Category: English

I was born with a nose that didn’t just smell the world; it smelled the heart. I could map the landscape of a person’s soul through the scents of their emotions—the sharp sting of resentment, the cloying sweetness of joy, the dusty bitterness of grief. But after Dad had his affair, the air in our house changed forever. My mother began brewing a bitter, boiling-hot cleansing tea every single night, mixing it with the ashes of burnt prayer papers. She would force it down my father’s throat, pressing the scalding ceramic mug against his lips until they blistered and turned white. “Drink it, Jared,” she would whisper, her voice a dead, flat thing. “Drink it and wash her out of you.” The air would swell with the suffocating stench of burnt paper, ash, and the sour, metallic tang of their mutual misery. Despite the blisters blooming on his lips, my father never fought back. He sat there, frozen under her hand, his eyes shining with a sickening, heavy guilt. He would look at me—little, quiet Una, watching from the corner—and whisper, “I did a bad thing, sweetie. Mommy is just fixing me.” Then came their anniversary. I remember running to the door to greet him when he came home, wrapping my arms around his legs. “Daddy,” I said, tilting my head back. “You smell so pretty.” The gentle, fragile smile on my mother’s face instantly froze. The mug of ash tea slipped from her hands, shattering on the hardwood floor, dark liquid splattering across the pristine wood. “You went back to her,” she breathed. Then, the dam broke. “You were with Christine again, weren’t you? Is she really that desperate? Can’t she breathe without another woman’s husband?” Years of suppressed humiliation and poison erupted all at once. She dropped to her knees, not to clean up the mess, but to snatch a jagged shard of ceramic. Clutching it so hard her own palms bled, she lunged at him, slashing at his chest. My father finally snapped. He caught her by the wrists and threw her backward with a violence that shocked us both. “At least Christine was pure when I met her!” he screamed, his face contorted. “At least she gave me her first time! Not like you—some bruised, discarded thing who let a rapist ruin her, and then dragged your little bastard child along to leach off of me!” My mother crashed onto the floor, stunned into a horrific silence. The tears rolled down her cheeks, but the light in her eyes—the tiny, flickering spark she had kept alive for years—went completely cold. Standing in the hallway, my nose caught the scent blooming from her. It wasn’t the sour sting of anger anymore. It was a deep, thick, suffocating bitterness. Like rotting roots. Like a house burning to the ground. That was the moment I knew: my mother was finally, truly, leaving. … My father was the first to snap back to reality. The anger drained from his face, replaced by a sudden, panicked horror at his own words. He scrambled forward, reaching out to pull her up, but she threw his hand off with a quiet, lethal strength. “I didn’t mean that,” he stammered, desperately trying to rewrite the air. “I was just angry, Summer. I lost my head. Una, baby, Daddy was just talking crazy. Don’t listen to me.” He looked so sincere. But my nose didn’t lie. I smelled the heavy, stagnant odor of rancid grease rising from him. Fear, wrapped in deceit. He was lying. My mother didn’t say a word. She simply stood up, smoothed her skirt, and walked toward the bedroom. As she passed, Dad looked down, caught a stray draft of air, and froze. He realized what I had smelled: the faint, powdery trace of Christine’s expensive floral perfume clinging to his collar. It was the scent of a year-old ghost. It had started exactly a year ago, on their last anniversary. Dad claimed he had a mandatory out-of-town conference and couldn’t make it home. Wanting to surprise him, Mom packed a small bag, took my hand, and drove four hours to his hotel. But when she pushed the door open with the spare key the front desk gave her, the room was thick with a heavy, musk-laden air. Christine—his “innocent” assistant—was curled under the sheets, her clothes scattered across the floor. They both scrambled, eyes darting, faces flushed with a panicked sweat. I had clung to my mother’s neck, my small nose twitching. “Mommy,” I whispered innocently, “Daddy smells so pretty. Just like Auntie Christine.” My mother had stood frozen in the doorway for what felt like an eternity. Then, without a tear, she closed the door and carried me away. When he crawled back home, Mom laid the divorce papers on the kitchen island. He begged, swore it was a one-time mistake, but when he saw the absolute stone in her eyes, his pleading curdled into rage. “Don’t you dare act so high and mighty!” he had shrieked. “Have you forgotten what you are? You were violated in the middle of nowhere, pregnant with some faceless criminal’s spawn! If I hadn’t married you, saved you from the shame and the whispering, you’d be a ruined outcast or dead at the bottom of a river! What right do you have to judge me?” Those cruel, jagged words had carved themselves into my childhood memory. That night, Mom held me so tight her ribs shook, curled up at the head of the bed. I smelled it then—the sharp, piercing vinegar of her silent despair. I was too young to fully grasp the biology of it, but my chest ached, and my nose burned. I understood, in the quiet way children understand tragedies, that I did not belong to the man who called himself my father. I smelled the truth, Dad. I always had. Back in the present, Mom stood by the bedroom door, her back to him, as still as a statue. Seeing her like that, a flicker of genuine remorse seemed to cross Dad’s face. Desperate to soften the blow, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. “Look, Summer,” he said, his voice dropping to a gentle plea. “I bought you the ring you wanted. The one from the boutique downtown.” But before he could even open it, his phone buzzed. It was a loud, intrusive ring. He answered, and even from where I stood, I could hear Christine’s soft, trembling sob through the receiver: “Jared… my apartment keys fell out of my purse and into your briefcase. I’m locked out in the cold, and I’m so scared… Can you please come?” My father didn’t hesitate. He stood up so fast his chair scraped against the floor. The velvet box slipped from his fingers, and the diamond ring rolled across the hardwood, making a sharp, mocking clinking sound as it hit the baseboard. But this time, Mom didn’t cry out. She didn’t chase him. She didn’t even look at the ring. She just knelt down, stroked my hair, and whispered in a voice that sounded like falling autumn leaves: “I’m so sorry, sweetie. I’m sorry you had to see this. But Mommy is so tired. I can’t keep carrying this alone.” I breathed in, and my heart sank. Underneath her usual scent of lavender, there was a new, frightening smell. The dry, brittle scent of dry rot. Like a tree dying from the inside out. Dad didn’t come home that night. In the early hours of the morning, a metallic, iron-heavy scent woke me from my sleep. Blood. I ran into her room. Mom was sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands cupped over her face, but thick, dark blood was pouring through her fingers, staining her nightgown. Panicked, I threw my arms around her and begged her to let me call an ambulance, pulling her toward the door. In the emergency room, the doctor looked at her charts with a grim, heavy expression. “Are you sure you don’t want to admit yourself, Mrs. Warren?” he asked. “If we start treatment now, there might still be a chance.” Mom gently shook her head. “No, thank you, Doctor.” I clung to her side, my nose twitching. That dry, decaying smell on her was growing stronger by the minute, filling the sterile hospital air. “Mommy,” I whispered, staring at her pale, hollow cheeks, “does it hurt bad?” She looked down at me, forcing a fragile smile. “Don’t be scared, Una. Mommy is just a little tired, that’s all.” After they stopped the bleeding, we walked down the corridor to settle the bill. But as we passed the maternity ward, a familiar silhouette caught my eye. It was Christine. She was holding a hand over her slightly rounded belly, looking up at the man standing beside her with soft, adoring eyes. That man was my father. An OB-GYN was reviewing a clipboard. “She needs to be admitted for fetal monitoring,” the doctor said. “Do you want to proceed?” Dad didn’t hesitate for a second. “Yes, absolutely. Give her the best room, the best specialist. Whatever it takes.” As the words left his mouth, he turned his head and caught sight of us. He froze, his face losing all color. Beside me, Mom stiffened, her grip on my shoulders tightening so hard it bruised. Christine was the first to react. A mask of fragile innocence instantly washed over her face. She stood up, looking flustered and sweet. “Summer, please don’t misunderstand,” she stammered, her voice dripping with mock-remorse. “Jared was just worried because I have no one else to take care of me during the pregnancy. He’s just being kind, I swear.” Mom didn’t offer a reply. She gripped my hand and turned to leave, but Dad stepped into our path. He stared at Mom’s paper-thin complexion, and for a second, a flicker of concern broke through his defensiveness. “What are you doing here? Are you sick?” Mom looked away, her voice ice-cold. “None of your business.” Christine pressed a hand to her cheek, tears spilling beautifully. “I knew she’d think the worst… Summer, if Jared and I wanted to be together, we could have years ago. He only married you out of pity.” My mother’s eyes snapped up, a rare, burning fire igniting in them. “Christine, is there ever a moment where you aren’t playing the victim? You’re parading around with some stranger’s bastard, pretending it’s his, just to steal my life. Have you no shame?” Christine gasped, her eyes brimming with fresh, theatrical tears. “How can you say something so horrible…” Her crying sent Dad over the edge. His face darkened into pure, protective rage. He stepped forward and slapped my mother across the face. “Summer!” he barked. “Christine is pregnant and vulnerable! Can’t you show some basic decency instead of throwing these hysterical tantrums?” The blow forced her head to the side, a bright red mark blooming on her pale cheek. She didn’t cry. She didn’t even touch the bruise. Christine buried her face in his chest, sobbing. “Jared, haven’t you told her yet? Your marriage isn’t even legal. You only did it to protect her reputation. She actually thought it was real.” Mom went completely rigid. “What did you say?” Dad wrapped a protective arm around Christine’s shoulders, looking at Mom with cold detachment. “She’s right, Summer. Christine is carrying my child. The Warren family needs an heir. I can’t let your little mistake keep occupying the spot that belongs to my real family.” My nose flared. In that instant, I smelled something rancid and rotten radiating from Christine. I pointed my small finger directly at her belly. “You’re lying!” I screamed at my father. “That baby isn’t yours! She smells bad!” Dad’s face went purple with fury. He raised his hand, aiming a blow straight at my face. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the sting, but it never came. Mom threw herself over me, shielding me with her own body. Around us, nurses and patients were stopping to stare, murmurs rippling through the hallway. Sensing the eyes on him, Dad lowered his hand, his pride too fragile to handle a public scene. “Get out,” he hissed, through gritted teeth. “Go home and stop making a fool of yourself.” Mom didn’t look at him. She gathered me in her arms and walked out of the noisy, suffocating hospital into the cold rain. The next morning, Mom took me to the county clerk’s office. She clutched their marriage certificate, her knuckles white, staring blankly at the clerk behind the desk. “What do you mean it’s fake? We’ve been married for six years.” The clerk gave her a look of profound pity and sighed. “I’m sorry, ma’am. There’s no record of a marriage license for you and Jared Warren in the state database. On paper, he was registered as single.” The clerk paused, her eyes flickering over the computer screen. She hit refresh. “Actually… that just updated. He filed a marriage license this morning. He’s married to a Christine Ward.” My mother’s hand tightened around mine so hard I could feel her bones vibrating. Right then, the glass doors of the adjacent office opened. Dad walked out, holding Christine’s hand. The moment his eyes landed on Mom, he dropped Christine’s hand like it was a hot coal. “Summer… what are you doing here?” Mom met his gaze. Her eyes were completely empty. She spoke only two words: “Congratulations.” “Summer, wait!” Dad called out, chasing us down the steps and cornering us in the narrow alley beside the municipal building. Mom stopped, refusing to look at him, her lips pressed into a tight line. Dad’s expression softened into something heavy and pleading. “We need to talk.” Mom stayed silent. He sighed, adjusting his collar, trying to adopt a reasonable, patient tone. “I want to keep Christine’s baby, Summer.” He glanced down at me, his eyes cool and dismissive, before looking back at her. “Your body was damaged… when you were attacked. The doctors said you could never carry another child. This baby is the only chance I have to pass on my name. I’ve been good to you all these years. You can’t be this selfish and deny me a legacy.” Mom stood in the damp alley, her spine rigid, her small hands clenched so tightly her fingernails bit into her skin. “The marriage to Christine is just a formality,” he continued, his voice rising with a bizarre, sick excitement. “It’s the only way the school board will allocate us that subsidized townhouse in the prime district. Once the baby is born, I’ll quietly divorce her. The townhouse will stay in my name, and we can go back to how things were. Una will get into the best school district. Nothing has to change. It’s just… you’ll have to stay at our cottage upstate for a few months while this blows over. For appearances.” His eyes actually shone as he explained this twisted blueprint. It was as if he believed he was a genius benefactor. Mom let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Alright.” Dad blinked, stunned. “You… you agree?” Mom looked down at the cobblestones, her voice a flat murmur. “Yes. I will take Una upstate.” A broad, relieved smile broke across his face. He reached out and patted my head. “Good girl, Una. Daddy will come over tonight to help you pack.” I didn’t say a word. I just watched his shadow stretch and vanish as he walked away. The moment he was gone, Mom’s knees buckled. She slid down the brick wall, collapsing onto the damp pavement. She reached out with trembling arms. “Una… come here.” I stepped into her embrace, and she held me so tight I could hear her heart hammering like a trapped bird. “Mommy is going to take you somewhere new, okay? Just you and me.” I smelled the crushing, agonizing wave of bitter ash pouring from her, and I nodded against her shoulder, tears stinging my eyes. Early the next morning, Mom packed our suitcases and we got ready to head to the train station. But the moment she opened the front door, Dad was standing there. His face was distorted with a wild, feral rage. Before she could even speak, he struck her across the face. “Summer! How can you be so utterly wicked?” he roared, his chest heaving. “Christine was carrying my child, and you spread those malicious lies to destroy her!” Mom fell backward against the coat rack, clutching her bruised cheek, her eyes wide with shock. “What are you talking about? What lies?” “Don’t play innocent! You reported her to the school board, accusing her of leaking the state standardized exams! You stressed her out so badly she miscarried!” He lunged forward, grabbing my arm with a crushing grip, dragging me and Mom out of the house. I stumbled, my feet barely touching the ground as he hauled us all the way to the hospital, throwing open the door to Christine’s room. The second the door swung open, a thick, sour stench of copper and sweat hit my nose. Christine was curled up on the hospital bed, her face pale as a ghost. When she saw Dad, she squeezed out a weak, martyr-like smile. “Don’t blame Summer, Jared… I stole her life, so she had every right to hate me. I accept my punishment… But my baby… he was only three months old. A little boy…” Dad glared at Mom, his teeth grinding. “Are you happy now, Summer? Did you have to destroy her to feel good?” Christine sobbed into her hands, her shoulders shaking. The acrid smell of her lies and his blind fury was so intense it made my eyes water. Dad’s voice boomed through the room: “I was the one who married her! If you wanted to punish someone, punish me! What did an innocent child do to you? Are you really so vindictive just because Christine gave me her first time, and you couldn’t?” He stared at Mom, his words dripping with pure disgust. “I always knew you were physically ruined, Summer. I didn’t realize your soul was this dirty, too.” Mom’s lips trembled violently. She shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “I didn’t do it… I swear, I didn’t…” Dad let out a long, heavy sigh, placing his hands on her shoulders in a terrifying mimicry of comfort. “The baby is gone, Summer. We can’t change that. But someone has to take the blame. The school board is investigating the leaked exam papers. You’re going to go to the police and confess that you stole them to frame Christine.” Mom froze, looking as if she had been struck by lightning. “You want me… to take the fall for her?” Dad frowned, his tone completely matter-of-fact. “You’re the one who caused this mess. Christine is an educator, and she’s my wife now. If her record is tarnished, her career is over. You’re already… well, your reputation doesn’t matter anyway. I’ll still support you. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.” Mom’s tears flowed freely. “And what about Una? She can’t have a mother who’s a felon.” Dad reached out, gently wiping a tear from her cheek, his voice dropping to a chill whisper. “Don’t worry. I’ll have Christine legally adopt Una. Her record will remain perfectly clean.” The sheer horror of his words seemed to finally break through Mom’s shock. She lunged forward, grabbing me and wrapping her arms around me like a shield. “Never.” Christine’s weak voice drifted from the bed: “Summer… I’ve lost my boy. If you take the blame, I promise I’ll raise Una as my own. I’ll love her, I swear.” My nose twitched violently. A wave of rotten, sour deceit filled the air. I broke free from Mom’s grip and jumped in front of her. “You’re a liar!” I screamed at Christine. “Your breath smells sour when you speak! My mommy didn’t do anything wrong!” Dad’s face contorted into something monstrous. “Summer, you’ve even taught the child to lie! It’s obvious you stole those papers!” Christine feigned weakness, raising a hand. “Jared, stop… maybe it really wasn’t Summer… let it go…” Mom was shaking so hard she could barely stand. She looked at the two of them, her eyes flat and empty, filled only with a quiet, terrifying peace. She backed toward the window, her voice barely a whisper. “I won’t take the fall for her lies. But since you both insist I took her child’s life… an eye for an eye. I’ll pay you back with mine.” Before anyone could react, Mom spun around, threw open the window, and climbed onto the ledge. In the split second before she let go, she looked back at me. There was no anger in her eyes—only a devastating, heartbreaking sorrow. Then, she stepped into the air. A sickening, heavy thud echoed from the pavement below. The chaotic hospital hallway went dead silent.

