liam’s arm. She laughed out loud, saying through her giggles: “Sure.” “Sure what? Who wants to take photos with you?” Liam said with a cold face, “Are you stupid? My girlfriend is standing right here, watch your jokes.” Emily looked at me calmly and naturally: “Sorry, Maya.” Even though she said it, there wasn’t a shred of apology in her eyes. Someone else explained to me: “Maya, don’t be mad. Emily’s just like that, a tomboy personality, treats everyone like one of the guys. Liam’s true heart for you is solid as a rock.” I pursed my lips and said blankly: “Is that so?” In that moment, I just felt Liam was incredibly far away. Even though the streetlights shone on him, even though we had known each other for fifteen whole years. But his eyes seemed submerged in a boundless deep sea. I couldn’t see the emotions in his eyes, nor could I see his heart. By the time I snapped back to reality, we were already sitting in the restaurant. Emily was laughing and ordering food with the others, while Liam beside me was holding my hand, softly calling my name: “May.” “…Babe.” My eyelashes trembled. “Why didn’t you push her away?”

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The year-end bonus hit my account, and the very next second, a text message flashed across my screen: “Your account has been debited $195,286. Balance: $3.26. Vendor: Revolver Cycles.” Immediately, my landlord’s name popped up. “Jillian, rent is due tomorrow. That’s $2,500 total, including utilities.” My hands were shaking as I dialed Aaron’s number. I could hear the excitement in his voice when he answered. “Babe! How did you know I bought a new bike? Hold on, I’m on my way—we’re going for a ride!” “Aaron, did you just use our house down payment on a new motorcycle?” He was completely oblivious, launching into a giddy monologue about how sleek and powerful the machine was. I was too exhausted to fight. “Aaron, we’re breaking up.” His cheerful voice faltered, replaced by an edge of disbelief. “Honey, are you high? That’s not funny!” I stared at the screen, at the numbers confirming the obliteration of our future. Ten years. From eighteen to twenty-eight. We had talked endlessly about having a home, a space of our own. I’d scraped and saved, haunting the late-night produce markets just to save a few quarters. But every single time we managed to save anything substantial, Aaron would trigger. Now, the down payment was finally within reach, and in one careless swipe, the dream was shattered. “Aaron, do you remember what we agreed the joint account was for?” A pause. “Jillian, I just wanted to surprise you! The house isn’t going anywhere, but this model? If I didn’t grab it now, it would’ve been discontinued!” He rushed on, trying to sell the dream. “And listen to this—I joined a club! They said they’d be the entourage for our wedding. Think how epic that’ll be!” “Gotta run, babe, I’m almost there!” He hung up before I could speak again, and my heart dropped like a stone. I could picture his flushed, boyish face and the way he’d preen, even through the screen. The weight of a thousand small disappointments had finally coalesced, completely dissolving the last shred of my resolve. He arrived half an hour later. Aaron leaned against the enormous, gleaming black bike, dressed in fresh leather and dark sunglasses. He looked every bit the charming, slightly dangerous bad boy, drawing admiring glances from every girl passing by. “Check it out, babe, isn’t she sweet? I’ve been eyeing this one forever. Today, I finally got her!” “And I was talking to the guys…” “Enough.” I cut him off, the word flat and final. “Aaron, I’m tired. I can’t do this anymore.” I met his eyes calmly. “You know all I’ve ever wanted was a home. But you spent every dime we had. Rent is due tomorrow. Can your motorcycle keep us from being evicted?” He laughed, a sharp, dismissive sound. “Is that what this is about? Just money? You always said you were fine with a barefoot wedding!” He stepped toward me, exasperated. “A mortgage will just chain us down. We wouldn’t be free to travel! Jillian, you always said we were soulmates. Why are you suddenly so hung up on bills? Rent can be a few days late! You only live three thousand days—why make it so hard?” I shook my head slowly. “I don’t want to wait anymore. And I especially don’t want to be locked out of my apartment in the middle of winter.” “Aaron…” “Fine! I get it! It’s the rent, the utilities, the down payment! I’ll return the damn thing, okay?” He violently kicked the tire of the bike in frustration. Watching him, I felt a deep sense of alienation. I turned and walked away. “Jillian!” His shout followed me, but I didn’t look back. Ten years. We’d broken up and made up countless times, each time patching things up, hoping to keep going. But this time, the pieces wouldn’t stick. I checked my phone, scrolling past saved images of kitchen tiles and paint samples, and then paused. I kept the files. Aaron didn’t want to settle down, but I did. My colleague Brenda’s text notification popped up. “Jillian, are you still considering that transfer? It’s thirty percent higher pay. It’s a city away, but you’d still be able to visit on weekends.” I had politely declined the transfer three months ago because I wanted to buy the house here. I wanted stability. Now, I called her immediately. “Brenda, I’m in. Please put in the paperwork now. If possible, I can start the day after tomorrow.” Brenda sounded surprised. “Wow, slow down, kid. You sure? Did you talk to your boyfriend?” “No need. We broke up.” Brenda was silent for a moment. “Okay. I’ll submit the application right now. The approval should come through tomorrow. Get ready—you’ll report in at the new division first thing.” I agreed, hung up, and took a deep, shaky breath. Then I remembered. I had to terminate the lease. I called Aaron, but he didn’t answer. “Aaron, I’m moving out and terminating my part of the lease. You figure out the rent.” I texted the landlord, informing her I was moving out and that Aaron would need to sort out a new arrangement if he wanted to stay. I immediately started packing. The new office was in the next city over—a sixteen-minute commuter train ride—not terribly far, but I was on a strict timetable. We’d been together for a decade, and our lives were thoroughly intertwined; separating our things wasn’t easy. I grabbed my absolute necessities, sold everything else I could on marketplace apps, and gave away a lot of the junk we’d accumulated. Gifts, old furniture, anything that carried a memory of us. Within an hour, my phone buzzed with transfer notifications, and a courier was on his way. The living room instantly felt emptier. It was already past midnight when I finally collapsed on the sofa, breathing out a sigh of relief, my eyes burning with fatigue. Aaron still wasn’t back. I had less than $600 to my name. I needed money for the move, a deposit for a place to live, and groceries. It wasn’t enough. I used a quick-loan app and managed to borrow $1,500. The second it hit my personal account, I transferred it to the joint account, thinking I could get a money order later. The very next moment, a text from Aaron: “Babe, I knew you couldn’t stay mad! Thanks for the $1,500. Don’t worry, I’ll remember to pay the rent this time! I already reached out to the landlord. Deposit secured.” My first instinct was to deny it, to take the money back. But I stopped myself. Let him keep the apartment if he wants. I’m gone. “Transfer $700 back to me. I need it urgently.” Aaron didn’t reply. I called; no answer. My control snapped. He was lightning fast when money was coming in, but completely unreachable when I needed it back. I was furious, but it was too late to do anything. I just hoped I had enough for the train ticket. The next morning, Brenda confirmed the transfer was approved. I needed to report in by 10 AM the following day. Aaron still hadn’t responded. I checked his social media and saw a live video: he was riding the bike on a winding canyon road, racing with a gang of riders. His face flashed past, reckless and bright, laughing like the star he always thought he was. He was surrounded by a crowd of men and women looking at him with adoration. Aaron loved that spotlight, that thrill. But that lifestyle was bankrolled by my tight-fisted budgeting. I saved up for a decent laptop; he spent it on a high-end camera, promising to take beautiful travel photos. Ten years later, we’d only taken cheap weekend trips, and the camera was gathering dust in a drawer. I saved $30,000 for an early deposit; he booked a luxury cruise, calling it our seventh-anniversary celebration. He held my hand, saying, Jillian, you always wanted a destination wedding—this is how we start. I couldn’t bear to see him disappointed, so I told myself we could save again. This time, I had the full down payment, the agreed-upon price on the perfect condo, and the appointment was set. Aaron had obliterated the entire plan. His future was all about the immediate rush. There was zero room for risk management or actual adult responsibility. I couldn’t keep paying for his freedom. With a long, weary sigh, I texted him the final word: “We are over.” Then I blocked his number. I terminated the lease with the landlord, packed my final bag, and caught the train. Brenda texted me the new company address and a welcome note, adding that company dorms were available. Saved me rent. I arrived in the busy terminal city. As I emerged from the crowded station, I realized my coat had been slashed. Feathers were flying out, and my phone was gone. A wave of cold dread washed over me. All my work contacts, all the company data, and most importantly, the new office address—all gone. I only remembered the street name: Harper Way. I found the transit police, explaining the situation. I spent nearly three hours borrowing their phone to suspend my accounts and wipe my data. It started to snow, and the tears I’d been holding back finally streamed down my face. A kind female officer, seeing my distress, slipped me two $100 bills. I thanked her profusely, took her number, and raced off toward the general direction of the new office. After finally reporting in, getting a room, and buying a cheap new phone, I was finally safe enough to check my messages. A string of texts from Aaron awaited me, sent before I blocked his new number: “Jillian, what are you doing? I said I’d pay the rent. Why did you just abandon me?” “How could you be so cold? The landlord said you canceled the lease. What am I supposed to do now?” “Fine, stop being dramatic. Just send me $1,200 for this month’s rent and deposit. I want to keep the place.” I calmly flipped the phone face down and opened my laptop to start restoring my files. The dorm was bare, freezing cold, and had no heating. I huddled under the blanket. The snow continued outside; it felt as cold inside as out. I reviewed the company data, absorbing the details of my new job until late into the night. My stomach growled. I felt feverish and my head was pounding—definitely a cold. I ordered takeout and medicine, then decided to boil some water. The second I plugged the kettle in, the breaker blew. Sparks flew. I nearly screamed. Plunged into darkness, I heard a knock at the door. “Delivery!” I fumbled for my phone and turned on the flashlight. The moment I opened the door, a figure burst past me, slamming me against the wall and clamping a hand around my throat. “Cooperate. I just want the money. Give me everything!” The cold air rushed in, carrying the stink of cheap liquor. I struggled, my flashlight beam wildly swinging. In the darkness, I grabbed the nearest solid object—the still-hot kettle—and swung it with all my might. A howl of pain, and the intruder stumbled back, then fled. A faint, metallic smell of blood hung in the air. Shaking, I fumbled for the new phone and called 911. When the police finally arrived, I broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. After spending half the night at the precinct, I was dizzy and exhausted. Back in the cold dorm, I couldn’t sleep. I waited for the dawn, bracing myself. Then the knock came again. I opened it to find Aaron. He’d found me somehow, holding a wilted bouquet of wild flowers. “Jillian, I’m back. Look, I picked these on the mountain road. They have so much life—just like you.” Seeing the hopeful smile in his eyes, I finally let the tears fall again. Aaron panicked, rushing forward. “Jillian, I’m so sorry. I promise, I’ll never do anything like that again. Please, don’t cry.” As he reached for my face, I took a step back. “Aaron, we’re done. And how comforting was that $1,500 I had to borrow?” The sight of the ligature marks on my neck, which the police had photographed, only momentarily silenced him before his tone hardened. “Jillian, I came all this way to apologize and surprise you, and the first thing you do is bring up money? How did you get so materialistic?” “Materialistic? I was almost choked to death in a robbery last night! Aaron, when are you going to grow up?” “I’m done. We’re finished. Don’t ever come back here.” Hearing the finality in my voice, he froze. He finally saw the bruises on my neck and his whole body started to tremble. “No, are you okay? God, I’m sorry. It’s my fault—I wasn’t here. I panicked when I got your texts. I’ll sell the bike right now, I swear! I’ll move in here with you!” I looked into his eyes. He was twenty-eight, the same age as me, yet utterly devoid of responsibility. I had no idea what had kept me with him for a decade. But now, I couldn’t buy into his chaos anymore. I pushed him aside, grabbed my work bag, and walked out. “Aaron, don’t force me. We need a clean break. Stay away from me. And yes, since you’re selling the bike, remember to give me my share of the money.” He shrieked, instantly abandoning the contrite role. “Money, money, money! You are so shallow and obsessed with money!” I didn’t slow down, just took a deep breath. “I’m not wrong. In the real world, if you don’t have the skills to make a decent living, you have to work and accept reality.” Aaron clearly wasn’t ready to accept anything. He continued his tirade until I reached the main office doors and the security guard stopped him. He finally realized I was serious. I was resolved. The withdrawal symptoms hurt, but a decade of connection wasn’t something you could excise painlessly. Aaron remained outside for a few minutes, staring, but when I didn’t look back, he turned and stomped off. I shook my head. He was always like this—he never bent. Every single fight, I had to be the one to seek reconciliation. Now that I wasn’t waiting, he couldn’t even manage a half hour of persistence. The thought was suddenly ridiculous. I turned my attention to work. Aaron did stay away, but the landlord and Brenda called me. “Jillian, are you really not coming back? Your boyfriend is still living there, but the neighbors are complaining. He’s got too many people coming and going. The lease was only for two people!” I simply replied to the landlord: “I’m out of the city. Aaron is the only tenant now. You need to draw up a new lease with him.” Brenda called, too. “Jillian, did you two really break up peacefully? That guy seemed highly unstable when he was looking for you.” I apologized and assured her it was final. She was relieved and urged me to focus on my success here. I did. One month bled into the next. When my first full paycheck hit my account, and I saw the numbers steadily climbing, a deep sense of calm settled over me. All I did was work and sleep. I bought new things, slowly arranging my sparse dorm room, making it feel, little by little, like a home. I closed the old joint account, making sure to save all the balance and transaction histories. In the third month, Aaron reappeared. He showed up beneath the office building with a massive bouquet, a swarm of drones, and huge helium balloons carrying two long, paper posters with a message of apology.

