Category: English

I was hiding in the car, clutching a bottle of champagne, ready to surprise my girlfriend on her birthday. She was getting closer. Then I heard two voices, not one. A man’s, low and unfamiliar. A wave of confusion washed over me. I watched, frozen, as he pressed her against the tinted window of my own Ford Explorer, her gasps fogging the glass from the outside. There’s a song lyric about being under the car instead of in it. Right then, I understood. I saw exactly how wild things could get. The worst part? I was about to propose. And to make sure everyone could share the moment, I had set up a private livestream. Right now, both our families, all our friends, were watching this. Online. 1 Chloe’s eyes met mine through the dark tint, but she couldn’t see me. “Let’s get in the car,” she whispered, her voice breathy. A spike of pure panic shot through me. The livestream was running through the dashcam. If they got in, the camera would catch everything, and whatever shred of dignity I had left would be incinerated. My fingers fumbled as I dialed her number. Her phone lit up in her hand. She saw it was me, answered, and immediately rushed out, “Hey, I’m in a meeting, can’t talk.” Before I could say a word, she hung up. I watched her power the phone off completely. A moment later, the passenger door opened. They fell inside, a tangle of limbs and hungry mouths. He pushed her back against the seat, their kisses wet and desperate. It was over. The camera was recording it all. I was curled up in the trunk space of my own SUV, paralyzed. Today was her birthday. The plan was simple, something you see go viral online. She’d walk up to the car, I’d pop the trunk from the inside, and she’d find it filled with roses and gifts. I’d be there on one knee, nestled among the flowers, holding out a diamond ring. It was supposed to be romantic. The camera was angled perfectly to capture the joyous surprise on her face. Our friends and family were all waiting at my apartment. The plan was that as soon as I proposed, I’d walk in the door with my new fiancée, and they’d set off confetti cannons. Now, it was just awkward. Excruciatingly awkward. The livestream was broadcasting the sight of her clothes being peeled away, piece by piece, by this stranger. The man, this affair, chuckled. “Why didn’t you take your boyfriend’s call? Scared he’ll find out?” Chloe kissed him, her voice thick with excitement. “Not at all. If you want to play that game, I can call him right now.” He laughed, a smug, ugly sound, and pushed her down onto the backseat. “You’re a wild one, aren’t you?” “If we’re going to chase a thrill,” she murmured, “we might as well go all the way.” They were fully on the backseats now, oblivious to me in the trunk. I shakily pulled out my own phone, my hands trembling. The screen showed me a mirror of the livestream: the two of them, tangled together in my car, broadcast to a private room with a password. The viewer count was over a hundred. I don’t have that many friends. I knew, with a sickening certainty, that our guests had started sharing the password. The gossip was spreading like a wildfire. Over a hundred people, and not a single comment. The silence was deafening. I could picture them all, sitting in my living room, surrounded by cake and confetti cannons, just staring in horrified, awkward silence at their phones. Then, the worst thing yet. I saw one account spamming the stream with digital gifts. It was Chloe’s mother. My future mother-in-law. She kept sending them, one after another, because each time a gift was sent, a gaudy animation would flash across the screen, momentarily obscuring the awful view. She was old-school with technology; she didn’t know there was a button to hide all the effects. The poor woman was burning through her retirement savings, trying to shield her daughter’s shame, and all for nothing. I couldn’t stop it. The streaming software was running on the car’s infotainment system. I’d have to get into the front seat to shut it off. Just then, the man finally noticed something was off. “Wait a second,” he said, pausing. “Why is the car on?” Chloe laughed it off. “My boyfriend’s car has a remote start for the AC. I turned it on for you before I came down. Didn’t want you to get too hot.” He sounded impressed. “My Porsche doesn’t even have that, and it cost over a hundred grand. This thing is what, thirty?” She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his face close for another deep kiss. “Exactly. And here you are, in his thirty-thousand-dollar Ford, sleeping with his girlfriend.” Her words seemed to ignite him. He started pulling at her shirt again, whispering against her ear, “God, you’re something else. He lets you drive his car while he takes the subway to work every day, and you talk to me like that.” “That’s right,” she purred. “I’m a bad girl. Say it again, it just turns me on more. He’s my simp, but I’m yours.” Then, something truly bizarre happened. As he kissed her collarbone, he started to sing. It was an old, cheesy rock ballad. “I’m forever yours… faithfully.” Chloe giggled, kissing him back. “That’s right, baby. That’s us.” I couldn’t understand it. Who sings during something like this? Maybe it was their own private joke. Or maybe guys who drive Porsches just have that effect on women. But it was profoundly, deeply cringey, especially knowing it was being broadcast live. I knew I had to do something. It was my account. If this went any further, if something truly explicit was shown, I could be the one facing legal trouble. I cleared my throat. A small, pathetic cough. In an instant, the two of them shot upright, their romantic bubble popped. When Chloe saw me, her face went white. “You’re supposed to be at work,” she stammered. “It’s your birthday,” I said, my voice flat. “I took the day off. I wanted to surprise you.” How pathetic. I’d taken time off, planned everything, just for this. The strangest part was, I didn’t feel rage. Not a single spark of anger. A cynical thought had always lived in the back of my mind: until you’re married, you’re just sleeping with someone else’s future wife. Well, the proposal was off. In my eyes, she was already his. I glanced at my phone again. The viewer count was now over a thousand. In a password-protected room. What did that mean? It meant the link had been shared with our entire university alumni group, our respective company Slack channels, and every distant cousin and great-aunt on both sides of the family. A total, multi-platform social collapse. As if on cue, a group of people emerged from the elevator into the parking garage. I recognized them. Chloe’s coworkers. They weren’t heading to their cars. They were clustered together, phones in hand, staring right at us. They had come down for a front-row seat. Chloe, now in a full-blown panic, saw them too. She hissed at me, “Don’t you dare start a fight with me now. My colleagues are right there. Don’t you embarrass me.” I stared at her, dumbfounded. “You’re worried about being embarrassed?” “Look, you caught me. There’s no point in pretending,” she said, her tone shifting from panic to ice. “Let’s just break up. I think I deserve better.” “What did I ever do to you?” I asked, the words feeling hollow. She ignored me, climbing into the driver’s seat and starting the car. As she pulled out, her voice was cold. “You were good to me, I won’t deny that. But I deserve better. A woman who’s ridden in a Porsche doesn’t go back to a Ford.” The man, Ryan, was awkwardly pulling his clothes back on. It was only then that I noticed something crucial. A wedding ring on his left hand. I pointed at it. “Is that what you call ‘better’?” Chloe’s voice was like steel. “Would you still be saying that if you knew he gives me two thousand dollars a month? In cash?” I sucked in a breath. Online, two grand a month might not sound like a fortune. But in our world, it was huge. My entire monthly take-home pay was barely over four thousand. Even my thirty-grand SUV was financed. Ryan finished dressing and shot me a look. “Look, man, I get it. Name your price. I’ll pay you to keep this quiet and make this a clean break.” I just stared at him. “You want to buy my silence?” “It’s not about buying it,” he said, his voice hardening. “It’s about you being required to give it.” Chloe pulled up next to a Porsche parked in a reserved spot near the building’s entrance. A sign on the space read: VP Parking Only. Of course. She turned to me. “I’m warning you, Leo. Don’t even think about getting revenge by telling everyone. He’s a Vice President from corporate. You can’t afford to mess with people like him.” I was stunned. Not because I was scared of some VP. I was stunned because Chloe’s own coworkers were witnesses. With the livestream viewership exploding, there was no way this story wasn’t already scorching its way through their entire company, from the local branch to corporate headquarters. This guy wasn’t just going to lose his promotion; he was going to lose his job. And I’d bet anything his wife was already in that chat room. There’s no way, with that many employees watching, that someone didn’t have her number. Right on cue, Ryan’s phone rang. I saw the screen. The caller ID said: Wife. He instantly declined the call and sent a canned text: In a meeting. Will call you back. The phone immediately rang again. This time, the caller ID read: Chairman. Ryan clearly didn’t dare decline that call. He hesitated, his face a mask of indecision. Chloe said nervously, “It’s the chairman. You should probably answer. It could be important.” Ryan’s eyes darted to me, then back to the phone. Finally, he snarled, “I can’t risk it. I can’t risk what this idiot might say.” He declined the chairman’s call and sent the same text message. They were both in the livestream. His wife and his boss. Ryan powered his phone off. “I’ll call them back later. I’ll just say my battery died.” “Good idea,” Chloe nodded. I sighed. He shouldn’t have turned it off. If he’d left it on, someone might have sent him a text, a warning. But watching Chloe care so much about protecting him, a strange numbness settled over me. She got out of my car and walked to the back. When I popped the trunk, my meticulously arranged surprise of balloons and flowers was revealed. How pathetic. The camera was supposed to capture her ecstatic face. Now, her expression was just cold. Fitting, I suppose. We were past all that now. “Look, I’m sorry,” she said, her voice flat. “Take the flowers and the gifts back. Let’s just be clear. Name a price. How much for your silence?” “Is that really what you think of me?” I asked, my voice cracking. “You think I’d blackmail you over this?” “I just need to be sure. He signed a prenup. I can’t be the reason he loses everything.” I glanced at Ryan. His wife was probably already on her way to a lawyer’s office. “I took care of you for years,” I said. “When you’re bending over backward to protect him, have you thought about me at all?” “You caught me cheating,” she snapped, her patience gone. “Do I really need to consider your feelings now? Get real, Leo.” I took a deep breath. She was right. There was no need to consider each other’s feelings anymore. I wasn’t going to take their money. The moment they sent it, it would be extortion, and I’d be the one in jail. I’ve lived a clean life, and I wasn’t about to start breaking the law now. Besides, what good would my silence do? Everyone already knew. “I don’t want your money,” I said. “And I won’t say anything. Let’s just break up. I’ll return the ring.” She looked surprised. “I didn’t think you’d be this cooperative. I thought you’d make a scene. Since we’re breaking up, let’s make it a clean break. Let’s go back to the apartment so I can pack my things. I’ll be out tonight.” I shook my head immediately. “I’ll pack your things for you. Don’t come up.” Honestly, I was trying to protect her. Our friends and family were in that apartment. Some were embarrassed, some were furious. If she walked in there with this guy, it would turn into a brawl. She could get seriously hurt. Despite everything, the thought of what might happen to her in that apartment terrified me. But she didn’t see it that way. “No. I have to go back. The cash he gave me… I hid it. I’m not leaving without it.” “Tell me where it is,” I pleaded. “I’ll get it for you.” Suddenly, Ryan sneered. “You think we’re that stupid?” Chloe looked at him, confused. “What’s wrong with him getting it?” “You think he doesn’t want the money because he has dignity?” Ryan said, his eyes locking onto mine. “He’s just afraid of a bank transfer. A record that we could use to report him for extortion.” Chloe’s eyes widened in dawning realization. “I get it. The money you gave me is all cash. If he takes it, I can’t prove how much was there. If I call the cops, it would just lead back to you.” Ryan nodded, a smug look of satisfaction on his face. “See? You’re smart.” Chloe’s face twisted in fury as she turned back to me. “So that’s why you were being so ‘nice.’ You really are the worst kind of snake. The poorer the man, the more schemes he has. I almost fell for it.” She looked at Ryan with a mixture of gratitude and adoration. “Thank god you were here. The guys who make it to VP really are on another level.” I finally understood. My honesty was my biggest flaw. I was being completely sincere, and they had spun it into some Machiavelian plot in their own minds. And the worst part? Their paranoid theory was so logical, so well-constructed, that even I almost believed it. I was about to tell them about the livestream, but Ryan jabbed a finger in my face. “You listen to me. You’re the one who refused the money. If you breathe a word of this to anyone, do you have any idea what I’ll do?” “What will you do?” I asked. “I’ll lose everything in the divorce,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “But believe me, before that happens, I’ll set aside a hundred grand. I’ll find someone to break your arms and your legs. Twenty grand an arm. You’d be surprised how many people are willing to do that kind of work.” I couldn’t believe it. He was threatening me with violence, admitting to planning a violent crime. And it was all being recorded by the dashcam, witnessed by over a thousand people. This guy wasn’t just going to lose his money in the divorce. He was going to prison. As I stood there, reeling, Chloe, as if she thought I didn’t believe him, added with a cold smile, “You should listen to him. Last month, a janitor at the office saw us. She tried to shake us down for a lot of money. A few days later, she was in a car accident. Do you really think that was a coincidence?” In that moment, the world stopped. Over a thousand people were watching this livestream. And she had just said that. Out loud. If that story was true, Ryan wasn’t just going to jail. He was going away for a very long time. He gave me one last, cold look. “That ‘coincidence’ could happen to you, too.”

