Category: English

On New Year’s Eve, my husband’s “one who got away” showed up at our house and turned on the gas valves. I didn’t rush downstairs to call him for help. Because in my previous life, Mark saved me and our son, but his first love, Jolene, died because she wasn’t treated in time. On the surface, he said it didn’t matter. He was unnervingly patient, taking care of me with a tenderness I’d never seen before. But on the day I was discharged from the hospital, he drugged my parents and our son with sleeping pills. Then, he turned on the gas, letting the fumes take them all while they slept. Before I drifted into that final, dark sleep, I heard his hysterical laughter. “You and that brat are the reason Jolene is dead. Your parents are just as guilty for bringing a curse like you into this world. Your whole bloodline deserves to end!” “I’ve finally avenged her! I’m going to make sure you feel every ounce of the agony she suffered!” When I opened my eyes again, I was back on New Year’s Eve. … A pungent, acrid smell flooded my nostrils. My vision blurred, and my head spun so violently I could barely keep my footing. A small, choked sob pulled me back to reality. “Mommy, I’m scared.” I looked down to see my son, Toby, gripping my leggings with trembling hands. That’s when I knew. I had really come back. I dragged my leaden limbs toward the door, intending to shut off the gas valve in the kitchen. The bedroom door was locked from the outside. My heart hammered against my ribs. In my last life, the door had been fine. What changed? I pounded on the wood with everything I had. From the other side, Jolene’s voice came through, muffled but dripping with malice. “Save your breath, Claire. No one is coming for you.” “Jolene! Open this door!” I screamed, my throat already raw from the fumes. “This is murder!” Outside, she let out a sharp, jagged laugh. “It’s a tragic accident, honey. You forgot to turn off the stove while cooking. What does that have to do with me?” Same old Jolene. Always the victim, always shifting the blame. And Mark? He always swallowed her lies like they were gospel. I used to wonder why. It wasn’t until I checked the GPS on Toby’s smart-watch in my past life that I realized they had been sleeping together behind my back for months. I had planned to wait until after the holidays to file for divorce. I never expected Jolene to be this psychotic—she couldn’t even wait for the new year. She broke in while we were sleeping and turned our home into a gas chamber. But I was awake now. And I would not let her touch my son. “Jolene, do you really think you’re going to walk away from this?” I yelled. “If I die, they’ll find you. They’ll trace everything!” “Open the damn door!” There was a flicker of hesitation in her silence. But it was gone in a second. “I checked,” she said, her voice dropping to a smug whisper. “The cameras in the hallway are ‘malfunctioning.’ I wore a mask and a hoodie. No one saw me. I’m not making the same mistakes I made last time.” My blood ran cold. Last time? She remembered too. Jolene had also come back. That’s why the door was locked. She was making sure there was no escape. “Just die already,” she spat. Then, I heard her footsteps retreating. A moment later, the heavy thud of the front door shaking echoed through the apartment. Then came a frantic rattling. She was trying to leave, but she couldn’t. Our neighbor’s kid had a sensory habit of mashing the buttons on our smart lock. If you hit too many wrong codes, the deadbolt engaged into a hard-lock mode that could only be opened with a physical backup key. That brat’s annoying habit had just trapped Jolene in this poison-filled apartment with us. And the backup key? It was right here, in my bedroom nightstand. “Jolene, open this door right now. It’s the only way we both survive!” “In your dreams! I am never letting you out to take Mark away from me again!” It was pathetic. Even with her lungs filling with gas, her only thought was her obsession with my husband. The air was getting thicker, shimmering with invisible lethality. Toby’s breathing was becoming shallow, his little face turning a terrifying shade of pale. I couldn’t let history repeat itself. I crawled toward the window on my hands and knees. I didn’t have the strength to heave it open, so I grabbed a heavy glass paperweight from my desk and smashed it against the pane. The crash was loud enough to alert the neighbor who usually watered his balcony plants around this time. Within minutes, I heard the sound of the front door being kicked. I thought it was help. Then I heard Mark’s voice, along with a few of his low-life friends. “Jolene? Oh my god, Jolene! Are you okay?” Mark roared, his voice thick with panic. Jolene let out a weak, performative whimper. “It’s… it’s Claire… she tried to…” “I’m getting you to the ER! Hang on!” “Mark, wait! Your wife is still in the bedroom!” That was Nate, the neighbor’s son. His voice was frantic. “The door is locked and the gas is everywhere! You have to get her out!” I waited for the sound of the lock turning. Instead, I heard my husband’s cold, mocking sneer. “She’s fine. She’s faking it.” “She’s done this a dozen times, Nate. Anything for a little attention. But taking it this far? Putting Jolene in danger? I’m done with her games.” Mark’s “bros” chimed in, their voices echoing in the hallway. “Seriously, Claire is a piece of work. Remember how she trapped Mark into that marriage? She’s finally getting what’s coming to her.” “She’s the queen of playing the victim. If Jolene hadn’t come back from London, Mark would still be under that psycho’s thumb. Let her stew in there for a minute.” My lungs were burning. Toby had gone limp in my arms. I didn’t care about their insults. I just wanted my son to live. I used the last of my strength to crawl to the door and hammered on it once, hard. A final signal. A heavy silence fell over the hallway. Nate spoke up, his voice stern. “Even if she’s ‘faking,’ you can’t just leave her in a gas-filled room, Mark. That’s insane.” Mark groaned, his impatience palpable. “I told you, it’s an act! You’re so worried about her—what, you two got something going on? Is that kid even mine, or is he some neighborly side-project?” “You… you prick! That’s your wife! How can you joke about her life?” The words cut deeper than the lack of oxygen. In my last life, he had at least pretended to care. Now, he had convinced himself I was a monster just to justify his own betrayal. He wouldn’t even give me the chance to breathe, let alone explain. My only hope was Nate. I heard his footsteps rushing toward the door. But then, the sound of a scuffle. Mark’s friends were holding him back. “Take it easy, Nate. You really want to catch a charge for ‘saving’ a woman who’s clearly just trying to ruin her husband’s New Year?” One of them kicked the door back, laughing. “Hey, Claire! Nice try with the gas! But maybe next time, don’t lock yourself in the one room that isn’t getting any airflow! You’re a terrible actress!” They all thought I was the villain. Every single one of them. The gas was starting to win. My brain felt like it was being wrapped in wet cotton. I looked down at Toby. He wasn’t moving. No. Not again. I wouldn’t let him die. Not for these people. I dragged my body up and slammed my fist against the door. Again. And again. A rhythmic, desperate plea. “Does that sound like acting to you?” I heard one of the friends mutter, his voice losing its edge. “She’s been at it a long time. Maybe she’s actually stuck?” “Please,” Mark snapped. “You remember the time she called me crying saying Toby was in the hospital just to get me to bail on a client meeting? It was a head cold. She’s a liar.” “The ambulance is downstairs for Jolene. I’m taking her now. Claire can sit in there and think about what she’s done. I’m done being her puppet.” No. Don’t go. Save Toby. My throat was a desert. I couldn’t make a sound. I just kept hitting the door, praying he had one shred of humanity left for his son. The footsteps approached the door. A glimmer of hope. Then, through the wood, Mark’s voice boomed—not with concern, but with pure, unadulterated rage. “Claire, stop it! Stop the damn banging! It’s New Year’s Eve—can’t you give me one night of peace without a mental breakdown? I don’t believe you anymore! I’m done!” I knew he wasn’t the man I married anymore. But five years… surely five years earned us a look through the door? I reached for the handle, but he delivered a violent kick to the other side. The force sent me sprawling backward. I gasped in shock, and a lungful of concentrated gas rushed into my system. My nerves went numb. My mind was sharp, screaming, but my body was a statue. “Go ahead, Mark,” I heard one of them say. “We’ll stay here and make sure she doesn’t follow you to harass Jolene at the hospital.” The distant wail of the ambulance siren grew louder, then began to fade. No. Please. Toby was five. If he survived the hypoxia, the brain damage could be permanent. He’d be a shell of himself. With a final, agonizing surge of will, I lifted my hand and slapped the door frame. “Save… him…” It was a raspy, broken croak. Nate must have heard me. He started shouting at the others. “Get out of my way! I’m breaking the door down!” “You touch that door and it’s trespassing, kid! You’ll go to jail!” “GET THE HELL OUT OF THE WAY!” A woman’s scream pierced through the chaos. My mother. “What are you doing to my daughter? Why are you blocking her door?!” Tears finally stung my eyes. They were here. I tapped the door one last time and the world went black. Before I lost consciousness, I heard my mother’s heartbroken cry. “Claire! My baby girl!” And my father’s roar of command. “Get the paramedics up here now! Move!” I drifted through a long, feverish dream of the life I’d lived with Mark. We met in college. He was the golden boy, the one everyone wanted. I was the one who actually got him. When he accepted my confession, I thought I’d won the lottery. Five years of marriage, a beautiful son—I thought I was living the dream. Until the day I followed Toby’s watch to a cat cafe. Mark was inside, laughing with Jolene, while our son played outside alone. I had been ready to confront him, to demand a divorce. But then New Year’s Eve happened. In my first life, Mark had played the hero. He saved us, but Jolene died of smoke inhalation because he was “too late” for her. He spent the rest of his life punishing us for her death. In this life, he didn’t even try to save me. He blocked my rescue. He accused me of being a whore. Every sacrifice I made for five years—the career I paused, the nights I stayed up—meant nothing. He traded it all for Jolene’s whispers. My heart throbbed with a sharp, physical pain. I jolted awake. My parents were by my side, their faces etched with exhaustion and relief. “She’s awake,” my mom whispered, clutching my hand. I was alive. The moment I could sit up, I demanded to see Toby. He was still unconscious, but the doctors said we got to him just in time. The damage wasn’t permanent. A miracle. On my way back from the pediatric wing, I ran into Mark’s parents. They tried to push past my parents to see Toby. “Get out!” my father barked. “Your son disowned that boy the second he let him rot in a gas-filled room. You don’t get to play grandparents now!” My mother-in-law looked distraught. “He’s our grandson! Mark was just… he was confused!” My father-in-law tried a different tactic when he saw me. “Claire, stop this. Whatever Mark did, I’ll make it right. You’re stressed, taking care of the house alone… Mark is under a lot of pressure at the firm. You have to be the bigger person.” Just then, Mark appeared, supporting Jolene as they walked out of another room. He must have caught the tail end of the conversation. “She’s the ‘bigger person’? Please. This whole thing was her own damn fault.” His parents turned on Jolene, their faces souring. “Mark, what is this? This woman has brought nothing but trouble to our family!” Mark stood his ground, his chin tilted defiantly. “Jolene and I are just friends. We have nothing to hide. Unlike Claire, who probably had Nate over the second I left for work.” I almost laughed. The audacity. To stand there in a hospital hallway and claim “innocence” while his wife and son were nearly killed by his negligence. Jolene, ever the actress, let out a soft, dainty cough. “I never thought Claire would misunderstand us so much… she invited me over just to… to do that to me…” She started to cry. “It’s all my fault. Claire, I’m so sorry. I just got back to the States and I had no one else to turn to but Mark…” Mark cut her off, pulling her closer. “You did nothing wrong. It was Claire’s jealousy. Her sick, twisted mind did this to you.” It was a revelation. Mark, the cold, stoic businessman, was capable of such fierce protection—it just was never for me. He didn’t even care about his own flesh and blood anymore. The last flickering spark of affection I had for him died right then and there. “Mark,” I said, my voice steady and cold as ice. “I want a divorce.” Mark froze. For a second, he looked stunned. But the mask of rage returned quickly. “Is this another performance? You almost killed our son to get a reaction, and now you’re threatening me with divorce? Fine. You want out? Leave. But Toby stays with me. And you leave with nothing but the clothes on your back.” I stared at him, my eyes burning. “You will never take my son from me.” “I raised him while you were out ‘working’ or playing house with her. You think you can just claim him now? Not a chance.” Jolene’s eyes darted between us. “But Claire, Mark is his father. A boy needs his father, doesn’t he?” She was poking the bear. Mark’s jaw tightened. “The boy stays.” My mother-in-law chimed in, suddenly emboldened. “Claire, you’re clearly unstable. You can’t take our grandson. You’ve been a housewife for five years—how are you going to support him?” Jolene nodded sympathetically. “Exactly. You have no income, Claire. Toby would suffer with you.” I turned my gaze to Jolene. It was a look that would have withered a normal person. “I’ve handled his schooling, his therapy, his nutrition, and every single milestone for five years. Mark doesn’t even know the name of his pediatrician. You think I’m the one who can’t raise him?” “And as for money? Don’t you worry about his lifestyle. You won’t be part of it.” My father-in-law stepped in my way. “You aren’t taking that boy out of this city, Claire. I have friends in the DA’s office. I’ll make sure of it.” The masks were all off now. The “supportive” in-laws who praised me for being a devoted mother were now ready to crush me the moment I demanded my rights. “I know you have connections,” I said, leaning in. “But we live in a world of social media and public records now. Let’s see how your ‘connections’ handle the video of your son leaving his family to die in a gas leak.” They sputtered, losing ground. Mark stepped forward, looking like he was about to explode. “You want to play hardball, Claire? Fine. Don’t blame me when I take everything you’ve ever cared about.” I looked at him—really looked at him—and saw a stranger. “I’m coming for you, Mark. And you, Jolene. Neither of you is getting away with this.” Jolene flinched, hiding behind Mark’s sleeve. She deliberately stepped into my path as I tried to walk away. I reached out to brush her aside, barely touching the fabric of her coat. Jolene suddenly shrieked and threw herself backward, as if I’d shoved her with all my might. Mark caught her instantly. His eyes were red with fury. “You dare lay a hand on her? Right in front of me?!” He raised his hand, his palm flat and swinging toward my face.

