Category: English

Ten years after high school graduation, an old photo of me and my first love went viral online. In the picture, we were in our school uniforms, fingers interlocked, smiling brightly at the camera. Smitten netizens started searching for us, only to be disappointed. We had broken up amicably years ago. He became the youngest rising star on Wall Street. I was forced to return to my hometown, working odd jobs to pay off debts, just another ordinary person struggling to survive. Aside from one class reunion, our lives never intersected again. That night, an anonymous question trended: “How are things with your high school sweetheart now?” A familiar username caught my eye— His answer was a single, cold sentence: “Seeing her doing poorly puts my mind at ease.” 1 My gaze lingered on those words for a long time. I was the one who helped Julian register this account back in the day. I even picked the username. And the profile picture was of our matching promise rings. The internet sleuths quickly identified him and pushed his comment to the top. “Holy crap, the guy from the photo showed up.” “Bro, you’re successful now, no need to be so petty, right?” “Didn’t you guys break up peacefully? Why the animosity?” Julian didn’t reply again. It was as if he couldn’t be bothered to explain a past relationship. I didn’t comment either. Holding my phone, I silently liked his comment. 2 The photo’s popularity lasted longer than I expected. Soon, media outlets reached out for interviews. No face reveal, just three questions. But they offered $3,000. I didn’t refuse. “How do you feel seeing that photo?” The host asked gently, “Do you have any regrets?” “No,” I said honestly. If not for this photo popping up out of nowhere, I hadn’t thought of Julian in a long time. A high school crush, no matter how deep, is hard to remember for a lifetime. Especially when I’m working 18 hours a day for corporate overlords. I don’t have time for nostalgia. “What was the specific reason for the breakup?” I was silent for a moment. “I gave him up for my future.” The host paused, instinctively asking, “Do you regret it?” I shook my head without hesitation. “Last question,” the host’s voice softened. “You both attended the class reunion last year.” “Did you speak to each other?” My heart trembled. 3 Last year, Julian came back to town. It coincided with our high school’s centennial celebration. He was invited and casually donated five million dollars. The class reunion was held around the same time. Halfway through the dinner, Julian pushed the door open. The big shot arrived, and the whole room cheered. Only I sat in the corner, feeling like I was on pins and needles. Without the school uniform, the boyishness had faded from him. Standing there with ease, his slightly smiling gaze swept calmly over everyone. Unreadable. Julian had other engagements and didn’t stay long. He symbolically drank a few glasses, didn’t even glance my way, paid the bill, and left. The dinner ended early. I found my electric scooter outside, wanting to deliver a few more takeout orders. It rained heavily that night. Rushing to deliver an order that was about to be late, I turned left before the red light and accidentally hit a car going straight. Seeing the Bentley logo, my heart went cold. The car door opened. Julian stepped out with an umbrella. “How are you driving? This is a straight lane; you’re fully responsible for turning. A scratch on a car this expensive means a full repaint at the factory, tens of thousands in repairs…” The driver looked at the scratched paint, furious and trying to deflect blame. A few steps away, Julian leaned lazily against the car, well-dressed, expression cold. His gaze swept over me occasionally, devoid of emotion. I apologized profusely. Desperately bowing my head, burying my remaining dignity under the heavy, oversized helmet. “What happened?” A pleasant female voice hit my ears. There was a third person in the car. A woman lifted her skirt and jumped out. Seeing my disheveled state, she frowned impatiently. “Mr. Rhodes, forget it. Don’t waste time on this small matter.” Julian didn’t speak. He lowered his eyes silently, lost in thought. The woman’s voice revealed a hint of difficulty: “You have to take me home to meet your parents tonight. If we waste time on this, what about your parents?” The sound of rain was clear. Then someone seemed to laugh. Julian looked at me, his tone cold and mocking: “Yeah, what about them?” 4 I was dazed for a moment. “What about them?” or rather, “What do I do?” I used to ask Julian this question all the time. What do I do if I can’t finish my homework? What do I do if I fail the exam? What do I do if the corner store is out of popsicles? Julian would laugh and mercilessly tap my forehead: “Mia, can you not survive without me?” It seemed so. Julian and I met in kindergarten and had never been apart. Whenever I encountered a problem, my first reaction was to find him. Because he would always fix it for me in the end. Before we broke up, I had never tied my own shoelaces. Julian often called himself my excellent manservant. Mine alone. Classmates joked that I was a keychain on Julian’s backpack. He took care of me wherever he went. Julian didn’t deny it. He just held my hand in his, playing with it while looking down. Thinking of something, he sighed softly: “Mia, actually, if we separate…” “I’m the one who won’t be able to survive.” 5 The woman speaking was named Sophie. She was Julian’s secretary and had been with him for years. Thanks to her, Julian not only didn’t make me pay but also arranged for the driver to take me to the hospital for a checkup. I breathed a sigh of relief. I have a sister who just started middle school this year. School is expensive, and it’s time to spend money. My mom’s health isn’t good; she’s always running to the hospital. After working for a few years, my savings were meager. Going into debt now would be adding frost to snow. While waiting for the checkup results at the hospital, the driver gossiped with a friend nearby: “Yeah, Mr. Rhodes took Secretary Sophie back to his hometown to meet his parents.” “Former colleague, future boss’s wife… sigh, some people are just lucky. Both from humble beginnings, but she’s about to fly up the branch and become a phoenix.” “It’s sudden though. I could tell Secretary Sophie liked Mr. Rhodes, but because of his first love, he never looked at other women… I don’t know how he accepted it.” “Yeah, maybe he moved on.” I got home very late that night. Exhausted, I fell asleep immediately. In my dream, I went back to the year after high school graduation. The acceptance letters arrived. I got into D University. It was in the south, while Julian’s school was in the north, thousands of miles apart. But getting into the same university was our goal since the beginning of senior year. Our SAT scores were only a few points apart. Without any accidents, we could have easily gotten into the same school. “How did this happen, Mia?” Julian’s eyes were red as he forced a smile: “You must have slipped when filling out the form, right? It’s okay. I’ll take a gap year and reapply. I’ll go to D University as your junior. It’s better than being apart for four years.” How could I have slipped? We checked each other’s applications repeatedly, terrified of making a mistake and being separated. I pulled my hand away and stepped back: “Stop lying to yourself.” Contrary to his pain, I was calm, almost cruel: “I changed my application on purpose.” The tall figure in my peripheral vision went pale instantly: “Why?” “To get away from you.” “Julian, I approached you just because I wanted you to tutor me and improve my grades.” “The person I really like is the class president next door. He got into D University with me. I lied to you until today because I was afraid you’d cling to me and fight for the limited spots.” “Julian, I beg you, don’t reapply to find me. Let me go.” I lowered my eyes: “I really don’t like you.”

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1 During a critical sting operation, my mom wouldn’t stop blowing up my phone. I was hidden in a van near the suspect’s house, and I’d been on a stakeout for six hours. Suddenly, my phone screen lit up, and the ringtone shattered the silence. I scrambled to hit the mute button but accidentally bumped the horn, letting out a short honk. I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. If I spooked the suspect, tonight’s entire operation would be a bust. Captain Miller spared me a glance amidst his busy schedule. Seeing “Mom” on the caller ID, he lowered his voice: “Don’t panic. Go take the call. Jones and I will keep watch.” Jones frowned and whispered, “Careful not to blow our cover.” Grateful, I slipped out of the van and hid in a corner, whispering with a hint of annoyance: “Mom, I told you I have an important mission today. Why are you calling?” My mom rambled on the other end: “Your cousin Sarah is getting married next month. What gift should I get her? I can’t decide.” “Huh? Mom, I don’t have the bandwidth for this right now. I’m catching a suspect!” “Just give me some advice. I have no one else to ask. How about a gold bracelet? Or a big red envelope?” I took a deep breath, suppressing my frustration: “Mom, catching a suspect is a big deal. We’ve been here for six hours. Can we talk about the gift later?” “But I’m anxious. I want to settle it now. It’s your cousin’s wedding; we can’t look cheap.” “Mom! I really can’t discuss this with you right now. Just pick something practical, like a kitchen appliance or something.” I was burning with anxiety, my eyes constantly darting towards the suspect’s house. “An appliance? That’s not presentable enough. They’re not renovating. Should I dump two big fridges in their house? Don’t brush me off. Think harder.” My mom was relentless. “Mom, pick a few options, and we’ll decide when I get back, okay?” I tried to be patient. “Fine. Don’t forget. Call me back as soon as your mission is over.” Mom finally relented. I hung up, hovered my finger over the power button, paused, and then just switched it to vibrate. As a cop, I could get new orders anytime. The chief demanded phones never be off or silent, only vibrate. I composed myself, hunched over, and got back in the van, refocusing on the suspect’s house. About five minutes later, my phone vibrated violently again. My heart skipped a beat. I cursed myself for forgetting my mom is the type to call until someone picks up. I should have turned it off! Captain Miller looked at me, waved his hand helplessly, signaling me to deal with it. I hid in the corner again, answering the call, suppressing my rage: “Mom, what now?!” “I thought about it. Jewelry sounds good. Should I get a bracelet or a necklace?” Mom was oblivious to my urgency. “Mom! I’m catching a serial killer gang! Lives are at stake! Please, can we talk later?” I raised my voice, then quickly covered my mouth, afraid passersby might hear. “Alright, we’ll discuss it properly when you’re done.” Mom finally hung up. The world felt quiet again. Seeing signs of the suspect leaving, to avoid another interruption from Mom, I decided to turn off my phone. Back in the car, Captain Miller looked at me and sighed: “Zhou, you’re the backbone of our team. There’s a female suspect tonight. We need you to lead.” “If it’s just us guys, and she pulls some trick, tonight will be wasted again.” I nodded repeatedly, apologizing sincerely, and refocused on the stakeout. But a few minutes later, a ringtone pierced the air again. I looked at the phone in horror. In that moment, my life flashed before my eyes. I deeply regretted answering my mom’s first call and bringing my phone on the mission. The ringtone wrapped around me like a curse. “It’s mine.” Captain Miller pulled out his phone. “Unknown number. It’s fine. Let’s continue.” We were watching a gang of three suspects. Teams One and Two were responsible for the two men. Our Team Three was responsible for the woman. When arresting a female suspect, a female officer must be present. Last month, two male colleagues tried to arrest a female suspect. She stripped off her top and screamed sexual assault. They proceeded to restrain her, but bystanders filmed it, claiming they violated her rights. It went viral. The two exemplary officers were transferred to desk jobs due to public pressure. Just thinking about it made me shudder. Then the phone rang again, and my mom’s face popped into my head. 2 “Dammit. Who is it?” Captain Miller spat, ready to curse, but then handed the phone to me: “Your mom.” My mom? Why was my mom calling Captain Miller? I put the phone to my ear, and that familiar voice assaulted my eardrums. “Why is your phone off? Do you hate talking to me that much?” “Your Aunt May said she’s giving $800. We can’t be outdone, right?” I closed my eyes in despair, taking a moment to accept this wasn’t a hallucination. “Mom, I’m catching a criminal. A murderer! Can you stop calling? And don’t call my boss, okay?” “But you have time to answer, don’t you? Just grab the suspect when they come out. It takes a few seconds. Does answering a call delay you?” I took a deep breath, forcing myself not to curse: “Mom, for the last time…” Just then, Captain Miller slapped his thigh and ordered sternly: “Suspect is moving! Go! Go! Go!” Jones was ready and shot out of the van like an arrow, following the Captain. My sentence died in my throat. Anger and frustration overwhelmed me. I stood there frozen for a few seconds before remembering I needed to move. I threw the phone away, tensed my muscles, and followed. Panting, I reached the suspect’s stairwell. I heard the sound of bodies colliding on the third floor. A shrill female voice screamed: “Police brutality! Sexual assault!” Seconds later, a topless woman brushed past me. Ignoring the shock, I reached out and grabbed her, pinning her briefly against the railing. I reached for my handcuffs. But my waist was empty! In that second, rage and regret filled my head. I was going crazy. Because of that call! I forgot my gear when I got out of the car! The woman wriggled, slipped through my legs like an eel, and vanished into the night. Captain Miller and Jones came running down, witnessing the whole thing. Jones’s temples throbbed with anger, fire in his eyes: “Zhou Xiangwei! We moved out! Where were you?” “If you were here, she wouldn’t have escaped!” “That’s a murderer! If she kills again, can you take that responsibility?” He rushed up, shaking my shoulders, gripping my clothes, spitting in my face. I felt like my soul had left my body, the ringtone still echoing in my head. “Zhou, I have to say this.” “This is on you. What was so urgent you had to take a call during a mission?” Right! What was so urgent? My cousin is getting married next month, and my mom is asking about a gift! Just that! Was it really an emergency? Did she have to call again and again and again! I screamed internally. But I didn’t say it. I just lowered my head and clenched my fists: “I’m sorry, Captain Miller. I’ll talk to my mom when I get back.” Captain Miller sighed: “Luckily, we got the two men. You better think about how to explain this to Chief Wu.” 3 Back in the van, Captain Miller’s phone screen was still lit, showing a call duration of 19 minutes and 3 seconds. Blood rushed to my head. I nearly blacked out. So while I left the phone in the car for almost twenty minutes, she was just rambling on? My mom’s voice pierced through the speaker: “…Do you think I’m old and annoying? Why aren’t you talking?” “If you find me annoying, just hang up! Are you giving me the silent treatment to spite me?” I took a deep breath, composing myself: “Mom, have you been talking for twenty minutes?” Mom sounded annoyed, raising her voice: “If I don’t talk, why would I call you? Let me tell you, if I don’t decide on this gift tonight, I can’t sleep!” “If you don’t help me figure this out…” She rattled on like a machine gun. My mind was a mess. I held the phone away from my ear, massaging my temples. “Get her earrings.” I had no energy left to fight her. I just wanted it to end. I still had to attend the debriefing and “atone” to Chief Wu. “Earrings? What material? Gold? Diamond?” “Diamond.” “Diamonds don’t hold value! They lose half their worth once you leave the store.” “Then gold.” “Gold? Gold earrings are small. Will she think it’s too little?” “Your cousin’s family helped us a lot. We can’t be stingy!” I slumped in the back seat. The streetlights flickered past the window, the flashing light making me nauseous. Mom kept asking: “So, gold or diamond?” I don’t know how much time passed before Jones drove us back to the precinct. The conference room was brightly lit. The other two teams stared at us as we walked in. Chief Wu stopped pacing, his expression grim, signaling us to sit. “Tonight’s operation. Teams One and Two completed their mission. The female suspect escaped. Miller, report.” Captain Miller stood up abruptly, giving me a complicated look. I shrank in my seat. The Chief saw right through him and signaled him to sit: “Zhou, you speak.” I swallowed. The damn ringtone echoed in my mind again, along with my mom’s question: “Gold or diamond? Gold or diamond? Gold or…” I blurted out: “Diamond earrings.” The atmosphere in the room froze instantly. Colleagues looked at me in confusion. Miller and Jones stared, jaws dropped in shock. Miller coughed lightly: “Zhou means… during the struggle, the female suspect dropped a diamond earring. She might come back for it. We have a chance to catch her again.” Chief Wu pushed his glasses up, giving me a look that said he knew everything: “Zhou, come to my office.” He walked past me without another glance, leaving me stiff as a board. Miller patted my shoulder, sighing: “Zhou, just tell the truth. We still have a chance. Don’t beat yourself up.” “But you must talk to your mom. I don’t know how she got my number. And I hope she won’t call during missions unless it’s an absolute emergency.” I nodded furiously. Mom probably went through my phone and wrote down Miller’s number. Thanking Miller, I walked heavily towards the Chief’s office, bitterness filling my heart. If not for that call, she would be in custody. If she acted alone… Panic set in. I gripped my shirt, knuckles white. Before I knew it, I was at the Chief’s door. Just as my knuckle rapped on the wood, my pocket vibrated. 