Category: English

I opened my Instagram story, posted a selfie, and typed out the caption: “First time in the back of a cop car. A little nervous, any advice?” After five months of being systematically frozen out by my roommates, I was finally ready to fight back. I was curious to see which of the three of them would crack first. 1 It all started with three hundred-dollar bills. The first day after freshman orientation week, Sophie was crying in our dorm room, claiming that three hundred dollars in cash she’d left on her desk was gone. The mood in the room went from relaxed to tense in a heartbeat. Jenna, who was closest to Sophie, was the first to speak. “Okay, everyone just open your wallets and your luggage. Let’s get this over with so Sophie can check.” Sophie mumbled something about how that felt wrong, that we were all roommates. I agreed. We had a whole year ahead of us; starting it with an interrogation felt like a disaster waiting to happen. So, I made a fatally stupid, bleeding-heart suggestion. “Why don’t we all just leave the room for an hour? That way, if someone… you know… took it by mistake, they have a chance to put it back. No questions asked, we don’t have to make it a big deal.” When everyone agreed, I felt a flicker of pride. I thought I was being so mature, so considerate of everyone’s feelings. I had no idea I had just placed the target on my own back. After we all filed out of the room and came back an hour later, the money was still gone, and the atmosphere had turned weird. I’ve always been a bit of a loner, so I’d spent the hour at the campus gym and then grabbed dinner by myself. When I opened the door to our room, the other three were huddled on the floor, sharing a giant pizza. It was a little weird they hadn’t texted me, but I didn’t think too much of it. They’d invited me to go to a frat party with them the week before and I’d said no. I knew I wasn’t exactly the most social person. So I smiled and said, “Hey guys, looks good. Sophie, did the money turn up?” Sophie glanced nervously at Jenna, who answered for her. “Nope. It’s gone. Probably for good.” Then she looked me up and down, a strange glint in her eye. “We didn’t text you for pizza. Figured you were probably out treating yourself to a nice dinner.” The question was odd, but I just shrugged. “Nah, just the dining hall.” That night, I fell asleep to the lingering smell of pepperoni and a nagging thought. Why did she ask if I’d treated myself to dinner? Then it hit me. A cold, sickening realization. They thought I took the money. Jenna’s comment wasn’t a question; it was an accusation. She thought I’d stolen the cash and immediately spent it so they wouldn’t find it on me. I knew Jenna didn’t like me. The feeling was mutual. A few weeks earlier, I’d woken up to the smell of her cigarette smoke filling the room. I’d tried to be nice about it. “Hey Jenna, would you mind smoking in the bathroom? The smell is a little strong.” She’d glared at me. “I asked everyone at the beginning of the year if they were cool with it. You all said yes.” “I don’t mind that you smoke,” I clarified. “I just… would prefer you didn’t do it right next to my bed.” She didn’t say anything, but the look on her face was terrifying. She did smoke in the room less after that, but every word she spoke to me from then on was laced with sarcasm. Sophie never brought up the three hundred dollars again, saying it wasn’t worth fighting over. On the surface, things went back to normal. But underneath, a silent war had begun. Jenna’s hostility became more and more obvious. If I was hanging my laundry on the drying rack, she’d say, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Isn’t that Sophie’s rack? Careful, don’t burn your hands on it.” “Why would it be hot?” I’d ask. “From all the heat you’re getting,” she’d smirk. Another time, I came out of the shower and she made a big show of sniffing the air. “Smells nice in here. Sophie, is that your new body wash I smell coming from the bathroom?” I didn’t answer. My own bottle had run out, and I had used a little of Sophie’s without asking. It was my fault. I didn’t argue. I went out and bought my own drying rack, my own body wash, my own toilet paper. I kept everything in my closet and carried it back and forth to the bathroom, determined to never use anything that belonged to them again. The theft was the turning point. Before it, we were friendly. After it, I was an outcast. If one of them brought back snacks, they’d share with the other two, pointedly skipping me. If I offered them something, they’d refuse. If they were laughing and talking, the second I joined the conversation, silence would fall. Most of the time, I felt completely invisible. It was suffocating. But I knew confronting them was pointless. If they’d already decided I was a thief, anything I said would just sound like a guilty excuse. You can’t reason with people who have already made up their minds. I told myself it was fine. Roommates are just roommates. I could have a social life outside the dorm and just treat my room as a place to sleep. But Jenna wasn’t going to let me have even that. Her tactics escalated. One night, long after lights out, just as I was drifting off to sleep, the other three suddenly burst into loud laughter. I jolted awake, my heart pounding. They started talking about things I didn’t understand, inside jokes about “glittering disco balls” and how “the real nightlife is just getting started.” I realized they had a group chat without me. They were texting each other, right there, in the dark. I remembered us joking during orientation about how a dorm room of four girls probably has ten different group chats. We’d all laughed and said we’d never be like that. Turns out, we were exactly like that. A wave of sadness washed over me. I’ve always gotten along with people. I’d never been treated like this before. I didn’t know what to do. All I could do was try to ignore it, to not let them see how much it hurt. I rolled over, facing the wall. The room fell quiet. Just as I was about to fall asleep again, I heard Jenna’s sharp whisper cut through the darkness. “Hey, guys… do you hear that? Is someone crying?” Girls know exactly how to hurt other girls. And yes, I wanted to cry. It felt like she knew all my insecurities and was poking them with a stick. But I refused to give her the satisfaction. I took a deep breath, cleared my throat, and said in a voice that was surprisingly loud and steady, “Crying? Who’s crying? I don’t hear anything. You’re starting to freak me out, Jenna.” Silence. No one spoke. I felt a surge of victory. I pushed further, addressing the other two directly. “Did you guys hear anything?” Sophie stayed quiet. But then, a small voice answered. “No. I didn’t hear anything.” It was Jessica. The quietest of the three. It was the first time she’d taken my side in anything. I turned my voice back toward Jenna’s bed. “See? Nobody heard it. Maybe you’re the one who’s hearing things.” I couldn’t see her face in the dark, but she didn’t say another word. I felt like a general who had just won a major battle. Tonight, I could finally sleep. And I had Jessica, my unexpected ally, to thank. 2 I was grateful to Jessica. After the money incident, Jenna led the charge to isolate me. Sophie, true to her name, was gentle, but she clearly avoided being alone with me. In her eyes, I was a thief. Jessica was different. When Jenna was around, she was quiet, probably intimidated. But when it was just the two of us, she was friendly. She loved classic literature, just like me, and would talk my ear off about the dramatic lives of F. Scott Fitzgerald and Zelda. I’d heard the stories a hundred times, but I listened patiently. She was the only friend I had left in that room. I understood why she was cautious. I was the pariah. No one wants to be friends with the outcast for fear of becoming one themselves. Her small moments of kindness when no one was looking were enough. After my late-night counterattack, Jenna backed off for a while. I thought maybe I’d finally gotten through to her. I was wrong. She was just planning her next move. One afternoon, I walked into our room and stopped dead. It looked like a cheap nightclub. A portable disco ball was flashing colored lights on the walls, and a Bluetooth speaker was blasting house music. So that’s what they were talking about that night. The three of them froze when I walked in. Jenna recovered first, starting to dance with an exaggerated swagger. The goal, I assumed, was to make me so uncomfortable that I would just leave. But Sophie and Jessica just looked awkward, their movements stiff and robotic. I watched them for a moment, then nodded approvingly. “Don’t stop on my account. I’m just gonna take a shower.” The music didn’t