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I was in a catastrophic car wreck and desperately needed a transfusion of “Golden Blood”—the ultra-rare Rh-null type. My childhood sweetheart, Liam, was in the donor support group chat, practically begging on his knees: “Please, I’ll do anything. Name your price.” “Anything? Even marry me?” a girl asked. Liam grit his teeth, playing the martyr. “Yes. Even that.” The internet hailed Liam as the ultimate romantic hero, sacrificing himself for love. I was painted as the ungrateful shrew for making a scene. It wasn’t until years later that I learned they had been sleeping together long before the accident. But then, I opened my eyes. I was back. Back to the day of the car accident, bleeding out and waiting for a donor. I ignored Liam and immediately FaceTimed Adrian Thorne, the heir to a New York dynasty. “Adrian, it’s Harper Vance. I’m the one who saved you with my Golden Blood years ago. “Can you return those 1200ccs to me now?” I didn’t expect Adrian to be reborn, too. He flew in overnight, fighting tooth and nail to get to me first. “You can have the blood,” he said, his eyes dark with possessiveness. “But she has to marry me.” I never expected Liam to lose his mind right there in the hospital. 1 Adrian Thorne fought like hell to make me his wife. He raced against the clock, arriving at the hospital and donating his blood before anyone else could. Bella Sterling, the “Golden Blood Girl” Liam had found, didn’t know that. On the third day after my surgery, Bella stormed into my VIP ward with self-righteous fury. “Harper, I gave you 1200ccs of Golden Blood. Do you have any idea what that means? “It could cause heart failure, shock, or even kill me. I risked my life for yours. “So, no condition I name is too extreme. “My condition is that Liam must marry me. “I know you hate it. I know it kills you inside. “But you’re just going to have to suck it up…” I cut her off mid-rant. “I agree.” Bella froze, clearly not expecting me to be so calm. “Excuse me?” Even Liam, who was standing there wearing a mask of pained martyrdom, looked shocked. He thought I would scream. He thought I would break down. He expected me to fight like a madwoman, just so he could stand on the moral high ground and sigh about how “forced” he was. It was all to save you, he would have said. Do you think I want to marry a woman I don’t love? I’m sacrificing myself for you, and you’re being unreasonable. In my past life, I did scream. I cried every day, begging Liam not to leave me. He called me crazy. Years later, I found out the truth. They had been hooking up behind my back for months. I once overheard Liam laughing with his frat buddies over drinks: “I was bored of Harper ages ago. If I didn’t come up with that ‘sacrifice for love’ excuse, how could I have broken up with her cleanly? “She was obsessed with me. If I just dumped her, she would have burned my house down. “Blame it on our childhood history. She was too attached.” His friends laughed, toasting him. “You’re just too charming, man.” Liam swirled his wine, smirking. “True. Honestly, I kind of enjoyed watching her pine over me. Even after I married Bella, I wanted Harper to stay obsessed, crying until dawn for me. That kind of devotion… it’s intoxicating.” That moment, my brain went blank. I realized why, every time I tried to move on, he would pop back up to remind me of our “tragic love.” He got off on my misery. Reborn, I wasn’t going to be that patsy again. 2 I looked at Bella, my expression completely flat. “Since Liam agreed to marry you, I’m stepping aside. “Congratulations. When should I expect the wedding invite?” Liam looked at me in disbelief, his face turning an ugly shade of gray. Our mutual friends in the room sensed the tension and immediately started gaslighting me. “Harper, come on, we know you’re just saying that out of anger. “How could you possibly let Liam go? “If he actually leaves with Bella, you’ll cry your eyes out.” Hearing this, Liam’s face softened. A tiny, arrogant smirk touched his lips. He leaned down to kiss my forehead. “Babe, stop it. “Even if I have to keep my promise and marry her, my heart belongs to you. “If a man had offered the blood and demanded you marry him, I would have made the same painful choice. “Because your life matters more than anything.” The friends nodded like bobbleheads. “Exactly. Liam only loves you. It’s just a tragedy that Bella is the one who has the blood.” I smiled and said nothing. Who said there wasn’t a man who demanded to marry me? They didn’t know. The moment I realized I was reborn in the wreckage of my car, I called Adrian Thorne. I lay in a pool of my own blood and begged him. “Adrian, remember the Golden Blood I gave you? I need it back.” I didn’t know he was reborn, too. He rushed over, bypassed everyone, and gave me the blood in secret. He smiled at me, a look full of meaning. “Since your fiancé is willing to agree to ‘any condition,’ then I have one too. “But I trust my gut. If I ask now, he’ll freak out. “Let’s wait until you successfully break off the engagement.” I thought Adrian was overthinking it. Liam was dying to dump me for Bella. But I agreed. “Fine. We wait until the engagement is dead.” 3 In my past life, I eventually married Adrian. But my heart was still hung up on Liam. I ignored Adrian’s kindness. Yet, when Bella exposed me online as a “homewrecker” obsessed with a married man, and when I fell into a deep depression, Adrian stood by me. He faced the world and said coldly: “So what if she doesn’t love me? “I, Adrian Thorne, married her, and I will protect her for life. “I’m not here to be fair. I’m here to back my wife. Who gave you the right to hurt her?” I was already too far gone to appreciate it then. But he never gave up on me. Even though our marriage was in name only. This time, I wouldn’t mistake trash for treasure. I wouldn’t push away the man who actually loved me. Bella, however, didn’t believe I would let Liam go so easily. “Harper, nice acting. I almost bought it. “Everyone knows you’re obsessed with Liam. You’ve been stuck to him like glue since kindergarten. “I hate two-faced bitches.” “I’m not acting.” I pulled the engagement ring off my finger and handed it to Liam. “Since you’re marrying Ms. Sterling, it’s inappropriate for me to wear this. “Take it. I won’t bother you again.” Liam’s face darkened instantly. He forced the ring back into my hand. “Keep it as a souvenir.” I shook my head. “No. That’s unfair to Ms. Sterling. “From today on, I’m clearing my heart. I won’t think of you for a second. “If I ever pine for you again, may lightning strike me down.” If I was stupid enough to fall for him twice, I deserved the lightning. Liam’s chest heaved. He covered my mouth. “What are you saying? You can’t just swear on your life like that!” Bella was thrilled. She looped her arm through Liam’s. “Liam, come help me pick out a wedding dress. “Harper has plenty of friends here. You need to set boundaries.” Liam shook her off violently. “Get off! I’m not in the mood!” I was surprised. In the past life, he never yelled at her. Turns out, when I stop chasing him, his interest in her drops significantly. The friends in the room tried to calm him down. “Liam, Bella is right. You have to marry her. You need to set boundaries with Harper.” Liam roared, “Everyone get the hell out!” When the room cleared, Liam pinched my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Happy now? “If you don’t want me to go, just say it. When did you learn to play hard to get? “Swearing you won’t love me… with a mouth that stubborn, does your heart really agree?” He looked at me with those deep, “soulful” eyes that used to work on me. Too bad I was immune. I said flatly, “Yes. I’m fine with it.” Maybe my expression was too calm. For the first time, I saw panic in his eyes. 4 Late that night, Bella called, and Liam left. After he was gone, Adrian walked into my room. He brought homemade bone broth and fed me spoon by spoon. “Red meat builds blood,” he said softly. “Drink up.” I pushed the bowl toward him. “You need it too. “Draining 1200ccs at once isn’t a joke. You could get sick. “Thank you for doing that. I don’t know how to repay you.” Adrian looked at me with a gentle smile. “Years ago, when I was dying in the Alaskan wilderness, didn’t you risk your life to give me the same amount? “I didn’t know how to repay you then, either. I just wanted to give you my life. “Unfortunately, you were deeply in love with your childhood sweetheart and rejected me.” Three years ago, I saw a plea in a Golden Blood support group. A hiker was critical in a remote part of Alaska. I happened to be there for research. I was the only match. After I saved him, he proposed. I said no. Later, when he heard Liam married Bella, he came to New York to pursue me again. He told me, “It’s not just gratitude. I knew you before that. “When you were a grad student at that conference in New York… I fell in love with you at first sight. “I never expected the girl I crushed on to be the one to save my life. It’s fate.” I started crying. I choked back a sob and asked carefully: “I can’t repay the life-saving grace… “Is it too late to offer myself to you now?” Adrian froze. He grabbed my hand, his breath hitching. “Harper, what did you say? “Say it again. “Are you really willing to let Liam go? Aren’t you madly in love with him?” In my past life, right before I ended it all, I went to see Liam one last time. That’s when I heard him mocking me with his friends. The truth destroyed me. I shook my head, cupping Adrian’s handsome face. “I don’t love him. Not anymore. “I’ve been given a second chance. I just want to love you.” In our past life, we were married for three years, and I never let him touch me. Now, I closed my eyes, deliberately tempting him. “Adrian, can you kiss me? “We were married for three years in the last life, but you never kissed me. “People say you have the sexiest lips in New York. I want to know what I missed.” Adrian’s eyes turned red. He almost lost control when he kissed me. “I did kiss you once,” he whispered hoarsely. “But you cried so hard I stopped. I couldn’t bear to break your heart.” “I don’t remember that. From now on, I won’t cry. I’ll only…” My hand traced the muscle definition under his shirt. He shuddered. God, I was blind in my last life. I could have been eating this well every day.