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After Alex and I remarried, I finally made the decision to resign from my executive position and step back into the quiet shelter of domestic life. I wanted to build a sanctuary for us, to finally be the wife he deserved. To surprise him, I bypassed our townhouse straight from the airport and headed to the exclusive downtown club where he was closing a deal. But just outside the heavy oak doors, a young girl wrapped in a toxic aura of cheap entitlement was screaming at the bouncer. Her clothes were a loud mix of designer logos and distressed streetwear, and her winged eyeliner was drawn so aggressively it practically reached her temples. “Do you have any idea who the hell I am?” she shrieked, pointing a manicured finger at the man’s chest. “My boyfriend is Alex Hilbert! He could buy this pathetic excuse for a club and have you thrown out on your ass by tomorrow morning!” The bouncer scoffed, waving her off with a look of pure disgust. “Right, and I’m the King of England. Mrs. Hilbert is a class act. Elegant. Brilliant. You? You look like you crawled out of a strip club’s dumpster. Even if you stood naked in front of Mr. Hilbert, he wouldn’t spare you a glance.” Her face contorted with sudden, vicious malice. “Oh, please!” she spat, her voice rising to a glass-shattering pitch. “That elegant wife of his tried to pull him away on my birthday last year. I got so pissed off, I paid a dozen street thugs to teach her a lesson. Let me tell you, when they had her chained to the floor like a dog, she didn’t look very high-class! And Alex? He knew exactly what I did. He even put the footage on the dark web for ninety-nine cents to make a point, and he didn’t say a damn word to protect her! Now, you tell me—does he love me or not?” The blood drained from my face, freezing solid in my veins. My hands shook so violently I had to clutch my purse to keep from dropping it. My chest burned with a mixture of disbelief and defensive rage. I stepped forward, ready to tear into her for telling such disgusting, psychotic lies. But before I could speak, the club door swung open. Alex stepped out. He walked right past me, his eyes locked entirely on her, and grabbed her hand, pulling her against his chest. His voice was a soft, indulgent sigh. “You promised me you wouldn’t get into fights, you wild girl. Why the temper?” … My feet felt glued to the concrete. I stood frozen, as though I had been plunged into a deep, dark well of ice. Lexie yanked her hand out of Alex’s grip, pointing aggressively at the bouncer. “He said you didn’t love me! So I had to remind him of what I did to your wife—” “Enough, Lexie!” Alex’s voice dropped, suddenly sharp and dark. “I told you never to speak of that again.” It wasn’t loud, but the sudden coldness in his tone made her flinch. A look of deep grievance flooded her eyes, and they welled with tears. “Are you seriously raising your voice at me?” she yelled, her lip trembling. “If you care so much about that old woman, go back to her! Why did you even come back to me?” The angrier she got, the more she lashed out, kicking at Alex’s shins with her heavy boots. Alex didn’t move. He stood there, letting her vent her frustration on his body. When she finally grew tired, he sighed, pulling her back into a firm embrace. “Hey, stop it. Be good,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “It’s been over a year since I’ve even touched her. What is there to be jealous of?” Lexie let out a wet sniffle. “You’re lying! She’s your wife. How could you not sleep with her?” Alex smiled, a look of profound, gentle indulgence on his face. “A dirty woman like her? I’d never touch her.” A loud, rushing noise filled my ears, like a sudden explosion in my brain. I stared at the man standing just yards away from me, unable to reconcile his words with the husband I thought I knew. Hearing his answer, Lexie finally smiled through her tears. “Really?” Alex pulled a silver lighter from his pocket and lit a cigarette, taking a slow drag to steady his nerves. “I’m a neat freak, Lexie. You know that.” Through the thin veil of smoke, I stared at his face. A sharp, physical pain bloomed in my chest, and tears began to blur my vision. During our seven years of marriage, I had been a workaholic. I was building my career, climbing the corporate ladder, and I rarely had time to manage the household. People in our social circles used to whisper that Alex had married a ghost. But he never complained. Even when I hesitated over whether to accept a major promotion that would require heavy travel, he had gently held my face in his hands and smiled. “My wife is brilliant,” he had said. “Let them whisper. They’re just jealous of me.” To allow me to focus entirely on my career, the wealthy executive had spent his evenings cooking for me, planning my travel outfits, and even personally hiring and managing the nurses for my bedridden Nana. Even on our anniversary, when I was called away by the board before the appetizers had even arrived, I had apologized profusely. He had only smiled and said, “I understand.” I had truly believed we were living a quiet, beautiful love story. Until our seventh year, when he suddenly and flatly demanded a divorce. He told me he was tired. He said the distance had eroded his soul. In that terrifying moment, I realized I had taken the best man in the world for granted. I felt an overwhelming wave of guilt. After the papers were signed, I spent an entire year trying to win him back, enduring his hot-and-cold behavior, desperate to repair the damage I thought I had caused. Then came my birthday. I collapsed from sheer exhaustion at my desk and was rushed to the hospital. When I opened my eyes, Alex was standing by the bedside, holding a small cake, his eyes bloodshot and filled with tears. “Georgia, let’s go home. Let’s remarry.” I had wept with joy, believing my penance was over. That night, back in our old home, he had handed me a small vitamin pill and a glass of water. I swallowed it and fell into a deep, heavy sleep. When I woke up the next morning, the bedroom was a disaster. My body was wracked with a deep, tearing ache, and my skin felt bruised. Alex was standing by the window, his back to me, his shoulders incredibly stiff. At the time, I didn’t understand the physical trauma. I had simply smiled through the pain, assuming it was the result of a passionate, desperate reunion. But after we remarried, he never touched me again. He always claimed he was too stressed with work, or that our bond was spiritual and didn’t need physical validation to be real. Now, the horrific truth laid itself bare. “I don’t believe you!” Lexie’s voice cut through the air again, sharp and whiny. She threw herself back into his arms. “She’s dirty and you still kept her! That means you love her, not me!” Alex let out a long, heavy sigh. “Alright, listen to me.” “I divorced her for an entire year just to make you happy. What more do you want from me? The custom jewelry I ordered for you from Paris just arrived. Let’s go try it on.” Lexie pouted, but the mention of French diamonds seemed to appease her. She reluctantly let him lead her toward his car. But as Alex opened the passenger door, his body went rigid. He looked up, his gaze scanning the street, until his eyes landed directly on me. His breath hitched. A flash of pure terror crossed his features, but he quickly forced his expression back into a mask of gentle, composed warmth. “Georgia? What… what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in Chicago for the conference?” I didn’t answer. My gaze slowly fell to his hand, which was still firmly clasping Lexie’s fingers. Those hands had once held me, built a life with me, and promised to shield me from the world. A wave of violent, physical nausea hit me. “Alex,” I whispered, my voice sounding incredibly thin and hollow. “I want a divorce.” He froze for a few seconds, his face turning pale. He took a step toward me, his hands fluttering in panic. “Georgia, wait. You’re misunderstanding this. Lexie is… she’s the daughter of an old family friend. I was just giving her a ride—” He didn’t get to finish. Lexie completely lost her temper. She pointed a finger at my face and shrieked, “Alex! You just said you loved me! Why are you acting like a coward the second this old woman shows up?” She turned her venom on me. “If she wants a divorce, let her have it! Who cares? She’s nothing but a used-up piece of trash anyway. A dozen men have already—” The vulgar words rained down on me, stripping away the last of my dignity. My mind went entirely blank, my body trembling with a cold, violent rage. Before I even realized what I was doing, my hand swung outward, aiming straight for her face. But before my palm could connect, a massive force slammed into my shoulder, throwing me backward. I hit the concrete pillar of the club entrance hard. A sharp, blinding pain flared in my spine, and tears pricked my eyes. Alex had pulled Lexie protectively into his arms, his chest heaving as he stared at me with unbridled fury. “Georgia, you’ve gone too far!” he roared. “Lexie is just a girl! How could you put your hands on her?” I stared at him, my entire body turning numb. I couldn’t find a single trace of the boy who had once saved me from the dark. When I was seventeen, my family went bankrupt. My parents, unable to cope with the crushing debt, committed suicide. The wealthy, cruel boys who used to run in our social circles cornered me in a dark alley, intent on taking their amusement out on a fallen heiress. In my moments of absolute despair, a teenage Alex had thrown himself between them and me. He had fought them off, ending up bloodied and bruised, but he didn’t let them touch a hair on my head. Afterward, as my hands shook while wiping the blood from his cheek, I had cried and called him an idiot. But he had only smiled, gently pulling me into his arms. “Don’t be afraid, Georgia. I’ll protect you for the rest of my life.” But his “forever” had turned out to be incredibly short. Short enough that he was now standing as a shield for the girl who had orchestrated my ruin. Perhaps sensing the shattered look in my eyes, a flicker of guilt crossed Alex’s face. But Lexie, fueled by his protection, lunged forward to strike me. “You dirty bitch! How dare you try to touch me? Do you want me to call those guys back to take care of you again—” “Enough! Shut up!” Alex snapped, grabbing her arm and pulling her back. He sounded deeply agitated. Lexie froze, stunned by his sudden harshness. Tears began to stream down her face. “You yelled at me? You’re defending this bitch? We’re done, Alex! Don’t you ever speak to me again!” She turned and ran down the street, sobbing. Alex’s face flushed with panic. He looked at her retreating figure, then back at me. “Georgia, she has severe anxiety. She’s emotionally unstable. If she runs off like this, something terrible could happen. I’ll explain everything when I get home.” Without waiting for my response, he turned and ran after her, disappearing into the city lights. I watched him go. When his figure vanished completely, my knees gave out, and I sank slowly to the cold concrete. The tears came then—silent, heavy, and hot. When the worst of the pain subsided, my heart felt completely hollow, like a cavern scraped clean of all feeling. I wiped my face, pulled out my phone, and opened my email. I retracted my resignation letter. Then, I dialed a number I hadn’t called in years. “Help me file for divorce,” I said, my voice steady and cold. “That offer you made me before… I accept. But I don’t just want a clean break. I want Alex Hilbert to lose every single thing he owns.” After composing myself, I went back to the townhouse to pack my things. Only when I began sorting through the rooms did I realize how little of my own life remained in this house. The closets were stuffed with loud, oversized streetwear. The vanity was cluttered with heavy, expensive perfumes. Even the throw pillows on our sofa had been replaced with a dusty pink satin that I absolutely despised. No wonder he had always encouraged me to travel for business. Even when I did come home, he would insist on us staying at our suburban estate, claiming the air was better there. He was simply terrified I would discover that another woman had already moved into our home. But it didn’t matter anymore. This house, and the man who owned it, were no longer my concern. I packed until the early hours of the morning and finally fell into a dreamless, exhausted sleep. But at dawn, a loud crash shattered the quiet. The bedroom door was kicked open. Alex stormed in, his eyes wild with fury, and ripped the blankets off my body, dragging me out of bed by my wrist. “Georgia, how can you be so vicious?” he roared, his face contorted. “I told you I was going to come back and explain! How could you go to the police about what happened a year ago?” “Lexie is young! She made a mistake because she didn’t have anyone to guide her! Are you really going to ruin a young girl’s life just to satisfy your petty revenge?” Lexie stepped into the room behind him, leaning against the doorframe with a cold sneer. Her eyes were red, but her posture was defiant. “Alex, why are we even talking to this old woman? If she wants to put me in jail, let her! I’d rather rot in a cell than apologize to her!” Alex looked back at her, his heart visibly breaking for her. When he turned his gaze back to me, there was nothing but disgust in his eyes. “Georgia, apologize to Lexie right now.” “I had to pull every favor I had to get her out of custody on bail. Do you know she tried to cut her wrists in the holding cell?” He pointed to Lexie’s wrist, which was wrapped in a thick, white bandage stained with a small circle of fresh blood. I wrenched my wrist out of his grip, my voice hoarse. “It wasn’t me. I haven’t even filed a report yet—” Slap. The force of his hand struck my cheek with a deafening crack. My head snapped to the side, and a sharp ringing filled my ears. Alex stood there, his hand trembling, his eyes bloodshot and watery. “Georgia, stop lying! The police wouldn’t have shown up at her apartment with a warrant if you hadn’t handed over the files!” “Give me whatever evidence you have left, and apologize to her. Now.” My vision blurred, but I forced myself to look him in the eye, my voice shaking. “I have nothing to apologize for. I am the victim here, Alex. I have always been the victim.” A look of deep disappointment, mixed with utter revulsion, crossed his face. He pulled out his phone and tapped the screen. “You won’t apologize? Fine. Let’s see if your pride is worth letting the entire world see how pathetic you were a year ago.” Before I could comprehend his words, a video began to play right in front of my face. The screen showed a dark, filthy room. It showed me—vulnerable, terrified, and subjected to the worst kind of degradation. My mind went entirely blank. A suffocating silence pressed in on my chest. Alex leaned in close, his voice dropping to a cruel whisper. “Georgia, Nana’s heart is failing. She’s too weak to handle any shock. You think about whether you want to apologize, or if you want me to send this to her nursing home.” My jaw trembled, but no sound came out. Since my parents died, Nana was my only remaining family. She had raised me on her own, working extra shifts to pay for my tuition. My relentless drive to succeed in business was fueled entirely by my desire to give her a peaceful, comfortable end of life. And Alex knew exactly how much she meant to me. His thumb hovered over the send button. Just as his finger began to descend, a strangled cry tore from my throat. “No! Stop! I’ll do it… I’ll apologize.” Under his cold, unblinking gaze, I sank slowly to my knees in front of Lexie. “I’m sorry,” I whispered to the floor. “I’m sorry…” My voice grew numb as I repeated the words over and over, my tears dripping onto the hardwood floor. Alex finally looked satisfied. He stepped forward, reaching down to help me up, but Lexie suddenly whimpered. “Alex… my wrist hurts so bad…” With that single sentence, his attention snapped away from me instantly. He gathered her in his arms, his face pale with worry, and rushed her out of the room to go to the hospital. As the front door slammed shut, the last of my strength evaporated, and I collapsed onto the floor. It wasn’t until my attorney sent over the finalized divorce agreement that I managed to drag myself up. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. It was a call from the private care facility. “Ms. Ames, you need to come to the hospital immediately. Your grandmother… she’s going into cardiac arrest.” My heart stopped. I ran out of the townhouse, driving like a madwoman to the hospital. When I sprinted into the ward, I noticed the nurses and staff whispering, pointing at me with looks of intense disgust. But I didn’t care. I grabbed a nurse’s arm, desperate. “Where is my grandmother? Which room?” The nurse violently yanked her arm away, looking at me as if I were a piece of garbage. “I don’t know. Find her yourself.” I ran through the hallways, searching for the emergency wing. When I finally found the surgical waiting area, I walked back toward the patient rooms to retrieve her medical chart. As I approached the door, Lexie walked out, looking entirely relaxed, a small smile playing on her lips. A dark, terrifying dread bloomed in my chest. I lunged forward, grabbing her by the collar, my voice cracking. “Why are you here? What did you do to my grandmother?” Lexie rolled her eyes, let out a soft chuckle, and shrugged. “Honestly, I didn’t do much.” “I just thought the old lady would want to see how popular her granddaughter is. I showed her the video. Who knew she’d be so fragile? She practically choked on her own breath the second she saw it.” A rush of heat flooded my brain. Every ounce of sanity, every shred of restraint I had spent my life building, dissolved in a single second. Before I realized what was happening, my hands were wrapped tightly around her throat. Lexie’s face turned bright red, her hands clawing desperately at mine as she choked. “Help… she’s… she’s crazy…” “Georgia! Let her go!” A furious roar echoed down the hallway. Alex materialized out of nowhere, slamming into me and throwing me off her. My head hit the hard linoleum floor, and a warm trail of blood began to seep into my eyes, blurring my vision. Through the red haze, I could hear Alex screaming at me. “Georgia, have you lost your mind? She was just trying to be sweet and visit your grandmother, and you attack her like a wild animal?” Lexie collapsed into his arms, sobbing hysterically. “If you hadn’t come… she would have killed me! I shouldn’t have come with you… I was just trying to be nice…” Alex stroked her bruised neck, his eyes filled with agonizing worry. I lay on the floor, screaming through my tears, “She showed Nana the video! She killed her!” “Enough!” Alex barked, his eyes ice-cold as he looked down at me. “Those videos only exist because you were loose and dirty to begin with. Don’t blame Lexie for your own trashy past. You clearly haven’t learned how to behave. I think a little discipline is overdue.” He waved his hand, and two of his personal security guards stepped forward, grabbing me by the arms and dragging me toward the service elevator. I thrashed against their grip, terror clawing at my throat. “Alex! What are you doing? Let me go!” Alex stood at the elevator doors, his voice devoid of any humanity. “Lexie is pregnant, Georgia. She deserves a beautiful, stress-free wedding, and I won’t let you ruin it. You’re going to stay in the basement of the estate until you learn some manners. Once the wedding is over, I’ll let you out.” The elevator doors closed on his cold face. An hour later, I was thrown into the damp, dark basement of his family’s suburban estate. The heavy iron door clicked shut, plunging me into absolute pitch-black darkness. Suddenly, I heard rustling in the corners. Shadows shifted. Dirty, rough hands reached out of the dark, grabbing at my ankles. “No! Please, no!” My screams echoed off the concrete walls. Outside the heavy door, Alex’s footsteps paused for a fraction of a second, but then his scoff drifted through the keyhole. “She’s still acting. There isn’t even a mouse down there.” But I wasn’t acting. In the suffocating dark, several men with foul breath and heavy, brutal hands pinned me to the floor, laughing softly. Inside, I screamed until my throat bled, my fingernails clawing uselessly at the rough concrete, leaving long streaks of blood. Outside, I could hear Lexie’s whiny, sweet voice. “Let’s go, Alex. You promised we’d go on our pre-wedding trip today.” Alex’s voice was incredibly tender. “Of course, sweetheart. Whatever you want.” Their footsteps faded into the distance. My world fell into complete, uninterrupted silence. A week later, after their lavish destination wedding, Alex returned to the estate to let me out. Lately, he had been feeling a strange, persistent anxiety in his chest. But he shook it off, telling himself that after a week of isolation, I would finally understand my place. As long as I promised to stay away from Lexie, he would treat me well. He unlocked the heavy iron door and swung it open. But the sight that met his eyes shattered his composure completely.