stop. I have to admit, showering with a built-in soundtrack was pretty great. Jenna had the stamina of a professional club-goer. Long after Sophie and Jessica had given up, she was still dancing by herself in front of the mirror. If we weren’t enemies, I would’ve been impressed. But it was 11 PM on a Tuesday. I sat on my bed, staring at her. She kept dancing, the music thumping through the floor. It was a battle of wills. Sometime after midnight, I passed out. My 8 AM alarm felt like a cruel joke. As I sat in my lecture, exhausted, I knew I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to get out of that room. After class, I went straight to our RA’s office. Mark was a recent grad, and everyone loved him. He tried to act like a serious authority figure, but we all knew he was just a big brother type. I’d avoided bringing him into this, wanting to solve my own problems. But I was at my breaking point. I tried to stay calm as I explained the situation, terrified he would hit me with the classic, “Well, why do you think they’re singling you out?” But he didn’t. He listened patiently, expressed his sympathy, and then firmly rejected my request for a room change. My heart sank. “Why?” “Clara,” he said gently, “I get a request for a room change almost every week. If I said yes to everyone, the whole system would fall apart. You put a bunch of people from different backgrounds in a small space, there’s going to be conflict. The answer isn’t to run away; it’s to figure out how to solve the problem.” “So what am I supposed to do?” I asked, feeling hopeless. “I’ll call a meeting with your roommates,” he said. “We’ll mediate. We’ll try to work this out.” A mediation. That wasn’t just dropping a bomb on the situation; it was detonating a nuke. He must have seen the panic in my eyes, because he added, “Look, if it becomes clear that the situation is impossible to fix, I promise I’ll find a way to get you a new room.” I left his office feeling sick with dread. When I got back to the dorm, only Jessica was there. “Mark called Sophie and Jenna to his office,” she said, not looking up from her book. “That was you, right?” I took a deep breath. “Yeah. Why didn’t you have to go?” “It doesn’t have anything to do with me. I’m not getting involved.” She finally looked at me. “But are you serious about changing rooms?” I didn’t answer. Of course I didn’t want the hassle, but living like this was torture. “Do you all really think I stole that money?” I asked quietly. “Didn’t you?” Her simple question felt like a punch to the gut. The blood drained from my face. All this time, her kindness, her friendship—was it all fake? There’s a reason why, in movies, the person getting bullied just stands there and takes it. You’re too stunned by the cruelty to react. You’re too sensitive to accept that people can hate you for no reason. You’re too scared to fight back because you know you have no one in your corner. I choked back tears. “Even if I said I didn’t, you wouldn’t believe me, would you? There’s no proof.” 3 Jessica almost seemed amused. “It’s just a few hundred bucks. It’s not a big deal.” Her casual dismissal infuriated me. “Then why did you make a secret group chat without me?” “Because you never want to go out with us,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “We made a separate chat so we could make plans without making you feel awkward every time you said no. We were trying to be nice.” And there it was. Bullies never think they’re the bad guys. They always have a justification. They’re never sorry. I pulled out my phone and texted my best friend from home. She’d been my rock through all of this. Her: “Why should YOU have to move? They’re the assholes! They should be the ones to leave!” Me: “That’s not going to happen. The three of them are a package deal.” Her: “I don’t buy it. People like that can’t stay friends for long. There have to be cracks. If I were you, I’d stay put and wait for them to turn on each other. It’s gonna be epic.” Her texts always made me feel better, but the dread of the impending storm returned as soon as I put my phone down. Jenna and Sophie came back from their meeting with Mark. Jenna slammed the door, throwing her backpack on the floor. Sophie and Jessica stood by, watching her silently. “Some people have a lot of nerve,” Jenna spat, glaring at me. “Running to the RA like a little kid.” I knew this was it. I had to stand up for myself. I forced a smile. “That’s right. I asked for a room change. If everything goes well, you won’t have to see me anymore. Happy?” I braced for a fight, but she just went quiet. In that moment, I realized she was just a paper tiger. All bark, no bite. The second I showed a little bit of spine, she backed down. “Go if you want,” she mumbled. “No one’s begging you to stay.” “I don’t want to go,” I said, feeling my confidence grow. “But when you’re blasting music at 2 AM, I can’t sleep. If I stay, I’ll end up in a psych ward.” As we were staring each other down, I heard a small, sharp laugh from behind me. It was Jessica. I whipped around. Jenna was fuming, Sophie looked terrified. Jessica immediately pretended to be busy organizing her desk. Why would she laugh? A cold thought trickled into my mind. Someone is enjoying this. The room change didn’t happen. Mark kept telling me he was “working on it.” As I expected, Jenna didn’t stop tormenting me. In fact, she got worse, furious that I had stood up to her. That night, she called for a “roommate meeting.” The three of them sat on chairs facing my desk, like an interrogation panel. “We never wanted to kick you out,” Jenna began. “We just have a problem with some of your behavior.” “I didn’t steal the money,” I said flatly. “Then why did you make that suggestion about leaving the room?” I cringed, hating my past self. “In high school, a kid stole some money, and the principal handled it that way. It gave the kid a chance to fix their mistake without being publicly shamed. I thought… I thought it was the right thing to do. I never imagined you would think it was me.” “You’re the poorest one here,” she said bluntly. “It’s not a huge leap.” “Excuse me?” The insult stung, but looking around at her designer makeup, Sophie’s collection of expensive anime figures, and Jessica’s overflowing wardrobe, I couldn’t deny that, on the surface, she was right. “First of all, I’m not poor enough to need to steal. Second, being poor doesn’t make you a thief. I didn’t take it. Believe it or not.” Sophie spoke up, her voice soft. “It’s in the past. The money doesn’t matter anymore.” “She’s right,” Jenna agreed. “The point of this meeting is to clear the air. From now on, we solve our problems in here, not by running to the RA.” Jessica, the peacemaker, added, “Let’s just all say what’s bothering us so we can move on.” Fine. If I was stuck here, I might as well try. “Okay,” I said, looking directly at Jenna. “I have a problem with you smoking in the room in the morning. That’s it.” Her face darkened. “Oh yeah? And what about you using people’s body wash without asking? You think that’s not annoying as hell?” Damn it. That stupid body wash. “You’re right,” I admitted. “That was my mistake. You called me out on it, and I won’t do it again.” My apology didn’t pacify her; it emboldened her. “Let me tell you something,” she sneered, leaning forward. “I’m the only one from this city. I know people at this school, a lot of people. You better watch how you talk to me. You push me too far, and my friends and I will be happy to meet you on the quad after class.” Coming from anyone else, it would have been laughable. But from her, it felt real. That night, I was back in Mark’s office, sobbing, telling him how Jenna had threatened me. He was furious, promising me that he would never let that kind of bullying happen on his watch. But when I begged him again for a room change, he just sighed and said his hands were tied. There was no escape. I had to find my own way out. 4 I had a secret weapon stashed in my closet. It was a birthday present I’d bought for Jenna months ago. My own birthday was right at the start of the semester, back when we were all friends. They had all pitched in to get me a nice skincare set. I was so touched that I’d started planning their gifts immediately. For Jenna, I’d chosen a beautiful, vintage-style Zippo lighter. She was always self-conscious about her smoking. I wanted the gift to say, “I don’t like the smoke, but I don’t judge you for smoking.” But after the money incident, I never had the chance to give it to her. It was just collecting dust. Maybe it could buy me some peace. The next morning, as everyone was getting ready for class, I grabbed the gift box, shoved it into her hands, and said, “Happy belated birthday!” before sprinting out of the room like my life