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The year my brother was born, my mother, Carol, established the “Family Trust Fund.” Her rule was simple: “Every New Year’s Day, I’ll hide a coin in one of the special Croissant. Whoever finds it has to contribute to the fund for the year.” And every year since then, I was the one who bit down on the cold metal. It was a brilliant scheme to exploit me. Every day, Mom would coo, “You are the luckiest child in this family, Jenna. Others wish they had your fortune!” That lie—that I was blessed—coaxed me into paying for two decades. It wasn’t until last year that I finally cleared the twenty-three years of accumulated debt. I thought I could breathe again. But then, Mom announced, “This year, the person who finds the coin contributes Fifty Thousand Dollars to the Family Trust.” She’d barely finished the sentence when I bit into something hard. The coin. But this time, I didn’t say a word. I swallowed it, hard, and acted like nothing happened. I was done being the luckiest child in the family. 1 “Who found the coin this year?” The moment Mom asked, her shrewd, calculating gaze snapped right to me. As if she already knew the answer, she bypassed everyone else. “Jenna, was it you?” The coin was heavy in my mouth. I hesitated, then forced myself to swallow it down with a gulp of water, ignoring the slight scratch in my throat. I smoothed the expression from my eyes and shook my head. “It wasn’t me.” Mom’s face was a mask of disbelief, though she tried to laugh it off. “Don’t be silly. It’s always you. How could this year be any different? Is the luckiest member of the family finally changing?” She reached over and snatched my bowl, plunging her spoon into the few remaining Croissant. She poked and prodded them, and her expression swiftly moved from smug certainty to frantic alarm. Her movements grew more agitated as she mumbled, “No way! Where is the coin?” “I remember…” She stopped herself midsentence and looked up at me, her face unnaturally bright as she offered a flimsy excuse. “I mean, I remembered that it’s always you, so I was worried when I didn’t see it. I got a little jumpy.” I wanted to laugh at her sudden desperation, but the emotion was too bitter. I just offered a quiet, low “Mmhmm,” and stayed silent. But she wasn’t done. Even after ransacking my bowl, she pressed me again. “Are you absolutely sure you didn’t get it, Jenna? Are you sure you didn’t just accidentally swallow it?” The pain in my chest was a heavy, dull ache, as if a hand had reached in and was squeezing the air out of my lungs. I felt suffocated. I didn’t answer her question directly. Instead, I leveled my gaze on hers and counter-attacked. “Mom, why do you have to search my bowl? Why are you so certain it has to be mine?” “Maybe it’s in yours, or Dad’s, or Jake’s?” Mom finally lost her composure. Her eyes darted around the table, a clear sign she was genuinely starting to doubt if she’d rigged the wrong bowl. Seeing her silence, I reached for my younger brother Jake’s bowl, preparing to search it. Mom’s hand flew out and delivered a hard, sharp slap across my wrist. Her eyes were blazing with fierce protectiveness. “Don’t you dare! Why would it be in his bowl?!” 2 My eyes stung with the sudden threat of tears. Why wouldn’t it be in his bowl? Why does it have to be mine? My voice trembled as I stubbornly pushed for the answer I knew I’d never get. “Why is it impossible for it to be in my brother’s bowl?” It was then she realized she’d overreacted. She plopped back into her chair, cleared her throat, and offered a dismissive explanation. “Oh, what else? Your brother isn’t the lucky one. You are.” My father, Richard, scowled and tossed his spoon back into his bowl, his voice clipped with impatience. “So where is the damn coin, then?” He paused, then his eyes narrowed into a focused, scrutinizing glare aimed straight at me. “Jenna Johnson, you didn’t just hide the coin so you wouldn’t have to pay the fund, did you?” My eyes flickered away for a fraction of a second, but my father was too sharp. He caught it. He shot a look at Mom. Before I could process it, she was on her feet, forcefully pulling my jaw open. “Jenna, let me see. Did you hide it in your cheek?” She ruthlessly pried my mouth open, her fingers digging into the tender flesh of my chin. The pain made me flinch, but she reacted instantly with a cuff to the side of my head. “Hold still!” When she found nothing in my mouth, she grabbed a spoon and stretched them toward my throat, rummaging deep inside. I dry-heaved repeatedly, tears finally streaming from the violation, but the search still came up empty. Next, she moved on to a body search. Nothing. Mom was furious. She delivered another stinging slap to my cheek and yelled the accusation. “Jenna Johnson, where did you put that coin!” My voice was a choked sob. “I don’t know where the coin is.” The air thickened, and the game of hide-and-seek reached a dead end. No one could find the coin. Jake, my brother, ever the quick thinker, piped up with an idea. “Mom, since the coin is missing, why don’t we just make a new batch of Croissant? Maybe you just forgot to put the coin in the first one.” My parents’ strained faces finally softened. Dad was quick with the praise for his favorite. “That’s my boy! Smartest one here. The future head of this family!” “That settles it. Let’s make another batch and see who gets the coin this time!” Mom’s relief was total. “You’re right, you’re right! I must have forgotten to put it in the dough just now!” She immediately scurried into the kitchen to mix the dough. I knew with absolute certainty that if she made them, the coin would still end up in my bowl. So, I followed her into the kitchen and offered to take over. But Mom recoiled immediately, putting on a show of false concern. “No, no, darling. I misunderstood you earlier. You rest now. Mom will have them ready in a minute.” “Go watch TV with your father.” She tried to usher me out, but I stood my ground. “I want to make them this time.” We stood at an impasse. Dad’s voice boomed from the living room, “Are those Croissant done yet? It’s taking forever to boil one single thing!” Mom looked at me, a silent war raging in her eyes, and finally conceded. “Fine! Fine, you can make them!” But it was only a half-concession. She stood right beside me the whole time, her eyes glued to the dough with the coin tucked inside. She was terrified I might switch it. But I wasn’t trying to switch it. I just wanted to see what would happen when there was no human intervention. I wanted to know if I really was the lucky child. Soon, the coin-bearing Croissant was lost among its brethren, dropped into the oven. A few minutes later, they were done. 3 Mom didn’t give me a chance to get near the oven. She shoved me out of the way, grabbed the ladle, and started furiously searching the water. She was trying to identify the coin’s location. But submerged in the water, they all looked the same. Even with her laser-like focus on the one she watched me make, she couldn’t tell it apart. Infuriated, she turned her anger on me. “Look at the way you cook! It took so long to boil them. How much electricity did you waste?” I simply let out a slow breath and didn’t reply. Finally, her eyes brightened. She must have identified one of the Croissant, because she quickly scooped it out, put it in a bowl, and visibly relaxed. She glared at me, then rushed out and placed the bowl she’d carefully selected right in front of me. “Jenna, eat up while they’re hot!” The others were distributed haphazardly among the rest of the family. Only mine was chosen with meticulous care. I curved my lips into a slight, bitter smile of sarcasm. I poked the Croissant open and put it in my mouth. A sudden, sharp CLINK echoed through the dining room. Mom’s face lit up with triumph. “Aha! See? I knew it! Our Jenna is still the luckiest one! Since it’s you, the Fifty Thousand Dollars is all yours, dear!” I spit the half-chewed Croissant plate and held it out to her, looking perfectly innocent. “But Mom, I didn’t find the coin.” My parents’ faces drained of color. Even whiter than theirs was the absolutely frozen expression on my brother, Jake. I turned and pointed to him. “It looks like Jake is the luckiest one this year, Mom. So, I guess I’m off the hook for the fifty grand.” Jake immediately spit the coin into his bowl and started screaming at Mom. “How could you have given it to me! This is fifty thousand dollars! I can’t afford that!” Dad quickly pulled Jake into a hug, soothing him. “Easy, easy. Of course, you won’t pay. You’re too young. You just focus on school, son. Don’t you worry about this.” Mom immediately jumped in. “That’s right! Fifty thousand is too much for you. You don’t have to pay!” I had been prepared to feel a flicker of relief, but their words shocked the air out of my lungs. I started trembling with rage, no longer able to suppress the scream building inside. “Why does he get a pass? When I was thirteen and found the coin, you made me pay three thousand dollars! I still had to do it!” “Why is he suddenly exempt?” Jake pouted and started rubbing his eyes, faking tears, but the look he flashed me was pure, malicious triumph. Mom’s eyes went cold, and her voice was laced with resentment. “Your brother is still a child. He can’t handle fifty grand. If someone has to pay, I’ll cover two hundred dollars for him.” Cover it for him? When I was thirteen, she had never uttered those words. Back then, her face was ice-cold. “We will not pay it for you. You will gather that money, even if you have to scavenge for cans, or we will disown you.” But now, she was offering to cover him, and only for two hundred dollars. Tears fell like rain. It took me several choked attempts before I could speak through my sobs. “No! He has to pay the fifty thousand! If he doesn’t have it, he has to earn it, just like I did! He can scavenge for money!” Mom bit down on her cheek and viciously grabbed my arm, twisting it hard. “Why are you being so stubborn, you worthless girl! That was years ago! Your brother can’t scavenge for money! What would people say about us?” 4 “And stop harping on the past! I’m the founder of the Family Trust Fund, and I have the right to decide that your brother only has to contribute two hundred dollars!” My legs felt weak, and I stumbled a few steps before grasping the edge of the dining table to steady myself. “No! You said the rules couldn’t be easily changed!” Mom ignored me completely, turning to comfort my crying brother. I stood there, an outsider, a complete anomaly in my own family. As Dad left the room, his gaze on me was sharp and threatening. “Be the adult, Jenna. Your brother is ten years younger than you. Don’t pick fights with him over petty things. Be generous, understand?” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood before I finally came back to myself. I sat back down at the table and thought for a long time. I knew I had to compromise, at least on the surface. So, I went to find Mom to discuss withdrawing money from the Family Trust. The original rules stated that the coin-finder could not access the fund, but those who didn’t find it could. Now that I was in the clear, I could finally lessen the pressure on myself. I hadn’t even been able to pay my rent after clearing my last debt. I collected myself and went to Mom. “Mom, could you transfer about two thousand dollars from the Family Trust? I need to…” I was interrupted before I could finish my sentence by her shrill voice. “I don’t have any money! How old are you, demanding money from your family! Are you trying to leech off us?” “I was independent at your age! You need to learn from me! Don’t just open your mouth and ask for cash! Two thousand dollars? Do you think money grows on trees?” I pushed back. “But the rule was that whoever didn’t find the coin could use the fund! Why can’t I use it?” After all, ninety-nine percent of that money was contributed by me, and yet I was the one who was forbidden to use it. The irony was devastating. Mom avoided my gaze, reverting to her favorite tactic: cold silence. She just went back to playing with Jake, ignoring me completely. Dad, smoking by the window, acted like the conversation had nothing to do with him. The silence was driving me crazy. I couldn’t help but raise my voice. “Why can’t I use it!” Mom stayed quiet for a long moment, then spoke with a forced, placating tone. “It’s not that I won’t let you, dear. It’s just that I put all that money into a Certificate of Deposit, a locked-in account. I can’t withdraw it right now.” “Is that true?” I asked weakly. My mother snapped instantly, as if I had hit a nerve. “Are you questioning me?! Do you think I’m lying? What could I possibly gain by deceiving you!” “You walk around with a frown all the time, acting like I owe you millions! Get out! You’re not welcome here!” Every word felt like a surgical blade, carving the pain deep into my heart. When I didn’t move, she stood up and started physically pushing me out the door. Our relationship froze over that day. A week later, Mom called, actively trying to mend the relationship and inviting me over for dinner. When I arrived, four bowls of Croissant were arranged neatly on the table. The other three were already claimed. Mom approached me affectionately, pulling me towards the table. “Jenna, the Family Trust Fund is a little low. So, we took a vote and unanimously decided to try the Croissant one more time to find our biggest contributor! A chance to help the family!” “Hurry, Jenna, eat! They’re fresh out of the oven and still hot.” The eyes of all three of them were fixed on me, calculating. This bowl was clearly meant to seal my fate. When I hesitated, Mom urged me on. “Go on! They’ll get cold!” Filled with a fresh wave of disappointment, I sat down and started eating the Croissant, big bites, practically swallowing them whole. Seeing this, the other three relaxed and began eating their own. But the next moment, Mom froze mid-chew.