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My husband is a world-class actuary. His time is valued at five thousand dollars an hour. Every single thing I ever asked of him had to be paid for in “equal labor exchange.” Even when we were intimate, the second the timer went off, he would pull away without a shred of hesitation. Our social circle used to joke about it. They said a million dollars couldn’t buy you time, but it could buy my marriage to Declan. Until this morning. I was trapped in another state by a sudden, violent storm. My mother suffered a massive heart attack, and I called him, sobbing, begging him to go to the hospital and sign the emergency consent form. Declan’s voice was as cold and methodical as a recorded line. “You didn’t submit the financial reports you promised. The labor exchange failed. Actuary Household Rule Number Two: We do not accept post-payment under any circumstances.” Then he hung up. I nearly lost my mind. I drove through the blinding rain, risking my life to get back to the hospital, only to run into him in the emergency room. Declan—a man who treated minutes like diamonds—was sitting beside his young assistant’s bed. He was holding a pair of tiny tweezers, patiently helping her assemble a Hello Kitty perler-bead craft. The freezing rain on my clothes mixed with the tears on my face. My voice shook as I looked at him. “You told me your time was never free.” Declan frowned slightly, letting out a soft, exasperated sigh. “Daisy was just bored during her IV drip. Do you really have to be this petty right now, Giselle?” I stood there, clutching my mother’s critical condition notice in my hand, a bitter ache spreading through my entire chest. I realized then: when there is no love left, even a human life has to step aside for his favoritism. This meticulously calculated relationship? I suddenly didn’t want it anymore. … Daisy huddled under the hospital blankets, timidly tugging at the edge of his sleeve. “Giselle, please don’t blame Mr. Ward. I was just so scared being sick all by myself in the city.” She looked up with wide, watery eyes. “He only sees me as a promising junior he’s investing in. Please don’t be mad at him.” I stared at the delicate tweezers in his hand. A self-deprecating laugh escaped my throat. At home, Declan used a stopwatch to calculate the exact extraction time for his morning espresso. Yet here he was, happily wasting his afternoon sitting by her side, putting together a childish plastic toy. I used to think he was just naturally detached, purely rational, and genuinely too busy. Now I knew better. It wasn’t that he lacked time. He just didn’t want to spend it on me. Seeing how pale I was, Declan stood up and walked over, pulling my rain-drenched coat tighter around my shoulders. “Giselle, you’re thirty years old. Why do you still let your emotions run wild like a little girl?” My eyes burned. I tried to reach for his wrist, my hand trembling as cold water dripped from my hair onto my skin. “Declan, please. I am begging you. My mom doesn’t have time.” My voice cracked. “I need the money from your account for the surgery, and I need you to sign the consent form.” But Declan turned his head away, his expression neutral. “I ran the numbers on your mother’s health data and cardiac metrics over the last two years,” he said, his tone flat. “I built a survival probability model. This is just a standard acute ischemic episode. According to my projections, she is at least seventy-two hours and forty-eight minutes away from entering any true danger zone.” Looking into his calm, unbothered eyes, the blood in my veins turned to ice. “Besides, I moved that capital into a high-yield short-term account yesterday. It won’t reach its peak interest yield for another two days.” He reached out, gently tucking a wet strand of hair behind my ear. His breath was warm against my face, but I shivered. “Giselle, you breached our agreement first. Refusing to sign the form is simply a small consequence for your failure to follow the rules. Once the interest posts in two days, I will personally arrange for the best cardiologists in the city.” I took a step back, flinching away from his warm touch. “What if your model is wrong?” I whispered, my throat raw. Declan let out a soft, confident chuckle. “Giselle, in this field, I don’t make mistakes. Go home and get some rest.” I didn’t argue. I didn’t scream. I just started making calls, desperately trying to borrow money from anyone I knew, stumbling blindly toward the ICU. But by the time I reached the doors, the bright red light above them had already flickered off. The lead surgeon walked out, pulling off his mask, and gave me a tired, sorrowful shake of his head. “The family arrived too late. It was a massive myocardial infarction. She missed the golden window for resuscitation.” “We’ve officially lost her vital signs. I’m so sorry. You should begin preparing for the funeral.” In an instant, the world went silent, save for the dull hum of the hospital’s ventilation system. The doctor handed me the death certificate. With a shaking hand, I wrote my name. Four years ago, when Declan’s first startup collapsed, he was buried under a mountain of debt. He was so depressed he could barely get out of bed. It was my mother who sold her retirement home, handing him every single dollar of her life savings to pull him out of the abyss. Back then, he had fallen to his knees in front of her, tears streaming down his face, swearing that he would treat her like his own mother and never let her suffer a single day. Yet today, he calculated his interest down to the last penny, completely ignoring the unpredictable margin of human error in medicine. My phone vibrated. It was a text from Declan. “Daisy’s IV is finished. I’m taking her out for some light sushi.” “Go down to the billing department later and pay the basic emergency room fee. Consider this a secondary penalty for your attitude today.” “I have it scheduled. I’ll go sign the release forms on Wednesday morning. Stop throwing tantrums.” Looking at the screen, a profound exhaustion settled over me. I typed back a few simple words. “No need.” “Declan, I want a divorce.” I followed the gurney alone as they wheeled my mother down to the cold basement of the morgue. As the heavy steel drawer slid shut, a blast of freezing air hit my face. I sat on the plastic bench outside, staring blankly at my phone. I opened social media and saw a post Declan had uploaded thirty minutes earlier. It was a photo of the completed, colorful Hello Kitty perler-bead design. The caption read: “Sometimes, slowing down to do silly things with a kid is the best kind of rest.” I bit my lip so hard the taste of blood filled my mouth, mixing with the hot, bitter tears sliding down my throat. With trembling fingers, I sent a message to my personal assistant. “Check Declan’s offshore trust funds. Let me know if there have been any recent changes.” Within minutes, an encrypted PDF arrived. I opened it, the harsh white glare of the screen burning my eyes. Three days ago, a new secondary beneficiary had been added to the trust. Daisy. That trust held our first pot of gold. It was the money we made after I spent countless sleepless nights working alongside him, drinking with clients until my stomach bled. When he rebuilt his empire, he had set up that trust. I remembered how he had held me, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. “Giselle, love is just a temporary chemical reaction. It can’t offer long-term financial security. But with this trust, even if I go bankrupt again, you will always be taken care of. My ultimate goal will always align with your happiness.” That was the only time in his life he had laid all his cards on the table for me. Now, he had quietly carved out a piece of that promise and handed it to another woman. I texted him: “Why is Daisy’s name on the trust?” He replied almost instantly. “Her family is underprivileged. I’m grooming her to be a core member of my team. Consider this a loyalty retainer paid in advance.” “Your share hasn’t decreased; it’s just slightly diluted the surplus yield. Giselle, you are already Mrs. Ward. You have so much. Stop looking at my business strategies through such a petty, narrow-minded lens.” I stared at his words. My tears splashed silently onto the steering wheel. What did I have? Did I have a husband who calculated the depreciation value of his marital loyalty? That evening, I dragged my exhausted body back to our villa. The house was massive, beautifully decorated, but cold and utterly lifeless. I pulled out a suitcase and began quietly packing my things. Ten minutes later, the front door clicked open. Declan walked in, bringing the chill of the night with him. He was carrying a small, elegant bakery box. Daisy skipped in right behind him, wearing a pair of sparkly Disneyland ears and clutching a pile of plush toys. Seeing her bright, carefree smile, a memory pierced through me. Today was our anniversary. Three days ago, I had excitedly planned a trip for us. Declan had rejected it, claiming the “return on investment” of a vacation didn’t justify the time lost. For eight years, I had begged him to take me to Disneyland. He had always refused. Yet he had happily gone with someone else. Declan’s brow furrowed when he saw the suitcase on the living room floor. “What are you doing now? We agreed on the rules before we even got married. You were the one who broke the contract this time.” He set the bakery box on the coffee table and walked over, placing a firm hand on my suitcase. I glanced at the box. It was a chestnut tart from my favorite boutique bakery. “I already explained the trust fund,” Declan said, his voice dropping to a softer, placating tone. “It’s just a retention strategy for a valuable employee. I’ve calculated your penalty period. It ends tomorrow morning at eight. Your mother’s surgery is scheduled for nine.” “I will be at the hospital on time tomorrow morning to secure the best surgical team for her.” I looked up, staring into the handsome face of the man I had loved for nearly a decade, but his features seemed to blur before my eyes. I used to think his calculated, strategic mind was his most attractive quality. Now, I realized with sickening clarity that even a human life was just a bargaining chip to him. My mind flashed back to five years ago. I had been in a terrible car accident due to exhaustion and ended up in the ICU. Declan had walked away from an acquisition deal worth over a hundred million dollars just to sit by my bedside. Back then, he had told me it was a massive financial loss, but because it was for me, it was a trade he would make every single time. Now, saving my mother was just a bad deal. I didn’t bother explaining. I simply reached out and pulled his hand off my suitcase. “There’s no need to wait until tomorrow. My mother doesn’t need your surgical team anymore.” Declan froze, a flicker of confusion crossing his eyes. “Did you transfer her to another hospital? Giselle, according to Actuary Household Rule Number Nine, any major decision made without consulting me incurs a five percent interest penalty based on your daily income.” “If you insist on doing this, you’re only increasing your own sunk costs.” I watched his lips move, but the words ceased to carry any meaning. I wiped my tears, grabbed my suitcase, and walked past him toward the door. He grabbed my wrist, his grip tightening in annoyance. “Giselle, that’s enough.” “I have a business trip with Daisy tomorrow morning. I don’t have time to play these runaway-wife games with you.” “You’ve broken eight household rules in the last three days. Do you really expect me to apologize to you?” I pulled my hand back, peeling his fingers off my wrist one by one. “You don’t need to apologize, Declan. And you don’t need to waste any more of your precious time.” “We’re done. I’ll have the divorce papers sent to your office.” Without waiting to see the shock register on his face, I wheeled my suitcase out into the rainy night. In the back of the cab, I scrolled through photos of my mother on my phone. The grief in my chest was so suffocating I felt like I was breaking apart. The boy who would have given up the world to save me had vanished, replaced by a man who calculated the cost of my mother’s survival and found it too expensive. I returned to the hospital morgue and sat with my mother all night. The next day, I contacted a local crematorium and quietly arranged everything. Because I had so little money left, I couldn’t afford a proper burial plot. I had to place her ashes in a simple, cold urn. My phone lit up. It was a text containing Declan’s itinerary. “Daisy was shaken up by a client on our trip today, so I’m staying back to help her unwind. Use the next two days to calm down. I will meet you at the hospital’s cardiology wing on Wednesday at eight-thirty AM.” “Don’t be late. My time is expensive.” I read the message, blocked his number, and bought a one-way ticket to a quiet coastal town in the South. It was a place my mother had always wanted to visit. Before leaving, I mailed the signed divorce papers to his firm. I left behind every piece of jewelry, every designer bag, and every expensive gift he had ever bought me. I took absolutely nothing, including my rights to that offshore trust. As the ferry horn blew, heading out into the deep blue sea, I closed my eyes. Eight years of love, five years of marriage. In the end, it was just a bad debt that had finally been settled. “Declan, let’s end this transaction.” On Wednesday morning at exactly eight o’clock, Declan arrived at the hospital. He was carrying a container of savory pork and egg congee—my mother’s favorite. He walked up to the nurse’s station and spoke to the young nurse on duty. “Hi, could you page the patient in bed three, Giselle Ward? I’m here to settle the surgery fees and sign the consent forms.” The nurse looked up, giving him a strange, cold look. “You’re the family member for bed three? You’re too late.” Declan checked his watch, looking thoroughly confused. “I’m not late. The doctor said as long as I signed before nine AM today, we could proceed.” The nurse stood up, double-checking her monitor. “Yes, you are. The patient in bed three suffered a massive cardiac arrest on Monday afternoon. We couldn’t resuscitate her.” “The death certificate was issued that night. The family has already taken the body to the crematorium.” The polite smile on Declan’s face froze. The thermos in his hand slipped, clattering against the counter. “What nonsense are you talking about? My predictive model clearly showed she wouldn’t reach the critical threshold until today…” The nurse sighed, sliding a photocopy of the death certificate across the desk. “The daughter signed the papers herself. The body was cremated yesterday.” “A human life doesn’t wait around for your schedule, sir. Did you think you could negotiate with death like a business deal?” Black ink on white paper. The evidence was irrefutable. Panic flashed in his eyes. He lunged for his phone, dialing my number, only to be met with the cold, automated operator. “Where did Giselle go? How could she not tell you that her mother passed away…” Daisy murmured from behind him. Declan whipped around, his gaze so sharp and terrifying that she immediately took a step back, silencing herself. For the first time in his life, sheer terror washed over him. He frantically called his personal assistant. “Find Giselle’s flight records, train tickets, anything! Now!” Just then, his phone rang with an unknown number. He swiped it open instantly, his voice trembling. “Giselle? Is that you…” But a deep, formal male voice answered. “Hello, is this the family of Giselle Ward? This is the Coast Guard.” Declan stopped breathing, his fingers clawing at the edge of the desk. “I am her husband. What’s wrong?” “An hour ago, the passenger ferry Mrs. Ward was on struck a reef and sank in the eastern waters.” “So far, we have only recovered her backpack and a set of signed divorce papers.” “The chances of survival are extremely low. We need you to come down to the station to identify her personal effects.” Declan stood frozen, the hospital corridor spinning violently around him.