depended on it. I was too embarrassed to bring it up again, but I started to notice small changes. Jenna stopped making snide comments. She started smoking in the bathroom without me having to ask. One day in class, she even asked if I wanted to be in her group for a project. It was probably just because she knew I had a good GPA, but I was so relieved I almost cried. The fear of being jumped on the quad finally started to fade. I really was a coward. Things with Sophie and Jessica settled into a polite, distant roommate relationship. My life went back to its quiet routine of classes, gym, and solitude. The room change never materialized, and I stopped asking. The new year was the first pebble that broke the calm surface of the water. Jenna took Sophie home with her for the New Year’s weekend, leaving just me and Jessica in the dorm. On the last day, Jessica went out, and when she came back, she had a small gift bag for me. It was a lipstick from a niche indie brand. It wasn’t expensive, but it was the thought that counted. “I know you don’t wear much makeup,” she said, “so I picked a really natural shade. It’s supposed to look good on everyone, even with no other makeup on.” I’m a sucker for kindness. All my previous suspicions melted away. I was so happy I felt guilty for not getting her anything. That night, my phone buzzed with a text from Jenna. Jenna: “Is that lipstick on your desk shade 307?” My stomach dropped. The word “thief” felt like a curse I couldn’t escape. Me: “It was a gift from Jessica. I don’t know the shade.” Jenna: “Look at the bottom.” I flipped it over. 307. A strange, electric feeling shot through me. It took me a moment to recognize it: the exhilarating thrill of impending vindication. But my first instinct was still panic. How was I going to explain this? Then I realized: if Jenna suspected me, she wouldn’t be texting me. She’d be kicking down the door. This was different. The next time I got her alone, I asked, “What’s with the lipstick?” “I bought Sophie the exact same one for New Year’s,” she said. “Same shade.” A lightning bolt went off in my head. “It was a gift from Jessica,” I repeated, my voice shaking a little. “It wasn’t me.” “I know,” she said, looking me over. “You only use, like, drugstore chapstick.” Her tone was condescending, but right then, it was the sweetest sound in the world. If she’d just seen the lipstick and jumped to conclusions, I would be facing round two of this nightmare. “Are you going to confront Jessica?” I asked. “Not yet,” she said. “The lipstick isn’t the main problem. Sophie’s Yeezys are missing, too.” “Her what?” I asked, confused. Was that more expensive than a lipstick? Jenna gave me a look of profound pity. “Her sneakers. The Nikes.” Oh. Right. That meant they were expensive. A quick Google search told me they were very expensive. Four figures. Easily enough to tempt someone to steal. Jenna and I went to talk to Sophie. “Why didn’t you guys suspect me this time?” I had to ask. Jenna shrugged. “You’re broke, but you’re not flashy. You can barely tell Nike from Adidas. You wouldn’t even know where to go to sell them.” I was a little insulted, but mostly, I was deeply relieved. My simple, uncool lifestyle had just become my best alibi. “And who steals something and then leaves it out on their desk for everyone to see?” Sophie added. I made a mental note to never put that lipstick away. This time, Sophie was determined to investigate. I was right there with her. When Jessica heard that we wanted to search the room again, she looked completely shocked. When she heard about the missing Yeezys, she was the picture of sympathy. She immediately agreed to have her closet searched. The search turned up nothing. “I can’t believe this is happening again,” Jessica said, sighing as she tidied her things. “Why is it always our room?” The three of us exchanged a look. “We shouldn’t tell anyone about this,” she added quickly. “It’ll just cause gossip.” Her words made me think. Back when I was the suspect, had I ever worried about them spreading rumors? No, I’d almost hoped they would, so I could make a bigger scene, prove my innocence, and get my room changed. But they never had. The conflict had always been contained within our four walls. Was that because of Jessica, too? Why was she so insistent on keeping things quiet? After the failed search, Jenna asked if I wanted to grab dinner. For the first time in months, the three of us walked out of the room together. I glanced back over my shoulder. Jessica was alone inside, sweeping the floor. So, this time, you’re the one being left behind. 5 I threw the lipstick in the trash. The pretty lies—that she’d picked the color just for me—were a final, poisoned meal before the execution. She had played me perfectly, using a cheap gift to set me up as the fall guy. Sophie told us that besides the shoes and lipstick, a few of her necklaces were missing too. She had so much jewelry that she hadn’t noticed until she went looking. This was more than three hundred dollars. She wanted proof. She wanted justice. And I wanted it more than she did. I needed to clear my name, not just for them, but for myself. First step: security footage. We went to the building manager, who sent us to our RA. Mark groaned, “What now?” and sent us to the Dean of Student Affairs. The Dean said we needed a form from Campus Security. Campus Security gave us the form but said it needed the Dean’s signature. We were pawns in a bureaucratic chess game. Finally, with a stack of signed and stamped papers, we arrived at the security office. The door was locked. Sophie and Jenna waited outside while I went to find the person in charge. I was possessed. I asked every university employee I saw. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I was directed to a stressed-out-looking man in a suit. He was not interested in my problem. “Kid, do you see those police cars?” he said, pointing out the window. “There was a gas leak in the main dining hall. I’m a little busy. Come back tomorrow.” Police cars. An idea sparked. I saw a group of officers standing nearby and, without a second thought, I ran over to them. “Officer, I need to report a theft!” One of them led me to a sergeant who looked like he’d seen it all. I took a deep breath and told him everything, making sure to emphasize the value of the shoes. “They’re worth over a thousand dollars!” He took it seriously. Within fifteen minutes, two officers were at our dorm. Jenna and Sophie were stunned when I called them. “I thought you were finding the security guy! How did you end up with the cops?” This wasn’t part of the plan. It felt like fate. Facing two uniformed police officers in our tiny room was terrifying. The interrogation was brief and professional. Then, they said they needed to see the security footage. Suddenly, the security guy was extremely cooperative. He led us to his office and pulled up the feeds. The cameras in the lobby and hallways worked fine. The ones on our residential floor? A blank, black screen. He chuckled nervously. “Yeah, to save money, those ones aren’t actually turned on. They’re just for show.” I wanted to scream. All that running around, all those forms, for a bunch of fake cameras. The police said they needed the official complainant to come to the station to file a report. Sophie looked terrified, so I offered to go with her. This was my fight, too. Jenna said she had dinner plans with her mom. Jessica just sat on her bed, scrolling through her phone as if nothing was happening. As we were leaving, our building manager called out to the officers, “You’ll bring our girls back safe, right?” “Of course, ma’am.” It was my first time in a police car. A criminal would want to hide, but an innocent person? An innocent person wants to show off. I scrolled through my contacts, wondering who to tell, when the perfect idea hit me. I turned to Sophie. “You know, this is kind of a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I kinda want to post about it.” “Go for it,” she said. “You don’t mind if people know your stuff was stolen?” “Why would I mind?” she said, a new steel in her voice. “The person who should be worried is the one who stole it.” I smiled. “Exactly.” I opened my Instagram story, posted a selfie of the two of us in the back of the squad car, and typed out the caption: “First time in the back of a cop car. A little nervous, any advice?” I watched the question marks and shocked-face emojis start rolling in, then turned off my phone. Filing the report was boring. It was nothing like on TV. As the officer took our statements, Sophie and I started talking, trying to piece together a timeline. And as we talked, we found something. A discrepancy. A hole in the story. And we knew we were finally on the right track.