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They were late to my fifth birthday party. My own party. When Mom and Dad finally walked in, they had a girl with them. She was small and thin and silent, and they led her by the hand. Mia. My new sister. I ran to hug my mother, my arms outstretched, but she sidestepped me. The momentum sent me stumbling, and I fell backward into the cake. The three-tiered, princess-themed castle of a cake they had so carefully picked out for me. Buttercream and frosting clogged my nose and mouth. For a second, I couldn’t breathe. Panic flared in my chest. I scrambled out, sputtering and crying, my party dress ruined. I reached for my father. “Daddy, hold me.” He started to lift his arms, but then his face crumpled with a pained sort of apology and he let them drop. “Milly, don’t be upset with your mom,” he said, his voice low. “From now on, you have to take care of your sister. If Mia’s happy, Mom will be happy. Understand?” Later that week, some of the older kids from down the street pushed Mia into the sandbox. I saw it happen from our window and flew out the door, all fists and fury, and drove them away. When we got home, I decided to be a grown-up. I drew a bath for her, just like Mom used to do for me, to wash the sand from her hair. The bathroom door burst open. Mom stood there, her face a thundercloud. Then her hand cracked across my cheek, the force of it snapping my head to the side. “You had our love all to yourself for five years! Why is that still not enough for you? Now you’re trying to drown your sister?” Her eyes were bloodshot. She grabbed a fistful of my hair and dragged me out of the bathroom and into the laundry room. She shoved me, hard, into the drum of our front-loading washer. “There’s a wickedness in you,” she hissed, her face close to the glass door. “Maybe this can finally wash it out. You can come out and apologize when you decide to stop hurting your sister.” From the living room, I heard Dad’s muffled voice. “Keep it down, honey. Mia’s almost asleep. Don’t wake her.” Mom didn’t even look at me again. She just slammed the heavy door shut. What she didn’t realize, what she’d forgotten, was the child-lock feature she’d insisted on when they bought it. For my safety. It clicked shut. A synthesized voice filled the small space. Sanitize cycle engaged. Water temperature will reach 200 degrees Fahrenheit. The first jets of scalding water hit my back. The pain was so total, so immediate, I thought my skin was melting off. Maybe this was what it took. If I let the machine wash me clean, would Mom love me again? 1 Mom always said she used the Sanitize cycle to make sure my clothes were completely germ-free. It was the only setting she ever used. The moment the boiling water hit my skin, blisters erupted. The slightest movement sent waves of agony through me. Between the cycles of water filling the drum, I hammered my small fists against the thick glass of the door. “Mommy, help me! It’s Milly! It hurts, Mommy, it hurts so bad!” The water pooling at my feet had already boiled the skin off my soles. “Stop that racket! You sound like a banshee!” Her voice, sharp and angry, cut through the wall. “If you wake up your sister, you’ll be in for it.” The plea died in my throat. I remembered last week, when I’d run outside to give Mom her phone after she’d left it behind. I’d tripped on the porch steps and scraped my knee. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” she’d sneered, standing over me. “The second I try to take Mia to the park, you fake an injury to get attention. You want the neighbors to think I’m a monster, that I favor her.” She had knelt, her face inches from mine. “If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I’ll send you to live with your grandparents. You will never set foot in this house again.” My body went rigid inside the machine. No. I don’t want to leave Mom and Dad. The water started pouring in again. I curled into a tight ball, shoving my fist into my mouth to stop the scream, biting down so hard I tasted blood. I wouldn’t make another sound. Clumps of my hair, boiled loose from my scalp, swirled in the rising water. I’m sorry, Mommy. Milly made the washer dirty. My thoughts grew fuzzy. I tried so hard, I really did. Why was I always making Mom angry? After Mia came home, I gave her all my best toys. I used to be selfish, Mom always said so, but Mia couldn’t talk, and that was sad, so I wanted to take care of her. Dad said if I was good to Mia, Mom would be happy. But why didn’t Mom hug me anymore? Why didn’t she smile at me? Every time I ran to her, she’d just push me away, her face a cold mask. Was I still not good enough? The front door opened. It was Dad, home from work. A surge of joy went through me. I rushed toward him, wanting to be swept up in his arms. But I passed right through him and hit the wall on the other side. I froze. I looked down at my hands. They were translucent, shimmering like heat off summer asphalt. I… was I dead? “Milly sleeping in today?” Dad’s voice was warm. “Strange she didn’t come running to the door.” He hadn’t seen me. He hadn’t seen my body, what was left of it, mangled and wedged against the drain, my shredded legs having finally stopped the machine’s cycle. Mom tiptoed out of Mia’s room, a finger to her lips. “Shhh, Mia’s napping. That girl… who knows what she’s up to. I gave her a little time-out today and now she’s sulking, refusing to even come out for lunch. I’ve been too soft on her.” Dad rubbed her back gently, though his expression was uneasy. “Honey, I think you’re taking things out on Milly. We know the truth. Mia wandered off on her own all those years ago. It had nothing to do with Milly.” Mom fell silent for a moment, then shrugged his hand away. “I know that. But when I think of everything Mia went through, while Milly was here, living in the lap of luxury… I just feel like I failed Mia.” Dad sighed. I hovered in the air, a coldness deeper than death seeping into me. Mia’s disappearance… they thought I was involved? No wonder. No wonder Mom never held me close anymore, never called me her precious baby. I remembered once, she’d accidentally smiled at me, a real, warm smile, and then her face had shuttered and she’d shoved me to the floor. “Brat. Who told you to come over here? Get back to your room.” I thought if I was just good enough to Mia, the old Mom would come back. But she was already gone. Mom had stopped loving me a long time ago. “Alright, alright,” Dad said gently. “When Milly’s done being mad, I’ll have her apologize. Let’s just eat. You know you’ll feel bad if she actually starves herself.” Mom turned her face away, but she went to the kitchen and set the table with four plates, four sets of silverware. And the little spoon with a cat face on the handle, the one I’d wanted for months. My heart softened. That was Mom. A tough exterior, but deep down, she still cared. Dad opened my bedroom door. It was empty. “She’s not in here. Do you think she’s hiding somewhere?” He turned, his steps moving toward the laundry room. “Don’t you dare go looking for her!” Mom snapped. “Let her hide. If she wants to throw a tantrum over a few cross words, she can stay hidden forever.” She slammed the silverware down on the table. “She probably went to one of her friends’ houses. That’s just like her. To hurt her sister and then run off to play without a care in the world. She’s a little monster.” The cat spoon snapped in her hand. I lowered my gaze, twisting my ghostly fingers together. Mom hadn’t noticed. Milly didn’t have any friends anymore. Kids are vultures. They know exactly who has a parent in their corner and who doesn’t. After my birthday party, I became the target. They’d stick a leg out to trip me, shove me on the stairs. When the teachers asked what happened, they’d put on their most innocent faces. I never told on them. I didn’t want to cause Mom any more trouble. But the day I saw them bullying Mia, I lost it. I grabbed their hair and I fought. I fought until they ran away crying. After that, the bullying doubled down on me. I didn’t care. As long as Mia was safe, they could do whatever they wanted to Milly. To stop Dad from looking for me, Mom pulled a pile of new clothes from a shopping bag. “Mark, look at these. Aren’t they cute?” “Are these for both our girls?” he asked, a smile in his voice. “We’ll have Milly try them on when she gets back.” I drifted closer to look. They were beautiful. Every single one was in a style I loved. Mom’s smile vanished. She snatched the clothes back from him. “They’re all for Mia. Milly has more than enough clothes. She doesn’t deserve anything this nice.” A wave of shame washed over the flicker of joy I’d felt. I floated into a corner, trying to make myself invisible. What were you thinking, Milly? Mia is the one who suffered. Of course they’re for her. Besides… I’m already dead. It’s a good thing Mom didn’t buy me anything. It would have been a waste. Mom is so smart. I forced a smile onto my face, but my throat felt tight. “I need to wash these first,” Mom said, folding the tiny dresses. “Can’t have Mia wearing them straight from the store, she might get a rash. She’s going to look like the most beautiful little princess.” She started walking toward the laundry room. No! My heart seized. I flew to the door, trying to see my body curled inside. I’m so ugly now. It will scare her. Mom will have nightmares. Milly used to be there to comfort her. Now that Milly’s gone, who would bring her a warm glass of honey water at 40 degrees when she woke up in the middle of the night? Her footsteps grew closer. The doorknob turned. I held my breath, my very essence. “Hey, what’s this scratch on Mia’s arm?” Dad exclaimed from the living room. Mom’s footsteps immediately changed direction. “It must have been Milly,” she shrieked. “It must have been her! She can’t stand us being nice to Mia, so she’s hitting her in secret!” No, it wasn’t me! It was that mean boy! I spun in frantic circles around her, but she couldn’t hear me. Mia, unable to speak or write, just cried and shook her head violently. Mom swept her into a fierce hug, tears streaming down her face. “It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry, baby. I thought you and your sister could become friends, but all I did was give that monster a chance to hurt you. Don’t you worry. Mommy will protect you from now on. I will never let your sister hurt you again.” I stared at her, then down at my own ghostly arms and legs, covered in a network of faded bruises and scratches, far more than the single mark on Mia’s arm. But Mom hadn’t bathed me or tucked me into bed in a long, long time. She never saw them. “Milly used to be such a sweet kid,” Dad said, his brow furrowed. “She wouldn’t do something like this. Let’s not jump to conclusions. What if we’re wrong? We should find her and ask her what happened.” “If I’m wrong, I’ll apologize,” Mom said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “But how could I be? Since Mia came back, I’ve tried my best to be fair, but Milly is always finding new ways to play the victim, to make everything about her. She’s angry we don’t dote on her exclusively anymore, so she takes it out on Mia. How can such a little girl be so full of poison?” “What are you talking about? She’s eight years old! What does she know?” Dad looked toward my empty room, worry clouding his eyes. “And she’s been gone all day. Aren’t you even a little bit worried?” “Worried? Why should I be? She hurt her sister. The best thing would be if she just dropped dead outside! Because if she comes back, I swear to God, I’ll kill her myself.” “You’re being irrational. I’m going to go look for her.” Dad headed for the door. I rushed to grab his sleeve. Don’t go, Daddy, Milly’s not out there. Milly’s home. And please, don’t fight with Mom because of me. It’s not worth it. The moment the front door opened, sunlight streamed in, hitting my spectral form. The pain was searing. I recoiled back into the shadows of the house. In Mia’s room, Mom was crying, rocking her back and forth. “It’s Mommy’s fault. I didn’t protect you. If your sister ever touches you again, I’ll beat her to death.” A dull blade twisted in my chest. Stop it, Milly, I told myself. Don’t be sad. She’s just saying that because she’s angry. I was always a mischievous kid. After Mia disappeared, Mom was so terrified of losing me, too, that she spoiled me rotten. When I was five, I broke my great-grandmother’s antique vase, a family heirloom, and Mom didn’t even scold me. And besides… I looked in the hall mirror at my completely transparent reflection. Mom’s right, Milly. Mia’s been through so much. It’s only fair that Mom loves her more now. Even though I was only eight, I was bigger and stronger than Mia. I was a big girl now. No, a big ghost. I could take care of myself. Mom wiped her tears and picked up the pile of new clothes again, heading back toward the laundry room. No, Dad’s not here. If she sees me by herself, she’ll be terrified. I pressed my whole being against the laundry room door, trying to hold it shut. But she opened it with ease, her solid form passing right through mine. I threw myself over the washing machine. Is there any way to make her leave? Please, don’t look at what’s left of Milly… There was a knock at the front door. Thank God. Mom set the clothes on a shelf and walked to the door, pulling out her phone as she went. On the screen, I saw the smart-home app. She tapped a button. Remote Pre-Wash Cycle: Start. The machine, which had been jammed by my shredded legs, jolted back to life as a new torrent of water dislodged the blockage. It was over. Now I was going to completely ruin Mom’s favorite appliance. I beat against the machine, trying to make it stop, but the drum spun faster and faster. A pinkish, bloody foam began to seep from the cracks in the door seal. “Mrs. Thompson, you need to look at my son! Your daughter, that little monster, beat him up!” My ears perked up. It was the mean boy’s mother. Kyle’s mom. She used to come over and complain all the time, and every time, Mom would defend me fiercely and send her packing. I covered my mouth to hide a smile, floating out to see how quickly Mom would get rid of her this time. “That horrid