4 I stumbled back in fright, finger hovering over the “decline” button. I really didn’t want to answer, but I knew if I didn’t, she’d keep calling. I retreated five meters from the office and answered. “Honey, your Aunt May’s dog went missing in the middle of the night. Ask your colleagues if they can check the surveillance cameras?” “Surveillance isn’t something we check on a whim. Even if we could, you want us to check cameras in the middle of the night for a dog?” I clenched my fist, thumping my chest twice to keep from suffocating. “Where’s your compassion? Aunt May is worried sick! The puppy is only a month old. How will it survive out there?” “Where can a one-month-old puppy go? If police looked for cats and dogs all day, who would respond to emergencies?” “I am working right now! Text me if you need something! Stop calling, okay? Do you understand?” “What kind of job works in the middle of the night? You’re my daughter. Can’t I call you? Does the police department control that too?” … Mom was winding up again. I felt like I’d pass out from lack of oxygen. I hung up, closed my eyes, took a deep breath, gathered my courage, and knocked on the office door again. Chief Wu stopped what he was doing and looked at me gravely: “Zhou, you need to handle your personal matters.” “If this happens again, I’m transferring you out of Criminal Investigations.” “Understood, Chief,” I answered meekly, head down. “Go on. Continue the stakeout for the next few days. I hope you don’t make the same mistake.” Two days later, we found traces near the suspect’s home again. This time, the arrest point was an alley in an old residential area. Three teams again. Just in case, the Chief even dragged a soon-to-retire female officer along, fearing my mom’s death calls would sabotage me again. After four hours, we finally got the go-ahead. As the three teams crept towards the suspect, a familiar figure in a floral shirt burst into view. It was my mom. I cursed internally! She ran towards me with a bag of groceries, took a deep breath, and screamed at the top of her lungs: “Daughter! The killer is right there! Catch her!” 5 As soon as the words left her mouth, the woman dropped her fan and bolted. People in the alley scattered. Heads popped out of windows everywhere to watch the show. “F*ck!” Three teams jumped in fright, cursed in unison, and gave chase. I almost cried. I lunged to cover her mouth. But her mouth was faster than a train. By the time I got to her, she was done screaming! Ignoring my breakdown, the moment the gag failed, I sprinted after the suspect. Maybe it was the adrenaline, but my feet felt like they were on fire. I was flying. Gritting my teeth until they hurt, I leaped over the fruit stand she overturned, the bicycles she pushed down, the bottles rolling everywhere. I actually outran all my colleagues and tackled her to the ground! Only when I felt the cold, solid steel of the handcuffs at my waist did I feel alive again. My handcuffs. Thank god you were there this time. I cuffed her to a pipe, let out a long breath, and collapsed beside her, soul gone, waiting for backup. “Zhou, your mom’s scream… that was something!” Colleague Chen panted, forcing a smile. I knew he was mocking me. Before I could recover from the lion’s roar, my mom arrived with her groceries. Rage consumed me. My face turned red: “Mom! Why did you yell? Were you afraid she wouldn’t run? What if I didn’t catch her?” Mom smiled sheepishly: “But you caught her. And I was worried. I was afraid you didn’t see her.” I was speechless. “Didn’t see her? We squatted here for hours! You think we were playing?” “Mom, can you please listen to me? Don’t disturb me when I’m working. I’m begging you!” Mom slammed the groceries on the ground, hands on hips, volume up eight notches: “I was worried about you! Was I wrong to remind you the killer was there? Do you even consider me your mother?” “You shouldn’t have reminded me!” I shot back. Jones rushed up to pull me away, saying: “Forget it, forget it. At least we caught her. Auntie meant well. Don’t fight on the street.” Hearing this, Mom exploded like a firecracker: “Meant well but did wrong? What did I do wrong? Didn’t you catch her?” “If you didn’t catch her, would you blame me? Would I be the murderer then?” Her voice trembled. She sat on the ground, kicking her legs, wailing loudly. “I gave birth to you, raised you for thirty years, gave you my heart and soul, and this is how you see me? Why is my life so bitter?” Jones turned pale, scrambling to help her up, voice trembling: “Auntie, I didn’t mean that!” “What did you mean? You just think I’m old, useless, and in the way!” Jones was terrified: “No! I’m just bad with words! Please get up, the ground is cold!” Mom glanced at him amidst her sobs and cried even louder. After half an hour of coaxing on the street, she finally sniffled and laid out her condition: “I’ll go home, but you must go on a blind date.” I stopped dead, swallowing my soft words, face dark: “Then you can sleep here tonight.”

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Everyone in New York society knew my son and I were the darlings of Seraphina Keery’s world. If I wanted stars, she’d arrange a private meteor shower. When Leo loved a carousel, she built an amusement park named “Leo’s Land.” After our car crash, she flew in a world-class medical team—but only for me. Barely conscious, I begged her to save Leo first. She tearfully claimed he’d bled out on the way to the hospital. But waking later, I overheard her outside my door. A doctor asked, “Your son could’ve been saved. Why let him die?” Seraphina replied coldly, “Leo existed to save my son, Max. I’ve been good to Ethan all these years. It was his turn to repay me.” All her love was just the price for my son’s heart. The tragedy was her design from the start. If that’s what she wanted—fine. I’d give her exactly what she deserved. 01 From behind the closed door of the recovery room, I heard Seraphina laugh softly. “To protect his son, my husband suffered catastrophic injuries to his lower body. We had to sacrifice his ability to have more children to save his life.” The doctor sounded horrified. “Ms. Keery, you mean…” “Mr. Cole has already lost one child. You’re making it so he can never be a father again. Don’t you think that’s too cruel?” Seraphina’s tone remained flat. “I will only ever have one child in my life, and that’s Max. As for compensation, Ethan Cole will remain my husband forever. Get the surgery done as soon as possible. I need to go see Max. He and Julian need me right now.” She paused. “Oh, and be careful during the procedure. My husband is afraid of pain.” Her footsteps faded down the hallway as my consciousness drifted. My hands, clenched at my sides, were raw and bleeding, but I couldn’t feel them over the silent tears streaming down my face. The perfect wife, the perfect mother I had been so proud of—it was all a lie. Her love was a lie. The only truth was the six-year deception she had masterminded, culminating in a perfectly staged “accident” to steal my son’s heart. As the anesthesia seeped into my veins, my vision blurred. I felt the cold, indifferent touch of surgical instruments inside me, a chill that sent me spiraling into one nightmare after another. In my dreams, there was only darkness. Leo stood in the void, a gaping hole where his heart should be. He reached out to me, his small voice crying, “Daddy, it hurts so much, Daddy…” “Leo!” I woke with a start, my eyes meeting Seraphina’s, which were filled with concern. “Darling, you’re finally awake,” she breathed, pulling me into a trembling embrace. “Do you have any idea how terrified I was? These past two days, I thought I was going to lose you.” She clung to me tightly. “I’ve already lost our son. I can’t lose you, too.” My ear was pressed against her chest. The frantic beat of her heart almost made her words believable. “Ethan,” she continued, her voice soft, “the doctors said the accident… it damaged you. We might not be able to have any more children. But it doesn’t matter. As long as I have you, that’s all I need.” She spoke with such conviction. Before, I would have felt like the luckiest man alive to have married such a woman. But now, with my body scarred and broken, her flawless performance only filled me with disgust. I subtly pushed her away. “Where is Leo? I want to see him.” Seraphina froze for a second. She stroked the back of my hand, her voice dropping. “I’m so sorry, darling. I was afraid seeing him… seeing his body… would be too much for you. I had him cremated yesterday.” She wasn’t afraid of my grief. She was afraid I’d see the empty, butchered cavity in my son’s chest. I fought back the hatred burning in my eyes and glanced at her wrist. She was wearing the crooked little red bracelet Leo had made for her. Before the accident, Seraphina had been struggling with insomnia. Leo, worried about her, learned how to braid bracelets from his art teacher. He wove red string and calming lavender together and gave it to her. I remember the look on her face then—shocked, speechless. She stared at the imperfect little gift for a long time. It wasn’t until Leo called out “Mommy” again that she finally took it, carefully fastening it around her wrist. She hugged him and said, “Thank you, Leo. Mommy loves it.” Looking back now, I realize that while my son was worried about her sleepless nights, she was lying awake planning the car crash that would kill him. My gaze made her notice the bracelet. A complex emotion flickered in her eyes, and she quickly pulled her sleeve down to cover it. “Ethan, I promise you,” she said, “I will spend the rest of my life honoring Leo’s memory, just like you.” I lowered my eyes, saying nothing more. If there was any solace, it was that my son died believing his mother loved him. But that didn’t change the fact that she was his murderer. Leo, Daddy will get justice for you. And I will leave the monster who did this to us. 02 I hated the sterile smell of the hospital, so the next day, Seraphina brought me home. If you didn’t know the demon lurking beneath the surface, she was the perfect wife. She cooked for me, remembering every little thing I disliked. Worried that I was still haunted by the crash, she would give me foot soaks and massages every night. It wasn’t until the third day home that she finally made an excuse about work and left early in the morning. As she rushed out, I caught a glimpse of her phone screen. A message from Julian Hayes. [Seraphina, Max won’t stop crying for his mommy. I can’t calm him down.] Julian’s child needed his mother, so she dropped everything and ran to his side. My son died on his way to see his. I watched her leave in silence, then made my way to the third floor and stood before her study. For the five years we’d been married, she’d kept it locked with a passcode, insisting that even married couples needed their private space. I typed in the birthdays of Julian and their son, Max. The door clicked open. The large study was a shrine to them. The walls were covered with photos of her, Julian, and Max—a happy family of three. Her pregnancy, Max’s birth, his first tooth, his first steps… Seraphina had documented it all. But in the four years of my son’s life, from birth to death, there weren’t enough pictures of him to fill a single small album. I opened the journal on her desk. [May 20th. I told Julian I had a surprise for him. I expected him to be thrilled, but when he held me, shaking with joy, I couldn’t stop the tears from falling.] [January 23rd. I’m a mother. I named him Max.] [He’s so tiny. The moment I held him, I wanted to give him and his father everything I own. But then the doctor told me… Max inherited Julian’s condition. He was born with a congenital heart defect.] [September 30th. For Max’s sake, I got married today. The groom wasn’t Julian.] [Julian, I promise I will be a good wife and a good mother.] The last sentence was pressed so hard into the page it almost tore through, as if she was forcing herself to make a solemn vow. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. So, marrying me was a great sacrifice for her. No wonder. Five years ago, when I showed her the positive pregnancy test, bursting with joy, she just stared at it in silence for a long time. Then, as if completing a task, she simply said, “Thank you.” When Leo was born, she never even held him. The first time she saw him, she just calmly instructed the doctor to take him for a full physical exam. Especially his heart. On our wedding night, the room was dark. I could only see her face by the moonlight filtering through the window. I used to think she was just shy. Now I know it was because the man she wanted to marry wasn’t me. The face she wanted to see in the dark wasn’t mine. The journal was filled with entries, all of them about Julian and Max. The most recent one was from a week ago. [Maybe the lavender really does help with sleep.] [I slept so well. I even dreamed about…] She never finished the sentence, and I had no desire to read any more. I photographed the pages and sent them to the private investigator I’d hired, then placed the journal back exactly where I found it. As I was leaving the study, Seraphina returned. She saw me coming from the third floor, and a flicker of panic crossed her otherwise calm face. “What were you doing upstairs? Your injuries haven’t healed. You should be resting in bed.” I sidestepped her attempt to help me. “I got tired of lying down.” She studied my face, and seeing nothing amiss, seemed to relax. She held up a box. “Darling, I got you those pastries you love from the Eastwood Bakery.” It was true, I did love their pastries. But five minutes ago, Julian had posted a picture of the exact same box on his social media. The caption read: Max says he wants some, and a certain someone drives two hours just to get them. He used to post vague things like that all the time. Back then, I never would have imagined the “certain someone” was my wife. Where Seraphina couldn’t see, I liked Julian’s post. I just needed to wait, I thought. Just a little longer. Once I have enough proof, this charade between Seraphina and me will finally be over. 03 Just after I paid the private investigator’s final invoice, Julian contacted me. He wanted to meet at a villa on the outskirts of the city. The house was decorated in warm, inviting colors, nothing like the home I shared with Seraphina. She always said she preferred simplicity, so our house was a cold landscape of black, white, and