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The stray cat I’d been feeding brought me a half-dead white snake. I nearly fainted from shock, but then, a series of pop-up comments appeared before my eyes: [OMG, the snake-man protagonist was supposed to meet the kind-hearted main female lead, but a stray cat just snatched him up as a gift for its human. I can’t.] [This cat is a menace! Bad kitty! Poor snake!] [The ultimate prize just fell into the lap of a side character. Our snake-man hero is loaded; whoever saves him gets showered with gold later!] My eyes lit up. Gold? I immediately scooped up the snake and rushed inside. A snake that was basically a living, breathing money tree? Finders keepers! 1 After cleaning and bandaging the white snake’s wounds as best I could, I placed him in a large glass terrarium. Staring at the nearly seven-foot-long serpent, a wave of fear washed over me. This was a pet snake? Someone had a very skewed definition of “pet.” I thought they were supposed to be, like, the thickness of a few fingers. I rummaged through my apartment and found a few pieces of frozen meat in the fridge, tossing them into the tank. The snake flicked its tongue, glanced at the frozen offering, and coiled up in the opposite corner with an air of pure disdain. “Yeah, I know it’s not much,” I sighed, “but I can’t afford fancy steak right now. And since you’re my pet—” Before I could finish, the snake’s head shot up. [LMAO, the shock in his golden snake eyes! Did I hear that right? Who did you just call a pet?!] [Protagonist: I was brought here against my will! Against! My! Will! Do you understand?!] [Ugh, where’s that feline culprit?] The culprit, a fat orange tabby, was pointedly ignoring the drama, noisily crunching on his kibble. Crunch, crunch, munch, munch. He seemed to be enjoying it immensely. [Protagonist: I will never stoop to eating cheap garbage like that fat furball!] [I would rather starve!] [What is the point of this pathetic existence!] This snake was a picky little thing. Not a great habit to have. I ignored him and went back to the kitchen to make a bowl of instant ramen, dropping in an egg and a couple of lettuce leaves. A gourmet meal, perfectly balanced! I had just finished slurping the last noodle when the doorbell rang. I shuffled over and opened it a crack to find several of my neighbors, armed with brooms and knives, looking ready for war. “Tanya! Where’s the snake?” “Don’t hide it from us! Someone saw the orange cat drag a snake into your apartment. We were worried about you living all alone, so we came to help.” Their eyes immediately locked onto the long, pale creature in the terrarium. “That’s the one! Don’t be scared, Tanya, we’ll kill it for you!” As they raised their makeshift weapons, the white snake shot up in alarm, slammed the lid off the tank, and slithered across the floor with a dry, rustling sound, heading straight for my bedroom. Not my bedroom! Mr. Henderson and the others charged in after it. “Where’d it go?” Mr. Henderson rubbed his eyes. I pretended not to see the white coil clinging to the ceiling fan. “It must have gotten away,” I said quickly. “It doesn’t bite, and you know how much I love animals. I was actually thinking of getting a pet anyway.” The can of bug spray in Mr. Henderson’s hand clattered to the floor. “A young woman like you, keeping a snake that long? Aren’t you afraid it’ll crawl into your bed at night?” I forced a tight smile, my fingers digging into the doorframe. “It’s just for fun. And, you know… for self-defense.” Mr. Henderson gave me a helpless look. “Well, if you’re sure, then—” CRASH! The ceiling lamp, along with the snake, came crashing down. Before anyone could react, the snake had wrapped itself around my body, its head rubbing affectionately against my cheek. “See?” I said, my voice trembling only slightly. “I told you he’d make a great pet.” 2 The pop-up comments flew across my vision, a cascade of mockery aimed at the hero: [So much for his pride. That lasted all of one second.] [LMAO, the whiplash! One second he’s all ‘I will never be a pet,’ the next he’s like, ‘You know, pet life doesn’t sound so bad!’] [Look how tightly he’s clinging to her. He’s terrified of getting bludgeoned by the neighbors!] [I’m not gonna lie, I’m a little jealous of the snake right now. Tanya’s figure is… wow.] [Am I the only one focused on her body? That’s my dream physique right there. Drop the workout routine, girl!] … My neighbors left, shaking their heads. I tugged on the snake’s tail, trying to peel him off me, but he wouldn’t budge. He blinked his curious golden eyes at me as if he’d discovered a new continent. His tail gave my skin a tentative little rub. His forked tongue flicked out, tasting the air near my neck. He stared at me for a moment, then nuzzled into the curve of my neck. When his golden, slitted pupils met mine, I could have sworn I saw a faint blush cross his scales. “Um,” I said, my voice strained. “Could you maybe get off now? I’m having a little trouble breathing.” The snake finally unwound himself. On his way back to the terrarium, he bumped into the wall three times and hit the corner of the coffee table twice. [HELP! Our snake hero is so blissed out his brain has short-circuited!] [This poor, innocent snake has never known such pleasure in his twenty-plus years of life.] [Red alert! He was so bold wrapping himself around her, and now he can’t even slither in a straight line. LMAO.] [Is he that pure? I bet when he was pressed up against her, he was already planning out names for their future snake-babies.] [EMERGENCY! I think my snake has brain damage!] 3 I don’t know if it was my “self-defense” comment that did it. But from that day on, things changed. When I left in the morning, the white snake would be coiled by my front door. When I came home at night, he would follow me around like a shadow. He’d join me at the dinner table. He’d climb onto my bed at night. My already small apartment felt even more cramped. Maybe my phone was listening, because ever since I got the snake, my social media feed was flooded with snake content. Snake behavior, different snake species, even diagrams of snake reproductive organs… But I wasn’t interested in snakes. I was interested in money. I kept scrolling. Suddenly, a video of a man with chiseled abs, tagged “#BlackSnake,” filled my screen. “Hey, girl. You like a black snake like me?” a ridiculously seductive voice purred from my phone’s speaker. I jumped. Okay, so I wasn’t just interested in money. I was also interested in men. My morals were directly proportional to my bank account balance. I quickly hit the like button and started typing a comment: “The algorithm gets me.” Just then, the white snake, who had slithered over without me noticing, swiped his tail across my screen. He hit: Reduce recommendations for this type of content. Then, looking thoroughly pleased with himself, he slithered over to the other side of my bed. I pondered his motives. Hmm. It was probably the same reason Ginger the cat got upset when I fed other strays. Basic biological possessiveness. 4 The news that I was keeping a snake spread through the neighborhood like wildfire. The local seniors held a meeting and decided that a snake was not a sustainable long-term solution for my security. They concluded that I was only feeling unsafe because I was a single woman living alone. So, the next day, they showed up at my door armed with a stack of photos of eligible bachelors. “This one has a great income, but he’s a little short. His parents are locals, though, and he’s not bad-looking,” one of the ladies, Mrs. Gable, said, pointing. “This one is tall and handsome, but his job isn’t very stable.” Mrs. Gable turned to me. “Tanya, honey, what’s your type? You have a steady job, and even if you don’t have savings, you’re a beautiful girl. You don’t have parents to worry about these things for you, so let us be your family and help you out. Don’t be shy, tell us what you want!” I’m a simple woman. Life is hard enough; if my husband was ugly too, how could I go on? I scanned the photos, and my eyes landed on a handsome guy named Sean who was even a little younger than me. “Him,” I said. “I like the handsome ones.” Mrs. Gable beamed. “I get it, I get it! We’ll set it up!” They left, happily planning the logistics of our first date. I closed the door and turned around, only to be met by a pair of intense golden eyes. For a second, I felt a pang of guilt, as if I’d just cheated on him. Mrs. Gable was efficient. A date was set for the next evening. As I was about to leave, the white snake suddenly wrapped himself around my waist. “No, I can’t take you with me.” This snake was a temporary arrangement. I had a future to think about, and I was serious about finding someone to date and marry. Bringing a snake was absolutely out of the question. But he only tightened his grip, his eyes conveying a silent, stubborn refusal. I tugged at his tail, trying to uncoil him. “Stop messing around.” A few seconds later, he was wrapped around me again. Defeated, I had no choice but to cancel the date. 5 That night, the snake made himself right at home on my bed, wiggling and twisting around as if he’d won the lottery. When I came back from my shower, I found him coiled up on my bra, fast asleep. I gasped and lunged to grab it. But he held on tight, refusing to let go. [The protagonist’s mating season is hitting hard, he can’t control it. Only the scent from her clothes can get him through it.] [Look how content he is. He doesn’t need money. He needs this.] [You can’t blame him. Our boy has awakened.] I was no match for his strength. So I grabbed a laundry pole and aimed it at the most vulnerable spot on his neck. “If you don’t let go right now, I’m going to poke you!” He understood. He glanced at the pole, then reluctantly slithered off the bra. Just as I lowered the pole, he darted forward and dove right inside my pajama top. He wrapped himself around my torso several times, then poked his head out of the collar. We stared at each other, eye to eye. [What a genius. Who needs the bra when the real thing is right here?] [Ahem, just asking for a friend, are they… impressive? I’m in a hurry.] [It’s just two of them, Tanya honey, you can handle it!] “Get. Down.” I pointed at his head, my voice firm. He shook his little head. No. Sigh. Whatever. The comments made it sound like this was a temporary phase. If I let him cling for a little while, maybe he’d calm down. 6 That night, I fell into a deep sleep and had a strange dream. In the dream, a colossal white serpent was wrapped around my body, its coils tightening until I felt like I was going to be torn apart. I gasped for air, tried to scream for help, but nothing worked. I woke with a start, my forehead beaded with cold sweat. There was something cool and smooth in my hand. I looked down and sucked in a sharp breath. The white snake was coiled around my hand, sleeping peacefully. The pop-up comments went into overdrive: [What just happened? Why is my screen all blurry?] [You can’t see? Hehe, I saw everything. I’m a premium member.] [Where do I subscribe?! Tell me! I’ll pay extra!] [Look at Tanya, all dazed and confused. She thinks it was just a dream!] [Our snake hero is super sensitive to smells. When his mating season hit tonight, all he could think about was her scent. He couldn’t help but sneak over for a few secret kisses.] **[I saw it! First, he ******, and then he just passed out from exhaustion.] My eyes widened in horror. I flung the snake off me. He opened his golden eyes, looking at me with pure, bewildered innocence. [Oh no, she found out.] [He’s so hurt. She thinks he’s dirty.] [He tried so hard to resist, but she just smells too good.] [He’s just a baby snake! How could he possibly resist the temptation of cuddling? It’s just snake nature.] [Don’t say any more. He’s so ashamed he can’t even face her.] … The white snake lowered his head and quickly slithered out the open window.