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I returned from a grueling business trip in the dead of night, only to find a complete stranger in my apartment. He was in nothing but a pair of low-slung gym shorts, mid-pushup in the center of my living room. His shoulders were broad, his waist tapered into that lethal V-line, and the deep groove of his spine looked sculpted. He was radiating heat, drenched in sweat, his skin glistening under the dim amber lamps. He looked like a surge of raw testosterone with nowhere to go. My flight-or-fight response short-circuited. Naturally, I chose “police.” I called 911 and had him hauled away in handcuffs. “In all my years, I never thought I’d be the one bailing someone out of a precinct at 2:00 AM!” My best friend, Maddie, was practically wailing as we stepped out of the station into the biting winter air. “Technically, you weren’t bailing me out.” The wind sliced through my parka. I didn’t stop walking toward the curb. “Gia, I’m the only one with your spare key! Couldn’t you have just texted me first?” she groaned, jogging to catch up. I pulled out my phone, opened Uber, and punched in my home address. Once the ride was confirmed, I turned to her with a sugary, dangerous smile. “And did you happen to ‘text me first’ before you rented out my guest room to a stranger?” “It was supposed to be a surprise…” Maddie gave me a playful, albeit guilty, wink. “You’ve been complaining for months that the mortgage on that two-bedroom is eating you alive. I thought I was helping.” “Surprise? Maddie, it was a horror movie intro.” I glanced over my shoulder. Standing a few feet behind her was the man in question. He was easily a head taller than me, possessing the kind of physical presence that felt like a localized weather system. If he had actually been a home intruder, I wouldn’t have stood a chance. Maddie looked at me, her expression a mix of pity and exasperation. “Gia, seriously. Have you lived alone so long that you’ve developed a full-blown persecution complex?” 1 “Have you ever seen that movie 3-Iron?” I asked, stopping at the edge of the sidewa She blinked, confused. “The Korean one? No, what’s it about?” “To summarize: it’s about a creep who breaks into people’s houses while they’re away. He lives in their space, eats their food, uses their shower, and sifts through their closets.” I tilted my chin up, looking past her at the man. “He sleeps in their bed, uses their mug, and stares at their photos. It’s a violation.” Maddie’s eyes went wide. “We live in a civilized society, Gia! People don’t just do that.” “Don’t they?” I gestured vaguely behind her. “Ask him. He’s the world traveler. He’s seen it all, hasn’t he?” Maddie turned slowly toward him. “Is that… a real thing? Do people do that?” “They do,” Brooks Miller said, nodding solemnly. He raised his right hand, a boyish, slightly mocking grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But I swear on my life, I’m not a ‘creep.’” “The jury’s still out on that,” I muttered. My Uber pulled up. I checked the plates and gave Maddie a curt wave. “I’m going home.” “Be nice to him!” Maddie hissed in my ear as she leaned in for a quick goodbye. “I picked him specifically based on your ‘type.’ He’s gorgeous, right? Consider him my late Christmas present to you.” My jaw tightened. I didn’t even know how to respond to that level of delusion. “Just go home, Maddie. I’ll call you if I’m murdered.” I climbed into the back seat, ready to sink into the upholstery. But before the door could click shut, the front passenger door swung open. Brooks slid inside like he owned the car. 2 “Get out,” I snapped. “We’re going to the same place.” He buckled his seatbelt with practiced ease. “And I’m paying for the ride.” I thought about my $4,000 monthly mortgage payment. I thought about the twenty-minute drive ahead. My pride wavered. Before I could protest further, the driver engaged the child locks and pulled out into traffic. “Lovers’ quarrel?” the driver chuckled, glancing at us through the rearview mirror. “It’s a cold night to be fighting, folks. The man apologized by paying for the ride; give him a break, sweetheart.” “He is not my boyfriend,” I said, my voice flat. “Sure, sure. I get it,” the driver said with a knowing wink. He clearly did not get it. But the heater was blasting, and the bone-deep exhaustion of a two-week business trip finally hit me. I didn’t have the energy to argue with a stranger about my non-existent love life. I closed my eyes and drifted. When we arrived, Brooks handled the payment without a word. Inside the lobby, the silence between us was heavy. I hung my coat in the entryway, feeling like a ghost in my own home, and stumbled toward the bathroom. “We need to talk,” Brooks said. His long stride easily cut me off. My reflexes were shot. I tried to stop, but my momentum carried me straight into his chest. As I started to lose my balance, his hand shot out, catching me firmly by the waist. The scent of him—something like cedarwood and cold rain—hit me instantly. I looked up, startled. I saw the sharp line of his jaw, the slight pulse in his throat, and then his eyes—deep, dark, and currently reflecting a very disheveled version of me. My heart did a sudden, traitorous trip-wire skip. “Sorry.” He let go immediately, stepping back to give me air. “It’s fine,” I said, waving a hand as if I could brush away the tension. “I’m just… I’m dead on my feet. Can this wait?” I had been traveling for fifteen days. I had spent the last three hours in a police station. I was done. “Fine.” A faint, almost tender smile touched his lips. “Get some sleep, Gia.” Tender? Was I so starved for affection that I was hallucinating subtext? I shook my head, walked into the bathroom, and locked the door. I scrubbed my face, took the fastest shower in history, and collapsed onto my pillows. I fell asleep instantly, only to dream of a warm, shirtless man holding me close. In the dream, I didn’t call the police. In the dream, I leaned in and kissed him. I was startled awake by a series of muffled thuds and high-pitched shouting from the unit next door. I checked my phone: 1:15 AM. The “Night Owls” were back. My neighbors were a couple who seemingly lived to argue and rearrange furniture between the hours of midnight and 4:00 AM. Even with my noise-canceling earplugs, the vibration of their voices bled through the drywall. Unable to get back to sleep, I wandered into the living room for a glass of water, only to nearly jump out of my skin when I saw a shadow on the couch. 3 “What are you doing out here?” I exhaled, my heart hammering. The remnants of that dream flashed in my mind, making my cheeks heat up in the dark. He held up a glass. “Still adjusting to the climate here. My throat’s like a desert.” “You’ll get used to it,” I said, heading for the kitchen. “By the way,” he gestured toward the wall shared with the neighbors. “Is this a regular thing, or a special occasion?” “How long have you been here?” I asked. He thought for a second. “Four days.” “And how many nights has it been quiet?” He went silent. The answer was zero. “They run some kind of wholesale business,” I explained, leaning against the counter with my lukewarm water. “They get home at 1:00 AM, screaming at each other, then they start cleaning and moving boxes until 4:00. I have spare earplugs if you want them.” He narrowed his eyes. “And you just… accept this?” “What choice do I have?” I looked around my beautiful, expensive prison. “I bought this place. I spent a fortune on the renovations. I’m locked into a thirty-year mortgage. You can’t just ‘not accept’ a neighbor in a high-rise.” I didn’t mention the other sounds they made—the ones that were even more awkward to overhear. Brooks frowned. “Have you called the cops?” “Of course. And the HOA, at least a dozen times.” I shrugged, feeling the familiar weight of helplessness. “It doesn’t matter. In a building with three hundred units, the management doesn’t care about one noisy couple.” His expression shifted into something unreadable. “Let me try.” He set his glass down and started for the door. “Wait—” I lunged forward, grabbing the hem of his shirt. Because of the angle, my eyes landed directly on his abs—perfectly defined, even in the shadows. I yanked my hand back like I’d touched a hot stove. “They aren’t… they aren’t nice people, Brooks.” He looked at me, waiting for more. “See that dent in the bottom of my door?” I whispered, my hand trembling slightly. “The husband did that. He kicked it because I asked them to keep it down once. They’re bullies.” Brooks’s eyes darkened. “Stay inside. Don’t come out until I’m back.” He reached out and briefly, gently, ruffled my hair. Before I could process the “head pat” or the weirdly protective surge it gave me, he was out the door. 4 Brooks knocked on their door. Not a frantic pounding, but a steady, rhythmic, polite thrum. The muffled shouting inside continued, ignoring him. Brooks didn’t lose his temper. He just kept knocking. Three beats, a pause. Three beats, a pause. It was relentless. “It’s the middle of the night! What the hell do you want?” The neighbor’s door flew open. I knew that man—he was a wall of aggressive muscle with a temper like a live wire. Panic flared in my chest. I grabbed the baseball bat I kept under my bed and crept toward my front door, ready to intervene. “Hey, man. I’m the guy from next door,” Brooks said. His voice was incredibly calm, almost conversational. “You the owner of this unit?” “Yeah—so what?” the neighbor barked. “Look, I get it,” Brooks said smoothly. “You and the wife work hard. Long hours, late nights. It’s a grind, and I respect that.” I blinked. What was he doing? “But here’s the thing,” Brooks continued, his tone softening but gaining a razor-sharp edge. “We’re corporate types. We need our sleep to keep the paychecks coming. Any chance you could dial the volume down a bit?” “I pay my taxes! I can talk however I want in my own damn house!” the man yelled. I could hear his wife chiming in with some choice insults from the background. “You absolutely have the right to speak,” Brooks agreed. “But rights have limits. Between 10:00 PM and 6:00 AM, anything over forty-five decibels is a city ordinance violation. I can call the precinct—the one I was just at tonight, actually. I’m on a first-name basis with the sergeant.” “Call ’em! I don’t give a damn about the cops!” “I figured you might say that,” Brooks said, his voice dropping an octave. “But you’re a business owner, right? Public records make it very easy to find your LLC and your tax filings. If the cops don’t work, I’ll just go through the City Council and the Better Business Bureau. I’ll make sure there’s a formal noise and nuisance investigation tied to your business address. Constant city inspections are a real pain for wholesale operations, aren’t they?” There was a long, pregnant silence. “Listen, man… let’s not get crazy,” the neighbor muttered, his bravado springing a leak. “I’m not being crazy. I’m being neighborly,” Brooks replied cheerfully. “I’d hate to see your reputation suffer over something as simple as a loud conversation. So, are we good? Or do I need to start filing paperwork?” “We’re good. We’ll keep it down,” the neighbor grumbled. The door slammed shut. I leaned against my door, exhaling a breath I didn’t know I was holding. For years, I had lived in fear of that man’s temper. Brooks had dismantled him in three minutes with nothing but a calm voice and a subtle threat to his wallet. For the first time since moving in, I felt safe. Truly safe. I looked at the door. Maddie’s “gift” was looking better by the second. Now I just had to figure out how to handle him.

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When I was suffering from severe morning sickness and incontinence, Arthur was at a party playing a cherry-stem-tying kissing game with his female assistant. Even as I vomited until my stomach bled, he remained tangled up with her, deeply entwined and refusing to separate. On my way home, I was in a car accident. Just as I was lifted onto a stretcher, Arthur coldly dragged me off: “You’re tough. Stop wasting medical resources.” With that, he carried his crying female assistant onto the stretcher instead. When we arrived at the hospital, everyone rushed the assistant to the emergency room. I was the only one who walked quietly to the gynecology desk: “Hello. I’d like to schedule an abortion.” “I don’t want the baby in my stomach anymore.” … A second after I changed into the hospital gown, Arthur stormed into the room, furious. He threw a red string right at my face: “Chloe, who gave you permission to force this unlucky junk on me?!” Arthur didn’t believe in gods or spirits. Even the peace amulet I had acquired by climbing a thousand steps and bowing with each one was sneered at and tossed into the fire. I picked up the “marriage thread” that had fallen on me and said calmly: “I didn’t give this to you.” Hearing this, Arthur immediately snatched the red string back, hastily tying it around his wrist. I knew the red string was a gift from his assistant, Mia. It was a plea for a lifetime of monogamous love with Arthur. Thinking of this, I grabbed his hand. Ignoring his disgusted, defensive glare, I took the loose knot and pulled it tight. The icy chill of my fingertips made Arthur momentarily zone out. He asked me why I was wearing a hospital gown. I answered lightly: “I’m having a minor procedure later.” Arthur’s brow furrowed. He was just about to accuse me of faking an illness for attention. But the next second, a nurse walked in to draw my blood. Arthur opened his mouth, about to ask the nurse what was wrong with me, but his phone rang at the exact right moment. It was a video call from Mia. The girl whined coquettishly, complaining about how scary the hospital was at night. Hearing her, Arthur didn’t even spare me a glance as he strode out of the room. He bumped into the nurse on his way out, causing the needle to slip and blood to well up. He didn’t turn back when he heard my groan of pain. At that moment, the doctor walked in with the surgical consent form. Ignoring all the risk warnings, I signed my name without blinking. Half an hour later, the surgery was a success. As soon as I got off the operating table, I received a text from Arthur: [Wait for me at the hospital entrance.] It was snowing heavily outside. Dressed in thin clothes, I sat on a plastic chair and waited for two whole hours. He never showed up. Two nurses walked past me, laughing and gossiping about what they saw in the ER: “I’ve been working here for years, and I’ve never seen a man dote on his wife like that.” “Right? He held her and coaxed her through the entire examination. She just had a red mark on her leg, and he immediately mobilized a helicopter to transfer her to a top-tier hospital.” Hearing this, I opened our chat window and noticed Arthur had changed his profile picture. It was Nick Wilde from Zootopia wearing sunglasses. A perfect matching pair with Mia’s Judy Hopps. I exited WeChat and opened a ticketing app. Due to the weather, the earliest flight back to my hometown wasn’t for two days. I placed the order, paid, and confirmed the ticket. I walked out of the hospital and went home alone. At 3:00 AM, Arthur returned late, pushed open the bedroom door, and lay down beside me. In the pitch black, he reached out, wanting to touch my pregnant belly. I simply rolled over, giving him my back. Arthur clicked his tongue impatiently, got up, walked into the bathroom, and slammed the door shut with a loud BANG. In our nine years together, whenever he showed even the slightest hint of displeasure… I would be consumed with anxiety, chasing after him, lowering my head, and begging for peace. But tonight, when Arthur came out of the shower, he found me still lying in bed, completely unmoving. “Stop faking it.” Dropping those words, Arthur left the master bedroom with a cold face and didn’t return. The next morning, I found a wine glass stained with lipstick on the living room coffee table. I didn’t wake Arthur up and hysterically interrogate him about everything and nothing, like I would have in the past. I leisurely finished frying some egg rolls and sat down at the dining table just as Arthur woke up and said: “Don’t wait for me for dinner tonight. I have a business dinner.” He opened the fridge, chugged two mouthfuls of ice water, and… Suddenly found it strange that I neither nagged him about cold water hurting his stomach nor asked who was attending the dinner. Through the glass kitchen door, Arthur frowned at me: “Chloe, are you even listening to me?” Swallowing my food cleanly, I gave a noncommittal “Mhm” and continued eating. Seeing this, he tossed his black overcoat at me. “Your birthday present.” The coat, reeking of sweet, cloying perfume, perfectly covered my now-flat stomach. Under his gaze, I fished a gift box out of the coat pocket. I opened the box. Inside was a diamond ring. Before I could say a word, Arthur’s face darkened, and he snatched the ring back. He said: “You grabbed the wrong one. Yours is in the other pocket.” The other pocket held an emerald brooch. I just took one look at it before pushing it back toward him. Then I said politely: “The brooch is beautiful, but it’s a pity I don’t have any clothes that match it. Besides, my birthday was three months ago. You might as well give this to Mia, too.” He was speechless for a good while. Arthur said reluctantly: “There’s a jewelry auction in a couple of days. You can come with me.” This was the first time he had asked me to be his plus-one in a long while. For the past six months, Mia had been the one accompanying him to all his social gatherings. Even during yacht vacations with his childhood friends, the two of them appeared arm-in-arm in the group photos. Recalling this, I felt utterly bored with it all. “No need. I don’t need anything.” “Are you sure?” I nodded: “It’s best if you have Mia accompany you.” My genuine words were met with an instantly blackened expression from Arthur: “Chloe, go to the bathroom and look in the mirror right now. Take a good look at how pathetic your jealous, bitter face is.” In the past, if he said that, I would definitely have gotten into a massive fight with him. But now, I couldn’t be bothered to argue a single syllable. Just as I was about to get up and go back to my room, Arthur’s phone rang. It was a custom ringtone for Mia. The girl was crying hysterically, saying she forgot her keys when she took out the trash. What should I do, Arthur? “You little dummy. Be a good girl, stay right there, and don’t run around. I’m coming over to bring you the spare key now.” Hanging up, Arthur immediately turned to leave. But I called out to stop him. “That scarf you asked me to knit last week is finished and hanging on the coat rack. Don’t forget to take it to her.” Arthur’s expression shifted slightly. His mouth moved as if he were about to say something. But then Mia sent another voice message. She meowed like a little cat, begging her “master” to bring her a bubble tea on his way. Because of this, Arthur emptied the shopping bag hanging on the rack, stuffed the scarf inside, and left with a smirk on his face. I glanced at the baby clothes discarded on the floor, stood up, and walked into the study. Ignoring the framed photo of Arthur and Mia on the mahogany desk. I moved with clear purpose toward the safe. I tried Arthur’s birthday, then mine. Incorrect. I tried our anniversary. Still incorrect. It wasn’t until I entered Mia’s birthday… The lock finally clicked open. As I took out my ID and passport, two movie tickets were dragged out with them. They were the ticket stubs from my very first date with Arthur. I tore the memories to shreds and tossed them in the trash. I returned to the bedroom and started packing my personal belongings. Towards evening, Arthur called and told me to hire a courier to deliver a document for him. A blizzard was raging outside. I wrapped myself in a mink coat and went out to deliver it personally. Pushing open the restaurant door, I walked right in as Arthur and Mia were drinking cross-armed, like a newlywed couple. Because of my sudden appearance, the cheering and jeering in the restaurant abruptly stopped. Arthur glared at me, his face full of annoyance. The others watched with amusement, waiting for me to scream and throw a fit. But to everyone’s surprise, I wasn’t angry at all. I handed the document to Arthur and simply said: “Can I borrow your car keys for a second? I left something in your car.” Hearing this, Mia pulled a set of Porsche keys out of her bag, stuck her tongue out at me, and said: “I’m so sorry, Sis~ Because I love sleeping in, I’m always late for work. So Arthur just gave me his car to drive.” “Who’s your ‘Sis’? Don’t call people that, you little dummy.” Arthur’s eyes were full of indulgence as he wiped a drop of wine from the corner of Mia’s mouth. I played along with his words and said: “Mr. Sterling and I are not married. Please don’t misunderstand, Ms. Mia.” With that, I took the keys, turned to leave, but Arthur suddenly grabbed me, his expression bizarre: “Chloe, ever since you got pregnant, you’ve wanted to throw up at the mere smell of alcohol. Why are you…” I was just about to respond when Mia suddenly lost all color in her face and hugged Arthur’s arm: “Arthur, is Chloe trying to find that pearl necklace in the car? “Um… but that necklace was lost by this clumsy little me! What should we do?” The necklace Mia was talking about was an heirloom left to me by my grandmother. I heard Arthur softly comfort Mia, saying it was just a cheap necklace, lost is lost, she shouldn’t worry about it. I set the car keys down