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1 During the peak of my social anxiety, I played mute in the bed of New York’s crown prince. No matter how hard he worked, I grit my teeth and didn’t make a sound. That is, until his “white moonlight”—the one who got away—returned to the States, and he wired me a $5 million severance package. In my excitement, I blurted out: “Thanks, boss! You’re the man!” I covered my mouth in horror, but the man just laughed in disbelief. “My little mute… don’t tell me I just performed a medical miracle?” Being a mute canary had its perks. No need for flattery outside the bedroom. No need to scream “Daddy, you’re amazing” inside the bedroom. The only downside was— I couldn’t curse when I was pissed off. Like right now. Ethan Sterling noticed my mind wandering. His hands gripped my waist. He flipped me over with brute force. Biting and gnawing. Fierce enough to tear the flesh off and swallow it whole. Ahhh, you dog! I screamed internally. On the outside, however, I was pathetic. Eyes red, tears falling plip-plop. Finding leverage in the rocking motion. Wrapping my arms around his neck. Rubbing my cheek against his, begging for mercy. Based on experience. As long as I made this face. Ethan would wrap things up quickly. But tonight, he was possessed. He went through one ultra-thin wrapper after another. From the bed to the bathroom to the sofa. Until midnight. Only then did he hold me, satisfied, and carry me back to bed. I was exhausted. But thinking about what was coming next. Sleep vanished instantly. This afternoon, one of Ethan’s buddies came over. The study door wasn’t closed tight. Bits of conversation drifted out. “Jenny is coming back tomorrow. Are you sending a car, or picking her up yourself?” “Is ‘Jenny’ something you’re allowed to call her?” Ethan’s voice was freezing. The friend quickly corrected himself. “Okay, okay, I’m not worthy. That’s your exclusive pet name…” It was begging for mercy, but mostly teasing. Everyone in the circle knew Ethan Sterling had a “white moonlight” he couldn’t forget. He protected her well. People knew she existed. But no one knew her full name or what she looked like. Why they weren’t together remained a mystery. Once, bored, I helped Ethan organize his study. I saw a yellowing photo. The girl wore a hat, facing sideways. The only visible half of her face. Looked eighty percent like mine. My mind flashed back to the first time I met Ethan. I was standing by the curb, on my phone. A car pulled up in front of me. I didn’t look closely, thought it was my Uber. Opened the door, sat right in. When you’re out in the world, you give yourself your own identity. As a socially anxious person, to avoid small talk with drivers. Every time I got in a car, I pulled out my prepared scrolling text. [I am mute. Please do not speak to me.] The moment I shoved my phone in his face. I realized the driver was a cold, noble, devastatingly handsome man. Handsome enough that a car used for Uber. Looked like a luxury ride I couldn’t afford under his aura. He looked at my screen again and again. Stunned for a long time, before asking in a husky voice where I was going. 2 Seeing the photo, it all made sense. Ethan’s loss of composure back then. Wasn’t because I got in the wrong car. He didn’t kick me out. Not because of my fake disability. But because I looked like his lost love. Silence filled the office for a second before the conversation resumed. “What about the one at home?” “She’s timid, and a mute. Probably can’t be seen in public…” I didn’t listen to the rest. I turned and left. If I didn’t leave, I wouldn’t be able to control myself. I would have laughed out loud right there. Three years! Three whole years! I played mute for three years! Finally, the breakup is here! I was too excited to sleep. I turned my back to Ethan. Unlocked my phone, tapped into the “Canary Support Group.” I got pulled in by an enthusiastic girl in a VIP lounge while accompanying Ethan to a dinner once. The ultimate goal of every member was to secure a sky-high breakup fee. Financial freedom, retire early. I couldn’t resist sharing. [Ethan Sterling’s white moonlight is coming back!] The message bombed the night owls awake. [Ahhh, congrats Shu!] [Take it, take it! My sugar daddy’s white moonlight is supposedly studying in Germany…] [Envious of you sisters, mine doesn’t have a white moonlight (lifeless version)] After a wave of envy, Chloe @ me curiously. [Mr. Sterling is so rich and generous to you, the breakup fee must be huge, right?] Ethan had always been generous. Fifty thousand a month in allowance. Bags and jewelry every other day. Occasionally, on a whim, luxury cars and houses. I didn’t take the cars or houses. I’m poor! I can’t afford the maintenance on a Ferrari! Or the property tax on a mansion! Hard to take with me, selling them requires dealing with agents… Just thinking about it made my social anxiety spike. So my only hope for wealth was Ethan’s cash breakup fee. A few million? Or ten million? The more I thought, the more excited I got, twisting into a pretzel on the bed. The next second, the man dragged me back into his arms. “Not tired?” His burning body pressed against mine again. I pushed him away with hands and feet in panic. Clasped my hands under my cheek. Signaling sleep, immediately! “Tomorrow I’m going to the airport to pick up someone very important to me.” I snapped my eyes open. Ethan asked, pretending to be casual: “Do you… want to come?” I was dumbfounded. Who? Me? Asking if I want to come? The substitute picking up the original? Are you trying to give her a heart attack on the spot? I shook my head violently. Ethan looked at me steadily. “Fine… you’re timid. Wait until you want to meet her.” Ethan always indulged me. When we first got together, he offered to get me a job. After I refused, he never brought it up again. As a shut-in with social anxiety. This life of not working. Food appearing when I opened my mouth, clothes handed to me. I was actually a little reluctant to leave. My mood dipped uncontrollably. Just then, my phone vibrated. A text notification from the bank. “I probably won’t be back tomorrow night. Might not have time for you the next couple of days.” “Take this money. Buy whatever you like…” I ignored Ethan. Staring at my phone screen with glowing eyes. Ones, tens, hundreds, thousands, ten thousands, hundred thousands, millions… 3 I rubbed my eyes. Counted again, back and forth. It was eight figures! Ethan gave me a thirty million dollar breakup fee! Thirty million! A poor person suddenly rich. Money rushed to my head. In my excitement, I blurted out: “Thanks, boss! You’re the man!” “…” Eyes met. The atmosphere froze instantly. Fck!* Too happy, forgot I was a mute! I mean, how can a person be so polite? After realizing the stupid thing I did. I covered my mouth guiltily. My waist went soft, body sliding down. Burying myself entirely under the covers. The next instant, I was hoisted up by the scruff of my neck. “Little mute.” The girl he pampered for three years suddenly wasn’t mute. Ethan laughed in anger. “Don’t tell me I just performed a medical miracle?” Haha. That dry joke wasn’t funny at all. Nowhere to hide. To block his burning gaze scanning my body. I had to cover my face tightly with my hands. “Little mute, speak.” I shook my head, voice muffled. “Mutes can’t speak.” “…” Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose. Looking at the girl whose face was red. Wishing she could disappear. He was helpless. “Don’t you have anything to say?” I bit my lip, confused. Yes, I played mute and tricked him. I offer no defense. And the money is already in my account. What else is there to say? I have nothing to say! But clearly, I had to say something right now. Change of strategy. Think about what Ethan wants to hear, loves to hear. Suddenly, a lightbulb went off. “Brother…” Ethan’s breath hitched. As a woman of culture. I desperately recalled the literature I’d read. Those indescribable romance novels. Picking and choosing, finally finding a sentence I could say. “Brother is so big… so great, I like it so much…” I stammered the praise. Worried, I moved two fingers from my eyes. Peeked at Ethan’s expression. Brows raised, mouth relaxed. Seemed not angry? Playing mute to escape worked for so long, but I couldn’t hide forever. Luckily, tonight was my last night as a canary. I racked my brain, searching my inventory. “Brother was so amazing tonight, like you took pills or something.” Ethan’s face went black instantly. “What did you say? Say it again?” I swallowed. What was wrong with that? Maybe he doesn’t like “Brother”? Right, Ethan is older. He doesn’t get the “Oppa/Brother” kink. Heart pounding like a drum. I gathered my courage and repeated: “Daddy was so amazing tonight…” The rest of the words never made it out. Swallowed by a sticky, entangled kiss. The man grabbed my hands, which I didn’t know where to place. Moving lower and lower. Ethan’s dark eyes glowed green in the dim sconce light. “Little mute, say it again.” 4 Dawn was breaking. The man was excited, like he’d opened the door to a new world. I buried my sweaty head in the pillow. Thinking dizzily. Good thing I was smart enough to play mute for three years. Otherwise, I definitely would have died in this bed! Woke up in the afternoon. Whole body aching. After screaming all night, my throat was so hoarse I couldn’t speak. Now I really was mute. Dragging my legs like prosthetics downstairs. Auntie Wang saw me. Nodded a greeting, turned to the kitchen to bring warm porridge. After doing this, like a house elf. She vanished silently. Ethan knew I didn’t like interacting with strangers. So he instructed everyone from the start. Anyone coming in or out had to lower their presence. Very friendly to the socially anxious. The more I thought about it, the more I felt Ethan was actually pretty good. Rich, handsome, gentle when needed. Rough when needed. The only flaw was. He had another woman in his heart. “Sigh…” I was melancholy for three seconds. My hand inadvertently tapped the transfer record of thirty million. Seemed like… maybe… I didn’t love him that much. My heart is too small, it only fits money. As for Ethan? Fine, for the sake of him being a good guy. I’ll help him out! Thinking this. I lay back on the bed with a clear conscience. Opened a novel on my shelf. Chapter One: The White Moonlight Returns. Perfect, just what I needed. Time to study. Half an hour later. I was enraged by the male and female leads who refused to communicate. Exited the novel expressionless. Opened WeChat, sent a “cat peeking” sticker to Ethan. Ethan replied instantly. “Awake? Auntie Wang kept the porridge warm. Eat something good tonight, don’t just snack.” “Still hurt? Feeling better?” Ahhhhhh! A capable man asks if you’re tired. A super capable man asks if it hurts, if you’re okay. I buried myself in the quilt, kicking my legs. Took a while before I replied coolly. “Mn.” Ethan didn’t reply instantly this time. Probably busy. I took the opportunity to share the articles I found. Don’t Miss the Her Beside You. Words Are Cheap, Actions Are Gold. Thirty Tips for Wooing Girls: Give Her What She Likes. … Sent about ten links, then happily opened my game. Played for two hours. Checked messages, realized Ethan had replied long ago. “Received.” What does “Received” mean? Wrong chat? Thought it was work? Next second, I got a call from Ethan’s assistant. went downstairs confused to open the door. He pulled out a black card and handed it to me. “Ms. Wen, this is the supplementary card Mr. Sterling asked me to bring you.” My eyes widened like fried eggs. “For… for me?” Assistant He, usually tense as a robot, crumbled in that instant. “Ms. Wen, you… aren’t you mute?” We stared at each other. I seemed to have… forgotten to tell him the truth. Awkward. Burned the elite’s CPU. After listening to the explanation, Assistant He pushed up his glasses. Brain rebooting. “Apologies, I was ignorant.” I pursed my lips, changing the subject in embarrassment. “Heard Mr. Sterling is picking up someone important this afternoon?” Assistant He nodded. “Yes, Ms. Wen. Are you going too?” The substitute picking up the white moonlight. Are you straight men crazy? I laughed dryly. “That’s not appropriate, is it?” Assistant He thought of something. Corrected himself: “It is a bit sudden. Better to be mentally prepared before meeting.” What is going on… Can I just not meet this white moonlight? I immediately steered away. “Ethan is so busy, did you help him prepare flowers, gifts, a welcome dinner for tonight?” “Ms. Wen need not worry. Mr. Sterling arranged that last month.” Arranged last month…