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I found out my wife’s grandfather was in the ICU, fading fast, while I was on a road trip with her parents. To give them a chance to say one last goodbye, I drove for six hours straight through the night. I pulled into a service plaza halfway there, figuring the old couple could use a bite to eat. The lot was packed, so I took one of the exclusive reserved spots near the entrance. I made sure to leave my number on the dash with a note. We were halfway through our meal when I overheard the table next to us talking about some guy smashing up a car outside. I walked out to see the front end of my Lincoln crumpled like a tin can, the windshield a spiderweb of shattered glass on the pavement. A man was still there, swinging an axe, hacking at the car’s body with a wild frenzy. As I got closer, I realized the universe had a sick sense of humor. The man with the axe was Kevin Shaw, my wife’s personal assistant. 1 Seeing my car, a gift from my parents for my 25th birthday, completely mangled… it hurt. I never asked what it cost, only that it was a custom state-commissioned model, one of only a hundred in the world. I walked up to him. “Are you done?” He recognized me, a cold smirk spreading across his face. “Well, well, if it isn’t Mr. Kane. What brings you out here? Enjoying the show?” I keep this car in a private garage. I rarely drive it, only bringing it out for this trip with my in-laws. Very few people would even know it was mine. I figured he must have seen the contact info I left on the dash. “Don’t tell me this car is yours,” Kevin sneered, his tone dripping with disdain. “Nah, a man of your… status… wouldn’t be caught dead in a domestic.” As a junior assistant at the company, his arrogance was fueled entirely by my wife, Isabelle. No matter what mistake he made at the office, she was always there to cover for him. I managed a small smile. “Some domestic cars you can afford to smash. Others, not so much.” Kevin just scoffed. “Is that a joke, Mr. Kane? I pull in over thirty grand a month, plus a two-hundred-thousand-dollar bonus last quarter. There isn’t a domestic car on the planet I can’t afford to wreck.” Ignorance is bliss, I guess. Spoken like a small man who’s never seen the real world. “I left my number on the dashboard. You didn’t see it?” “Did you? Maybe you forgot.” I knew this was personal. He was always pulling petty stunts at the office, spreading rumors that I was just a pretty-faced freeloader who’d married into the Ross family fortune without an ounce of talent to my name. “Does Isabelle know you act like this in public?” Kevin laughed. “What’s Isabelle got to do with this? You’re the one who parked in my spot.” This service plaza, if I remembered correctly, was leased by the Ross family. They’d paid for a three-year contract and hired a private firm to manage it. At every plaza they controlled, there were two exclusive parking spots. One was for Isabelle. The other was always kept empty. The realization that the empty spot now belonged to Kevin Shaw confirmed a suspicion I’d had for a long time. Isabelle was cheating on me. Kevin’s grin widened. “Oh, that’s right, you wouldn’t know, would you, Mr. Kane? There are only two reserved spots here. I’ve earned Ms. Ross’s high regard. Not like you, who married in three years ago and can’t even get a parking spot to your name.” He was right. It sounded pathetic. Three years of marriage, three years of bending to her every whim, and in the end, I was worth less than the dog at her heel. I was done talking. “I suggest you come up with a solution, right now. I’d rather not call the police.” “A solution? You want me to pay for it?” He burst out laughing. “Fine. I’ll wire you a hundred grand. Consider the car bought.” Seeing his absolute confidence, I sighed. “It’s 2025, man. What century are you living in?” “Then how much do you want?” “We can discuss compensation later,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “But if you make me late, you’ll have to live with the consequences.” Isabelle’s grandfather was on his deathbed. My in-laws were desperate to see him one last time. If we were delayed because of this… well, I could only do so much. If a person was determined to stand in my way, what could I do? 2 Kevin still didn’t grasp the gravity of the situation. He thought I was making empty threats. He just raised an eyebrow. “You take my spot, and now you’re blaming me? Smashing your car was a warning. Next time, it won’t be so simple.” “Oh? You planning on smashing me next?” He shrugged. “Who knows? But you’re definitely not leaving tonight.” “You’re mistaken. I’m just the driver.” My father-in-law, wondering what was taking so long, came out to find me. He saw the wrecked car and froze. Kevin had never met Isabelle’s father and assumed he was mine. He couldn’t resist a parting shot. “Actions have consequences. Figure it out yourselves.” As he turned to leave, I stepped in front of him. “That old couple is in a hurry to get home. You’re playing with fire.” Kevin shoved me aside without a second thought. “What the hell do I care where they’re going?” My father-in-law was frantic. We were less than a hundred miles from home. If we left now, we could still make it. He came over to me, his voice trembling. “Alex, this young man is completely out of line. It was just a parking spot. Did he really have to destroy the car?” I threw my hands up. “Kids these days. Short fuses.” “So what do we do? How do we get home?” Kevin chimed in, his voice dripping with schadenfreude. “Plenty of ways. You could walk. ‘Course, at your age, you’d probably croak after a few steps.” “How dare you speak like that?” my father-in-law sputtered. “Don’t you have parents? Elders in your own family?” That struck a nerve. Kevin was the product of a messy divorce, raised by an aunt. The topic was a raw wound. “What did you say, you old fossil? What business is it of yours if I have family? Do I eat your food? Wear your clothes? Live in your house?” “We can compensate you! We’ll pay you for the spot! Why did you have to smash the car?” my father-in-law pleaded. Honestly, this whole trip had been a nightmare. The old couple treated me less like a son-in-law and more like a servant. But the worst part was when someone would ask if I was their son or son-in-law, and they’d just mumble and evade the question before finally saying I was their “helper.” It was laughable, but I was too tired to argue. My marriage to Isabelle was already a sham. “Smashing the car was me being nice,” Kevin sneered. “The old me would’ve broken your legs.” That terrified my father-in-law. He hid behind me. “Alex, maybe we should call the butler to come pick us up?” “Right now? I don’t think he’ll make it in time. That’s hours of driving.” I was just being honest, but my father-in-law was practically jumping out of his skin. He was ready to buy a car on the spot if he had to. A hundred grand to see his father one last time? To him, it was worth it. I didn’t object. I turned to the small crowd that had gathered. “Anyone willing to sell their car? Two hundred thousand, cash transfer right now! As long as it can drive a hundred miles, I’ll take it!” People looked at me like I was crazy. But one guy with a beat-up minivan tentatively raised his hand. “Uh… you’d buy my old Astro van?” “Absolutely. Drive it over here. We’ll do the transfer.” Seeing I was serious, a few other drivers rushed to get their vehicles. But before anyone could make a deal, Kevin reappeared with a bullhorn. “LISTEN UP!” he blared. “ANYONE WHO SELLS A CAR TO THIS GUY TONIGHT ISN’T LEAVING THIS PLAZA! YOU’VE BEEN WARNED!” A couple of guys scoffed. Who would turn down 200k for an old junker? They were quickly proven wrong. A group of thuggish-looking security guards dragged them away. It was clear Kevin was in charge here. At this service plaza, he was king. 3 There was no police substation here. When someone tried to dial 911, Kevin had his goons surround them, ordering them to snatch the phone out of anyone’s hand if they tried to make a call. It was late, the security guards looked menacing, and most people decided it was better to just mind their own business. I was amazed at Kevin’s audacity. This wasn’t a rest stop; it was a bandit’s hideout. Of course, Kevin also promised everyone that if they waited thirty minutes, they could leave, and all their food and drinks would be on the house. “Free?” I challenged him. “Do you have any idea how much that will cost? Did you clear this with Isabelle? If this is your call, you won’t be able to afford the losses.” He just shrugged, completely unconcerned. His only goal was to screw me over. My father-in-law suddenly asked, “Isn’t this the plaza Isabelle’s company leased a while back?” When I nodded, he pulled out his phone to call his daughter. Before he could dial, Kevin slapped it out of his hand. “Are you deaf, old man? Didn’t you hear what I said? Anyone makes a call here, they answer to me!” “This place belongs to my daughter!” he roared back. “I’m calling her to deal with this!” The clock was ticking. Every second we wasted felt like a lifetime. Kevin just laughed. “Getting bolder in your old age, aren’t you?” “You dare insult me? My daughter is Isabelle Ross! You must know her!” Even hearing her name didn’t faze Kevin. He was convinced the old couple were my parents. “You do this now,” I warned him, “and