and looked at Mia without joy or anger: “He’s right. It’s just a cheap necklace I’ve worn for nine years. Since you like it so much, consider it a gift.” Walking out of the restaurant, I was about to hail a cab when Arthur chased after me. He shoved a takeout container of nourishing fish porridge into my hands, speaking with a tone of charity: “Your prenatal checkup is tomorrow. I’ll go with you.” I lied casually: “You remembered the date wrong. The checkup is the day after tomorrow.” Arthur wanted to argue, but then he saw Mia standing at the restaurant entrance. He immediately turned back, took her hands, and blew on them to keep her warm. I watched them go back inside. I, who never ate fish, fed the porridge to a stray cat and went home. That night, Arthur never came home. And I didn’t call him even once. At 5:00 PM the next day, I had just put on my coat when Arthur suddenly came home and dragged me into his car. Inside the Sterling family estate, Arthur pulled me in front of his parents: “Mom, Dad, this is Chloe.” After years of a long-distance, drawn-out relationship, Arthur was finally bringing me to meet his parents. But my reaction left him sorely disappointed. “Mr. and Mrs. Sterling, something urgent has come up. Please excuse me, I must leave.” As soon as the words left my mouth, Arthur clamped his hand around my wrist, applying silent, crushing pressure. “Mom, Dad, she’s just joking with you. You go prepare dinner; I’ll show her around and get her familiar with the place first.” I was forcefully dragged to a top-floor bedroom to begin the so-called “tour.” My constant checking of the time on my phone quickly drew Arthur’s ire: “Chloe, you’ve always begged to see the room I grew up in. Now that you’re here, why are you suddenly acting mute?” “Hmm? It’s very nice.” My evasive answer made Arthur’s brow furrow deeply. “You keep looking at your phone. Is there something interesting on it?” “No.” Even with my denial, his face remained tight. He snatched my phone and held it up to his face. The screen repeatedly showed “Face ID Failed.” Arthur asked in surprise why it couldn’t recognize him. I was just about to answer when a crisp sound echoed from the window sill behind me. The tall Arthur saw something, dropped my phone without a word, and simply vanished. Ten minutes later, following a string of silvery, girlish giggles, I found Mia in the estate’s back garden, wearing fresh flowers in her hair. She was being carefully supported by Arthur, playing a childish game of walking on tiptoes across a wooden plank. “Arthur, you have to hold me steady… Ah! Arthur, save me!” While playing, Mia’s foot slipped, and with a flushed face, she fell right into Arthur’s chest. They both froze for a second, then exchanged a flawlessly synchronized, knowing smile. The smile in Arthur’s eyes vanished completely the moment he noticed me. “Huh? Chloe, why are you here?” Mia looked at me with pure innocence, blinked a few times, and then began weakly pounding Arthur’s chest with her delicate fists: “Oh, I know! You bad boy, you finally decided to bring your ugly duckling wife home to meet the parents!” “Congratulations, Chloe!” While her mouth offered congratulations, her voice was tinged with a sob, eliciting Arthur’s pained sympathy: “It’s just one dinner, what’s there to congratulate, you silly little fool.” After comforting Mia, the look Arthur gave me was absolute ice: “Is dinner ready?” Before I could speak, dozens of long snakes suddenly dropped from the tree branches above us. As I fell to the ground in terror, Mia let out an ear-piercing scream. Seeing this, Arthur didn’t even spare me a glance; he grabbed Mia tight and fled frantically. It wasn’t until animal control arrived to catch the snakes that Arthur finally remembered me. He returned to the tree, searching high and low, only to be finally told by the front gate security guard that I had left long ago. Late at night, in the airport departure lounge. Waiting to board, my phone vibrated non-stop. It wasn’t until the very last minute before takeoff that I finally answered the call. As soon as the call connected, Arthur frantically demanded to know where I was. He had clearly gone home and found it empty. I didn’t answer him directly, only saying: “None of your business.” He froze for a second, his voice tinged with anger: “A pregnant woman throwing a tantrum is bad for the baby. Stop being so willful. Give me your address, I’m coming to pick you up right now…” Before he could finish his sentence, the sound of a wet, sticky kiss on a cheek came through the phone. Followed by Mia’s soft giggle. Arthur cleared his throat. His tone abruptly shifted, stating coldly: “Something came up at the company. Take a cab home yourself.” After saying that, he couldn’t help but add: “Text me when you get home.” After he hung up. I opened our chat and, exactly as he requested, sent a message: [Arthur, let’s break up. I sincerely wish you and Mia a long, happy life together.] The moment the message showed as “Read,” I blocked all his contact info and turned off my phone… “Auntie Chloe, here! Over here!” As soon as I got off the plane, I spotted my little niece enthusiastically waving her hand in the crowd. I scooped her up with a beaming smile and said to my sister: “It’s the middle of the night. I told you guys you didn’t need to pick me up.” “You think I wanted to? It’s this precious niece of yours who wouldn’t stop crying to see her silly auntie.” My sister reached out and hugged me. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of my flat stomach, her eyes filling with heartache. Just as I was about to comfort her, she preemptively pinched my cheek, fiercely complaining that I was as skinny as a rail. “Starting tomorrow, a bowl of fish maw and pork trotter soup every single day. Even if you hate it, you have to drink it. Non-negotiable.” “Okay, okay, whatever you say. You are my one and only sister, after all.” I sniffled, holding my niece, got into my sister’s car, and the three of us drove home, laughing and chatting. Even though it was 4:00 AM, my parents were still waiting in the living room. Only after confirming my sister and I were safely home, and watching me drink my favorite childhood honey iced tea, did they finally smile and go back to their room to sleep. After washing up, I lay in bed. Despite my usual insomnia, I fell asleep deeply within minutes. No pain, no more hesitation. Because I had finally returned to my true home. On my third day back, my parents booked a private room at a restaurant and invited all our relatives to welcome me home. Just as my welcome-home dinner was in full swing, filled with laughter and joy, a delivery driver arrived at the door and called out my name. My niece, who often fetches takeout for her mom, trotted over, grabbed the package, and skipped back to me. Having already learned how to read, she said in her sweet, babyish voice: “Auntie, it’s from a Mr. Sterling…” After thinking for a long while, I finally opened the box. Inside was a brand new smartphone. Just as I was thoroughly confused by this, the phone suddenly rang. Faced with the concerned looks from my family, I instinctively picked up the phone and walked to a quiet corner. I hesitated for a good while before pressing answer. Arthur’s voice was as cold as ever: “Chloe, why didn’t you tell me you went back to your parents’ house?” I asked him back: “Why should I tell you?” After a moment of silence, Arthur deliberately softened his tone and said: “I tried calling you from several different numbers, but your phone was always off… I was worried about you.” Having specifically set my phone to reject all unknown numbers, I blinked: “Just because of that, you used illegal methods to track me down, and even had a cheap phone delivered right in front of my family?” I couldn’t help but ask: “Arthur, are you mentally ill?” In all our years together, he had never received a single word of criticism or insult from me. Even through the phone, I could imagine just how ugly his expression must be right now. But despite that, he didn’t hang up. “Chloe, you know my personality. My patience is limited. You’d better know when to quit while you’re ahead…” Interrupting his nonsense, I asked impatiently what exactly he wanted to say. Taking a deep breath, Arthur said in a low voice: “For the sake of the baby, I won’t hold this little runaway stunt against you. I’ve already bought you a ticket back for next week. Mia and I will pick you up at the airport.” Hearing this, I almost burst out laughing: “What baby? The baby in my stomach has been gone for a long time.” I heard the sound of something shattering on the floor from Arthur’s end: “Chloe! How dare you joke about our child like that?!” Lowering my eyes, I pulled at the corner of my mouth and said: “I’m not joking. The baby is really gone. And I truly want to break up with you…” Before I could finish, Arthur sneered with utter disdain: “What do you mean the baby is gone? What do you mean you ‘truly’ want to break up? You just want to force me to admit I was wrong, don’t you? Fine, I was wrong. I was wrong to let you take a cab home alone just because something came up at work. Ms. Vance, I apologize to you. Are you satisfied now?” Faced with his passive-aggressive sarcasm, I felt absolutely nothing inside, only a profound sense of boredom: “I don’t need your apology. You just need to understand one thing: we are broken up.” With that, I hung up immediately, popped out the SIM card, and threw both the phone and the card into the trash. It was already 11:00 PM by the time the dinner ended. A close high school friend I hadn’t seen in years texted me, inviting me out for a late-night drink. I immediately went home, changed into a very form-fitting long dress, and happily went to meet her.

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My diary detailing my romance with my childhood sweetheart was found by the most popular girl in school. In a packed classroom, she read its contents aloud. [Mr. X looks so good in a white button-down. Not wearing one… looks even better.] The room erupted in roars of laughter. Everyone called me a delusional fangirl obsessed with Liam. But the truth was, Liam and I had been secretly dating for a year. Standing nearby, Liam looked at me with utter disgust. He told me to stop writing that garbage and disgusting his girlfriend. I was just about to step forward and confront him. When the next second. Someone pulled me into a tight embrace. The school’s most notoriously reckless bad boy suddenly appeared behind me. He glared fiercely at the popular girl. “Is Liam the only guy in this whole school whose name starts with an L?” “You stupid bitch, who gave you the right to read my girlfriend’s diary?” 1. Before I even walked into the classroom. I could hear the constant roars of laughter coming from inside. The school’s most popular girl, Chloe, was standing at the podium, holding a pink diary. She was reading its contents with exaggerated flair. [Today, Mr. L confessed his feelings to me. When he blushed and told me he liked me, it felt like a dream.] [Mr. L looks so good in a white button-down. Of course… not wearing one looks even better.] The class erupted in laughter. “Wearing a white button-down? This ‘Mr. L’ has to be Liam, right? Haha, Liam loves wearing white button-downs.” “So gross, I’m gonna throw up. Everyone knows Liam is Chloe’s boyfriend.” “Where did this delusional fangirl come from? A toad dreaming of swan meat.” Chloe ignored them and continued reading the next entry. [While Mr. L was sleeping, I secretly kissed him. Hehe, he won’t know, right?] The class laughed even louder. “Holy shit, that’s so creepy. Dreaming about kissing Liam? I’m literally gagging.” “I already threw up.” “Who exactly is having wet dreams about someone else’s boyfriend?” After the laughter died down, someone asked. “Chloe, whose diary is it?” 2. Chloe’s gaze cut through the crowd and landed right on me as I walked into the classroom. It was filled with mockery and provocation. But she quickly looked away. “Oh, stop asking. I just accidentally found someone’s diary. If I hadn’t seen ‘Mr. L’ written in it, I would never have been so rude as to read the contents.” “Reading other people’s private things is so wrong.” Someone chimed in to comfort her. “Chloe, you’re too nice. Someone is literally fantasizing about your boyfriend, and you’re still defending her.” “Why shouldn’t she read it? If you write something that disgusting, you obviously want people to see it.” “Just tell us who it is! I’m dying of curiosity. I want to make a PowerPoint out of her.” Just then. Liam, who had been silent the whole time, took the diary. He didn’t even glance at it. He threw it straight into the trash can. “If it’s disgusting, don’t read it. Reading garbage like this will only dirty your eyes.” He definitely recognized that notebook. It was the diary I bought with him at the bookstore right after we started dating. But even knowing it was mine. He still chose to stand behind Chloe. From beginning to end, he didn’t spare me a single glance. As if I, standing at the classroom door, was nothing but a stranger. Even though just a few days ago, he was holding me, whispering things that made me blush and my heart race. Now, it seemed. He was desperately trying to sever all ties with me. Suddenly, everything made sense. 3. I realized that Liam had started dating Chloe while still secretly dating me. When Chloe first transferred to our class. She was glamorous, outgoing, like a stunning rose. The boys swarmed around her, desperately trying to win her favor. Towards all of this. Liam always scoffed. “Trophy wife,” were the two words he initially used to describe Chloe. Later. I asked him privately why he didn’t like girls like Chloe. And instead liked a plain, boring girl like me. He affectionately tapped my nose. “Girls like that look like they play around a lot.” “Who knows how many guys she’s secretly dated. It’s disgusting. I would never like someone like her.” 4. Indeed, no one knew Liam and I were dating. A year ago. Liam said he wanted to keep things low-key. So we started a secret, underground relationship. And I had only just found out. The very first day he started dating Chloe, he made a highly public post on Instagram announcing their relationship. Of course, he blocked me from seeing that post. Up until this moment, I finally understood. A real relationship isn’t hidden away. If it’s hidden, it’s called an affair. 5. Chloe’s gaze swept the room again before landing on me. Suddenly, her eyes filled with tears, looking as if she were about to cry. Across the crowded classroom, she shouted at me. “I’m so sorry, Sarah. I accidentally found your diary. I had no idea you wrote… those kinds of things…” “I only opened it because I saw Liam’s initial. I’m so sorry.” An uproar swept through the classroom. Every single eye turned to me. “Holy crap, it’s Sarah? I never would have guessed.” “Yeah, she always looks so innocent. Who knew she was so dirty.” “Now that you mention it, I think she really does secretly buy a lot of the same stuff Liam wears.” “I heard she and Liam are neighbors, they’ve known each other since they were kids. Doesn’t that mean… she’s been creeping on him for a long time?” “Last time, someone saw Sarah and Liam walk into the alley north of the school, one after the other. Holy shit, Sarah was stalking him! So gross.” Mockery and accusations flew at me from all sides. I looked at Liam, who was standing to the side, watching with cold indifference. “Don’t you have anything you want to say?” 6. Liam frowned, shielding Chloe behind him, increasing the distance between us. “Sarah, if I’ve ever done anything to give you the wrong idea, I apologize.” “Even though we’ve known each other since childhood, I’ve always just seen you as a little sister.” “Please, stop writing that garbage. It upsets my girlfriend.” He paused to think for a moment, then continued. “I’ll say this one last time: I will never like you. The person I like has always been Chloe.” With that, he put his arm around Chloe. The two of them looked like the picture-perfect, devoted couple. As if I truly were the monster trying to destroy their beautiful romance. I was utterly, completely disappointed. My stomach churned with nausea. Just as I was about to take a step forward and confront him. Someone suddenly lunged from behind me. That person pulled me into a tight embrace. My back hit a solid, muscular chest. The person was tall, and smelled of a wonderful, woody pine scent. The crowd around us gasped in surprise. I turned my head. The person standing behind me was actually the notoriously unpredictable bad boy of our school, Lucas. 7. Standing behind me, Lucas smirked. His eyes were full of pure defiance. “Are you insane? Is Liam the only guy in this entire school whose name starts with an L?” Someone in the crowd gasped. “Oh my god, yeah… Lucas’s name starts with an L too.” Lucas finished speaking and glared at Chloe. “You stupid bitch, who gave you the right to read my girlfriend’s diary?” “Seems like you’re all very interested in my daily life with my girlfriend? What? Do you want to hide under our bed tonight and listen?” He shot a glance at Liam. Continuing his sarcastic tirade. “I didn’t see any delusional fangirls, but I definitely see a delusional fanboy right here. Sees the initial ‘L’ and instantly starts fantasizing that my girlfriend has a crush on him. I think you’re the one daydreaming, buddy. Take a piss and look at your own reflection, you pretentious prick.” Liam was rendered completely speechless. His eyes fell on Lucas’s hand resting on my waist. He bit his lip hard. It took a long time before he squeezed out a sentence through gritted teeth. “When did you start dating him?” That question. I wasn’t sure if he was asking Lucas or me. But I answered first. “Whenever the first page of that diary was written, that’s when.” “So… the guy you wrote about secretly kissing… was him?” I nodded. “Yep. And now I don’t have to kiss him in secret anymore.” After I said that. Liam’s face grew even darker. A few minutes passed before he muttered. “Impossible. There’s no way you two are together.” 8. Lucas looked completely exasperated. “What? Do I need to prove it to you?” I secretly tugged at Lucas’s shirt. Signaling him to stop talking. Because I knew there was no way to prove it. If he kept talking, our cover would be blown. But he just rubbed my back comfortingly. Looking perfectly calm and collected. “Remember the first page you guys read earlier? Where Mr. L confessed his feelings?” With one arm around me, he reached into his pocket with his free hand and pulled out a love letter. The letter was folded neatly. The handwriting was bold and messy. It was definitely Lucas’s handwriting. “See this? This is the exact letter I used to confess my feelings. Sarah said she wanted to keep it as a memento, so I never threw it away.” His tone suddenly shifted, his gaze turning sharp. “Or does Liam want to hear the contents of our love letter?” Liam’s fingernails dug into his palms until they turned red. “Impossible. Back then, she clearly…” Beside him, Chloe was completely confused. She whined, “Liam, clearly what? Did you really date Sarah?” Liam looked like a deflated balloon. “How is that possible? How could I ever have dated her?” “It was a misunderstanding on my part.” After saying that, he grabbed Chloe’s hand, ready to leave. “Stop right there.” Lucas raised a finger, pointing right at him. “Did I fucking say you could leave?” 9. Liam asked irritably, “What else do you want?” Lucas’s face was stone cold. “Apologize to my girlfriend.” Chloe let out an incredulous laugh. “Apologize? Yeah right. She wrote a vague diary entry about some ‘Mr. L,’ who the hell knows who that is.” “I found it by accident, a misunderstanding happened. What does that have to do with me?” Lucas shot back, “Did you ‘find’ it or did you steal it? Don’t you know the answer to that yourself?” Lucas pointed to the security camera on the ceiling. “If you don’t want this to blow up, apologize right now.” Lucas had a terrible reputation at our school. Rebellious, domineering, and his word was law. His family also had ties to the school board. If he said he could check the cameras, he wasn’t joking. Liam thought about it for a moment. He picked my diary out of the trash can. “Chloe didn’t mean it. Is this really necessary?” I looked at him coldly. “It’s absolutely necessary.” “Sarah, don’t push it.” Lucas stood protectively in front of me. “Say one more word about my girlfriend, I dare you.” Liam finally gritted his teeth. He bowed a full ninety degrees and apologized to me. “I’ve apologized. Now leave Chloe alone.” 10. In the deserted equipment room. I gently pushed Lucas away. “I’m sorry… I caused so much trouble for you. Thank you for getting me out of that.” Just now… to help me, he even lied along with me, taking some random love letter and claiming he wrote it for me. He really… was too kind. Not at all like the terrifying rumors made him out to be. Lucas was much taller than me. I didn’t dare look up at his face. Right in front of my eyes was his long neck and bobbing Adam’s apple. And that woody pine scent wrapped around me. Time seemed to freeze in that moment. I didn’t know why, but my heart suddenly started racing like a panicked rabbit. I just wanted to run away. “I… I’ll post on Instagram in a few days saying you dumped me, so people won’t keep misunderstanding our relationship.” “Anyway, thank you so much for today, and I’m so sorry I made you lie for me. I really caused a lot of trouble for you.” “Lie?” Lucas took a step forward. Pinning me into the corner. “I never lie.”