gray. Julian sat on the sofa, leisurely sipping a cup of expensive tea. “So, you finally know about Seraphina and me.” Now that he had what he wanted—Leo’s heart—he wasn’t even pretending anymore. “Seraphina promised me. She’s going to bring Max and me home and tell everyone that he is her son.” I stared at him, my expression flat. “Is that all you brought me here to say?” My cold indifference wiped the smug look off his face. He shot up from the sofa. “Ethan Cole, who do you think you are talking to me like that? Seraphina’s husband? Don’t kid yourself! You think she actually loves you? She only married you for me and Max!” He caught himself before he could say more, but he couldn’t swallow his pride. “In love, the one who isn’t loved is the third wheel! And so is their child! My Max will be Seraphina’s only son! Everything she has will be his! As for your dead kid, you can light a candle for him when you’re feeling sentimental!” The mention of Leo ignited a fire in my chest. I wanted to smash my fist into his face, but my body was still weak. Julian easily grabbed my wrist, pinning me. He leaned in close, his voice a venomous whisper. “And you deserve this, for not being able to protect your own child.” Humiliation and fury surged through me, my eyes turning red. I used every ounce of strength I had to shove him away. But then he did something I never expected. He pulled my hand forward and punched himself in the face with it. He crumpled to the floor, looking up at me with wide, innocent eyes. “Ethan, I’m heartbroken about Leo too, but what did I ever do to you? Why are you treating me like this?” Before I could even process what was happening, a powerful force slammed into me from behind. My head cracked against the corner of the coffee table, and blood instantly started to flow. Seraphina didn’t even seem to notice. She rushed to Julian’s side, her voice laced with panic. “Julian, are you okay? Are you hurt?” He shook his head, but tears streamed down his face. “Seraphina, my head hurts so much.” Her brow furrowed, and she turned to me with a vicious glare. “Ethan, your son is dead, so you come here to take it out on him? What is wrong with you! Apologize to Julian, now!” I was so full of rage and hurt that I couldn’t hold back the tears. “Seraphina, get it through your head. My child was your son, too. He called you ‘Mommy’ for four years!” She flinched, her eyes darting to the bracelet on her wrist. In that instant, it seemed to weigh a thousand pounds. Her arm began to tremble, and she couldn’t meet my gaze. She turned away, her heart feeling like it was being crushed by an invisible hand, the pain making it hard to breathe. It was Julian’s soft whimper that seemed to snap her out of it, like a lifeline. She helped him up. “Julian, I’m taking you to the hospital.” She led him away, her steps quick and desperate. But as she passed me, she hesitated, her stride becoming heavy, as if she were wading through mud. The vast living room was empty again, leaving me alone. On my phone, I had the audio recording of the entire exchange, along with the complete file of evidence from the P.I. One of the files was a video. It showed Leo, lying in a pool of his own blood, reaching his small hand out toward Seraphina. “Mommy, save me… it hurts so much, Mommy…” But the woman just stood there, her face a cold mask, watching as his small hand slowly, so slowly, fell to the ground. I stared at Leo’s face on the screen, at the hope in his eyes turning to confusion, and then to utter despair. So, my son knew. Before he died, he knew his mother didn’t love him. What was he thinking in that final moment? Did I do something wrong? Why is Mommy doing this to me? Or maybe… Daddy, run… Pain, hatred, a storm of emotions made my entire body tremble. I heard footsteps behind me again. A boy, maybe five or six years old, stood in the bedroom doorway, his face pale. He was clutching a model airplane. He asked me, “Mister, who are you? Why are you in my house?” His face was so familiar. His heartbeat… that was familiar, too. I stared at his chest. Beneath his shirt, the heart that was beating belonged to my son. If it weren’t for Max, my Leo would still be alive. So why should Max be alive when Leo was dead? My expression turned to ice. As Max watched me with a puzzled look, I slowly knelt down. “Hey, Max,” I said softly. “Come home with me, kiddo. I’ve got lots of candy for you.” … On the drive to the hospital, Seraphina couldn’t stop frowning. The image of my tear-streaked face, my accusing words, played over and over in her mind. With each replay, another stone dropped into her heart, heavy and unsettling. Suddenly, her phone rang, shattering the tense silence in the car. On the other end, my voice was as calm and detached as a machine. “Seraphina, I have Max.” The car screeched to a halt at the side of the road. Seraphina’s hands clamped down on the steering wheel, her knuckles white. A terrible thought took root in her mind, growing with terrifying speed. Could it be… that he knows the truth?

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On the day of my wedding to my adopted brother, I woke up five years in the past—right back to the day I first confessed my love to him. Standing before me, the younger version of my brother politely rejected me, his voice cool and detached. “I only see you as a sister.” I smiled faintly. “Alright then. But remember, whoever regrets this first has to bark like a dog for the rest of their life.” He looked calm. “I won’t regret it.” If I hadn’t seen you five years later, kneeling on the ground, weeping and begging me to come back, I might have actually believed you. Keep pretending. Let’s see who breaks first, you dramatic hypocrite. 1 [Delete this message. I’ll pretend I never saw it.] I stared at the text from Liam on my screen. I scrolled up to the message I had sent three minutes ago: [Liam, I like you. I don’t want to be just your sister.] I lowered my eyes, typing back nonchalantly. [Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider?] Sure enough, a moment later, Liam’s reply came through. It was the exact same polite rejection line from my past life. [I only see you as a sister.] Looking at those words, I couldn’t help but chuckle. How did I respond last time? Oh right, I didn’t. I was too busy crying my eyes out in a corner. Back then, I felt ashamed of my “forbidden” feelings. I felt angry and guilty for crossing a line. But what I didn’t know back then was that I wasn’t the only one harboring these feelings. Liam was just better at hiding them. He was calm, restrained, and obsessed with maintaining the boundaries of a “good brother.” He chose to suppress and ignore the love that shouldn’t exist. My enthusiastic attempts were met with his cold shoulder, time and time again. I was the only one left suffering, whipping myself with moral guilt. Later, when he finally turned around to face his feelings, he realized he shouldn’t have run. So, we ended up getting married. Today was supposed to be that wedding. But instead of walking down the aisle, I woke up five years in the past. It took me exactly ten minutes to accept that I had time-traveled. The current Liam has no idea that I know his secret. He’s still using every trick in the book to push me away, acting cold to make me give up. I figured this must be fate. The pain I once suffered? Liam deserves to feel it too. The text bubble on the screen showed he was typing. I beat him to it. [Fine. Just don’t regret it.] [Whoever regrets this has to be the other person’s puppy for life.] It took a long time before Liam replied. [Never.] I scoffed and tossed my phone onto the pillow. Keep acting tough. No one puts on a show quite like you. 2 When I went downstairs the next morning, Liam was already busy in the kitchen. After his parents died in a car accident, my parents took him in. He’s been with us for over ten years. We share no blood, but our lives are inextricably tied. Like right now. Despite the awkwardness of the rejected confession, he was still up early making me breakfast. I couldn’t help it. I’ve been eating his cooking for a decade; it’s a habit. “I won’t be home for lunch or dinner,” I said, taking a bite of a sandwich while leaning against the doorframe. “I’m hanging out with friends this afternoon.” He kept his head down, frying an egg. I couldn’t tell if he heard me. All morning, he seemed to be avoiding me. He stayed in the kitchen, busy with god knows what. It wasn’t until I was changing my shoes in the entryway that he walked out of the living room holding an umbrella. “The forecast says rain. Take this.” He looked like the perfect, responsible older brother again. As if yesterday’s cold rejection was just my hallucination. I smiled at him. “Okay.” I pushed the door open, then turned back. “By the way, Brother.” Meeting his gaze, I kept my tone breezy. “I thought about it last night before bed. You’re right.” “I’ve never dated anyone, so I probably confused familial love with romance.” “Sorry for making things awkward, Bro.” Liam’s grip on the umbrella handle tightened visibly. After a long pause, he said flatly, “I’m glad you understand.” I pretended not to notice his tension. I patted his shoulder, leaning in close. My warm breath brushed against his neck. “I need to clear out my desk at school since we graduated. There are still a few boxes of books. I’ll need your help later, okay?” The Karaoke room was deafening. Maya sat next to me, handing me a boba tea. “Why did you come today? You usually hate these loud gatherings.” I chewed on the straw, shaking my head with a smile. “Just felt like it.” Liam was strict with me. Curfews. Reporting my location. If I didn’t reply for a few hours, he’d call. If I was late, his car would be waiting down the street. In my past life, I was afraid of making him angry, so I was obedient. Now that I think about it… that wasn’t brotherly concern. That was possessiveness. And he had the nerve to play the “sibling card.” You don’t know pain until the knife cuts you. “Won’t your brother be mad?” Maya worried. “Last time we stayed out past midnight, his face was terrifying when he picked you up.” I swirled my drink casually. “Why would he be mad?” I put on a faint smile. “He’s not my real brother anyway.” Liam is three years older than me. By the time I turned eighteen, he was already in college. When we were kids, our parents were always traveling for business. The job of raising me basically fell to him and the nanny. In a way, Liam raised me. My feelings for him were obvious to everyone. Yet he insisted on being the untouchable saint. Seems a bit unfair, doesn’t it? 3 When Liam arrived at the high school, it was already evening. The hallways were crowded with parents helping their kids move out. Standing at 6’1″, he stood out in the crowd. Even my homeroom teacher recognized him. “Here to help your sister move?” Liam smiled politely. “Yes.” He had graduated from this same school. Same teacher, too. The teacher led him to my desk. “She’s moved most of her stuff. Just a few boxes of books left.” Liam nodded thanks and crouched down to organize them. The boxes were filled with old test papers and reference books. And my notebook. He flipped it open casually, seeing my handwriting. He could almost picture me sitting in class, taking notes seriously. He flipped a few more pages. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something tucked between the pages. He pulled it out. It was a stack of sticky notes, covered in handwriting. Obviously notes passed during class. Liam frowned slightly. Beside him, the teacher chuckled. “By the way, now that your sister has graduated, dating is allowed, right?” Liam froze. “She’s dating?” The teacher waved a hand, teasing. “You know how kids are during puberty, hiding their crushes. We teachers see it, but we don’t burst their bubble since they need to focus on exams.” “But exams are over. Let them be.” Liam smiled but said nothing. Once the teacher left, he looked down at the notes again. Intuition told him the handwriting wasn’t from a girl. Liam narrowed his eyes. He looked up at the wall where the model essays were posted. He compared the handwriting one by one until his gaze landed on the last sheet. Signed: Josh. He turned to look at the back wall where the class photos from Sports Day were hanging. Second row, first on the left: Josh. He scanned the faces until he found the boy. And standing right next to him, smiling brilliantly, was me—Chloe. After singing a song, my phone vibrated. A text from Liam: [Moved your stuff home.] I replied: [Okay, thanks Bro~ Don’t touch my stuff, or I won’t be able to find anything later~] He replied instantly: [Left it exactly as it was on your desk.] [What time are you coming back?] I sent a voice message: “Dunno. Maybe eleven?” Immediately, Liam called. His voice sounded a bit raspy over the phone. “Send me your location later. I’ll pick you up tonight.” I refused quickly. “No need, that’s too much trouble.” Silence on the other end. Then, a cool voice: “Not trouble. I’m on the way.” On the way? We were twenty miles apart. I didn’t expose his lie. Just then, Josh, our class monitor who organized the party, asked me, “Chloe, what do you want to eat tonight?” I laughed. “Anything works. You pick.” Liam’s voice on the phone suddenly turned strange. “You’re at a party… with boys?” I laughed. “Yeah, it’s a class reunion.” Liam asked casually, “What’s his name?” “You wouldn’t know him, Brother.” “How do you know I won’t know him if you don’t say it?” I waved Josh over and handed him the phone. “Tell my brother your name.” Josh, bless his clueless heart, grinned. He took the phone and announced loudly: “Hello, Big Bro! I’m Josh!” 4 Liam stood downstairs at his dorm, staring at his phone. Why hadn’t Chloe posted on her Instagram Story yet? She usually documented everything when she went out. His roommate, Zack, couldn’t stand it anymore. “Liam, I’m talking to you. Did you hear a word I said?” Liam looked up, frowning. “What?” Zack sighed. “So I was talking to a wall. I said, if you’re sleeping in the dorm tonight, remember to top up the electricity card.” Liam was distracted. “I’m not staying. Just grabbing something.” Seeing him glued to his phone, Zack leaned over and saw the chat with me. “Oh, going home today?” Liam lowered his eyes. “Yeah. My sister is out late. I’m picking her up.” Zack patted his shoulder sympathetically. “You act like her dad and her mom combined.” “If you ask me, you should let her get a boyfriend. Take the load off your shoulders…” Before he could finish, the temperature around them dropped. Zack looked up into Liam’s cold eyes. “I introduce one?” Liam smiled, but his eyes didn’t. “Who? You?” Zack, blind without his glasses, rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I mean, it’s not a bad idea. I’ve seen your sister…” Liam scoffed. “You? You’re shorter than me, not as fit as me, failed a class last semester, and probably won’t get into grad school.” “Why would I introduce my sister to you?” Zack almost cried. “Dude! If you don’t want to, just say so. No need for personal attacks!” Liam walked away, his temples throbbing. He felt irritable. Ever since he rejected Chloe, it felt like the whole world was against him. After dinner, we went to a Murder Mystery game. It didn’t end until midnight. Josh, being the class monitor, had been forced to drink a lot. He was wasted. Helping him out of the elevator, someone asked the crucial question. “Does anyone know where he lives?” Silence. Maya sighed. “No choice. Let’s book him a hotel room for the night. Make him reimburse us tomorrow.” Everyone pulled out their phones to check prices. “Book a King Room here. It’s showing $60 for me.” “Damn, mine says $75. Where did you get that coupon?” I checked my app and paused. “Why is it showing $45 for me?” “Use your phone then!” everyone urged. “Stupid dynamic pricing algorithms!” Liam’s car was parked across the street. He watched Chloe and her friends come downstairs. She was standing next to a drunk boy who was being supported by others. Liam frowned. A taxi stopped in front of them. The group stuffed the drunk boy inside. He thought that was it. But then, Chloe opened the door and got in too. Liam: “?” Just as he was about to get out and stop her, his phone vibrated. A system notification text. Reading the words, the blood rushed to his head. [Dear Ms. Li, you have successfully booked 1 Honeymoon Suite.]