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I spent four million dollars on the house that was supposed to be our fresh start—a fully automated, state-of-the-art smart home. On my very first night there, my boyfriend remotely locked all the doors and windows from his phone and turned on the gas fireplace and stove. I woke up to the frantic sound of neighbors throwing themselves against the front door. By the time they dragged me out, I was barely conscious. At the hospital, the emergency room doctor told me that if I had been in there even five minutes longer, I would have ended up brain-dead. While I was still hooked up to monitors in the ICU, my boyfriend called. He didn’t ask how I was. He was annoyed. “Couldn’t you have just hung in there a little longer? Who said you could leave?” I stared at the ceiling, the sterile smell of disinfectant burning my nose, as his voice drifted through the speaker. “Bella was conducting a medical experiment,” Baron said, his voice entirely devoid of warmth. “She wanted to see how long a human subject could survive in a carbon monoxide-saturated environment.” He paused, a note of genuine disappointment creeping into his tone. “We were actually planning to light a match to see if it would ignite. Now that you ran out, the whole trial is ruined.” The day I was discharged, I drove straight back to the house. But when I pressed my thumb against the biometric scanner at the front door, the screen flashed red: “Access Denied.” My phone vibrated in my palm. It was Baron. “Bella needs a facility for her research,” he said, his tone flat and administrative. “Your place is spacious, so I told her she could use it. Go find yourself a rental for now, and don’t disturb her. This is for the adAdamsment of medicine. Try to show some grace instead of being so petty.” I didn’t argue. I didn’t cry. I simply hung up the phone and called a real estate broker to list the house for an immediate cash fire sale. The second the closing documents were signed and the funds cleared, I sent a message to the one person I hadn’t spoken to in years—my childhood rival. “Do you have a house? If so, let’s get married.” His reply came almost instantly. “A waterfront estate on Bainbridge Island. Twelve million. Consider it your dowry.” … “Twelve million,” Sean’s voice came through the receiver, carrying his usual dry, quiet confidence. “Okay,” I said, and hung up. My phone buzzed with a text notification from my bank. The wire transfer had cleared: $3,780,000. I looked up and offered a polite smile to the couple sitting across from me at the brokerage office. “The smart-lock code has been reset to six zeros. It’s all yours.” I walked out of the office and headed toward the parking garage. Before I could reach my car, my phone rang. Baron’s voice was like ice. “You’re really committing to this little act, aren’t you? You even hired actors to play the buyers.” I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off. “You think selling our wedding house is going to scare me? You’ve miscalculated, Lila.” His tone was infuriatingly condescending. “Tell your people to leave immediately, then come over and apologize to Bella. She’s literally crying right now.” “Crying.” I thought back to the ICU, to the moment the doctor told me how close I had come to dying. I had almost lost my life, and Bella was crying because her playground had been taken away. “The house is sold,” I said, my voice flatter than I’d ever heard it. “You both need to pack your things and get out before the new owner calls the police.” There was a brief pause on the other end. Then, Baron sighed, his patience entirely evaporated. “Enough. If you stretch this drama any further, no one is going to comfort you. You think you’re Bella?” He raised his voice, his irritation mounting. “Bella has a calling. She has intellectual pursuits. She isn’t like you—obsessing over domestic trivialities, throwing these cheap, childish tantrums.” I actually laughed. “Right. The medical experiment.” “Take it up with the new owner. See if they’re willing to let her play scientist in their living room.” I hung up. Less than a minute later, Baron’s name flashed on the screen again. His tone had shifted from anger to a tense, sudden panic. “Did you actually sell it?” I gripped the steering wheel. “A four-point-two-million-dollar cash purchase. One hundred and fifty thousand in custom renovations. I listed it at four million, and closed at three-point-seven-eight.” I articulated every digit with absolute clarity. “The money is in my account, the contract is signed, and the deed has been transferred.” The silence on the other end was heavy, like a wire stretched to its breaking point. Finally, he spat the words out through clenched teeth. “Lila, have you lost your mind? That was “our” house!” “I bought it. With my money. In cash.” “So what?” he interrupted, his voice rising in desperation. “You bought it for us! Half of it belongs to me. How dare you sell it without my consent?” “Did you ask for my consent when you let Bella move in?” Baron let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “So that’s what this is. A pathetic attempt to target Bella. You’re vicious, Lila. You’ve orchestrated this entire nightmare just to make a young girl’s life miserable.” “Vicious.” Because I survived. Because I refused to let them suffocate me in my own home. I hung up without another word. I walked down to my designated parking space in the garage, but the spot was empty. I opened my phone and pulled up the GPS tracker for my new car. The $72,000 BMW was currently parked in a neighboring city—specifically, in Bella’s hometown. Without hesitating, I activated the vehicle’s anti-theft lockout mode and called the police. The police were remarkably efficient. Within two hours, the car was towed back to the local precinct. A young man stepped out of the driver’s seat, looking utterly indignant. It was Bella’s younger brother, Dustin. He glared at me with pure venom. “My brother-in-law gave me this car! Who the hell do you think you are, calling the cops on me?” Before the officer could intervene, hurried footsteps echoed through the precinct lobby. A slim figure dressed in white rushed past, throwing her arms around Dustin. Bella’s eyes were red, tears streaming down her face. “Dustin has never even seen the inside of a police station,” she sobbed, her voice trembling like a leaf in the wind. “And now he’s being treated like a common thief…” Baron walked in right behind her. He didn’t look at Dustin, and he didn’t look at the officers. He marched straight to me and grabbed my wrist. “Apologize.” I tried to wrench my arm free. “It’s my car. You gave it to him without my permission—” “It’s our wedding car!” he barked, tightening his grip. “I have every right to let anyone drive it!” I had bought the car a month ago. He had chosen the model and the color, but I had written the check. On the day we got the plates, he had taken Bella out for a test drive, leaving me sitting alone at the DMV for three hours. My chest heaved as the memory hit me. “I paid for it in full—” Before I could finish, a sharp crack echoed through the room. My head snapped to the side. I stood there, frozen. I had known Baron for ten years, and we had been together for five. Before Bella entered the picture, if he so much as raised his voice at me, he would lose sleep over it. Now, for the sake of another woman, he had slapped me in a public police station. Baron’s fingers began to tremble. He made a small, instinctive movement toward me, but Bella let out another choked sob. His expression instantly hardened again, the brief flash of regret vanishing behind a mask of cold authority. “Lila, all you care about now is money. You’ve become entirely materialistic, and it’s disappointing. This slap is a lesson. Don’t ever talk about money in front of others again.” I reached up and gently touched my stinging cheek. “There won’t be an ‘again’.” I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I calmly sat down with the officer, signed the paperwork, verified the vehicle recovery, and closed the incident report. As I walked out of the precinct, a hand caught my wrist again. Baron’s voice had softened, adopting that familiar, placating tone he used whenever he wanted to sweep things under the rug. “I booked a table at that Italian place you like. Your blood sugar is low, and you need to eat.” He squeezed my hand gently. “Just apologize to Bella over dinner, buy the house back from those people, and let Dustin keep the car. Be good, Lila, and we can go back to how things were.” The chill in my bones seemed to seep into my fingertips. I pushed his hand away. “We can never go back, Baron.” He frowned. I managed a small, empty smile. “I’m getting married.” The air between us went perfectly still. Baron stared at me for a moment, then let out a soft, dismissive chuckle. “I know you’re desperate to get married,” he said, shaking his head. “But if Bella is unhappy, I won’t agree to it. Your priority right now is making her happy.” Bella walked over, her expression cool and superior. “Lila, I know you’re desperate for a ring, but there’s no need to take your insecurities out on me. I’m not like you. I have goals. I don’t spend my life hovering over a kitchen stove.” She sighed, looking at me with pity. “But I suppose you wouldn’t understand that.” She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Never mind the apology. Just come with us to the DMV and transfer the title of the car to Dustin so he doesn’t feel uncomfortable driving it.” I didn’t stay to hear the rest. I turned and walked away. I rented a small, furnished apartment on the edge of the city. I had just lain down on the bed when my phone rang. It was the director of the upscale care facility in the suburbs. “Lila, Mrs. Channing had thirteen luxury physical therapy sessions added to her chart this month, totaling $7,300. We also need to process next month’s retainer. Should we charge the card on file, or do you have another preference?” Three years ago, Baron’s mother had suffered a severe stroke that left her partially paralyzed. Baron had just transitioned to a lower-paying job and claimed he was strapped for cash. I had linked my salary account to her facility fees. I had paid every single bill for three years, without fail, until today. “From now on,” I said clearly, “please contact Baron Channing directly for all of his mother’s expenses.” The administrator paused, caught off guard. “But—” “Also,” I interrupted, “please email me itemized invoices for every payment I’ve made over the last three years.” The next morning, I went to the hotel downtown where we had booked our wedding reception to cancel the reservation. The events manager looked at me with deep embarrassment. “Lila… the groom’s family and guests are already here. They’ve started dining.” I stared at him, dumbfounded. Before I could process this, the elevator doors slid open and Baron marched out, heading straight for me. “Why are you so late?” he demanded, his brow furrowed. “Go pay the balance on the banquet hall. And tell them to open up two more private rooms—Bella’s extended family just arrived.” The manager quickly stepped forward and handed over the invoice. $27,130. I pushed the paper back toward Baron. “What is the meaning of this?” Baron sighed, looking at me with a patronizing, weary disappointment. “Lila, this is your own doing.” He crossed his arms. “You made Bella so upset yesterday that she cried to my mother. My mother was devastated. You haven’t even married into this family yet, and you’ve already managed to offend your future in-laws. I had to invite them all to a nice dinner to smooth things over.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice as if he were doing me a favor. “Go in there, apologize to everyone, and make sure your attitude is sincere. Once Bella nods and my mother is happy, you’ll still have a place in the Channing family.” From the banquet hall down the corridor, the clinking of glasses and laughter drifted into the lobby. I looked at Baron and took a deep, steadying breath. “I don’t think I was clear enough yesterday, so let me say it again.” I looked him dead in the eye. “There is no ‘us’. The moment I sold that house, we were over.” Baron’s face darkened instantly. But before he could speak, a soft, sweet voice drifted from the doorway of the banquet hall. “I don’t think you’re in any position to be throwing around ultimatums, Lila.” Bella walked out, stopping beside Baron with a small, cruel smirk playing on her lips. “Baron told me all about you,” she said, her voice raised just enough to carry. “He told me how your parents were murdered in that home invasion years ago. And how the killer assaulted you before the police arrived.” The lobby went entirely silent. The hotel staff and a few guests standing nearby froze, their eyes instantly darting to me like needles pricking my skin. My blood ran completely cold. Bella tilted her head, her eyes shining with mock pity. “You’re damaged goods, Lila. Baron’s willingness to overlook your baggage is a miracle. I don’t understand why you’re playing hard to get. You’re just trying to manipulate him because you know no one else would want you.” My vision blurred with a sudden, hot rage. My hand rose instinctively, but Baron caught my wrist with practiced ease, shoving me back. “Bella isn’t an outsider,” Baron said, his voice cold and defensive. “She has a right to know everything about my life. You’re the one who forced this situation. Bella only spoke up because she cares about me. This is your fault.” A crushing, suffocating despair threatened to pull me under, but I fought to keep my voice steady. “Baron, let’s just end this cleanly. I have never done anything to hurt you—” “You were violated,” Baron interrupted, his voice dripping with disgust. “You call that not hurting me? Who’s to say you didn’t let it happen? Who’s to say you didn’t want it?” The world seemed to tilt. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears. I lunged at him, my fingernails tearing at his face in a blind, desperate frenzy. “Lila! Stop!” Two hotel security guards grabbed my arms, pinning me back. “Ma’am, please calm down! This is a respectable establishment!” Bella adjusted her collar, looking down her nose at me. “Are you reacting like this because I hit a nerve, Lila?” Just then, the elevator doors opened again. Mrs. Channing was wheeled out by two of Baron’s cousins. She didn’t look at me. Instead, she reached up to touch Baron’s face, her voice trembling with anger. “Baron, what is going on? Why are we being kicked out of the care home?” Baron blinked, confused. “Mom? What do you mean? Don’t you have physical therapy today?” Mrs. Channing’s voice was like gravel. “She canceled the funding. The facility discharged me this morning. They put my things in garbage bags!” Baron’s head snapped toward me, his eyes burning with an intense, furious hatred. “Lila! I tolereted your tantrums, but targeting my disabled mother is crossing the line!” Mrs. Channing let out a harsh, rasping laugh. “She hasn’t even married into the family and she’s already trying to control us with her money. Trying to play the heavy hand with her future mother-in-law!” She slammed her fist onto the armrest of her wheelchair. “I am not dead yet!” The cousins stepped forward, glaring at me. “An orphaned girl with no parents really has no breeding. She doesn’t even know the first thing about respect.” “Baron, you need to think long and hard about this. You can’t just let a woman like this into our family.” Baron took a deep breath, smoothing down his jacket. He turned back to me, extending his hand as if delivering a final verdict. “Lila. You’ve taken this too far. Apologize to my mother, write the check for the hotel bill, and reinstate the care home funding. Right now.” I took a step back, staring at the family I had spent five years trying to please. “No.” Baron’s face settled into an icy glare. “If you keep being this stubborn, don’t blame me for what happens next.” Bella let out a soft, mocking sigh. “Baron, why are you still pleading with her? You’re her fiancé. Her money is legally yours anyway.” Before I could react, Bella lunged forward, grabbing my purse to snatch my phone. I tried to pull away, but Baron stepped in, pinning my arms behind my back. I was held fast, humiliated in the middle of the lobby, as Bella grabbed my phone, forced it in front of my face to bypass the lock screen, and began tapping rapidly on the screen. Just then, the heavy glass doors of the hotel lobby swung open. A dozen men in tailored black suits entered in a silent, coordinated line, quickly blocking every exit. The hotel manager hurried forward, his face pale. “Excuse me, who are you? You can’t just—” The man leading the group briefly flashed a gold badge in a leather wallet. The manager’s jaw dropped. He immediately stepped back, bowing deeply, not daring to make eye contact again. The smug expressions on the Channings’ faces vanished. Baron’s grip on my arms loosened slightly as he watched several bodyguards flank me, cutting him off. “Who are you people?” Baron demanded, trying to sound authoritative. “This is a family matter. She is my fiancée—” The roar of a high-performance engine cut him off. A sleek, black town car pulled up to the curb outside. The rear door opened, and a tall man in a bespoke charcoal suit stepped out. He adjusted his cuffs, his dark eyes scanning the lobby before landing on me. He walked past the guards, stopping right in front of me. He leaned down, his thumb gently brushing a stray tear from my cheek. A slow, familiar smile touched his lips. “Crying on our wedding day?” Sean murmured, his voice low and steady. “I didn’t know you were that excited to marry me.”