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The New Year’s Eve I decided to move across the country to Minneapolis, my mother chased me out of the house with a broom. “That boy has nothing! You’ll starve with him. If you go, I will disown you!” she shrieked. For six years in that frozen city, Jake Harrison had swallowed all the hardship on his own. With hands permanently calloused and chapped from the cold, he built us a home. It was New Year’s Eve again, and I was digging through a plate of cream stew, searching for the one I’d marked—the one hiding the custom engagement ring I’d bought—when the police called. They said my boyfriend was involved in a serious brawl and I needed to come to the precinct. I rushed over through the snow, bowing and apologizing until my back ached. As I signed the papers to take him home, I saw him. Jake smelled of cheap whiskey, his face was bruised purple, and a young woman was clutching the hem of his jacket, her face a mask of tear-streaked sorrow. “Jake, thank you for sticking up for me. My ex is abusive and he’ll never stop harassing me. My son and I… we can’t hold on much longer.” “Mike loves the cream stew you make. He waits every day for ‘Daddy Jake’ to come play with him. Jake, please, give us a family.” In an instant, all my carefully managed composure snapped. I hurled my phone against the wall. Right there, inside the precinct, Jake and I had the most vicious fight of our relationship. I was hysterical, accusing him of treason. He yelled back, calling me selfish and heartless. He eventually backed down, promising to move his coworker, Scarlett, to another team and cut all ties. After that night, Jake never spoke of Scarlett again. Their chat history showed only essential work-related messages. Until I found his second phone. They hadn’t cut ties. They’d simply moved their relationship from the open, visible space to a hidden, private system where I couldn’t see. He’d switched from his main account to a private one filled with well-wishing friends and family, where every photo of him with Scarlett and her son, Mike, received genuine blessings. I scrolled to the messages from that New Year’s Eve. Scarlett: I found the ring in the cream stew. Was your girlfriend planning to propose? Should I bring it back to you? Jake: No. Just pretend you didn’t see it. I’m not ready for marriage right now. He got his wish. After six years away, it was time for me to go home. 1 Jake was bustling around the kitchen. “Jenny, I’ve reheated dinner a few times, so the taste might not be great,” he said, his voice laced with forced cheer. “What do you want? I can order takeout, or we can go to that Japanese place down the street…” He turned, meeting my red-rimmed eyes. His expression immediately softened. “Come on, honey. Don’t be dramatic.” He reached for me. “Our girl is the most understanding, isn’t she?” I flinched away from his touch. My voice was a flat slab of ice. “Get the cream stew back.” Jake’s smile froze on his face. He untied his apron, wadded it into a ball, and threw it hard at my feet. He pointed a finger, shaking it in my face, before finally, through gritted teeth, saying, “Fine.” The call connected. Scarlett answered, saying her son had eaten them. “I’m so sorry, truly. I’ll pay for them, whatever they cost.” Jake’s facade was crumbling. A plate of holiday food, and an unstoppable scene unfolding. “It’s nothing, Scarlett. Jenny is just being silly. I’ll buy her a new batch—” “Jake, it’s not the same,” I cut him off. He slammed the phone down. The screen shattered, fragments flying, and a few pieces grazed my arm, drawing pinpricks of blood. His voice swelled into a shout. “What exactly are you trying to do today?” “It’s just a damn cream stew, Jenny. Stop being so obvious with your hostility toward Scarlett.” I was stunned into silence. Jake yanked a wad of cash from his wallet and flung it at my face. Bills fluttered down, mixed with three faded tickets to an amusement park. “Is that enough?” He pulled out his card. And threw that too. “Is that enough?” “I’ll cover her debt!” The sound thrummed against my eardrums. In six years, this was the first time Jake had yelled at me like this—savage and consuming. My chest ached, the sorrow too thick to let words escape. I fumbled frantically for my photo album, desperate to find proof of the five-year-old promise: the one where he swore today would be our wedding day. He was the one who forgot. “Enough. We both need to cool down,” Jake said, pushing my phone away. “Jenny, you need to seriously reflect on your own jealousy.” The door slammed shut. I started dry heaving, clutching the fabric over my heart. Only the pressure seemed to ease the terrible feeling of suffocation. When the crying stopped and I could breathe again, I dragged myself up to pack my few belongings. I arrived six years ago full of reckless courage; I was leaving now utterly, tragically alone. Scarlett had posted a picture to her feed. The caption read: The happiest New Year’s ever. The photo’s background was a high-end restaurant. Jake was holding the boy, and Scarlett was nestled right against his side. While I was on the brink of breakdown, they had gone out for a lavish dinner. The table was covered in rich food. The dish Jake had just reheated in the kitchen for me? Their leftovers. And among the food was fresh shrimp, Scarlett’s favorite, but a deadly allergen for me. He hadn’t even thought to remove it while heating the meal. Jake’s assistant had commented: “Wow, that was fast. Scarlett’s charm is undeniable, sis.” “Jake swore up and down he was an anti-marriage bachelor. Guess he finally bowed down to you, Scarlett.” The screen went black, reflecting my own pale, shocked face. My hands trembled as I finished packing. At the bottom of my suitcase was the train ticket from six years ago—the thirty-two-hour journey that marked the beginning. And the six years that Jake had never taken seriously. 2 It was laughable. After all those years in Minneapolis, I had no friends, no job, and the only money I had was the wad Jake had thrown at my face last night. I had only learned to revolve around him. To cook his meals, put him first, and empty my savings to buy him a ridiculously expensive watch just to see him smile. I was unbelievably stupid. Stupid enough to hand my heart over completely, giving him unrestricted access to hurt it. “One ticket back to Miami, please.” The older ticket agent paused. “Wait, you’re that girl from six years ago, aren’t you?” I looked up, the gray of my face finally finding some color. “You remember me?” She smiled. “Who could forget you two?” “Your young man waited for you outside the station for over a day. The snow covered his shoulders; he looked like an ice sculpture, but he wouldn’t move. He was terrified of missing you.” “We told him to come inside for coffee to warm up. He gave us this embarrassed laugh and said he was starting his own business, but he’d spent every last penny on your welcome gift. He couldn’t even afford the bus fare, so he walked five hours just to get here.” I listened, mesmerized. My chest felt heavy and bittersweet. From the dilapidated shack to the rental apartment to this big, modern loft. The boy had swallowed the hardship alone. With hands marked by frostbite and calluses, he’d built brick by brick, creating happiness, creating a home. He’d said: “We won’t be afraid of winter anymore.” “Jenny, I was terrified you’d come and terrified you wouldn’t.” “I was afraid you’d have to suffer with me.” “But I was so much more afraid that you wouldn’t love me.” He’d cried that day. Holding me so tightly it felt like he was trying to meld me into his body. My own tears followed. They were happy tears then. How did they become so painful now? “Here you are, sweetheart.” My fingers trembled. It felt like I was receiving not a ticket, but a knife to sever the past. “Don’t cry.” The agent saw the expensive jade bracelet on my wrist and seemed relieved. “When you build a life with a man from nothing, don’t talk about feelings. Talk about money. Talk about whether he still chooses to be good to you.” I nodded. The ticket was crumpled in my hand. Just before I reached the boarding gate, Jake found me. He was running, just like six years ago, and he pulled me into his arms. I could hear his ragged breathing, his frantic heartbeat, and the tremor in his voice. “Don’t leave…” “Jenny, I was just angry. I didn’t mean to drive you away…” Jake tore the ticket from my hand, lifted me, and shoved me into the passenger seat of his SUV. “You hate that I talk to Scarlett, right?” he said, driving wildly. “I’ve had her moved to a different department. I will keep my distance.” I remained silent, staring blankly at the ornament dangling from the rearview mirror—a gift from Scarlett. The car was saturated with a light citrus scent—Scarlett’s perfume. The console, which used to hold my lip balm and CDs, was now packed with children’s snacks and a few lipsticks that weren’t mine. I blinked, my eyes stinging. Jake didn’t notice my deadened silence. He was rambling about taking me to Banff for our holiday break. I sighed softly. I didn’t even have the energy to nod. 3 Jake stopped mentioning Scarlett. Their message log was, once again, clean, showing only essential work communication. The slate seemed wiped clean. “Jenny, I’m running for VP, so work is going to be hellish for a while.” His voice was distorted