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I was carrying a heavy bag of dog food upstairs when my new neighbor, a short, stout man, blocked my path. “You feed your dog this garbage? Do you even deserve a dog?” “Why are you so lazy? You should be cooking for it with premium ingredients!” “This is basically animal abuse. People like you, pretending to be virtuous, make me sick.” Before I could react, he slashed my bag of dog food open with a pair of scissors, spilling kibble everywhere. “Consider this a warning,” he sneered, turning to leave. I grabbed his wrist. “That bag cost me $250! You either pay up now, or we’re going to the police station!” 1 I’m a volunteer at the local animal shelter. I help trap strays for TNR (Trap-Neuter-Return) and medical care. Sometimes, I dip into my own pocket to foster injured animals. Lately, the stray population in our neighborhood has exploded. I couldn’t help but take in a few more wounded souls. Animals eat a lot and poop a lot. My wallet was hurting. Suddenly, something furry brushed against my leg. It was Fuzzy, a stray dog I’d recently rescued, begging for cuddles. I scooped him up and gave him a big sniff. Mommy loves you! Mommy’s gonna buy you food right now. Because I need so much food, I order in bulk directly from a local breeder who gives me a discount to support my rescue work. I drove my Mini Cooper to pick up a 100-pound bag of dog food. That should last a few months. I was struggling to drag the bag toward the elevator when my new neighbor, Roger, appeared out of nowhere. “You feed your dog this garbage? Do you even deserve a dog?” I was stunned. Our neighbors are usually lovely people who support my rescue efforts. This was the first time someone had pointed a finger in my face. My temper flared. “Who the hell are you? None of your business what I feed my dogs! Jealous no one’s feeding you?” I thought that would shut him up. Instead, he put his hands on his hips and launched into a tirade. “You don’t deserve a dog! Why are you so lazy? You should be cooking for it with premium ingredients!” “This is basically animal abuse. People like you, pretending to be virtuous, make me sick! The most disgusting thing about ‘dog lovers’ like you is how cheap you are. Dogs love meat! They need the best meat! Who said you could feed them this starch-filled crap?” I snapped. “Did you skip your rabies shot? Dogs are omnivores! They need vegetables too! This kibble is high quality, used by professionals for years.” “Stop pretending you know what you’re talking about, you idiot!” I shoved past him. “Move! You’re lucky I’m an animal lover, or someone might mistake you for a wild boar and turn you into bacon!” I tried to drag the bag to the elevator. 100 pounds of kibble vs. my 140 pounds of body weight was a struggle. I barely took two steps before someone kicked me from behind. I stumbled. Roger stepped over me, whipped out a pair of scissors, and slashed the bag open. “Let’s see you feed them now!” he roared, slashing repeatedly. Kibble spilled all over the floor. My blood boiled. He smirked, triumphant. “Next time, cook real food! Premium beef! If I catch you feeding them this trash again, I’ll destroy it every time!” He turned to leave. I laughed in disbelief. Who did he think he was? I grabbed his wrist. “That bag cost me $250! You either pay up now, or we’re going to the police station!” 2 He didn’t expect me to fight back. He tried to shake me off, but despite being a man, he was barely 5’5″. I’m 5’8″, 140 lbs, and I lift. Plus, wrestling stray dogs gives you a hell of a grip. I twisted his arm behind his back. “Pay up! Or I’m calling 911!” “I’m not paying! Don’t try to scam me! That’s cheap garbage kibble, probably worth five bucks! Let go, you crazy b*tch!” He stomped his feet like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Or a wild boar caught in a trap. His screaming attracted a few neighbors coming home. “What’s going on?” Roger immediately switched to victim mode. “Oh god! She’s crazy! I just moved in! She’s bullying me!” “She was feeding poison to her dogs! I tried to stop her, and she attacked me!” “Look at her! Does she look like an animal lover? She’s an abuser!” Wow, give this man an Oscar. The snot and tears were a nice touch. Disgusting. He wailed for a while before realizing no one was buying it. Everyone knew me. They knew I spent my weekends rescuing kittens from storm drains. I kicked him in the butt, sending him sprawling a few feet away. He scrambled up to run. I sprinted over, grabbed his collar, and shoved my phone in his face. “Look closely! That’s the bank transfer receipt for the kibble. $250. Pay up. I’m counting to three. Three, two…” Before I even got to one, he folded. “Fine! Fine! I’ll pay! Just my luck running into a psycho like you.” “No wonder you’re single! With a temper like that, no man would want you!” He Venmo’d me the money and ran off, covered in dirt, cursing all the way. $250 richer. Nice. I swept up the spilled kibble into the trash, but managed to salvage about half the bag that hadn’t touched the dirty floor. I bagged it up for the community stray feeding stations. I vacuum-sealed the rest for my own pets. Dealing with an idiot was annoying, but hey, free dog food. 3 The next morning, I stepped out of my apartment and almost slipped on a puddle of greasy, soapy water. Food scraps were everywhere. The smell made me gag. “Who the hell dumped their dishwater in the hallway?” I shouted. The door opposite mine opened. Roger’s wife stepped out, holding a red banner that read: PROTECT ANIMALS. FEEDING KIBBLE IS MURDER. She was even larger than Roger, with bad skin and a mean face. “So you’re the evil woman feeding starch to dogs?” “You look like a tramp. Bet you use those dogs for ‘unspeakable things’ you film for the internet.” She leered at me. “Since you’re so into bestiality, maybe feed your ‘husband’ better food. You scammed my husband out of $250 yesterday. Buy some steak for your dog-husband.” “If I find out you spent a penny of my husband’s money on yourself, I’ll tear that pretty face off!” What. The. Actual. F*ck. Who did I offend in a past life? First of all, my kibble is mid-range, perfectly fine for most families. $2.50 a pound isn’t cheap when you’re feeding an army. I have five cats and eight dogs at home. Keeping them fed is a struggle. These lunatics haven’t spent a dime on rescue, yet they stand there judging me? And the accusations? Disgusting. Animals are innocent. What kind of twisted mind goes there immediately? I couldn’t take it anymore. I ran back inside, grabbed the litter scoop, and dug up a fresh clump from the litter box. The woman was still gloating outside. “What? Truth hurt? I knew you sluts were all the sa—AGHHH!” Before she could finish, I shoved the clump of cat poop right into her open mouth. She gagged, eyes rolling back. “Blargh… urggh!” “Guess what that is?” I laughed until tears came out. “Want to know? Taste it!” “Eat up! If that’s not enough, I have plenty more!” I waved the bag of poop. She looked terrified and tried to run back into her apartment. Roger heard the commotion and tried to come out to help, but his wife was blocking the door, heaving and retching. He saw me and wanted revenge for the $250. He pushed against her to get out. Two propane-tank-sized people wedged in a doorway. I saw my chance. I lunged forward and shoved a scoopful into Roger’s mouth too. “No need to fight! Plenty for everyone! My cats are very productive!” Roger’s eyes bulged. He puked all over the floor. Disgusted, I slammed their door shut for them. Too gross. I lost my appetite for breakfast. I stared at their closed door. An idea formed. Since they loved it so much, I shouldn’t be stingy. I went back inside. The cats had just finished breakfast and were lining up for the litter box. One fresh turd after another. Yes! Good kitties! Mommy’s little poop factories! My eyes lit up. “Don’t rush! One at a time! Make it a big one! Mommy needs ammo!” I carefully arranged the fresh, milk-scented litter clumps into a heart shape right outside their door. Then I left, satisfied. 4 I didn’t want to be around when they opened the door. I ran to my best friend, Lily’s place, and jumped straight into the shower. Cat poop smells potent. I felt like the scent had seeped into my skin. Lily was confused but used to my antics. She just went to the kitchen to cook. Lily and I grew up together. She became a journalist; I became a freelance writer. We weren’t rich, but we got by. Since I started rescuing animals, though, I’ve been relying on her for meals a lot. We were supposed to go shopping at 10 AM, but the Crazy Couple delayed me until noon. Luckily, Lily loves me. Instead of being mad, she made hot pot. I sat there with a towel on my head, eating beef and veggies, telling her about my morning. When I got to the cat litter part, we both laughed until our sides hurt. “Ew, stop,” Lily grimaced, laughing. “I’m eating! Too gross!” “More for me then!” I grinned, stealing her beef. The news came on the TV. Lily glanced at it. “Oh yeah, I transferred departments. I’m working with the police on a crime beat now. They’re tracking a human trafficking ring.” “They target women our age. They use all kinds of tricks—fake distress calls, accusing women of being mistresses to create a scene and snatch them. They’re getting creative.” “One victim was a girl who rescued strays. She gave her address to someone claiming to want to adopt, and they staked her out. She’s still missing. Probably…” We fell silent. The world is scary. Even doing good deeds can get you killed. “Don’t worry,” I said finally, flexing my bicep. “I can take care of myself. Check out these guns.” Lily laughed and pushed me away. After lunch, we went shopping. But we hadn’t gone far when we ran into them. “Speak of the devil. The Crazy Couple.” I rolled my eyes. “Bad luck. Let’s go.” “Who? The animal protection nutjobs?” Lily asked. “Yeah. Run. I left them a ‘gift’ this morning, they’re probably out for blood.” But we weren’t fast enough. Roger and his wife, Clara, spotted us. They were eating at a roadside noodle stall, bowls in hand. Roger charged at me, face twisted in rage. “You btch! You put cat sht at my door! I stepped right in it!” I dodged his punch. “I thought you loved animals! Aren’t you supposed to love every part of them? Even their poop is a gift from nature! Hypocrites!” Lily and I cracked up. Roger and Clara turned purple. Clara roared, “Die, you slut! How dare you make me eat sh*t!” She was surprisingly agile for her size. I couldn’t dodge in time. A bowl of noodles slammed into my face. Grease and sauce dripped down my chin. They smirked, finally getting a win. But then the smell hit me. That wasn’t beef or pork. I looked at the noodle stall owner, who looked horrified. It was dog meat. Most pet owners won’t touch dog meat. The thought of eating something that could be their own pet is repulsive. Especially for these two “animal rights activists.” I wiped my face and sneered. “I thought feeding kibble was abuse? What do you call eating a dog? Hypocrites doesn’t even cover it.” “Real animal lovers don’t eat dog meat.” Roger panicked. “Bullsh*t! We love dogs! We’d never eat them!” “How were we supposed to know? This stall is so cheap, it’s probably… probably human meat!” His eyes darted around, sweat beading on his forehead. Clara covered his mouth. “It’s synthetic meat! Restaurants use it all the time! Cheap and lasts forever. I bet it’s synthetic!” I burst out laughing. These two were terrible liars. It was lunchtime. The street was busy. The stall owner’s face went from shocked to murderous. “Bullsh*t! This is real dog meat! Everyone knows where I get my meat!” “Are you trying to ruin my business? Get lost! I’m not serving you anymore!” Roger realized he messed up. “Wait, boss, no! Your business is great! I just misspoke!” “Folks, don’t listen to us! This meat is fresh! Slaughtered daily! Come buy some!” He tried to fix it, but the owner waved him away like a fly. “Get out of here!” Lily and I walked away, laughing.