child!” Mom’s face was a mask of strained apology. “I am so, so sorry. I know it must be Milly’s fault. Please, don’t worry, I will make sure she apologizes to Kyle.” My heart seized. A dull, gnawing pain started in my chest. Mom… what are you saying? You know Milly never starts fights. And why should I apologize? He was hurting Mia. I wasn’t wrong. If it happened again, I’d hit him again! I flew in front of Kyle and swung my fist. He didn’t see me. He wasn’t scared. My smile faltered. I looked down at my transparent hands. I was dead. I could never protect Mia again. “Kids need discipline. A firm hand,” Kyle’s mom said, her voice smug. “If you ask me, you’re too soft on her.” “You’re right. Your Kyle is so well-behaved. Not like my Milly. She does nothing but cause trouble.” Mom’s eyes were full of disgust when she said my name. “She’s getting worse and worse. Lying, fighting, stealing… she’s just a bad seed.” Why are you saying that, Mommy? Milly doesn’t do those things. Tears welled in my eyes, but I clenched my little fists, refusing to let them fall. Kyle’s mom’s eyes shifted slyly. “Well, you know what they say. You can see the whole person by the time they’re seven. You see those stories online, right? Teenagers killing their parents for the insurance money? That Milly of yours has a dark streak. And you let her spend all day with your other daughter? Aren’t you afraid she’ll do something to Mia when you’re not looking? Kill her, or cripple her?” I would never! I love Mia more than anyone! My face flushed with rage. Mom’s expression darkened. She looked at the scratch on Mia’s arm and said nothing. The silence stretched until Kyle’s mom began to look awkward. “I’m sorry, I’m overstepping—” “No, you’re right,” Mom whispered. “She needs to go… I can’t bear the pain of losing another daughter…” Panic seized me. I stared at Mom, bewildered. But I was being good, wasn’t I? I didn’t scream or cry in the washer, I didn’t wake Mia up. Why do you still want to send me away? “Exactly!” Kyle’s mom beamed. “Here, let me give you some parenting tips.” She turned to her son. “Kyle, why don’t you take the little girl outside to play?” No! He’ll hurt her! I forgot my own sorrow and lunged for Mia’s hand, trying desperately to hold her back. But Kyle grabbed her arm and pulled her straight through my body. I looked outside. The midday sun was a blinding white glare. I clenched my jaw and flew out after them. The burning sensation of the sun was a thousand times worse than the boiling water. “Agh! It hurts!” I couldn’t help but scream, but even as my essence felt like it was dissolving, I had to get Mia back. “A ghost! It’s a ghost!” For a fleeting second, my form became partially visible. My agonized face terrified Kyle. He shoved Mia to the ground and ran, screaming. In that same instant, my own soul grew thinner. My entire right arm vanished. I had a feeling I was about to disappear for good. “It was Milly! She turned into a ghost to scare me and Mia!” Kyle shrieked, a dark stain spreading on the front of his pants. “How dare she!” his mother yelled. “Terrifying a child like that! If my son has nightmares, I’m not just suing you, I’ll make sure that girl pays with her life!” She scooped up her son and stormed off. “I’m warning you, you need to punish her severely this time. If you don’t, I’ll make sure the authorities do!” Mia, frantic, was making sharp noises, her hands flying in a flurry of gestures. I had learned some sign language for her. She was saying: Sister was protecting me. Sister is hurt. Mommy, save Sister. But Mom didn’t understand. She was trembling with rage. She pulled out her phone and called Dad. “Milly has gone too far. I am so disappointed. It wasn’t enough that she was hitting Mia, now she’s pretending to be a ghost to traumatize her.” She paused, listening. “A misunderstanding? How could it be? The boy saw her with his own two eyes. Do you think everyone is a pathological liar like Milly? I don’t care if she’s pretending to be a ghost. If she ever really becomes one, I’ll hire a priest to exorcise her, to scatter her soul to the winds so she can never be reborn!” Yelling into the phone, she stormed into my room and began tearing it apart. “That little viper. And here we were, worried about her. You get home right now and you take her to your parents’ house. I never want to see her again in my life. If she grows up and gets herself killed, don’t even bother telling me!” I followed her, watching as she violently shoved all my belongings into a suitcase. Every word was like one of the dull little knives from my kindergarten art set, stabbing into my heart. It hurt, and then it was just numb. Is that really how you see me, Mommy? A constant, ugly little stain? Tears finally fell, splashing silently onto my ghostly hands. I knelt on the floor, trying to pick up the toys she had bought me over the years. But they crumbled into dust in my grasp, just like my heart. Neither of us knew that a convoy of police cars was pulling quietly into our neighborhood. A neighbor stood on our lawn, waving them down. “Over here, officers! It’s this house! There’s… there’s bloody foam leaking out from the side of the house!”

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My college roommates and I decided to go to Thailand for winter break. One of them, Mia, said her boyfriend, Leo, was a travel agent. He could hook us up with a “boutique” private tour. Easy and comfortable. We all thought it was a great idea. We were wrong. The second we got off the plane, a tour guide hustled us to a high-end luxury mall and told us to start shopping. He said if we didn’t buy anything, he’d tear up our passports. Forced consumerism? Not a chance. I refused. And for that, the guide sold me to a boiler room. 1 I was dragged into a dark, windowless room. The guide pointed a fat finger in my face. “You don’t want to spend money? Fine. You can stay here and make money. You hit your quota, you go home. You don’t? You’ll work here until you die.” A few huge guys were standing around, cracking their knuckles. I noticed a logo on their shirts—a stylized mountain and sea. It looked so familiar… Wait. This was the insignia of the Aegis Group. Marcus Thorne’s company. Marcus. The guy who had been completely obsessed with me, the guy I’d finally managed to dump. And I was right back in his territory. This was a wolf’s den. This was a scam tour. That “boutique” package was a one-way ticket. “My friends,” I demanded, “where are my roommates?” “Don’t you worry about them. You just worry about yourself.” “My roommate’s boyfriend, Leo! He works for you! He’s in on this, isn’t he?” “Yeah, he is,” the guide sneered. “Told us you were the ‘rich one.’ I haven’t even gotten to him yet. What good is a rich friend who won’t spend a dime?” He tossed a stack of papers at my feet. “You don’t want to shop, you can learn to sell. Or rather, scam.” A guy threw two binders at me. “Scripts and call lists. You follow the script, you make the calls. You make money, you get to eat.” “This is a boiler room,” I spat. “It’s fraud. I won’t do it.” The man slapped me, so hard my ears rang. “You don’t have a choice. You do it, or we make you do it.” Another one kicked me in the stomach. I crumpled, gasping. “Okay, okay!” I scrambled back, clutching my side. “How much? How much do you want? I’ll pay you. Just let me go.” “Let you go? So you can run to the cops? No one walks out of here without paying, one way or another.” As I clutched my stomach, my eyes fixed on that logo again. The Aegis Group. Marcus’s family business, with fingers in every pie, legal and… not. The last I heard, he’d gone legitimate, but clearly, he’d lied. “You’re Aegis Group,” I said. The man smirked. “Smart girl. You recognize the brand.” “Your boss,” I bluffed, “Marcus Thorne. He’s my fiancé. If he finds out what you’re doing, you’re all dead.” They burst out laughing. “Our boss’s fiancée? You? Don’t make me laugh. We all know the boss is engaged to Ms. Arianna. Who the hell are you?” “I am Arianna!” One of them had my bag. He pulled out my passport. “It says right here… ‘Ava.’ Ava Reed. You’re a liar.” “That’s my new name!” I protested. “Arianna is my old name! If you don’t believe me, call him! Call Marcus!” “You really want to see the boss?” The main guy grabbed my hair, yanking me to my feet. “In this place, ‘disobedient’ only gets you one thing.” He dragged me to another, smaller room. He picked up an iron chain from the floor. “Let’s see how tough you are.” He whipped the chain across my back. I screamed. “I’m warning you!” I shrieked, tears and snot mixing with the blood from my split lip. “You will die for this! I want Marcus!” He hit me again. “Shut up! Shut up about the boss!” He beat me until I was a whimpering, broken mess on the concrete. I couldn’t move. He crouched, grabbing my chin. “She’s pretty, though. Wasting her on the phones. Let’s send her to the VIP lounge. She can work the poker tables.” “No,” I whispered. “I’ll do the calls. I’ll work. Please…” The VIP lounge. That sounded a thousand times worse. “It’s not your choice anymore.” He snapped his fingers. “Get her cleaned up.” They hauled me to my feet. As they dragged me out, I heard a familiar, terrified whimper from another room. “Leo, please… I don’t… I don’t know…” “Mia!” I screamed. “Is that you, Mia?” “You brought my friends here? You sold her out, too? Even when her boyfriend is one of you?” If Mia was here, we were all doomed. She was my only hope of getting the police. They ignored me, just kept dragging. Suddenly, a voice shouted from the main floor. “He’s here! The boss is on his way up! Clean this place up, now!” The men holding me panicked. “We can’t take her out there. He’ll see her. Take her back to the cell. We’ll deal with her after he’s gone.” The boss. Marcus. This was my only chance. I bit down, hard, on the arm of the man holding me. He yelled, and as he let go, I kicked the other one as hard as I could between the legs. I scrambled and ran. I saw it. A long, black Lincoln, pulling up to the building. It was him. “Marcus!” My scream was cut off. A hand clamped over my mouth from behind, dragging me back into the shadows. “You bitch! You can still run? Guess we didn’t hit you hard enough!” I jammed my fingernails into his hand. He grunted, and I bit his arm. “You’re dead!” he roared. He grabbed a heavy glass ashtray from a nearby desk and brought it down on my head. My world exploded, then went dark. … When I came to, I was blind. My eyes were caked shut with dried blood. I was back in the small, dark room. It was quiet. They must have all gone to meet Marcus. I crawled to the door, pounding on it with what little strength I had. “Help! Marcus! Help me!” I heard his voice. That voice I hadn’t heard in three years. “What’s that noise?” “Just… just one of the company ‘dogs,’ sir. Got a bit rowdy. We locked it up so it wouldn’t bother you.” The door flew open. A boot connected with my chest. “I told you to shut up!” The guard grabbed my jaw, pried my mouth open, and poured scorching hot water down my throat. My vocal cords, my entire esophagus, felt like they were on fire. I couldn’t scream. I could only make a horrible, gurgling sound. Tears streamed down, carving clean paths through the grime and blood. I curled into a ball, shaking. The man saw I was “tamed” and turned to leave. I saw my chance. I grabbed the iron chain from the floor. I lunged, wrapping it around his neck and pulling. He choked, falling backward. I scrambled over him and ran out the door. I tried to scream, but only a wet, rasping noise came out. He couldn’t hear me. I saw a vase on a table. I grabbed it and hurled it to the floor. It shattered. Marcus, surrounded by men in black suits, stopped. He turned. The man I’d choked was already up, staggering out of the room. “The bitch is out! Grab her!” Before I could take another step, a burlap sack was thrown over my head. I was so close. “You’re dead, you hear me? Dead!” Fists and feet rained down on me. I felt the metallic taste of blood fill my mouth, soaking the inside of the sack. “Who are you hitting?” The voice was cold. It was Marcus. “Boss! This… this is a spy. From a rival. We caught her stealing data.” “Just… don’t kill her.” I’m not a spy! I’m Ari! I tried to speak, but I just choked on blood. “She’s a mute, too? Disgusting. Get her out of my sight.” I was being dragged away again. One of the men stepped on my hand, grinding his heel into my knuckles. “If I didn’t need these hands for the poker tables, I’d break every bone in them.” As I was losing consciousness, I heard a woman’s voice. A voice I knew. “You did this to her? She looks half-dead.” I froze. It couldn’t be. “She was disobedient, ma’am. Wouldn’t do the calls, wouldn’t go to the lounge. Kept screaming she was the boss’s fiancée.” A foot kicked me in the ribs. “You? His fiancée? In your dreams.” “Is she… dead?” “No. Still breathing.” “Good. Don’t kill her. It’s better this way. Let the little princess work here until she rots.” Footsteps. “Everyone, back to the conference room! The boss has questions!” They all left. I was blind, mute, but I could hear. I heard Marcus’s voice, cold and sharp. “This passport. Where did it come from?” My heart leaped. He’d found it. “I… I found it on the floor, boss. By the door. Just… picked it up.” “You ‘found’ it? Are you sure? Lying to me… has consequences.” “I… yes, I found it.” “I want to see the person who belongs to this. Do you know where she is?” “No, boss! She… she probably just dropped it. A tourist, maybe.” A long, tense silence. “The woman you were beating in the hall,” Marcus said. “The ‘spy.’ Where is she?” “She’s… in the storage closet, boss.” Footsteps. Coming closer. “Boss, she’s… she’s filth. Not worth your time…”