through the phone, not quite real. “I wired money to your account. Go shopping, buy what you like. Don’t spend all your energy worrying about me.” He came home after I was asleep. He left before I woke up. There was always warmed breakfast in the microwave. My dirty clothes were washed and hung on the balcony. Jake’s presence was everywhere in the apartment. I could see it. But I couldn’t grasp it anymore. I felt us drifting apart, the relationship rusting. We could polish that layer of rust off, and everything looked the same, but the relationship had lost its weight. It was suspended in the air, trembling with the slightest breeze. I was planning to take the money and leave, but then came the biggest variable: I was pregnant. At first, I was just drowsy, nauseous, and throwing up constantly. I mentioned it to Jake. The next day, he came home with a huge bag of medication and, without a word of instruction, rushed out the door again. I took the pills until I felt so ill I went to the clinic. That’s when I found out I was pregnant. “We need further testing to determine if you can keep the baby,” the doctor frowned. “Taking this many antibiotics, there’s a risk of birth defects.” Two nurses had to help me get off the table. I spent the next six hours, the most agonizing of my life, in the waiting room. My hands were covered in bruises from where I’d pinched myself. My eyes were wide open, streaming with tears and guilt. I blamed myself for not realizing I was pregnant sooner. For not checking the medication. For blindly swallowing everything Jake handed me. “For now, things look okay. Come back next month for a follow-up.” A wave of relief washed over me. I even ate an extra bowl of dinner that night. Jake got home around midnight. He reeked of alcohol, his cheek was split and bleeding, and one eye was purple. “Did you get into a fight again?” He mumbled something vague and stumbled into the bathroom. His work phone, tossed on the bed, pinged. Scarlett: Jake, thank you, truly, for standing up to him today. My ex would never stop harassing me otherwise. Scarlett: I am so helpless. If you hadn’t been with us all this time, my son and I would never have made it. Mike loves you so much. He waits every day for ‘Daddy Jake’ to come play with him. Jake, please, give us a family. The words hammered my nerves. The pain was excruciating, like my guts were twisting into knots. Daddy Jake… Who would my child call Daddy? Give us a family. What about my home? The shelter I’d craved since childhood, the home I’d helped build—it was gone. Torn to shreds by Jake’s own hand. I bit down on my tongue, forcing myself to stay clear-headed. I scrolled back through everything. They had never broken contact. They had only moved their relationship from the visible world to the private one, the one on the second phone, the one where he received sincere congratulations on every photo with her and her son. I had been abandoned again. Scarlett: I found the ring in the cream stew. Was your girlfriend planning to propose? Should I bring it back to you? Jake: No. Just pretend you didn’t see it. I’m not ready for marriage right now. I couldn’t maintain the pretense of dignity any longer. My hand shaking, I typed a message to Scarlett: Love being the side chick? You can have the trash. I don’t want him. “Jenny Stone, what the hell are you doing with my phone!” 4 Jake’s tenderness vanished the moment I touched his raw nerve. He yanked me back, and I stumbled, falling against the side of the bed. Ignoring the sudden, sharp pain in my lower abdomen, I scrambled up and slapped him hard across his already swollen face. He stared down at the phone in my hand. “Give it to me.” I didn’t move. He lunged for it, grabbing my hand and prying my fingers open one by one. I heard a terrifying crack from my knuckle as I cried out. He snatched the phone back. “Too late. The message is sent, Jake. You can’t unsend it.” I started to laugh, a wild, hysterical sound that sounded like glee and madness all at once. “I called her a whore, Jake. A home-wrecker. Does that hurt? Does it make your darling hero complex ache?” “Scarlett is a home-wrecker—” Smack. I landed on the bed. The slap had driven every single word back into my stomach. They swirled around, turning into pain, into nausea, into clinging, tentacled vines that tore me apart from the inside. My eyes were swollen and throbbing. I wondered if he had damaged them, because how else could I be shedding so much warm liquid? Could it be anything but blood and tears? “Do you have any idea how much you’re hurting her?” Jake roared. “Jenny, you are trying to break her! She has depression because of her ex. Are you only satisfied if she kills herself?” My voice was a raw croak. “Yes.” “I want all of you to die. You, too.” Jake stormed to the kitchen, grabbed a knife, and shoved it into my hand. Then he pressed the blade to his own throat. It was a desperate, scorched-earth move. “Go on. Kill me.” “Fucking kill me if you’ve got the guts!” “Jenny, I never said I wouldn’t marry you! Scarlett’s situation isn’t resolved yet. I don’t have the energy to deal with you right now. You waited six years—are you really so starved for a little more time? So starved for a little more love?”

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During the dinner party, my mom and her “frenemy” were trading passive-aggressive barbs at the table. Meanwhile, in the coat closet, her son and I were locked in a different kind of battle. He was breathless, pinned against the wall by my kiss, begging for mercy: “Stop… my mom is going to catch us…” “God, you guys are so high-maintenance.” I took off my flannel shirt and tied it around his waist. “There. That hides it.” 1 My mom has a best friend named Diane Cole. After they both got married, the besties turned into “frenemies.” Diane has to compare everything with my mother. Since both families are well-off, they don’t care about jewelry or cars. They care about whose kid is winning life. Liam Cole is Diane’s son. Growing up, he was the introverted, stable, naturally gifted genius. I, on the other hand, was the loud, rebellious art student with a questionable GPA. Influenced by our mothers, Liam and I couldn’t stand each other. At every gathering, I played games on my phone. He ate silently or reviewed flashcards. The conversation between Mom and Diane always followed the same script: “My Liam got the highest AP scores in the state again. Next month he’s representing the school at the National Math Olympiad…” “Well, my Harper took first place in the National Contemporary Dance Finals.” As we got older, the competition shifted gears: “Sigh, Liam received another love letter last month. Thank god he’s so disciplined. Aside from his studies, he never gets too close to girls.” My mom laughed. “Diane, don’t suffocate the boy. It’s perfectly normal to have crushes at their age…” Diane didn’t agree. “Aren’t you worried about Harper getting distracted by boys?” I finished my round of Mobile Legends, looked up, and grinned. “Diane, what era are we living in? Honestly, dating at my age is considered a late start.” “Oh? But Harper is so pretty, surely she hasn’t started seeing someone already?” Just as Diane finished her sentence, Liam’s chopsticks—clack—hit the floor. My mom seized the opportunity. “Oh, tons of boys at school are chasing Harper. All art students. Pianists, drummers, jazz dancers… they all look like movie stars.” Diane scoffed. “So what if they look like stars? My Liam is handsome too.” My mom looked at Liam, opened her mouth, but couldn’t refute it. Diane was right. Liam was the face of our high school. He didn’t just win medals; he looked like an ice prince. Even the instructors in my dance studio talked about him. They praised his proportions, his aura, his features. They said if he ever joined a dance class, he’d be a star. Sure, the Art Department had plenty of hot guys. But they were trendy—dyed hair, ripped jeans, bending the dress code every chance they got. Liam, with his dark hair and crisp white shirts, was a breath of fresh air. His stock only went up, never down. Every time he walked past the arts wing, heads turned. Diane put a shrimp on my plate. “Harper, listen to me. Don’t date yet. I hear those artsy boys are players. They sleep around. Don’t waste your time on future unemployed actors…” Diane had stepped right on a landmine. I was a fangirl. I snapped back immediately. “Excuse me, Diane? Who says actors are players? My boyfriend is incredibly talented and successful! He got a perfect score on his SATs.” Liam’s face changed. His hand jerked, knocking over his water glass. He scrambled up, trying to stop the water spreading across the table, but it soaked his shirt and pants. Diane handed him napkins. “Good lord, why are you so clumsy today?” “Sorry. Diane, Margo… and…” Liam’s gaze landed on me. “Harper. Take your time eating. I’m going home to change.” I smirked at him. He ducked his head, grabbed his jacket, and practically ran out the door. Late that night, I got a text from Liam. Liam: [Can you teach me how to date?] I froze. I checked the profile pic and the handle three times. It was definitely Liam Cole. I typed a slow: [?] Liam: [If your boyfriend would mind, pretend I didn’t ask. Sorry.] I sat up straight, firing back three devil emojis. Me: [My boyfriend says he doesn’t mind.] I glanced at my iPad lock screen featuring Timothée Chalamet. Yeah, my “boyfriend” definitely didn’t mind. Hilarious. Liam actually believed my lie at dinner? In reality, I only liked three things: Chasing celebrities, binge-watching shows, and reading romance novels. I had zero energy for real dating. But being Liam Cole’s dating coach? That sounded fun. I tore open a bag of chips, ready for the tea. Me: [Dude, where’d you go? Don’t leave me hanging.] Liam: [No. Just thinking.] Me: [About what?] Liam: [The person I like has a boyfriend. But the internet says as long as they aren’t married, I still have a 50% chance. I… want to try.] My chip fell on the floor. I sent a voice memo: “Holy crap, Liam. You’re trying to be a homewrecker for love?” The nerd, Liam Cole, starting his villain arc? I’d sooner believe he was hacked. But he sent a voice memo back: “It’s only wrecking a home if they’re in love. If he isn’t as good as me, if he doesn’t know her like I do, why can’t I steal her?” It was late, so I used the speech-to-text feature. Reading the “her,” I paused. Me: [Bestie, I have to ask.] Liam: [Anything.] Me: [Is the person you like a guy or a girl?] Liam: […A girl. Harper, is your misunderstanding of me really that deep?] I sent a sticker of a cartoon character awkwardly twiddling its thumbs. Don’t blame me. Like his mom said, he never talks to girls. Brittany, the school’s prom queen and a total sweetheart, chased him for two years. He was an iceberg. She cried so hard her mascara ran. “It’s not just me! The cheer captain, the valedictorian—he rejected everyone. He only talks to guys. If he’s not gay, I’ll eat my ballet shoes.” Scary. Every girl who