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A bullet had torn through my brother’s heart on his last peacekeeping tour. A ruptured artery. Massive bleeding. He had three hours to live, tops. But as they wheeled him into the OR, I was calmly watering my plants. A minute later, the door to my office flew open, kicked in by my wife, Lena. Her voice was a blade. “That’s your brother in there, Elias! Are you just going to let him die? How can you even wear that uniform?” I knew, with cold certainty, that I was the only surgeon who could save him. I just murmured, “Oh,” and continued tending to my flowers. The next second, a sharp sting exploded across my cheek. My mother’s slap. “Elias Thorne! You ungrateful monster. You wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for your brother!” My father ripped the service ribbons from his own uniform and threw them at my face. “Get in that operating room and save your brother. Now.” I simply raised a hand to wipe the blood from the corner of my mouth, then coolly rolled up my sleeve, revealing the tapestry of horrifying scars that covered my arm. “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice flat. “This hand is useless. I can’t operate anymore.” 1 The air in the office seemed to crystallize. Every eye was fixed on my right hand. This was the hand that had performed countless impossible surgeries. The hand they once called “The Hand of God” at this military hospital. But now, it was a grotesque ruin, twitching uncontrollably. It trembled so violently I could barely hold the watering can steady. I was, for all intents and purposes, a cripple. Lena shook her head wildly, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Stop acting, Elias. You were in surgery just yesterday. How could your hand be ‘useless’ today?” “You’d really sink this low? You’d lie about this just to avoid saving him?” I met her accusation with a faint, chilling smile and held my arm out closer for her to inspect. “Believe what you want, Lena. My hand is finished.” I let the smile widen. “Perhaps fate has decided it’s Clark’s time to die.” The dark, swollen veins looked as if they were about to burst from my skin. The sight made her recoil, but her indignation quickly returned. “You’re a medical genius! I bet you did something to your own hand, used some obscure technique to make it look like this. I don’t believe for a second it was ruined in just a few hours!” Beside her, my mother’s composure finally broke. Tears streamed down her face. She reached for me, not to strike me again, but to clutch at my sleeve, her voice pleading. “Elias, I’m begging you. As your mother, I am begging you. Please, just go operate on your brother.” Her voice cracked. “Have you forgotten who saved you when you were being torn apart by those wild dogs?” A phantom pain shot through me, the old scars on my back burning as if they were fresh. I was eight years old, a Boy Scout on a camping trip in the countryside. A pack of feral dogs appeared out of nowhere, lunging for me. Their teeth sank into my back, ripping flesh from bone. I was moments from death when he appeared. Nine-year-old Clark, brandishing a heavy branch, driving the dogs away before carrying me home. He saved my life. My parents were overwhelmed with gratitude. When they learned he was the victim of horrific abuse at home, they decided to adopt him. My injuries were severe. I spent a full year bedridden, missing the selection trials for the elite military academy. Clark, naturally, took my spot. I could only watch from my sickbed as he dazzled the recruiters, earning the praise that should have been mine. Everyone lauded my parents for gaining such a brilliant son. No one seemed to remember that I had once been even more brilliant. My body healed, but it was never the same. The rigorous training of a soldier was now beyond me. For my parents, both decorated battlefield commanders, having a son who was a true, hardened soldier was everything. A dream only Clark could fulfill. From that day on, the scales of their love tipped, never to be balanced again. Clark got the first pick of everything. Clark’s needs always came first. In my own home, I started to feel like the one who had been adopted. I was jealous, but I swallowed my bitterness and accepted it. Hoping to win back their approval, I became a military surgeon. But it changed nothing. Their eyes still followed Clark, their pride swelling only for him. Their cold indifference nearly drove me into a deep depression. I pushed the memories away. I didn’t answer them. I just went back to my flowers. My father strode forward and swatted the planter from my hands. It exploded on the floor, a shower of terracotta and soil. “Your brother is lying on a gurney, bleeding out, and you have the heart to play with these damn flowers? Are you even human?” He wasn’t finished. He brought his boot down, grinding the delicate petals into the dirt. A sharp pain lanced through my chest. My grandmother had given me the seeds for those flowers. Still, I said nothing. I knelt, carefully picking up the broken shards and ruined blossoms. My mother completely unraveled. Her hair was a mess, her face streaked with tears as she sobbed. “Please, Elias! I’m begging you! Do you want your father and me to get on our knees? Just go look at him! Please, just one look!” She bent her knees, as if she truly was about to prostrate herself before me. I had never seen her lose control like this. Not even when I was a child, mauled and bleeding, had she shown a hint of panic. A commander, she always said, must remain impassive in any situation. Why was it so different for Clark? My father’s voice boomed with the authority he used on the battlefield. “I don’t care if you’re crippled. You will perform this surgery, and you can fall apart after!” A sharp edge of a broken pot sliced my palm. A thin line of red welled up. A mocking smile played on my lips. “Are you sure about that? If Clark dies on my table, whose fault will it be then?” 2 Disappointment, regret, sheer disbelief—a storm of emotions churned in their eyes. “Enough, Elias,” Lena snarled. “We all know if you do this surgery, it will be a success. Unless you don’t want to save him.” Her eyes narrowed. “Or maybe… you want to kill him?” I just chuckled softly and continued to gather the broken pieces of my flowerpot. “This is insane!” Their words washed over me, but I remained silent, my head bowed. Time was ticking away. Clark was running out of it. Suddenly, a nurse burst in from the operating theater, her face pale. “It’s bad! Colonel Thorne is flatlining! If we don’t operate now, he won’t last another ten minutes.” My mother swayed, her eyes rolling back in her head as if she might faint. That’s when Lena stepped forward, her fists clenched. “Mom, Dad… let me do it. Let me perform the surgery.” “Elias and I studied under the same mentor. I’ve observed this procedure countless times. I know I can do it.” My parents trusted Lena, but this was Clark’s life on the line. Their golden boy. Their everything. My mother hesitated. “Lena, are you sure? The senior specialists all refused. You’ve never been the lead surgeon on something this complex.” A flicker of steel entered Lena’s eyes. She shot a venomous glare in my direction. “That’s only because Elias hogs the spotlight, never giving anyone else a chance! The truth is, my skills are every bit as good as his now.” She pressed on, her voice filled with conviction. “I know this procedure inside and out. And with the help of Elias’s surgical assistance mech, I’m confident I can succeed.” My body went rigid. I had spent seven years developing that mech-assisted surgical system. It was designed for the most delicate operations, like suturing microscopic blood vessels, guiding the surgeon’s hand with inhuman precision. Its success rate was hovering around sixty percent. The hope of saving Clark lit up my parents’ faces, though a shadow of doubt remained. “I’ve heard how difficult this is,” my father said. “Can a machine really make the difference? I’m still not sure.” Lena was ready with a reassuring answer. “Don’t worry. The assistance arm handles the fine motor skills, the impossibly precise suturing. Plus, I won’t be alone. I’ll have a full team of doctors assisting me.” As if on cue, a group of surgeons filed in from the hallway, all nodding their agreement, all offering their help. I scanned their faces. Most of them were my own residents, my protégés. And now, every single one of them had turned their back on me. Tears of relief streamed down my parents’ faces. They grabbed Lena’s hands, their gratitude overflowing. “Lena, my dear, if you pull this off, we’ll write you a letter of recommendation to the Central Command Medical Center. You’ll be made a senior consultant. And everyone who helps you, we’ll make sure their superiors know of their valor.” My hand twitched again, a tremor of ice this time. A position I had bled for, worked seven long years to achieve, and they could grant it to Lena with a single letter. A letter they had never once offered to write for me. My heart, already a cold, dead weight, sank even lower. “Hold on,” I said, my voice cutting through their celebration. “You want to use my machine? Have you obtained my authorization?” The atmosphere in the room instantly dropped back to absolute zero. Lena stared at me, aghast. “Elias, have you lost your mind? Your brother is dying, and you’re talking about authorization?” 3 A cold smile touched my lips. “That machine is the result of seven years of my life’s work. Why should I let you use it for free?” Lena’s eyes burned with hatred. My parents looked at me as if I were a monster they were seeing for the first time. “Elias,” my mother choked out, “we were wrong to have ever raised you. If we’d known you’d become this… this thing… Clark should have let those dogs finish you off!” My own mother, wishing me dead. I should have felt something. Pain. Anger. But there was nothing left inside me but a vast, silent emptiness, like a dead lake. I continued calmly, “Unless… you sign over the villa. The one in my parents’ name. Then I might consider it.” My parents were trembling with rage. “You bastard!” My father’s hand flew up, striking me again. I just smiled through the pain. “That’s another million you owe me. Pay up, or you get no authorization.” His hand hovered in the air, shaking, but it didn’t fall again. “You vile creature!” my mother screamed. “Using your brother’s life to blackmail us for money? That house was meant for Clark! It was going to be our wedding gift to him and his future bride.” I didn’t respond. I just tapped my watch, a silent reminder that their time was running out. After a moment of agonizing indecision, my father finally broke. He scribbled out a transfer deed on the spot and had it rushed for an official seal. Minutes later, the signed contract and the deed to the villa were in my hand. “There,” he spat. “Now sign the authorization.” My pen hovered over the paper, then stopped. “Seven years of work,” I mused. “One house is hardly enough. I also want the family heirloom. The locket.” My mother’s eyes widened in horror. “That is for the eldest son’s wife! It belongs to Clark’s future bride! How dare you!” The eldest son. Before Clark, that was me. I said nothing, just idly twirled the pen between my fingers, waiting. Finally, they yielded. My father sent someone to retrieve the heirloom. Only after the delicate, antique locket was safely in my possession did I sign the paper. “There. You have my permission,” I said, my voice devoid of emotion. “I do hope you know how to operate it.” The mech’s success rate was sixty percent, but that number was entirely dependent on the lead surgeon. In the end, it was the human, not the machine, who would determine the outcome. Lena scoffed. “Just you watch. You’re not the only genius in this hospital, Elias.” I gave a slight, knowing smile. With the deed in one hand and the locket in the other, I walked out of that office with my head held high. As I passed my parents, my father’s voice, cold as a tombstone, followed me. “Don’t bother coming home again.” I just grunted in acknowledgment and kept walking. The stares of everyone in the hallway were like daggers. Even patients I had personally saved now shook their heads in disgust. In their eyes, I was a monster, a pariah who would trade his own brother’s life for profit. I didn’t care. I smiled as I left the hospital behind. I went back to the house, packed my bags, and erased every trace of my existence there. Then I drove to the villa. My grandmother’s favorite carnations by the front door had withered and died. It didn’t matter. I would bring them back. I placed the locket on the small altar before her photograph. Grandma, I got it back. I’ll never let someone like Clark tarnish it. He doesn’t deserve it. The surgery took nearly four hours. The entire field hospital held its breath. The grounds outside were swarming with media, a circus of cameras and reporters. My phone blew up with calls and messages, a flood of hate from a world that had already judged and condemned me. I was a cold-blooded animal, a disgrace. My years of service, my past triumphs, were all rendered worthless. I ignored it all, focusing only on the delicate, withered carnations in my hands. Six hours after it began, the doors to the operating theater swung open. Lena emerged, proclaiming the surgery a resounding success. The hospital erupted in cheers. The media descended upon her, hailing her as a hero. The headlines were already being written: The top surgeon’s throne had a new heir. Lena was the new “Hand of God.” She spoke eloquently to the cameras, describing the grueling procedure and magnanimously promising to make the surgical mech technology available to hospitals everywhere. “A doctor’s duty is to save lives,” she declared, her voice ringing with false piety. “What Elias Thorne refused to do, I did for him!” Offers from medical tech corporations poured in. Lena ultimately signed an exclusive deal with the titan, Astral Corp. Overnight, Lena became a household name. And I became a rat, scurrying in the filth of public opinion. Looking at the court summons that arrived on my phone, I knew my judgment day was at hand. 4 A few days later, a military vehicle pulled up in front of the villa. I gathered my prepared documents and stood for a moment before my grandmother’s portrait. “Wait for me, Grandma,” I whispered. “I’ll be back soon.” Then I walked out and calmly surrendered myself to the military police. At the tribunal, every face was a mask of contempt. My parents glared at me with a hatred so pure it could have melted steel. The judge banged his gavel. “Elias Thorne, you stand accused by this council of dereliction of duty and gross violation of the Military Medical Code. How do you plead?” I slowly lifted my head, meeting his gaze. “Not guilty.” The courtroom exploded. Accusations flew from every corner. If not for the bailiffs holding them back, my parents would have torn me apart with their bare hands. “Not guilty?” Lena scoffed from the witness stand. “You abandoned your brother and blackmailed your family! We all saw it! How dare you deny it?” “Elias, if you had a shred of decency, you’d confess,” she continued, her voice dripping with disgust. “If I hadn’t stepped in, your brother would be dead!” I looked at them, my expression as still and dead as a frozen lake. “But he’s not dead, is he?” A collective gasp swept through the room. Camera flashes strobed around me, the media desperate to capture the face of this unrepentant villain. No matter what the judge asked, my answer was the same. “Not guilty.” Just as the proceedings reached a stalemate, the grand doors of the courtroom swung open. Clark was wheeled in, looking frail and pale. Even with the surgery’s success, his body was shattered. He’d never regain the strength to be a commander. The life he had stolen was now, finally, broken. “Your Honor, Mom, Dad,” he said, his voice weak but clear. “If my brother won’t admit to abandoning me… then perhaps he’ll admit to treason!”