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When our parents divorced, my sister chose to live with our wealthy father. I moved into my mom’s cramped rental apartment. Years later, my dad squandered the family fortune on booze, women, and gambling. Meanwhile, my mom started an influencer agency and became a famous female entrepreneur. My sister’s life was turned upside down, and she came to me crying for help. But when I wasn’t looking, she poisoned my drink. “We have the same parents! Why do you get to live so well while I’m homeless on the streets?!” “It’s my turn to live the good life!” When I opened my eyes again, we were back on the day of the divorce. This time, she beat me to it and threw her arms around our mom: “I want to live with Mom! I don’t care how hard it gets, I’m willing to endure it.” But she didn’t know… Mom was far more terrifying than Dad. 1 My sister, Chloe, always had a sweet mouth and knew exactly how to charm people. She was always the favorite. Because of this, when our parents decided to divorce, they asked her first who she wanted to live with. Dad, Richard Sterling, was a trust-fund baby. His family was incredibly wealthy. Mom was a stay-at-home wife. After the divorce, she’d have nothing and would have to scrape by to survive. So, without a second thought, Chloe obediently threw her arms around Dad. “I love Daddy the most! I can’t live without you. I want to grow up with you.” Dad beamed with joy, lifting Chloe high into the air. “Good girl! You’ll stay with Daddy and be a little princess for the rest of your life!” Chloe smiled sweetly. In a blind spot where our parents couldn’t see, she shot me a smug, triumphant glance. Yes, she had been like this since we were little. Always trying to one-up me. As long as she could “defeat” me, she was perfectly willing to do things that didn’t even benefit her. Dad and Chloe laughed happily together. Mom stood off to the side, looking heartbroken and gloomy. I stayed silent for a moment, then walked over and took Mom’s hand. “Mom, I’m willing to live with you.” She gave me a long, deep look, but said nothing. 2 Years later, through a stroke of luck, Mom’s live-streaming and influencer business took off like wildfire. We moved from the run-down rental into a nice condo. Then from the condo into a luxury mansion. Mom’s secondhand e-bike was replaced with a Mercedes. Then, it was upgraded to a Porsche. One day, Mom was driving me out to run errands. On the road, we happened upon a traffic accident. A man riding a scooter the wrong way down the street had crashed into a luxury car. The owner of the luxury car was screaming curses, while the scooter rider bowed and apologized submissively. His daughter stood off to the side, wailing loudly. Annoyed that she was embarrassing him, the man turned and kicked her. Heartbroken, the girl turned her head—and locked eyes with me through the tinted window of the Porsche. It was my sister, Chloe. And that pathetic, apologizing man on the scooter was our dad! Chloe recognized Mom and me. Her eyes lit up, and she began chasing our car like a madwoman. But Mom simply pressed the gas pedal and drove forward, acting as if nothing had happened. I hesitated before speaking: “Mom, that was Chloe.” Mom replied coldly, “I saw. What, you want to help her?” I didn’t dare make a sound. Mom sneered. “She was so cute when she was little. Now that she’s grown, she’s as ugly as her father. Ungrateful little brat. This is karma.” I completely shut my mouth. Not long after, Chloe managed to find my contact info. She asked me to meet her. In the cafe, she cried a river of tears. “Serena, you have no idea. Dad is—” According to Chloe, Dad was an absolute fool. He was incompetent, yet infinitely greedy. A few years ago, he listened to the nonsense of some “friends” and, ignoring Grandpa’s warnings, invested in a startup. But the company was a pre-planned trap, and tens of millions of dollars vanished into thin air. Grandpa was furious and banished him from the family estate. “I thought Dad would learn his lesson, but all he knew how to do was drink, party, and gamble.” After being kicked out, Dad partied every night. Encouraged by his various girlfriends, he went to underground casinos and threw money around like dirt. Within a few months, his millions in savings were wiped out. He even racked up six million dollars in gambling debt. Grandpa was completely done with him and refused to give him a single cent. Desperate, Dad had to start doing food delivery to make ends meet. But he was a man used to a life of luxury. He used to have a chauffeur everywhere he went; he didn’t even know the traffic laws. Not long after he started delivering, he drove the wrong way and hit a luxury car— Which was exactly the scene I had witnessed a few days prior. In the cafe, Chloe threw herself into my arms, sobbing pitifully. “Serena, I saw Mom driving a Porsche and wearing Chanel. Your bag is Dior. You guys must be living so well.” “Serena, can you go back and talk to Mom? I’m her daughter too. I don’t want to live with Dad anymore. I want to live with her.” “She must miss me, right? During those first few years after the divorce, she used to call me all the time, begging me to come back.” Her eyes were filled with desperate hope. But the moment I thought of Mom, an involuntary shiver ran down my spine. Finally, I said, “It’s best if you don’t live with Mom. But… I can give you a little money.” Chloe’s head snapped up, a flash of pure, venomous resentment darting across her eyes. But just as quickly, a grateful smile spread across her face. “Thank you, Serena. I always knew you treated me the best.” 3 The next day, I transferred fifty thousand dollars to Chloe. She insisted on inviting me to her cramped apartment for a home-cooked meal to thank me. Inside the dingy rental, Chloe handed me a cup of tea. “Serena, I remember you loved Jasmine tea when we were kids. I picked these leaves out just for you. Taste it and tell me what you think.” My guard was down, and I drank it. But soon, the room started spinning. The last thing I saw was Chloe coming at my face with a knife, slashing it open. “Serena Sterling, we have the exact same parents! Why do you get to live in luxury while I sleep on the streets?!” “You have so much money, yet you only give me this pathetic amount, and you won’t even let me go back to Mom! You selfish, greedy bitch!” An endless darkness washed over me. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of our parents’ divorce. Facing Dad’s question. This time, without a second thought, Chloe spun around and hugged Mom. “I can’t live without Mom! I want to live with Mom! I don’t care how hard it gets, I’m not afraid!” Mom, moved to tears, hugged Chloe tightly. Buried in Mom’s embrace, Chloe wore a sly, wicked smile. In a blind spot where no one else could see. Chloe silently mouthed the words to me. Sister, this time, it’s my turn to fly high. So, she had been reborn too. But what she didn’t know was that Mom was far more terrifying than Dad. 4 Chloe marched off happily toward the run-down rental apartment. While I stayed behind in the sprawling Sterling mansion. Dad was just as unreliable as always. Having just finalized his divorce, he was already prepping for a wild night out at the club. On the phone, some mistress’s voice was disgustingly sweet and whiny. But it put Dad in a fantastic mood. He grabbed his coat, ready to head out. Just as he was about to step through the door, I stopped him. I asked, “Dad, who’s going to eat dinner with me?” He replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “We have a nanny, don’t we? Have her eat with you.” I bit my lip and said, “I haven’t seen Grandpa in a long time, and I miss him. Dad, can you drop me off at his house?” Dad hesitated for a moment. Seeing this, I added, “I heard Auntie’s son went to see Grandpa a couple of days ago. I don’t know what he said, but Grandpa bought Auntie another new car. Did you know about that, Dad?” Hearing this, Dad’s hesitation vanished instantly. “That family does nothing but leech off my side of the family, spit!” “Serena, I’ll have the driver take you right now. Remember, you have to say good things about me to Grandpa, you hear?” With that, he practically shoved me into the back of a luxury SUV. Grandpa Arthur Sterling lived in a secluded, massive lakefront estate. In his eyes, my mother was a scheming gold-digger. He believed she had used every dirty trick in the book to climb the social ladder and marry my dad, and that she was deeply manipulative and malicious. Because of this, he had always despised Mom, and by extension, he didn’t like Chloe or me. In our past life, after the divorce, Chloe also tried to suck up to Grandpa. But she had always been a spoiled, pampered little princess at home. Her head was empty; her only skills were acting cute and pretending to be innocent. But at Grandpa’s house, none of her little tricks worked. No matter how much she cried or threw tantrums, all she got was his cold indifference. Her situation was the exact opposite of Auntie’s son, Ethan Vance, who was Grandpa’s golden boy. No matter what Ethan said or did, he always earned Grandpa’s praise. Over time, Chloe grew deeply resentful. During a family banquet, she deliberately shattered an antique vase. And she framed Ethan for it. She thought this would send Ethan’s status plummeting. But what she got instead was hidden security camera footage. Ethan’s position remained utterly unshaken. Chloe, however, faced the full wrath of the family’s discipline. Grandpa scolded her, calling her “scheming and vicious, willing to use any dirty trick for personal gain, exactly like your mother.” He strictly forbade Dad from ever bringing her to the estate again. From that day on, Chloe held a deep grudge against Grandpa. On his 80th birthday, Chloe even posted a vicious comic on social media. The comic was a malicious curse, depicting the Grim Reaper using various methods to harvest an old man’s life. Grandpa saw it, of course, but he simply ignored her. Later, when Dad went bankrupt and Chloe’s living conditions plummeted, she finally remembered Grandpa. She knelt at the gates of the estate, begging him to forgive her and take her in. Grandpa didn’t even show his face; the security guards just dragged her away. This time, time had rewound. Chloe had run off to chase the new life of her dreams. And the one standing outside the lakefront estate, about to visit Grandpa, was me. I took a few deep breaths and pressed the doorbell. 5 Even though Dad had called ahead to say I wanted to visit him, Grandpa’s expression in the study remained ice-cold. After I politely greeted him, he showed absolutely no intention of acknowledging me. I didn’t get upset. I simply found a quiet corner and sat down. During the years I lived with my mother in my past life, I endured humiliations a hundred, a thousand times worse than this. This was nothing. In the study, Grandpa was quizzing Ethan on his coursework. Ethan was seventeen this year, academically exceptional, and a genuine prodigy with a deep passion for finance and economics. Grandpa was a self-made billionaire, but sadly, his own children were all mediocre failures. Therefore, he genuinely admired this driven, grounded grandson. He frequently pulled Ethan aside to lecture him on famous domestic and international business case studies. Grandpa’s questions were highly advanced. Ethan managed to answer the first few perfectly. But this current question was different. Ethan sank into a long, contemplative silence. Grandpa wasn’t in a rush; he waited patiently for his answer. I tentatively raised my hand. “Grandpa, may I share my thoughts?” Grandpa glanced at me, his expression full of doubt. “You? You haven’t even finished middle school. What could you possibly say?” “If you can’t sit still, go outside. Stop trying to play these little games.” I didn’t get angry. I just smiled and said, “If my answer displeases you, I’ll go stand in the corner outside as punishment. Is that fair?” Grandpa scoffed. But Ethan interjected, “Grandpa, why not let Serena try?” Grandpa said nothing, which meant tacit approval. I shot Ethan a grateful smile and immediately began: “This particular wave of early entrepreneurs had questionable startup capital. In the early days, they acted as middlemen, helping foreign tech companies break into the domestic market. They relied heavily on information asymmetry to reap massive profits.” Grandpa looked at me in surprise and pressed further: “Then tell me, what was their natural advantage, and what was their fatal flaw?” I thought for a moment and replied, “They established close ties with foreign enterprises early on and adapted quickly to the market—that was their advantage. But those who live by the sword die by the sword. Their fatal flaw was an over-reliance on the first-mover advantage provided by those foreign firms. They never developed their own core competencies. Therefore, once the market matured and became regulated, their competitive edge vanished completely.” Grandpa stared at me fixedly for a long time. His expression was complex. There was doubt. There was scrutiny. The only thing missing was contempt. After a while, he asked, “You’re only fourteen. Where did you hear all of this?” I replied, “There are a lot of books in the city library. I love reading.” But that wasn’t true. Among the “clients” my mother entertained, a large portion were the exact beneficiaries of that middleman era. They had exploited loopholes, amassing wealth through nepotism and information gaps, yet attributed all their success to their own supposed brilliance. And on many drunken afternoons, while groping the young girls in their arms, they couldn’t wait to brag about their past conquests. Thinking of this, I squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them again, I was still in Grandpa’s solemn, antique study. Not in a dimly lit, pink-tinted bedroom reeking of alcohol and sleaze. Clap, clap, clap. Ethan was clapping softly. He said, “Serena is only fourteen, yet her reading comprehension and critical thinking are incredibly sharp. She deserves praise.” He looked at me, his expression warm and genuine: “I bow to your insight.” I quickly shook my head. “It was just a lucky guess. I don’t know any of the advanced finance and economic concepts you were talking about earlier. I still have so much to learn.” After a brief silence, Ethan asked, “Serena, do you want to study with me?” 6 At Ethan’s suggestion, Grandpa allowed me to audit their sessions. But he was still suspicious of me. He suspected this was just another unorthodox scheme to con money out of him. So, he ordered Ethan to give him regular reports on my behavior. In truth, there was no need for Ethan to monitor me, nor did anyone need to force me to work. I attended classes religiously. Every weekend, I was either practicing the piano or buried in the library. This was the life I had desperately begged for but never received in my past life. How could I not cherish it? Several months passed. In Grandpa’s study, I was no longer just a listener. Often, over a specific scenario Grandpa posed, Ethan and I would debate until we were red in the face. Until Grandpa finally called a halt. I don’t know exactly when it happened. But Grandpa stopped looking at me with guarded eyes. And Ethan stopped giving Grandpa reports on my behavior. Because he complained that keeping an eye on me wasted too much of his time, which was why he had actually lost to me on a recent pop quiz. Grandpa just threw his head back and laughed heartily at that. I pretended not to know any of this and just quietly kept doing my practice tests. At school, my relentless studying yielded rich rewards. I won first place in a state math competition. The teacher said they were going to formally commend me at the upcoming parent-teacher conference. But Dad was as unreliable as ever. He had promised to attend, but half an hour before it started, he called to say he couldn’t make it. “Serena, Daddy has a very important meeting to run. Have the nanny go to the conference for you, okay? Be a good girl.” But I could clearly hear the giggling of several women in the background. I didn’t expose his lie; I just calmly hung up the phone. Then, I took a picture of the honors list posted on the classroom bulletin board and texted it to Grandpa. On the list, my name and Ethan’s name sat firmly at the top of the middle school and high school divisions respectively. Our matching last names gleamed brightly in the sunlight. I added a message: [Grandpa, Dad had an emergency and can’t make it to my conference. But the teachers really want to talk to my guardian about my future academic track. Could you come?] Grandpa came to the school personally. This was a treatment not even Ethan had ever received. My homeroom teacher was terrified, and the Principal rushed over to host him personally. Grandpa sat regally in the center seat of the Principal’s office and asked, “How are my granddaughter’s studies? Is there anything she needs to improve?” He knew the answer already. The homeroom teacher immediately poured on the praise, confirming that I was an absolutely flawless, top-tier student in every possible regard. Only then did Grandpa nod in satisfaction. After the conference, he hesitated for a moment before actually ordering his driver to take us to the mall. He said, “I noticed all the little girls in your class dressing so brightly. Why are you dressed so plainly? Is your father neglecting you?” In the end, he custom-ordered six or seven tailored outfits for me. And bought me several designer bags. Looking at the numbers on the receipts, I felt a rush of panic. “Grandpa, aren’t you worried I’m just after your money anymore?” He let out a booming laugh. “Go ahead and be after it! I’d be more worried if you weren’t!” I froze for a second, then joined in his laughter. Chloe thought that to win Grandpa over, she needed to be cute, provide emotional value, and act like a spoiled, innocent child. But she didn’t understand that Grandpa was a self-made billionaire. He had seen countless sugar-coated bullets and witnessed the darkest depths of human nature. He didn’t need, nor did he respect, flattery and whining from useless people. What an aging patriarch wanted to see more than anything was a vibrant, capable successor. And me? As long as I continuously proved my competence, it was only a matter of time before I became the second Ethan. Grandpa’s golden child.