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My friends always told me I was dating a girl with “main character syndrome”—someone who was a master of the silent treatment and petty tantrums. On the morning of our courthouse wedding, the photographer I’d hired was already waiting downstairs. I finished getting dressed and urged Zoey, “Come on, turn off the game. We need to go.” She only threw me a cold, dismissive look, deliberately queued up for another match right in front of me, and locked the bedroom door from the inside. She was always like this. I never knew what triggered her, or how long her mood would last. I was always expected to knock on her door, dissect my own behavior, apologize, and buy her some expensive luxury item she had casually mentioned weeks ago just to make peace. But this time, my hand hovered over the wood, unable to knock. The “I’m sorry” that usually slipped so easily from my tongue felt like a dry bone caught in my throat. I had been coddling her for five years. Five years of bending myself backward until I felt completely numb and hollow. The sudden realization that this would be my life forever—this endless cycle—terrified me. “Zoey!” I called out. The room went quiet for a moment. I could picture her perfectly: putting down her controller, reclining in her gaming chair, waiting to hear my voice break as I begged for forgiveness. She loved the chase. She loved watching me crawl back. But today, I used the last shred of my energy just to speak evenly. “Please come out. We planned this months ago. The photographer is waiting outside.” My only answer was the sudden blast of the game’s volume. I hadn’t given her the right answer. I hadn’t apologized. I stood there in the quiet hallway. After a long moment, I reached up, untied my tie, and began taking off my suit. I washed my face with cold water, rinsing away the exhaustion and the quiet tears I didn’t even realize were falling. Looking at the man in the mirror, all I saw was a ghost. I was so tired. I didn’t want to play the savior anymore. … I walked to the entryway to put away my newly polished dress shoes. Zoey’s sneakers were kicked carelessly into the corner, as always. They were a new pair of platform sneakers, bought specifically for today so she’d look taller in the photos. But the moment she got them, she wore them out to a greasy taco truck down the street, leaving deep oil stains on the white canvas that wouldn’t come out. We had argued so late last night that I hadn’t had the energy to clean them for her. I stared at them for a second, then stepped right over them, my pace quickening as I headed out the door. The photographer had been waiting by his car. The first thing I said to him was, “I’m so sorry, man. You can go. We’re not doing this today.” I paid him the 50% cancellation fee. Since he still got paid for his time, he wasn’t angry. Instead, he leaned in and lowered his voice. “Hey, man… to be honest, when you guys came in to choose props last week, I wanted to say something. Your girlfriend… she acts like a giant toddler.” “Remember when she wanted water? She wouldn’t get up. She made you walk three blocks to get it. Then, when you came back, she drank both bottles—yours too—without even looking at you.” “Honestly, Chase, off the record? I don’t think she deserves you.” My instinct was still to defend her. “She really wanted sparkling water, but the bodega’s fridge was broken, so I only got flat. She was just frustrated.” But seeing the pity in the young photographer’s eyes, my words died in my throat. I could only manage a bitter smile. Yeah. Just because the water wasn’t cold, she felt entitled to ruin my day, and to punish me by drinking my bottle too. She didn’t care that I had worked a ten-hour shift, walked blocks in stiff leather shoes, or that in ninety-degree heat, I was suffocatingly thirsty too. My phone buzzed in my pocket. A Venmo notification. Zoey had just sent money to Ryan, her favorite male coworker, with a note: “For stomach meds and warm soup. Feel better!” He had a chronic stomach issue. She remembered his pain, went out of her way to send him care, and wanted him to know she was thinking of him. She knew how to care for people. She just didn’t want to waste it on me. My mind drifted back to last night’s fight over a plate of pork chops. Well, it wasn’t a fight. It was just her screaming. “You know I like spicy food!” she had yelled, throwing her fork down. “Why are these so bland? Did you even try, or do you just not give a shit?” My doctor’s report and prescription for my gastritis were sitting right there on the coffee table. She had been lounging on the couch playing games next to them for hours, never once glancing at them. “My stomach has been acting up,” I said softly, trying to keep my voice steady. “The doctor told me to avoid spicy food for a while.” “If you didn’t want to cook for me, just say so. Don’t make up pathetic excuses.” She pushed the plate away, refusing to eat another bite. I looked at her. “Zoey, do you even know what day it is?” She let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “What? Is your birthday supposed to be a national holiday or something?” “…No.” It wasn’t. Our birthdays were only a few days apart, so we usually lumped them together. I bought the cake; she blew out the candles. But yesterday, I had walked past a bakery after a long call with my mother. Since her remarriage, we only spoke around the holidays. Hearing her say “Happy Birthday, sweetie” had made me feel strangely sentimental. So, I bought a small chocolate cake. Zoey had stared at that cake on the counter for a long time. For a foolish second, I let myself hope. Maybe she would say something nice. Maybe she had secretly bought me a card, or a small gift. But she said nothing. Her eyes were hard, almost accusatory. “You think you’re special because it’s your birthday?” she sneered. “Special enough to throw away the gift I bought you?” I remembered the giant plush bear sitting on the hallway table when I came home. It was huge, cheap, and shed fibers everywhere. I had moved it out to the balcony. “That was for me?” “Duh. Do you think I’d buy that garbage for myself?” “Zoey, I’m highly allergic to synthetic plush fibers. I’ve told you this a hundred times.” Every time I brought it up, she would just roll her eyes. “You’re so dramatic,” she’d say. “Next time, you get nothing.” But there always was a next time, and it was always another plush toy. I rubbed my palms, which were already starting to itch just from thinking about it. “I literally break out in hives. Please, just don’t buy them anymore.” “Will hives kill you?” “What?” “I asked if it would kill you. I went out of my way to buy you something. Is it really that hard to hold it, take a photo, and say thank you? You’re so ungrateful.” I sat there, utterly silenced by the sheer absurdity of her anger. And, like always, I folded. “I’m sorry.” “My bad.” “I won’t do it again.” But she wasn’t done. “Chase,” she said, leaning in, her voice dripping with venom. “Do you want to know why your parents didn’t want you when they split? Why they passed you around like hot garbage?” “Because you’re impossible to love.” She knew exactly where to twist the knife. Every time she brought up my childhood, it brought back the paralyzing memory of standing in that courtroom, listening to my parents argue over who “had” to take me, while the lawyers looked on with cold, professional pity. The only way to stop the roaring in my ears was to let the anger take over. So, I picked up the birthday cake I had bought and threw it against the wall. It shattered into a sticky, ugly mess. Zoey just whistled, turned on her heel, and went back to her video game. I spent the rest of my birthday night on my knees, scrubbing chocolate frosting off the baseboards, crying silently into the rag. “Am I really ready to marry her tomorrow?” I had asked myself over and over. One voice whispered: “She just has a temper. She’s not a bad person. And you’ve wanted a family your whole life. Don’t throw this away.” But another, quieter voice asked: “Can you really survive a lifetime of nights like this?” I must have been lost in my thoughts for too long, because the photographer was looking at me with genuine concern. “Hey, man. You okay?” I shook my head slightly. “Just… a little lost.” “Look, I know it’s none of my business,” he said gently. “But marriage is a long haul. If you’re having doubts, maybe take some time to think about it.” “Yeah,” I breathed. “I think I need to do that.” When I walked back upstairs, Zoey was leaning against the doorframe, fully dressed. She looked away the moment our eyes met, her jaw tight. This was her version of an olive branch. A tiny, grudging peace offering. She knew she had pushed me to the absolute edge last night, so she was giving me just enough space to calm down so I wouldn’t “ruin” her day. “I sent the photographer home,” I said. She stiffened. “Whatever. I told you hiring a photographer for a courthouse wedding was a waste of money anyway.” The living room was a disaster—laundry piled high on the sofa, mixed with mail and empty takeout containers. I sighed and began folding the clothes, one by one. When I picked up her purse to move it, a cascade of colorful wedding mints spilled out onto the floor. She lunged forward, snatching them up. “Who told you to go through my stuff?” she snapped. But she didn’t close the bag. She left it wide open, letting me see the rest of the mints inside. Last month, while walking through Target, I had mentioned that we should buy some nice mints and candies to hand out to the clerk and the photographer at the courthouse. “It’s just a nice gesture,” I had said. Zoey had scoffed. “God, Chase, are you really that desperate? You want everyone to know some lonely, aging bachelor finally managed to trick a girl like me into marrying him?” The words had stung so badly I couldn’t even force a laugh. I just walked away. And because I didn’t play along, she had thrown a fit, stormed out of the store, and driven off, leaving me standing in the parking lot with a cart full of half-scanned items. There had been no apology then. But now, she was standing here, waiting for me to fall to my knees in gratitude because she had remembered and bought the mints. This was her grand gesture, and I was supposed to feel honored. I had always been so good at reading her mind, but she had never once bothered to look at mine. If she had, she would have seen the quiet terror taking root. I was done playing my part in this exhausting, toxic play where we scream, freeze each other out, and then pretend everything is perfect again. I didn’t say a word. I just kept cleaning the couch. After a minute of tense silence, she slammed her purse onto the floor. “Chase!” she yelled, looking around the room until her eyes landed on her shoes. “Why haven’t you cleaned my sneakers yet?” “I swear, you do nothing all day. They’re filthy. Look at them!” “I’m telling you right now, if those shoes aren’t spotless, I’m not getting married today.” I looked at the sneakers, lying crookedly by the door. Then I looked at the rest of my life, stretching out ahead of me like a long, grey highway of endless chores and eggshells. No matter how hard I worked to keep her happy, it would never be enough. I looked at Zoey, who had already thrown herself back onto the couch, her eyes darting to me to see if I would run for the shoe cleaner. In that exact moment, without a single shred of hesitation, I said, “Zoey, let’s not get married. Not today. Not ever.” Right as the words left my mouth, her game found a match, and the loading screen music started up. I didn’t know if she had actually heard me. But as I spoke those words, a crushing weight lifted off my chest. I felt light. I walked to the door, picked up the trash bag, and stepped out into the hallway. As I passed her dirty sneakers, I “accidentally” stepped right on the white canvas, leaving a dark, dusty footprint. When I turned back around, she wasn’t looking at her phone. She was staring at me, her eyes dark and incredibly sharp. “What do you mean, ‘not ever’?” “Chase, my youth is valuable. I don’t have time to play games with you.” “If we aren’t getting married, we’re breaking up.” Breaking up? I had lived with her for so long I couldn’t even remember what a quiet apartment felt like. I’d have to find a new place, sure, but… maybe I could find something closer to my office. I could sleep in an extra thirty minutes every morning. The thought of it felt like a warm breeze. “Give me a week to move out,” I said.

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The torrential rain was drumming hard against the laboratory windows, and I’d been waiting by the entrance for Austin for three hours. Then my phone buzzed, and his voice cut through the static, casual and entirely dismissive. “Cathy used one of her privilege cards,” he said. “She needs me to pick her up. Grab a Lyft back, okay?” It was the sixteenth time this month. It didn’t matter if it was Valentine’s Day or my birthday. If Cathy called, Austin would abandon me without a second thought, running to her side. When they broke up years ago, they had left ninety-nine “relationship privilege cards” unredeemed. They were little handmade tokens of absolute entitlement he had gifted her during their honeymoon phase—coupons for “one free ride,” “one late-night ice cream run,” “one pass to skip an argument.” Now, she was redeeming them like currency, and Austin was paying the debt with my time, my dignity, and my heart. I looked at my rideshare app. There were over a hundred people ahead of me in the queue. I squeezed the handle of my umbrella, my fingers cold and stiff. “Austin, it’s pouring… Can’t you please pick me up first?” There was only a sigh of mild irritation on the other end. “I know it’s raining, Lila, but she said she can’t find a ride, and you’re in the opposite direction. It makes no sense to drive all the way to you and then back to her. It’s just a waste of time.” The line went dead. He had hung up on me. Once again, he chose her. He had sworn to me that Cathy’s last birthday card was the very last one. I guess promises to me were written in sand, while his debts to her were carved in stone. I stared at the screen, a dry, self-deprecating laugh escaping my throat. I closed the rideshare app, scrolled through my contacts, and tapped on my advisor’s name. “Professor Evans, I want to sign up for the three-year isolated Antarctic expedition.” The polar research vessel was scheduled to set sail in three days. … By the time I unlocked the door to our apartment, I was soaked to the bone. Water dripped from my hem, pooling in dark, silent stains on the hardwood floor. But the living room was bathed in a warm, amber glow, thick with a cozy, domestic intimacy that felt entirely foreign. Austin was standing behind the sofa, gently blow-drying Cathy’s hair. Cathy was holding up her phone, showing him something on the screen, and they were laughing, their shoulders brushing. Looking at them, I felt a familiar, dull ache in my chest. It was like stepping into a time machine, watching a movie of their past where I was never cast. Hearing the door, Cathy turned around. “Oh, Lila! You’re back.” Austin placed a hand on her head, gently guiding her back. “Don’t move,” he chided, his voice dripping with affection. “Otherwise you’ll complain I didn’t dry it right.” Then he looked up and noticed my dripping clothes. His brow furrowed in mild surprise. “Did you forget your umbrella?” The exhaustion of the last three hours swelled in my throat, but the words died before they could form. My eyes drifted to Cathy. She was wearing my silk loungewear—the matching set Austin and I had bought together. Cathy and I had grown up together. We were the same height, the same weight, with almost identical measurements. We had shared clothes since we were kids. Back then, we thought our matching tastes were a beautiful proof of sisterhood. Until we fell in love with the same man. That symmetry had curdled into something suffocating. I forced my eyes away, offering the same quiet, agreeable smile I always did. “Yeah… I forgot.” Austin didn’t offer an explanation for why he hadn’t picked me up. He just shrugged. “Well, luckily you’ve always had a strong immune system. A little rain won’t hurt you. Cathy’s different—she’s fragile. She actually wasted one of her privilege cards just because of a drizzle.” Cathy rolled her eyes playfully, nudging him. “I just needed a free chauffeur, and since it didn’t cost me a dime, why not?” They fell back into their easy, bickering rhythm, a practiced dance that seemed designed to keep their history casual and harmless. Without a word, I peeled off my wet coat and walked into the kitchen. On the stove, the pot of ginger tea I had brewed before leaving was stone cold. I poured a cup, intending to just drink it cold to soothe my scratchy throat. Just then, a soft sneeze echoed from the living room. Cathy was curled up on the sofa, clutching her stomach, her face pale, tiny beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Austin rushed into the kitchen, gently taking the cup of cold tea from my hand. He turned on the stove, carefully reheating it, adding a spoonful of brown sugar and honey. I suddenly remembered. It was that time of the month for Cathy. No wonder there was a pharmacy delivery box sitting by the entryway. He had ordered her preferred brand of heating pads. Seeing me standing idle, Austin spoke without looking up, his tone entirely matter-of-fact. “Lila, go help her rub her back, will you? I’ll boil some fresh water.” He handed me a freshly filled hot water bottle. The intense heat stung my frozen hands, a sharp, biting pain. But he didn’t notice. I smiled faintly, taking the bottle, and sat down beside Cathy, gently placing the heat source over her lower back. Austin came in with a fresh mug of tea, draping a soft throw blanket over her knees, fussing over her like an anxious mother hen. Cathy leaned her head against my shoulder, her pale face lighting up with a soft, sweet smile. “You know, when I broke up with him and practically pushed you two together, I knew I made the right choice.” She sighed happily. “Look at this. Now I have both of you to take care of me.” Hearing this, Austin let out a sharp, annoyed scoff, though there was no real heat in it. Cathy giggled, then turned to me, her voice softening into a whine. “Lila, I’m so hungry. I miss your cooking.” Austin straightened up, looking down at me. “Lila, go whip up a bowl of chicken noodle soup for her, okay? She’s really hurting right now.” Cathy weakly grabbed my arm, feigning protest. “Maybe later. She’s been out in the rain; she hasn’t even showered yet.” But Austin was insistent. “She can shower after she cooks. It’ll only take fifteen minutes, and if we eat any later, it’ll mess with your stomach. That’s bad for your digestion.” Before I could answer, he gently guided me toward the kitchen and shut the door behind me. The click of the latch felt like the boundary between two entirely different worlds. As I chopped the vegetables, my mind drifted. The knife slipped, slicing deep into my left index finger. A sharp, stinging pain made me gasp. A drop of bright red blood welled up, dripping onto the cutting board. From the living room, the loud, booming laughter of a comedy show drifted through the door. When the soup was finally ready, I heard Cathy call out from the sofa. “Austin, I’m too weak to move. Can you bring it to me?” Austin entered the kitchen. He picked up the bowl meant for Cathy and turned on his heel, leaving mine sitting solitary and cold on the counter. Cathy always said that those who come first plant the trees, and those who come later enjoy the shade. But this tree had grown entirely in Cathy’s image. The pale-yellow curtains in the living room, the fabric sofa, the kitchenware—all of it had been chosen by Cathy years ago. The branches of this relationship were thick and lush, but they didn’t leave a single inch of shade for me. I felt a sudden wave of dizziness. I walked out and sat on the far edge of the sofa. Austin and Cathy were engrossed in a movie. “Did you see this one? The main character was such an idiot,” Cathy pointed at the screen, laughing. “You insisted on dragging me to the theater for this, and then you slept through the whole thing.” They were sharing a past I had no part in, a language of inside jokes and shared memories. I sat beside them, a ghost in my own home. The air conditioning was blasting, and my wet hair made me shiver. Just as my vision began to blur from the rising fever, a warm cashmere throw blanket was draped over my shoulders. Austin leaned down, carefully tucking the edges around me. “How old are you, Lila? You still don’t know how to take care of yourself.” For a split second, I wanted to lean into that warmth, to believe that maybe I still mattered. But then Cathy rubbed her bare arms. “Brr, this movie is making me feel chilly too.” Austin’s hand on my shoulder stiffened. The next second, the blanket was pulled back. He took the majority of it, draping it over Cathy’s lap, leaving me with a tiny, useless corner that barely covered my knees. The cold air rushed back, and my head throbbed with a vengeance. I couldn’t take it anymore. I stood up. “You guys watch. I’m going to bed.” Before closing my bedroom door, I couldn’t help but look back. Austin had taken my spot on the sofa. Cathy’s head was resting naturally on his shoulder. They looked exactly like the couple in the movie—perfect, peaceful, and meant to be. I collapsed onto the bed, my head pounding like a drum. I don’t know how much time passed before the door clicked open. Austin walked in, muttering under his breath. “Cathy went home. It’s so late, and she refused to let me drive her.” He was staring at his phone, tracking her location. “Okay, she made it back safely. Thank god, otherwise—” He finally looked up and saw my flushed face. “Lila?” He reached out, pressing his palm against my forehead. “Jesus, you’re burning up.” He hurried to the bathroom and brought back a cold, damp cloth, gently laying it over my brow. His face was inches from mine, his eyes wide with a concern that didn’t look fake. A sudden, sharp ache rose in my chest. “Austin,” I whispered. “I’m leaving.” He paused, a soft, indulgent chuckle escaping him. “Are you delirious from the fever? Where would you go?” But when he checked the thermometer, his smile vanished. “103. This is too high. I’m taking you to the ER.” He scrambled to grab his car keys and coat. Watching his frantic silhouette, the icy wall around my heart cracked just a little. Maybe he did care. Maybe, if things got bad enough, he would choose me. Before he could even put his jacket on, his phone rang. It was Cathy. “Austin, Buster is gone!” Her voice was frantic, cracking with tears through the speaker. “I’ve looked everywhere. He must have slipped out…” Buster was the cat they had adopted together. When they broke up, Cathy kept him. He had become Austin’s permanent excuse to visit her apartment. Austin’s hand froze on his car keys. “Stay with me,” I said softly, looking at him with the very last shred of hope I possessed. “Please.” Whether it was going to the hospital or just staying in this room, I didn’t care. I just needed him to choose me, just this once. Austin avoided my gaze. “Take some fever reducers first,” he said, pulling a random box of pills from the medicine cabinet and shoving them into my hands. “Buster is like my kid, Lila. It’s pouring outside; he’ll be terrified.” He turned and practically ran out of the room, his departure so hurried it felt like an escape. The front door slammed shut. I looked down at the box of medicine in my hand. It wasn’t a fever reducer. It was Cathy’s prescription allergy medication. He kept it stocked here, always. I threw the box into the trash can, picked up my phone, and smiled. It was a clean, hollow feeling. I opened my email, pulled up the Antarctic research project agreement, and typed my signature at the bottom. After sending it, I stumbled out to the living room to look for actual medicine. My legs felt like lead, every step dizzying. I pulled open the drawer of the coffee table. Inside were Cathy’s hydrating face masks. Underneath were Cathy’s vitamins. Cathy’s hand creams. In this apartment that was supposed to belong to Austin and me, every corner was a museum of their shared life. I finally found some generic cold medicine, swallowing two dry pills. They scraped down my dry throat, leaving a bitter, burning trail. As I sat there, waiting for the medicine to kick in, I opened Instagram. There, at the top of my feed, was a post Austin had uploaded just minutes ago. It was a photo of Cathy holding a damp but safe Buster. Austin’s hand was resting gently over hers on the cat’s back. The caption read: The family is whole again. Mommy and Daddy will always love you, buddy. I stared at the words Mommy and Daddy for a long time. When I refreshed the feed, the post was gone. I didn’t know if he had customized his settings to hide it from me, or if he had deleted it entirely. I didn’t have the energy to care. Then, a text from Austin popped up. Still looking for Buster. It’s pouring out here, go to sleep. He didn’t even bother to coordinate his lies. The cat was safe, but he wanted to stay with her anyway. Are you staying the night at Cathy’s? I typed. A long pause, then: We broke up a long time ago, Lila. Don’t overthink things. I tossed the phone onto the nightstand. I lay back in bed, letting the low fever burn through me all night. When the sun finally rose, my pillow was damp with a mixture of sweat and tears I didn’t remember crying. The next morning, Austin shook me awake. “Lila, happy third anniversary.” He pulled open the curtains, letting the harsh, bright sunlight flood the room. “We’re going to the zoo today.” My head was still spinning, but he pulled me out of bed and led me downstairs. When we reached his car, I saw Cathy sitting in the passenger seat. “If I hadn’t reminded him, you’d be spending your anniversary getting yelled at,” Cathy said, stepping out of the car with a teasing smile. She stood close to Austin, fixing his collar. “He was never this forgetful when we were dating.” Austin rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, slipping into the driver’s seat. Cathy took my hand, her smile bright. “Lila, you’re just too sweet to him. With guys like Austin, you have to keep them on a tight leash.” It wasn’t that I had never fought for us. In the beginning, Austin would apologize profusely if he was even ten minutes late for a date. Once, after our worst argument, he drove eight hours through a blizzard to the field station where I was doing research. He knelt in the snow, crying, swearing he would never make me wait again. I had laughed through my tears, and he had looked at me like I was his entire world. “Who else would I ever bend the knee for, baby?” he had whispered. But then Cathy returned, and the “privilege cards” started appearing. Our dates were constantly cut in half. Our dinners were interrupted. It became an unspoken rule: Cathy always came first. And today was no different. It wasn’t our anniversary celebration; it was just a trip Cathy wanted to take. The zoo was packed. At the main entrance, the crowd split into two paths. To the left was the Polar Pavilion. To the right was the Artificial Rainforest. Our group ticket required us to scan in at different gates. The Rainforest was hosting a special “Couples’ Challenge” today, requiring pairs to enter. Cathy looked at me, a delicate, apologetic expression on her face. Before she could speak, Austin made the decision. “Lila, you go to the Polar Pavilion,” he said, pushing me gently toward the left turnstile. “You’re always talking about wanting to go to Antarctica anyway. Plus, it’s cold in there—it’ll help bring your fever down.” He took the remaining two tickets and guided Cathy toward the Rainforest entrance. I stood at the gate, watching their figures blend into the colorful sea of tourists. The cold air of the Polar Pavilion hit my face, making my joints ache. I found a quiet bench in the corner and sat down, burying my face in my hands. A young couple walked past, holding hands. “Let’s go to the Rainforest next! They have that couples’ compatibility game.” “I heard the grand prize is that limited-edition plush penguin. You have to win it for me!” I stood up, walking slowly through the exit, and made my way around the massive park to the exit of the Artificial Rainforest. A loud, cheering crowd had gathered around a stage. As I drew closer, the sheer volume of the spectators pushed me toward the front. Above us, on the big screen, Austin was holding Cathy. They were locked in a deep, passionate kiss. The host’s voice boomed through the speakers. “Ten more seconds!” Austin’s hand was resting firmly on the small of her back, holding her protectively against him. Cathy was on her tiptoes, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, responding with equal fervor. “Three! Two! One!” The crowd erupted into wild applause. The host handed Austin the microphone. “Congratulations to our champions! Sir, do you have anything you want to say to your lovely lady?” Austin took the mic, looking down at Cathy with a tenderness that made my throat tighten. “You will always have special privileges,” he said, his voice echoing clearly. Cathy blushed, kissing his cheek. The crowd cheered again. Beside me, a teenage girl sighed. “Oh my god, they are so cute. He is totally head over heels for her.” I looked down, a quiet smile spreading across my lips. Yes, he was. He was just head over heels for the wrong girl. As the crowd dispersed, Cathy and Austin walked down from the stage. She was clutching the giant, limited-edition plush toy, her lipstick noticeably smudged. Seeing me, she didn’t look flustered at all. Instead, she reached into her bag and handed me a small, palm-sized keychain. “Lila! I knew you’d love this,” she said brightly. “I made Austin enter the contest just so we could get this little guy for you.” I looked down at the keychain. The stitching was crooked, and the price tag was still stuck to the plastic back. $4.99. The real prize, the one that required the kiss, was held tightly in her arms. Austin avoided my eyes. “I know you like those little trinkets,” he muttered. “Consider it an anniversary gift.” Our third anniversary. I waited three hours in a storm, only to be told to get an Uber. I suffered through a 103-degree fever, only for him to leave and find her cat. I was pushed into a freezing exhibit while he kissed her on a stage. And now, he was handing me a five-dollar leftover as an anniversary present. “What kind of contest was it?” I asked quietly. Cathy’s smile stiffened slightly. “Just a silly game. The host was just playing up the couples’ thing for the crowd. It didn’t mean anything.” Austin frowned, his tone dipping into irritation. “Lila, don’t make a scene in public.” I stared at him. Apparently, simply asking a question was now considered “making a scene.” I squeezed the cheap plastic keychain, the edges digging sharply into my palm. “Austin,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Let’s break up.” But right then, a massive, noisy parade float rounded the corner, the music blasting so loudly it shook the ground beneath our feet. My goodbye was swallowed whole by the noise. Austin squinted at me. “What did you say?” Beside him, Cathy was reaching up to adjust his collar, her movements so natural, so wifely. Suddenly, the fight drained out of me. It was just so incredibly exhausting. “Nothing,” I said. Austin let out a sigh of relief, turning back to Cathy. “Are you tired? Do you want to head back?” Cathy blushed, swatting his arm. “It’s your fault for kissing me so long.” They walked ahead, their shoulders aligned. This time, I didn’t follow. Half an hour later, a text from Austin popped up. The parking lot is a nightmare and there are no Lyfts. I’m going to drop Cathy off first. You grab a cab, okay? It was always the same sentence. I stared at the screen, and for the first time in years, I felt entirely light. Five hours later, I was sitting in the back of a taxi heading to the airport. Before blocking his number, I sent him one last text. Austin. I don’t want either of you anymore. Austin stayed at Cathy’s place until the following evening before he realized something was wrong. Lila hadn’t texted him once. When he tried calling her, the call went straight to voicemail. On iMessage, his texts were met with a chilling silence—and then, a red exclamation point. A sudden, heavy weight dropped in his stomach. He immediately dialed the number for her university laboratory. Her lab partner, Mark, answered. “Lila?” Mark sounded confused. “She accepted the professor’s offer yesterday.” Austin’s hand tightened around his phone. “What do you mean?” “She joined the three-year Antarctic research expedition,” Mark said. “She boarded the vessel. She won’t be back for three years.”