you’ll regret it when she gets here.” “Ha! Don’t try to use her to scare me!” he shot back. “Even if Ms. Ross shows up, you’re the one in the wrong. What’s it got to do with me?” Seeing his absolute lack of fear, I finally understood just how much power Isabelle had given him. Enough to let him run this place like his own personal fiefdom. “You sure about that?” I pulled out my own phone and dialed Isabelle. Kevin watched me, a defiant look in his eyes. She picked up almost immediately, her voice flat and cold. “I’m in a meeting. Make it quick.” I told her my car had been smashed. “Okay,” she replied without a moment’s hesitation. “So it’s smashed. We’ll buy a new one when you get back.” Before I could say another word, she hung up. 4 Isabelle’s indifference was a cold slap in the face. Kevin roared with laughter. “That’s it? She hung up? What’d she say? Let me guess: ‘figure it out yourself’?” My father-in-law looked at me, his eyes wide. “Alex, is that really what she said?” I could see the anger starting to burn in his gaze, not for my sake, but at his own daughter’s callousness. “Dad, Isabelle said she’s in a meeting. She’s busy.” “That’s no excuse!” he boomed. “She just can’t be bothered with us!” “He’s right. Ms. Ross doesn’t want to be bothered with you,” Kevin gloated. He then turned to me with a smug grin. “I bet you I can get her here with one phone call.” “She’s in a meeting,” I repeated, realizing how naive I sounded even as the words left my mouth. “She won’t come for anyone.” Kevin was already dialing. He put the phone on speaker. It rang once before she picked up. “Kevinnnn,” she cooed, her voice now a playful, sugary purr. “I’m in a meeting, you know.” The same words, but a universe of difference in tone. The cold indifference was gone, replaced by a flirtatious warmth. “I know, Ms. Ross,” Kevin chuckled. “I just missed you. Wanted to hear your voice.” “Oh, stop it. Call me Isabelle. Don’t be such a stranger.” Hearing my wife’s syrupy voice made me want to laugh. In all our years of marriage, I had never heard her speak like that, never once seen her act playful or coy. The Isabelle I knew was a powerhouse, a force of nature. Apparently, that was just for show. My father-in-law stared at the phone, his face a mask of disbelief, as if he couldn’t process that the voice belonged to his daughter. Before he could speak, Kevin cut in. “Isabelle, I’ve run into a little trouble here. Can you come down?” “Of course,” she said instantly. “Send me your location. I’m on my way.” In a meeting? No time? I let out a bitter, silent laugh. I couldn’t imagine a more humiliating moment. Whose wife was she, exactly? Kevin turned to me, his chest puffed out. “You hear that? Isabelle’s on her way. Anything else you’d like to say?” He looked so triumphant. I had lost, completely and utterly. But I had been preparing myself for this. The disappointment was real, but now I was more curious to see the look on Isabelle’s face when she saw her parents. Forty minutes later, a news alert popped up on my phone. Leo Ross, former chairman of Ross Industries, has passed away due to illness at the age of 89. My father-in-law saw the notification over my shoulder. His face went from confusion to rage, and finally, to utter despair. They knew. Even if we left now, it was too late. The chance to see his father one last time was gone. A wound that would never heal. Just then, a sleek sports car pulled up. Isabelle stepped out. So much for being “in a meeting”—she was perfectly made up, dressed not in her usual power suit, but in a sexy, form-fitting knit dress and stilettos that drew stares from everyone around. “Isabelle, over here!” Kevin waved her over. She saw him and broke into a smile I had never seen before—warm, tender, and undeniably intimate. The old me would have been consumed by jealousy. The new me felt nothing. When she finally saw me, the smile vanished. “Why did you park in Kevin’s spot?” she demanded. “You deserved to have your car smashed.” “There was a reason,” I started. “I was with—” “I don’t want to hear your excuses,” she cut me off. “Fine. Then pretend I never said anything.” “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you blaming me?” Faced with her irrational anger, I simply turned away. She was about to erupt when my father-in-law emerged from the restroom. The first words out of his mouth when he saw her were, “You unfilial child! You finally decided to show up!”

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The war against the Shadowlands was over. My sister’s husband returned a hero. Mine came back in a casket. Everyone said what a tragedy it was, how pitiful I was. But I knew the truth. The man standing beside her wasn’t her husband, Kael. It was my husband, Kaiden. They were identical twins, their power so closely matched that no one could spot the difference. “Lyra, you have to understand,” Kaiden had explained to me in secret. “I’m doing this for the stability of the kingdom.” “My brother was the Crown Prince,” he’d said, his voice a low murmur. “If the Dragon Lords learn their heir has fallen, it will trigger a civil war.” “Besides,” he added, his hand finding mine, “your sister… Sera is so gentle, so pure. She couldn’t handle the grief. I’m just looking after her until things settle.” “Once the succession is secure, I’ll come back to you. I promise.” And I, like a fool, believed him. I believed him right up until the moment he had me sentenced to death for colluding with the enemy, my flesh torn apart by a thousand arcane blades. As my life faded, I saw him holding my sister, his touch intimate and possessive. It had all been a lie. A calculation. I open my eyes again, and I’m back. Back to the day of the Dragon Lords’ great victory, the day the news of my husband’s death arrived like a shroud. Kaiden, wearing his brother’s face, holds my sister’s hand while she weeps. The assembled Lords look at me with expressions of profound sympathy. This time, I don’t hesitate. I will remarry. Kaiden thinks that by stealing the Crown Prince’s identity, he can claim a life of power and prestige. He has no idea that by casting me aside, he has just lost his one and only chance to become the true sovereign of the Dragon Lords. 1 “Lyra, Kaiden… he fell in battle!” The phantom agony of a thousand cuts makes my entire body tremble. When my eyes flutter open, those are the first words I hear. The man speaking is the Dragon King. He had two sons. One was the Crown Prince, who married my sister, Seraphina. The other was my husband, Kaiden. Now, the King, who should have been long dead in my previous life, sits on his throne, his face a mask of grief as he stares at the ornate coffin before us. A wild, fierce joy surges through me. I’m alive. I’m back. Before I can speak, my sister’s voice cuts through the haze, soft and condescending. “Little sister, I know you’re hurting. It’s okay to cry. Let it all out.” Sera looks down at me, her expression a perfect portrait of compassion, but the powder on her cheeks is flawless, undisturbed by a single tear. I lift my head, but my gaze travels past her to the man at her side. Her husband. No. Not him. Her husband is the one lying in that coffin. The man standing before me is Kaiden. My Kaiden. The man who should be holding me in my grief is instead entwined with my sister, their fingers laced together. He feels my stare and turns, his eyes widening in what looks like expertly feigned surprise. A bitter laugh dies in my throat. Kaiden’s acting is as impeccable as ever. In my last life, it took me months of doubt and secret searching to finally confirm my suspicions, to be certain that the man at Sera’s side was truly mine. This time, I see the truth instantly. A wrenching sob echoes through the hall. “My son! Oh, my beautiful boy!” The Queen throws herself against the coffin, tears like jewels spilling down her cheeks. Then, her grief-stricken eyes find me, and her face twists into a snarl. She points a trembling finger. “You! It was you! Your cursed luck killed my son!” The Queen and I had never seen eye to eye. She found me too headstrong, not graceful enough—unworthy of her perfect son. I had worried about it once. Kaiden had sworn to me, his voice earnest and full of devotion, “If my mother ever gives you trouble, I will always, always side with you.” Crack. The Queen’s palm connects with my cheek, the sting sharp and humiliating. Still not satisfied, she raises her hand again. The King, shaken from his sorrow, quickly orders his guards to intervene. “Enough!” The throne room dissolves into chaos. Through it all, Kaiden stands silently to the side, his hand still holding my sister’s. He even seems to be shielding her from the commotion. He reaches into his tunic and pulls out a shimmering blue gem, a Tide Jewel, presenting it to Sera as if it were a holy relic. “For you, my love,” he murmurs, his voice a low comfort meant only for her. “I found this just for you.” A hollow laugh escapes my lips. Phoenixes are creatures of fire, but I had always been drawn to the sea, always longed for a Tide Jewel of my own. I had begged Kaiden to bring one back from the war for me. He promised he would, but it never arrived. So, this is why. He did find one. He just never intended for it to be mine. He gave it to my sister, who has no need for it, no love for the water. The man who promised he would always protect me now watches