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After my terminal cancer diagnosis. In the hospital room, the weather was beautiful one day. For once, I took the time to put on some makeup. I snapped a close-up selfie. “Do I look pretty today?” Many strangers left likes and kind comments. Then, Liam Kensington’s younger sister jumped into the comment section. “Ugly as hell. Did you really think putting on makeup would make my brother change his mind? You don’t deserve him.” After a while, I replied anyway. “I don’t need him to change his mind.” 1 The attending physician let out a heavy sigh. “Where is your family?” I shook my head. “I don’t have any family.” “None? How is that possible?” “They’re very busy. They don’t have time to worry about me. Doctor, I’m heading back to my room.” Leaving the doctor sighing heavily behind me, I returned to the ward. The older woman in the bed next to mine—Martha—kindly checked on me. “How did it go, honey? Any improvement?” I shook my head. “It’s getting worse.” But I wasn’t too sad about it. Martha and the family member of the patient by the window both froze. I could see the pity welling up in their eyes. It was almost time for dinner. Suddenly, I didn’t want to eat the cafeteria food today. The man Martha was caring for—her husband—also complained that the hospital food was bland. I pulled two fifty-dollar bills from my wallet. “Martha, when you go home to cook later, could you buy some extra beef? I’d really love some homemade beef stew.” She was stunned for a second. “Okay. I’ll make a massive pot of it today. Don’t buy anything from the cafeteria, honey. I’ll make enough for all of us to share.” Martha went home to cook. 2 By noon, our hospital room was filled with the rich, savory aroma of beef stew and carrots. The meat was braised until it was meltingly tender. As I ate, tears began to drop silently into my bowl. I simply raised the bowl higher to hide my face. “Slow down, there’s plenty more. I brought the whole slow cooker,” Martha said gently. I didn’t lower my bowl until my eyes were completely dry. In the end, I didn’t have a second serving. In my memories, whenever I refused to eat as a little girl, my mom would make me beef stew. The carrots my mom picked out were always incredibly sweet. Since she passed away, I had never tasted anything like it again. Today, Martha’s cooking brought back a flavor I hadn’t experienced in years. She refused to take the hundred dollars. So, I used a delivery app to order a huge basket of fresh fruit for the room, sharing it with everyone. Our room was unofficially known as the “Death Ward.” All three of us had been diagnosed with terminal bone cancer. While massaging her husband’s legs, Martha suddenly sighed. “Honey, you should ask for a room transfer.” I looked at her, confused. “That bed of yours… it’s bad luck. The last person…” I understood. The last person in this bed didn’t leave the hospital alive. I heard she was a successful female executive in her early thirties. I shook my head. “I don’t believe in superstitions.” Actually, there were VIP suites available, and the doctor had recommended one to me. But I had gone to look at them. They had every amenity you could ask for, but the private rooms were too cold and desolate. I preferred this shared room. Living here, I could listen to people chat every day. It felt grounded, full of ordinary, everyday life. After guarding an empty, massive estate for three years, I was thoroughly sick of the loneliness. I yearned for the warmth of human connection. 3 When Liam Kensington called, I was sleeping. “You’re not home?” I opened my eyes, my voice thick with sleep. “Yeah,” I replied flatly. “I brought Seraphina over. Don’t cause trouble for her.” I didn’t argue. I just said, “Okay.” “You’re agreeing that easily this time?” “Is there anything else? If not, I’m hanging up.” “Hanging up?” he scoffed. “Evelyn Monroe, if you try to play nice to my face and stab her in the back again, I swear I won’t let you get away with it.” I didn’t bother listening to the rest. I hung up. I stared at the muted TV screen. Seraphina was Liam’s mistress. A woman he kept on the side. She was presented to him at a corporate gala. In the past, there had been similar setups, but Liam had never taken the bait. Yet, Seraphina—with her elegant, Southern-belle charm—succeeded. Rumor had it she performed a captivating contemporary ballet routine at the charity ball, winning over everyone in the room. And she successfully climbed into Liam’s bed. I didn’t understand. Why? Liam hadn’t even been drinking that night. How did they just end up together? Since I was a kid, people always told me I was a bit slow to catch on. Before all this, I never once doubted Liam’s love for me. We were childhood sweethearts. We grew up together. When we were just kids, he promised he would marry me. By the time I found out he had been keeping Seraphina for a while, I was trembling. Disbelieving. It felt like my entire world had collapsed. I threw fits. I screamed. We fought. But the more I fought, the more impatient and disgusted his gazes became. Eventually, he gave all his gentleness to Seraphina. I thought maybe I was just getting old. But I was only twenty-six. Liam forbade me from seeing Seraphina. He didn’t even allow the staff to mention her name around me. But eventually, I did see her. And after that meeting, Seraphina had a miscarriage. Word was, it had been a baby boy. Liam was the first to slap me. Then, his mother, Mrs. Kensington, slapped me ten times across the face. Even though I swore I didn’t do it, not a single person believed me. If this were the medieval era, I would have been banished to the dungeon. After that, I was never invited to the Kensington family dinners again. I was left entirely alone in a massive, empty estate. Liam never came home. During those cold, lonely days, I would occasionally dream. I dreamed of my late parents. I dreamed of when Liam and I were young, of the sunny afternoon we first met. He had said, “Evelyn Monroe. Your name sounds really pretty.” I would wake up with my face soaked in tears. I’d slowly pull back the curtains and waste another day away. At first, I couldn’t handle it. I demanded a divorce. I wanted to move to Europe and start a new life. But facing the massive corporate assets my family still held, the Kensington family refused to agree to the divorce. They ignored my legal papers. They just dragged it out, draining my youth. To them, giving me a house and a monthly allowance was a microscopic price to pay to keep me trapped. 4 Suddenly, there was a commotion out in the hallway. I poked my head out. “What’s going on?” Martha hurried in, shaking her head. “Don’t look.” A chorus of wailing erupted outside. A bed covered with a white sheet was wheeled past, surrounded by weeping family members. I froze. I became even quieter after that. It felt like someone left this ward every few days. Sometimes, two bodies were taken away in a single day. Just yesterday, this floor felt wrapped in a mundane, peaceful sort of happiness. So many people had come to ask for a bowl of Martha’s beef stew. There was laughter in the halls. Martha sighed as she wiped down the bedside table. “Thanksgiving is right around the corner. That family just wanted to hold on until the holidays. The universe is too cruel.” At that thought, Martha looked at her husband in the hospital bed. She turned away and wiped her eyes. When she turned back around, she was smiling again. “For Thanksgiving, what kind of pie does everyone want? I’ll go home and bake.” The older woman caring for the patient next door waved her hand. “You’re tired enough every day. Don’t wear yourself out.” “It’s no trouble, it makes me happy! And whoever eats a slice of my pie has to promise to live to be a hundred.” The room fell silent. Everyone lowered their heads. Her husband reached out and squeezed her hand. “You silly old woman.” 5 Thanksgiving arrived in the blink of an eye. Martha handed me a slice of homemade pumpkin pie. I unwrapped the foil. We were all eating in the room. But everyone was only taking tiny, hesitant bites. First, we had no appetite. Second, we had no energy. We were just going through the motions for the holiday. Finally, I couldn’t hold back my tears. “Mom, don’t give me pie, I don’t like it.” “Pie means the family is together, sweetie. Even if you don’t like it, you have to eat a little piece.” In my memory, my mom gently tapped my nose. I was so small back then. I took a massive bite of the pie. I filled my cheeks, chewed slowly, and forced it down. But then I choked. On the TV, they were broadcasting the Kensington family’s holiday gala. There was a massive dining table covered in an opulent, Michelin-star Thanksgiving feast. I bit my lip. In the center of the frame were Mr. and Mrs. Kensington. Next to them was Liam. The woman beside him in the elegant silk dress didn’t show her face; the camera only caught her pale, delicate wrist resting on the table. The left side of the screen stopped there. But on the right side, all the uncles, cousins, and relatives were shown clearly. I turned my head, my mouth full of pie, and looked out the window. In past years, the Kensington family events were always grand and strictly adhered to old-money rules. I never expected them to invite the media this time. The woman next to him was Seraphina. 6 Later on, I saw paparazzi photos of Liam and Seraphina floating around online multiple times. However, none of them ever captured Seraphina’s full face. Just a side profile. Or a silhouette from behind. It sparked a massive discussion online. “Who is the woman next to Liam Kensington?” “Is he keeping a mistress?” “Don’t talk nonsense, you can’t even see her face. It might be his wife.” “If it’s his wife, why hide her face? Plus, her silhouette doesn’t match Evelyn Monroe. This woman is a bit curvier.” “Men always prefer that type.” “Insider gossip: It’s definitely not his wife. But Liam has already brought her home to meet the parents.” “Meet the parents? Then what about the actual Mrs. Kensington?” “Who knows? But come to think of it, no one has seen Evelyn Monroe in the media for years.” I put down my phone. I raised my arm, looking at the limb that was now practically skin and bones. The doctor said I had to shave my head. I pressed my lips together in silence. I contacted my lawyer. Then, I asked the doctor for permission to go home for a few hours. From the taxi, I dialed Liam’s number. We hadn’t seen each other in six months. He sounded even colder than before. “What do you want?” “I’m coming home. We need to talk.” He paused. “You’re at the house?” “Yeah. Almost there.” “I’m in a meeting. I can’t leave.” “I’ll wait.” With that, I hung up. 7 I ended up waiting for four hours. Thankfully, the autumn air was incredibly crisp. I lingered outside, sometimes sitting on the porch steps, sometimes walking among the fallen golden leaves on the driveway. Autumn had arrived. Everything felt bleaker. I looked back at the massive estate. Even the house looked desolate. Liam’s car pulled into the driveway, sweeping up a cloud of dry leaves. He stepped out, looking at me sitting on the steps, and frowned. “Why are you sitting out here? Why didn’t you go inside?” I shook my head. “Forgot my key.” “Forgot it? More like you lost it while you were out messing around.” He turned back, grabbed his keys from the car, and unlocked the front door. As the door opened, a strong, musty smell hit us. He coughed. “Ugh.” His handsome face immediately darkened with anger. I stopped him. “Liam, let’s not go inside. Let’s just talk out here.” In the past, our fights had reached the ugliest extremes, but now, it just felt completely unnecessary. He turned around. His face wore a dark, confused expression. “Talk about what?” I unzipped my puffy jacket and pulled out a stack of documents. “Marry Seraphina. Let’s get a divorce.” He froze, looking at me in sheer disbelief. But then, the anger flared up again. “This time, I don’t want anything. I’m walking away with nothing.” His rising fury instantly morphed back into shock. If I could do it all over again, I would have asked for nothing from the very beginning. Just to fight him, I had traded my life. I trapped myself in this miserable marriage just to prove a point, demanding my 5% of the shares. Fighting for the youth I felt had been stolen. But in the end, what did I actually get? He clenched his fists. “Evelyn Monroe, what crazy game are you playing now?” We stood in silence. He didn’t take the papers. I stepped forward, grabbed his hand, and slapped the divorce agreement onto his palm. I looked up. A golden leaf fell between us. I turned around and walked down the steps. I paused for a second. “I’m leaving. Do whatever you want with this place.” With that, I walked away, accompanied only by the drifting autumn leaves. “Evelyn…” Someone seemed to call my name. But I didn’t want to answer. 8 It was almost time to shave my head. I couldn’t bear to part with my hair. The next day, the hospital barber suddenly had a family emergency and couldn’t make it. I had time to properly document myself one last time. I set up a small tray table on my bed and dumped out the bottles and compacts from my makeup bag. “You’re doing your makeup?” a young nurse asked, frowning. Another nurse quickly pulled her out of the room. That day, my makeup session drew a crowd of patients and their families. They didn’t look at me like I was a freak. They looked at me with encouragement. They told me I looked beautiful, that they had never seen a patient look so pretty. I smiled. “Believe it or not, I was Prom Queen once.” They nodded emphatically. Eventually, I was too exhausted to finish. I quickly curled my eyelashes and snapped a photo. Several patients came over to take group pictures, and I happily obliged. Finally, I picked a solo selfie and posted it to my social media account. #Do I look pretty today?# Suddenly, my notifications exploded with likes. It turned out another patient in the ward had shared my post with their network of survivor groups. “Gorgeous! Literally an angel.” “So pretty, especially your eyes. So big and round.” “I think her nose is the best feature. Perfect profile.” “Just one feature? Her whole face is beautiful! Oh my god, the prettiest girl on the internet.” I pressed my lips together. Their kindness deeply moved me. Suddenly, a comment with a verified yellow badge popped up. “Ugly as hell. Do you think putting on some makeup will make my brother change his mind?” “You don’t deserve him.” The profile picture was a girl in a pink hoodie, showing her side profile. It was Madison Kensington. She had never liked me. Some patients replied to her, telling her to have some basic decency. She fought back viciously in the replies. After a long silence, I picked up my phone. I replied to Madison. “I don’t need him to change his mind.” Then, I deleted the entire post.