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To teach me independence, my parents made me pay for everything with hard labor. If I wanted a glass of water, I had to clean the toilet. If I wanted a decent meal, I had to wash the entire family’s laundry. Usually, I managed to scrape by. But on my sixth birthday, I ran a burning fever and physically couldn’t drag myself out of bed. Dizzy with hunger and shivering under the sheets, I cried and begged them. “Mom, Dad, please… I feel so sick. Can I just have a glass of water?” My mother, Helen, shook her head with a cold, firm expression. “No way. Rules are rules, Chloe. Don’t think you can use a little cold as an excuse to be lazy!” My father, Arthur, went even further. He dragged me out of bed by my collar and threw me out into the backyard, right into the freezing snow. He said it was to “build my character.” Before I lost consciousness, I could hear their muffled voices drifting from the warm living room. “Tomorrow is Lily Rose’s sixth birthday. Let’s get her that latest giant Barbie Dreamhouse set and the remote-control power wheel, okay?” “Let’s also load a ten-thousand-dollar cash card for her. That sweet little girl always smiles when she sees us. She’s so much more well-behaved than our Chloe!” Hearing this, a single tear froze on my cheek. So, it was only me. Only their biological daughter had to pay a price for every basic human need. But Mom, Dad… I won’t have another birthday.

In the snow, the warmth was rapidly draining from my body. Just when I thought I would freeze to death, a pair of rough hands dragged me back into the mansion. “What a nuisance!” I opened my eyes to see the disgusted face of Mrs. Gable, our housekeeper. She wasn’t saving me out of pity. She was just terrified that a dead body at the front door would bring bad luck and ruin her job. When I woke up again, I was in my tiny, drafty room. “Since you’re awake, stop playing dead.” My father’s cold, detached voice came from the doorway. He sat in a chair nearby, tore a page from his thick black leather ledger, and tossed it onto my face. “Mrs. Gable dragged you in and stained the entryway rug. Your punishment is to hand-wash every carpet in this house.” “Also, the down jacket you were wearing got soaked in the snow. That’s another three days of washing everyone’s laundry by hand.” Arthur pushed up his glasses, his eyes chillingly sharp. “And since you did zero work yesterday, your mother and I weren’t going to let you eat today.” “But considering you need strength to work off your debt, you are permitted to have two slices of plain, dry bread today. However, you will owe me for those slices later!” His calculating gaze held not a single ounce of warmth or pity for his daughter. I struggled to sit up, wanting to say something. But the moment I opened my mouth to breathe, a warm, metallic taste rushed up my throat. I coughed violently, splattering bright red blood all over the floor. It was a horrific sight. Just then, my mother came downstairs. She was holding a stunning, custom-made pink princess dress—obviously the birthday gift for Lily Rose from next door. Seeing the blood on the floor, she frowned in disgust and immediately took two steps back. “Ugh! How repulsive! Coughing up blood first thing in the morning? If you’re going to die, can you do it outside? Do you have any idea how hard it is to clean marble floors?” She turned to Arthur. “Arthur, I don’t think she’s learning her lesson at all. Add another month of living room deep-cleaning to her ledger!” Arthur nodded coldly and scribbled another line in his thick black book. “Go eat after you clean this up,” he said flatly. My heart squeezed in agonizing pain. I didn’t understand. Why did “character building” have to be this extreme, this cruel? I wanted to be like Lily. I wanted to receive beautiful gifts and feel loved. But I had to swallow those words. Every time I had tried to express my feelings in the past, it only resulted in harsher punishments. I silently wiped the blood from my lips with the back of my hand. “I understand… I’ll clean it.” “You talk a big game! With what strength?” Helen sneered. “With that fragile, pathetic body of yours? If you ask me, you’re just physically weak because you don’t work enough. From now on, you’ll have to do double the labor to earn your meals!” I remained silent for a long time. Finally, I whispered in a raspy, broken voice. “I understand.” “I will scrub the floors. I will finish all the chores.” I leaned against the wall, trembling as I stood up. I had to clear my debt to them before I died. That way, I could leave this world clean.

Over the next few days, I worked like a wound-up toy. The moment I opened my eyes, I was cleaning. Meanwhile, my fever kept roaring back. My body was breaking down. Every violent coughing fit ended with blood in my spit. But I never dared let them see. I was terrified they would call me “dramatic” and double my chores again. So I worked through the pain. Even when my hands cracked and bled from the freezing water, I didn’t dare stop. Finally, on a quiet afternoon. I used the excuse of taking out the trash to slip away. Clutching the $120 I had secretly saved over the years by collecting and recycling plastic bottles, I walked to the nearest hospital. That money was supposed to buy me a tiny birthday cupcake one day. I didn’t need a cupcake anymore. The doctor stared at my test results, his brows knitted tightly. He looked at me, hesitating. “Sweetheart, where are your parents?” “They are… very busy.” I tried to calm my racing heart and forced a small smile. “Doctor, you can just tell me. How much time do I have left?” The doctor froze. But I wasn’t surprised. I had been diagnosed with a terminal illness a month ago during a school screening. But no one at home ever listened to me. They didn’t care if I was sick or healthy. “Child, if we admit you for treatment right now, there might still be a sliver of hope…” the doctor said, his voice trembling slightly. I shook my head and cut him off. “Just tell me the final timeline, please.” The doctor choked up. After a long pause, he sighed deeply. “One month. At most.” “Your bone marrow has stopped producing healthy blood cells. On top of that, you are severely malnourished. Some of your organs are failing before they’ve even fully developed.” I sat there, dazed. “One month…” I let out a bitter, silent laugh, looking down at my scarred, calloused hands. One month. That was enough. It was enough time to pay back everything I owed them. “I won’t be doing the treatment.” I placed the stack of crumpled dollar bills on his desk. “Sir, is this enough to buy pain medication? I just want it to hurt less when I go.” The doctor fell silent again. I saw his eyes turn red. Eventually, he turned his back to me, his shoulders shaking slightly. He only took $5 for the consultation fee but handed me a large bottle of strong pain relievers. I felt a sudden swell of happiness. So, I didn’t have to work myself to death to receive a little bit of kindness. When I got home, the mansion was incredibly lively. Today was Lily Rose’s birthday party. My parents had transformed the house into a pink wonderland. Balloons and fresh roses were everywhere. The price of a single rose bouquet could have fed me for a month. Lily sat in the center of the sofa like a real princess, wearing that designer dress worth tens of thousands of dollars. Helen was gently guiding her hand to cut the cake, her face glowing with maternal love. “Our Lily is so beautiful. Come on, make a wish, sweetie!” Arthur stood nearby, recording the whole thing with a high-end camera. The adoration in their eyes was something I had never seen in my entire life. Suddenly, a sharp, stabbing pain flared in my stomach. It was so intense that I doubled over. Struggling to stay upright, I slowly dragged my feet into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water. “What are you doing? Sneaking around like a thief!” Helen’s sharp voice suddenly pierced the air.

Helen set her plate down and glared at me, her brow furrowed in irritation. “I… wanted some water.” My lips were pale from the pain, and my voice shook. But Arthur walked over, pointing his camera directly at my face. “Chloe, we have rules. Everything you consume in this house must be earned through labor.” “Who gave you permission to just take water?” His camera was his favorite tool of humiliation. He loved recording my most pathetic, shameful moments so he could play them back later to “remind me to obey.” Helen leaned back on the sofa, her voice dripping with cold indifference. “We strictly discipline you because we want you to be independent. We want you to understand that only hard work gets you fed.” “But since you love taking shortcuts so much, fine. Warm water is ten dollars a cup. Cold water is five.” She held out her hand, staring into my eyes. “Pay up, and you can drink as much as you want!” There was absolutely no warmth in her voice. Lily sat nearby, eating her cake, her face covered in frosting. “Chloe, don’t you have any money? You’re so pathetic. Imagine having to pay for water in your own house…” she giggled innocently. My parents laughed along, completely unbothered. At this point, I couldn’t even feel the pain in my heart anymore. It was numb. With trembling hands, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my remaining cash. “Fine. I’ll buy it.” I counted the bills and placed them in Helen’s palm. “I want a cup of warm water.” Helen froze, clearly not expecting me to actually have cash. But she quickly pocketed the money. “Hmph, let’s see how much money you have left to waste!” She turned back to resume Lily’s birthday celebration. I huddled in the dark corner of the kitchen, swallowing the pain pills with my expensive cup of warm water. The medicine took a long time to kick in. It wasn’t until midnight that the pain subsided slightly. Under the moonlight, I pulled out a small notebook. It was a diary of all my labor and punishments. I wrote down the very last entry. Then, I slipped my crumpled terminal diagnosis sheet into the very first page of the notebook. I spent the rest of the night scrubbing every single floorboard in the mansion. I cleaned every corner until it was spotless. I washed all the dirty laundry and hung it up on the balcony. By the time I finished everything, it was 4:00 AM. I was breathing heavily, but I didn’t dare rest. I threw my worn-out backpack over my shoulders. Inside, there was only the bottle of pain medication. I turned around. I took one last look at this house where I had lived for six years—a place that had not given me a single happy memory. Goodbye, Mom. Goodbye, Dad. I have paid back every debt I owed you in this lifetime. If there is a next life, I would rather be a blade of grass by the road than your daughter. I pushed open the heavy front door and walked out into the endless, freezing night.