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My phone shattered. At the airport, I borrowed a stranger’s phone to call my brother: “Bro, where are you?” He chuckled, his voice low and teasing: “Which ‘sister’ is this? Hmm?” I cleared my sore throat: “Your biological sister. Same mom, same dad.” “Since when do I have other sisters?! And why wasn’t I informed?!” Silence on the other end. “Cough. Why are you calling from a strange number?” “Something urgent came up, I can’t leave. I sent a buddy to pick you up.” He teased, “You know him. It’s the hot guy you swore you’d marry when you were a kid.” 1 After SATs were done and college applications submitted, my parents packed me up like luggage and shipped me off to spend the summer with my brother, who works in New York. They planned a romantic getaway, just the two of them, and didn’t trust me home alone. My brother, Nate, initially refused. “I have work every day. I don’t have time to babysit her.” My mom raised her voice: “You were the one who begged us to have a little sister! You promised you’d take care of her! Now she just needs a place to crash for the summer, and you’re full of excuses!” “Don’t you have weekends off? You’re single, what could you possibly be busy with?” “You wanted her, you deal with her.” Nate laughed, defeated: “Fine, fine, fine. Send her over.” “I’ll take care of it.” 2 The day of my flight, Nate texted me: “Emergency came up, can’t pick you up.” “Asked a friend to grab you. Call him when you land.” He sent a number. But I was already in the air and didn’t see the message. I landed at dusk. Just as I turned off airplane mode, a rushing passenger slammed into me. I fell, and my phone went flying, landing ten feet away with a sickening crack. The guy didn’t even look back, disappearing into the crowd. I picked up my phone. Smashed. The screen was a spiderweb of cracks, completely black. I tried to borrow a phone from passersby. Three rejections. Everyone looked at me with suspicion and walked away fast. I stood there, awkward and helpless. Finally, an airport staff member let me use theirs. I thanked my lucky stars I memorized my family’s numbers. I dialed Nate. First call, rejected immediately. My heart sank. Second call. It rang for a long time before he picked up. A familiar, cool voice answered: “Hello, who is this?” Hearing his voice, my composure cracked. My eyes welled up. I wanted to cry. My voice came out thick with unshed tears. “Bro, where are you?” He was somewhere loud. Background noise was chaotic. He paused. Then laughed lightly: “Bro?” “Which sister is this? The club? From the birthday party the other night? Or someone else?” I froze. Since when did my brother start collecting “sisters” behind my back? After a long pause, I answered seriously: “Your biological sister, Chloe Tang.” Silence on the other end for a solid ten seconds. Then his tone turned serious. “Cough. Why are you calling from a strange number?” “What’s wrong with your voice?” My attention shifted. “I ate too many lychees at home yesterday. Got a sore throat.” I told him about my phone getting smashed but left out the part about falling. He comforted me: “Don’t worry. Where are you exactly? Tell me.” “I have an emergency today and can’t pick you up. I called a bro to get you.” “Julian Shen. You know him.” Then he teased: “Remember? The guy you swore you’d marry when you grew up.” Hearing Julian’s name, my heart skipped a beat. Panic set in. Nate is seven years older than me. Julian was Nate’s middle school friend, but two years younger than him. He skipped two grades. Rich family, good looks, high IQ and EQ. The classic “neighbor’s kid” everyone compares you to. Perfect and dazzling. He and my brother were tight. The first time Julian came to our house, tiny me was stunned by his face. He was polite, humble, and treated me well. Every time he visited, he brought gifts. Snacks, toys, pretty hair clips. I was a kid with zero filter, so I asked him if he’d wait for me to grow up so I could marry him. Julian smiled gently. He picked up tiny me: “Sure, if you don’t think I’m too old by then.” It was a joke. But I remembered it. Vividly. Because every time we met after that, my parents brought it up. “Remember how you used to scream about marrying him?” Nate would join in: “You told me I wasn’t as handsome as Julian. Almost died of anger. Ungrateful brat.” For the first few years, Julian would play along: “Is Chloe’s promise still valid?” After I started middle school, he stopped mentioning it. When others teased, he just smiled and changed the subject. Puberty made me sensitive and shy. I started hiding whenever Julian came over. Then Nate went to college. I rarely saw Julian after that. Maybe once or twice his freshman and sophomore years. Then never again. It’s been five years. 3 I followed Nate’s instructions to the exit. A swarm of drivers rushed me, asking if I needed a ride. It freaked me out. I shook my head and backed away. One driver grabbed my suitcase handle, trying to hustle me into his car. He was strong. I yanked my suitcase back and stumbled in the chaos. I crashed into a stranger’s chest. He steadied me, saving me from hitting the ground. My instinct was to bow my head and apologize. “Thank you, thank you.” I noticed I’d scuffed his expensive leather shoe. “Sorry, I’m so sorry.” “Chloe Tang.” A pleasant but unfamiliar voice sounded above my head, cutting off my apology. Hearing my name, I snapped my head up. My eyes widened. Shocked. Stunned. The man in front of me was in a bespoke suit, every hair in place, radiating an aura of elite sophistication. He was tall. I barely reached his collarbone. His face was more defined, more mature than the boy in my memories. Julian Shen swept a cold glance over the drivers. They scattered immediately. When he looked back at me, seeing my dazed expression, he smiled. The cold aura vanished instantly. That face was more dazzling than the sunset behind him. His eyes held a familiar gentleness. “What? It’s been a few years, don’t recognize me?” I snapped out of it, feeling shy. “Julian… bro. Long time no see.” Julian curved his lips: “Long time no see, Chloe.” 4 In Julian’s car, he asked me a few questions. Hearing about my phone, he apologized: “My bad. I should have been there earlier to meet you inside, but a meeting ran late.” I waved my hands frantically: “No, no, no.” “You’re so busy, and my brother is bothering you. We should be apologizing.” Julian smiled: “It’s no bother. I’m happy to see you.” He was dressed so formally. Even though he was gentle, the “successful adult male” vibe gave me invisible pressure. It had been years. He wasn’t that boy anymore, and I wasn’t a kid. Sitting in the enclosed space of his car, I felt incredibly awkward. When nervous, people fidget. I kept sipping my orange juice. Julian gripped the steering wheel. His fingers were long and pale. Beautiful hands. Stopped at a red light, he suddenly said: “You’re staying at my place tonight. Your brother…” Pfft— Before he finished, I sprayed juice everywhere. I coughed violently, scrambling for tissues in my backpack. Julian handed me a grey handkerchief. I clutched my tissues, embarrassed: “It’s okay, I’ll use these.” He didn’t insist, taking back the handkerchief. I wiped the juice splatters in the car, feeling mortified. “Sorry, I messed up your car.” The sun disappeared below the horizon, and the streetlights flickered on. Julian’s profile was a silhouette against the passing lights. It made him look colder, more distant. I felt like a kid who broke a vase at a stranger’s house. Anxious. Julian glanced at me. His eyes were calm but resigned in the dim light. He sighed softly: “Chloe, you’ve been here less than thirty minutes and you’ve apologized a dozen times.” “I don’t blame you. You don’t need to be scared.” “We aren’t strangers. I’m the same as your brother. Treat me like a brother, okay?” He reached over and patted my head. His tone was gentle: “Relax.” I nodded. But my mind was on Nate. “Julian… why am I staying at your place? Where is my brother?” Julian turned the wheel. His tone was steady: “Nate had a sudden business trip. He didn’t want to leave you alone.” “I have a housekeeper during the day who can take care of you.” He paused, then added: “My niece is staying with me right now. It won’t be just the two of us.” He looked at me, smiling: “Don’t be scared.” My little worry exposed, I looked away, embarrassed. “I… I want to call my brother.” Julian’s phone rang immediately. Caller ID: Nate Tang. My brother!