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Seven years of a passionate, tumultuous love affair with Zachary ended in a breakup so messy it became public knowledge. Five years later, on the third day of the New Year, I walked into a class reunion with my four-year-old son. The moment I stepped into the private room, I was met with a barrage of surprised and confused stares. My old college roommate sidled up to me and whispered, “Amelia, did you really have Zachary’s son? Does he know?” Her question opened the floodgates. “An unwed mother… and he’s married now. Doesn’t that make the kid illegitimate?” “Bringing him here so brazenly… what’s her game? Is she trying to force his hand?” I was about to explain when the door swung open. Zachary walked in, dressed in a sharp suit, radiating an air of success. He offered me a warm smile, but it froze when he saw my son, a flicker of delighted surprise flashing in his eyes. “Amelia, my son is already this big?” “It must have been so hard for you, raising him alone for the past five years.” I curved my lips into a smile. “Not at all. His father is the one who has it hard.” 01 Zachary, who had just sat down, stiffened. The familiar, mocking smirk played on his lips. “Amelia, you haven’t changed a bit. Your words are always sharper than your heart.” “I know you can’t get over me, but you also know I’m married. This child…” I frowned, cutting him off. “Mr. Hayes, I think you’re mistaken. What does this child have to do with you?” He blinked his handsome eyes, a playful look on his face. “With a face that’s a perfect copy of mine, don’t tell me it’s a coincidence.” A few of our former classmates chimed in with a laugh. “We saw it the second you walked in. He’s the spitting image of Zack when he was a kid. Zack and I grew up together; I’d recognize his son anywhere.” “Amelia, just admit it. You and Zack were inseparable from high school through college. We all thought you’d get married right after graduation. No one expected it to end so badly. I really never thought you’d still have his baby.” “Come on, Amelia, don’t be so stubborn. Being a single mom is tough. Look at how you’re struggling. Zack’s a VP at a publicly-traded company now. A little spare change from him would be enough for you and the boy to live comfortably for years.” Following their gazes, I glanced down at my clothes. Our nanny had the day off, and my roommate had practically dragged me out of the house. My son was at that clingy stage, attached to me like a little koala, so I had just thrown on something casual. I found it almost funny. These kids, who once all wore the same school uniform, were now judging people by their appearance. Zachary pulled a checkbook from his briefcase, wrote out a number, and slid it across the table toward me. His tone was a bit commanding. “We were both too impulsive back then. Regardless, the child is innocent. Take this as compensation.” I didn’t move. I didn’t even look at the check. I just stared at him with cold, empty eyes. “Compensation? You think that’s enough?” Zachary was the illegitimate son of a wealthy family, raised amidst scorn and indifference. It gave him a hidden anxiety disorder, a secret only the two of us shared. People thought he was cold and aloof, but in reality, he was deliberately suppressing his impulses, avoiding interaction. A single word, a glance, an unintentional gesture could trigger an episode. At his worst, he had cut me with a knife. Our first baby was lost when he beat me during one of his blackouts. I can’t remember how many times he caused me to miscarry. Five? Six? Maybe more? But I never blamed him. To soothe him, I taught myself psychology. I sold the heirlooms my mother left me to buy him the best medication. But when we broke up, he heartlessly told me to get rid of what was likely my last chance at having a child. Zachary’s gaze was complicated. I knew he understood the meaning behind my words. He pushed the check forward again, an act that felt like both an apology and charity. “Amelia, what’s the point? You’ve already had our son. Why can’t you see reason?” I shot him a look, my voice cool. “See what reason? That I should use our child to force my way back into your life?” “Zachary, I’ll say it one more time. This child…” “Oh, what a lively party!” A sickeningly sweet, familiar voice interrupted me. A beautiful, exquisitely dressed woman in a designer outfit walked in. Zachary’s childhood friend quickly made the introduction. “This is Zack’s wife. She was our high school classmate too, just in a different class. Amelia, do you remember her? She was quite close to you for a while.” I focused on feeding my son a spoonful of dessert, not looking up. My voice was flat. “I remember. Of course, I remember my dear sister, Isabel.” The chatter in the room died instantly. The only sound was the clinking of the spoon against the bowl. The awkward silence didn’t last long. Isabel smiled and took my hand. “Sister, it’s been too long. I’m so surprised you came.” I pulled my hand away and wiped my son’s mouth with a napkin. It was only then that she got a clear look at my son’s face. Her expression changed immediately. “Sister, you… you actually had him?” She looked at Zachary, tears welling up in her eyes. “Zack, she had your son. I can’t let her be a single mother. Let’s… let’s get a divorce…” Zachary gently pulled her into his arms, seating her beside him. “Don’t be silly. You’re about to be a mother yourself, you can’t be so naive. You feel sorry for her, but do you think I have the heart to make you a single mother?” His words were laced with a cruel irony. He seemed to have forgotten how heartless he’d been when I had insisted on keeping my child. “Amelia, I will not acknowledge this child. If you want to be a single mother, that’s your problem. Don’t ever think I’m coming back!” So, he did have a soft spot. It just wasn’t for me. Seven years of shared history, countless lost babies. To him, I was just a stranger. The atmosphere was thick with tension. No one had expected Zachary’s current wife to be my own sister. I stood up to leave, but Isabel raised a glass to the room. “I’m sorry, everyone. I’m pregnant, so I can’t drink. I’ll toast you all with tea instead. Thank you all for taking care of Zack in the years I was away.” “Especially you, sister. Zack told me you taught him how to love someone. Otherwise, he wouldn’t love me so much.” I didn’t say a word, didn’t raise my glass. I just kept feeding my son. Isabel, seemingly unfazed by the awkwardness, quickly mingled with our old classmates. Someone asked how we were sisters. She gave a meaningful smile, her explanation deliberately vague. “We have the same father, but different mothers. She’s the younger sister. I’m sure you understand.” With one sentence, she branded me with the shame of being the illegitimate child of a homewrecker. But was that the truth? Who was the real homewrecker? My father was a junior employee at my grandfather’s company. He was handsome and capable, so my grandfather introduced him to my mother. After my grandfather passed away, my father took over the company, and that’s when Isabel and her mother showed up. That was when my mother learned that before my father had even married her, he had already gotten another woman pregnant. The shock sent my mother into a deep depression, and she took her own life. Isabel and her mother brazenly took my mother’s place, and mine. That happened right after our high school graduation. Besides Zachary, no one knew. Rage galloped through me like a wild horse. I slammed the spoon down into the bowl, splattering dessert everywhere. Just as I was about to retaliate, my son’s soft little hand gripped my finger. His big, dark eyes were filled with fear. “Mommy, are you upset? Noah is eating nicely.” My heart lurched. I had forgotten my son was here. I couldn’t lose my temper in front of him. Bringing him today was a mistake. I couldn’t let someone else’s malice terrify my child. I took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing the anger back down. I managed a weak smile. “No, honey. Noah is being a very good boy. Let’s go home.” I stood to leave, but Isabel called out, “Sister, you haven’t been home in five years. Dad misses you. My mom and I have forgiven you for what happened. You should go see him.” I lifted my eyes, my gaze as sharp as ice. “Isabel, you’ve always had a talent for twisting black into white, for making evil seem righteous. You did it with my mother and me, and you did it with you and Zachary. Do you need me to elaborate?” Her face paled instantly. Zachary’s expression darkened. He tapped his fingers heavily on the table twice. “Alright, let the past be the past. It’s a rare occasion for us all to get together. Don’t ruin the mood.” Another vague dismissal. It was always the same. Whenever we fought, whenever he cheated, he never admitted he was wrong. I was always the one on trial. A chill spread through my chest. I took my son’s hand and stood up to leave. “It’s not convenient for me with a child. I’m heading out. You all have fun.” “Wait.” I turned to look at Zachary, who had called out to me. “Is there something else?” He pointed to the check on the table. “Take the money. Consider it a New Year’s gift for my son.” I let out a cold, humorless laugh and shook my head. “No, thank you. His father already gave him one.” I turned to leave, but my roommate grabbed my sleeve, her face etched with apology. “I’m so sorry, Amelia. I didn’t know it would be like this. Just wait a little longer. It’s snowing heavily outside, it’ll be hard to get a cab. I’ll call one for you…” Just then, my phone buzzed. A message from my husband. 【Darling, the snow is making the roads treacherous. I’ll be there in about half an hour. Wait for me.】 Alright. Another thirty minutes. I could endure it. Seeing me sit back down, Zachary seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, his usual cool smile returning to his face. Isabel’s smile, however, was frozen, her eyes glued to the check on the table. She was a master actress. Even seething with rage, she maintained an image of generosity in front of Zachary. She forced a smile. “Sister, don’t be so stubborn. It hurts me to see you struggling. Take the money. If you ever need anything in the future, just come to your sister and brother-in-law.” She stressed the words “sister” and “brother-in-law,” each one like a sharp slap across my face. She was warning me not to cross the line. But wasn’t she the one who had crossed it first? After my mother died, I had a huge fight with my father. I wanted to just leave. But I couldn’t. If I left, everything my grandfather and my mother had worked for would fall into their hands. I was young and hot-headed back then, no match for the likes of Isabel and her mother. They constantly plotted against me. Once, I was locked in the basement for three days without a scrap of food or a drop of water. Zachary, beaten black and blue by their bodyguards, rescued me. Isabel accused me of stealing her diamond necklace and had me thrown into a hole in the ice in the dead of winter. Zachary, ignoring the danger, smashed the ice with his bare fists to pull me out. For me, he had jeopardized his family’s business dealings, torn ties with my father, and broken with his own family. He knew better than anyone the injustices I had suffered. He hated that mother-daughter pair even more than I did. So, the moment I saw him and Isabel, tangled and half-naked in the bed of what was supposed to be our marital home, every cell in my body died. Zachary’s enraged eyes met mine. “Amelia! Get out, or do you want to join in?” I should have left. I should have done something. But my feet felt rooted to the spot. I should have screamed, I should have gone insane. But I didn’t. I just stood there and watched them. My eyes, my heart, my mind were a complete blank. I couldn’t even shed a single tear. In the end, Zachary shoved me forcefully out the door. I stood there, just outside, until they emerged, fully dressed and holding hands. It was then that some switch flipped in my brain, and I launched myself at Isabel. Zachary pulled Isabel behind him, shielding her, and pushed me to the ground with one hand, looking down at me. “Amelia, look at yourself. We’re adults. Can’t you be more dignified?” I screamed at him, “When did it start? Why?” “Does it matter? Amelia, I’m tired of you. Is that answer good enough for you?” He was as cold as a stranger, his words like daggers, finding their mark in my heart. I scrambled up and tried to tear at Isabel, screaming that she was a whore, a homewrecker. Zachary slapped me across the face. “Amelia, have you made enough of a scene? We’re not even married. It’s not clear who the homewrecker is. Your mother is a perfect example, isn’t she?” I froze, feeling as if I’d been struck by lightning. In that moment, my world went silent. It’s true. The person who knows you best knows exactly how to hurt you the most. I refused to break up. I cried, I made scenes, I threatened to kill myself. When he felt a pang of guilt, he would come and comfort me. When he got tired of me, he would go back to Isabel. I went to his office and caused a scene. I posted their chat logs and bed photos online. I did everything a cheated woman could do, but it only pushed Zachary further away. The last time, I held a razor blade to my wrist in front of him. He just watched, his eyes cold, as the blood dripped onto the floor. That icy stare still sends a shiver down my spine. “Amelia, if you die, I’ll feel guilty for a while. But it won’t stop me from falling in love with someone else.” In that moment, I finally woke up. I let go. Lifting my head, my eyes met Zachary’s cool gaze, and an unbidden chill ran through me. I couldn’t stay in this room a moment longer. I shot to my feet and took my son’s hand. “My husband is here to pick me up. I’m leaving.” But Zachary grabbed my arm, a hint of something fragile in his eyes. “Amelia, you married someone else while raising my son?” His words drew a new round of speculative and contemptuous glances from our old classmates. “What is Amelia thinking? Did she run out of money to raise the kid? She actually found a guy to take on her baggage?” “That can’t be right. She’s still a daughter of the Su family. Even if she had a falling out with them, she should have enough money for a child, right?” “She looks so pure on the surface, but she just couldn’t stand being alone. It’s not that surprising. Zachary dumped her, and she’s still young. She can’t just be celibate forever.” “She probably found some old rich guy. What decent man would want a woman pregnant with another man’s child?” The whispers were like a thousand invisible hands, tearing my dignity to shreds. Seeing my distress, my roommate spoke up for me. “Don’t just gossip if you don’t know the whole story. Amelia must have her reasons.” I slowly regained my composure and managed a smile. “There are no reasons. I just got married. Right after we broke up.” Everyone froze. A crack appeared on Zachary’s eternally stoic face.