The next morning. Helen stretched as she walked downstairs. Out of habit, she yelled, “Chloe! Where’s breakfast? Are you slacking off again?” No one answered. Only her own echo bounced off the walls of the empty mansion. Helen’s face darkened. Impatiently, she marched to my tiny room and kicked the door open. “Chloe, stop faking sick! Get up right—” Her voice cut off. The room was completely empty. The bed was made perfectly, the sheets folded neatly. But the backpack that usually sat by the bed was gone. “Arthur! Arthur, come down here!” “Chloe is gone!” An icy pit opened in Helen’s stomach. She began to panic. Arthur walked out of the upstairs bathroom, frowning. “Don’t scream. Go check the backyard. She’s probably sweeping the garden.” “No! All of her things are gone!” Helen’s voice pitched higher, trembling. Arthur’s expression shifted. He sprinted down the stairs. He burst into my room, his eyes instantly locking onto the black notebook sitting on the desk. “Is this… a ledger?” He frowned, flipping through the pages. Suddenly, a thin piece of paper slipped out and fluttered to the floor. Helen instinctively reached out and caught it. The moment she read the words printed at the top, the color drained from her face. “A terminal diagnosis?” Arthur snatched the paper, his eyes scanning the page. “Late-stage Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia… with multiple organ failure…” “Patient: Chloe Miller?!” Arthur’s mind went completely blank. He clutched the diagnosis paper, reading the name over and over to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. “This diagnosis was from a month ago? Why didn’t she ever tell us?” Arthur was shaking violently. Suddenly, all of his daughter’s “weird” behaviors over the past month rushed back into his mind. He remembered how he had thrown her out into the snow just two days ago, letting her freeze for an hour. He remembered how he had doubled her chores… Helen collapsed onto the floor, desperately flipping through the notebook. “No wonder she kept saying she was in pain… I thought… I thought she was just being dramatic!” Her heart squeezed in suffocating guilt. Then, she saw the note written on the cover page: “Mom, Dad,” “I have finished every single chore I owed you.” “I left all my remaining money on the desk. Consider it the final interest on my existence.” “The doctor said I’m going to die soon.” “You always complained about how expensive it was to raise me. But don’t worry. Once I’m dead, you’ll save so much money.” “You can use that money to buy Lily more beautiful dresses.” “Yesterday, I wanted water. Mom said it cost ten dollars, so I paid for it.” “That was my very last purchase in this house.” “I don’t owe you anything anymore.” “In our next life, please… let’s never meet again.” Every single word felt like a bloody knife stabbing directly into Arthur and Helen’s chests. “Yesterday… when she asked for water… was she in pain?” Helen’s face was ghostly white. Her brain felt completely paralyzed. Her own daughter had a terminal illness. She had been diagnosed a month ago. And during this entire month… Neither of them had noticed a single thing? “What… what did we do?” Helen wailed, clutching the ledger to her chest as her tears finally spilled over. Arthur bit his lip so hard it bled. Looking at his daughter’s final, heartbreaking words, a wave of regret and pure terror completely swallowed him. She was really gone. “No… No!” “We have to find her! Now!” Arthur let out a guttural, agonizing scream. He ran out of the front door like a madman, losing one of his shoes in the process, not caring at all.

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The day I got my college acceptance letter, I didn’t get a hug from Eleanor. Instead, a heavy, dusty wooden box slammed shut right by my feet. The box was old and locked. It was “Nesta’s Box,” the one thing she had never allowed me to touch. “Open it,” Eleanor said, her voice dripping with ice. My hands shook as I unlocked it. Inside, there were no childhood photos, no nostalgic letters. There were only two thick stacks of hand-cut paper slips. One stack was a dingy yellow with rough edges. Written on them in blue ballpoint pen were things like: [Shivering in the freezing rain], [Eating rancid leftovers], [Sick with no medicine]. The other stack was pale pink, beautifully printed. They read: [A warm classroom], [A fresh hot meal], [A clean, cozy bed]. Eleanor told me that from now on, my life would be dictated by whatever I drew from this box. Before I could even process what was happening, Eleanor snatched the box away. She dumped both stacks of slips onto the table, shuffling them together like a deck of cards. Her eyes were bloodshot. She stared at me with a wild, crazed hatred I had never seen before. “Clara, you’ve always wondered where your sister is, haven’t you?” She grabbed one of the yellow slips and slapped it in front of my face. “Let me tell you. She is probably living through every single nightmare on these papers right now! And you? You get to enjoy all of this!” She scooped up a handful of the pink slips and threw them directly at my face. “It was you! You stole her life! Now you have to pay it back!” Eleanor’s voice shrieked, piercing my eardrums. “From this day on, for every bit of comfort you enjoy, you will suffer a nightmare for Nesta! That is the only way to make it fair!” She violently shoved the mixed slips back into the wooden box, leaving only a tiny gap big enough for two fingers. “Draw! Three slips every single day! Whatever you draw, you do! You owe her this! You deserve it!” I stood there, completely frozen. My blood ran cold. Was this raving lunatic really my mother? The same woman who used to tuck my cold hands into her jacket? The woman who used to tear up whenever I said, “I love you, Mom”? “Draw!” Eleanor screamed, her glare sharp as a knife. I closed my eyes, slid my hand into the freezing box, and felt the rough edges of the paper. I pulled out three slips. The first was pink: [A warm bed]. Eleanor let out a cold laugh. “That’s the comfort you enjoyed last night.” The second was yellow: [Frostbitten fingers]. The third was yellow: [Ice water poured over your head]. Eleanor snatched the two yellow slips from my hand. A cruel, satisfied smile spread across her face. “It’s 37 degrees outside today. Perfect weather. You enjoyed the warmth. Now, pay the debt.” She grabbed my wrist and dragged me out to the fire escape. Then, she went into the kitchen, filled a massive bucket with ice-cold water, and dumped it over my head without a second thought. The freezing water instantly soaked through my sweater. My body convulsed, my teeth chattering uncontrollably. Before I could even gasp for air, Eleanor grabbed my dripping wet hands and forced them onto the freezing iron railing of the fire escape. “You drew frostbitten fingers, didn’t you? Feel it! This is nothing compared to what Nesta went through!” She pinned my hands down, ignoring my frantic struggles, until the sharp sting in my fingertips turned entirely numb. After that day, my life became a twisted, cruel ritual of penance. Every morning, the first thing I did was reach into that cursed wooden box with trembling hands. If I drew [A fresh hot meal], I had to go to the dirty dumpster behind the school dining hall and stand there for ten minutes, breathing in the stench of rotting garbage, before I was “allowed” to eat. If I drew [A bright classroom], I had to take a freezing cold shower in the dark communal bathroom at night. If I drew [A friend’s greeting], I had to be hostile to everyone I met that day, pushing away anyone who tried to show me kindness. To everyone else at college, my life looked perfectly normal. But inside, I was rotting away. I became a ghost wandering around campus. I didn’t dare make friends. I didn’t dare accept any kindness. Because I never knew what kind of torture slip I would draw the next day to pay for it. A month later, the first major winter storm hit the city. I caught a terrible flu. My fever was so high that my forehead felt like it was on fire. My roommates were terrified and tried to pull me out of bed to go to the clinic. “Don’t… don’t touch me…”

I shrank back, too weak to fight. My fear was far greater than my sickness. I hadn’t drawn today’s slips yet. If I went to the clinic and then drew a punishment that required me to go outside, I wouldn’t have the strength to do it. I dragged myself out of bed and fell to my knees in front of the box. My hands shook so badly I could barely hold the paper slips. I took a deep breath and drew three. The first was pink: [Medicine when sick]. That was the cold medicine my roommate had given me this morning. The second was yellow: [No doctors when sick]. The third was yellow: [Kneel in the snow]. Outside the window, light snow was already beginning to fall. My heart sank to my stomach. Eleanor’s rule was absolute: the daily “debt” had to be paid before midnight. I pulled on my thickest puffer jacket and stumbled out of the warm dorm building. The icy wind cut through my face like tiny blades. The snowflakes melted on my burning skin, sending violent shudders down my spine. I walked to the deserted woods behind the dorms, found a snowy corner, and painfully sank to my knees. The biting cold instantly traveled from my knees through my entire body. The fever made my head spin, and I nearly blacked out right then and there. I bit my lip hard, using every ounce of willpower to stay upright. Time crawled. Every second felt like an eternity. I don’t know how long passed, but just as my vision started to blur, a warm coat was suddenly draped over my shoulders. I snapped my head up. Through my blurry eyes, I saw Chloe, my roommate. Her face was pale with worry and anger. “Clara! Are you insane?! You have a massive fever and you’re kneeling in the snow! You’re going to kill yourself!” She tried to pull me up. “Leave me alone… please…” I struggled weakly, my tears mixing with the melting snow. “I owe this… I have to pay it back…” “Who do you owe? What the hell are you doing?!” Chloe was furious and crying at the same time. “What kind of mother does this to her daughter? I’m taking you back, and then I am calling your mother!” Calling Eleanor? My entire body went rigid. A chill colder than the snow shot straight down my spine. According to the rules, accepting Chloe’s help counted as [Being cared for while sick]—a new comfort. But the punishment slip [Kneel in the snow] had been interrupted. I hadn’t finished it. According to Eleanor’s twisted logic, enjoying a comfort without paying the debt was a mortal sin. I could already see Eleanor’s cold, mocking face, hearing her announce an even worse punishment. What if there was something far worse than kneeling in the snow waiting for me in that box? Chloe forced me to my feet. I couldn’t feel my legs at all. The moment she dialed the phone, I closed my eyes in utter despair. Eleanor’s ringtone seemed to echo right in my ears, pounding against my frayed nerves. In the end, Eleanor didn’t pick up. She declined the call. But I knew this was just the suffocating quiet before the storm. Sure enough, less than ten minutes later, my phone vibrated like a death warrant. The word “Mom” flashing on the screen looked absolutely terrifying. I instinctively pushed Chloe away, stumbled into the empty stairwell, and pressed answer. “Wow, Clara. Look at you, getting so brave. You’re hiring outside help now?” Eleanor’s voice was terrifyingly calm, like a frozen lake hiding a deadly current underneath. “You didn’t finish [Kneel in the snow], and you got a freebie with [Being cared for while sick]? You really think you can cheat the system?” I leaned against the cold concrete wall, shivering so hard my teeth clicked. “Mom… I…” “Don’t call me Mom!” She screamed, her voice piercing and sharp. “You think you can enjoy life without paying? Rules are rules! Since you didn’t pay yesterday’s debt and still took the comfort, the interest has doubled!”

Over the line, I heard the sound of papers rustling. Then came her cold, final judgment. “Tomorrow is Saturday. You don’t have classes. I’ve prepared a special ‘Combo Pack’ for you. Be home by 6:00 AM sharp. You’re going to pay back everything you owe, with interest, all at once!” “A Combo Slip?” My heart stopped. A terror far hotter than my fever gripped my chest. “That’s right! One slip, triple the pain! It’s the only way to teach a cheat like you a lesson!” She slammed the phone down before I could say a word. The dial tone echoed in my ear. My legs gave out, and I slid down the wall onto the cold floor. The draft in the stairwell blew through my damp clothes, feeling like a thousand needles stabbing my skin. “Clara! There you are!” Chloe found me. When she saw the state I was in, she panicked and wrapped her coat tighter around me. “What did she say? Did she scream at you? Don’t be scared, I’ll—” “Chloe,” I looked up, tears streaming down my face. I looked pathetic. “Tomorrow… I have to go home. Just… don’t get involved. Please.” I knew that if Chloe got dragged into this, Eleanor would count it as another “debt” I’d have to pay back in an even more horrific way. That night, I tossed and turned in my dorm bed, tortured by the fever and sheer terror. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Eleanor’s crazed face and that cursed wooden box. The next morning at 5:30 AM, before the sun was even up, I dragged my burning, exhausted body out of the dorm. I felt dizzy as I boarded the early morning bus, feeling like a prisoner walking to the electric chair. I arrived home at exactly 6:00 AM. Eleanor was already sitting on the living room couch, fully dressed, her face expressionless. The evil wooden box sat on the coffee table. Next to it was a new stack of slips—noticeably thicker and made of dark brown Kraft paper. “Punctual. Good.” She looked up and pointed at the dark slips. “Draw. Let’s see what kind of hell you’ve brought upon yourself.” I walked to the table. My fingers were stiff and cold. The opening of the box looked like the mouth of a monster waiting to swallow me whole. I closed my eyes, slid my hand inside, and pulled one out. On the dark brown paper, written in blood-red marker, were three chilling lines: [The abandoned hospital corridor] [Blindfolded walk] [Listening to ‘Nesta’s’ cries] I gasped, the blood draining from my face. Eleanor took the slip. As she read the words, a twisted, ecstatic smile spread across her face, as if she had been waiting for this exact moment. “You know the abandoned asylum on the west side of town, right?” She said slowly, “I’ve already picked the spot for you. As for the ‘listening’ part…” She turned around, pulled an old cassette player and a pair of headphones from the TV cabinet, and threw them at me. “This has recordings of the sounds your sister probably made. Go. Stay there for two hours. And remember, you must be blindfolded to truly hear her.” She threw a strip of black cloth at me. Her eyes held no maternal warmth—only the fanatical obsession of a cult leader. Looking at her—the woman I had called Mom for eighteen years—I finally realized something. This wasn’t a punishment. This wasn’t a debt. This was a human sacrifice.

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At my welcome-back dinner, I pushed open the door to the VIP lounge, only to see Ethan Carter with a young girl sitting on his lap. Her sparkling eyes met my cold glare. She immediately looked down, but one of her hands remained wrapped tightly around Ethan’s neck. “Ethan, is this the legendary goddess you always talk about?” “Wow, even her wrinkles look so… distinguished! She looks great for her age.” The moment the words left her mouth, the room went dead silent. I was the first to break the silence. “So, Ethan. You’re getting up there in age, and now you’re starting to keep a sugar baby?” I walked straight over and sat down. The girl immediately snapped back, “That’s not the same! Ethan is mature!” “And—and I’m not some sugar baby. Ethan and I are in a real relationship!” I let out a cold laugh and sat directly across from Ethan. Our friends at the table quickly tried to diffuse the tension. “Hey, Vivian is finally back! Let’s get the drinks rolling!” “I heard Vivian absolutely crushed it overseas this time. You bagged the contract with the Preston Group! That’s insane, Vivian!” The atmosphere was finally warming up, but of course, the girl had to open her mouth again. “Wow, Vivian, you’re so amazing. Unlike me… I’m so clueless. I’ve never even been out of the country.” “I’ve heard that powerful career women who dominate boardroom negotiations always have their… special methods.” “Your methods must be so advanced.” As she spoke, she leaned closer into Ethan’s chest, her eyes turning red. “Unlike me. I’m so stupid. I even lost that major client for you last time, Ethan.” Hearing this, everyone at the table exchanged awkward glances, their eyes darting between Ethan and me. I frowned. “What client?” While I was abroad, my assistant mentioned that one of Ethan’s long-term clients had abruptly ended their contract. At the time, I was too busy with my own negotiations to ask. Now, the red flags were waving. Ethan held her hand and looked at me. “Just an old client. It’s fine.” “Vivian, Chloe is just a newbie. Don’t take it personally.” With that, he stroked Chloe’s hair, stood up, and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “You want to see the world? That’s easy. I’ll take you abroad. We’ll leave right now!” Ignoring my reaction completely, Ethan pulled Chloe toward the door. Chloe’s face flushed with excitement. But when she looked back at me, her face held a smug, mocking smirk. “But… forget it. Vivian will be angry.” “I won’t be angry,” I interrupted, staring directly at Ethan. “We’re getting a divorce. You can play with her for as long as you want, wherever you want!” Ethan scoffed. “Vivian, this dramatic act doesn’t suit you.” “Divorce me? You signed a prenup. You’ll walk away with absolutely nothing. Are you really willing to lose all this?” He let out a cold grunt, pulled Chloe, and walked out. Seeing them leave, the rest of the guests made quick excuses to slip away one by one. The celebration dinner meant for me was suddenly completely empty. I looked at the food on the table and forced myself to take bite after bite. Until finally, my stomach turned. I rushed to the restroom and threw up everything. Wiping my mouth, I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I pulled out my phone and texted my lawyer, telling him to draft the divorce papers immediately. When Ethan and I got married, his mother looked down on my middle-class background and forced me to sign a strict prenuptial agreement. If we divorced, I would get nothing. How hilarious. Did Ethan really think I married him for his money? He was the one who proposed to me. I never cared about his family wealth. Ethan’s threat of cutting me off financially was useless from the very beginning. I walked out of the restaurant. The cold night air made my head spin, but I forced myself to drive back to the villa. I hadn’t been back for three months, and the house was suddenly filled with things that didn’t belong to me. Tacky cartoon dishware in the kitchen, baby-pink curtains in the living room… every single item screamed cheap taste. The maid saw me and gasped in terror. “Mrs. Carter! You’re back!” “Yes.” I walked straight upstairs. The maid hesitated, looking like she wanted to say something. “Mrs. Carter…” I turned to look at her. After a few seconds of silence, she finally spoke. “Mr. Carter… he brought that girl here. They stayed in the master bedroom.” My head spun instantly. Once I regained my balance, I stormed into the master bedroom. The sight made my blood run cold. My minimalist decor was completely gone. Chloe’s cheap cartoon pillows lay right on the center of the bed. Her clothes were hanging inside my closet. And everything that belonged to me had vanished. No wonder she was so bold tonight. She had already moved herself in. I slid my wedding ring off my finger and packed my remaining things. There wasn’t much to take anyway. I sent the draft of the divorce agreement to Ethan’s Snapchat, dragged my suitcase, and left without looking back.