chased Liam ended up crying, convinced he just wasn’t into women. Liam sent two more messages. Liam: [I don’t have many girls in my contacts. You’re the only one I could think of. Will you help me?] It was rare for Liam to beg. Even rarer that he was begging me. I had to say yes. I don’t support homewrecking, but since the homewrecker is Liam… I figured I should help him minimize the damage. Me: [Send me her MBTI personality type ASAP. I’ll help you conquer her in a month!] Liam: [She’s an ENFP. bubbly, bright, confident, cute. She’s so pretty she looks intimidating.] I rolled around on my bed, laughing. Me: [Oh my god. Liam, you are down bad. Have you heard that introverts are just toys for extroverts? You’re doomed to be her puppy.] Liam, the king of concise texts, suddenly sent a sticker of a blushing dog covering its eyes with its ears. Liam: [Okay. Teach me. How do I become her puppy?] Uh. Why did the ice prince suddenly sound so… submissive? My smile froze. This contrast gave me a weird feeling I didn’t know how to handle. My screen went dark. The room was pitch black. I thumped my chest. My heart felt a little tight. I picked up the phone for the last message. Me: [It’s late. I need to sleep. It’s the weekend tomorrow. I’ll teach you when I wake up.] Liam switched back to his default factory settings. Liam: [Okay. Goodnight.] I stared at the screen. It was that switch in attitude! It made my mood swing up and down with it. I had insomnia until 3 AM, then sat up in bed, realizing something. “Genius! If Liam uses this hot-and-cold tactic on that girl—switching between eager puppy and cool detachment—she’ll lose her mind wondering about him.” I texted the idea to Liam. He didn’t reply. Probably asleep. 2 The next day, while I was using concealer to hide my dark circles, Liam texted. Liam: [Your advice worked. She texted me spontaneously at 3 AM.] My hand paused. 3 AM? Oh. That was when I texted him. He didn’t reply to me… so he was chatting with his goddess? Liam: [As a thank you, let me treat you to lunch today?] I thought about it and declined. Me: [Nah. If your crush sees us, it might ruin the progress you just made. I’ll just be your cyber-wingman.] Liam: [Okay. The strategist makes a good point.] I stretched, ready to order an iced Americano and rot in my room all day. My mom poked her head in. Full glam, new perfume, dressed like she was going to the Hamptons. “Baby, Diane just called. She invited us to lunch at her new beach house. Are you free?” “I am, but I don’t want to—” “I’ll buy you breakfast. Get changed. No rush.” Mom blew me a kiss. “My Harper looks so pretty today!” Looking at her bright smile, I swallowed my refusal. “Fine. Your baby chooses to spoil you today. I’ll go.” “Love you!” Mom hummed a tune as she went downstairs. I patted my face. “Diane, seriously? How many times a month do you need to see my mom? Are you enemies or soulmates?” We arrived at Diane’s new oceanfront property just in time for lunch. The sun was blazing. She had set up a long table in the garden. It was piled high with expensive seafood—my mom’s weakness. Mom swallowed, whispering viciously, “She just loves to show off! Look at that seafood… it looks so fresh.” “You made it! I was rushing so I didn’t prepare much, just steamed some catches.” Diane walked out holding a massive lobster. “Oof, this is heavy. Margo, come help me in the kitchen? I have a few dishes left.” Diane waved at my mom. My mom grumbled about “didn’t you hire a caterer?” but immediately trotted off with Diane. I found a swing chair in the garden and sat down, closing my eyes. The sun was brutal. “Didn’t sleep well?” “…” I opened my eyes. A hand was hovering over my forehead, blocking the glare. Liam stood backlit against the sun, his white shirt smelling like ocean breeze and laundry detergent. “No, I slept fine. You’re the one who probably didn’t sleep,” I smiled. “How’s it going with her?” “Feels like we’re talking past each other,” he said, pulling a patio umbrella over to shade me. “Just talking won’t work.” I looked at the shadow on the grass. “But given her situation, meeting up often might be…” “Scandalous?” Liam sat down next to me. “I know I look pathetic. But my feelings for her… day after day…” He looked quietly into my eyes. “They’re getting out of control.” “Then be direct. Go all in.” “How?” Liam chuckled at my intensity. “You’re an ENFP too. What kind of guys do you like?” My brain immediately summoned Timothée Chalamet. “Handsome, sincere, hardworking, tall, and he has to have a killer smile…” “Does your boyfriend meet all those criteria?” “Obviously!” I blurted it out, eyes crinkling with a smile. “That’s good.” Liam’s voice sounded a bit hoarse. He looked down, the sea breeze messing up his bangs. I looked at his perfect profile and paused. “You’re great too.” Liam curled his lip. “Who is better? Me or your boyfriend?” “…” I thought about it. Liam was rich, smart, classy, and objectively good-looking. But I stuck to my guns. “My boyfriend is still better.” The smile vanished from Liam’s face. “Why did you stop smiling?” I asked. “Born this way. Besides, I look ugly when I smile.” Me: “?” 3 For the next month, Liam seemed to have given up his villain arc. At school, he was back to his “no girls allowed” policy, only interested in textbooks. It was like the guy who wanted to be a homewrecker that night never existed. But one night, I got a notification. It was a screenshot of his mock exam scores and early acceptance letters to Ivy League schools. A second later, he unsent it. Liam: [Sorry, wrong chat.] Me: [I saw it. Congrats, genius.] Diane loved to brag about his grades, but Liam usually hated it. Self-promotion was out of character. I sent a smirk emoji. Me: [Wrong chat? Hehe. Meant to send that to your goddess?] Liam: [Yeah. She seems to care about that stuff.] Me: [Oh, look at you, Liam. Peacocking?] Liam: [Is it obvious?] Me: [Very.] Liam: [Do you think she’ll find it annoying?] Me: [If she hates show-offs, yes. But if she’s shallow and only likes pretty faces and abs…] I was typing the second paragraph when Liam dropped three selfies in the chat. My finger slipped, and I frantically hit save. By the time I got to the third one, Liam unsent all of them. Dammit! Why did he have to delete them so fast? I wanted to analyze the collarbone under the white shirt. I wanted to see the lean muscle definition. Liam’s “delete” button made it all vanish like a dream. Liam: [If I… occasionally send her normal selfies, would that be okay?] I rolled my eyes. Liam called those “normal”? Me: [You can send them. Condition: Don’t unsend them after five seconds. Give the girl some time to appreciate the art, okay?] Liam: [Okay. snicker.jpg] Why was he laughing? I stared at the sticker of the snickering dog, feeling frustrated. Me: [Resend that third “normal” selfie.] Liam: [No. I’m shy.] Liam: [It’s just abs. Doesn’t your boyfriend have them? smile.jpg] Me: … Well played, Liam. Another sleepless night for me. 4 The next day, I went to school looking like a zombie. My homeroom teacher intercepted me in the hall. “Have you decided on a college list?” “Yeah.” “Harper, I know for art students the GPA requirements are lower, but…” She hesitated. I knew what she meant. My math scores were tragic. “Your portfolio is strong. You have two months left. Let’s pull up those academic scores.” She patted my shoulder. “Good luck.” Walking out of the office, I yawned so wide I almost dislocated my jaw. I ran right into Liam. I covered my mouth with the back of my hand. He nodded politely. As he passed, I grabbed the hem of his shirt. “Morning, Liam.” “Morning. Something wrong?” He stopped. Even with the hallway crowded, he didn’t shake off my hand. I gave him my brightest, most dazzling smile. “It’s early. Want to grab breakfast?” “You haven’t eaten?” He paused, then turned toward the stairs. “Let’s go.” I hurried to catch up, walking shoulder-to-shoulder with him. We’d known each other forever, but this was the first time we’d walked together openly at school. I followed the gaze of other students and looked at Liam. I was wearing a high ponytail, which brushed right against his ear level. “Liam, are you 6’1?” I asked randomly. “6’2.” “I’m 5’7.” “Okay. And?” He looked down, locking eyes with me. I blurted out, “How tall is your goddess? I heard a 15cm height difference is perfect for kissing without tiptoeing.” Liam’s lip quirked. “I can bend down.” The morning sun turned the tips of our ears red. He was backlit, glowing. The unattainable male lead from all those campus novels suddenly had a face. Some loudmouth from the Art Department shouted, “Holy crap, is that Harper with Liam Cole? Are you guys dating?” I waved my hands frantically. “No, I—” “No, I’m just accompanying Harper to breakfast,” Liam answered calmly. The art kids winked at me. “Got it. Nice work, Harper.” Liam gestured across the street. “Pumpkin porridge and potstickers?” At the shop, we sat across from each other. I scanned the QR code to pay before he could. “You’re my wingman,” Liam said. “I should treat you.” I grinned. “I need a favor.” Liam dropped his spoon. Soy milk splashed onto the table. “What do you need?” He grabbed a napkin. “Liam, can you tutor me in math?” “Tutor?” His hand froze. “Sure. When?” “Tonight? I’ll tell my mom to talk to yours. Come over for dinner.” I grabbed his hand and shook it. “Return the favor.” Liam’s hand tightened around the napkin. “Are you and your boyfriend long-distance? Can’t he help you?” “Huh? If you don’t want to, I’ll hire a college student…” “Study hall. After school.” “You won’t come to my house?” “No. Study hall.” “No way.” I slumped. “I need food to function…” Liam watched my dramatic sigh, barely suppressing a smile. “Fine. I’ll come to your house.” I was secretly thrilled. He suddenly leaned in. “How’s the grip?” “What grip?” I followed his gaze down. I was still holding his hand. Pale, long fingers, clean nails. Literally speaking… the grip was nice. I let go, patting his hand to cover my awkwardness. “It’s okay.” “Just okay?” Liam’s eyes darkened. “Then tell me, how should a hand be held to pass the test?” Nerd behavior. Even now, he was “studying.” Since he agreed to fix my math grade, I figured I’d teach him how to handle women. I laughed and interlaced my fingers with his, locking them tight. “This is the standard way.” Liam’s face exploded in red. I felt a weird satisfaction seeing him flustered. He took a few breaths. “That hurts.” “…” I let go. “I have a strong grip. Maybe your goddess is more delicate. Just practice.” His hand was red where I’d squeezed it. I frowned, afraid to look at his face. I was nervous, so I had squeezed too hard. “Is this how you hold your boyfriend’s hand?” Liam asked, flexing his fingers. I pouted. “So what if I do?” “Harper,” Liam said seriously. “Maybe you should practice too. That didn’t feel like holding hands. It felt like an interrogation technique.” “…Fine.” I grabbed his hand again. Looking at our locked hands on the table, Liam’s mouth curved into a barely visible smile.