impassively as his mother assaults me. Sensing my gaze, Sera shifts slightly, defensively, as if to shield Kaiden from my view. “Lyra, why are you staring at my husband?” she chides, her voice sharp. “Father is speaking to you.” The King’s voice is weary. “Lyra, by law, when a warrior falls, his widow must observe a century of mourning.” He sighs. “I will not force you, but I must ask… what are your intentions?” I shake my head, my voice clear and steady. “I choose the second path. I will remarry.” A stunned silence falls over the hall. Every eye in the room is on me, wide with disbelief. Kaiden is the first to speak, his voice cracking with indignation. “Absurd! Lyra, how could you marry another?” Now, even the King and Sera notice that something is wrong. The King, though puzzled, speaks gently. “Kael, this is a private matter for your sister-in-law. The choice must be hers.” Kaiden falls silent, his jaw tight, his eyes boring into me. My sister, however, is even more incensed. She steps forward, her eyes flashing with condemnation. “Lyra, your husband’s body is still warm, and you’re already screaming to remarry instead of mourning him?” Her voice rises. “Do you want the entire world to think everyone from the Phoenix bloodline is as cold-hearted and faithless as you?” The Queen glares at me with pure venom. “If Kaiden hadn’t insisted on marrying you, I never would have allowed a viper like you into this family!” I meet their fury with a calm I don’t feel. “If Kaiden truly loved me as much as you all say, he wouldn’t want me to waste my life away in mourning.” I raise my chin. “I will remarry!” “You—” Kaiden starts, desperate. The King cuts him off. “Enough. Lyra has made her decision. So be it.” He looks at me, his gaze heavy. “However, the ancient pact between our houses stands. You may remarry, Lyra, but you must choose a son of the Dragon Lords.” I turn to face the crowded hall, the sea of stunned faces. I raise my voice so that all can hear. “Is there any man here who will take me as his wife?” No one moves. A few younger lords look like they might step forward, only to be yanked back by their families. Others meet my gaze for a split second before looking away as if they’d just seen a serpent. A flicker of despair touches me. The Fates have given me only two paths: a century of lonely widowhood or remarriage. Is my destiny truly unchangeable? Seeing my predicament, Kaiden can’t resist a smug, cutting remark. “You see, Lyra? No one dares to marry a faithless woman like you. You should accept your fate and mourn properly.” His tone is so confident, so utterly certain of my defeat, it makes my stomach churn. And then, a figure descends from the vaulted ceiling, landing silently before the throne. “I will.” My eyes focus, and I recognize him. It’s Jax, the Warlord of the Dragon Lords. He has a fearsome reputation, a man they call the God of Slaughter, yet he kneels now on one knee before the King. “Your Majesty,” he says, his voice a low gravel. “I will marry Lyra.” Kaiden’s composure shatters. “Jax! This is none of your concern!” He points a finger at me. “A word of friendly advice. My brother just died, and she’s already rushing to find a new husband. Are you sure you want to bring that kind of curse into your house? Are you not afraid she’ll be the death of you, too?” Jax rises and steps in front of me, shielding me from Kaiden’s venom. His brow furrows. “Your Highness, Lyra is your brother’s widow. Instead of protecting her, you’re slandering her.” “I’m speaking the truth!” Kaiden insists. Jax ignores him completely, turning to face me. His eyes, intense and serious, meet mine. “Lyra, will you marry me?” he asks. “I will be loyal to you for all my lives, forever by your side. Let the Heavens be my witness. If I break this vow, may my soul be extinguished.” I’m stunned. In his gaze, there is nothing but unwavering sincerity. I find myself nodding. “Yes.” It is done. Kaiden has no further grounds to object. Jax and I are bound in union right then and there, a simple, powerful ritual before the court. When it’s over, the exhausted King waves a dismissive hand at me. “Go.” He then turns to the rest of the court, his voice heavy with sorrow. “I am old, and I have lost a son. I no longer have the strength to rule.” “In three days, I will pass the crown to Kael.” Kael. My sister’s dead husband, whose name Kaiden has stolen. A chill runs down my spine. In my past life, the King never abdicated. Not once, right up until the day Kaiden had me executed. Why has he decided to step down so soon this time? Before I can process it, Kaiden walks past me with the departing crowd. As he passes, he leans in close, his voice a venomous whisper only I can hear. “You bitch. You will regret this.” That night, I move my belongings from Kaiden’s grand palace to Jax’s stark, militaristic domain. The servants’ whispers follow me down the halls. “The Warlord is a great man, but his judgment in women is questionable.” “The second prince’s body isn’t even cold, and she’s already moved on. How could she possibly be a good wife?” “Didn’t the Queen say she was a bad omen? I fear for the Warlord’s life.” … I listen to the gossip from outside my window with a wry smile. I turn to Jax and gesture with my chin towards the door. “The great Warlord’s reputation, ruined by me,” I say, my tone light and self-mocking. Jax’s brow darkens. “Don’t say that.” His voice is stern. “Lyra, give me half a day. I will make sure you never hear them speak ill of you again.” I sigh, a genuine wave of weariness washing over me. “Honestly, I don’t care.” Compared to my last life—a living widow to Kaiden, suffering endless humiliation only to be publicly executed by a thousand cuts—this is paradise. Jax has provided for me with the finest of everything, equal to what I had in the royal palace. I am comfortable and safe. I am more than content. Before the lights are extinguished, I hear him mutter under his breath, so quiet I almost miss it. “Let them talk. As long as I have you, none of it matters.” I don’t sleep at all that night. A few days later, a summons arrives from my sister. She is about to be crowned Queen, and handmaidens are fussing around her with a heavy, opulent coronation gown. She excitedly holds the crown above her head, turning to me with a glint in her eye. “Lyra, tell me honestly. Who looks better in this, me or the old Queen?” I remain silent. She continues, talking more to herself than to me. “You know, sometimes a person just has to accept their fate.” A cruel little smile plays on her lips. “You were always the more talented one, weren’t you? But in the end, who’s becoming Queen? Me.” She has been like this since we were children, always needing to feel superior. My gaze drifts over the cluttered vanity table and lands on the Tide Jewel Kaiden gave her. A flash of memory, sharp and clear, sparks in my mind. When we were young, during a training exercise, my sister was dragged into the sea by a water sprite. She nearly drowned. Ever since, she has had a deep-seated fear of the ocean and hates anything related to it. She despises Tide Jewels. Kael, her actual husband, was meticulous. He knew this. He remembered every little detail about her. My voice is a raw whisper when I finally speak. “Did you honestly not know it wasn’t him?” Sera’s hand freezes mid-air. And in that single, frozen moment, I have my answer. In my last life, through all the pain and confusion, I never once suspected my sister. To me, she was just another victim of Kaiden’s deception, even if we were never close. But her reaction now tells a different story. She knew. She was part of it. Tears well in my eyes, hot and furious. “Sera, are you insane?” I demand. Clang. She slams a phoenix-shaped hairpin onto the table, her patience gone. She turns to me, her eyes cold as ice. “What if I did?” I stare at her, stunned into silence. A chilling smile spreads across her face. “Let me be perfectly clear. As long as he is the Crown Prince, and as long as I become Queen, I don’t give a damn who my husband is.” She leans in, her voice dropping to a threatening whisper. “As for you, you will be a good little widow.” “If you behave, I’ll be sure to take care of you once I’m Queen. But if you breathe a word of this to anyone,” she hisses, “I will destroy you.” An icy dread washes over me, colder than any fear I’ve ever known. Her words are almost identical to the ones Kaiden used on me in my last life. In the end, neither of them showed me any mercy. Just then, voices sound from outside the chamber. The curtain parts, and Kaiden enters with the King and Queen. They all stop short when they see me. Kaiden’s brow furrows, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. “Lyra? What are you doing here?” The Queen’s voice is dripping with sarcasm. “Shouldn’t you be with your new husband? What business do you have in the royal palace?” Sera immediately begins to cry, pressing herself against Kaiden’s side. “It’s not Lyra’s fault. She’s just… she’s in so much pain from losing her husband, she’s not thinking clearly.” Kaiden wraps an arm around her, glaring at me. “Lyra, none of us wanted to see my brother die. But you not only refused to mourn him, you remarried in defiance of his memory, and now you come here to harass your sister?” He points toward the door. “Get out.” I stare at Kaiden, at his false righteousness and his stolen life, and suddenly, a