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My eight-year-old son, Mason, deliberately dumped a bucket of water from the second-floor balcony, soaking his classmate below. By the time I rushed to the school, breathless and panicked, he was still defending himself. “Mom, I didn’t mean to! My hand just slipped. You have to believe me.” I nodded slowly. Ignoring the burning, angry glare of the other boy’s mother, I spoke to my son, keeping my voice gentle. “Go down to the courtyard and wait for me.” Five minutes later, I stood on that same balcony. I lifted a basin filled to the brim with ice-cold water, aimed for my son standing below, and dumped the whole thing on his head. 1 Before Ms. Carter sent me the security footage, I was holding onto a shred of hope. You always want to believe your kid is the sweet one, the one who listens, the one who only has the occasional rebellious streak. You don’t want to believe they’re capable of malice. But the moment I clicked play on that video, I knew I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. The footage was crystal clear. Mason was supposed to be helping tidy up the classroom. Instead, he filled a small bucket, wobbled over to the second-floor railing, and stood there. He tipped onto his toes, peering over the edge, waiting. You could see the hesitation. He looked down, then back at the bucket. But then, he made up his mind. In a split second, he hoisted the bucket and dumped it directly onto a classmate’s head as the boy walked by underneath. The text bubble from Ms. Carter popped up a moment later, a wall of text: [Mrs. Miller, Mason is at a critical developmental stage. Mental health and behavioral issues are serious. Unlike grades or a fever, psychological issues hide deep inside. We need to communicate and solve this immediately before it gets worse.] My chest tightened. She was politely telling me my son was disturbed. [Please come to the school this afternoon. regardless of the ‘why,’ Mason was in the wrong. He needs to apologize to the other student.] I typed back instantly, my fingers shaking. [Absolutely. I’ll be there. Is the other child okay? Do I need to cover a doctor’s visit?] Even in summer, getting doused with water from that height is a shock to the system, both physically and emotionally. [The student cried for a while, but his parents picked him up to change. He seems physically okay. His parents will be back this afternoon for the meeting.] [Okay, Ms. Carter. Thank you. I’ll be there at 5:00 PM sharp.] I took a deep breath, trying to steady my heart rate. My husband, Grant, and I had always been overachievers. Top of the class, Ivy League, the works. Mason was our only child. Grant had massive expectations for him, running a tight ship when it came to academics. Since kindergarten, Mason had been at the top of his class. Teachers loved him. He was sunny, helpful, the kid everyone wanted to be friends with. That’s why this act of bullying terrified me. It was so out of character. I almost forwarded the video to Grant. But I hesitated. He’d been pulling all-nighters working on his tenure review and research papers, barely sleeping. I decided to handle it myself. I checked the time and headed to the mall first. I needed to buy the other kid a new outfit. Whether the parents accepted the apology or not, I had to show that we were taking this seriously. I pulled up the class photo, showed a sales clerk the victim’s size, and bought two high-end outfits. I picked the most expensive options without blinking. Then, I drove to the school. My son did something wrong. As his mother, I couldn’t be late. I wouldn’t give them another reason to be angry. 2 School had just let out when I pulled into the lot. I walked into the main office at the same time Ms. Carter was walking in. Behind her trailed two boys. One was Mason. The other was the victim, Liam. The second Mason saw me, he dropped his head. I looked away, staying silent. Ten minutes later, Liam’s mom rushed in. She zeroed in on me immediately. “You’re Mason’s mom?” I nodded, keeping my expression open and remorseful. “I am. And I am so incredibly sorry. My son hurt your son, and as his mother, I want to apologize first.” I handed her the shopping bag. “Liam’s clothes got soaked, and I know that ruined his day. These are new. It’s a small gesture, but please accept it. Mason was wrong. I’m going to handle this strictly. But I also want to hear from you—whatever you need to make this right, we will do it.” Liam’s mom blinked, caught off guard. She clearly expected a fight, not a humble apology. She took the bag, her expression softening but still wary. “Look, boys roughhouse. I get it. But pouring water from a balcony? That’s dangerous. It’s too much.” “It was completely out of line,” I agreed quickly. “Again, I am so sorry.” She sighed, nodding. “I accept your apology.” She turned to her son. “Liam, do you accept the apology?” Liam nodded, but his eyes darted nervously toward Mason. I turned to my son, who hadn’t said a word. “Mason. Come here. Apologize to Liam and his mother.” Mason looked up at me, his lip trembling, then looked down at his sneakers. “Mom, I don’t want to. I told you, I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. My hand slipped. You have to believe me.” The air in the room instantly turned ice cold. Liam’s mom, who had just calmed down, flared up again. “Excuse me? The teacher saw it. The security cameras saw it. My son didn’t even touch you, and you’re standing there lying about it?” Ms. Carter jumped in, trying to de-escalate, offering Liam’s mom some water. I stepped forward and crouched down to look Mason in the eye. “Mason, I watched the tape. I asked Ms. Carter to ask the other kids because I wanted to be sure you weren’t being framed. They all confirmed it. You did it on purpose. Why are you still lying?” Mason’s head sank lower. His legs were shaking. He was gripping the hem of his t-shirt so hard his knuckles were white. I knew my son. He was terrified. My voice remained calm, but I was vibrating with nerves. “Mason Miller, I am giving you one last chance. Apologize to your classmate.” The silence stretched out, agonizingly long. Finally, Mason choked out a sob. “Mom, why don’t you believe me? I didn’t mean to!” I closed my eyes. When I opened them, I ignored the hateful look Liam’s mom was giving us. I nodded. “Okay, Mason. Go downstairs to the courtyard. Stand right under the balcony and wait for me.” I watched his small back retreat out the door. Then I turned to Liam’s mom. “My child soaked yours. He refuses to own up to it. I think it’s only fair he understands exactly how that feels.” Liam’s mom looked confused. “What do you mean?” “Come with me,” I said. Two minutes later, I stood on the balcony with a basin of water. Mason was standing right where I told him to. I felt sick, but I didn’t hesitate. I tipped the basin and splashed the cold water directly onto my son. 3 Mason shrieked, clutching his wet head, looking up at me in total disbelief. Ms. Carter gasped, her hand covering her mouth. She wanted to stop me, but it was too late. Liam’s mom stared at me, jaw dropped. I turned my back on the balcony and faced her again. “On Monday, Mason will give Liam a proper, sincere apology.” She waved her hands awkwardly, suddenly embarrassed by the intensity of the punishment. “It’s… look, they’re just kids. He’s been punished enough. We… we don’t blame him anymore.” I crouched down to Liam’s level. “Liam, honey, are you still angry?” He shook his head. He thought for a second, then said, “Ms. Jenna, Mason is actually my best friend. He usually helps me. Last time I was sick, he did my class chores for me.” I waited patiently. “Go on.” “I was just mad he soaked me. I felt embarrassed. But I don’t hate him.” I patted his shoulder. “Mason is lucky to have a friend as forgiving as you.” Liam nodded. Then he lowered his voice, glancing at his own mom. “Ms. Jenna… I think I know why he did it.” I froze. “Why?” Liam looked nervous, but his mom nudged him to speak. “Because of the soccer tryouts. I beat Mason in the prelims. Mason told me this match was super important. He said if he didn’t get first place, his dad would be furious.” My brow furrowed. I didn’t know anything about this. Liam was getting worked up now. “His dad told him he has to be number one in school and number one in sports, or else he’s not a ‘good son.’ Last time we were changing for gym, me and the guys saw marks on Mason’s back. Like, red lines. I think his dad hit him…” My temples started throbbing. Liam’s mom lightly tapped her son’s arm. “Liam, don’t make up stories.” She looked at me apologetically. “Kids talk, you know how it is. Don’t take it to heart. It’s getting late, we should go.” I forced a smile. “Right. Drive safe.” After they left, Ms. Carter looked out the window at my shivering son, then turned to me. “Mrs. Miller… does Mason’s father actually talk to him like that?” She chose her words carefully. “He’s young. If a parent pushes too hard, or uses fear to motivate… it twists a child’s thinking.” “Also…” She hesitated. I nodded, cutting her off gently. “I understand. I’m going to have a very serious conversation with his father tonight.” 4 I drove home in silence. Mason sat in the back, head down, shoulders shaking. “Why are you crying?” I asked, pulling the car over to the curb. “Is it because I poured water on you? Or is it something else?” He didn’t answer. I rubbed my temples, exhaustion washing over me. “Mason, you know I think you’re an amazing kid, right?” “And I don’t mean because you get A’s. I mean because you’re generous, and kind, and you help people. You respect us.” I looked at him in the rearview mirror. “Sometimes I ask myself… if you got bad grades, would I still love you?” Mason looked up, his face streaked with tears. “I would,” I said softly. “Because you are my son. Loving you is my instinct. It’s my job. It’s not a reward for performing well for the neighbors.” Fresh tears welled up in his big eyes. He wiped them away furiously with a tissue. “When I was upstairs, Liam told me something. He said if you admit you were wrong, he still wants to be your best friend.” I turned in my seat to face him. “Do you know why he’s willing to forgive you?” Mason shook his head, sniffing. “Because before today, you were good to him. When he was sick, you helped him. When he twisted his ankle during the fire drill, you slowed down to help him down the stairs. That kindness built a bank of trust. You made a withdrawal today, Mason. You hurt him. But he remembers the good version of you. Now, do you still think you weren’t wrong?” “Mom…” Mason broke down, sobbing loudly. “I’m sorry. I know I was wrong.” “Okay,” I said, my voice trembling. “On Monday, you need to tell him that.” “I will.” I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Okay. That part is settled. Now we need to talk about the other thing.” Fear flashed across Mason’s round face. “You poured water on Liam because you wanted him to get sick so he’d miss the finals on Sunday, didn’t you?” Mason froze. He tried to shrink into the leather seat, avoiding my eyes. “Why would you think like that?” Silence. I took a deep breath. “It’s because of Dad, isn’t it?” “Because Dad told you if you aren’t the best at everything, he won’t love you anymore… or worse.” I closed my eyes, feeling sick. “He’d punish you, right?” “Tell me,” I said, enunciating every word. “Do not lie to me.” Finally, Mason nodded. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m just not good enough. That’s why Dad gets mad.” I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper. My hands were shaking on the steering wheel. “No,” I reached back and touched his knee. “That isn’t true. Dad put impossible, cruel pressure on you. You have nothing to be sorry for.” My voice cracked. “Dad is the one who should be sorry.” Mason picked at his fingers nervously. “But Dad… Dad never says sorry.” I looked at the red light glowing through the windshield. I hit the blinker and made a U-turn. “Mom? Aren’t we going home?” “You’re going to stay at Auntie Sarah’s for a few days,” I said, my voice scarily calm. “We aren’t going back until your father apologizes to you.”

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When my crush’s family went bankrupt, I didn’t abandon him. I practically bought Liam Vanderbilt. But his heart belonged to his “white moonlight,” the girl who got away. He didn’t like me. No touching, no looking, and definitely no dessert. Every time I said the wrong thing, he’d threaten to leave my mansion. After he stormed out again, I did what I always did: sent an apology gift to his dingy rental apartment. But ten days passed, and he didn’t come back. Just as I was starting to panic, a wall of floating text—bullet comments—appeared before my eyes. “OMG, the female lead still doesn’t realize she sent the package to the wrong guy?” “She mistyped one digit on the apartment number and sent it straight to the poor scholarship student!” “This is the first time the gloomy villain has ever received a gift in his life, isn’t it?” “There’s a black card with $200k inside! I’m crying. Silas was about to drop out of school… now he can pay tuition.” … “The male lead is kinda pathetic though.” “Waiting for his sugar mama in that rental, eyes red from crying, and she never came.” “He thinks he’s been abandoned!” Chapter 1 Liam Vanderbilt ran away from home again. All because I accidentally knocked over the watch Clara gave him. In a fit of rage, he packed his bags and took the bus back to his old family home in the suburbs. It was the only thing his father left him before committing suicide after the Vanderbilt empire collapsed. A tiny, 500-square-foot studio. The location was terrible—basically the slums. Surrounded by thugs and drifters. Liam couldn’t stand living there, but he’d been a prince too long. He was stubborn and never bowed his head. Every time, I was the one who caved, begging him to come back to my villa. This time was no exception. I looked at my phone. My number was blocked. I opened the shopping app and started ordering gifts. Sneakers, gaming keyboard, mouse, headphones… all the things Liam liked. I also ordered a bouquet of sunflowers, his favorite. Inside, I tucked a bank card and a confession note from the florist. Usually, when I apologized this hard, Liam would unblock me within a week. Then he’d begrudgingly let me pick him up. But this time… It had been over ten days since I sent the package. Silence. Not a peep. It was like he decided to freeze me out completely. Not a single text. Chapter 2 I was confused. What was going on? Did Liam really decide to cut ties with me? I couldn’t sit still anymore. I drove out to the suburbs. It was a cluster of dilapidated apartment buildings. I parked and followed the address old Mr. Vanderbilt left me, searching door to door. I turned the corner to Building 5. Suddenly, I saw a boy walking out, holding a bouquet of sunflowers. It was the exact brand I ordered. And he was wearing the T-shirt I mailed to Liam a few days ago. …What the hell? Did I run into a thief? Or did Liam throw away my gifts, and this guy picked them up? I got out of the car and marched over. I was about to yell, but before I could open my mouth, a barrage of text floated across my vision. “Holy crap, the female lead still doesn’t know she sent the gifts to the wrong person!” “It’s because her phone glitch wiped her address book! She mistyped a digit and sent it straight to the villain’s house!” “Ugh, does the villain really live this poorly? His place looks even worse than Liam’s!” “It’s like 200 square feet. He shares a kitchen with the neighbors…” “Yeah, didn’t you know? The villain is dirt poor, an orphan, bullied since childhood. This is literally the first gift he’s ever received.” “There’s a black card with $200k in there. I’m sobbing. Silas was about to drop out, but now he can pay tuition.” … Wait a minute. What? Silas? Silas Thorne from my school? The super genius who’s always top of the class? How is he the villain? Chapter 3 I froze. I kept reading the comments. According to the original storyline, Silas was supposed to drop out. He was brilliant but destitute. Even with scholarships, he had a sick grandmother and a younger sister to support. He gave up his guaranteed admission to an Ivy League school to work in a factory. Then a fire broke out. A beam fell and crushed his leg. He used half his compensation money for his family and the other half to start a business. He was capable and hardworking. Within a few years, he became a tech tycoon. His future was bright until a competitor framed him, causing him massive losses. That competitor? Liam Vanderbilt. After Silas dropped out, Liam took his spot at the Ivy League. As the “male lead,” Liam’s life was smooth sailing. He made rich friends and got investments from industry bigwigs. Even though his products weren’t as good as Silas’, his connections crushed him. Eventually, Silas snapped. He thought about how Liam had everything only because he, Silas, had to drop out. He went “black.” He became a villain. He started stealing Liam’s projects, contracts, employees, investments… He became a terrifying, unhinged tycoon. I took a deep breath, trying to process this. Just as my brain was melting, another comment popped up. “Lol, look at the female lead’s innocent face.” “She doesn’t know that after the villain turns evil, he not only steals the male lead’s money but also his girl!” “He’s gonna lock her up in a dark room and go crazy. The censors won’t even let us see what happens next!” … EXCUSE ME? Steal me? What did I ever do to him?! The comments seemed to sense my breakdown. “It’s because she was too good to the male lead and ignored the villain. Silas started getting jealous of Liam back then…” “Sigh. If our Spring had been nicer to the villain, maybe she wouldn’t end up in the dark room later. Boohoo.” … I turned my head mechanically. I looked at Silas Thorne, who was hugging my gifts and walking toward his rundown building. A group of neighbors, boys his age with dyed hair who looked like troublemakers, surrounded him. They whistled and teased him. “Ooh, look at Silas! Getting gifts again?” “Who sent it? I’m dying to know!” “Must be a secret admirer. Tsk.” “Isn’t there a card in the flowers? Lemme see!” One of them grabbed Silas by the shoulder and snatched the sunflowers. He ripped out the card. And read it out loud— “I’ve sent you so many things. When will you realize how I feel?” “Can you just…” “Like me back a little bit?” “- Spring.” Chapter 4 “It’s a confession!!!” The gang of punks screamed. They pushed and shoved, acting like they’d seen a ghost. Everyone wanted to see the card. “Who is Spring?” “Is she a nerd like Silas? Some boring good girl?” Immediately— Silas kicked the guy hard. He snatched the card back. The crowd erupted in jeers. A blonde kid whistled. “You don’t know Spring? Spring Vance! The heiress!” “Super rich! Her family does real estate, right? Worth billions!” “I saw her driving an Aston Martin last time. So cool!” “Really? What does it look like?” “Like… hey, isn’t that one right there?” …Silence. Everyone turned to look at me. I didn’t have time to hide. Our eyes met. Silas was still holding the sunflowers. When he saw me, his face turned bright red. The punks exploded. “Spring Vance!” “That’s the heiress!” “Holy sh*t, she actually came here to find Silas!” “Silas, why are you standing there like a log? Go over there, you nerd!” “Don’t keep the lady waiting!” “Go!”