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Whenever I asked Mark to go downstairs, I’d add as an afterthought, “Don’t forget to take the trash out.” He always nodded. And he always forgot. Then I noticed something. Whenever he went downstairs, the trash bag outside our neighbor Daisy’s door would be gone the next morning. One time, I didn’t remind him at all. Sure enough, our trash bag was still sitting by our door, while the space in front of her apartment was spotless. I stood there for a few seconds, the faint, sour smell of last night’s garbage hanging in the air. Without a word, I picked up our trash and took it down myself. From that day on, I stopped reminding him of anything. I no longer asked what time he’d be home. I no longer entrusted him with any “while you’re at it” tasks. Until one night, he suddenly asked me, “Have you been a little cold to me lately?” I glanced at the empty trash bin by the door, thought for a moment, and shook my head. “Not at all.” It was only later that I realized some people don’t forget what they’re supposed to do. They’ve already chosen who is worth remembering. And it was time I learned to remove him from my list of necessities. … It was 2 a.m. when Mark came home. I was still awake, sitting on the living room floor, sorting through years of household receipts. I didn’t look up when the door opened. A faint scent of perfume, mingled with smoke and alcohol, drifted in. “Hey, Ellie. Still up?” Mark’s voice was laced with a guilty, eager-to-please tone. He was holding an elegant insulated container, and he crouched down in front of me. “I passed by Ocean’s Crest on the way home and stood in line to get you their seafood chowder. It’s still hot.” He kicked off his shoes, his expression expectant, as if waiting for praise. I was sitting on the sofa, reading a book. I glanced up, my eyes landing on the container. The seafood chowder from Ocean’s Crest was famous for being packed with fresh ingredients—rich, succulent pieces of lobster and crab. But because it was so rich, the potent, sweet-and-briny smell seeped out even through the sealed lid. My stomach churned. I felt my brow furrow almost imperceptibly. “Thanks. Just leave it there,” I said flatly. My indifference seemed to annoy him. He placed the chowder on the coffee table and reached out to put a hand on my shoulder, but I leaned forward, pretending to turn a page, and his hand met empty air. It hovered there for an awkward moment before he retracted it, clearing his throat and starting to unbutton his shirt. “Oh, by the way, I need this shirt for a meeting tomorrow. It’s a bit wrinkled. Can you iron it for me? Remember to hand-wash it first. The fabric is delicate, it can’t go in the machine.” His tone was so matter-of-fact, as if I were his highly paid housekeeper. I glanced at the shirt. It was a gift from me for our wedding anniversary—a custom-tailored Italian silk blend. It was, indeed, delicate. In the past, I had always hand-washed each of his fine shirts in cold water, using a steamer to gently smooth out every crease, terrified of scorching a single thread. I looked at him and found the situation almost funny. “Mark,” I said, gesturing to the chowder. “Did you forget I’m severely allergic to shellfish?” He froze, his hands stilled on his tie. A look of shock flashed across his face, quickly followed by embarrassment and guilt. “Oh. Right… are you? I thought you used to like fish…” “That was freshwater fish,” I said, putting down the receipts. “The last time I accidentally ate shellfish, I was in the emergency room for two days. You were the one who filled out the hospital admission forms.” That was only last year. At the time, he’d been playing on his phone, complaining about how hard the hospital chairs were and how careless I’d been to get sick and make him take time off work to be there. It was clear now just how little he’d been paying attention. Mark’s face flushed red, his eyes darting away. “Well… I must have gotten it mixed up. I was just trying to do something nice for you, get you something nourishing. My mistake. I’ll get you something else next time.” He reached for the chowder, but I was already on my feet. I picked up the expensive container, walked it to the kitchen, and dropped the entire thing, box and all, directly into the trash can. It landed with a dull thud. Mark’s expression soured instantly. “Eleanor, what the hell? That was a hundred-dollar chowder! I haven’t eaten either!” “I don’t keep allergens in my house. It’s bad luck.” I turned on the faucet and began washing my hands, my voice as calm as if I were commenting on the weather. He was speechless. He took a deep breath, visibly trying to control his anger. He pointed a finger at the shirt. “Fine. The chowder was my fault. But at least get my shirt ready. I’m starving. I’m going to make some noodles.” He turned and strode into the kitchen, expertly opening cabinets to find a package of ramen. I dried my hands, picked up the silk shirt, and walked into the laundry room. Instead of filling a basin with cool water, I opened the washing machine, balled up the shirt, and tossed it inside. I poured in regular detergent, selected the “Heavy Duty” cycle, and pressed start. As the drum began to roar and tumble, I knew that delicate, expensive shirt was ruined. Mark came out with his bowl of noodles just in time to hear the spin cycle kick in. He paused, then rushed into the laundry room. His eyes practically bulged out of his head when he saw the machine churning at high speed. “Eleanor! Are you insane? That’s a three-hundred-dollar shirt! I told you it had to be hand-washed!” He fumbled with the buttons, stopping the cycle. He pulled out the shirt—now a wrinkled, misshapen rag—and his face twisted in a pained grimace. I leaned against the doorframe, watching his tantrum with a profound sense of calm. “I used to hand-wash it because I loved you, because I thought you were worth the effort.” I met his furious gaze, a wry smile touching my lips. “Now? The machine works just fine. It’s going to get wrinkled when you wear it anyway. Why waste the time?” Mark stared at me in disbelief, as if he were seeing me for the first time. “You were never like this. Eleanor, what is wrong with you lately? Is this all because I took out Daisy’s trash a few times? You’re going to act like this over that?” Oh. So he knew. He knew exactly what was bothering me, yet he chose to play dumb, to twist it around and accuse me of being hysterical. I looked at the soggy scrap of fabric in his hands and said softly, “Mark, you can always buy a new shirt. But some things, once they’re broken, can never be fixed.” After the seafood chowder incident, Mark gave me the silent treatment for two days. His social media, however, was anything but silent. He’d blocked me, but had forgotten about my alt account. Yesterday, there was a picture of him in the hallway, fixing a shoe cabinet. The caption read: A good neighbor is better than a distant relative. Always happy to help. In the corner of the photo, a pair of feet in pink bunny slippers was just visible. Daisy. I scrolled down to her feed. The same scene, but from a different angle. A shot of Mark’s back as he knelt on the floor, screwdriver in hand. There was a cute cartoon band-aid on his hand. The caption: Some hands are meant to rule the world, but he hurt his helping little ol’ me. So touched! They were practically flirting in public. I casually liked the post. Then I put my phone away and peeled the last shrimp on the table, placing it in my own bowl. Mark sat across from me, a scowl on his face. “Eleanor, when did you become so selfish? You always peel my shrimp for me.” I sipped my chamomile tea, watching him calmly without a word. He stopped, dropping a half-peeled shrimp onto his plate. “Why aren’t you saying anything? You’re not even going to peel them? You used to have a whole bowl ready for me by now.” Used to. Yes. Mark used to say he was clumsy and always pricked his fingers on the shells. He was a designer, he’d say, his hands were his most valuable asset. So every time we had shrimp, I was the one in gloves, my fingers stinging from the spicy oil, peeling each one for him. Watching him eat happily used to feel like a form of joy. Even when my fingers would later become red, swollen, and peel from the spice, he would just casually say, “You don’t have to do that next time,” and then, next time, he would wait expectantly for me to serve him again. “Mark,” I said, setting down my cup. My eyes fell on his long, elegant hands. “Your hands truly are precious.” He took it as a compliment and grunted in agreement. “Of course. These hands have to draw.” “Yes, hands for drawing,” I said with a cold smile. “But they seemed fine the other night in the hallway, when you were fixing our neighbor Daisy’s shoe cabinet. I didn’t hear you complaining about your precious hands then.” “That… Her cabinet was broken, and she’s a single woman. She couldn’t move it herself. I just happened to see her struggling. I couldn’t just walk away, could I? I just gave her a hand.” “‘A hand’? It looked like you brought your entire toolbox.” I scoffed. “Mark, you’re the man who used to wait for me to climb a ladder to change a lightbulb because you claimed you had vertigo. What happened? Did your vertigo magically disappear for the pretty neighbor? Or are your hands only precious when it comes to doing things for other people, and at home, they just wait to be served?” His face flushed a deep red. “Why do you have to be so sarcastic? What’s wrong with neighbors helping each other? Look at you now. What happened to the sweet, gentle woman I married?” “Sweet and gentle?” I put down my chopsticks and wiped my mouth with a napkin. “Mark, my gentleness is for my husband, not for a pampered child. And since your hands are so skilled, don’t expect me to call a handyman anymore when something breaks. We’ll save some money. You, the helpful neighbor, can fix it yourself.” With that, I stood up and started clearing the table. Mark sat there, watching my brisk movements. It probably dawned on him for the first time that the Eleanor who used to smile and agree to everything he said was gone. Good. It’s about time we all faced reality.

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My life had entered its final countdown, and I finally decided to let go of everything. I abandoned the noisy, exhausting city and moved back to my small hometown. My neighbor told me that the local sheriff’s deputies handled just about everything around here. Folks went to them for any kind of trouble—including welfare checks and handling arrangements when someone passed away alone. I was terrified of falling asleep one day and never waking up, with no one to take care of my body. But I never expected that when I walked into the local station, I would run into my ex-boyfriend from six years ago. When enemies meet, their eyes blaze red. He didn’t give me a single shred of warmth. He just scowled and told me to get lost. I had no way out, so I braced myself and asked, “I can’t get lost just yet. Can you wait a little longer?” With him around, my death wouldn’t be so quiet. After all, he was the one who said it. He once promised that the day karma finally killed me, he would buy fireworks to celebrate. 1 On my very first day back in my hometown, I spent hours cleaning up the old house. Then, I lay down on the bed to wait for death. Suddenly, my neighbor knocked on the door. She had brought over a plate of homemade apple pie to welcome me. She enthusiastically told me, “Sweetheart, you’re living all alone. If you ever run into any trouble, just go to the sheriff’s station down the street.” “A young woman by herself needs to be careful. I have Deputy Miller’s number. Why don’t you add him? If anything happens, you can just text him.” “Plus, he’s about your age. Who knows, maybe it’ll be a match made in heaven,” Mrs. Higgins teased, covering her mouth with a laugh. A match made in heaven didn’t matter to me. I only had about a month left to live anyway. I wasn’t about to drag anyone down with me. Right now, my only hope was finding someone who could handle my funeral arrangements. Thinking it over, I realized her suggestion made sense. Having a deputy as a contact would definitely be reliable when the time came. Mrs. Higgins quickly texted me Deputy Miller’s contact info. His profile picture was a silhouette of a girl standing against the sunlight. So much for a match made in heaven, I thought. He clearly already had a girl he loved. I sent a friend request. A moment later, he replied with a single question mark. Were all cops this cold nowadays? Looking closer, I realized I had forgotten to include an introduction message. I quickly typed: “Hi, I’m Harper. I just moved back to town.” That should be enough for him to accept, right? But this time, he didn’t reply at all. It wasn’t until late that night, when I had almost forgotten about it, that my phone buzzed. He sent: “What the hell is your problem?” 2 I froze. Why was he cursing at me? I went next door to ask Mrs. Higgins, double-checking the number just to make sure I hadn’t added the wrong person. “Mrs. Higgins, does this deputy have a really bad temper?” “No way! Deputy Miller looks tough, but he has a heart of gold. Whenever anyone in town has an issue, he’s the first to help.” That was weird. I hadn’t even done anything to him. Why was he mad at me? Patiently, I typed out a long paragraph explaining why I had added him. But he never replied. Mrs. Higgins offered a solution: “Don’t worry about it. I’m free tomorrow, I’ll take you down to the station so you can introduce yourself in person. It’ll make things easier later.” The sky grew dark. My failing body couldn’t handle staying up late anymore. I thanked her sincerely, went back home, washed up, and got into bed. But lying there, I couldn’t sleep. My brain felt heavy and chaotic. I was sleeping in my old childhood bedroom. I hadn’t cleared out the other rooms yet—especially Grams’s room. I tossed and turned. Suddenly, my nose felt warm. I reached up to wipe it. My fingers came away slick with thick, sticky blood. That woke me up instantly. Relying on the moonlight filtering through the window, I clutched my bleeding nose and struggled to sit up. I blindly stumbled into the bathroom. When I flicked on the light, I saw that my pajamas were already stained dark red. I went through the familiar routine of stopping the nosebleed, but a wave of dizzying vertigo hit me hard. I gripped the edge of the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Tangled hair clung to my sweaty face, and my skin was as pale as a ghost’s. When the dizziness finally faded, I started scrubbing the blood out of my clothes. It was a good thing I chose to come back to my hometown. If my friends from the oncology ward saw me like this, they’d be heartbroken. They always said it was incredibly unfair for someone as young as me to get this disease. They naturally pitied me and tried to take care of me. I loved spending time with them. But I couldn’t endure the pain of laughing with them one day, only to see their beds empty and their names crossed off the whiteboard the next. So, I chose to leave. My head was pounding. Knowing I wouldn’t be able to sleep, I walked out onto the balcony. Unexpectedly, I saw Mrs. Higgins limping up the sidewalk. A tall man was helping her walk. I instinctively opened my mouth to call out to her, but the man supporting her suddenly lifted his head. There was a bright streetlight right next to them. The glare was blinding. I didn’t know if my vision was failing me, but I couldn’t clearly make out his face. 3 I rubbed my eyes hard. He was still standing there. But his gaze… it was filled with absolute disgust and cold indifference. I swayed on my feet. I guess my illness is affecting my brain now, I thought. I’m actually hallucinating Liam. The way he was looking at me was exactly the same as the day we broke up six years ago. Filled with hatred and bitter resentment. That day was supposed to be the happiest day of his life. He had just received his acceptance letter to West Point. He came running to me, ecstatic, wanting to share the joy. But I shattered his excitement with three cruel words: “Let’s break up.” He froze, staring at me in disbelief. “What did you just say?” “I said, let’s break up. I’m bored of this. I don’t want to be with you anymore.” He ground his teeth together, his voice trembling. “Harper, are you serious right now?” Things got incredibly ugly that day. We said a lot of things designed to cut each other to the bone. And he looked at me exactly the way he was looking at me now—like he wanted to strangle me. Suddenly, reality snapped back into place. The man standing on the sidewalk down below wasn’t a hallucination. It really was him. Cold sweat prickled down my spine. For some reason, a wave of intense guilt washed over me. Thankfully, he didn’t stand there for long before turning and walking away. I let out a massive sigh of relief, my legs trembling beneath me. Over the past six years, I had imagined what our reunion would look like a thousand times. But I never imagined it would be like this. 4 The next morning, an energetic Mrs. Higgins dragged me down to the sheriff’s station at the end of the street. She introduced me to the deputies working the front desks one by one. When her eyes landed on a tall man wearing a pressed tan and green uniform, I froze. “Harper, this is Deputy Miller! I told you about him. He patrols our neighborhood. If you ever need anything, you just let him know.” Liam’s face was stone-cold. There wasn’t a single ripple of emotion in his eyes. He acted as if this was the very first time we had ever met. I held out my hand to greet him. “Hi, Deputy Miller.” His expression remained indifferent, as if to say: Why are you acting? He stood perfectly still, making no move to take my hand. Embarrassed, I pulled my hand back. Thankfully, Mrs. Higgins was there to smooth things over. She brought up the text messages from last night. Liam reluctantly pulled out his phone, his voice dropping to absolute zero. “When you text me, you’d better have a damn good reason.” I knew what he meant. He was telling me not to annoy him like I used to. I nodded and said with total sincerity, “Don’t worry. I’ll only bother you when I’m about to die.” Otherwise, there would be no one to collect my body. Liam’s fingers tightened around his phone, his eyes turning vicious. “See that you do.” 5 His gaze felt like a literal sword piercing my chest. I never expected that even after six years, he would still hate me this much. But that was fine. With him here, I could finally rest easy. After all, he had made a promise once. He said that the day karma finally came for me and I died, he would light fireworks to celebrate. At least that meant my send-off wouldn’t be totally silent. 6 Liam and I grew up together. My parents were always out of state, working odd jobs to send money back. It was just me and my bedridden Grams in our rundown little house. Liam’s dad was the town sheriff. He was a warm, incredibly kind man. Knowing my family was struggling, he was always quietly looking out for us. When we were kids, I wasn’t very smart and always did poorly in school. Liam, on the other hand, was always top of the class. His dad suggested that Liam tutor me, so I started spending every afternoon at their house. Liam was only ten at the time, the same age as me, but he was already a head taller. Unlike his friendly dad, Liam was quiet and reserved. He looked intimidating, like someone you shouldn’t mess with. I used to follow him around timidly like a little shadow. He rarely talked to me, but whenever his parents bought him snacks or treats, he would always silently push half of them toward me. Later, in middle school, the other kids found out my parents practically abandoned me. So they bullied me. They called me an orphan and a stray dog. Sometimes they would corner me in the alleyway after school and demand money. When I refused, they would beat me up. One day, they hit me particularly hard. I was covered in bruises, limping my way home. Liam was walking back from basketball practice and saw me. He grabbed the back of my collar, stopping me in my tracks, and asked through gritted teeth, “Who did this?” I was too scared to answer. The bullies had promised that if I snitched, they would go after my sick Grams next. Seeing my silence, he let out a dark, angry laugh. “Fine. You don’t want to tell me? Let’s go show your grandmother what you look like and see how you explain it to her!” I panicked. Stuttering and crying, I finally gave him their names. The very next day, he brought his dad—the Sheriff—directly to the bullies’ houses, one by one. No kid isn’t terrified of a cop showing up at their front door. After his dad handled the situation, he looked at me sternly. “Harper, this is malicious bullying. If you tolerate it once, they’ll just get bolder. If this ever happens again, you come straight to me.” From that day on, Liam waited for me at the school gates every single afternoon. He walked me home. Whenever anything went wrong at my house, he was the first one there. He never tried to hide how much he cared about me. 7 In high school, Liam announced he wanted to apply to West Point. He wanted to be a good man who protected his country, just like his dad protected our town. Desperate not to be separated from him, I studied until I made myself sick, aiming for a teaching college right across the river from his academy. But he was scared, too. He was scared I would leave him behind. He used to tell me, “If you don’t get into that school, it’s fine. Go wherever you want. I can always just come find you.” At the end of senior year, the day his acceptance letter arrived in the mail, he ran to my house to celebrate. Instead, I said, “Let’s break up, Liam.” “I only agreed to date you so people would stop bullying me. Now that I’m leaving this town, there’s no reason for us to be together anymore.” Under the moonlight, the bright, boyish smile on his face completely shattered. The shadows from the trees made his face look deathly pale. The hand gripping his acceptance letter was shaking uncontrollably. It took him a long time to finally speak. “Harper… are you serious?” My hands, hidden deep in my pockets, clenched into tight fists until my nails dug into my palms. Then, I forced them to relax. As if I had made the easiest decision in the world, I said coldly, “Yes. You deserve someone better, Liam.” His eyes filled with a desperate, furious refusal. He clenched his fists tight. “Harper,” he spat viciously. “You had better never, ever come back to this town.” “If I ever find out that karma finally got you and you died, I swear to God I’ll light fireworks to celebrate.” He didn’t know that on that exact same day, I had lost my Grams forever. And I had lost my so-called parents forever, too. Back then, I never imagined his curse would actually come true. If he knew that karma had actually caught up to me, he’d probably be thrilled.