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I am Jo Miller, and my daughter is the community’s golden girl, the poster child for filial devotion. Yet, on Christmas Eve, I signed the papers to legally sever our bond. The mediators from the local Family Services office rotated through, trying to talk sense into me. “Your daughter, Daisy, she’s devoted, Jo. Never gave you a moment’s worry growing up. She visits every other weekend, never comes empty-handed.” “What is wrong with you? You’ve got one foot in the grave, Jo, what in God’s name are you doing severing ties?” I stood my ground. I used a fireplace poker to drive Daisy out of the house. She wept, refusing to leave, and then, from the fourth-floor window of my old apartment, she threw herself out. I walked past her body. She was lying in a pool of blood, fingers frantically trying to clutch the hem of my jeans. I took a step back. “Try to bleed out somewhere else.” The neighbors couldn’t bear to watch. They called me a monster, wrapped me in a blanket, and drove me to the hospital. When Daisy woke up, intubated and broken, all she could do was whisper “I’m sorry” over and over again. I didn’t look at her. The next morning, I filed the final papers for the Petition for Familial Severance. 1 The Petition for Familial Severance hearing is straightforward. The petitioner asks three questions. If the respondent—the person being disowned—answers even one question correctly, the petition is denied. On the day of the hearing, Daisy was wheeled onto the platform by a kindly neighbor. She was skeletal, her face the color of wet plaster. Her hospital gown hung loosely on a frame of jutting bones. When she saw me, her voice was a rough whisper. “Mom…” I turned my head, refusing to meet her eyes. The Mediation Panel seemed annoyed by my callousness. Their pointed whispers and judgmental sighs drilled into my ears. “Silence,” the Judge’s voice was clipped. “The hearing is now in session. Joanne Miller, you will begin the questioning. Are you prepared?” I nodded. There was no preamble, no polite softening. I went straight for the throat. “My first question.” “Why did I first hit you?” Daisy’s eyes held a knowing, theatrical sadness. “Because I skipped school.” She sighed, her expression shifting to one of tragedy. “Dad had just been hospitalized in the ICU after his accident. We had no income. You were up all night, every night, so worried. I was trying to help, Mom. I was secretly skipping classes to work, and you caught me. You slapped me.” “Oh, that’s right! I remember that night. These old walls are thin. They were yelling so loud, my husband even went over to intervene.” “Skipping school is wrong, yes, but it came from a good place! She was trying to help her parents. No mother should hit her child for that.” “Exactly. Sweet Daisy was on the floor after that slap, shaking, but she pulled out five hundred dollars—money she’d earned—and begged her mother not to be angry. It broke my heart!” The murmurs, though low, were perfectly audible. I didn’t blink. I just spoke two words. “Pathetic.” The shockwave was instantaneous. Before Daisy could reply, the chorus of her defenders erupted. “Pathetic? Does this woman deserve to be a mother? Her daughter sacrifices her education to make money for the family, and you have the nerve to call it pathetic?” “She’s lucky to have such an angel! I say skip the trial. Grant the severance immediately before she bleeds her daughter dry in old age!” I gave a dry, humorless chuckle. “Fine by me. Let’s sever. It saves us all time.” But fear flashed in Daisy’s eyes. She lunged, sliding dramatically from her wheelchair, her face a streaked mess of tears and snot. “No… Mom, no, you can’t sever the bond…” Some people turned away, unable to watch; others glared at me with dagger-sharp contempt. The Judge looked down at Daisy, her expression pure pity. When they confirmed Daisy wasn’t injured from the fall, everyone sighed in collective relief. “Mom, that was the first time you ever hit me, the first time you ever lost your temper over my schooling. I never forgot it. After that, I was a model student. You drove me to and from school every day, even getting up at five a.m. for my last two years of high school. The only thing you ever talked about was my education.” She gazed at me, trembling. I said nothing, slowly turning my head to face the Judge. The Judge’s pity hadn’t yet left her eyes, but it instantly chilled when she glanced at me. She shuffled through her notes, pulling up the “obvious” answer, but her pupils narrowed sharply as she read the card. “The answer… the answer is… incorrect.” 2 “H-How is that possible? Mom, are you doing this on purpose? Are you trying to lie just so you can sever our ties?” Daisy furiously shook the wheels of her chair, turning to the Panel. “Mrs. Peterson, Mr. Harrison, you’ve been our neighbors for twenty years. You know what happened.” “They certainly do,” I cut in, my voice calm. “But Daisy, do you remember what happened in our home just before I first struck you?” Her eyes were glossy with unshed tears, and she spoke tentatively. “Dad was critically injured and in the hospital.” “That evening, I was mugged on my way home from evening study. When Dad found out, he confronted the guys, and they retaliated. They beat him into the ICU. It was my fault. I ruined him. After he was hospitalized, I didn’t want to live. I took an overdose of sleeping pills that night, and to be sure, I cut my wrists.” She pulled up her sleeve, exposing a web of hideous, jagged scars on her inner wrist. The tears finally spilled over. The low murmur of the Panel stopped, replaced by a heavy, profound wave of sympathy. I could feel my fingers starting to shake at the memory. I squeezed them into my palms, digging in my nails. Daisy’s voice was a plea. “Mom, you never left my side. You stayed up all night to watch me. You dragged me to every therapist and specialist in the city because you were terrified I’d hurt myself again. You told me you would sell the house, sell your blood, do anything, just to make me well.” “You loved me so much then… Why… why have you brought us here today?” Before she finished speaking, sniffles and muted sobs rose from the Panel. Everyone was moved by the tragic history of my daughter. All of the agony my husband and I endured for her was seen as a simple parental obligation. I remembered the day Rob was moved from the Critical Care Unit to a regular room. He squeezed my hand and begged me to take care of our girl. He made me promise so many things. I did every one of them. “So, Mom, after all that, what is your answer?” Daisy prompted, pulling me back to the present. “You were dating.” My answer was blunt. Daisy stared, speechless. Her high school guidance counselor laughed with disbelief. “Joanne Miller, you are an outrageous liar! Daisy was my student! Ours was an all-girls’ academy, you forget? For a mother to invent a sexual smear against her own daughter in a court of law… that is pure malice! Are you even her mother?” Everyone in the room fixed me with hateful, murderous stares. “Are you finished?” My voice was level. I turned my head slightly, catching Daisy’s face. “You tell them.” “Was it random thugs who put your father in the ICU, or was it your boyfriend, Mitch Sullivan?” 3 Daisy’s lips pressed into a tight line. She shook her head back and forth like a frantic metronome. She stammered. “I… I…” “Second question,” I cut her off coldly. “Why did I insist you attend a local university after high school?” The question wasn’t difficult. We lived in Boston. Most kids stayed local for the excellent colleges. The day she got her acceptance, the neighbors praised her for staying close to care for me. But was that the truth? With me and her teachers watching her, Daisy made it through high school. But in college, failing grades became the norm. She was facing expulsion. I swallowed my pride and went to a college friend I hadn’t spoken to in thirty years. I leveraged his connection to reach an obscure intermediary. That person led me to the Dean of Daisy’s department. I had no money, no connections of value. I just drove out to his home with baskets of fresh, small-farm produce and volunteered to clean his house, even helping to care for his bedridden mother. I constantly mentioned Daisy to him, painting her as a devoted, hardworking student who was distracted by having to care for her ailing father—a man in a vegetative state—and manage the household, using this as an excuse for her grades. Daisy’s fabricated “devotion” made the Dean relent. Afterward, I stayed on to care for his elderly mother, refusing payment. But the Dean was a good man; he started paying me a generous salary, enough to finally cover Rob’s staggering monthly hospital bills. He even took an interest in Daisy, offering her an internship and a place at the City Research Institute after graduation. I thought my years of sacrifice were finally paying off. But Daisy refused every one of the Dean’s job offers. The reason she gave? That my excessive control wouldn’t allow her to leave. She even managed to get me fired, losing my primary income, simply by casually mentioning in front of the Dean that I had scolded her for giving his mother too many potatoes, which she claimed I did out of spite. I looked at Daisy’s worried frown. I was genuinely curious how she would spin this. “You made me stay local because of your control issues. You wanted to keep me close.” Her voice was thick with manufactured injury. Large, fat tears dropped onto the floor, splattering onto the Panel’s hearts. “Mom, I’m an adult now. I have my own mind. I listened to you for twenty years, but I have my own family now, my own child. You can’t chain me up for the rest of my life…” Her eyes were red and fixed on me. She spoke each syllable with deliberate clarity. “Mom, I am not your accessory. I am my own person.” “Well said!” someone whispered, triggering a wave of hushed agreement. The looks directed at me twisted from suspicion and dissatisfaction to outright fury and disgust. The entire room supported her, and the weight of their judgment pressed down on me. I quickly glanced at Daisy, not pausing for a second. “Yes. You’re right.” Before she could smile, I continued. “But you’re only half-right.” Everyone, including Daisy, was confused. “I made you stay local, not to keep you close to me, but to keep you away from Mitch Sullivan.” I turned my gaze toward the corner of the room where he sat. Following my eyes, everyone else stared, too. The noisy whispers died instantly, replaced by a thick silence. Mitch Sullivan was no stranger. He was a local thug, known for dozens of petty crimes and violence. A born piece of trash. 4 “Hey! What the hell is that supposed to mean? You’re here to sever ties with your daughter! Leave me out of your crazy drama!” “Besides, I’m a changed man! Everyone rebels when they’re young. Your daughter isn’t fifteen, she’s thirty-five! She has the right to decide who she dates! What right do you have to interfere?” His words spewed out like machine-gun fire. I was here to sever ties with my daughter. I saw no reason to engage with a lowlife like him. Seeing my silence, Mitch gave a sneering, knowing “Ohhh.” “I get it now. You haven’t had any male attention in years, so you’re jealous your own daughter does. If you’re that desperate, Jo, go find someone! Don’t lock your daughter up just because you can’t stand seeing her happy.” A wave of titters and whispers ran through the Panel. They furrowed their brows at his crude words, but I saw them slowly nodding in agreement. Someone in the crowd chimed in. “She’s right! The mother slandered her daughter, claiming she was dating in high school, and she’s still interfering in college! She just can’t stand to see her daughter happy. Competing with your own child is disgusting.” “That mother is a control freak. This girl was totally messed up by that home, yet she still doesn’t want to sever ties! If it were me, I’d have cut her off years ago.” “I can tell by her face she’s the kind of mother who will sleep between the bride and groom on their wedding night.” Daisy just sat there listening, neither confirming nor denying, a calculated look in her eyes. The tidal wave of condemnation grew louder. I bit my lip, my fingertips curling. I tried to stand to defend myself, but the room went black, and I collapsed back into the sofa. Daisy was instantly at my side, her eyes red, her voice choked with sobs. “Please, please don’t say those things.” “Yes, my mother secretly hid Mitch’s boxers and tore up our photos, but she didn’t mean to hurt us! She’s just so lonely…” That one sentence launched me right into the eye of the storm. I was like a criminal in ancient times, paraded through the streets—cursed, spat on, and shamed by everyone. Someone in the chaotic crowd actually spat toward me. Daisy turned back to me, smiling sickeningly. She patted my hand, her voice syrupy sweet. “It’s okay, Mom. Everyone understands.” The curses, the mockery—it was all behind a thick pane of glass. I was alone, hearing only the frantic drumming of my own heart. Something inside me fractured in that moment. I violently shook off her hand, raising my voice to reclaim the space. “Daisy Miller, you also got the second question wrong.” The smile froze on her face. She quickly reverted to her pitiful, vulnerable look. “The final question,” I said, my hand trembling as I held the microphone. “Why have I not spoken a single word to you in ten years?” She didn’t hesitate. “Because I married Mitch Sullivan.” I shook my head slowly. “Yes, and no.” Daisy’s fingers clenched the armrests of the wheelchair. Her voice was laced with impatience. “What do you want, Mom? Are you going to be satisfied with anything I say?” “If Dad knew how you were treating me today, he would hate you.” The rigid wall I’d built up since entering the courtroom finally cracked. The tears I’d held back for so long flooded my eyes. With shaking hands, I pushed the button on the remote to play the security footage. Everyone gasped at the scene that appeared on the screen.

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