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I was taking my mom to a U-Pick farm for fresh cherries when she suddenly dropped a bomb. “You know, you’re actually kind of cheap.” I looked up, a bit slow on the uptake, and stared at her. “Why would you say that?” “I mean, sure, you have money, but sometimes you really don’t measure up to your sister.” “To put it plainly, you’re a penny-pincher.” She emphasized the words, her tone dripping with righteous indignation as she repeated herself. “Sometimes you look generous. You give me cash, you buy the groceries and household stuff. But you never take me out to eat at nice restaurants. Your sister is different. She always treats me.” It hit me like a ton of bricks. That lunch Chloe paid for two weeks ago. That was still stuck in her craw. She just couldn’t let it go. 1 Two weeks ago, Dad got into a car accident and broke his arm. I was the one who rushed him to the ER, ran up and down stairs handling insurance, paying the deductibles, and hiring a home health aide. By the time my little sister, Chloe, finally showed up, I had basically done all the heavy lifting. So, Chloe decided to treat us to a meal at a Panera Bread across the street from the hospital. At the time, Mom’s face was already dark. She kept shooting me looks, hinting heavily: “You’re the big sister.” I sighed, resigned to my fate, and reached for my phone to pay. The bill was maybe fifty bucks. Tops. I really didn’t want Mom sulking over fifty dollars, giving me the cold shoulder because I didn’t reach for my wallet fast enough. But Chloe was faster. She waved her phone playfully. “Already Venmo’d the register. It’s done.” Mom looked absolutely horrified. She asked Chloe, “Where did you get the money? You spent over a hundred just Ubering here! With me and your sister here, why on earth should you have to pay?” Chloe, afraid I’d get mad, shot me a secret, helpless little smile. Then she linked arms with Mom and whined cutely. “Mom, who cares who pays? Sis already covered the hospital deposit and the nurse fees. There’s no reason I can’t cover the small stuff.” “Once we find the driver who hit Dad, insurance will reimburse all that. Your sister is just floating the cash, it’s not like she’s losing it.” Mom muttered under her breath, clearly unconvinced. But in reality, when Mom got the settlement check later, she never paid me back a dime. Honestly? I didn’t care about that. Dad was hurt. It was my duty to step up. I didn’t feel unbalanced about the money. What hurt was that Mom wouldn’t shut up about that damn lunch Chloe paid for. “We shouldn’t have let your sister pay. Her job is so unstable, she works one month and takes two off. She can barely feed herself.” “Chloe paid for lunch. You know, Harper, you really rode your sister’s coattails on that one.” I spent thousands. Chloe spent fifty. And in the end, I was the one mooching off her? I was at my breaking point, ready to snap back. But I saw Dad on the hospital bed, shaking his head at me desperately. For the sake of my injured father, I didn’t scream at my mother right there in the ward. But all afternoon… Mom called her friends, FaceTimed the aunts, chatted with the neighbors. She told everyone. Chloe bought lunch. It was headline news. And me? I craned my neck to listen, only to hear her whisper-complaining: “The youngest is just so thoughtful. She knew we hadn’t eaten all morning and took us out immediately.” “The oldest sat there all morning and didn’t even think to grab me a bagel.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I made up an excuse, turned around, and walked out. Tears were streaming down my face before I hit the elevator. It wasn’t that I didn’t care she was hungry. I was too busy to think. Admissions paperwork, CT scans, co-pays, dealing with the police report, finding a caregiver. When did I have a second to breathe? I always knew Mom played favorites. back in college, the deal was that Chloe and I both got $1,000 a month for living expenses. But between textbooks, lab fees, food, and basic survival, I was always broke. Chloe, somehow, always had extra cash. Mom always scolded me, saying I wasn’t as sensible as Chloe, that I didn’t care about my parents’ money, that I didn’t know how to budget. Every time I asked for money, I got a lecture. Occasionally, I’d starve myself to stay under budget, but Mom wouldn’t even send the check on time. She’d delay it a few days. To “build my character.” 2 I lived in constant anxiety. Every month, I prayed the transfer wouldn’t be late. But I never dared to demand anything from Mom. Because she always shut me down with one sentence: “How come Chloe has enough? How come she never nags me?” Yeah, I didn’t get it either. I was being cheap as hell. I was rationing tampons. Why was I still drowning? It wasn’t until years after graduation, during a casual chat with Chloe, that I found out the truth. Yeah, the cash allowance was $1,000. But Mom paid for everything else separately. Textbooks, Sephora hauls, snacks—Mom ordered them on Amazon and shipped them directly to Chloe’s dorm. Even her meal plan was prepaid each semester—thousands of dollars I didn’t know about. Chloe’s $1,000 was just for fun. She didn’t know how to spend it all. And me? I had nothing. Everything I needed had to come out of that grand. One Thanksgiving, Mom brought out her special pot roast for guests. Chloe and I both loved it. When we were leaving, Mom packed a huge Tupperware container for Chloe. She didn’t even mention it to me. Dad, feeling the awkwardness, quickly spoke up: “Pack a bag for Harper, too.” Mom curled her lip in disdain. “It’s just leftovers.” She spoke slowly. But her eyes were fixed on me. Then she asked, hesitating, “Do you even want it?” I held back the tears stinging my eyes and shook my head violently. “No. I don’t like it.” She let out a sigh of relief, like she’d been pardoned, and smiled at Dad. “See? I said she didn’t want it. She’s so picky, she’d never want these scraps.” It hurt too much. I rushed out to my car, ready to leave. But Mom chased after me. She completely flipped her attitude, smiling brightly as she shoved a greasy bag into my hands. “Just take it. Your dad insists.” “If you don’t take it, he’s going to fight with me again.” I sighed quietly and took it. When I got home and opened it, I realized it wasn’t the roast she made. Her roast was savory and tender. This was dry, bland meat. It was the leftovers from my Aunt’s house that Mom didn’t want to eat herself. I remembered her heating it up earlier, muttering, “This tastes like cardboard. I should just regift it.” Oh. So I was the garbage disposal. And now, standing in this cherry orchard, listening to her bring up the lunch Chloe paid for again? I snapped. “Mom, the duvet covers, the sheets, the fruit, the snacks, the toilet paper, even the AC unit and the 65-inch TV in your living room—I bought all of that. I Venmo you thousands for every birthday and holiday. Have you ever calculated how much that is? Yet you’re obsessed with the fifty bucks Chloe spent, repeating over and over how I mooched off her. How about this: from now on, let her buy that stuff. I’ll PayPal her a hundred bucks right now to cover that lunch. Will that buy your silence?” “If this is how you keep score, then fine. Let Chloe have the ‘privilege’ of paying for everything. I’ll take the hit on being ‘cheap,’ okay?” My voice was shaking, throat tight. Mom was startled. Her eyes went wide. “Why are you so unstable? We’re just chatting, why are you throwing a tantrum?” “I don’t have a degree like you, I don’t know what’s PC to say and what isn’t. Do you really need to nitpick your own mother? I never said you didn’t spend money. I admitted you buy things. I’m just saying that when it comes to dining out, you aren’t as thoughtful or classy as your sister. Did I lie?” 3 “Honestly. Can’t even open my mouth around you.” “Don’t ever ask me out again. Dragging me out in this heat… acting like I owe you something.” “I was in a good mood, and now you’ve ruined it with your screaming.” She looked at me like I was bad luck personified. She grabbed the baskets of cherries we’d picked and started walking out. From a distance, I heard her tell the farmer, “My daughter will get the bill,” before walking to the road to hail a cab. I stood there, heart filled with frustration and humiliation. I deeply regretted asking her out. Actually, I didn’t ask her out. She called me yesterday saying she craved cherries. I offered to Instacart some. She said she wanted “fresh off the tree.” I canceled my meetings, skipped breakfast, and drove her here. And she left me in the dust. In the past, I would have told myself: She’s getting old, she’s confused, let it go. But this string of events was too much. She was being too cruel. I couldn’t gaslight myself anymore. I decided to let my anger breathe. I wasn’t bowing my head this time. There was one loose end, though. A month ago, Mom mentioned she wanted a Roomba. She said sweeping was hurting her back. She wanted to wait until the weather cooled down to go shopping for it. Usually, if I took her, I’d be the one paying. I’ve fought with Mom before. But I was always the one to break the ice, to apologize. This time, I wondered… If I went no-contact, if I didn’t mention the Roomba, what would she do? Even if she reached out, I knew it didn’t mean she cared about me. But I was curious. Would she initiate contact, even if just for a machine? The answer came three months later. She texted me. But the content shocked me. “You don’t need to take me to buy that robot vacuum anymore.” [Why?] “I asked around. Those things eat electricity. It’ll cost sixty or seventy bucks a month to run. That’s almost a grand a year. Too expensive. I don’t deserve to use it.” My fingers hovered over the screen. I paused, then typed back casually: [It’s not that expensive. Modern ones are energy efficient. It won’t cost that much.] [But it’s up to you. If you don’t want it, that saves me the trip.] I saw the “typing…” bubble bobbing for ages. But two hours passed. Not a word. When I tried to send another message, I got the “Not Delivered” error. She blocked me. I got it. Her passive-aggressive “I don’t deserve it” was code for: Tell me you’ll pay the electric bill too, and then I’ll happily go buy it. I knew the game. But I was done playing. I didn’t say it. At this point, I was heartbroken and disillusioned, but not entirely dead inside yet. I wasn’t thinking about cutting her off financially forever. I just wanted to stop being invisible. I wanted her to acknowledge my existence, my contributions. On the day we were originally supposed to buy the vacuum… Early in the morning, Dad called. He asked casually when I’d be there and if I wanted breakfast. I feigned surprise. “Dad? I’m at work. What’s up?” 4 “Wasn’t today the day you were taking Mom to get that sweeping robot thing? Why are you at work?” “I was going to take PTO, but Mom said she didn’t want it anymore. So I didn’t request the day off.” “Well, request it now. We’re waiting for you.” Dad sounded helpless. But I refused. “Can’t do it, Dad. Need 24-hour notice. It’s too busy here. We’ll do it another time.” Mom must have been listening. She exploded in the background. “I told you not to call! She’s just talking pretty, you think she actually wants to come? God, I’m embarrassed for you! Hang up! Stop bothering her high-and-mighty career!” Her shrill voice dripped with sarcasm. The call ended. Dad texted me on WeChat. His tone was accusatory. “You know how your mother is. She said she didn’t want it because she was mad at you. If you don’t come coax her, why are you taking her literally?” “Dad, Mom blocked me. How do I coax her? Besides, she’s an adult. She said no. Was I supposed to kidnap her to Best Buy?” Meanwhile, Mom posted a video in the four-person Family Group Chat. The title was: “When old people are annoying, do they deserve to die?” Chloe, oblivious to the war zone, popped in with a joke: “Who was brave enough to piss off Mom? Name them, I’ll fight ’em.” “Is it Dad? Apologize now, or your favorite daughters are gonna be mad.” “It wasn’t your father.” “Thank god I have you, Chloe. Otherwise, your mother would die of a broken heart.” Mom’s targeting was laser-focused. Dad @-mentioned me in the group: “@Harper regardless of who is right, you’re the child. Bowing your head won’t kill you. Just apologize.” He then @-mentioned Mom: “And you, stop holding grudges against your own kid. Stop spiraling. We’ll go tomorrow. Harper will take the day off.” “Right, Harper?” Chloe finally smelled the smoke. She DM’d me: “What happened, Sis? Did you fight with Mom?” “No. Just a misunderstanding.” I replied to Chloe, then explained in the big group. “Mom, I’m not breaking a promise. You said you didn’t want to go. That’s why I’m at work.” “You blocked me for no reason. I don’t know what I did. Now you’re doing this. I really don’t know what I did wrong. If you want the vacuum, just tell me. I’ll take off tomorrow. But I can’t guess your mind games anymore. I’m too tired.” “Dad, can we change the dynamic in this house? If you need something, or if I messed up, just say it. We’re family. Why do I have to be a mind reader to make you happy?” Dad replied instantly: “Yes, yes, Harper is right. Come home tomorrow, we’ll lecture your mom together.” Then he DM’d me privately: “Just take the day off. I’ll work on your mother. I’ll drag her there if I have to.” I felt a wave of exhaustion. But I held my ground in the group chat: “Dad, that doesn’t work. I need Mom to say it. Does she want me to come tomorrow? I’m done being the bad guy.”

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