For five days straight, Ethan didn’t reply to my messages. Finally, I couldn’t wait any longer and went to look for him. With the Preston Group contract officially signed, my own company’s operations had stabilized. It was time to settle things with him. But before that, I made a quick stop at the hospital. Ethan and I had been married for five years without kids. We did annual checkups. The results had always been disappointing. Ethan was the one with fertility issues, so no matter how hard I tried, it was useless. But to protect his fragile ego, I never exposed him. He never brought it up either, always claiming his tests were perfect. Because of our lack of children, my mother-in-law had given me endless grief and dirty looks over the years. But today’s test results shocked me. Ethan had actually recovered. Half an hour later, I sat on a bench outside the hospital, the doctor’s words echoing in my ears. “Mr. Carter fully recovered six months ago. A month ago, he brought a young girl here for a full prenatal screening.” “You’re his assistant, right? You should expect some good news from them very soon.” I felt a sudden wave of disgust wash over me. Ethan had gone behind my back to have a baby, making it seem like I was the barren one! For five years, he stood by and watched his mother humiliate me, and when he finally got cured, he didn’t tell me. Instead, he found someone else to knock up! My decision to leave him was the best choice I had ever made. I crumpled the test results into a ball, threw them into the trash can, and headed to his company dressed in my best power suit. When I arrived at the office, I could hear loud laughter coming from the open workspace from down the hall. Someone even mentioned my name. I slowed my pace and listened. “Mr. Carter is so generous! He took you all the way to Hokkaido, and he even got you that massive diamond ring! Vivian never got a rock that big!” “Really? I don’t know much about those things,” Chloe giggled, her voice dripping with fake innocence. “I just know Ethan said I deserve the absolute best, and he’ll give me whatever I want!” Chloe was admiring the diamond ring on her finger, a smug grin plastered across her face. The staff members were crowded around her, kissing her ass. In the months I was away, she had clearly made herself the queen of the office. Everyone was so busy flattering her that no one noticed me walking in. It wasn’t until I stood right in front of her that Chloe’s smile froze. But she quickly recovered, flashing me a triumphant smirk. “Vivian! You’re here. Look what Ethan got me. Isn’t it gorgeous?” She held her hand up, flaunting the massive diamond right in my face. I raised an eyebrow. “It’s nice. I saw this design when I was in Paris. It’s worth about $400,000. But you owe me $200,000.” “What do you mean?” “You’re a side chick spending marital assets. Legally, half of that belongs to me. Pay up.” “Vivian, you must have forgotten,” Chloe mocked, looking at me condescendingly. “You signed a prenup. None of Ethan’s money is considered marital assets!” She laughed in my face. I remained calm. “Ah, thank you for reminding me. It really isn’t marital property. However…” “However what?” She sneered. “Stop bluffing, Vivian. Ethan told me he’s sick of an old woman like you. You couldn’t even give him a child in five years. He’s been done with you!” “He said looking at your crow’s feet every day makes him want to throw up. But I’m different. I can give him—” “Slap!” I delivered a hard slap right across her face, leaving her cheek instantly swollen and red. “You can give him a lot of things, but you will never take my place. Tell Ethan I’m waiting in the conference room. If he isn’t here in ten minutes, I’ll leak all of his company’s client databases to his competitors!” If he wanted a war, I’d give him one.

Hearing my threat, Ethan’s assistant immediately rushed to find him. I gave Chloe a contemptuous look and walked straight into the conference room. Behind me, I could hear her sobbing and screaming, but none of the employees dared to help her now. A moment later, Ethan slammed the door open. His face was dark with rage. “What the hell is wrong with you, Vivian? Chloe is just a kid! It’s just a ring, why do you have to be so incredibly petty?” “I don’t care about the ring, Ethan. But until our divorce is finalized, you better keep your little dog on a leash. If she barks at me again, don’t blame me for what happens next!” With a sharp “clack”, I tossed the divorce papers onto the table. “Sign it, or I’ll make the leaks public. I don’t think Carter Enterprises can survive the scandal of its CEO getting exposed like this.” Ethan let out a dry laugh and sat across from me. “Vivian, trying to get my attention like this is just pathetic.” I tapped my fingers on the table. “I don’t have patience for this. Sign.” Just then, Chloe came whimpering through the door, taking slow, dramatic steps. “Ethan… it’s all my fault. I’m the reason you guys are divorcing.” “Vivian, I’m so sorry. I’ll leave. I’ll never show my face in front of you two again.” She sobbed, turning to run out. Ethan’s face fell, and he stood up to chase after her. I grabbed his arm firmly. “Ethan, sign the paper!” “Or I will post the proof of her being your side chick all over Instagram right now!” “Remember, I might not have the Carter family wealth, but you have plenty of enemies who would love to watch you fall!” Ethan gritted his teeth. Suddenly, a gasp echoed from the hallway outside. “Oh my god, Chloe!” Then came a loud scream. “Chloe just fell down the stairs!” Ethan violently shook off my hand and ran out. His precious side chick had tumbled down the stairs and was now clutching her leg, crying tears of agony. Ethan swept her up into his arms. The sheer panic and devotion on his face were clear for everyone to see. “Ethan, just let me go… everyone is calling me a homewrecker, I…” “Who dares! You are not a homewrecker. You are the love of my life!” I leaned against the conference room doorframe, holding up my phone to record their little melodrama. I smiled mockingly. “You two really are soulmates. I wonder how much the Carter Enterprises stock will drop once I post this touching video.” Ethan glared at me, his veins popping. “Vivian!” “No need to yell, I can hear you perfectly.” “Sign the papers, or prepare to lose everything.” “You might think you’re untouchable, but the life of a publicly exposed side chick won’t be very fun.” “I heard she goes to Trident University. Coincidentally, so did I. I have plenty of alumni contacts.” I stared at Ethan. He knew me. He knew that once I decided to go all in, I wouldn’t stop until I tore a piece of flesh right out of him. Chloe’s face turned deathly pale. “Vivian…” “Don’t call my name. I’m an only child. My parents didn’t raise a homewrecker.” Chloe burst into fresh tears. “Ethan, put me down. I’ll go. I’ll just leave!” What a grade-A actress. Did Ethan really not see through her? Of course he did. He just chose to ignore it. I threw the papers onto his chest and pulled out my phone. “If you don’t sign right now, I’m hitting send.” Gritting his teeth, Ethan snatched the pen and violently scribbled his signature. He threw the pen at me in rage, the black ink splashing onto the hem of my white designer dress. “Vivian, you’re going to regret this!” Ethan roared. Without saying a word, I picked up the signed divorce papers and walked away without looking back. Goodbye, Ethan. We are done.

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My best friend had been desperately in love with a man for six whole years. She always told me he was her first love, the only one she could never let go of. During one of her many drunk crying fits, I wiped away her tears and said, “If you still love him, go get him back.” She pushed me away. “Chloe, you don’t understand.” I didn’t. Not until the night before my wedding. I was in a horrific car accident. I miscarried, and our baby was gone. The very next day, my best friend sent me a Snapchat: [Help me. He came back for me. I’m in so much pain.] Ignoring the tearing ache in my abdomen, I drove five hours through a blinding blizzard to her apartment. Standing under her building, I watched her sink into a man’s embrace. Serena’s familiar, choked voice echoed through the snowy air: “Ethan, I hate you! I was the one who dumped you six years ago. Why did you have to come back?!” At that exact moment, the blood in my veins turned colder than the snow around me. Because Ethan was the man I was supposed to marry tomorrow.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. Just hours ago, Ethan was standing by my hospital bed, gently wiping the tears from my eyes. “Chloe, let me go home and make you some chicken soup, okay?” He had kissed the corner of my mouth, promising he’d be right back. So, this had to be a mistake. It was just someone who looked like him from behind. I hid behind a frozen utility pole, my fingers trembling as I sent Ethan a text: [Babe, where are you?] A minute passed. No reply. He had never made me wait for a reply before. Under the dim streetlamp, Serena tried to push him away. “Get away from me!” The yellow light illuminated his profile—his sharp nose, and the faint scar right between his brows. The scar he got from fighting to protect me. It really was Ethan. I gripped my phone so hard my knuckles turned white. Ethan’s voice was freezing, completely unrecognizable. “Serena, stop flattering yourself.” “You want me to leave? Who was the one clinging to me and crying that she was scared just now? Six years have passed, and I’m still the first person you call when you’re in trouble. Is this all the dignity you have?” Serena looked up, her eyes incredibly red. “I’m flattering myself?” “Then why are you here? Ethan, why did you leave your fiancé, who just had a miscarriage, to run to me?!” She laughed bitterly, tears smearing her makeup. “Are you happy now seeing me like this? Do you feel vindicated? You think I’m finally getting my karma, don’t you?!” Ethan’s face tensed for a second. He didn’t answer. Serena wiped her face and turned to leave. Ethan grabbed her wrist. “Let go.” He didn’t. “Ethan, I said let go!” With a sudden pull, he dragged her back into his chest. She struggled, hitting his chest and kicking his shins, but he didn’t budge. “I didn’t mean it that way,” he muttered softly. Finally, she lost her strength. She buried her face in his chest, her shoulders shaking violently. “Do you think I wanted to call you?” “Ethan, when that stalker blocked my way tonight, you were the only one I could think of. You used to hate seeing me suffer even a little bit.” “Do you really think I’ve had a great life these past six years without you?” He looked down, resting his chin on top of her head. “Serena, if you hadn’t left back then… in my plans, we would have had a child by now.” “But why… why did it have to be now?” The world around me fell dead silent. The icy wind crawled down my collar, numbing my limbs. My phone screen stayed dark. Ethan’s reply never came.

I slumped against the pole, completely drained of strength. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by a pair of rusty pliers. So, Serena’s unforgettable first love was Ethan. The mysterious ex she always brought up whenever she got wasted. She used to brag about how much he loved her. How he clumsily wrote her a love letter every single day, how he set off a city-wide firework display for her, and how he gave up an Ivy League offer just to stay with her. I once asked her, “Then why did you break up?” She had slumped over the bar counter, her eyes bloodshot. “Because I was sick of being poor. I took a five-million-dollar check from his snobbish mother and ran. He literally knelt in the pouring rain for two days, begging me to stay, but I didn’t care.” “Love doesn’t pay the bills. I’m just a selfish, terrible person.” When I first introduced them, they acted like they couldn’t stand each other. They barely even made eye contact. After that, they never attended the same parties. I never could have guessed they shared such a passionate, toxic past. I was seventeen when I met Ethan. My teenage years weren’t filled with high school crushes or worries about grades. They were defined by Harold, my abusive stepfather, slamming on my bedroom door every night. That night, Harold was drunk and trying to break my door down. I jumped out of the first-floor window and ran. I ended up in a shady diner, sitting in a corner booth, shivering with my knees pulled to my chest. “You shouldn’t be here.” I looked up. Ethan was standing there, looking down at my oversized hoodie and tear-stained face. I stared at the mature, handsome college guy and whispered, “Why shouldn’t I be? Why are you here then?” He slid into the booth and pushed a cup of warm water toward me. “I got dumped,” he said dryly. “She promised forever, then threw me away like trash.” We talked for hours. After that night, meeting at that diner every Wednesday became our unspoken rule. The night Harold finally broke my door lock, Ethan was the one who kicked the front door open. He threw his jacket over my shoulders and pinned Harold to the floor, punching him until his own knuckles were bloody. Everyone in my family told me to stay quiet. He was my stepfather, after all. My biological dad even threatened me, saying if I called the police, he would cut me off completely. But Ethan told me, “Don’t be scared. I’ve got you.” He hired a lawyer for me and put Harold behind bars. He moved me into his apartment and made sure I could focus on my college exams. That was the first time in my life I realized someone could actually protect me. During my freshman year, I gathered my courage and asked him, “Ethan, could you try loving me?” He froze. After a long pause, he asked, “What if one day, you find someone more important to you?” I stood on my tip-toes and kissed him. “You are the most important.” We got together, and he treated me like a princess. Whatever I didn’t know, he taught me patiently. Whatever I hadn’t experienced, he took me to see. He used to say, “Chloe, you don’t have to feel insecure. What you don’t know, I’ll teach you slowly.” Knowing I had nightmares, he called me every night to read me to sleep. Knowing I loved donuts, he would drive across the city just to get my favorite glaze. I thought no one in the world could ever love me more. I thought we would be happy forever. But now… He was standing right there, leaving me behind while I was still recovering from a miscarriage. Holding my best friend in his arms. He had taught me so much. How to solve math problems, how to protect myself, how to never trust strangers easily. But he never taught me what to do when I found out his heart belonged to someone else.

My mind was a chaotic mess. Images of him making soup for me clashed with him holding Serena. His promise of “I’ll be right back” clashed with his sigh of “Why did it have to be now?” I clutched my phone. I wanted to give our six years one last chance. Just in case. What if he was just trying to get closure? What if he was still the Ethan who risked everything for me? I dialed his number. On the third ring, he answered. “Chloe? What’s wrong?” I opened my mouth, but my throat was so dry it burned. “Ethan. Where are you?” There was a second of silence on the other end. “A work emergency came up, and I had to leave in a rush. I had the housekeeper make some soup and send it to your room. Make sure you drink it, okay?” I stared at the man ten yards away. He held his phone to his ear, his back to me, his shoulders covered in white snow. “I can’t drink it without you here.” His voice softened. “Be good. I’ll be back as soon as I finish this. How is your body feeling? Does it still hurt?” “Chloe, once I’m done with this busy week, I’ll take you on a trip. Didn’t you always want to go to Miami? We can stay there for a few days. I’ll make it up to you.” While he said those sweet words, Serena looked up from his chest, her eyes red. He reached out and gently brushed the snow off her hair. “Ethan,” I called out. “Yeah?” “Where… where exactly is this business trip?” Serena pulled away from him, limping as she tried to walk. He immediately reached out to grab her, his voice turning anxious on the phone. “Chloe, I have to go, something urgent just came up. I’ll call you later, okay?” Before the screen went dark, I saw him grab Serena’s wrist again. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears. “You’re sweet-talking her on the phone while holding onto me?” “How can you do both at the same time?” Exactly, Ethan. How can you tell me you love me on the phone, and then turn around to embrace her? Serena pushed him away and kept limping forward. He chased after her and swept her up into his arms. “Your ankle is hurt. I’m taking you to the hospital.” She gasped, then started struggling. “Ethan, put me down!” He didn’t speak, just carried her toward his SUV. “You’re holding me while wearing her ring! It’s a constant reminder that you’re marrying someone else!” “How do you expect me to accept your kindness like this?!” He stopped. He looked down at his hand. On the day he proposed, he had knelt on one knee, holding that ring with a trembling hand. “Chloe.” “I will only propose once in my life, and I will only love this one person.” Under the sunset at Lake Tahoe, his sincerity had completely melted me. I had said yes. When he slipped the ring onto my finger, his eyes were wet. “Once it’s on, you’re never allowed to take it off.” “No matter what happens, don’t take it off.” That was the first time I had ever seen him cry. And he had never taken his off either. Until now. He bent his head, bit the ring with his teeth, and pulled it off his finger. “Stop fighting me, okay?” he whispered to Serena. She went completely still, letting him place her into the passenger seat. I stood frozen, unable to take a single step. As the SUV slowly rolled out of the driveway, it passed right by me. I was only two yards away from him. If he had just turned his head. He would have seen his fiancé, who had just lost their baby, standing behind a frozen pole in the freezing snow, shivering violently as she watched him. He would have seen the tears on my face, my frozen hands, and my phone with the text message he never replied to. But he never looked. I looked down at my own hand. The ring was still there. The exact same platinum band. The exact same initials engraved inside. Ethan. Over these past six years, was I just a replacement? A shadow you used to fill the void she left behind? Did you ever actually love me?

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