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My husband’s latest investment went belly-up, and the debt collectors were circling. I gathered the gold jewelry he’d given me for every anniversary, planning to sell it to help pay down what he owed. I was told it was all fake. I went to get our condo appraised. The real estate agent pulled up the county records right in front of me. The deed was a forgery. But the condo—a five-million-dollar property on the lakefront—was a wedding gift from Ethan. He’d promised it was in my name, and my name alone. Was anything real? With trembling hands, I snapped a picture of our marriage certificate and sent it to my best friend, Chloe, who works at the County Clerk’s office. Her reply came back a minute later: “Fake.” I looked at the crimson-bordered document, the elegant script, and a laugh escaped my lips. A dry, brittle sound. “Thank God,” I whispered. “It’s fake.” 1 Waiting for Chloe’s text, my stomach had been a knot of acid. In the five years I’d been married to Ethan, I had never once doubted his love for me. His work was demanding, and he was almost never with me on our actual anniversary. But he always made up for it with extravagant gifts and, in the days that followed, a smothering, apologetic affection that I soaked up like a dry sponge. I never questioned the authenticity of those gifts. He was my husband. I loved him unconditionally. That was the beginning and end of it. I spent an entire day, from sunrise to sunset, clutching the velvet boxes he’d given me, visiting every high-end jeweler in the city. At each stop, I endured the same gentle, pitying looks. With every polite rejection, another layer of my decade-long belief in him was stripped away. The final, killing blow came at a small downtown shop. To prove his point, the jeweler heated one of the gold bangles over a flame until it blackened and crumbled into ash. The blade I’d felt hanging over my head all day finally fell. I steadied myself against the glass counter. “But how could it be fake?” I asked, my voice thin. “I have the receipt from your store.” The clerk checked the sales record. “Ma’am, the receipt is real. But this bracelet wasn’t sold with it.” The meaning was clear: Ethan had purchased the genuine pieces. He just hadn’t given them to me. My hands were shaking as I clutched the equally fake property deed. I called the County Recorder’s Office. “I’d like to confirm the owner of the property at 101 Lakeshore Grand,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Of course, one moment please,” the voice on the other end replied. Just then, my phone buzzed. It was Chloe, delivering the final verdict on my marriage. “Audrey, your certificate is a forgery. But I ran Ethan’s name. He has an active marriage license on file. The woman’s name is Aria James.” The voice from the Recorder’s Office returned. “Ma’am? The registered owner of that property is Ms. Aria James.” Ten years ago, I had defied my parents, packed up my savings, and moved from the warmth of Savannah to the biting winds of Chicago to be with him. Ethan’s business was just a fledgling startup then, and he worked brutal hours, entertaining clients late into the night. I’d wait up for him, a pot of soup ready on the stove to ease his hangovers, never once failing in my duty. I was grateful for how hard he worked, so I took on everything else. I managed the household, I did the cooking, I did the cleaning. He never once set foot in the kitchen. His business flourished. I, meanwhile, wilted under the endless haze of domesticity, my reflection slowly morphing into the kind of tired, faded woman he clearly disdained. The constant work left me with a chronic ache in my lower back; if I bent over for too long, I could barely straighten up. He’d say he didn’t mind, that I was beautiful to him, but whenever I caught his eye, I saw the flicker of avoidance, the subtle recoil. I told myself it didn’t matter. As long as we were together, that was enough. But all along, the husband I thought loved me to the bone was sharing a life, a real life, with someone else. Aria James. The girl he never got over from high school. Now, she was a wildly popular influencer, a social media star. She’d built her brand on a risqué, flirty persona in the beginning, but had since pivoted to a philosophy of “female singledom is the ultimate luxury.” She preached to her legions of devoted followers that she was a proud, unmarried woman, dedicated to living life on her own terms. Just last week, she was trending for an interview she gave about her empowering, marriage-free lifestyle. 2 I opened TikTok and found Aria James’s profile. A single account had liked every single one of her videos, every day, without fail. A quick search confirmed it. The account was registered to Ethan’s phone number. Their profile pictures were a matching set. I sometimes made silly videos myself, goofy little clips of my day. I’d nudge him, asking him for a like the way I saw other couples do online. He wouldn’t even look at the screen. “Audrey, look at that filter. It’s embarrassing. Besides, I don’t even have a TikTok account.” But on Aria’s very first video, there he was, the first comment: “Beautiful.” I stared at my reflection in the dark screen of my phone. The woman looking back was a stranger, a ghost of the girl I’d been ten years ago. I thought my devotion, my sacrifice, would be seen. I never imagined he couldn’t even stand to look. Just then, the front door opened. Ethan was home. He dropped his briefcase and sat on the sofa in silence, expecting me to come to him with a warm drink, as I always did. When I didn’t move, he got up with a sigh. He fumbled through the kitchen cabinets for a moment before shouting, his voice thick with irritation, “Where are the glasses?” Of course. After all these years, he didn’t even know where we kept the glasses. This man, who had never lifted a finger in our home, had meticulously planned and executed a decade of deception, commissioning fake jewelry, fake documents, a fake life. What was I to him? An unpaid housekeeper? A warm body? I walked over and tossed my phone onto the coffee table in front of him. “You told me you didn’t have a TikTok account, Ethan. Then why have you liked every single one of Aria James’s videos? I checked. The account is linked to your number.” He looked genuinely shocked, as if it had never occurred to him that I might check. That I might ever stop simply believing. He stalled for a long moment before finally muttering, “It’s for networking.” “Networking? You’re too busy to look at your phone for days when I text you, but you have time for this… networking?” “Will you give it a rest?” he snapped. “Her entire career is based on engagement! What’s the big deal if I give her a like?” It was just like before we were married. Aria was a constant, haunting presence. Ethan would remember that she was afraid of thunderstorms and would video call her during every storm, even though I’d told him, quietly, that I was scared of them too. He knew all her favorite foods, and over time, they somehow became his favorite foods. After a few explosive fights early in our “marriage,” he’d become more discreet. I thought I had won. I thought his heart was finally mine. I was wrong. They had just found a different way to be together. My heart felt like a hollowed-out cavern. I turned without another word and went to the bedroom to pack. 3 “Sweetheart, the wire transfer to Ethan’s company is all queued up. I’ve gone through most of the paperwork on my end. Just waiting for your final go-ahead.” It was my father on the phone. I was in the bedroom, folding sweaters into a suitcase. I took a deep, shuddering breath. “Dad, pull it. We’re not investing.” “What happened? I thought he was out of capital. Tell me, did that boy do something to hurt you? I told you moving all the way up there by yourself was a mistake, with no one to lean on…” “No, it’s not that. I’m just… tired.” “My dear girl, if you’re tired, you come home. Your father will always take care of you.” Before I moved to Chicago, I had tested the waters with Ethan, suggesting he come visit my parents. He always had an excuse—a big meeting, a deadline. He never once met them. When my parents and I had our falling out over my decision to move, they didn’t come to the wedding. As far as Ethan knew, I was completely alone in the world, utterly dependent on him. But the rift between a father and daughter can only last so long. Years ago, my dad had secretly flown up to see me. We’d reconciled completely. When I learned about the depth of Ethan’s financial trouble, I had prepared a two-pronged solution. First, I would liquidate my own assets—the jewelry and the condo. Second, I would have my father’s firm inject the capital his company so desperately needed to survive. Just a few days ago, Ethan had come home ecstatic, telling me a major investor from the South had contacted him, that the company was saved. I had smiled and congratulated him, genuinely happy, believing I was about to see the ambitious, brilliant man I fell in love with again. I never imagined that in the grand production of his life, I was cast as the most insignificant extra. When I emerged from the bedroom with my suitcase, Ethan looked up from the sofa, bewildered. “What is this? Are you really leaving over a TikTok account? Are you serious? Besides, you don’t know anyone in this city. Where are you even going to go?” I didn’t answer. I just walked out the door and didn’t look back.

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I married into one of New York’s oldest families with a terrible command of their native tongue: French. So, naturally, on our honeymoon in the South of France, I had to show off on Instagram. [Photo: A sun-drenched selfie, me beaming, my handsome husband Leo in the background on his phone, a turquoise sea behind him.] Caption: The way my husband speaks French should be illegal! So incredibly hot! The thing is, I’d accidentally posted it as a Live Photo. In the three-second clip, you could see Leo turn to the camera, a slow, devastating smile spreading across his lips. You could also hear every word of his phone call. The comments started rolling in almost immediately. The first was from a French friend from college. 【Hot? Hannah, are you kidding me?】 Then another. 【OMG, he’s literally flirting with someone else on the phone while you’re grinning like an idiot!】 1 I stared at the comments, my heart giving a painful lurch. Live Photo. I’d completely forgotten. Another friend, ever so “helpful,” posted a translation in the comments: 【He’s telling her not to call during the honeymoon. He also said the takeout she ordered doesn’t hold a candle to your cooking, but since you’re from the Midwest, you don’t know how to make a proper bouillabaisse. He said if her skills are any good, maybe he’ll stop by her place for a taste when they get back.】 A cold knot formed in my stomach. I looked over at Leo. He did always rave about my cooking. He hung up the phone, that same smile from the video still playing on his lips—seductive, intoxicating. He took my hand, raising it to his mouth to press a soft kiss against my knuckles. “What’s wrong?” His tone was completely normal. I hesitated for a beat, then asked, “Who was that?” “Just a friend,” he said, the words light as air. He offered no further explanation. I didn’t feel like I had the right to press him. But as I looked back down at my phone, at the stream of likes and comments pouring in from friends, family, and Leo’s entire social circle, my face burned with a humiliating heat. My hands trembling, I deleted the post. 2 My mind was still racing. Leo was already on his feet, sliding his hands into the pockets of his linen trousers. “You handle the check-out. I’ll wait for you in the lobby.” I mumbled an agreement. He must have sensed my distraction. He paused. “Still thinking about that call?” he asked, his voice laced with a gentle, weary amusement. “It was really just a friend. A guy friend. I’ll introduce you when we get back.” A real smile finally broke through my anxiety. “I wasn’t worried.” But it felt like a ten-ton weight had been lifted from my chest. Leo just shook his head, a fond smile on his face, and headed downstairs. After I finished packing, I wrestled our two enormous suitcases out of the room. Down at the front desk, I switched effortlessly into French to settle the bill. “Madame, your French is excellent,” the concierge noted, impressed. “Thank you,” I said with a small, proud smile. I’d minored in French in college; languages always came easily to me. Everything except the specific, old-world dialect Leo’s family spoke amongst themselves. It was my one great failure, the one area where I couldn’t seem to keep up. Leo had insisted I not even try. He’d once whispered against my earlobe, his voice a low murmur, “You’re my wife, Hannah. I’m the one who should adapt to you. Besides, I’m opening a new branch in Chicago this year. You should be teaching me proper American idioms. For instance, how do you say, ‘I want you again, baby’?” … The memory of his words sent a flush of heat creeping up my neck. But when I finally dragged the suitcases into the lobby, sweating and flustered, the memory evaporated. I found him laughing with a stunning woman—a willowy brunette with sharp, model-esque features. “Leo?” I called out. He and the woman turned in unison. Her face was bright and beautiful, but her eyes, when they landed on me for interrupting, were sharp with annoyance. I froze, asking, “Who’s this?” Leo leaned back against the concierge desk, crossing his arms with an air of relaxed amusement. “She was hitting on me. Aren’t you going to assert your claim?” I felt a surge of awkward panic. I had never been in a situation like this in my life. I looked at him, utterly lost. “What am I supposed to do?” And then— One of Leo’s hands cupped the back of my neck, pulling me in for a deep, possessive kiss. With his other hand, he theatrically covered the brunette’s eyes, which were practically shooting flames. His voice was a playful, seductive purr. “Isn’t this enough?” I melted into the kiss, my head spinning. Through the haze, I heard the brunette let out a short, sharp gasp. 3 It wasn’t until we were in the taxi heading to the airport that the wrongness of it all started to crystallize. His movements… it was like he was performing for both of us. Seducing two women at once. I was about to say something when my mother’s call came through. She wanted to know why I hadn’t posted any honeymoon pictures today. I stammered something about being busy with travel. Her voice immediately hardened. “You need to post, Hannah. You’re a Davenport now. Your social media presence is part of the package. This isn’t your old life; you can’t afford to be so thoughtless.” I looked down at my hands, my voice barely a whisper. “Okay.” After I hung up, I re-uploaded the photo, making sure this time that the Live Photo feature was off. A moment later, a sixty-second voice memo from my mother buzzed through. 【…What is going on with your hair! Those bangs are all stringy, couldn’t you have brushed them before taking a picture? And those denim shorts are far too short, you don’t look like a lady at all! You look so… unpolished! How do you expect the Davenports to ever respect you if you present yourself like this!…】 A profound sense of powerlessness washed over me, extinguishing any desire to fight back. It was like being the stepsister trying to cram her foot into Cinderella’s slipper. If a part didn’t fit, you just had to slice it off. Eventually, it’s easier to just curl your toes, to surrender to the shape of the unyielding glass. I sighed and typed back: 【I know, Mom. I’ll be more careful next time.】 After that, I lost the heart to question Leo about anything. 4 “Why the long face?” Leo squeezed my cheek gently. “How about I take you skydiving for our next stop?” “Skydiving?” My eyes widened, a spark of excitement cutting through the gloom. Our honeymoon had only been twenty days, but in that time, I’d done more than in all my twenty-two years. Rock climbing sheer cliffs. Surfing in Biarritz. Getting deliciously drunk in a smoky jazz club in Paris. I even learned to play Texas Hold’em. And won a few thousand dollars. It wasn’t a lot of money, but the thrill of it kept me awake all night. I looked at everything with wide-eyed wonder, and Leo seemed to look at me with even more. “Hannah,” he’d say, laughing, “you’re something else.” At first, I’d been resistant. Extreme sports, bars, casinos—they were all on the long list of things my mother had strictly forbidden. When I told Leo this, he threw his back his head and laughed. “Hannah, how old are you? You still listen to your mother?” I just looked at him, feeling lost. He pulled me onto his lap, his smile wicked. “Well, you’re married now. Doesn’t that mean you should listen to your husband? And your husband wants you to have fun with him. Trust me, it’s incredible. Besides, your mom isn’t here. You don’t have to tell her everything.” Hesitantly, I tried. And it was more than fun. It was freedom. For the first time in my life, I tasted what it was like to be truly free. Leo was so, so good to me. And I loved him so, so much. He never forced me to do anything. When we got back to New York after the honeymoon, he even deleted the Rosetta Stone app for French from my laptop. “Why work so hard? It hurts me to see you stress over it. All our staff speaks English, and most of my business is stateside anyway. You just stay home, relax, and enjoy yourself.” I was so moved at the time, I nearly cried. But it was the one thing I didn’t listen to him about. I kept studying in secret. I was a language major, after all. I knew that a person’s deepest thoughts and feelings are intrinsically tied to their mother tongue. Even though Leo’s English was perfect, we still had moments of being lost in translation. I was learning because I wanted to understand him. All of him. 5 Thankfully, I was a fast learner. Within a few months, I could understand most of what people were saying. My own speech was still clumsy, but I was getting there. I wanted to wait until I was fluent to surprise Leo. He, however, surprised me first. One evening, his closest friends came over to our penthouse for drinks. “To Leo Davenport, married off at twenty-six! We had to come celebrate the end of an era,” one of them toasted. “Seriously, man, why get married so young? Did you finally decide to settle down, or did something… stop working?” Another one shot a suggestive look at Leo’s tailored trousers. Their crass, frat-boy energy made my cheeks burn. Leo just smiled, ruffling my hair. “Don’t be nervous. They’re my best friends.” He introduced them. They were all tall and impossibly handsome, like a casting call for a luxury watch ad. Even the ones who weren’t conventionally attractive were polished to a high shine by expensive suits and ridiculously opulent watches. But the way they looked at me was anything but polished. It was critical, appraising. One of them made a soft tsk sound. “Couldn’t really tell under all that wedding makeup, but she’s actually pretty average. Her legs aren’t as long as Chantal’s, and her skin’s not as pale as Cherry’s. And that body is…” Rage, hot and sharp, flared in my chest. Did he have any idea what he was saying? Leo stepped in front of me, planting a light kick on the guy’s shin. “Say one more word,” he said, his voice low and angry. “…” The friend took a half-step back, a flicker of surprise on his face. 6 The mood in the room turned heavy. I used making tea as an excuse to escape to the kitchen. As I left, I heard Leo sit down, the corner of his mouth ticking up into a smirk. “It was just a joke, man. Don’t be so serious.” By the time I returned with the tea tray, the boisterous atmosphere had returned. His best friend, a guy named Grant, asked, “So your wife doesn’t speak French?” I blinked, saying nothing. Leo looked over at me, a smile playing in his eyes. “Nope,” he confirmed. Grant raised an eyebrow. “Then why’d you marry her? As a decoration? I thought your father had a whole lineup of eligible French heiresses for you.” Leo leaned back into the plush sofa, looking impossibly relaxed. “Because she’s sweet.” He paused, a memory seeming to cross his mind, and a slow grin spread across his face. “So damn sweet.” My face felt like it was on fire. I knew instantly what he was thinking of. Our wedding night. I had been so nervous. His hands had moved over my body like a slow burn, his voice full of genuine wonder. “You’re twenty-two and you’ve never even had a boyfriend?” I trembled under his touch, mortified, and shot back, “Who says I haven’t?” He just laughed, his arms tightening around my waist as his whole body shook with amusement. “Liar.” “You’re pure as the driven snow. Don’t pretend to be experienced, sweet girl.” I swatted at his chest in frustration. His only response was the arch of his back, crashing into me in waves, and the broken, breathless words he gasped out between thrusts: “So… damn… sweet.” … “You have to cleanse the palate after too much spicy food, right?” someone joked. Leo kicked out at him again, but this time he was laughing. “You asshole! That’s my wife you’re talking about. You can’t compare her to the girls on the outside.” Their crude talk made me frown. I tugged on Leo’s sleeve, but he didn’t seem to notice, just squeezed my hand and kept going. “For a wife, of course you choose the sweetest, most innocent one.” I didn’t feel complimented. A sick feeling was growing in my gut. I decided I’d wait until his friends left to tell him how I felt. But then Grant spoke again. “So, no more nights out for you? Chantal lives in the same building as that girl I’m seeing. She’s asked me a bunch of times why you don’t come around anymore. I heard she’s been taking cooking classes, learning all the French classics.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Leo didn’t deny it. He just gave a lazy, tired shrug. “We’ll see.” Then, his gaze fell on me, soft and possessive. He tucked a loose strand of my hair behind my ear, his voice a gentle murmur. “I’m very happy with my wife now.” My heart stuttered. If I couldn’t understand what came next, I would have drowned in the warmth of his eyes. But his words, spoken in that fluid, aristocratic French, were like daggers, stabbing me over and over. “She’s sweet, she’s a great cook, and she takes such good care of me.” “The fact that she doesn’t speak French is a bonus, you know?” “She can’t read the gossip rags writing about my flings.” “She can’t send me angry texts in French demanding I come home.” “And even if she wants to start a fight, I can just pretend I don’t understand.” The room erupted in raucous laughter. “You’re a bastard, Davenport! Playing your own wife for a fool?” Leo laughed along with them, loud and unrestrained. Only I remained silent, my face ashen, my body starting to tremble as if struck by lightning. “Leo,” I said, my voice clear and steady. He turned to look at me, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. Because I had said his name in perfect, unaccented French. I held his stunned gaze, and continued, enunciating every single syllable. “Je comprends tout.” (I understand everything.) Every grating laugh screeched to a halt. And the wicked, self-satisfied smile on Leo’s face instantly vanished.

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After a fight with my husband, I went to my boyfriend for comfort. We were, unfortunately, discovered. My boyfriend stepped in front of me, glaring at my husband. “The one who isn’t loved is the real third wheel.” I hissed, “Keep your voice down. Is this something to be proud of?” 1 Three years after I broke up with Leo, he texted me. “Still mad?” “Holding a grudge this long is childish, don’t you think?” “If you wait any longer, I might not give you another chance.” I stared at the messages, my thumb hovering over the ‘block’ button, as I was literally walking out the door to celebrate my second wedding anniversary. 2 I had no intention of replying to Leo. But that was before my dead-inside husband, Julian, bailed on our anniversary dinner, sending me a text after I’d already been waiting at the restaurant for two hours. He seemed to have just remembered. The message was brief and cold: “Sorry. A deal in Chicago hit a snag.” I stared at the screen. Leo’s texts kept buzzing. “Did you not get my message?” “It’s Leo. Hello?” “Fine. I’m sorry, okay? Was that what you wanted?” “…Please? I was wrong.” Zero f*cks given. Still, it was the first time Leo had ever apologized for anything. I toggled back to my chat with Julian. Our conversation history looked like it was generated by a bot. This merger-marriage was really the deal of a lifetime. I forwarded the restaurant’s address to Leo. He replied instantly: “Heh. What’s this?” “Asking me to dinner?” “Playing hard to get all this time, and now you’re this eager?” “I’ll see if I’m free in an hour.” I texted back: “10 minutes.” Leo: “?” “Is that your attitude?” “Don’t think I’m desperate to see you.” “Answer me.” Me: “Not coming. I’m leaving.” Leo: “…Can you do 20?” “15?” “…On my way. Don’t move.” 3 Leo slid into the booth at the eleven-minute mark, panting. He hadn’t changed much. Still had that entitled, arrogant air, but there was a new caution in his eyes when he looked at me. For someone who couldn’t shut up via text, he was surprisingly silent through the meal. Until the waiter brought out the cake I’d pre-ordered for the anniversary. Leo stared at the chocolate script: “Happy 2nd Anniversary.” His eyes filled with a dawning, horrified understanding. I just stared back, waiting. This was it. The fatal blow I’d waited three years to deliver. A perfect revenge for how he’d ended things. He finally spoke. “Wow, this place gives out free cake for their second anniversary? Nice gimmick.” I… I felt that specific, soul-crushing exhaustion of having to explain a punchline to a brick wall. 4 Fine. I’d just have to say it. As I opened my mouth, my phone rang. It was my best friend, Mia. “Sienna,” she yelled, “you will not believe what that bastard Julian is doing!” “He flew to Chicago on your anniversary to see his old flame!” “Get yourself to The Gilded Lily right now. I’m ordering eight escorts.” “My girl is not sitting at home feeling sorry for herself. Not on my watch.” She immediately sent a photo to prove it. Julian and some woman, standing side-by-side, perfectly framed. Damn. They looked good together. As for the escorts… I glanced at Leo, who was now eyeing the cake with suspicion. “No need,” I told Mia. “I’ve got a premium version right here.” 5 I had Leo drive me home. The second the door closed, I pushed him against it. Just as things were getting interesting, he actually pushed me away. His ears were red. “I didn’t come here for this.” “Sienna, these three years… did you ever miss me?” I brushed his hair back. “Yes. Are we doing this or not?” Leo’s eyes lit up. “It was all my fault before… Can we start over? For real?” I nodded. “Good. Are we doing this or not?” He gritted his teeth. “Is that seriously all you can think about?” “Yes,” I said. “Are we doing this or not?” “…Fine.” 6 And so, Leo and I became… well, cheaters. At first, I felt a flicker of guilt. But Julian was spending half his time in Chicago, so I figured the guilt in this marriage was pretty evenly distributed. Until two months later. Julian came home, looking exhausted but… content. He pulled me into a hug. “It’s done. I’m finished with the Chicago trips for a while.” What, you two break up? When I didn’t respond, he sighed. “I know I’ve been absent. This deal to acquire Étoile Jewelers… it was complicated.” I froze. “Étoile Jewelers?” That was only my favorite jewelry brand on the planet. Julian tucked my hair behind my ear. “Mhm. I’m having them design a custom piece for you. It should be ready next month.” “The shares are being transferred to your name. You’re the new majority stockholder.” “Consider it a late anniversary present.” I was reeling. “But… what about your old flame? Eliza?” Julian frowned. “What old flame? Who’s been feeding you gossip?” “Eliza is Étoile’s chief designer. She’s the one who brokered the deal for me. I couldn’t have done it without her.” Oh, crap. Then what did that make my last two months of adultery? 7 Tough luck for him, I guess. Now that the deal was done, Julian seemed intent on making up for his absence. He was suddenly… around. A lot. I tried to be the understanding wife. “You should get back to work. I’m fine, really. I’m happy.” He stroked my cheek. “You don’t have to be ‘fine’ all the time.” Wait, who was this? This wasn’t the Julian I married. I prodded, “You seem… different.” His eyes were warmer than I’d ever seen them. “Yeah. I… I wasn’t good at expressing things before. I know I let you down.” He paused. “Eliza told me something. That love isn’t real unless the other person can see it and feel it.” Eliza, you are screwing me right now.

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My son’s new teacher wanted to move the annual field trip from the Botanical Institute to Blackwood Forest. In my last life, I’d argued until I had to threaten to report her. An influencer obsessed with her “Brave Little Lamb” image, she finally gave in. Just as I’d predicted, a landslide hit the forest on the planned trip day. But two days earlier, she’d filmed a fake class adventure there—it went viral. Parents who’d thanked me now sent hate, wanting fame. She made students bully my son Leo, then pushed him down the stairs, whispering, “Blame your meddling mother.” They framed his death as suicide. Before his body was cold, an online mob came for me. I took my own life. Now, I’ve woken up at that parent-teacher meeting again. This time, when she proposes the trip, I’m the first to agree. “Only true wilderness unlocks a child’s potential,” I say, smiling. “I fully support it!” 1 In my past life, when I arrived at the school, my son’s body was already covered by a white sheet. Everyone said he had jumped. But I knew the truth. I screamed and lunged for the real killer. The teacher, Ms. Finch, feigned terror, but as they pulled me away, she leaned in and whispered in my ear. “You exposed my video as a fake. I killed your son. Seems fair, don’t you think?” I clawed at her face, a desperate, wild animal, but they just called me a hysterical woman having a breakdown. Ms. Finch’s saccharine voice yanks me from the memory. “Mrs. Reed, don’t you think you’re overreacting?” “It’s just a landslide warning. Is that really more important than building character in our children?” My son, Leo, senses my detachment. He nudges my leg gently, his eyes wide with concern. The other parents start to murmur in agreement. “She’s right. The weather service is always so dramatic, aren’t they? They issue warnings every day, and nothing ever happens.” “This is about shaping our kids’ futures. What’s one little warning compared to that?” I dig my nails into my palm. The sharp sting of pain is a welcome anchor, proof that this is real. I am back. I look at Ms. Finch’s deceptively sweet smile at the front of the room, and I have to grind my teeth to keep from screaming. I want nothing more than to destroy her right here, right now. Seeing my silence, she taps her pen on the lectern impatiently. “Mrs. Reed, we need to think this through.” “The weather service issues dozens of warnings a week. But an educational opportunity like this comes once in a lifetime.” Her most loyal sycophant, a woman named Karen, chimes in immediately. “Exactly!” “Mrs. Reed, just because your Leo is a little timid, you can’t hold back the entire class from this amazing experience.” “We’re not all renowned scientists like you. We don’t have special connections. Are you really going to ruin this for everyone else? Can you take responsibility for that?” Her words ignite the room. One by one, other parents join her crusade. “Blackwood Forest has been there for decades. A sudden landslide? It seems a bit far-fetched, don’t you think?” “Ms. Finch fought hard to get this opportunity for our kids. What right do you have to stand in her way?” “My son says Leo’s always been a scaredy-cat. He’s probably just trying to drag everyone else down with him…” Leo’s face pales, the accusations landing like physical blows. He opens his mouth, his voice trembling. “Mom, I’m not—” I clench my fists, my knuckles white. For a split second, I consider trying to warn them one last time. To do the right thing. But then I remember. I remember the sincerity in their eyes when they thanked me, and the venom in their words when they cursed me. I remember how they fanned the flames online, pushing me toward the edge of a cliff until I finally fell. No one in this room is innocent. I look out the window at the fine, misty rain and offer an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Finch. I wasn’t thinking clearly.” I stand up abruptly, and the chatter in the room dies down. “I was the one being alarmist. I nearly jeopardized our children’s future.” “Ms. Finch is so thoughtful to arrange this. Of course, she has my full support.” 2 As my words hang in the air, the classroom falls into a dead silence. Leo’s hand, clutching mine, is ice-cold. I give him a reassuring glance, a silent promise. “Are you… are you serious, Mrs. Reed?” A flicker of confusion crosses Ms. Finch’s face, but it’s quickly replaced by a triumphant gleam. “Of course,” I say, nodding earnestly. “I want what’s best for my son, just like everyone else.” “I was making a mountain out of a molehill. I nearly wasted all of your hard work, Ms. Finch. You’ve thought of everything. As parents, we can rest easy knowing our children are in your hands.” I put extra emphasis on the words rest easy. A low murmur ripples through the other parents. A satisfied smile spreads across Ms. Finch’s face. She claps her hands together and pulls a stack of A4 papers from her designer handbag. “Now that we’re all on the same page, just to avoid any… disagreements later on,” she says, shooting a pointed look in my direction, “I’ll need everyone to sign this safety waiver.” She hands me the form. It’s a liability waiver. By signing, parents agree to the field trip to Blackwood Forest and absolve Ms. Finch of any and all responsibility for any accidents. She raises her voice, beaming. “Oh, and one more thing. The fee for the trip has been increased to three hundred dollars. Please transfer the funds to Karen as soon as possible.” The other parents nod eagerly, scrambling for their phones. I look down at the paper and feel a cold, bitter laugh rise in my throat. I never saw this waiver in my past life. I had no idea she had planned to cover her tracks from the very beginning. “Evelyn, what are you waiting for?” Karen’s voice is sharp enough to cut glass. “Stop staring and sign it!” I set the waiver down on the desk. “Leo won’t be attending.” Ms. Finch’s smile instantly twists into a snarl. “But you just agreed!” The other parents, led by Karen, glare at me. “What are you trying to pull, Evelyn?” “Are you playing games with us? Do you think we’re fools?” I simply adjust my glasses. “I do support you, Ms. Finch. I think it’s a wonderful idea.” “It’s just that my Leo…” I let out a heavy sigh. “He has a severe case of acrophobia. Always has.” “He can’t even look down from a second-story window without getting dizzy.” I dab at the corners of my eyes with my sleeve, my voice thick with mock-sadness. “I’m just so worried about his health. What if something happens to him on the mountain?” “He’d disrupt your plans, the other students would have to look after him… it just wouldn’t be right.” “To make sure everyone else has the best possible experience, we’ve decided to sit this one out.” Understanding dawns on Leo’s face. He slowly hunches over, clutching his chest dramatically. “Mom,” he gasps, “I… I can’t breathe…” Ms. Finch stares at our performance, utterly dumbfounded. The room erupts in whispers again. “Mom, I don’t want to have to take care of that weakling…” “He’s how old and still afraid of heights? What a wimp.” “You know, my daughter is afraid of heights too. That mountain is pretty high, maybe…” A few other parents start to look hesitant. Karen sees the tide turning and slams her hand on a desk. “You’re undermining class unity!” “A fear of heights isn’t some terminal illness! Can’t he just try to be brave?” Her outburst backfires. The mother who had just spoken up retorts, “Are you going to be responsible if my daughter has a full-blown panic attack up there?” “You know what, we’re out too. I’ve never seen three red alerts issued for the same area before…” As the voices of dissent grow louder, Ms. Finch struggles to maintain her gentle facade. “Everyone, quiet!” Her hand, adorned with a dazzling diamond ring, smacks against the blackboard. “This is a class trip. No one is skipping!” “The entire point of this is to foster teamwork and cooperation! We need to be united!” She throws a contemptuous look my way. “Mrs. Reed, a little fear is something that can be overcome. Do you really want Leo to grow up to be an outcast?” “If this continues, his personality development could be severely stunted!” She tries to sound like a concerned educator, but her eyes are dancing with smug victory. “This is for the good of all the children. Every single student will be attending!” Her firm stance emboldens the others. They rush to agree, afraid of being left behind. “She’s right, Evelyn! This is a group activity. What does it look like if you don’t go?” “I bet she just thinks this school is beneath her son now!” Hearing the other parents turn on me, a smug, triumphant look spreads across Ms. Finch’s face. “Alright, settle down.” She scans the room like a queen surveying her court. “This trip will be incredibly beneficial for everyone.” “Not only will it teach the children independence, but I will also be livestreaming the entire event.” “I’ll even edit the footage into a professional video. Every child will have a chance to be on camera!” 3 The room explodes. “Oh my god! Ms. Finch has over three million followers!” “If my kid gets famous, he could be an influencer! That’s way more money than he’ll ever make with a college degree!” The parents who were hesitating just moments ago are now overcome with a feverish excitement. They practically trample each other to transfer the money to Karen. Even the mother whose daughter had a fear of heights. I just shake my head, a bitter taste in my mouth. Ms. Finch’s smile grows wider. Karen looks like she’s just won the lottery. “Evelyn, aren’t you going to sign and pay?” “If she won’t sign, I will! Karen, check your account, the money’s there!” A mob of parents surges forward, shoving desks and chairs aside. I pull Leo close, a deep sense of irony washing over me. In my last life, Ms. Finch never had to use these elaborate excuses. This was never about the kids. It was a pre-planned script for her social media channel. The children were just props, a brief cameo in her show. The idea that any of them would become famous was a cruel joke. As if on cue, the drizzle outside intensifies, the rain now hammering against the windowpanes. But inside, the atmosphere is reaching a fever pitch. As a geologist specializing in mountain hazards, I know the conditions at Blackwood Forest better than anyone. The loose, saturated soil, combined with days of relentless rain… a landslide isn’t just a possibility, it’s an inevitability. While the classroom is in chaos, I take Leo’s hand and pull him toward the back door. “Stay close, Leo.” We crouch low, moving as quietly as we can. The back door is just inches away. My hand is reaching for the handle when— “They’re trying to run!” a sharp-eyed parent shrieks. The room falls silent. The only sound is the frantic drumming of rain against the roof. Ms. Finch slowly raises her head. Her eyes are filled with a cold, hard malice. “Evelyn,” she says, her voice low and dangerous, “have I been too nice to you?” Her crude language ignites a fire in my chest. “Ms. Finch, is that really something a teacher should be saying?” Leo, bristling with indignation, steps forward, but I pull him behind me. “I told you, Leo has a severe phobia. We are not participating.” “Who the hell do you think you are? You don’t get to decide that!” Ms. Finch’s face is flushed with rage. She pounds her fist on the lectern. “This is a class-wide activity!” “Leo is already timid. If you don’t push him now, are you trying to raise a coward?” Her vulgar words make my blood boil. “The weather service has issued three consecutive red alerts! The park service has issued its own danger advisory!” “And field trips are voluntary. You can’t force us to go!” Ms. Finch scoffs. “I never said I was forcing you. You’re just trying to divide the class!” Karen points a finger in my face. “Listen here, Evelyn. Ms. Finch is being more than patient with you. Sign the damn paper and pay the money!” The room descends into chaos again, parents shouting accusations at me from all sides. Leo clenches his fists, but I pull him toward the door. “Let us through! What you’re doing is illegal!” A wall of parents blocks our path. I try to push through them, and the argument turns into a shoving match. Suddenly, I feel a sharp tug on my hair. A split second later, Karen’s hand cracks across my face. My vision explodes in a shower of stars. I stumble backward and fall to the floor. Someone’s foot comes down hard on my hand, and a bloom of pain radiates up my arm. “Mom! Are you okay?” Leo shoves the other parents aside and helps me to my feet. A fiery pain shoots through my knee as I stand. Karen takes a half-step back, a flicker of fear in her eyes. “Drama queen. It was just a little fall.” Ms. Finch watches, her expression cold, a hint of satisfaction in her eyes. “This is what you get for disrupting the harmony of this class!” “If you don’t sign that paper and pay today, none of us are letting you leave!” Leo’s eyes are red with fury. He looks like he’s about to launch himself at her. “Leo, calm down,” I say, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We won’t stoop to their level.” “We’ll use the law to protect ourselves.” I hold up my swollen, bruised hand. My voice is like ice. “Your actions today constitute assault.” “This is the kind of class Ms. Finch runs, is it? So committed to ‘unity’ that you’re willing to break the law?” I scan the pale, shocked faces around me. “A class like this isn’t worthy of my son.” Ms. Finch is clearly unprepared for me to bring up the law. She stares at me for a second, then screeches, “What are you trying to do?” I lead Leo to the back door without a backward glance. “We are not going on the field trip.” “And right now, I’m going to find Principal Davies and arrange for a transfer.” The room is silent. Then Karen bursts out laughing as if she’s just heard the funniest joke in the world. She slaps her thigh, her body shaking with mirth. “Oh, ‘Principal Davies’! You really think you’re someone important, don’t you?” Ms. Finch crosses her arms, a smug look on her face. “Go ahead. The second you walk out that door, Leo is no longer a student in this class.” “And Principal Davies? He’s at a district conference today. Let’s see who’s going to sign your transfer papers now!” I take a deep breath. I pull out my phone, dial a number, and put it on speaker. A kind, familiar voice answers on the second ring. “Evelyn, what a surprise. Is something wrong? Is it about Leo?”

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After the lightning strike, my childhood best friend and I woke up. He was the obsessive psycho male side-character. I was the vicious, bitchy female side-character. We were, in short, the villains. In the original story, after failing to win the protagonists’ love, he frames the hero, and I torture the heroine. After waking up, we were both just… tired. We decided to take one for the team and just date each other. At our engagement party, the stoic hero and the sweet heroine cornered us, their eyes red. “Why?” they demanded. 1 Asher and I were your classic, bored rich kids. He was a Level-5 simp, hopelessly chasing Lily, the brilliant, broke scholarship student who wouldn’t give him the time of day. I was a Level-10 psycho, desperately obsessed with Connor, the ice-king CEO. I was so in love I’d actually tried to drug him. That night, a thunderstorm was rattling the city. I’d cornered Connor in his office. I was going in for a kiss. He was motionless, his perfect mouth an inch from mine. Just as I was about to make contact, he shoved me back. He actually brushed off his suit jacket, his face twisted in disgust. “You’re pathetic, Sloane. Get out.” I just stood there, stunned. Meanwhile, Asher had just been brutally rejected by Lily—again. His offer to pay her tuition had, apparently, wounded her pride. “Stop trying to buy me, Asher. I will never like you.” He was standing outside my condo, soaked to the bone, when I pulled up. He told me his sob story. It was the only thing that made me feel better. “God,” I sighed, “you look like a drowned rat.” He sneered. “And you look like the psycho they just kicked out of the party. We’re a matched set.” We stared at each other. A massive crack of thunder split the sky, and a bolt of lightning hit the sidewalk right between us. As we were thrown back, the last thing I remember was yelling: “What the hell did you do to piss off God? And why am I getting dragged down with you!” 2 When I woke up in the hospital, my head was full of a story that wasn’t mine. I was a character in a trashy romance novel. I was Sloane, the “vicious best friend,” whose job was to make the heroine’s life hell. Asher was the “psycho male friend,” who loved the heroine so much he eventually kidnapped her, only to be brutally murdered by the hero. My ending? Even worse. The hero, Connor, has me committed to a high-security asylum—even though I’m perfectly sane—where I eventually set fire to my own room and die. A chill went down my spine. Note to self: Stay away from Connor. I sat up. Asher was sleeping peacefully in the next bed. His face was angelic, his eyelashes ridiculously long. A total waste. He had the face of a K-Pop idol but the brain of a lemming, chasing a girl who hated him. I was about to sneak out when his eyes snapped open and he grabbed my wrist. “Sloane? But… you were supposed to burn to death.” My jaw dropped. “You know? You’re a ‘character’ too?” He looked around, confused. “Am I… did I get sent back?” We stared at each other. In that moment, we both had the exact same thought: What a dumbass. The door burst open. My father and his mother rushed in, both crying. His mom grabbed my dad’s arm. “I knew it, Robert! They’ve been best friends since birth! They were always meant for each other. Even a lightning strike couldn’t separate them!” My dad nodded, his eyes wet. “The psychic was right! It’s fate! The second we signed the engagement papers, they both stabilized! It’s a miracle!” I’m sorry, what? 3 Apparently, in the ICU, we were both circling the drain. Our parents, in a fit of rich-people desperation, had consulted their high-end spiritual guru. The guru told them our souls were “dangerously intertwined.” If we weren’t “bound” in this life, our “negative karma” would kill us both. So, while we were in comas, they had their lawyers draw up a marriage contract. And it worked. We woke up. Asher looked at me. “So. What now?” I looked at the diamond ring they’d put on my finger. I sighed. “What can we do? I’m the villain. No matter what I do, I lose.” Asher actually smirked. “You know… maybe we should just go through with it. Save ourselves the trouble of harassing the heroes. We can just… I don’t know… harass each other.” It was like a lightbulb went off. He was right. Connor already thought I was toxic. Why waste my energy? I could just stay here and “ruin” Asher. Maybe I’d even survive the final chapter. I grabbed his hand. “Asher, you’re a goddamn genius.” He immediately looked horrified. “Sloane, I was kidding. I think of you as my sister. I can’t… I don’t feel that way about you…” That pissed me off. I climbed onto his bed, straddled his hips, and pushed him back against the pillows. I leaned down until our noses were almost touching. “You don’t?” I whispered. “Are you sure?” My fingers traced the outline of his T-shirt, slowly sliding down his chest until they rested right above his jeans. His eyes went dark. His voice was a strained whisper. “Sloane. Stop playing.” I felt the unmistakable twitch under his waistband. I laughed and jumped off the bed. “See? You feel it.” 4 Asher went to the bathroom, presumably to take a cold shower. I immediately grabbed my phone and posted a picture of the ring. @Sloane_Official: Tomorrow, 6:40 PM. Marrying this idiot. @Asher_King My phone exploded. Congrats!!! Is this a joke? Wait… what? You two? Since WHEN? I was replying with smiley-face emojis when a new text popped up. From Connor. My “Do Not Answer” contact. ? A second later: Sloane, what game are you playing now? He was the hero. I probably shouldn’t piss him off. 🙂 Getting married tomorrow! You should come! He didn’t believe me. Is this fun for you, Sloane? I heard the bathroom door open. Asher came out, his hair wet. The water droplets on his chest made him look… sharp. Dangerous. I stared. I’d known him for twenty years. When did he get hot? He flicked my forehead. “What are you staring at?” My face felt warm. “Nothing. Just texting.” He saw the name on my screen. His face went dark. He snatched the phone out of my hand. “I thought we were getting married. Why are you texting him?” 5 He held the phone over his head. I jumped for it. “Give it back!” He just laughed, holding it further away. “Not until you kiss me.” “Asher, we’re friends! That’s weird!” Just then, the phone started ringing. Connor. He was actually calling me. Asher hit “Decline.” “Okay, fine!” I said. I lunged up to kiss his cheek. He turned his head at the last second. It wasn’t a kiss. It was a collision. His lip split. Blood welled up instantly. He just stared at me, then licked the blood off his lip. It was… surprisingly hot. “Sloane,” he said, “are you part-dog? Why do you always bite?” My heart was hammering. “I… I’m sorry.” I’d spent my whole life chasing Connor. I’d never actually kissed anyone. Asher, obsessed with Lily, was in the same boat. We were two 25-year-old disasters. How… how do you do it?

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I’m Lily. The unloved, “real” daughter, shipped off to an elite prep school, Crestwood Academy, where someone was always trying to make my life hell. Until the day I got cornered in an alley by a girl with a rainbow-dyed undercut. She was shaking me down for protection money. “I don’t take your money for free,” she’d growled. “You’re in trouble, you call me.” So, the next time the school’s queen bee, Madison, had me cornered, I shakily dialed that number. “Hey, Janky? It’s Lily. Help…” Who knew? For the price of a lemonade, she actually meant it. 1. The first time I met Janky, I was riding a beat-up Lime scooter to the subway station. I hadn’t even gone a block before a group of kids dragged me, scooter and all, into an alley. Seriously. They had to help me off the damn scooter. The leader was the rainbow-haired girl. She had seven friends with her, all with bad bleach-blond jobs. It was the first time I’d seen so many colors on one person’s head. I just stared. She snarled, trying to look tough. “Protection money. You gonna pay up, or we gotta search you?” “…” Her crew tried to do an evil laugh. “Heh… heh… heh…” I blinked. “Guys, hold up. First, nobody carries cash. Second, if I Venmo you, the cops will trace it in five minutes.” A bleach-blond guy raised a fist so big it looked like a cartoon ham. I yelped and clutched my backpack. “Wait! I’ve got an idea! You can take me to a store, and I’ll buy you stuff!” The rainbow girl shoved him aside and grabbed my collar. “Don’t try any tricks, nerd.” “Okay.” 2. My brain was running calculations at light speed. Sure, I went to Crestwood, but I was the “poor” rich girl. I got $800 a month. Which was a lot, until the school bullies smashed my glasses the first week ($200 gone). Add in my subscriptions for online AP courses and the scooter rental I was about to be charged for… I had $398.66 to my name. For eight people… that’s $49.83 each. If I begged, maybe they’d leave me enough for the subway and an Uber home? I had to get home. The Astors—my so-called family—had made it clear: show up for their stupid dinner party tonight, or my allowance was cut. I just hoped I wouldn’t have to walk. 3. They took me to a street cart. They bought eight lemonades and eight corn dogs. And they used a coupon. Total: $28.72. The shakedown of the century. 4. The rainbow-haired girl, Janky, stuffed the last of her corn dog into her mouth and slapped me on the back. “Name’s Janky. I run this block.” “Since you paid up, you’re my girl now. Got trouble? Call me.” With that, she and her seven bleach-blonds hopped on three beat-up mopeds and sputtered away. The setting sun caught her rainbow ponytail. It looked like a beautiful oil slick. 5. A half-hour scooter ride, two subway transfers, and a 45-minute Uber later, I got “home.” It was past 9 PM. The guests were gone. Just the four Astors. Rosalie, the fake daughter, was sitting there in a designer dress and a freaking tiara, looking like she was about to cry. The second I walked in, my “dad,” “mom,” and “brother” all turned to glare at me. Only Rosalie stood up, managing a perfect smile-through-tears. “Lily! You’re back!” My blood-related brother, Grayson, exploded first. “You finally decided to show up? You’ve embarrassed us all!” I pushed my new glasses up. “The driver left without me.” I’d seen him. As I was walking out of school, the family Bentley sped off. Rosalie had rolled down the window just long enough to flip me the bird. “Don’t you dare blame Rosalie!” Grayson snapped. “She called, said you flat-out refused to ride in the same car with her!” Rosalie grabbed his arm. “Grayson, stop, please… It’s my fault. I’m the one who made her hate me…” My “mother,” Mrs. Astor, sighed. “We understand you’re upset, Lily. But you can’t take it out on your sister. She wouldn’t even cut her birthday cake, she was waiting for you.” “Mom, don’t…” Grayson was still on me. “Even if you took public transport, you shouldn’t be this late!” I answered honestly. “I got mugged. It took a while.” Grayson just stared. “…That’s the best lie you can come up with?” I shrugged and opened my banking app. “It’s true. I was mugged for eight lemonades and eight corn dogs.” Rosalie’s eyes welled up instantly. “Oh, Lily… you mean you made friends and went out to eat?” “…” It was the perfect example of that old saying: even if you hang yourself, people who don’t love you will just think you’re swinging. 6. Sometimes I think the Astors are just badly programmed NPCs. Rosalie cries. Grayson yells. Mrs. Astor sighs. Mr. Astor stays silent, then hits me with one devastating line. I’d tried explaining myself before. When I first arrived, Grayson cornered me. “Just because you’re blood doesn’t mean anything. Don’t think you can steal the love I have for Rosalie.” I was just confused. “Hi. Don’t worry, I don’t even know you. I have zero possessive urges.” That just made him angrier. Later, they decided to send me to board at the school, giving me only $800 a month. “Don’t be jealous of your sister,” Mrs. Astor had said. “You grew up… that way. We’re afraid if you get too much money, you’ll go wild.” I’d thanked her. “$800 is great. I used to have to collect cans for cash.” She totally lost it. Grayson stormed in, yelling about how I shouldn’t “play the victim.” 7. How do you even respond to a script that bad? I couldn’t. 8. So I just stood there, clutching my backpack, waiting for them to finish. I was starving. I really regretted not taking Janky up on her offer of a corn dog. My new friends were right, they were crispy… But today, Rosalie was really hamming it up. I hadn’t said a word, but she suddenly ran to Mrs. Astor, sobbing. “It’s my fault! I stole her place! Lily has every right to hate me!” “Mom, she’s your real daughter! How can you give me the Amex Black Card and only give her $800 a month? Make me live in the dorms, not her!” Mrs. Astor hugged her, looking pained. “Rosie, stop. This was our decision. It has nothing to do with you.” She shot me a warning glare. “And Lily doesn’t hate you. She knows this is what she deserves. Right, Lily?” Rosalie turned, her eyes hopeful. “Sister… can you please not be mad at me anymore?” I was just so tired. “I’m not mad. I was never mad at you.” “I don’t believe you!” she cried. “Or you would have ridden home with me instead of going out to eat with your… your friends!” I couldn’t help it. “Rosalie, you and I are strangers. We’re not even related. Why would I have any expectations of you?” 9. I knew I shouldn’t have broken script. The whole NPC squad crashed. Grayson slapped me. Hard. “Who the hell do you think you’re insulting?” Mrs. Astor: “Go back to the school.” Mr. Astor, finally speaking: “Since you don’t like the family car, you’re not welcome in it. Go back the way you came.” Before I left, I had to check. “The tuition… and the allowance. That’s… that’s still happening, right?” “GET OUT!” Fine. 10. I scrambled to get back to the dorm. By the time I made it, it was past 11 PM. I opened my laptop and started studying. 11. I never wanted to go to Crestwood. The academics were a joke. Not like the public magnet school I’d tested into. But the Astors had yelled at me. “Rosalie is at Crestwood,” Grayson had said. “You’re going to go to some… some public school? Are you trying to make us look bad on purpose?” Fine. But the teachers here just phoned it in, saving all their real energy for their high-dollar private tutoring sessions. I’d asked the Astors for a tutor. “Just a normal one…” Mrs. Astor had scoffed. “Don’t bother with that. You’re 17. We can’t ‘buy’ you into being a scientist now.” I told her I was first in my class. I heard her laugh over the phone. “Oh, that’s sweet. A real small-town brainiac.” 12. What was her degree in, again? Oh, right. I didn’t get it. You can’t reason with NPCs. No tutor? Fine. The internet is full of free AP guides and resources. I made my own study plan. I was just glad I could make up for the time I’d lost. 13. And, luckily, I’d bought a corn dog on my way back to the dorm. This school had single-room dorms. It was late. I was studying, eating a greasy corn dog, and I was, for a moment, totally happy. 14. The next morning, Madison, a girl in my class, cornered me. She said my “early morning studying” was too loud. This was a lie. Madison didn’t even live in the dorms. She was the school’s top bully, Rosalie’s best friend, and the one who’d smashed my first pair of glasses. I knew she was just looking for a fight. I shrank back. “Sorry. I’ll be… quieter.” She patted my cheek, her rings cold. “You think ‘sorry’ is enough? Just having a charity case like you at this school makes me sick. Don’t go home after class. I’m going to teach you a lesson.” “I’ll tell the principal.” SLAP. She hit me, hard, right across the face. “You try it.” 15. I found out what “you try it” meant. I’m the top student. I sit in the front row. I sat through an entire day of classes with a bright red handprint on my face. Not a single teacher asked me about it. They wouldn’t even make eye contact. I sat there, sick to my stomach. Before the last bell, I tried calling Mrs. Astor. It rang once. She hung up. I was out of options. My hand was shaking. I dialed the number from the alley. “Hey… Janky? It’s Lily. I’m in trouble…” 16. “Who?” I babbled, explaining everything. “Oh! Lemonade-Corn-Dog-Girl! Right! Don’t worry, I’m comin’ to bust you out.” Then she asked, “So, where’s this chick gonna jump you?” “I don’t know.” “…” “She just said… ‘don’t go home after class.’” “Right.” 17. I didn’t get a chance to go anywhere. The bell rang, and Madison and her friends grabbed me and dragged me into the girls’ bathroom. The bathroom. Crap. How was I supposed to tell Janky? 18. Madison didn’t waste time. She punched me straight in the face. My nose exploded. I was crying, tasting blood. “Madison, I never did anything to you!” She and her friends laughed. “You, this piece of trash… how dare you even compare to Rosalie?” “I’m not trying to compare!” Why would I? I had better grades, better morals, and honestly, better looks. Her only skill was acting. “Still talking back!” I saw her fist coming and I did the only thing I could: I head-butted her in the stomach. She shrieked. I made a break for the door. …And got caught. Her two friends grabbed me, dragged me back, and started kicking. “Kill this little bitch!” Help! These NPCs were set to “Hard” mode! My new glasses… they smashed them. Again.

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After another cold war with my childhood sweetheart, I didn’t go running to him. My friends all tried to talk me down. “He’s just complicated, Willow. He says the opposite of what he means.” “Difficult people need a patient lover.” But I was just so tired. I didn’t want to be the one to back down anymore. All those years of cold wars, of arguments and avoidance… they had worn me down so much that I couldn’t even tell the difference anymore. Was he really just complicated, or did he just not love me? So, when he threatened me with a breakup again, I just said, “Fine. Let’s break up.” 1 Hearing me say that, Jerry visibly froze. But I just kept my head down, my voice steady. “I’ll get my things packed and out of here as soon as I can. You can keep everything we bought together. As for the clothes you left at my place, please come get them when you can. Or I can have them couriered to you…” The only sound in the silent apartment was my own voice. Jerry’s expression shifted from stormy to a cold, blank mask. He cut me off abruptly. “What about Pudding? How do we split him?” Pudding was the stray cat I’d found by the gate of our complex. I’d adopted him, paid for all his expenses. But he never warmed up to me. Eight times out of ten, he wouldn’t let me hold him. He’d even scratched my wrist a few times. Jerry, on the other hand, was always indifferent to him, never paid him any mind. And yet, Pudding would actively rub against his legs, meowing and begging for attention. “You can have him, too,” I said, letting out a long breath. No matter how much you love something, that kind of blatant favoritism will eventually break your heart. “Willow Morgan,” Jerry said, his voice tight with suppressed anger, “you’re the one who missed Valentine’s Day. Why are you the one throwing a tantrum?” But wasn’t he the one who said “break up” first? Maybe he’d forgotten. He threw those words around so often, after all. It was an effective threat, and he used it like a well-worn tool. “I told you, my flight was delayed. That’s why I was late getting back.” Jerry just sneered. “Excuses. Why couldn’t you have just caught an earlier flight?” On this business trip, I had worked for over ten hours straight, compressing my schedule just to make it onto a flight that would get me home the same day. But Jerry wouldn’t listen to that. He would find a hundred other reasons to blame me. So I fell silent, a profound sense of powerlessness washing over me. Jerry walked a few steps toward the door, then turned back, his tone icy. “I’m not coming back until you admit you were wrong.” “We’ve already broken up,” I said. But it was as if he hadn’t heard me. He tilted his head, continuing his monologue. “I’ll give you one more chance. It’s not just about you being late.” That was a first. Usually, he’d just slam the door and leave, even if his tone was still as hard as steel. “Think it over, and then come apologize to me.” 2 I sat on the sofa for a long time before dragging my exhausted body up to clean the living room. I retrieved the gift from the trash can. I had run to a dozen different shops in another country to find this, picking it out with so much care. But the person it was for hadn’t even glanced at it. He didn’t cherish it. So, like the rest of the wreckage scattered across the floor, it was worthless. After cleaning the living room, I went to the bedroom to pack. This was Jerry’s home. Every corner of it was filled with traces of me. The mugs we picked out together, the throw blanket, the matching sets of dishes… I only packed a few items of clothing and walked out with my suitcase. As I reached the door, a flash of yellow fur shot out in front of me. As if to block my path, Pudding flopped down in the middle of the living room and refused to move, his round eyes fixed on me. When I first found him, he was dirty and rail-thin, clearly malnourished. Now, his fur was fluffy and glossy. He was an undeniably handsome cat. I knelt down. In a rare exception, Pudding didn’t shrink from my touch. I stroked his head. “I’m leaving now. He’ll take care of you from now on.” Pudding would probably like that. He always preferred Jerry anyway. Not like me, the person he never let get close. I carefully pried his claws from where they were hooked into my pant leg. Ignoring his frantic meows, I picked up my suitcase and left. 3 As I reached the main gate of the complex, I got a call. It was one of Jerry’s friends, and his tone was accusatory. “Willow, what did you do to Jerry this time? He’s at my bar, drinking himself stupid, and no one can stop him. You need to get over here and drag him home before he wrecks the place.” I felt that familiar weariness creep back in. “I don’t even know why he’s angry. The moment I walked in the door, he flipped the table.” There was a pause on the other end, then a note of surprise. “You don’t know? He found out you had dinner with another guy. That guy even dropped you back at your hotel. Jerry’s jealous, Willow.” “He was a client,” I explained. “It was a business dinner. He gave me a ride because it was pouring rain and I couldn’t get a cab.” So that was the real reason. Jerry was always like this. He’d get jealous and angry if I so much as spoke to another man for too long. I used to tell myself it was because he loved me, because he was possessive. But now, all I felt was exhaustion. “I can explain everything,” I said into the phone, my voice soft. “I just don’t understand one thing.” “Why is he willing to tell all of you everything, but he’s never willing to just ask me?” I once asked my best friend what she did when she and her boyfriend fought. She thought for a moment. “Depends on who’s right and who’s wrong. We wait until we’ve both cooled down, then we just talk it out.” But Jerry would never do that. He kept everything bottled up inside. I never knew why he was angry. I always had to guess, or ask his friends. I couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t communicate with me. Why he’d rather vent to his friends than just ask me for the truth. Later, I learned a word for it: emotionally constipated. Jerry was the most emotionally constipated person I had ever met. He was sensitive and volatile. His only responses were to retreat and withdraw, using cold, cutting words to test me. Everyone said that people like him weren’t cut out for relationships. Only I didn’t believe them, and I charged ahead, full of passion. But now, I was lost. If a relationship always depends on one person making all the effort… can it really last? 4 I moved back into my own apartment. But even if we didn’t see each other at home, we still had to see each other at work. We worked at the same research institute, just in different departments. During a project handoff, I saw a young woman trailing beside him. She had a fresh, innocent look about her—a graduate student who had just started this year. Her name was Chloe. Jerry’s eyes lit up the moment he saw me. But I didn’t look at him, just calmly went through the work procedures. And just like that, the warmth in his expression vanished, replaced by an icy chill. He walked right past me without a word, his gaze fixed straight ahead. I overheard Chloe’s curious whisper. “Dr. Croft, how did you get that huge scar on your arm? It really startled me the first time I saw it.” Someone else answered. “You’re new, so you wouldn’t know. Our Dr. Croft and Dr. Morgan from the next department… they’re the couple. Total power couple. That scar is from an old earthquake drill. He was carrying her because she’d sprained her ankle. I heard that scar is why he couldn’t become a pilot, so he switched majors and ended up here.” Chloe’s eyes filled with admiration. “That’s so moving. They really are the perfect couple.” The gossip mill instantly churned to life. From Jerry giving up his dream for me to him applying to the institute to be with me, everyone was praising his devotion and, by extension, expressing their envy of me. Our cold war of the past few days was dismissed as simple lovers’ banter. “I bet you it’s Dr. Morgan who apologizes first again.” “Last time she bought us all bubble tea. What is it this time? I’m hoping for cupcakes.” “No way, that’s cheating. It’s always Dr. Morgan who gives in first. If you bet on him apologizing, then I’ll take that bet.” I stood in the corner, listening silently to their laughter. But this time, they were all wrong. “Jerry and I have broken up,” I said, my voice cutting through the noise. “Please don’t bring it up again.” My appearance brought the conversation to a screeching halt. People exchanged awkward glances and quickly dispersed. The truth was, our relationship was nowhere near as perfect as it looked from the outside. The endless cold wars and arguments had left it covered in invisible wounds, fragile and on the verge of collapse. I really wanted to know, Jerry… now that I’m not fixing things, now that I’m not trying to save us… will you even notice? Will you try to get me back? This time, will you be the one to apologize to me first? 5 For an entire month, Jerry and I were like strangers. It was a standoff. Neither of us was willing to be the first to back down. In the meantime, Chloe and Jerry were getting closer. They had lunch together, left work together. During a weekend team-building hike, Jerry even chose to be in her group. It was Chloe, ironically, who seemed hesitant. “Isn’t this… a little inappropriate? What about Dr. Morgan?” Jerry’s tone was dismissive. “We broke up, didn’t we? Why should I care what she does?” He didn’t lower his voice; everyone around us could hear. “Besides, she loves having dinner with other men so much. I’m sure hiking is no different.” Instantly, the way people looked at me changed. I heard whispers. “She has a great boyfriend like Dr. Croft and she doesn’t appreciate him. Flirting with other guys… no wonder he broke up with her.” The gossiping group only scattered when they saw me approaching. On the way up the mountain, Chloe twisted her ankle. Without a second thought, Jerry crouched down and lifted her onto his back. “I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice filled with guilt. “Now we’re going to be last because of me.” Jerry’s voice was gentle. “It’s fine. We were just here to relax anyway. The ranking doesn’t matter.” I was trailing behind them. There was an odd number of people on the trip, and everyone else had already paired up. Not wanting to break anyone up, I just went as a group of one. My stamina had never been great, and I was already breathing heavily. The atmosphere between the two of them up ahead was peaceful and harmonious. I even heard someone praise Jerry for being so dependable. 6 Jerry was, indeed, a very dependable person. He was polite and gentlemanly to everyone. Except me. In college, he was our class president. During an earthquake drill, everyone scrambled for the exits. He was the only one who ran against the crowd, back towards me, to carry me out because I had sprained my ankle a few days prior. The entire university buzzed about it. Everyone envied my luck. But what they didn’t know was that Jerry was scolding me the entire time. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you are? If you’ve sprained your ankle, why don’t you just stay home? Now you’ve dragged our whole class down to last place again. Willow, you’re completely useless.” I wanted to tell him that I had already gotten permission from the professor to skip the drill. But hearing his harsh words, I didn’t want to argue and make him angrier. Later, his friends told me he was just being contrary. That he was actually worried about my ankle and wanted me to rest at home. He had even gone to find a traditional medicine doctor to get a special ointment for me. “He makes a hundred bucks a day at his part-time job, but one of those patches costs eighty. He bought you two weeks’ worth without even hesitating.” My best friend was envious. “He’s just awkward, but he really loves you. That whole broody, secretly-caring thing is so romantic.” But now, watching Jerry comfort Chloe, I finally realized something. It wasn’t that he was incapable of gentleness. He just wasn’t gentle with me. I could feel his love through the words of others, but never from his own actions. He always spoke to me with venom, always gave me the cold shoulder. He called me stupid, called me frivolous. He cut up a scarf someone else had given me, smashed a gaming console a colleague had lent me. I told myself he was just jealous, that he just cared too much. So, after being pushed away time and time again, after every refusal to communicate, I would soothe my own hurt feelings, and then I would be the one to be warm and proactive, to apologize tirelessly, to be the first to give in. But passion needs to be reciprocated. I wasn’t invincible in this relationship. I could feel hurt and sad, too. The way he acted when he was being “difficult” and the way he acted when he didn’t love me were so similar. I was too heartbroken to tell the difference anymore. Was Jerry really just complicated, or had he just stopped loving me?

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