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Every time I asked Vanessa to head downstairs, I’d add a casual reminder: “Don’t forget to take the trash out.” She’d always nod, and she’d always forget. Later, I noticed something. Whenever she went down, the trash outside our neighbor Sebastian’s door would miraculously vanish by the next morning. Once, I purposefully didn’t say a word. Predictably, our trash sat right where it was, while the hallway across from us was spotless. I stood at the door for a few seconds, breathing in the faint, sour stench of overnight fermentation. I didn’t say a word. I simply picked up the bag and walked it down myself. From day on, I stopped reminding her of anything. I stopped asking what time she’d be home. I stopped asking her for “quick favors.” Until one night, she suddenly looked at me and asked, “Are you being a little cold to me lately?” I looked at the empty trash can in the foyer, thought about it for a second, and shook my head. “Not at all.” I had simply realized that some people don’t “forget” what they’re supposed to do; they’ve just already decided who is worth remembering. And I had decided it was time to move her from my “must-have” list to the “disposable” one. … Vanessa didn’t get home until two in the morning. I wasn’t asleep. I was sitting on the living room rug, organizing the past few years of our household expenses and bank statements. When I heard the door, I didn’t look up. A faint scent of perfume, mingled with the sharp tang of gin and cigarette smoke, drifted over. “Honey, you’re still up?” Her voice held that guilty, over-compensated sweetness. She knelt in front of me, clutching a polished thermal bag. “I passed by The Gilded Oyster on the way back. I waited in line forever to get you their signature seafood bisque. It’s still hot.” She kicked off her heels, looking at me with the expression of a golden retriever begging for a pat on the head. I looked up from my papers, my gaze landing on the container. The Gilded Oyster was famous—rich, heavy, loaded with crab and lobster. But because it was so rich, the briny, cloying scent of shellfish seeped through the lid. My stomach churned. A tiny, involuntary frown creased my brow. “Thanks. Just put it over there,” I said flatly. Vanessa seemed annoyed by my lack of enthusiasm. She set the soup on the coffee table and reached out to rest her hand on my shoulder, but I leaned forward to turn a page, subtly slipping out of her reach. Her hand hung in the air for a second before she pulled it back awkwardly. She started unbuttoning her cuffs, pulling off her silk blouse. “By the way, I need this shirt for a meeting tomorrow. It’s a bit wrinkled. Can you steam it for me? Remember to hand-wash it first—this fabric is temperamental, it can’t go in the machine.” The tone was so matter-of-fact, as if I were a high-end concierge she’d put on retainer. I glanced at the shirt. It was a gift I’d bought her for our anniversary—custom Italian silk blend. Delicate. Expensive. In the past, I would have hand-washed it in cool water and meticulously steamed out every microscopic crease, terrified of snagging a single thread. I looked at her, and a sudden, sharp laugh bubbled up in my chest. “Vanessa,” I said, pointing at the soup. “Did you seriously forget that I have a life-threatening shellfish allergy?” Her hand froze on her tie. A flash of confusion crossed her face, followed quickly by embarrassment and guilt. “Oh. Right… wait, really? I thought you loved fish…” “Freshwater fish,” I said, setting the bills down. “The last time I accidentally ate shellfish, I spent two days in the ER on an IV drip. You were the one who signed the admission papers.” That was only last year. I remembered her sitting by the hospital bed, scrolling through her phone and complaining about how hard the chairs were, grumbling that I was “careless” for making her take a day off work to watch me. Clearly, it hadn’t made much of an impression. Vanessa’s face flushed. Her eyes darted around the room. “I… I must have mixed it up. I was just trying to do something nice for you, bring you a treat. I’ll get you something else next time.” She reached for the container, but I was already standing. I picked up the expensive bag of soup, walked into the kitchen, and dropped the whole thing—bag and all—directly into the trash. Thump. Vanessa’s expression shifted instantly. “Grant, what the hell? That was an eighty-dollar soup! I haven’t even eaten yet!” “It’s an allergen. I don’t want it in my house. It feels like bad luck,” I said, turning on the faucet to wash my hands. My voice was as calm as if I were commenting on the weather. She stood there, stifled by my indifference. She took a deep breath, clearly suppressing her temper, and pointed at the silk shirt. “Fine. I messed up the soup. Just fix the shirt for me. I’m starving, I’m going to go make some pasta.” She turned toward the kitchen, familiar and comfortable in our space. I dried my hands, picked up the silk shirt, and walked into the laundry room. I didn’t reach for the basin of lukewarm water. Instead, I yanked open the heavy door of the washing machine, balled the silk into a tight knot, and tossed it in. I poured in the generic detergent, selected the “Heavy Duty” cycle, and hit start. As the drum began to roar and tumble, I knew that delicate Italian silk was as good as dead. When Vanessa emerged from the kitchen with a bowl of noodles, she heard the high-speed spin cycle. She froze, then sprinted to the laundry room. She stared at the spinning glass door, her eyes nearly bulging out of her head. “Grant! Are you insane? That’s a five-hundred-dollar shirt! I told you it had to be hand-washed!” She frantically hit the stop button and yanked out the wet, mangled, shrunken wad of fabric. The collar was twisted, the silk dull and ruined. Her face contorted with physical pain for the garment. I leaned against the doorframe, watching her meltdown with a terrifying sense of peace. “I used to hand-wash them because I loved you,” I said, meeting her furious gaze with a slight, mocking tilt of my head. “I thought you were worth the effort.” I paused, letting the silence stretch. “Now? The machine works fine. It’s going to get wrinkled eventually anyway. Why waste the time?” Vanessa looked at me like she was seeing a stranger. “You were never like this. Grant, what is wrong with you lately? Is this still about the trash? Are you seriously throwing a tantrum because I helped Sebastian with his bins a few times?” Oh. So she knew exactly what she was doing. She knew what was bothering me, but she chose to play dumb, even turning it around to frame me as the one “throwing a tantrum.” I looked at the wet rag in her hands and spoke softly. “Vanessa, you can buy a new shirt. But when some things break, there is no fixing them.” After the soup incident, Vanessa didn’t say a word to me for two days. Her social media, however, was thriving. She had blocked my main account, but she forgot about my burner. Yesterday, she posted a photo of herself in the hallway, leaning over a shoe rack. The caption read: Good neighbors are better than distant relatives. Kindness is its own reward. 🕊️ In the corner of the frame, I could see a pair of blue-grey slippers. Sebastian’s slippers. I scrolled down to Sebastian’s profile. Same angle. He’d posted a shot of Vanessa’s back as she knelt on the floor with a screwdriver. There was a cute, animated heart-shaped band-aid on her knuckle. His caption: Some people use their hands to rule the world, but she uses hers to fix my cabinets. My hero. It was a choreographed duet. A public flirtation disguised as “neighborly help.” I gave the post a “Like.” Then I turned off my phone and finished peeling the last shrimp on the table, putting it in my own bowl. Vanessa sat across from me, her face darkening. “Grant, when did you become so selfish? You used to peel the shrimp for me.” I sipped my barley tea, saying nothing, just watching her with a blank expression. She dropped her fork, leaving a half-peeled shrimp on her plate, and scowled. “Why aren’t you answering me? You aren’t even going to help? You used to give me the whole bowl.” Used to. Yeah. Vanessa used to say she was clumsy, that the shells pricked her fingers. She said she was an architect—her hands were her livelihood; she couldn’t risk a scratch. So every time we had seafood, I was the one wearing the gloves, enduring the sting of the spices on my skin, peeling them one by one. Seeing her eat happily felt like a reward back then. Even when my fingers grew red and raw from the salt and heat, she’d just say, “Maybe don’t peel so many next time,” before waiting for me to serve her again. “Vanessa,” I said, setting down my tea and looking at her long, manicured fingers. “Your hands really are precious, aren’t they?” She thought I was complimenting her and gave a smug little shrug. “Of course. These hands draw the skylines of this city.” “Right. Drawing hands,” I sneered. “Funnily enough, I didn’t hear you complaining about your ‘precious hands’ two nights ago when you were fixing Sebastian’s shoe rack in the hall.” “That… Sebastian’s cabinet broke. I happened to be walking by. I couldn’t just stand there and watch him struggle. It was just a quick favor.” “A quick favor? You brought your entire professional toolkit out there.” I let out a short, dry laugh. “Vanessa, you used to wait for me to get home to change a lightbulb because you ‘didn’t know how.’ But for the guy across the hall, you’re a master carpenter? Or is it that your hands are only ‘precious’ when it comes to me, but they’re perfectly fine for manual labor when it’s for him?” Vanessa’s face turned a deep, blotchy red. “Stop being so passive-aggressive! It’s just being a good neighbor! Look at you—you’re not even acting like a gentleman anymore.” “A gentleman?” I put down my chopsticks and wiped my mouth with a napkin. “Vanessa, I’m a gentleman to my wife. I’m not a servant to a tenant. And since you’re so handy, don’t worry about calling a repairman next time something breaks in this house. Save the money. You’re such an ‘active neighbor,’ you can just handle it yourself.” I stood up and cleared the table. Vanessa sat there, watching my back. I think it was the first time she realized that the Grant who used to smile and nod at everything she said was gone. Good. It was about time someone faced reality. Vanessa wasn’t going to reflect on her behavior, of course. In her head, I was just “going through a phase.” She figured if she ignored me, I’d eventually crawl back and apologize. She kept up the act. Every morning before she left, she’d make a point to go to the passenger side of her car and adjust the lumbar pillow. I didn’t understand why. Until one day, I reached into the gap of the passenger seat and pulled out a fountain pen that didn’t belong to me. Black and gold. Heavy. It smelled like a men’s cologne—something spicy and expensive. Completely different from the pens I used. That night, when Vanessa walked in, I laid the pen on the coffee table. “Whose is this?” Vanessa glanced at it. Her eyes flickered with a split-second of panic before she smoothed her expression. “Oh. Probably Sebastian’s. I saw him on his way to work this morning and he was running late—couldn’t get an Uber. I just gave him a lift.” “A lift?” I arched an eyebrow. Sebastian’s office was in the East District. Vanessa’s was in the West. That “lift” was essentially a tour of the entire city. “Yeah, it was on the way,” she said, her voice sharp with impatience. “Stop being so paranoid. The kid is trying to make it on his own; it’s just a carpool.” “Is that so?” I didn’t push it. I just opened my phone and scrolled to Sebastian’s Instagram. Posted ten minutes ago. A photo from the passenger seat of Vanessa’s car. It showed her hand on the steering wheel and the perfectly adjusted lumbar pillow. The caption: Best private chauffeur ever. Not only is she a pro behind the wheel, she even sets up the back support for me. Total VIP treatment. Never taking the subway again! Vanessa had already “liked” it. That passenger seat used to be mine. Vanessa used to say it was the “Husband Seat”—that everyone else had to sit in the back. Apparently, “everyone else” didn’t include Sebastian. I liked the photo too, then shoved the screen in front of her face. “Private chauffeur? Vanessa, is this what you meant by ‘on the way’? You’re carpooling to and from work now? Did you guys get hired at the same company overnight?” Vanessa’s face went pale. She lunged for the phone. “He’s just joking! That’s how Gen Z talks! Can you stop making a federal case out of everything?” I stepped back, dodging her hand. I laughed, but there was no heat in it—just ice. “Fine. If we’re joking, I’ve got a funny one for you.” I pulled up my contacts and hit dial on speakerphone. “Hey, Marcus? It’s Grant. Yeah, that downtown condo. I want to list it. Today. High floor, great views. Yeah, let’s move fast. Price is negotiable for a quick sale.” This apartment was mine. I’d bought it in full before we ever got married. Even though Vanessa lived here and acted like the queen of the castle, only my name was on the deed. Vanessa officially lost it. “Grant, are you crazy?! This is our home! Where are we supposed to live?” I hung up and looked at her. Her desperation was the first thing that had made me feel good in weeks. “It’s my house. I can sell it whenever I want. As for where you’re going to live…” I looked her up and down, a mocking smile tugging at my lips. “Since you love being a private chauffeur so much, why don’t you ask your ‘passenger’ if he’s got a spare room?” “You are being completely unreasonable!” She slammed the door on her way out. Going to Sebastian’s, no doubt. I didn’t care. The air in this place had been dirty for a long time. The silent treatment began. She thought she could freeze me out, wait for me to break. But she miscalculated. I didn’t break; I thrived. Without her weighing me down like an anchor, I felt like I could finally breathe. Until my birthday. Customarily, I invited a few of my closest friends over for a small dinner. We were having a great time until the doorbell rang. Vanessa went to answer it. Standing in the hallway was Sebastian, wearing a silk robe. He was holding a plate of haphazardly sliced fruit. “Vanessa? I heard things getting lively over here. I was feeling so lonely by myself… mind if I crash for a bit?” His voice was soft, performatively vulnerable. He looked straight at Vanessa, completely ignoring the room full of guests. The robe wasn’t indecent, but in a room full of people, it was wildly suggestive and inappropriate. Vanessa clearly hadn’t expected him, but she looked at his “vulnerable” expression, bit her lip, and stepped aside to let him in. “Of course. The more the merrier.” My friends’ faces turned into a gallery of disbelief. Vanessa tried to play it off. “Everyone, this is our neighbor, Sebastian. He wanted to wish Grant a happy birthday.” Hearing her call me “Grant” in that fake-sweet tone made my skin crawl. Sebastian didn’t care about the cold stares. He squeezed onto the sofa right next to Vanessa, sliding the fruit plate toward her. “I cut this specifically for you, Vanessa. Is it sweet?” Vanessa glanced at me nervously. When I didn’t say anything, she took a piece of apple. “Yeah. It’s good.” “Hehe, I knew you’d like it.” He smiled, leaning his body into hers. “Gosh, the AC is so high in here. I’m actually kind of chilly. Vanessa, could I borrow a blanket?” Without a second thought, Vanessa got up, went into our bedroom, and brought out my favorite cashmere throw to wrap around him. I heard one of my buddies mutter under his breath, “Unbelievable. Look at these two.” The hand I was using to cut the cake faltered for a second, then steadied. “Here, let’s eat,” I said, handing the first slice to my friend, completely ignoring the “star-crossed lovers” on the sofa. Suddenly, Sebastian’s phone buzzed. He answered, and his face went white. He started trembling. “What? Really? That’s terrifying! … Vanessa, I think my power just went out. It’s pitch black, and I’m hearing these weird scratching noises… I’m scared.” He hung up and looked at her with misty eyes, his hand gripping her sleeve. “Can you come check it out with me? I really don’t want to go back in there alone.” Vanessa stood up instantly, her face full of concern. “Don’t worry, I’m coming. It’s probably just a blown fuse. It’s an easy fix.” She turned to me, her tone completely dismissive. “Grant, Sebastian has an electrical emergency. I’m going to go help him. Keep eating, don’t wait for me.” I looked at her. I was still holding the cake knife. The blade was smeared with red strawberry filling. It looked like blood. “Vanessa,” I said calmly. “It’s my birthday.” “I know, I know! But I can’t just leave him in the dark! Neighbors help each other! I’ll be right back. Be a good boy.” She didn’t even wait for a response. She grabbed Sebastian’s hand and pulled him out the door. Sebastian looked back at me over his shoulder as they left. The look in his eyes wasn’t fear. It was triumph. Bam. The door closed. The silence in the room was deafening. My best friend slammed his fork onto the table. “Grant! How are you taking this? He’s a total snake, and she’s blind!” I put the knife down and wiped the cream off my hand. “What am I supposed to do? If a dog wants to eat trash, you can’t stop it.” I walked to the door, turned the deadbolt, and slid the security chain into place. “Let’s finish the cake. We shouldn’t let irrelevant people ruin a good night.” Vanessa didn’t come back that night. My phone was flooded with her texts: Grant, the wiring is complicated. Still working on it. Sebastian is having a panic attack, he’s crying. I have to stay to calm him down. I probably won’t make it back tonight. Get some sleep. I didn’t reply to a single one. I tossed my phone aside and drank with my friends until the sun came up. The next morning, I was woken by the buzzing of the neighborhood association group chat. I opened it to find a wall of praise for Vanessa. Sebastian had posted a photo. It was Vanessa, exhausted, asleep on his sofa, covered by my cashmere throw. The caption: So lucky to have a neighbor I can count on. The power outage was terrifying, but Vanessa fixed the circuits and stayed up all night talking me through my anxiety. Total angel! A bunch of clueless neighbors were chiming in: Vanessa is such a sweetheart! We need more people like her in the building. Grant is so lucky to have such a caring wife! I looked at the “thumbs up” emojis and felt a wave of cold, sharp irony. Caring? She abandoned her husband on his birthday to spend the night with a man in his bathrobe. That was it. I was done. I pulled up a file on my laptop—the divorce papers I’d drafted weeks ago. I converted it to a PDF and dropped it directly into the group chat of three hundred neighbors. I tagged both Sebastian and Vanessa. @Sebastian @Vanessa: Since you two are so deeply in love that “fixing a fuse” requires an overnight stay, I’ve decided to make it official. I’m big on recycling, and it’s time to take the trash out. You two deserve each other. May you stay together forever so you don’t ruin anyone else’s life.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “391512”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel