Category: English

I had been Gemma Hawthorne’s shadow for a decade, her personal coach and confidant as she struggled with her severe stutter. Every day, I sat with her, rehearsing sounds, going over articulation diagrams, and running through psychological grounding exercises. It was my life’s work. Yet, when Beckett Rhodes publicly shamed her, mimicking her speech in front of a crowd, she didn’t turn to me. She walked straight up to him and asked him for help. From me, she only had a single, cold line of gratitude: “Jasper, you’re too patient. So patient that you make me feel like a child who’s never allowed to grow up, like an idiot who’ll be stuck here forever.” In that moment, I realized that the real idiot wasn’t her. It was me—for sacrificing my academic future to stay and save her. 1 “This is the application you’re submitting to the club?” I pointed to the wrinkled sheet of paper on her desk. Gemma’s name was scribbled on it, awkwardly filling the blanks for the Westwood High Debate Team. She didn’t look at me. She was busy in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of her uniform, trying to emulate the sharp, confident look of the senior girls on the team. “Y-Y-Yes. It is.” She managed to force out the words, her face burning crimson with the effort. In the past, when I first saw this form, I had lost it. I tore the paper to shreds and stormed into the Debate Club office, confronting Beckett. He and his cronies had humiliated me, accusing me of stifling Gemma’s freedom. Gemma herself had cried, accusing me of trying to lock her in a cage. This time, I slipped my hands into my pockets and took a deliberate step back. “Good for you.” Gemma froze, looking at me in genuine surprise. “W-W-What did you s-say?” “I said, ‘Good for you.’” I repeated the words, turning to gather the worn books scattered across my desk. The Fluency Handbook. Clinical Anatomy for Speech. The Stutterer’s Guide to Mindful Speaking. The spines were broken, the pages dog-eared. They were dense with my own frantic notes and countless red-ink annotations—a blueprint for every conversation, every panic attack, every step of the decade-long recovery I’d mapped out. “Beckett w-was right,” Gemma rushed to say, suddenly eager to justify her choice. When she hurried, the veins in her neck strained, and her mouth opened wide, but the sound wouldn’t come out. I stood there, not doing what I always did—reaching out to smooth her back or gently guiding her to slow down. I just watched, a quiet, cold observer. “He s-said y-y-your whole slow-and-steady method w-w-was useless.” She finally got the sentence out, exhaling sharply, a hint of triumphant pride even managing to surface on her face. “He c-can force me t-t-to talk.” I walked over to the waste bin and dumped the stack of textbooks inside. “Then I wish you success.” Gemma noticed the movement. She stared for a moment, then scrambled toward the bin. “W-W-What are you d-doing?” “Throwing out the trash.” I slung my backpack over my shoulder. I even bent down to smooth out her Debate Club application and placed it prominently on her desk. “If Beckett’s methods are so much more effective, there’s no point in keeping these things around.” I tapped the desk. “They’re just taking up space.” Gemma’s hands hung suspended in mid-air. She must not have expected this. The Jasper who had once treasured her every tear and triumph was throwing out everything connected to her with such ruthless efficiency. “J-J-Jasper, are you… mad?” She tentatively pulled on the edge of my sleeve. In the old days, that look, that tiny gesture, would have melted me. I would have instantly compromised, apologized, and offered unconditional support. Now, I just found the tug annoying. “No, I’m not mad.” I gently, deliberately, pulled my sleeve from her grasp. “I just feel like it’s time for me to have my own life.” I paused, letting the silence fill the space. “After all, I can’t babysit an adult who chooses to be an idiot for the rest of my life, can I?” That last phrase—an idiot—was what Beckett had called her yesterday. It was also the word she had used to describe how she felt around me. Gemma’s face instantly went white. “I d-didn’t m-m-mean it like t-that.” “It doesn’t matter anymore.” I checked the clock on the wall, cutting her off. “Beckett’s club activity is about to start. Shouldn’t you be going?” The mention of Beckett immediately shifted her focus. She looked frantically at the time, snatched the application, and bolted for the door. She stopped at the threshold, turning back to offer me a dazzling, hopeful smile. “J-Jasper, when I’ve p-p-practiced enough, I’ll talk to you all the t-t-time.” She was radiant with anticipation for a future I was no longer a part of. I watched her retreating back, a blur heading straight toward Beckett. Talk to me all the time? No need. I pulled out my phone and dialed the number for my guidance counselor. “Hello, Dr. Evans, I’d like to apply for the closed-door Physics Intensive next month.” “Yes, the one outside the city.” “I won’t need to look after Gemma anymore. She’s found a better coach.” 2 The cafeteria was loud, buzzing with the after-school rush. I took my tray to an empty corner table. I’d barely taken a bite of the tough, overcooked General Tso’s chicken when a burst of laughter erupted from the next table. “Alright, Gemma, let’s hear that tongue twister for the crowd.” Beckett’s voice was loud and laced with a theatrical sneer. “P-P-Peter P-P-Piper picked a p-p-peck…” Gemma stood in the center of the Debate Club table, her face scarlet, her mouth contorted with effort. The club members around her were howling with laughter. Some had their phones out, filming. “Ha, ha, ha! She didn’t pick a peck of peppers, Beckett, she’s choking on the sound!” “Dude, your method is brutal, look how red she is.” Beckett leaned back in his chair, his feet propped up, twirling a pen between his fingers. “It’s called desensitization therapy, you morons. Look it up.” He tapped the end of the pen against Gemma’s forehead. “Keep going, don’t stop. You don’t eat until you finish the whole thing.” Gemma’s eyes were glistening with tears, and her body was visibly trembling. But she didn’t resist. Instead, she pushed herself harder to produce the sound. “P-P-Peppers…” The exertion was too much, and a thin line of saliva traced the corner of her mouth. The old me would have been on my feet, lunging at Beckett, dragging Gemma away. I would have whispered that we’d take it slow. The new me simply lowered my head and chewed the tough chicken. It was getting stuck in my teeth. “Hey, Jasper!” One of Beckett’s lackeys spotted me and yelled across the room. “Your little childhood friend is getting roasted! Aren’t you gonna step in?” All eyes swiveled to me. Gemma looked over too. She quickly wiped the drool from her mouth, a flicker of shame in her eyes. But just as quickly, she straightened her spine. She wanted to prove herself. Beckett gave me a challenging, smug look and draped his arm possessively over Gemma’s shoulder. “Step in? Why would he? Jasper the Great is too busy chasing scholarships. He doesn’t have time for our messy little affairs.” He gave Gemma’s cheek a rough squeeze. “Besides, Gemma’s making progress, right?” Gemma flinched but nodded into his hand. “Y-Y-Yes. B-Beckett is… is d-doing it for my own g-good.” She looked directly at me, the words tumbling out in a rush. “J-Jasper, you… you just m-mind your own business.” Mind your own business. The phrase landed like a slap in the face. A round of jeers and whistles went up around them, mocking my former devotion. I placed my chopsticks down and wiped my mouth with a paper napkin. “Carry on.” I picked up my tray and stood. “Wouldn’t want to interrupt the training regimen.” I walked past their table without even slowing my pace. Gemma’s expression was frozen. She had expected me to be furious, to be jealous, to spring to her defense and cradle her safely away from the danger. But I didn’t. I genuinely didn’t care. Behind me, Beckett’s laughter grew louder and more reckless. “See that? That’s what they call moving on! Alright, Gemma, to celebrate your independence, ten more times. Now!” “T-T-Ten times?” Gemma’s voice was wet with tears. “What? Backing out?” Beckett’s voice dropped, ice-cold. “Then go back to your Jasper-nanny and be a stuttering, useless waste of space.” “N-N-No! I w-w-will do it!” Her desperate cry pierced through the noise of the cafeteria. I dumped my leftover food into the disposal chute, listening to the agonizing, broken, and placating sounds of her struggle. The last sliver of guilt I held in my heart drained away with the spoiled food. Back in the classroom, I pulled out a mock exam for the state Physics Olympiad. The first problem was a beast. I worked through it twice before the solution clicked. The moment I solved it, a profound sense of lightness washed over me. Spending energy on my own life, I realized, was yielding immediate, high-rate returns. Unlike my decade-long investment in Gemma. Ten years of my youth, now a complete write-off. 3 The evening study hall was quiet. Gemma’s desk was empty. This was the third night in a row she’d skipped. Mr. Davies, the head teacher, stopped by my table and tapped his knuckles on the wood. “Jasper, where’s Gemma? Do you know?” I didn’t look up, my pen flying across my scratchpad, working through the derivation of a difficult equation. “No, I don’t.” Mr. Davies paused, clearly taken aback by my curtness. “But you two are inseparable. Her parents can’t reach her. Could you just…” “Mr. Davies.” I put down my pen and looked up at him. “We are not attached at the hip.” “Where she goes is her own business. I am not obligated to monitor her twenty-four hours a day.” He was speechless, sighed, and walked away. In my past life, I faced the same questions. That time, I searched the entire city and found her, drunk and crying, in a back room of a dingy bar. Beckett and his friends were egging her on, forcing her to sing a love song with her stutter. She had cried the whole time, yet when she saw me, she threw a glass at my face. “G-G-Go away! W-W-Who asked y-y-you to come!” That night, I carried her home, reeking of vomit, only to be chastised by her parents for not having watched her closely enough. Thinking back, I was an absolute fool. The final bell rang. I packed my bag and headed out. Just outside the school gate, under the harsh glow of the streetlamp, I saw Gemma and Beckett. Gemma was holding a boba tea, struggling to suck up the last pearls. Beckett was leaning against his motorcycle, a vape pen hanging from his mouth, looking impatient. “Hurry up. Quit stalling.” He took a drag. “Finish that and I’ll take you somewhere fun.” Gemma choked on a pearl and started coughing violently. Beckett didn’t help. He just laughed, doubling over in amusement. “C-C-Cough… Cough…” Gemma’s face was beet red, tears streaming from her eyes. She looked up and saw me. In that instant, her eyes lit up. She instinctively moved toward me—a decade of habit. When she was in pain, I was the one who always had the water and the tissue. I stopped. I reached into the side pocket of my backpack and pulled out a small tin of soothing lozenges. I always carried them; her throat was delicate and prone to inflammation when she coughed. Gemma’s eyes brightened even more when she saw the tin. She took another step toward me. “J-Jas—” I tore the plastic wrapping off the tin and poured the entire contents—a couple dozen sweet, white lozenges—into the nearby public trash can. Clatter. Clatter. Clatter. The sound was sharp and final. Gemma stopped dead. She stared at me, her lips trembling with disbelief. “W-W-What are you d-d-doing?” I crushed the empty tin in my hand and tossed it in after the lozenges. “They expired.” They were bought yesterday. “And you probably don’t need them anymore anyway.” I glanced at the vape pen in Beckett’s hand. “Secondhand smoke and sugar. Sounds like a pretty effective new treatment plan.” “It’s the desensitization therapy, right?” Beckett blew a cloud of vapor directly into Gemma’s face. “Hear that? Even Jasper says my method is working. Come on, let’s go for a ride. Really loosen up those vocal cords.” Gemma coughed again, but she didn’t push Beckett away. She just stared at the trash can. “J-J-Jasper, you’ve changed,” she accused, her voice raw. “Y-You never… you never used to l-l-leave me alone l-like this.” “People change.” I tightened the strap on my backpack. “Especially when the investment no longer justifies the return.” “Gemma, you’re an adult now.” I looked her straight in the eye. “Adults have to pay for their own choices.” 4 It was the school’s 50th-anniversary celebration, and they were holding auditions for the event host. Logically, Gemma had no business auditioning. Clear, articulate speech was the primary requirement. But Beckett had signed her up. “This is your chance to break free!” Beckett announced to the entire class. “We are going to fight the discrimination! Who says a stutterer can’t be a host?” “Gemma, you have to prove to everyone that you’re not useless!” The classmates cheered and clapped. Everyone was caught up in the performative, feel-good rhetoric. Only I knew it was a meticulously planned form of psychological warfare. In my past life, she did this, too. On stage, she was so nervous she couldn’t even complete her self-introduction. The hissing, the jeers, the laughter—it drowned her. She had a full-blown panic attack and lost control of her bladder in front of thousands of people. It became her life’s darkest memory, and the moment she completely attached herself to Beckett and began to hate me. Because Beckett told her: “You weren’t brave enough. Jasper protected you too well, and now you can’t handle the real world.” This time, I was still sitting in my corner, doing practice problems. Gemma walked up to me with the audition script. “J-Jasper.” She slapped the pages onto my desk. “Y-You n-need to h-help me edit the s-script.” The request was so entitled, so completely devoid of any acknowledgment of our previous tension. “I don’t have time.” I pushed the papers back. “I have to prep for the Physics Olympiad selection exam.” Gemma’s face crumpled in frustration. “Y-You’re just j-jealous!” “J-Jealous that B-Beckett is n-n-nice to me!” “You w-want me t-to fail!” Her voice was so loud the entire class fell silent. Beckett strolled over and casually draped an arm around Gemma’s shoulders. “Gemma, don’t beg this bookworm. What does a science nerd know about the art of public speaking?” He gave me a condescending look. “I’ll write your script. I guarantee you’ll blow the audience away.” Gemma’s eyes welled up with grateful tears. “B-Beckett, you’re so good to m-me.” She turned her venom on me again, her face contorted with malice. “J-Jasper, you d-don’t deserve to b-be my friend.” “When I get that hosting job, you b-better stay out of my business!” I capped my pen and stood up. My gaze swept over Gemma’s distorted face and settled on Beckett’s gleeful, malevolent smirk. “Duly noted,” I said, giving a curt nod. “Make sure you remember that, Gemma.” “Don’t come near me.” The day of the selection ceremony arrived. The auditorium was packed. I was outside, tossing my packed bag into the trunk of a shuttle van heading for the state-level Physics Intensive. Walking past the rear doors of the auditorium, I heard the announcer’s voice. “Next up, from Grade 12, Class 2, please welcome… Gemma Hawthorne.” A burst of applause. It was the sound of encouragement for the underdog, but underneath it, I could hear the anticipation of a trainwreck. I peered through the door crack. Gemma was wearing an ill-fitting evening dress, and her makeup was overdone. She stood alone on the huge stage, the spotlight making her look small and absurd. Beckett was lurking behind the curtain, filming her on his phone. He was laughing, making mocking hand gestures, mimicking her shaky posture to the friends beside him. Gemma took a shaky breath and grabbed the microphone. She believed this was the start of her new life. She believed this was her moment to prove me wrong. She had no idea that Beckett had rigged the microphone for maximum feedback and ear-splitting squeals. She had no idea the script he’d written was full of complex, tongue-twisting vocabulary and convoluted phrases. “H-H-Hel-Hello… Ev-Everyone…” The piercing feedback scream tore through the auditorium. I let go of the door handle and walked toward the waiting shuttle bus at the main gate. The moment the bus doors hissed shut, a colossal wave of hysterical laughter erupted from the auditorium.

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My boyfriend sent me, five months pregnant, hiking in Death Valley. All because I blacklisted his old flame’s breakfast spot. We had been together for eight years, and he always put me first. Until he took me to her café. His old flame, Stella, deliberately put something I was severely allergic to in my food. My face was nearly ruined, and I was slapped with a massive penalty clause from my modeling agency for breach of contract. When my manager tried to protect my career by warning others away from Stella’s café, my boyfriend’s punishment was swift. He abandoned me in the desert. On the brink of death, I managed to escape, only to overhear him laughing with his friends. “It was just a little lesson for her. Does she still think she’s who she used to be? Pregnant before marriage… who else would want her besides me?” 1 “Her face will never be the same. Her grandfather found a younger wife and cut her off. And in her state, she dares to challenge Stella? So what if her face is scarred and she owes some money? That’s what she gets for messing with my girl.” Standing outside the door, I trembled as I listened to Landon Croft’s words. It had taken me ten days, alone, to escape that hell. When I was close to collapsing, the only thing that kept me conscious was my love for him. The thought of him kept me moving. Now, the dozens of cuts and scratches covering my body felt like a cruel joke. The architect of my suffering had been the man I’d loved for years. “Landon, what if she finds out and breaks up with you? What if she calls off the wedding?” one of his friends asked. Through the crack in the door, I saw Landon sneer. “Her? She won’t leave, whether she knows or not. No one else loves her or cares about her. Besides, she’s pregnant. Who would take her in now?” He was gloating, basking in his victory. “And you all know, I’m the center of her universe. It’s pathetic, really.” His words sent me plunging into an abyss, shattering me on impact. He was so certain I would never leave. I stumbled to the security office and borrowed a phone to call my grandfather. I needed to prove Landon wrong, to hear that someone still loved me. The moment the call connected, the words rushed out. “Grandpa, it’s me, Ingrid.” Before I could say more, his harsh voice cut me off. “Why are you calling? We have no relationship anymore. I’ve thrown out all of your things. I’m sending you the disinheritance papers. Don’t contact me again. I’m not having this family’s name dragged through the mud.” Landon was right. Even my own family didn’t love me. Eight years ago, he had pulled me from the ocean, saving my life. He gave me a new one. He told me my eyes were beautiful. Only later did I learn that my eyes were the one feature I shared with Stella. Rain fell, tracing the bloody scratches on my skin, making them stand out in stark relief. I walked into the hospital’s maternity ward. After the examination, the doctor sighed. “The previous allergic reaction did significant damage to your system, and you’re suffering from severe malnutrition. You’re quite far along. Terminating the pregnancy at this stage would pose a serious risk to your own life.” My face was a mask. My body wouldn’t stop shaking from the pain. “Do it.” “I’ll schedule the procedure for seven days from now. You need to spend this week resting and building up your strength.” When I arrived home, Landon and his friends were in the middle of a boisterous drinking session. “Ingrid, what’s with the ghost act? You should be taking it easy, with the baby and all.” Landon’s face was smug. Shouldn’t I be calling him a master actor? To feign love for a woman for eight years, to turn my eight years of happiness into a lie. I didn’t answer, just turned and went to my room. Our wedding portrait was still on the wall, a monument to irony. The wedding was just a month away. Making sure everyone saw his pregnant-out-of-wedlock bride—that must have been part of his plan, too. A message popped up from my manager. She had successfully negotiated a payment plan for the contract penalty. I smiled bitterly. I had no one in my corner. That night, Landon pressed up against my back, his hand covering my belly. “Are you… and the baby… okay?” “Yes,” I answered, my voice cold. He stiffened, surprised by my tone. “Landon, do you still want to marry me?” He didn’t hesitate. “I do.” The next second, the special ringtone I knew was for Stella chimed. The hand on my belly was instantly withdrawn. “Landon, please don’t leave me, okay? Don’t leave me all alone. I don’t want to lose you.” Stella was sobbing on the other end of the line. “Stella, don’t be scared. I’m always here for you. I’m on my way.” After hanging up, he turned back to me. “Ingrid, you heard her. Stella needs me. You need to put aside your little tantrums for now. I’ll give you what you’re owed. Just take care of yourself.” Perhaps it was guilt. For the first time in a long time, he sounded concerned. Then, without another word, he was gone. I guess it wasn’t the crying child who gets the candy. It’s the beloved child who gets the candy. I looked around our room. The walls were covered with sticky notes he’d written for me, filled with declarations of his love and care. In the early hours of the morning, Stella posted a photo of Landon cooking in her kitchen. He would cross the city for her at a moment’s notice, remembered every little thing she liked. Landon wanted me to be understanding. But the understanding girl never got her candy. I tore every note from the wall, shredding them into tiny pieces. The residual adhesive stung the raw cuts on my hands. The next morning, just as I was taking down our wedding portrait, I heard a key in the lock. It was Stella. “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” she sneered. “I was wondering who the ugly hag was. So it’s you, Ingrid. Let’s see you try to compete with me now.” She wasn’t even trying to hide it. “What do you want?” My voice was flat, my expression unreadable. “Rory, darling, I only came to take care of you. If my moving in really bothers you, I’ll leave right now. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your life with Landon.” Her voice cracked with a sob. A performance, I realized. For Landon’s benefit. She stepped closer, then jabbed her sharp nails into my pregnant belly. I recoiled, pushing her away instinctively. She stumbled back into a side table. A glass tumbled to the floor, shattering. Shards flew, cutting her arm and leg. Stella let out a piercing shriek, her eyes welling with tears. “Stella!” Landon dropped his luggage and rushed to her side. “It’s okay, Landon. As long as Ingrid feels better, it’s fine. Please, don’t blame her.” A single tear traced a path down Stella’s cheek. Landon exploded. “Ingrid! Stella and I have put up with you because you’re pregnant, but can’t you tolerate her for one second?” His face was dark with fury as he pointed at me, as if I were a hardened criminal. “Landon, it’s not her fault! It’s mine. I shouldn’t have come here, I shouldn’t have disturbed you. It’s all my fault. Please, don’t blame Rory because of me,” Stella whimpered, tugging on his sleeve, the perfect picture of a wronged, benevolent victim. “Ingrid, I’m telling you, stop being so paranoid! If there was really something going on between Stella and me, do you think you’d still be here? What do you possibly have to offer?” I listened to him in silence. The old me would have already been apologizing, begging for forgiveness. I had been a fool for eight years. Not anymore. After a long, heavy silence, Landon’s expression shifted from anger to suspicion. He was confused by my lack of reaction, my failure to immediately admit fault. “I’m tired. I’m going to sleep.” I turned and walked back to the bedroom. No explanations, no tears. Now that I knew the truth, I no longer had to fear losing him. I had never possessed him in the first place. That night, Landon slipped into bed beside me, sliding his arm under my neck. “Ingrid, be reasonable. Stop going after Stella. I’ve been so tired lately. But don’t worry, I promised you a wedding, and I’ll give you one. You’ll be the most beautiful bride.” The most beautiful? Maybe once. Landon, I don’t want anything from you anymore. And I don’t want to be your bride. The next day, Landon drove Stella and me to a gathering with his friends. He thoughtfully put me in the back seat, saying it would be more comfortable. I stared out the window, my heart twisting as I listened to their flirtatious banter. When we arrived, his friends started whispering, cooking up some scheme. “Well, if it isn’t Landon’s wife number one and wife number two,” one of them smirked, winking at Stella. “Oh, stop it,” Stella said, blushing prettily. “It’s not like that between Landon and me. Besides, Rory is more than five months along. I could never compare.” “Alright, alright,” Landon cut in, not because he found their words inappropriate, but because he was afraid I’d make a scene. “Ingrid, sit here.” He pulled out a chair for me, then one for Stella. When the waiter came to pour wine, Landon stopped him. “Not for her. She’s a lightweight. Even a little bit makes her feel sick.” I looked at the full glass of red wine in front of me, a bitter taste in my mouth. The same gesture, a world of different feelings. After a few rounds of drinks, his friends suggested a game. Spin the bottle, and whoever it landed on had to do a dare. The first spin landed on Stella. The dare was to touch noses with a member of the opposite sex. Her cheeks flushed as she looked at Landon. “Landon, is that okay?” He glanced at me. Seeing no reaction, he nodded. The catcalls grew louder. I grew calmer. After the dare, Landon and Stella were visibly flustered and shy. “You two have to get married, there’s no other way this ends!” a friend shouted. “I always said you were a perfect match. I still remember all the stupid things Landon used to do for you, Stella.” Landon cleared his throat, and the friend fell silent. He reached over and ruffled my hair. “Ingrid, don’t mind them. They’re just joking.” I forced a smile and shook my head. He looked satisfied. The bottle spun again. This time, it stopped in front of me. “Hey, sister-in-law, how about you act like a clown for us? It’s perfect casting, really. Your face after the allergic reaction… just as ugly, just as pathetic as a clown.” The table erupted in laughter. I turned to look at Landon. He showed no sign of discomfort. He acted as if it were completely normal. And why wouldn’t he? It wasn’t the first time his friends had insulted me. I had played the fool for them so many times, just to fit into his world. Today, I finally woke up. “Landon, what do you think?” He looked at me, his patience wearing thin. “Ingrid, can you not make excuses? We’re all here to have fun. Are you going to ruin it for everyone? No one means any harm. And it’s not like this is the first time.” In his eyes, I must have seemed so unreasonable right now. I stood up, poured the expensive red wine onto the table, and then smashed the bottle down in the center. Everyone stared, their eyes wide with shock. Landon was frozen in his seat. I strode towards the door. He grabbed my wrist. “What is your problem? Can’t you take a joke? Ingrid, I’m giving you a chance to apologize. Don’t ruin everyone’s fun.” I yanked my arm free and stared at him with cold eyes. “Landon, I don’t want to be with you anymore. I don’t want to marry you. I’m done with you.” He burst out laughing. “Ingrid, are you trying to negotiate with me? What leverage do you have? You have nothing. You’re pregnant and alone. You should be grateful I haven’t dumped you yet.” I didn’t answer. I just turned and walked away. He followed me, blocking my path. “Fine, Ingrid. I was too harsh just now. We’ll call it even. You don’t have to apologize. But can you promise me you’ll be more reasonable?” He leaned in, resting his chin on my shoulder and wrapping his arms around me. He used to say this was the moment when their hearts were closest. My arms hung limply at my sides. Our hearts were miles apart, and they would never be close again. “Ingrid, there’s one more thing. I promised Stella I’d spend these last few days before the wedding with her in Paris. Think of it as compensation, from both of us. You stay home and take care of our baby. When I get back, we’ll get married.” My heart no longer pounded for him. The overwhelming love I once felt had finally calmed. When I didn’t respond, he murmured, “Good girl.” He kissed my forehead, and then he left. I had told him I wanted to honeymoon in Paris. I wanted to walk through the city of romance with him, to attach a lock to a bridge, a symbol of our love. That would never happen now. Landon, this time, I’m really done with you. As soon as I got home, I started packing. I didn’t take a single thing he had ever bought for me. They were all just things Stella didn’t want. I packed a few changes of clothes. As I closed the lid, I realized that my entire eight years with him couldn’t even fill a small suitcase. I left without a backward glance. Just before I was wheeled into the operating room, I received a text from him, letting me know he was at the airport. As the anesthesia flowed into my veins, he was taking Stella’s hand and boarding a flight to the city of romance. As the instruments entered my body, the tiny life inside me was extinguished. Landon, this was the most painful lesson you ever taught me. I woke from a dream to a night that had swallowed all the light. I touched my stomach. It was empty. The little life was gone. I opened my phone. The first thing I saw was Stella’s social media post. A picture of her and Landon holding hands in Paris, a small padlock engraved with their initials hanging from a bridge behind them. After several days of recovery, my phone buzzed with two messages. One was from Landon. The other was from my manager. “Ingrid, that massive penalty fee… you paid it all off in one go?” “Ingrid, I’m coming home. How are you and the baby?”

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“The match is confirmed. Thank you, Mark. Toby is saved.” A text from the contact saved as “Sister-in-law” flashed across my husband’s phone screen. Mark’s expression froze. He snatched the phone out of my hand. I stared at him, the blood in my veins slowing to a crawl. Our son was lying in a hospital bed, comatose after a hit-and-run, and here he was, busy taking care of someone else’s child. After a long moment, he finally stammered, “It’s my nephew. He has end-stage kidney disease. He desperately needs a kidney.” A sickening premonition washed over me. “Whose kidney? Mark, whose kidney did you use for the tissue matching?” He wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Mark! Whose kidney?” After a long, suffocating silence, he choked out the answer: “…Our son’s.” 1 The world began to spin. I staggered backward, my body giving way beneath me. “Alina!” Mark lunged forward, grabbing me, his arms digging painfully into my flesh. “Listen to me, my nephew is on the brink of death!” he pleaded. “His creatinine levels are through the roof, even dialysis isn’t working anymore…” His voice was a desperate rush of excuses. “After my brother died, she had to raise the kids all by herself, with no help from her family. She’s had it so hard, Alina, she’s so pitiful…” He held me, but his words were just a buzzing in my ears. Hard? Who wasn’t having it hard? I shoved him away, planting my feet on the ground. “She’s pitiful? What about our son? Mark! What about our Eric? Isn’t he pitiful?!” My voice broke. “He was a brilliant student! He was sleeping four hours a night, cramming for his college entrance exams. He wanted to get into the best medical school, to save lives…” Tears I had held back for so long finally broke free. “And then, just three days before his final exams…” The despair was a physical weight, crushing me. “Now he’s just lying in that hospital, kept alive by machines! And the bastard who hit him is still out there!” I grabbed the front of his shirt, my nails digging into the fabric. “And you? His father? While he’s lying there unconscious, what have you been doing?” My voice rose to a scream. “You’ve been busy playing savior to someone else, busy trying to carve up your own son!” Mark’s face was ashen. He looked away, ashamed. I let him go, stumbling back against the sofa. I took a few deep breaths, forcing a sliver of calm into my shattered mind. “The surgery hasn’t happened yet, right?” My voice was eerily steady. “Call them. Right now. Cancel it.” I stared at him, my eyes burning. “Tell the hospital that the donor’s family does not consent. Tell them the procedure is illegal.” Mark flinched. He swallowed hard, hesitating. “But… it’s so hard to find a match… and the surgery is scheduled for tomorrow… My sister-in-law, she…” “Mark!” I cut him off, my voice like a whip. “That is a part of my son! No one touches him without my permission!” Just then, the phone he was clutching lit up again. The buzzing vibration was deafening in the silent living room. The screen was facing up. I could clearly see the messages popping up, one after another. The words were intimate, desperate, and cloying. They read like a private conversation between a family fighting for survival, and I, along with my son in his hospital bed, was nothing more than a footnote. 【Mark, I know I wronged you in the past, and with my situation now, I shouldn’t be getting so close to you.】 【But Toby just woke up… he was delirious, but he kept asking for you…】 【If it’s not too much trouble, could you come see him one more time? Think of it as… granting a child’s last wish…】 2 “Wronged you? How did she wrong you?” Mark flinched as if struck, his lips pressed into a thin, white line. “Answer me! What did she do that was so terrible you have to pay her back with our son’s life?” Blood rushed to my head, my vision swimming. His silence was his answer. A guilt-ridden, deafening silence that was worse than any lie. “Fine,” I spat. “If you won’t tell me, I’ll ask her myself.” I spun around, grabbed my keys, and ran for the door. “Alina! Let me explain!” I didn’t listen. The elevator doors slid shut, cutting off the sight of his panicked face. To hell with his explanations. I was going to get the truth from the woman who sent that text. I raced to the hospital, stumbling my way to the pediatric ward. I threw open the door to the room and found her there. Cora. She was sitting by the bed, gently helping the small boy drink some water. She looked up, startled, then quickly composed her face into its usual soft smile. “Alina? What are you doing here…?” She stood, instinctively blocking the bed from my view. I stared at her, my voice low and shaking with rage. “Cora, have you no shame?” “What gives you the right to send those kinds of messages to my husband? And what gives you the right to my son’s kidney?” Cora’s eyes instantly filled with tears. “Alina, please don’t misunderstand. I was just so desperate. Mark has helped us so much, I only wanted to thank him.” She was the perfect victim. “I know I shouldn’t bother him so much, but I have no one else…” A single, perfect tear rolled down her cheek. “If something happens to Toby, how will I ever face his father…?” There it was again. That look. As if she were the most pitiful, innocent person in the world. “Thank him? You thank him by preying on my husband? By trying to take an organ from my comatose son?!” I was shaking, wanting nothing more than to rip that phony mask of sorrow from her face. “Alina!” A sharp voice cut through the air. Mark stood in the doorway, panting, his forehead slick with sweat. He rushed into the room and planted himself directly in front of Cora. “Why are you yelling at Co—at my sister-in-law!” he snapped. “If you have a problem, take it up with me! Toby is sick, do you have to make a scene in here?!” He’d almost said her name. Cora. Not “sister-in-law.” My own husband was shielding another woman from me. The pain was a physical blow to my chest. “Take it up with you? Fine.” A bitter smile twisted my lips. “Tell me why you speak to her so intimately. What, exactly, is she to you?” Mark froze. Behind him, Cora began to sob softly. “I’m sorry, it’s all my fault, I shouldn’t have…” “It’s not your fault!” Mark’s voice was thick with a tenderness that was meant for me, for our family. He took a deep breath and finally turned to face me. “Fine! Cora… she was someone I used to love, okay?!” he burst out. “But that was a long time ago! My brother is gone now, and she and her son have no one. I’m just helping them out for my brother’s sake!” He glared at me, his voice filled with righteous indignation. “Can’t you be less narrow-minded? Why do you always have to assume the worst?” A roar filled my ears, and the world went silent. So that was it. In his eyes, I was “narrow-minded” for trying to protect my own son. I was “assuming the worst” for questioning their sordid affair. And his past love, his current over-the-top “help,” that was noble. That was a tragedy. Memories flooded back, sharp and painful. Ten years ago, he’d held my face in his hands. “Alina, I never knew what love was until I met you. You’re the first and only person I’ve ever truly loved.” Five years ago, when Eric was born, he’d held our son, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you, my love. The three of us, together forever.” But now, all those vows, all that tenderness, was tainted. Was his love for me always second best to the one that got away? Were his promises to our family always conditional, ready to be discarded for another woman and her child? His so-called devotion might have been a lie from the very beginning. The sharp pain in my chest slowly faded, replaced by a cold, hollow emptiness. I looked at the man in front of me and realized none of it mattered anymore. I took a deep breath. “Mark,” I said, my voice perfectly calm. “Let’s get a divorce.” 3 “Alina, don’t say things you don’t mean.” He reached for my hand, his eyes pleading. “There’s nothing going on between me and Cora! I’m only helping her because my brother asked me to, right before he died.” He was still trying to justify himself. “The doctors said donating one kidney doesn’t have a major impact on a person’s health. Eric is young, he’ll recover quickly, it won’t…” CRACK. I slapped him with all the strength I had left. His head snapped to the side. He stared at me, his eyes wide with disbelief. Cora gasped. “Mark,” I said, my voice shaking with rage, “that was for my son. For being the soulless bastard that you are!” I was screaming now. “No major impact? It won’t endanger his life? How dare you say that! I’m telling you, as long as I am breathing, no one will lay a single finger on my son!” I turned and ran from the room. I had to see Eric. I had to hold his hand and tell him that his mother was here, that I would protect him no matter what. But when I reached his room, I skidded to a halt. The door was wide open. The room was empty. Where was my Eric? Where was my son? “Nurse! Nurse!” I sprinted to the nurses’ station, grabbing the arm of the nearest person. “My son, Eric! Where is he?!” The nurse looked startled. “Mrs. Evans? You didn’t know? About half an hour ago, your husband and another family member came by. They said they had arranged for a transfer to a better hospital. All the paperwork was in order. They’ve already left with him.” My husband… and another family member… Mark! Cora! My vision went black. A wave of pure, cold terror washed over me, threatening to pull me under. They had taken my son. Where were they taking him? 4 “A transfer? Where? Which hospital?” The young nurse quickly checked the records. “Your husband, Mark Evans, signed the papers himself. The destination is the Organ Transplant Center! The ambulance just left…” The Organ Transplant Center! The words were like daggers in my heart. This wasn’t a transfer for better treatment. They were taking him straight to the operating room! For Cora’s son! “You bastard! You absolute monster!” I ran out of the hospital and threw myself in front of a taxi. “The Organ Transplant Center! Go! Please, hurry! They’re going to kill my son!” The terrified driver floored it. My hands were shaking so hard I could barely dial, but I called Mark’s number again and again. Once, twice, ten times… Straight to voicemail. I called Cora. No answer. They were intentionally avoiding me, trying to get the surgery done before I could stop them. Outside the operating room, a red light glowed ominously. Mark and Cora were sitting on a bench, side by side. She was leaning against him, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. He had his arm around her, patting her back, whispering words of comfort. They looked like a husband and wife, facing a crisis together. “Mark!” I screamed, launching myself at him. “You bastard! Stop this surgery! Now!” He stumbled, his face a mixture of panic and grim determination. “Alina, calm down! Eric’s already in there. They had to move the surgery up. It’s for Toby’s sake!” “Move it up? Who gave you permission?! I’m his mother! I didn’t sign anything! This is murder! This is organ theft!” I raised my hand to slap him again, but this time, he caught my wrist. “Alina, stop making a scene! The surgery has started. It’s too late!” “It’s not too late!” I struggled against his grip, screaming at the closed doors. “Stop the surgery! It’s illegal! I do not consent!” Tears streamed down my face. “My son has hemolytic anemia! He can’t survive a major operation like this! He’ll die!” “Hemolytic anemia?” Mark froze, his brow furrowed in confusion. But before he could process what I’d said, Cora clutched her chest, fresh tears streaming down her face. “Mark, my heart… I can’t breathe. If they stop the surgery… does that mean Toby won’t make it?” She looked up at him, her eyes wide with manufactured grief. “And if something happens to Eric because of this… I could never live with myself…” Her voice broke. “But Toby… he’s only twelve…” Her performance was flawless, a direct hit to Mark’s wavering conscience. He took a deep breath and turned to me, his voice devoid of all warmth. “Alina, I know you’re worried about Eric. But the doctors said the chances of him waking from this coma are almost zero.” He was pleading, but his words were monstrous. “He’s already gone, but Toby is still alive! He still has a chance! Isn’t it more meaningful to trade a hopeless situation for a life that can be saved?” He even had the audacity to reach for me, to soften his voice. “Alina, we’re still young. We can have another child…” He was trying to soothe me, as if I were a hysterical child. “I promise, I’ll be better to you. We’ll give all our love to the new baby, okay? Just think of Eric as a hero, saving a life…” CRACK. Another slap, delivered with every last ounce of my strength. “You are not human,” I hissed, my eyes filled with a hatred so pure it burned. I shoved his hand away and threw myself at the operating room doors. I beat on them with my fists, my body. “Open the door! Stop the surgery! OPEN THE DOOR!” Cora let out a faint cry. Mark, his face a mask of fury, grabbed me, trying to pull me away. And then, from the other end of the corridor, came the sound of urgent, rhythmic footsteps. “Police! Nobody move!”

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I always thought my movie star husband treated our marriage more as a duty than a romance. He was calm, reticent, and never showered me with sweet nothings. Until one late night, I was scrolling through Reddit and saw a “Soft Husband” post being roasted for hundreds of comments. I clicked on the profile picture— Wait, isn’t that our cat? 1 [Help! I feel like my cat is scheming against me. What do I do?] [My wife is a software engineer, and I’m somewhat of a freelancer. We have a cat. My wife is a software engineer, so her salary is very high, and she’s busy with work, often doing overtime. As soon as she gets home, the cat clings to her, and my wife only pets the cat, not me. During the day, the cat just sleeps, but the moment my wife gets home, it wakes up. My wife is a software engineer, she’s incredibly smart and kind, so she doesn’t see the cat’s manipulative nature.] When I saw this hot post on the subreddit r/RelationshipAdvice, my brain cells immediately fired up. This guy is crazy. Competing with a cat for attention? I glanced at Ethan Sterling, my movie star husband, who was currently grooming our cat in the living room. I thought to myself, My Ethan is still the best. Even though he’s usually cold and distant, for day-to-day life, this is fine. I continued scrolling down the thread. As expected, the OP (Original Poster) was getting roasted in hundreds of comments. And his replies were even funnier than the original post. 2 [Why do you keep emphasizing she’s a software engineer?] [OP’s Reply: I didn’t mean to emphasize it, I’m just a bit sensitive. I went to school abroad when I was young, then went to art school. But my wife is a Big Tech engineer, and she was the top science student in her year. Although my education isn’t as ‘academic’ as hers, she definitely loves me more than the cat. This psychological gap makes me feel the cat is hostile towards me.] The OP’s wife sounds really similar to me, but our husbands’ personalities are worlds apart. I couldn’t help but feel a bit of schadenfreude. [Big Tech… engineer…? Unless you say your wife is a C-suite executive at Google, I can only sort of understand your overflowing superiority complex.] [OP’s Reply: My wife is an algorithm engineer.] What’s wrong with algorithm engineers? I am one. Still working overtime coding every day. We code monkeys are finally moving up in the world; even “soft husbands” (husbands who like being pampered/submissive in a relationship) are targeting us now. I laughed out loud. [As everyone knows, education isn’t sexually transmitted.] [OP’s Reply: But we’re married. I knew people on Reddit would be jealous before I posted, but it’s reality, this is human nature.] This OP is truly invincible. I laughed until I was dizzy, ready to turn off my phone and sleep. Before closing it, I habitually clicked on the OP’s profile picture to take a look. But with just this one look, I froze completely. —Why does this cat look exactly like my C++? 3 Ethan and I met through a friend. I’m a programmer; he’s a movie star. Logically, our worlds shouldn’t have collided. But rumor had it his family was forcing him to get married, so I picked up a bargain. Inheritance drama, you know how it is. After getting the marriage license, I consciously told Ethan there was absolutely no need to go public; his career came first. Because of this, his agent, Claire, has always been very warm to me. Although my movie star husband is usually cold and distant, I’m no longer a little girl chasing sweet romance. For a corporate slave exhausted physically and mentally every day, Ethan is simply the perfect husband. He has a face so handsome it angers the gods, and a body with perfect pecs and abs. When I get home from overtime, looking at his face makes me eat an extra bowl of rice. Not to mention he’s a neat freak and dislikes strangers, so he handles almost all the housework alone. Before marriage, I often ate irregularly due to work pressure. After marriage, all that was fixed, and I even lost less hair. Apart from sometimes being a bit too much for me in bed, Ethan is perfect. As for being cold and quiet towards me, that’s hardly an issue. But I absolutely, 100% do not believe he would go on Reddit and post those “Soft Husband” comments. Did I mistake the cat? 4 I wanted to find more clues from that account’s profile, but Ethan, fresh from the shower, got into bed. “Hubby, slow down… my sedentary waist can’t compare to your daily workouts… ah…” I often scream “Hubby” and “Baby” randomly when I’m enjoying it, but Ethan is different. He never says anything in bed, only occasional low pants. I used to suspect if, in Ethan’s eyes, this was just a marital duty he had to fulfill? Later, I stopped thinking about it. After all, it’s not like I wasn’t enjoying it. As expected of the man consistently ranked number one on the “Must-Eat Actor List,” by the end, I was basically semi-conscious. In a daze, I heard Ethan say that Leo wanted to visit tomorrow and asked if I was okay with it. Leo is the friend who introduced me to Ethan. Without thinking, I said, “Let him come, I shouldn’t be working overtime tomorrow.” Ethan paused noticeably, then nodded expressionlessly. For some reason, I remembered that Reddit post again. Although I completely didn’t think the OP was Ethan, I still subconsciously hugged Ethan’s waist and buried my head in his chest. “I saw a TikTok video where an influencer was jealous of their pet… good thing you aren’t like that.” “But although I really like our C++, it’s different from how I like you.” “I like you the most.” Ethan stroked my hair stroke by stroke, but said nothing. I let out a breath, but my heart didn’t feel as light as I expected. But that’s how it is; Ethan isn’t someone who cares about these things. Love or whatever, Movie Star Sterling has seen so much in the entertainment industry; marrying me was just for stability, right? 5 The next day at noon, Ethan’s assistant came to the office on time to deliver my lunch. When we first got married, I casually complained that the office cafeteria food was too greasy. Since then, Ethan’s assistant has come over every noon to deliver food. Truly a high-paid worker; the professionalism is high. Except when Ethan is filming out of town, rain or shine for the three years we’ve been married. I don’t know where his assistant buys the food; it’s very light and delicious, suiting my taste perfectly. I asked the assistant a few times, but he always stammered and wouldn’t tell me. My colleague, Wendy, saw me come back with the thermal lunch box and patted me with a smile: “Jenny, your husband really cares about you, sending his assistant to deliver food every day. Even the passionate young couples in our department aren’t as clingy as you two.” Wendy teased me: “If you said he cooked this himself, I’d believe it.” “Sis, don’t joke,” I stuck out my tongue. “My husband is so busy with work, how could he possibly cook for me every day?” Although Ethan has only filmed one movie a year in recent years, his work has gradually shifted to behind-the-scenes investments. A mature man like him definitely prioritizes his career; I consider myself to understand him well. On the other side, Sarah, a fresh grad who hadn’t been with the company long, also exaggerated: “Jenny, which restaurant did your hubby order this from? It looks delicious.” “If I ate this every day, I’d have more energy to argue with the product manager.” Just as we were chatting and laughing, a piercing voice suddenly sounded: “Jenny, are you being kept by an old man?” “They say your husband is rich and treats you well, so how come you’ve never let us meet him?” 6 The speaker was Vivian. She joined the company around the same time as me, but her promotion was much slower. Although she usually made snide remarks for no reason, I rarely argued with her. Sarah defended me: “Vivian, that’s too harsh. Jenny posted her marriage certificate on her feed. Maybe her husband just keeps a low profile.” Vivian raised an eyebrow: “Oh, even the marriage certificate photo had to be censored? How unpresentable must he be?” I smiled: “My husband is as handsome as the actor on your computer lock screen.” “There’s a limit to pretending,” Vivian rolled her eyes. “My lock screen is Ethan Sterling. Who can be as handsome as Ethan Sterling?” “Stop guarding some rich pig-head like he’s a treasure. In my opinion, love is more important in marriage.” “Anyway, I couldn’t kiss a rich old geezer.” —This is why I rarely get angry with Vivian. She seems to be a fan of Ethan… I felt very awkward. But honestly, Vivian wasn’t entirely wrong. Ethan seemed to have never said he liked me. Our marriage seemed to indeed lack a bit of love. 7 Somehow, I suddenly felt a bit down. So I opened Reddit again, wanting to distract myself. As soon as I clicked on the Relationship Advice subreddit, I saw that familiar cat avatar had posted a new thread. The new post was trending again, hanging high on the front page. [The misunderstanding is cleared up, my wife said she likes me the most compared to the cat] [I didn’t expect my casual post to spark such intense discussion. Actually, I was a bit angry at first, but only at the cat. After doing it last night, my wife hugged me and said she liked me the most. In real life, we are this loving. Turns out I was overthinking before, my wife loves me super much.] As expected, the comments section started roasting the OP again, picking replies the OP wouldn’t like to hear. But the OP was completely immersed in his own world. [Maybe OP’s technique is bad, and your wife comforted you afraid you’d be sad lol.] [OP’s Reply: No way~ I swim and work out every day after marriage, my wife often can’t keep her hands off my chest muscles. We’ve been married for three years and still maintain a frequency of four times a week.] [Actually, all of this is OP’s fantasy. The truth is OP’s wife is a sloppy programmer who can’t be bothered with OP.] [OP’s Reply: I know many people are jealous because they don’t have it themselves. The truth is my wife is smart and beautiful, a super amazing programmer. I thought of many ways to pursue my wife back then, and now I still insist on cooking lunch and dinner for her every day. I feel especially happy.] My face scrunched up; I felt like I was losing the ability to read. I clicked on the OP’s profile and found he had posted many updates showing off their love before. The captions used every trick in the book; the “soft husband” scent was almost overflowing. Now that the post was viral, a bunch of people flooded his past updates to roast him. I was about to close it, but the OP updated again. [Because my wife said the company cafeteria food was too greasy, I’ve always cooked myself and had my assistant deliver it. My wife especially likes my cooking and always asks the assistant where he bought it, she’s really super cute~ A super smart and powerful programmer like my wife naturally needs to eat healthily to maintain full energy.] My hand shook, scrolling down. The next picture was a thermal lunch box that was overly familiar— Isn’t this the meal I’m eating right now??!!

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My flight was going down. In those final moments of despair, the flight attendants announced that signal service had been restored. I didn’t call my boyfriend, Ethan. Instead, I stared at the group chat. It was flooded with screenshots of Ethan begging Lily to change her flight. Ethan, usually so cold and composed, sounded desperate in his texts. [Lily, I can’t lose you. Please change your ticket. Please?] I watched their conversation tick past 999+ messages. I closed my eyes and dialed my best friend, Sarah. “Sarah, the plane is going down. I’ll watch over you from up there. Have a happy life.” I hung up amidst her agonizing screams. I transferred every cent in my bank account to her. The chocolate I’d bought for my marriage proposal to Ethan shattered in the roar of the explosion, turning to ash along with me. Ethan didn’t know. The seat he begged Lily to give up… she gave it to me. Chapter 1 My soul floated in mid-air, looking down at the scorched earth. The roar of the explosion still echoed in my ears. In the blink of an eye, I was transported to the arrivals hall where Ethan was picking up Lily. She threw herself into Ethan’s arms, tears streaming down her face. Her long lashes cast shadows on her cheeks, her voice soft and trembling. “Ethan, your premonition was real. Thank God I listened to you.” “Ethan, you almost lost me.” Her voice broke as she buried her face deeper into his chest. Ethan held her tight, his trembling hands soothing her back, celebrating his beloved’s survival. After a long while, she looked up from his embrace. “It’s such a pity I missed your birthday. I’ll make it up to you.” Ethan’s voice was choked with emotion. “It doesn’t matter. I’m lucky enough just to have you.” Lily’s fans were moved to tears, raising their phones to capture this “beautiful” moment. They were ecstatic that their goddess had returned safely. And they sighed in sympathy for the tragedy of the previous flight. Reporters, who had been waiting, rushed forward. “Miss Lily, we heard you changed your flight because of Mr. Sterling’s sixth sense. Can you tell us more?” She pulled away from Ethan’s embrace and looped her arm through his. “I was originally booked on the previous flight so I could celebrate Ethan’s birthday. But he insisted he had a nightmare, an omen, and begged me to change it.” “He sent over 999+ messages. Seeing him so worried, I decided better safe than sorry. I never expected this to happen. A moment of silence for the victims. May they rest in peace.” She bowed to the cameras. Then she showed a screenshot of Ethan’s messages. [Lily, I can’t lose you. Change the ticket, okay?] [Please, just listen to me.] The fan groups went wild online. “My goddess Lily is so kind. Thank fate for letting us keep her. RIP to the victims.” “So CEO Sterling is basically Lily’s savior? OMG, marry him! Marry him!” “The Universe is literally forcing them together. It would be a crime if they don’t date.” The reporter extended the microphone to Ethan. He usually hated speaking to the media, but this time, his answer was incredibly earnest. “I thank God, I thank my parents looking down from heaven, I thank my intuition, and I thank Lily for listening. This is the best birthday gift I’ve ever received.” A passerby walked past. “Who’s that? Oh, Ethan Sterling from Sterling Corp. But I thought his girlfriend was named Maya? Weird, maybe I remembered wrong.” No one pays attention to the voice of a passerby. Just like me—just a passerby on their road to romance. Perhaps due to my lingering obsession, my soul was tethered to Ethan’s side. When the crowd dispersed, his assistant walked up and asked quietly, “Mr. Sterling, do we still need to wait for Miss Maya?” His eyes froze for a second, as if he had just remembered me. Right. I was supposed to be on this flight too—the safe one. He checked his phone. No calls, no texts. A hint of anger surfaced on his calm face. Lily chimed in at the perfect moment. “Did my sister not mark herself safe? Oh, that’s so worrying.” Hearing this, Ethan put away the phone he was about to use to call me. “She’s always been immature. I’ve spoiled her too much. It’s time she learned a lesson. Let’s go.” He opened the car door for Lily, hand guarding her head, fixed her dress, and helped her in. Lily turned back with an apologetic face. “Ethan, is Maya upset because she saw you picking me up?” “Maybe I should call and apologize. I feel terrible making her misunderstand.” Ethan’s thin lips pressed into a line. After a moment, he spat out one word. “Fine.” Surprise flashed across Lily’s face, quickly replaced by hidden resentment. Listening to the airport news broadcast, she seemed to remember something and quickly dialed my number. Naturally, it didn’t connect. When she tried to redial, Ethan spoke coldly. “Forget it. She’s throwing a tantrum. It has nothing to do with you.” He ordered the driver to move. I looked for even a trace of worry on his face. But I found nothing. Chapter 2 It was expected. You get used to disappointment eventually. Just like he got used to “teaching me lessons.” He never understood that pain always hurts, no matter how many times you feel it. Ethan had forgotten that to teach me a lesson, he had already blocked my number. That’s why I couldn’t get through to him on the plane. Being with him meant constant “lessons.” If I delayed him buying a gift for Lily, I needed a lesson. If I made him late for Lily’s show, I needed a lesson. If I didn’t like him going to care for a sick Lily in the middle of the night, I needed a lesson. If I stopped Lily from cutting a rose from my Valentine’s bouquet, I needed a lesson. If I refused to give my cat to Lily, I needed a lesson. Teachers used to say if you learn your lesson, you get a reward. But they never said how many lessons it takes to be “good.” My reward never came. Now, death was my final lesson. Ethan took Lily back to his villa. There was a permanent room for Lily there. Lily was the Sterling family’s foster daughter. Later, she found her biological mother—my stepmother. Lily left the Sterling family without hesitation and became my father’s stepdaughter. All because her feelings for her “brother” Ethan weren’t just sisterly. But Ethan didn’t see it that way. He thought she left to repay her birth mother, while still honoring her foster parents and loving her brother. To him, she was loyal and grateful. Plus, since we were now step-sisters, we should get along. I met Ethan in college. I once asked him, if he had feelings for Lily, we should break up. I didn’t want to be the villain. He didn’t even hesitate. He told me it was purely sibling affection. Lily was just a bit clingy because she was spoiled. His eyes were so certain. Even now, as Lily walked out of the shower in a sheer, ultra-short silk nightgown, braless, carrying a glass of warm milk into his study, he didn’t suspect this “sibling” bond had rotted. Before Lily could speak, the doorbell rang. It was Ethan’s childhood friend, Caleb. He started teasing immediately. “Look at you, the Great Prophet.” “We should market this. You’d go viral.” “Telepathy between lovers, snatching your girl from the Grim Reaper. So romantic.” Ethan frowned, his dark eyes disapproving. “Stop talking nonsense. I just had the same nightmare I had when my parents died. I thought of Lily. It’s not that deep.” He emphasized, “Besides, my conscience is clear. We are just siblings.” Caleb looked at him like he was an idiot. “Bro, that’s the excuse you use to trick Maya. Don’t try to gaslight your best friend.” The air went silent. Caleb straightened up, looking incredulous. “You… you gaslighted yourself?” He grabbed Ethan’s left hand, revealing his wrist. A glittery hair tie was wrapped around it. “You’re wearing Lily’s hair tie and telling me you’re just siblings?!” Ethan denied it instantly. “This is Maya’s.” Caleb sighed. He tried to find the Instagram Story Lily had posted. I knew the one. It was the day of my girls’ night out. Spouses were invited. Ethan bailed on me because Lily had a performance, and as her “brother,” he had to be there. That night, Lily posted a photo of Ethan’s hand wearing that hair tie. Caption: [Thanks for satisfying my possessiveness.] She deleted it quickly. I knew she posted it just for me to see. Chapter 3 Caleb couldn’t find the post, but he said firmly, “If you don’t believe me, ask Lily.” Ethan was unwavering. “There must be a misunderstanding. Lily and I are family.” Caleb patted his shoulder, looking disappointed. “You are hopeless. If Maya doesn’t leave you, it’s because you saved the world in a past life.” Hearing “leave,” Ethan looked like he heard something terrifying. “Impossible.” Caleb shook his head, took Ethan’s phone, and found a fan-edit of the airport reunion. “Bro, watch this. If you still want to be with Maya, figure out how to explain this.” He scrolled through comments like “Marry immediately” and “Destiny.” His face darkened. See? I wasn’t the only one who thought they crossed the line. Ethan sounded confident, but after Caleb left, he was restless. He unlocked a sandalwood box and took out a carefully wrapped package. I was curious. When he opened it, it was a ceramic cup I had given him. Wait. It wasn’t the cup I gave him. The box was mine—it had my handwriting—but the cup inside was different. I gave him an ice-crackle glaze cup. This one had gold wire inlay. Ethan held the cup carefully, wiping it with a soft cloth. I saw a jade earring in his treasure box too. It looked like the one I lost. He locked everything back up. His emotions settled. He stood there for a moment, then walked toward my room. It was a guest room, but since I stayed over occasionally, it was practically mine. Someone was inside. Lily. Seeing Ethan enter, she explained nervously, “My room hasn’t been cleaned in ages, so I wanted to use Maya’s room for a bit.” But I saw she had thrown away everything that belonged to me. There was no trace of me left. Ethan noticed nothing. He paused, seemingly displeased, but his tone remained gentle. “Don’t take the internet comments seriously. Mom and Dad are gone; I don’t want to lose any more family.” Lily’s eyes turned red. “Ethan, I understand. I’ll stay by your side forever.” Ethan found nothing wrong with this. He closed the door for her. He missed the look of desperate obsession in Lily’s eyes. I followed Ethan back to his room. I didn’t want to sleep in his bed, so I curled up on the chaise lounge. I drifted into a dream. It was the Summer Carnival. Lily snatched the prize I won—a lantern—and ran toward Ethan. I stood under a pear tree, watching them drift further and further away. “Don’t go.” I woke up to Ethan talking in his sleep. He woke up too, wiping cold sweat from his forehead. He checked his phone, then went to the study to work. He was always like this. Stubborn. Never soft. I thought maliciously: What will you do when you remember you blocked me? When you realize I died on your birthday? But it didn’t matter anymore. I was too lazy to move. I realized I could drift further from him now. I turned over and went back to sleep. When I woke up again, Ethan’s phone was ringing. He put it on speaker. It was his assistant. “Mr. Sterling…” The assistant sounded cautious. Ethan was impatient. “Speak.” “Sir, there’s a life insurance policy for Miss Maya waiting for your confirmation regarding the flight accident.” His body swayed, but he steadied himself quickly. “Check again. It must be a mistake. Lily changed her flight, maybe the insurance didn’t update. It’s an error.” “But, Miss Maya…” Ethan cut him off. “Don’t bother me with these trivial errors. I pay you a high salary to handle details, not to waste my time.” “By the way, make sure Lily’s dance troupe gets set up properly.” The assistant mumbled an agreement and hung up. “Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Sterling. I’ll have someone else handle it.” I understood. My death was just a “trivial error.” Chapter 4 Watching Ethan’s trembling hand, maybe he wasn’t completely oblivious. I was starting to look forward to the moment he learned the truth. Lily appeared, interrupting the silence. “Ethan, are you worried about Maya? Don’t worry, she’s probably with Sarah.” She showed him her phone. It was Sarah’s Instagram story: a drawing of two cartoon figures hugging. Caption: [Taking you home.] We always sent that image to each other when we were sad. My eyes burned. Sarah must be heartbroken. On the plane, I recorded a digital will. I left everything to her. I only trusted her. I knew she would pick a resting place far away from these people. I’m sorry, Sarah. I can’t grow old with you. Ethan looked at the screen and visibly relaxed. Then he remembered something. He pulled the hair tie out of his pocket. “Lily, is this yours or Maya’s?” Lily looked unnatural for a split second. “Oh, I forgot. Maybe Maya left it in my room.” Ethan looked thoughtful and put the tie in a drawer. Lily bit her lip. “Ethan, can you come to the dance studio with me today?” “I already told my assistant. He’ll arrange everything,” Ethan said while tying his tie. Lily’s eyes filled with tears. “I just thought… if Mom and Dad knew I had my own troupe, they’d be so happy.” Ethan fell silent. His voice softened. “I’ll come by later.” Lily smiled. He couldn’t get his tie right, so he ripped it off. “Ethan, let me help.” She took the tie in her hands. Ethan stared at her hands, zoning out. I remembered once, I helped him with his tie. The silk wrapped around my wrist, and he lost control. He didn’t leave the house all day, almost missing a major negotiation. Afterward, he told me, “Maya, don’t come over for a while. You’re a distraction. I need to clear my head.” I held back my tears. During his “cooling off” period, Lily posted photos of him watching car races with her. Caption: [My brother taking a break for me.] [Relaxing with you, not stealing your heart.] Whether Ethan loved me or not, Lily was always a thorn waiting to prick me. “No need.” Ethan snapped back to reality. He pulled the tie from Lily’s hands and closed the closet door. Lily stood frozen. I heard her whisper, “Maya, you’re dead. He’s mine sooner or later.” I answered her, Take him. I don’t want him anymore. Ethan burst out of the closet. “Maya!” I stared at him in horror, covering my mouth. Can… can he hear me? That’s scary. He didn’t find me. His expression fell. Finally, he took out his phone. He realized I was still on his block list. He seemed relieved, probably finding an excuse for my silence. He unblocked me and called. Silence. Naturally. My SIM card had turned to ash along with me. He tried three times, then called Sarah. Sarah sounded nasally. She must have been crying for days. “What?” Unused to Sarah’s coldness, Ethan frowned. “Put Maya on.” “Rude. Maya doesn’t want to see you.”

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My Maybach was rear-ended by a little electric scooter. The girl who hit me was sprawled on the pavement, groceries scattered around her like fallen leaves. She started to cry, her voice small and shaky. “Wait, please… I’ll call my boyfriend. He’ll pay for everything…” On the other end of the line, a man’s voice erupted in anger, but underneath the fury was a current of undeniable concern. “When you dumped me, did you ever think you’d need me again?” “What about the engagement ring I bought you? It’s worth ten of these cars. Use that to pay for it.” “Julianna! Grow a spine! I don’t care who you’re dealing with, I’m here to back you up! Send me the address!” Less than ten minutes later, Ethan, who was supposed to be in a board meeting, screeched to a halt at the scene. Our eyes met. “Well, this is a coincidence,” I said, my voice dry. Then I turned my gaze to the girl, who seemed to have found a backbone now that her savior had arrived. “It seems we share a boyfriend.” 1 “I’m so sorry, I was just so scared…” the girl, Julianna, sobbed. “I just… I told them you were my boyfriend…” For a moment, Ethan was stunned. He clearly never imagined our first meeting with his ex-love would happen like this. I stood to the side, arms crossed, my eyes fixed on the ring on Julianna’s finger. A pink diamond, flashing with an inner fire. It was, without a doubt, far more expensive than the one on my own hand. “Are you okay? Did it hit you?” Ethan pulled me close, his hands running up and down my arms, checking for injuries. “From now on, I’m taking you to your appointments.” Julianna’s tears stopped. She stared, dumbfounded, at my gently rounded stomach. “You can go,” I said to her. When she first hit me, I’d told her my car was insured and that I wouldn’t press charges. But she’d insisted on making a scene, crying and calling for help. It was obvious now that it was all just an excuse to contact Ethan. “Get your rotten fish off the road! And Julianna,” Ethan’s voice was like ice, “don’t you ever use an excuse like this to call me again. I want nothing to do with you.” His words were brutal. But as we drove away, I saw him watching her in the rearview mirror. “The fish is dead,” I said quietly. “Careful your employees don’t get food poisoning.” The delivery slip that had fallen from the cooler had his company’s name right at the top. Ethan was a man of high standards; the food in his corporate cafeteria was exclusively organic. The sight of those cheap-looking fish could only mean one thing: a small act of mercy, a lifeline thrown to the woman he claimed to hate most in the world. The snow began to fall harder, blanketing the city in white. Ethan drove with one hand on the wheel, his mind clearly elsewhere. His phone rang. A number he didn’t recognize. He glanced at it, and then his foot slammed on the brake. The seatbelt dug sharply into my belly. A cold sweat broke out on my skin. “Ethan,” Julianna’s voice came through the speaker, a choked whisper. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to bother you… but my leg… I can’t move it…” Her voice trembled. “There are so many cars… I’m so scared…” Ethan looked at me, the panic on his face impossible to hide. “Phoebe, get out. I’ll have my driver pick you up.” 2 I had rarely seen Ethan look like this. Not even when he was closing a fifty-million-dollar deal. He was so frantic he kicked me out of the car. So frantic he sped away, the tires skidding on the snow-slicked road. So frantic that in the dead of winter, he forgot to give me the coat I’d left on the backseat. He was just gone. Leaving me to shiver in the biting wind. The ache in my stomach hadn’t faded, and as the wind sliced through me, cold sweat mingled with my tears. The combination of the freezing cold and the violent swing of my emotions triggered the first warning signs of a miscarriage. It wasn’t until the early hours of the morning, long after I’d taken the medication the doctor prescribed, that Ethan finally came home, bringing the chill of the night in with him. His face was etched with exhaustion. “Julianna tried to jump off a bridge.” I froze. “She fell into the river. She wasn’t seriously hurt, but she was terrified.” He came over and wrapped his arms around me. “I’m sorry I made you get out of the car today… Julianna’s been having these… episodes. I was afraid she’d actually kill herself.” I didn’t know what to say. I knew Ethan had a great, tragic love story in his past. A woman who had been with him from the beginning, who had helped him build his empire from nothing, only to abandon him when it all came crashing down. He had been lost for years after she left. Then I came along. I was the one who helped him see the world again. I followed him from city to city as he rebuilt his life, piece by piece. I was the one who soothed the scars she’d left on his heart. “Are you really over her?” I asked. I was asking him, but I was also asking myself. Was he? Was everything I had done worth it? Could we really move forward from this? “You’re not,” I answered for him. The tears I’d been holding back finally fell. “Ethan, let’s break up.” 3 “Are you crazy?” Ethan stared at me, his expression a mixture of shock and disbelief. “You want to break up with me over this? Over one stupid little thing?” “I’ve always told you I can’t handle being cheated on,” I said, my voice quiet but firm. “I made an exception for you. I let you keep Julianna tucked away in a corner of your heart because it was you.” “Ethan, I’m pregnant. We’re supposed to get married next month. And today, you left me stranded in a snowstorm for her.” “I can’t accept that.” I would rather cut my losses now than keep investing in a sunken cost. The pain was inevitable, but I refused to be a martyr in the name of love. Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose. “…Don’t be ridiculous.” “I’m not.” I stood up and opened the closet, pulling out a suitcase. “I’ll be gone by tomorrow.” “As for the baby… I’ll have to think about whether I’m keeping it.” He blocked my path. “Haven’t you had enough?!” he roared. “Why do you hate her so much? Will you only be happy when she’s dead?!” His fingers dug into my arm, the pressure sharp and painful. His eyes blazed with a fury that was terrifyingly familiar. For a split second, I was a child again, facing my violent father. Fear coiled in my stomach, and I tried to pull away. He shoved me, hard. I stumbled back and fell onto the bed. I was too stunned to move, tears streaming down my face, soaking the pillow. The sight of my terror seemed to snap Ethan out of his rage. “I’m sorry… Phoebe, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be rough with you…” He reached for me, his voice trembling. “I just… I lost control.” We had been together for six years. He knew my past, he knew the pain I’d been through. In all those years, he had never once raised his voice to me. But for Julianna, he had fought with me ten times in the last month alone. And twice, he had put his hands on me. The first time was when I confronted him with the photo album of her he kept hidden away. The second time was now. “I’m not a fool, Ethan.” The strange perfume on his collar, the bite mark on his neck… and still he insisted there was nothing between them. “Can you honestly look me in the eye and say you’ve done nothing wrong?” He pressed his lips together, silent. That night, for the first time, we slept in separate rooms. I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. I opened my phone and, on a whim, found Julianna’s livestream. It was two in the morning, and she was still online, trying to sell seafood. To my surprise, tens of thousands of people were watching. Not for the fish, but for the user at the top of the gift leaderboard, who was showering her with virtual presents. A username I knew all too well. His messages popped up in the chat, one after another. [Log off. Go to sleep.] [You know you can’t stay up late with your migraines, Julianna. I’m not coming to take care of you if you have an attack.] [Unblock me. Send me your account number. I’ll send you a lump sum, and we’ll be done. Stop playing the victim.] The gifts kept coming, a relentless stream of digital money. Ethan was always generous, even with the woman he claimed to hate, he was willing to drop thousands. Julianna’s voice cracked as she tried to describe her products. She wiped away a tear. “Don’t you dare taint my love with your money.” [Your love?] Ethan typed back. [Julianna, I gave up my dignity, my money, my entire future for you. I begged you on my knees, I tried to kill myself. To forget you, I even accepted the affections of someone else, just to try and wash you out of my system. You’re the one who dragged me to hell. You’re the one who destroyed us!] I stared at the words someone else. A tear splattered onto the screen. My heart felt like it had been struck with a sledgehammer. My hands and feet went numb. The chat exploded. Everyone was shipping them, begging them to get back together. Julianna bit her lip. “Ethan,” she whispered to the camera, “what if I told you I would do anything, pay any price, to go back to the way we were?” “Would you take me back?” 4 I never thought that in the story of Ethan’s life, I would be cast in the role of someone else. Because of my family, I never had much of an education. I was timid, shy. Falling in love with Ethan was the bravest thing I had ever done. I was a girl who had never even left her own city, and yet I followed him across the country. “Have some cake.” In our damp, cramped little apartment, Ethan traded the wool felt in my hands for a slice of cake. The one I’d been staring at in a bakery window. “Don’t do this anymore,” he said, gently taking my hands. “Look at your fingers, they’re all pricked and raw. You don’t need to support us. I have money. I can give you a good life.” I knew he was working multiple jobs behind my back, running himself into the ground. His hands were covered in calluses. So I had started taking on small crafting commissions online, trying to make a little extra money to ease his burden. “I still have the old family house,” he said one day. “If things get really bad, I can sell it.” “No!” I grabbed his arm. “You can’t! That was the last thing your mother left you!” A few months later, I was hospitalized with a serious illness. While I was in my hospital bed, Ethan sold the house. After paying the medical bills, he showed up with several bags from a department store. He brought me new clothes. Warm, comfortable down jackets. He himself was wearing a coat so old the cotton filling was starting to clump. “Where did you get the money?” I asked. “I earned it,” he mumbled, avoiding my eyes. It took a lot of prodding before he finally admitted the truth. “You idiot!” I cried, a mixture of anger and overwhelming love. “We agreed you wouldn’t sell it!” “But you’re more important to me.” He pulled me into a hug, his voice muffled against my neck. “The house is just bricks and mortar. You’re real. I couldn’t stand to see you in pain while I held onto a pile of bricks.” I sobbed, pounding my fists against his shoulder. “But it was your mother’s…” “If my mom were here,” he said, gently wiping my tears, “she would have told me to do the same thing. She always said that the person who truly loves you is more precious than anything else in the world.” That night, I decided I would spend the rest of my life loving Ethan. I even hand-wrote him a little card, a silly, homemade “one free pass” for any mistake he might ever make. After that, his business took off. I was the one who went to his networking events, drinking until my stomach bled, forcing myself to transform from a timid girl into a woman who could hold her own. We endured so much hardship back then. So much that now, even the sweet memories are tinged with a bitter aftertaste. He called me someone else. An insignificant person. I wanted to rip his chest open and see what was inside. Was it flesh and blood, or a block of ice that would never melt? 5 As I was dragging my suitcase to the door, Ethan blocked my way. He was holding the little card I had made for him all those years ago. “Give me one more chance,” he said. “I promise, nothing like this will ever happen again.” I stared at the worn piece of paper. After a long moment, I let go of the suitcase. I don’t go back on my word. But that didn’t mean I had forgiven him. “There’s my girl,” he said, pushing the suitcase aside. “I’ll make you breakfast. What do you want? I’m taking the day off. We can go shopping, get that bag you wanted.” I didn’t answer. My eyes were on his phone, which he had placed on the counter. It was on silent, but the screen was flashing relentlessly. Julianna. “Aren’t you going to get that?” I asked. “No.” He shook his head. “I’m never answering her calls again.” If he was truly done, he wouldn’t have just silenced it. He would have deleted and blocked her number. I didn’t call him on his lie. I was too tired to argue. I just turned and went back to my room. A message popped up on my phone. [Phoebe, I’m back in the country! Come to my welcome-back party?] It was from my best friend, Sophie. [Okay.] I needed a change of scenery. That evening, while Ethan was busy in the kitchen, I slipped on my shoes and headed for the door. “Where are you going?” he asked, his voice tight with anxiety. “Dinner,” I said vaguely. “You want to come?” “I… I have something to do. I can’t.” “Okay.” 6 Knowing I was pregnant, Sophie had swapped out all the wine for milk. A few of our friends were gathered around the table. “Hey, I heard Julianna is working here part-time. Should we go take a look?” one of them whispered. “Are you crazy? I wouldn’t dare. I glanced at her once, and Ethan looked like he was about to gouge my eyes out.” “He was so devoted. They even have matching tattoos on their lower backs. A pair of birds, from a design Julianna made.” My hand trembled, and milk sloshed onto my pants. Matching tattoos… Ethan had told me the two birds were a symbol of freedom. I thought it was a beautiful idea, so I got one tattooed on my arm as well. I still remember the look in his eyes when he saw it. Surprised, and something else I couldn’t decipher. “You should get it removed,” he had said. “It doesn’t suit you.” “No way! If you have one, I want one too. So we can be a pair!” What a joke. I wanted to laugh, but all I wanted to do was cry. The tattoo on my arm suddenly felt like it was on fire, burning all my foolish assumptions to ash. When I came back to myself, tears were streaming down my face. I was grateful for the dim lighting in the private room, which hid my shame and confusion. Suddenly, a loud crash came from the room next door, followed by a girl’s panicked cries. The voice was familiar. It sounded like Julianna. We all rushed over. The moment we pushed open the door, we saw a man standing on the coffee table, blood trickling down his forehead, reeking of alcohol. “I asked you to pour me a drink, not smash the bottle over my fucking head!” he roared. “This isn’t over!” 7 Julianna stood her ground, her chin held high, the picture of defiance. “My only job is to deliver the drinks!” The man was livid. “Either you pay for my medical bills, or I’m calling the cops!” Julianna’s lip trembled, but she forced back her tears. Her red-rimmed eyes swept over our group. “Don’t arrest me…” Her voice grew louder, addressing everyone. “If you want to laugh at me, go ahead. I’m just a waitress, but I’m no less than any of you. Don’t push me too far.” She made it sound like we were the ones ganging up on her. The man jumped off the table and grabbed her by the collar. “Then pay up.” “I don’t have any money.” “Then drink every bottle in this room, and I’ll let you go.” The man’s eyes landed on the ring on her hand. “That pink diamond looks expensive. Maybe you can pay with that…” “No!” Julianna finally broke down, sobbing. “It’s the only thing I have left of him!” “I’ll drink!” She knelt by the table, grabbed a bottle, and started chugging, coughing and choking on the alcohol but refusing to stop. I couldn’t watch anymore. “How much does she owe you? I’ll pay.” “Get lost!” Julianna screamed, her composure shattering. She swung her arm and slapped me across the face, hard. “This is all your fault! You’re the one who stole my Ethan from me!” she shrieked. “You’re the reason he won’t forgive me! Can you live with yourself? Don’t you have nightmares?!” “And now you’re trying to insult me with your money! I don’t want your pity!” My ears were ringing. The room spun, and through the haze, I saw the door fly open. Ethan rushed in, brushing past me without a glance. He pulled the weeping girl into his arms. “Julianna, don’t be a coward! Fight back!” he commanded, his voice fierce. “I told you, I will always be your shield!” My legs gave out. I leaned against the wall for support as a sharp pain shot through my abdomen. “Phoebe!” Ethan’s head snapped toward me, his eyes blazing.

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I was using my husband’s phone to reconcile our shared spending accounts when I accidentally tapped on the Yearly Spend Review in his primary banking app. I smiled at the first few pages, filled with slightly playful, personalized stats, until two lines of text slammed into me: [Your most frequent special instruction is: ‘Extra spicy and please include the free side of pickled chillies. [Your longest special instruction was: ‘I’ve ordered two separate floral arrangements. Boss, please match the addresses carefully and ensure there is absolutely no mix-up.’] Neither of us eats anything spicy, and we actively avoid anything with pickled chillies. And every time, I only received one bouquet of flowers. The next page was even clearer: “Total spending on Valentine’s Day (February 14th) was $3,400. The most expensive single charge was $1,980 for a King Suite at The Sterling Hotel.” I remembered that day with absolute clarity. I was traveling for work. We had video-chatted for an hour before bed, lamenting that this was the first time we couldn’t be together for Valentine’s. He was lying in our bed at home. I tried to open his transaction history to find the corresponding charges, but the trail was completely wiped. I didn’t find any suspicious contacts in his phone, either. He walked past the kitchen then, and the screen flashed back to the main summary page. He chuckled. “Find anything interesting? Did you discover you married the perfect man?” I nodded, playing the part. “Absolutely perfect.” I immediately used his phone to text his best friends’ group chat: “Guess who I’m with tonight?” 1 I sent the message right in front of Hudson’s face. He shot me a look of mild annoyance—a warning, but nothing more—and didn’t seem concerned. The replies flew in almost instantly: “Who else, you old ball and chain!?” “Seriously, man? Another show of affection? You’re killing the vibe! How are we supposed to hang out in peace?” “I swear, you need an intervention. Just you and your wife. Enough!” “Kick him out of the group. I can’t handle this. Bring him back when I get a ring on someone.” Hudson (or ‘Hud’ as his friends called him) had a soft, indulgent smile. “Satisfied now? They’re going to give me hell for this again. They already call me ‘Wife Guy’ constantly.” He likely didn’t notice that my hand was shaking. The knowledge that Hudson Clarke might be cheating hit me with a physical force that left me winded. We had always shared everything—all accounts, all passwords. There had never been a need for secrets. I had always assumed that a shift in a relationship would have a preamble, a process of decay. Not this sudden, brutal awakening, like a punch in the face. The fact that he handed me the phone so readily proved how utterly confident he was in his cover-up. Pushing him now would only expose my hand. I passed the phone back, feigning an air of easy indifference. “Congratulations. You passed the test. For now.” He puffed out his chest a little, a genuinely satisfied look on his face. “Yes, ma’am! I’ll keep up the exemplary performance. Our beautiful life together? Mission accomplished.” His expression was so natural, his performance so effortless. If I hadn’t seen the annual report with my own eyes just moments ago, I would never have suspected him. Never. 2 The next day, Hudson left for the office at his usual, slightly-too-early time. Six months ago, a minor incident—a fender-bender that made him late for a key meeting—cost him a promotion. Ever since, he had gotten into the habit of leaving thirty minutes early, just in case of an unexpected delay. It was a perfectly logical and professional habit, but now, the extra half-hour felt sinister. Hudson was a dedicated night owl, someone who prized his sleep. Would he really sacrifice thirty minutes of slumber every day just for a single past mistake? Maybe others would, but not someone as self-assured and driven as Hudson. The lost promotion had been quickly replaced by one that had put him in an even higher position than his initial goal. Just as he reached the garage door, I called out from behind him. I smiled. “Forgot to gas up the SUV yesterday. You can drop me off today, right?” A momentary blankness flashed across his face, but he recovered instantly. “Sure thing.” Just before getting in, I held out my hand. “Hand me your phone. I need to order a milk shake on the app—mine’s buried in my work bag. Pull over right outside the office park, okay?” This time, his hesitation was obvious. I blinked innocently. “What’s wrong? Don’t you want one? I’ll just get one for myself.” “No, no,” he said quickly. “I actually just ordered. They had a special—two for one—so I grabbed two Americanos. Why don’t you see if you want one of mine?” His ‘Awaiting Pickup’ screen showed two ready Americanos. I quickly swiped through his other recent orders. He had already cleared everything else. A man focused on an affair is more meticulous than any professional. I’m a game designer; I don’t make useless moves. This small order proved, at minimum, that two people needed to meet—either in the car or right outside the office. Otherwise, the thirty-minute time cushion and the extra coffee were illogical. I had him stop midway for a quick errand to buy a croissant. The entire drive, I scrolled through social media on his phone. Hudson grew visibly more anxious. And I? I was simply waiting for the inevitable phone call. 3 Predictably, with three minutes left until 8:30 AM, Hudson’s phone buzzed. I felt his entire body twitch slightly. The second he connected the call, he spoke quickly: “Hey, Skylar, what’s up so early? I’m driving my wife to work.” I gave him a look—half smile, half accusation—and then heard a voice on the other end: “Oh, no problem, Mr. Clarke. I won’t bother you and your wife. I’ll just ask you when you get into the office.” I spoke up directly. “Please don’t worry about us. If it’s work-related, just say it. Don’t delay your day.” The person on the other end was clearly not ready with an excuse. She stammered for a moment, then said: “It’s better if you see the data first, Mr. Clarke. It’s hard to explain over the phone right now.” He hung up, then immediately complained: “These young assistants are so scatterbrained. She knows she can’t explain it over the phone, yet she calls me first thing in the morning. You have no idea how stressful it is to work with these people every day.” As we approached the next intersection, I reminded him: “Turn left here. Go to your office first. You’re cutting it close, and I can just grab a cab from there.” He was clearly reluctant. “Don’t be silly. I rarely get to drive you. It’s only a few more blocks. I’ll take you the rest of the way—it’s hell trying to find a cab during rush hour.” “No, thanks. Remember when being late cost you that promotion? I don’t want to be a speed bump on your road to success.” Seeing the icy lack of warmth in my expression, he didn’t argue further, signaled, and drove toward his company’s parking garage. Once we pulled in, I reached for the door handle. A moment later, I let out a small gasp as my lipstick slipped out of my hand and rolled under the passenger seat. I bent down, searching for it, but couldn’t quite reach it. Just then, the passenger door was yanked open, and a clear, bright voice rang out: “Mr. Clarke, you didn’t have time to grab my coffee today, did you? I brought my own. Why didn’t you text or call? I waited so long for you!” 4 The words died in her throat as she saw me crouched on the floor, hunting for the lipstick. She froze. Hudson, in the driver’s seat, also went rigid. I straightened up, tucked my hair behind my ear, and slipped the lipstick into my bag. Then, I held up a small, silver item I’d retrieved from the floor mat. “Someone left this earring in your car, Hudson. Remember to give it back.” It was a simple crescent moon stud. Nothing special. The only coincidence was that the young woman who had just opened the door was wearing a matching set, clearly the same style. I gave the girl a polite, distant smile, indicating for her to move so I could exit the vehicle. She took a hesitant step back. Hudson was already scrambling out of his side. The girl looked at him nervously. Hudson didn’t spare her a glance, marching straight toward me. She managed to get out a single syllable: “Mr.—” Without looking back, Hudson cut her off sharply: “Go back up to the office, Skylar. We’ll talk later.” The girl—Skylar—walked backward toward the elevator, craning her neck to look at us until the last possible moment. Hudson tried to take my hand. I pulled away. He sighed, sounding exasperated. “You’re not going to get the wrong idea, are you, Cami?” I couldn’t help but laugh, a hollow, bitter sound. “A two-for-one coffee special?” “No advance warning and not answering her call?” “Didn’t meet up, but she rushed down to the garage anyway to intercept you?” “Hudson, I trusted you. Did you really think I was an idiot?” He didn’t answer, but stubbornly tried to take my hand again. It was our old ritual, the one we used after every argument over the past eight years. Taking hands, drawing close, sharing warmth and energy to neutralize the anger. It was how we had solved countless problems and extinguished endless little flames. But we both knew this time was different. 5 He refused to admit it. He scrambled for an explanation: “She’s a new hire at the company. She rents a place nearby. Sometimes, if we have an early meeting, I offer her a ride. We spoke about it last night.” “She often brings me coffee, so when I ordered this morning, I got her one as a thank-you, to return the favor.” “The reason I didn’t tell you was precisely because I was afraid you’d misunderstand! I drove the whole way scared to death, thinking about how I could explain this without you getting the wrong idea.” I cut him off. “If you weren’t guilty, why would you be ‘scared to death’ of my ‘misunderstanding’? Do you think I’m that petty and insecure?” He immediately shifted to appeasement. “Of course not! My wife is the most generous person I know. It was my paranoia. I promise I’ll tell you everything next time. This will never happen again.” He finally managed to grab my hand, then kissed it. “Please don’t be angry, babe. Today was a total accident. Tomorrow, I’m going to order a custom Camille Rhodes Only seat cover for this side of the car, and I’ll never let anyone else sit there again.” “Tonight, I’m taking you to get that designer bag you’ve been looking at. No waiting for a sale, no looking for a private seller. We’ll buy it straight from the boutique. Okay? Let me make it up to you. Please.” Hudson was a man who knew how to swallow his pride, especially with me. But the sheer calculation and deceit revealed in the annual report made my heart ache. I held up his phone, shaking it slightly. “How about this? I’ll play a game with you. If you pass this test unscathed, I’ll forgive you everything.” 6 His first instinct was to refuse. I was a game designer. He knew I understood every facet of strategy and risk. He didn’t want to play a game where I had the advantage. “Don’t worry. It’s like last night. Send a message to your friends. If you pass the test, I’ll believe everything you just told me.” He visibly relaxed. “The same group chat as yesterday?” Hudson had a wide social circle, but only a handful of truly close friends. After yesterday, I was fairly certain they were all in on his lies. But that made them the perfect targets for the truth. I shook my head. “No, no group message this time. I’ll use my phone to message them individually. You clock in on your app first, then put your phone on silent.” He didn’t understand, but he obeyed. He carefully placed his phone in my hand, then begged, “Once I’ve done this, can you please stop being angry? I can’t stand you shutting me out.” I looked at his desperate, pleading expression and felt a wave of infinite mockery wash over me. How can someone appear to love you so much, yet betray you so effortlessly? Was loyalty just a meaningless buzzword? Or was the consequence of betrayal so laughably minor that no one took it seriously anymore? I looked at Hudson and texted his absolute closest friend, Jesse Miller, from my own phone: “I’m at the hospital. Hud left this morning saying he was meeting you. Why isn’t he answering? It’s an emergency. Tell him to call me back.” Hudson’s face changed instantly. A brief flash of barely perceptible terror flickered across his eyes. He’d lost his composure briefly when Skylar showed up, but he’d found his footing quickly. This time, it was complete disorientation. Jesse, his closest ally, responded quickly. And his answer did not disappoint. 7 “Yeah, he’s with me! He was just here a minute ago. Went to the restroom, I think. Wait, I’ll find him and tell him to call you. Are you at the hospital alone? Are you okay?” I ignored his question and replied: “Just tell him to call me back fast. If I can’t find him during a crisis, what’s the point of this life we built?” The second I sent that text, Hudson’s phone (on silent in my hand) started to vibrate wildly. It was Jesse. He called two or three times, and I simply hit ‘ignore.’ Jesse then sent a stream of frantic texts to Hudson: “Dude, what the hell is going on? Answer your phone! Your wife is at the hospital!” “Your wife’s mood is bad. I’ve never heard her talk like that. Did you get caught?” He followed it up with a screenshot of my earlier text to him. Jesse continued to panic: “How am I supposed to answer that? How? You are totally screwed this time.” “Where the hell are you? You couldn’t coordinate a cover story with me? If you blow this, don’t blame me.” “I swear, man, I don’t get it. You don’t get enough of her in the office? The pictures look so average; she’s nowhere near Cami. How are you so obsessed? Didn’t you guys always just use your lunch break before?” I handed the phone back to Hudson, watching his expression morph from slight panic to utter disbelief, culminating in a cold, white shock.

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After eight years in sales, I was sick of talking. So, I pretended to be mute and set up a street stall selling steamed buns. Customers just had to point. “Miss… I want a meat bun,” a little boy said timidly. I handed him one. He wolfed it down in three bites. When it was time to pay, he said he had no money. I waved my hands frantically: No, no, you can’t just not pay. “Does that wave mean it’s okay? Thanks, Miss!” The boy bolted. I wanted to shout, but I couldn’t break character. The next day, the boy brought a man. “Brother, this is the lady who helped me.” The man pressed his lips together, said nothing, and scanned my Venmo QR code. Ding. You received $10,000. I was stunned. “Brother, her buns are delicious. Can we hire her to make buns at our house?” The man looked cold. “Come make buns at my house. $50,000 a month, room and board included.” I wanted to go, but I couldn’t. My buns were frozen, store-bought. I didn’t even know how to make dough. I waved my hands frantically: I can’t go. “No problem, right? Let’s go!” 1 Just like that, I was whisked away to a massive villa. It had been too dark to see clearly before, but in the light, the man looked exactly like a CEO from a drama. “From now on, you’re responsible for making buns. Salary hits your account on the first of every month.” Before he finished, a wealthy-looking woman came downstairs. “Bringing random people home again? You could have at least told me.” She covered her nose and frowned. “Mom, this is the chef I hired for Leo. She helped him when he ran away last time,” the man explained. The woman wasn’t having it. “What do you mean? Are you blaming me for not knowing how to make buns, so Leo ran away?” “Fine, fine, I know. I’m old and useless. I’m the most useless person in this house.” “I don’t want to live anymore! Ahhh~” She collapsed on the floor, wailing. It reminded me of my grandma’s tantrums back in the village. The man sighed. “Mom, I didn’t mean that. I…” “You’re Mrs. Sterling, act like it! Leo ran away because he couldn’t stand you!” A middle-aged man dressed like a gentleman suddenly appeared from a corner. “Dad, could you not add fuel to the fire?” The younger man looked even more exhausted. “Leo running away is your fault! If you didn’t force him to study endlessly, would he have run?” Mrs. Sterling scrambled up and grabbed Mr. Sterling’s collar. Mr. Sterling tried to pry her fingers off while shouting, “If you didn’t force him to eat your dark cuisine every day, he wouldn’t have run! It’s all your fault!” The two of them started wrestling on the floor. “Wait, there’s an outsider here. Don’t air dirty laundry. Make her leave.” Mrs. Sterling finally remembered me. “She’s mute. She can’t speak,” the younger man said coldly. “Can’t speak? Tsk tsk tsk! That’s perfect. Finally, someone who won’t gossip about me behind my back.” “Fire the other maids. From now on, she’s the only one staying.” 2 I was shocked. Are they trying to work me to death? “Mom, that’s not good. The house is huge; how can she handle it alone?” “Hire a cleaning service for the heavy lifting. Just keep her. Buy some robots for her to use if you have to,” Mrs. Sterling said, fixing her hair as she got up. “Your mom is right. That way, our family matters won’t leak out. We can fight all we want with the door closed and not worry about outsiders laughing,” Mr. Sterling smoothed his collar. Mrs. Sterling raged again. “What do you mean? Who’s fighting? You’re the one starting things!” “Just me? You didn’t start anything? You think you’re so right?” Mr. Sterling shot back fearlessly. The younger man rubbed his temples and signaled for me to follow him to the study. “Those were my parents. That’s how they communicate. You need to get used to it.” I didn’t care. They weren’t my parents; I was here for the money. “From now on, whatever you hear or see, pretend you didn’t. No photos, no spreading rumors, or you’ll face legal consequences.” “Don’t worry about anything outside the kitchen. I’ll hire cleaners twice a day; just supervise them.” “Leo is my little brother, the kid you helped. Your main job is cooking for him. As for those two… good luck.” “Since you’re the only live-in staff, I’ll double your salary. $100,000 a month, paid on the first.” Before he finished, I was nodding so hard my head felt dizzy. Deal, deal! I’m definitely taking this deal. Tonight, I’m going on YouTube to learn how to make buns! 3 I overestimated myself. I watched videos all night under the covers and learned nothing. The next morning, I got up early, bought ten meat buns from a shop, and snuck them back in. “Sister’s buns are so good!” Leo held a bun in each hand, eating happily. “If only Mom’s cooking was this good.” His mood dropped as he ate. “Mom and Dad fight every day. As soon as they meet, they fight. It gives me a headache.” “My brother only cares about business. He doesn’t come home for days.” “Sister, do your parents fight?” Leo looked at me with cheeks full of bun. I nodded. Who doesn’t fight? Just not this dramatically. “Is that so? I envy you.” Leo continued eating. For a moment, I felt like rich people didn’t need reading comprehension skills. “I like that you can’t speak. Unlike Mom and Dad who fight, or my brother who lectures me. And unlike the previous maids who mocked my family behind our backs.” Silly kid, I mock you too. Secretly. After a week, I figured out this family. They were a plastic family. The parents had an arranged marriage. Thirty years of non-stop fighting. The older brother, Ethan, was a workaholic. Only the little brother, Leo, was normal, but he had no voice because he was young. He struggled to survive between fighting parents and an indifferent brother, finally running away. Who knew he’d lose his money immediately and only survive because I gave him a bun. That was the root cause of me becoming their nanny! 4 “Don’t think I don’t know why you dressed up. Today is your ‘White Moonlight’s’ birthday.” “Hmph, I knew you couldn’t forget her.” Mrs. Sterling started yelling early in the morning. “Aren’t you the same? Dressing so revealingly at your age. Do you think I don’t know today is your old flame’s death anniversary?” “Ha, you dressed like this to show him at his grave, right?” Mr. Sterling retorted. “So what if I show off? Can you control me?” “I can’t be bothered to argue with you!” “Of course you can’t. You can’t even be bothered to look at me. Arthur Sterling, you regret it, don’t you? Regret not marrying your ‘White Moonlight’.” Mrs. Sterling gritted her teeth. “Think what you want.” Mr. Sterling stormed out of the house. Leo and I leaned on the railing, staring at each other. “Actually, today is their 30th wedding anniversary. They have a huge fight every year at this time.” Leo looked helpless. At noon, while I was cooking, Mrs. Sterling leaned against the doorframe. “Do you think I’m old? Past my prime?” “He definitely went to see that woman. I wore his favorite dress today, but he didn’t remember at all.” “Even though it was an arranged marriage, after all these years, I’m used to him.” I widened my eyes, spatula in hand. “Usually, I have no one to talk to. Arthur and I can’t talk properly.” “I used to treat the old maid like a confidant, told her everything, even shared my bird’s nest soup. But she treated my words as jokes for the other maids, embarrassing me in my social circle.” “You’re better. You can only listen, not speak. Safe.” Mrs. Sterling helped me pick celery as she spoke. Mr. Sterling didn’t return until evening, holding a bouquet of pink roses. “What, didn’t give the flowers away? Rejected? See, she doesn’t like you that much.” Mrs. Sterling pecked at him like a rooster seeing a centipede. “You!” Mr. Sterling was speechless with anger and threw the flowers in the trash. That night, when I took out the trash, Mr. Sterling stood by the bin talking to me. “Today is our 30th anniversary. Every year I want to celebrate properly, but every year she has to anger me.” “Pink roses are her favorite. Why does she have to say such hurtful things?” “But… she was really beautiful today.” 5 So these two are roleplaying a tragic romance? Do they care if the bystanders live or die? Like their son! At night, I snuck the flowers out of the trash, cleaned them up, and gave them to Mrs. Sterling, who had just finished using the bathroom. She was about to throw them out when I played my voice recorder. It contained what Mr. Sterling said to me earlier. “Play it again. I’m old, can’t hear well.” After listening to it nine times, Mrs. Sterling happily took the flowers to her room. “Oh right, Arthur is still reading in the study. It’s cold, bring him some honey water.” She added before closing her door. I tinkered in the kitchen for a while, finally brewing a special cup of honey water. When I brought it to the study, Mr. Sterling was staring into space. I put down the water and pressed play. “It’s cold, bring him some honey water.” “It’s cold, bring him some honey water.” “It’s cold, bring him some honey water.” After hearing it three times, Mr. Sterling drank the water in one gulp. An hour later, he opened Mrs. Sterling’s door. Inside, there was bickering, then whimpering, then clatter-bang. Hehe, drank my potion? I guarantee your love will be deep as the ocean. Fight until dawn! At lunch the next day, only Leo was at the table. “Weird, why aren’t Mom and Dad eating?” He poked his chopsticks, looking upstairs. I followed his gaze, suppressing a laugh. Silly boy, maybe you’re going to be a big brother. They slept until sunset. Dinner time. “I peeled the shrimp you like. Eat.” Mr. Sterling stared at Mrs. Sterling with doting eyes. “Oh, you eat too. You’re exhausted.” Mrs. Sterling, face glowing, fed shrimp to her husband. “Mom, Dad, are you possessed?” Leo stood behind me, afraid to sit. “Take him to eat in the kitchen.” Mr. Sterling waved me away. “Ethan, come back quick! Mom and Dad are possessed. Yeah, everything is wrong. I’m scared.” In the kitchen, Leo squatted in the corner calling Ethan. An hour later, Ethan rushed back. The parents were still eating. Seeing his lovey-dovey parents, Ethan looked like he saw a ghost. “What happened?” Ethan looked at me. I waved my hands: I don’t know. “You won’t say?” He asked, surprised. Me: … “Ethan, Leo, your mom and I are going on a second honeymoon. You brothers take care of yourselves for a few months.” Mr. Sterling said smilingly. Ethan was shocked. “But Dad, I’m so busy, how can I take care of Leo?” “That’s your problem! Let’s go upstairs, darling.” Mr. Sterling supported his wife and they minced away. Leaving Ethan standing there in disarray. 6 Leo, however, danced with joy. “Yes! Mom and Dad finally stopped fighting! Hahahaha.” “With them traveling, no one manages me. I can do whatever I want.” Ethan slapped the back of his head. “Dream on.” The old couple left early the next morning, like they were rushing to reincarnate. Ethan moved back home that night. [Leo, hot pot for lunch?] “Yes yes yes!” [Leo, fried rice for lunch?] “Yes yes yes!” [Leo, sweet potato porridge?] “Yes yes yes!” Since the parents left, only Leo and I ate dinner every day. Ethan worked until past 10 PM. [Why do you eat everything? Not picky?] As Leo and I got closer, he bought me a writing tablet for communication. “As long as someone eats with me, anything is fine.” “Mom and Dad fight at the drop of a hat. If they fight, they cold war for a long time. It’s hard to eat together. Ethan is busy with business, takes so many calls during a meal.” “I usually eat alone. So boring. But it’s good now, I have you, Sister.” As Leo finished, the door opened. Ethan came back a bit early tonight. “Brother, did you eat? Sister made sweet potato porridge, it’s so good. She also made pickled radishes. Want a bowl? I’ll get it.” Seeing Ethan, Leo’s face lit up. He took his bag, got his slippers. Ethan looked at the table, corner of his mouth twitching. “No need, I ate. Going up to shower~” He loosened his collar as he went upstairs. So handsome, so cool. Those legs were longer than my life expectancy. I drooled watching him. “I really want to shower and have a water fight with Brother.” Leo mumbled. [Go then!] I held up the tablet. He shook his head. “Brother won’t let me. He never showers with me.” Seeing Leo’s disappointment, I wrote three big words: [Wait for it!] I rushed into the second-floor bathroom. With such a legitimate reason, why not use it? Opening the door, Ethan froze. “Do you need something?” He was wearing only a towel, chest muscles taut. I approached slowly, one eye open, one closed. Hands itching to touch. Ethan’s breath hitched: “What… what are you doing?” In a flash, I opened my eyes, aimed for a corner of the towel, yanked hard, and ran out. “Ahhh… mmh mmh…” I yelled for Leo. Leo rushed into the bathroom holding a swim ring: “Brother, I’m coming!”

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Six years. Six years after the ink dried on the divorce papers, I ran into Miles Kingston at The Sweet Spot Bakery. The cashier greeted him with a familiar, easy smile. “Professor Kingston, back for the strawberry shortcake for the wife? The usual, right? I’ll have it boxed up for you.” Miles gave a curt nod. He glanced at the two Mango Dream cakes I was having packaged, then turned back to the cashier. “Add hers to my tab.” I politely refused, already pulling out my phone to pay. But he was faster. His card was swiped before I could object. “Those cakes are ninety-eight dollars apiece, Anya,” he said, his voice carrying that familiar, condescending tone. “You used to have to save up for ages just to treat yourself to one slice. I’m a university professor, I’m doing a little better financially than you are. Don’t be stubborn.” I still wouldn’t accept it. He surveyed my attire—a faded, borrowed trench coat—and sighed. “Anya, it’s been this long. Are you still holding a grudge?” I offered a thin, level smile. “You’re overthinking it.” My fingers traced the large, cool stone of the wedding band resting on my left hand. I had a new husband and a daughter I loved. I didn’t have the time or the energy to hold a grudge against him, or any other man, anymore. Miles’s movements were too fast; he’d already paid. I insisted on paying myself. The cashier gave a flustered, apologetic laugh. “I’m sorry, ma’am. The Professor already took care of it. Maybe you can just transfer to him?” I turned to Miles, my voice clipped but polite. “Open your Venmo, please. I’m paying you back.” Miles sighed, a show of long-suffering patience, and gently pushed the packaged cake box into my hands. “Anya, just take it.” “Your birthday is in three days. Consider these two cakes my gift to you.” His tone was unexpectedly sincere. I ignored his words, my payment app still open. “Just scan my code.” “I don’t want to owe anyone.” Especially not him, and especially not over two cakes meant for my daughter’s afternoon snack. Seeing my stubborn refusal, Miles stood silently for a long moment before finally pulling out his phone. “You haven’t changed at all.” I kept my eyes down, initiating the transfer. He gently stopped my hand. “Anya, you don’t need to be so aggressive about this.” His gaze flicked over my worn jacket again, and he hesitated, a look of pity darkening his features. “I don’t miss a couple hundred dollars. You’d be better off using that money to buy yourself some new clothes.” I paused, then laughed a little. I’d been volunteering at the shelter today and had lent my own thick wool coat to a young woman who was bleeding through her clothes. It was autumn, and the air was getting chilly, so I’d borrowed the first spare jacket I found—a tired, heavy thing that belonged to a facility staff member. Miles clearly thought I was destitute, struggling to make ends meet. I didn’t bother to explain. “Thank you,” I said flatly, and turned to walk away. But his hand shot out and grabbed my arm. “Let me drive you.” My body went rigid. I immediately yanked my arm free. “No need.” “Your wife might misunderstand.” Miles’s hand froze mid-air. He knew. Dahlia—his small, spoiled wife who was eight years his junior—was the master of petty drama and theatrical jealousy. “Anya…” He pressed on, gripping my wrist again. “How about we exchange numbers?” I looked down, silent. Six years ago, the divorce had been a disaster. We hadn’t just deleted and blocked all contact; we had sworn an oath of mutual destruction. I shook my head. “Let’s not.” “You don’t have to hold a grudge anymore, Anya. So much time has passed. I just want to know that you’re doing okay…” He insisted he wanted to add my number so he could Venmo me some money. “Consider it… compensation for the past.” I felt a sudden, sharp urge to laugh. Years ago, I’d fought tooth and nail, sacrificing every shred of my dignity, and hadn’t gotten a single cent of compensation. Now that I no longer needed him, he was running after me, offering a payout. “Honey, I called you! Why didn’t you answer? Who are you talking to?” Just as I was reeling, a young woman in a flashy pink coat skipped over and looped her arm through Miles’s. Seeing me, her smile faltered for only a second before snapping back into place. “Anya! It is you. What a coincidence! It’s been ages. We’ve been trying to find you for years, but no one knew where you went. Even your old colleagues thought you moved out of the country. Where have you been?” I looked at Dahlia Reed, quietly taking in the changes. I could barely recognize her. The needy, timid scholarship student with the frazzled hair and guarded eyes, who once wore plain, ill-fitting clothes. Six years of Miles’s careful cultivation had transformed her into a blinding, fiery red rose. My smile was cordial but distant. “I was abroad, yes.” Dahlia’s eyes widened in theatrical surprise. “Really?” “But Anya, I stopped by a few times after you left. They told me you were going to move back to the boonies, to your hometown…” She was a motor-mouth, but Miles cut her off before she could finish the jab. “Sweetheart, let’s leave the past where it is,” Miles said, giving her hair a familiar, indulgent ruffle. “Your cake is here. It’ll melt if you don’t eat it soon.” Dahlia nibbled on her small cake, talking through a mouthful. “Anya, we finally ran into you! Let us treat you to dinner.” “I know you hate us for what happened back then, but you helped me so much. You sponsored my four years of college. I wouldn’t be where I am today without you…” Dahlia sounded genuinely earnest, as if refusing her would be the height of poor manners. I glanced at my watch. The afternoon was still young. “Fine. I have an hour and a half.” They chose the restaurant. On the way, Dahlia chattered incessantly, occasionally even feeding Miles bits of cake from her mouth. Miles, aware of my presence, looked slightly stiff. He caught her hand when it reached his lips. “Behave, sweetheart. Anya is watching.” Dahlia gave a playful pout and stuck out her tongue. “Sorry, Anya! We’ve been married for a few years, and we’re just used to being like this. Sometimes we can’t even help kissing right in the middle of the street. Please excuse us.” I watched the flicker of smug triumph in her eyes and simply smiled. “Don’t worry about it,” I said calmly. “I got used to more intimate displays of affection back when you were in college—remember the study sessions in our home office? I learned to tune things out a long time ago.” The atmosphere instantly froze. Miles and Dahlia’s faces both paled. I continued walking ahead, my expression utterly serene. Before reaching the restaurant, we passed a fireworks shop. Dahlia immediately lit up. She dragged Miles inside. “Honey, you said you were going to set off fireworks across the whole city for my birthday in three days, didn’t you?” “I want to pick out the design first… You don’t mind, do you, Anya?” I smiled. “I don’t mind.” Miles, though, gave me a strange, complicated look before starting to browse the displays. “I’ll take this one,” he finally said. “The Sapphire Weeps.” I froze. Long-buried memories, things I thought I’d successfully forgotten, rushed back into my mind. Miles had truly loved me once. We had dated for four years and been married for six. Everyone in our circle said he was a legendary doting husband. He was a university professor, yet he always refused to socialize outside of work, and he would coldly turn down female students who asked for his number. Among the stacks of dense academic texts he had published, there was one slim volume titled A Declaration of Love. It was written just for me. The entire campus of Crestwood University celebrated our perfect, storybook romance. Even on my birthdays, he would orchestrate a huge, public fireworks display over the city skyline. But then, one day, while tidying his bookshelf, I accidentally found a hidden, intimate photo tucked inside his book. The girl was young, wearing a micro-mini skirt, sitting astride his lap, smiling at the camera. I recognized her instantly. It wasn’t just anyone. It was Dahlia Reed, the sweet student who always called me “Sister Anya,” the impoverished girl I had personally sponsored for three years. She was also his student. I had saved her once, on a rainy day, when she was cornered and harassed by a group of thugs in a dark alley. I brought her home, let her shower, and gave her dry clothes. She was initially terrified of Miles. I laughed and reassured her. “Don’t worry. Professor Kingston won’t bite.” She slowly grew bolder. She even began to cautiously seek Miles out in his study to ask for help with her coursework. Seeing them interact so easily made me feel a warm, maternal pride. Until I found the photos on Miles’s computer. After that discovery, I charged into the study, shrieking, hysterical. Sure enough, the student and the professor—the two who were supposed to be discussing academics—were intertwined, lost in each other on his desk. They scrambled, horrified, trying to cover themselves as I burst through the door. My dignity, my manners, everything was gone. I was screaming like a lunatic, demanding to know how he could cheat on me right under my own roof. Miles’s only concern was shielding the woman beside him. He covered her completely, then looked up at me, his eyes cold and furious. “Get out!” “Anya Lane, have some decency! We do!” I realized then that men are inherently cruel and heartless creatures. When they love you, they would give you their life. But when the love is gone, they’ll strip the skin from your bones. I smashed everything in the room I could get my hands on. I refused to believe it. The man I had loved for nearly ten years, and the girl I had sponsored and treated like a younger sister—they had been blatantly carrying on in my study, while I was downstairs cooking dinner. They were using the pretense of academic discussion to commit their sordid acts. I was trembling violently, my eyes bloodshot. I couldn’t accept any of it. Miles looked at me with open disgust, always shielding Dahlia behind him. “Anya Lane, you’re acting like a psychopath!” “You need to calm down. If you dare hurt Dahlia in any way, I will make you regret it.” Dahlia peeked out from behind him, sobbing uncontrollably, the red marks on her neck still visible. “Sister Anya, I’m so sorry. I know this is wrong…” “I know it’s immoral, but Miles and I truly fell in love…” “Please, I don’t need a title. I don’t want anything. Just let me be with Miles, please?” I was stunned into silence. “Don’t you know you’re the home-wrecker? The mistress?” “I don’t care!” Dahlia yelled back, as if she were fighting for her own life. “We have a physiological connection, Anya. Even if you hadn’t saved me, I already had feelings for the Professor at school, and he felt the same…” Watching her desperate, brave display, I recalled the rainy night I’d found her. Because I saved her, the thugs had targeted me for weeks after, until the police finally got involved. I had never regretted saving Dahlia. But that night, I hated myself for being so naive. Why had I ever given another woman the chance to get close to my husband? Ten years. I’d given him ten years. I couldn’t accept reality. I became disheveled, a frantic mess, endlessly demanding to know when it had started. Looking back, I was so foolish. What was the point of knowing the details? But then, I was only consumed by the white-hot rage of betrayal. “Anya, stop making a scene.” “Dahlia needs to focus on her studies. She won’t try to take your place. She doesn’t want your title. You will remain Mrs. Kingston.” Miles, now dressed, said this to me with a stunning lack of accountability. “You won’t have to sponsor Dahlia anymore. I’ll take care of her tuition now.” Dahlia never came to the house again. But their rendezvous spots grew bolder: coffee shops, restaurants, the library, and then hotels… I started tracking them like a stalker. Miles never worked on Saturdays, but after Dahlia came into his life, he was at the university every weekend. I followed him in a taxi. I found them in the parking lot, kissing passionately. Unable to control themselves, they crawled into the back seat of the car—the car I had bought him for his birthday. A few minutes later, the car began to shake with a slow, rhythmic motion. That time, I stormed up and smashed the windshield. It caused a huge scene, humiliating them both. But Miles was determined to protect her. He treated me like a mental patient and had campus security drag me away. For a long time after, I caused endless, undignified scenes. I put up banners at the university where Miles taught and even found Dahlia’s classroom. I wanted the whole world to know she was a homewrecker. She was the student I had sponsored; the person I had loved like a sister—I hated her with the same intensity now. I couldn’t understand why she had to fixate on my husband. I wanted everyone to know she was an ungrateful viper and Miles was the lowest kind of liar. Our love had become utterly unrecognizable. Afraid I would jeopardize Dahlia’s reputation and studies, Miles hired security guards to keep me under soft confinement. I self-harmed many times. The feeling of being discarded by the world was unbearable; I needed an outlet for the misery that was choking me. Miles used to worry if I got the smallest cut. But now, he grew increasingly impatient. Seeing the gashes on my arms, he would only shout at me with disgust. “Enough! If you’re going to kill yourself, do it somewhere else. What is this, some kind of pathetic plea?” “Anya Lane, I never intended to divorce you. If you had just looked the other way, like before, you could have been Mrs. Kingston for life.” “But now, I’m afraid you are no longer fit for the role.” Finally, I swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills. I was rushed to the hospital but survived. When I woke up, I was suddenly lucid. I signed the divorce papers. Six years, just like that. My thoughts snapped back. Dahlia had finished choosing the fireworks. “I want these, the Sapphire Weeps!” “Honey, I want the same kind you used to set off for Anya, the one that writes out the name when it explodes in the sky. I want you to write ‘Dahlia I Love You’…” Miles smiled indulgently, agreeing to every detail. They quickly selected a restaurant near Crestwood University. “Anya, this place is amazing. Miles and I come here all the time. I bet it’s been a while since you’ve had food this good, hasn’t it?” Dahlia held the menu up, excitedly pointing out dishes. I kept my polite, thin smile. “I’ve had enough Western food while I was abroad. Just order whatever you like.” I heard that Dahlia struggled to find work after graduation. Miles used his connections to secure her a low-level administrative position at the university. Everyone praised them as a model couple. I heard the gossip and just smiled privately. People’s words were cheap. Dahlia’s eyes swept over my jacket with a complex mixture of pity and contempt. “Anya, what kind of work are you doing now?” I paused, then answered truthfully. “I’m not currently working.” Dahlia gave a look that said, I knew it. She sighed. “We really are sorry about the past, Anya. If you don’t have a job, Miles and I could help. I heard Crestwood University is hiring janitorial staff. I think you’d be a perfect fit…” Miles frowned slightly. “Dahlia!” “What, Honey? Did I say something wrong?” Dahlia’s face was innocent. “I’m just trying to be nice. Anya hasn’t been doing well, clearly. I want to help her.” Since I didn’t deny anything, Miles didn’t press. He just turned to me. “Dahlia can be thoughtless sometimes. Try not to take it personally.” I gave a half-smile. “Thank you. But you really don’t need to worry about my life.” Just then, my husband, Lincoln Caldwell, called. “Lan-Lan, I just picked up Autumn from school. Where are you?” “Didn’t you say you were craving hot pot? Autumn and I will come meet you.” My voice softened. “Okay. I’m at the bistro across from Crestwood University.” I hung up, and they both stared at me, suspicious. “Anya, you don’t have any family in the city anymore, do you? Who was that on the phone?” I smiled. “My husband.” The two of them froze. Dahlia gasped, standing up in shock. “Anya! You got married?” Miles’s face suddenly went ghostly pale. “Anya Lane, you don’t have to be this dramatic. You are not married. Don’t lie to me.”

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At my mother’s birthday dinner, my wife, Isabelle, uncorked the bottle of Macallan she’d brought. As she raised her glass for a toast, her voice cut through the quiet chatter. “You know, Mom,” she began, a small, curious smile on her lips, “I’ve always wondered.” “What’s your secret? How on earth did you manage to raise a son like Alex? So spineless, so selfish, and so utterly oblivious to it all.” My mother’s hand, holding her glass, trembled slightly. I calmly placed my napkin on the table. “I agree to the divorce.” Isabelle’s hand paused for a fraction of a second, but her smile never wavered. “Good. I’m glad you’ve finally seen reason.” That night, she handed me the divorce papers. “Don’t worry,” she said, her tone magnanimous. “If you ever need anything, you can always come to me.” I said nothing, just picked up the pen and signed my name. Isabelle had started her affair a year ago. She’d been hounding me for a divorce for the last six months. In that time, she’d become relentless, resorting to one vile tactic after another. She threatened my best friend’s job to get him to convince me to leave her. She’d brazenly video chat with her lover, a high school classmate of hers, right in our living room. And now, she had stooped to publicly humiliating my mother just to break me. If she wanted a divorce this badly, I would give it to her. I just hoped she wouldn’t regret it when she had nothing left. The moment my signature was on the paper, Isabelle was on the phone with her lawyer, unable to hide the excitement in her voice. “Yes, he signed it.” “Great. Meet me at Portside Tower in a bit. We’ll go over the details.” I listened, my face a mask of indifference, and reached up to take down the wedding photo hanging on the wall. We’d taken it when we were broke. It cost a hundred and ninety-eight dollars, a cheap package deal. Even then, I thought it was terrible. Our faces were photoshopped into pale, uncanny versions of ourselves. But I had kept it on the wall all these years. It was the only proof left of what we once had. A heavy pressure settled in my chest. Isabelle, finished with her call, saw me holding the frame. She wasn’t surprised. Instead, with a breezy confidence, she said: “Don’t rush to pack. We still have a month before the divorce is final. You can stay here in the penthouse for now.” “And don’t worry about the assets. I won’t make things difficult for you.” “I’m just glad you agreed without making a scene. I really didn’t want to drag this through the courts.” She glanced at her watch. “Well, since that’s settled, I should go. Ryan’s waiting for me. He gets pouty if I’m back too late.” Without waiting for a reply, she hurried to the entryway, slipped on her shoes, grabbed her car keys, and was gone. The moment the door slammed shut, my body went limp. I collapsed onto the sofa. The wedding photo fell from my hands, its cheap wooden frame shattering on the floor. I didn’t want to be weak, but the pain in my chest was unbearable. This past year, ever since I found out about the affair, had been a living hell. First came the shock. How could Isabelle betray ten years of our lives together? Then came the heartbreak. I had been willing to look the other way, to let her have her fun, but she still wanted to leave me. She did everything she could to force my hand, to humiliate and wound me. But what could I do? It’s like the relationship experts say: it only takes one person to end a marriage. Especially when that person is a woman who has made up her mind. You can’t imagine the lengths a woman will go to, the cruel and vicious things she’ll do, when she’s determined to leave you. Like tonight, telling my mother to her face that she’d failed as a parent. She knew my mother had a heart condition. She knew she’d just had major surgery three months ago. I had spent the last six months hiding our problems from my mother, desperate not to worry her. But Isabelle, in her quest for freedom, had shattered that peace without a second thought. The pain in my chest intensified. I couldn’t take it anymore. I decided to go lie down. I’d barely taken two steps when my phone rang. It was my mother’s caregiver. My heart seized. I knew. The moment I answered, her panicked voice came through the line. “Mr. Miller, you need to get to Hillside General right now! Your mother… she wasn’t feeling well after the party. She’s in critical condition! They’re trying to save her!” Tears welled in my eyes, and my hand holding the phone began to shake. Panic, cold and sharp, washed over me. I remembered the doctor’s warning when she was discharged: Her heart is extremely weak. Any stress, any shock could be fatal. It was a miracle we saved her last time. I forced myself to breathe, to stay calm. I told the caregiver to stay with my mother and that I was on my way. I rushed to the bedroom, threw on a jacket, and started calling Isabelle. The last time my mother had a heart attack, Isabelle had been the one to find the top specialist who saved her life. I needed her to call him again. But from my apartment, to the elevator, to the parking garage, I called Isabelle twenty times. She didn’t pick up once. In desperation, as I started the car, I called her assistant, Jenna. She answered on the first ring. “Mr. Miller.” “Jenna, where’s Isabelle?” I asked, my voice tight. “Can you get me the number for that specialist she knows? My mother’s had a heart attack. She’s in the ER.” There was a two-second pause. When Jenna spoke again, her voice was full of regret. “I’m sorry, Mr. Miller. Ryan called me a little while ago. He said you signed the divorce papers and that I’m not to help you with anything anymore. I can’t contact Ms. Isabelle on your behalf.” “I’m really sorry, sir. It’s my job on the line. You know how… devoted Ms. Isabelle is to Ryan. I can’t go against his wishes. Maybe you could try calling her again?” She hung up. I slammed on the brakes, the car screeching to a halt inches from a concrete barrier. A cold rage spread through my body. I thought back to the past year, since Isabelle had met Ryan. At first, I didn’t see him as a threat. He was a nobody. A high school dropout working as a barista in some trendy cafe. I truly believed Isabelle was just having a momentary lapse, a mid-life crisis. That changed when Ryan started texting me, taunting me, insulting me. When I showed the messages to Isabelle, she was unnervingly calm. “He’s just a kid,” she’d said. “Cut him some slack.” That’s when I realized Ryan was more calculating than I’d thought. Still, I didn’t take him seriously. Not until he provoked me into a fight that landed me in the hospital with a bleeding ulcer. Isabelle’s reaction was a cold splash of water to the face. “You’ve always had stomach problems,” she said, her eyes blank. “What does that have to do with Ryan?” “The affair was my mistake. It has nothing to do with him.” In that moment, a genuine fear took root in my heart. I started digging into Ryan’s background. And I discovered why Isabelle was so captivated by him. It wasn’t about his charm or his looks. He had been her deskmate in high school. During a time when she was desperately poor, he had brought her breakfast every single day for three years. Sometimes, he’d bring her fried rice his mother made at her street food stall. It was that connection, that shared history of starting from nothing, that had blinded her. It was why she was willing to throw everything away to be with him. The moment I found out, the pain was a physical blow. Ryan and Isabelle’s story began when they had nothing. But hadn’t ours? Isabelle and I met in college. I’d missed my first-choice program and ended up shuffled into Computer Science, a major I hated and didn’t understand. The lectures were like a foreign language to me. But Isabelle… she was a prodigy. As a freshman, she was already writing her own code, building her own games. Desperate not to fail, I asked her if she would tutor me. She agreed, with one condition. “You buy me three meals a day,” she’d said with a grin. That’s when I learned how difficult her life was. Her father had passed away when she was young, and her mother supported her by selling trinkets at a street market. Maybe it was because we were both from single-parent homes, both having lost a father, but we just clicked. After six months of tutoring sessions, we started dating. She was poor, it was true, but only for that first year. In our sophomore year, she started doing freelance coding work online. Soon, she had money. More money than any other student we knew. And she was so good to me. No matter how busy she was, if I called, she would drop everything to go out with me. She sent half of her earnings to her mother. The other half, she gave to me to put into a savings account. I thought our life would just go on like that. But then, one rainy night during our senior year, she showed up at my dorm, soaking wet, and told me we were over. I couldn’t believe it. I grabbed her, demanding to know why. She collapsed in the rain, sobbing, and told me her startup had failed. She was a million dollars in debt. I had no idea she’d even started a business. She’d maxed out credit cards and taken out predatory online loans. Her partner had vanished with the last of the money. My heart ached for her. I held her tight and told her I had a solution. I went home and knelt before my mother, the woman who had always cherished me, and begged her to help Isabelle. My mother, a retired teacher, sighed deeply. “Alex, I do have a million dollars saved for you. But that’s for your future, for you to start a family. Are you absolutely sure you want to give it all to her? If you do this, I won’t have anything left to give you when you get married.” The words were like a weight on my chest, but I looked her in the eye. “I don’t want the money. I just want Isabelle to be okay.” I took that million dollars and paid off all of Isabelle’s debts. Overwhelmed with gratitude, Isabelle knelt before my mother and bowed her head to the floor three times. She swore, with tears in her eyes, that she would spend the rest of her life making me happy. But in the end, my million dollars, our shared story of struggle, couldn’t compete with three years of high school breakfast. My chest felt tight, like I couldn’t breathe. I tried calling Isabelle one more time. This time, someone answered. But it wasn’t Isabelle. It was Ryan. His voice was dripping with the same old taunting arrogance. “What do you want?” “I need to speak to Isabelle. It’s important.” He scoffed. “She’s in the shower. Can’t talk. And for the record, stop calling her. She’s going to be my wife soon.” I felt the air leave my lungs, but I clenched my fist, forcing the words out. My voice was a low plea. “Ryan, my mother is in the hospital. I need Isabelle to contact a doctor for me.” “Please. I’m begging you. Just let me talk to her.” The words “I’m begging you” felt like acid in my mouth. My eyes burned with humiliation. Ryan just laughed. “Then just let your mom die.” He hung up. Listening to the dial tone, I lost control. With a choked, guttural roar, I smashed my phone against the car window. The pain in my chest was a physical tear. But I had no time to break down. I forced myself to start the car and speed towards the hospital. My mother was waiting for me. But when I arrived, what I saw was not a hospital room. It was a body covered by a white sheet. My legs gave out. I nearly collapsed. The caregiver rushed over, her words a frantic blur. “Mr. Miller, I swear, it wasn’t my fault… I was with her the whole time. The second I saw something was wrong, I called 911. The dispatcher told me what medicine to give her…” A thousand needles pricked at my heart. Tears streamed down my face. It wasn’t her fault. It was mine. I knew Isabelle had been unhinged lately, but I still dragged her to my mother’s birthday party. How stupid was I? Did I really think that if we just spent more time together, she would change her mind? That I could somehow “win” her back from Ryan? And what was the result? Not only did she force me into a divorce in front of my entire family, she killed my mother. My heart felt like it was going to explode. But after a moment of pure, blinding grief, I pushed myself up from the floor. There was a funeral to arrange. Affairs to put in order. I could not fall apart. So, even as my chest heaved with silent sobs, I forced my trembling fingers to text our family and friends, to call the funeral home. And in the midst of that nightmare, Isabelle, the woman I had called a hundred times, finally sent me a text. [City Hall, 9 AM tomorrow. Don’t forget.] Reading that message, the pain in my heart went numb. This past year, I had been hurt, I had been miserable, I had been in despair. But through it all, a part of me had never let go of Isabelle. In that moment, that part of me died. Perhaps it was because the pain was so absolute, but a strange clarity washed over me. [I can’t tomorrow. Next Monday.] I turned off my phone and got back to work. The next few days were a blur. A constant stream of visitors offering condolences, of relatives to comfort. So many people came. My mother’s former students, our relatives, even some of Isabelle’s family. But not Isabelle. Instead, I got a text from Ryan. [Heard your mom died. lol. That’s rough. Guess you’re an orphan now? Serves you right.] [If you’d just divorced her sooner, maybe your mom would still be alive. You killed her, you loser.] He followed it with a video. On a sun-drenched beach, Isabelle was lounging in a bikini, sipping from a coconut. Ryan panned the camera from her to himself. He ran towards her, and they kissed, long and deep. Then, Ryan asked with faux innocence, “Isabelle, who do you love more? Me or your husband?” Isabelle rolled her eyes. “I’m divorcing him for you. Don’t ask such stupid questions. You must be bored.” She pulled him down for another kiss. The video ended. Tears streamed down my face. But I wiped them away after a single, shuddering breath. I forwarded the video to my lawyer. [Another one for the collection.] He replied instantly. [Received, Mr. Miller.] [How is the research on Isabelle’s company coming along?] [Almost complete. The entire team is working overtime. Rest assured, we will get you what you deserve.] I gripped my phone. [You know I don’t want compensation. I want Isabelle bankrupt and in prison.] The reply was swift. [Understood, Mr. Miller. We will do everything in our power.] I put the phone down and walked back to my mother’s memorial. “Mom, I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “This is my fault. But I promise you, the people who did this to you… they will pay.” In the days that followed, I learned the full truth. My mother had known about Isabelle’s affair for six months. Ryan had told her himself. My mother was a retired teacher. After my father died in a car crash when I was ten, she never remarried. She raised me on her own, being both a mother and a father to me. Her greatest wish was to see me happy. But Ryan… he had sent my mother videos of Isabelle and me fighting. He sent her screenshots of texts where Isabelle criticized me, complained about me. He had even “advised” her to convince me to get a divorce. That was what caused her first heart attack three months ago. The shock of it all. And it was what killed her. After Isabelle and I left her birthday party, Ryan had gone to see her. He told her I was holding back their true love. He told her that even if I clung to the marriage, I would be thrown out with nothing. That night, consumed with worry for me, my mother collapsed. She never woke up. I found the recordings of their conversations on her phone when I was going through her things. Listening to Ryan’s cruel, relentless voice, I couldn’t imagine the agony my mother must have been in. And yet, for six months, she never let on. Every time she called, it was just to remind me to eat well, to take care of myself. The pain was a blade twisting in my gut. Ryan wanted to take my place? Fine. He could have it. He could have the life of a man married to a bankrupt, soon-to-be-convicted felon.

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