slow smile spreads across my face. “Gladly.” Justice is not denied, merely delayed. The next day, Jax and I are summoned to attend Kaiden’s coronation. He is masquerading as Kael, and the King has named him as the successor. Although he still needs the formal recognition of the Heavens to complete the ceremony and receive the ancient power of the Dragon Kings, everyone—including Kaiden himself—believes it’s a mere formality. He stands there now, clad in gleaming silver armor, with an equally radiant Sera on his arm. He greets the assembled lords with the easy grace of a man born to rule. I watch him, and I can’t help but remember something from my past life. The King had once asked Kaiden if he felt any resentment that his twin, Kael, had been named Crown Prince. Kaiden had answered with perfect sincerity, “My brother is noble and kind, his talent far surpasses my own. He is the rightful heir. As his younger brother, I am nothing but proud.” His actions today are a grotesque mockery of those words. I shake my head, a bitter smile on my lips. How could I have been so blind to such a deeply false man? Soon, Kaiden and Sera make their way over to us. He glances at Jax, a flash of jealousy in his eyes, before speaking to me with feigned concern. “Lyra, I know you still carry a torch for Kaiden. But you’re the one who chose to remarry. You should focus on your new life now.” Before I can respond, Jax replies smoothly, “Your Highness need not worry. Lyra is very good to me.” A warmth spreads through my chest. I look at the smug, triumphant couple before me and offer a gentle warning. “Your… Highness. Are you so certain that the Heavens will accept your claim today?” Sera’s brow immediately crinkles. “What’s that supposed to mean? Lyra, are you cursing us?” Kaiden’s glare is filled with hatred, but with so many watching, he restrains himself. He simply pulls Sera closer. “Don’t lower yourself by arguing with her, my love. Let’s go.” I sigh and lean back against Jax’s solid frame, saying no more. The coronation begins. Kaiden ascends the ceremonial steps, his eyes fixed greedily on the crown in the King’s hands. The High Priest begins the incantation, his voice booming across the silent square. “We beseech the Heavens to bestow their blessing and pass the sacred power to the heir!” CRACK-BOOM! Thunder rolls across the sky, gathering in dark, angry clouds. Just as the leader of the Phoenixes must endure a rebirth through fire, every new Dragon King must undergo a baptism by celestial lightning. If the Heavens approve, the King and his Queen are left unharmed, infused with divine power. Kaiden takes Sera’s hand, and they stand together at the center of the altar. BOOM! The first bolt of lightning strikes. I see it clearly—the color drains from both of their faces. Then comes the second bolt, and the third… Sera coughs violently, spitting a mouthful of blood, and collapses to her knees. Kaiden’s face is now ashen. The King and Queen leap to their feet in shock. A murmur of confusion and fear ripples through the crowd. “When the last King received the blessing, it wasn’t like this.” “Could it be… that the Crown Prince and his wife are not recognized by the Heavens?” There are eighty-one bolts in total. What should be a blessing has become torture. By the tenth bolt, Kaiden is on his knees beside Sera. In a panic, the King throws up a magical barrier, shielding them from the storm’s fury. But in doing so, he has invalidated the coronation. The square is deathly silent. Everyone is staring at Kaiden and my sister, waiting for an explanation. Kaiden struggles to his feet, looking up at his father. “Father, perhaps there was an error in the ritual. I am willing to try again.” The King hesitates, his face a canvas of doubt. I let out a soft sigh, but my voice carries clearly across the silence. “It’s useless. Stop struggling.” All eyes turn to me. “How can the Heavens recognize two impostors?”

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Three years after our wedding, my pilot husband, Vernon, had stood me up at City Hall eighteen times. The first time, his female apprentice was on a test flight. I waited at the courthouse all day. The second time, he got a call from her, made a sharp U-turn, and left me on the side of the road. After that, it became a pattern. Every time we scheduled a day to get our marriage license, something would “happen” to his apprentice. Eventually, I decided to leave him. But when I boarded the plane to Paris, he chased me across the world, a man unhinged. 01 We’d had a wedding three years ago, but Vernon had never made it legal. Today was a milestone: his one-thousandth successful flight. It was also the seventeenth time he had promised we would finally get our marriage license. But at his celebration dinner, while his direct supervisor was pressuring me to drink, Vernon was busy trading bites of food and feeding sips of wine to his apprentice, Serena. I was fighting a high fever, drinking until I was about to pass out, and he didn’t even glance my way. I could see the pity in our colleagues’ eyes. It was painfully obvious to everyone who I was doing this for. When the dinner finally ended, Vernon, who was supposed to drive us straight to City Hall, bailed on me once again. He pulled the car up to the restaurant entrance, then held up a hand to stop me from getting in. “Serena drank too much for me tonight. I’m taking her home,” he said, his tone clipped. “You can just grab a cab.” He didn’t stop there. “We probably won’t make it to the courthouse this afternoon. We’ll do it another day.” Without waiting for my reaction, he got out, walked around the car, and gently helped his apprentice into the passenger seat. Eight years together, three years of a supposed marriage. This was the seventeenth time Vernon had postponed our life together for Serena. Normally, this would be my cue to break down, to scream and cry, to demand to know who his real wife was, who had just spent the entire evening taking metaphorical bullets for him. But this time, I just smiled faintly. “Okay. Drive safe.” Vernon flinched, surprised by my calm reaction, but his face quickly hardened back into its usual indifference. “I’ll pick up a gift for you on my way home tonight to make it up to you.” He slid into the driver’s seat and sped off, but not before carefully rolling up the passenger-side window, shielding his drunk apprentice from the wind. He used to hate the smell of alcohol in his car. Any time I took a drink for him, he would lower the convertible top, even in the dead of winter. He certainly never would have rolled the window up. I realize now it was never about the smell. It was just about the person in the car. The midday Atlanta heat was suffocating, making sweat bead on my skin, but my heart felt like a block of ice. I took a deep breath and tucked the marriage license application back into my purse. I knew then that it was time to let go of our eight years together. 02 That afternoon, I went straight back to the office and handed my supervisor my resignation letter. “Does Vernon know you’re leaving?” he asked, shocked. After all, I had been the airline’s top-rated flight attendant for seven consecutive years. My future here was bright. I offered a sad smile. “I’ll tell him tonight. Not that he’ll care.” “I just don’t get it,” he sighed, his voice full of regret. “You two pioneered new routes together, won ‘Best Crew’ awards. Three years ago, even the CEO came to your wedding. Everyone was so envious of you both, but now…” He was right. Those were beautiful memories. But memories were all they were. There was no going back. It was after ten by the time I got home from the office. The house was dark and silent. Empty. Then my phone screen lit up. A notification from Serena’s latest post, where she had pointedly tagged me. “Thanks to my amazing mentor for spending the whole afternoon with me! To pay you back, I’m taking you to the Coldplay concert tomorrow! So excited ~” I knew then that Vernon wouldn’t be coming home, despite his promise. This had happened more times than I could count over the past three years. I made some instant ramen and opened my laptop. My inbox was filled with offers from more than a dozen international airlines. My cursor hovered over the email from Air France, and without a second thought, I clicked ‘Accept.’ Then I booked a one-way ticket to Paris, departing in two days. Five years ago, on a flight to Paris, Vernon had faced the worst crisis of his career. Since that day, the word “Paris” had become taboo. He refused to fly there, and he made sure I never did either. Paris it is, Vernon, I thought. This way, we’ll never have to see each other again. 03 The next morning, I woke up and started packing. I was halfway through when Vernon walked in, wearing a crisp pink shirt. A heavy cloud of rose perfume followed him through the door. The scent hit me, and I froze. He used to despise perfume. Because of him, I hadn’t worn a single drop in years. I’d even thrown out my entire treasured collection. It was clear now. He didn’t hate perfume. He just hated it on me. He saw my suitcases and stopped short. “Serena took a long time to sober up last night. I got a hotel room instead of coming home,” he offered, a flicker of something in his eyes. I looked up at him, surprised. It was the first time in three years he’d bothered to explain himself. I just nodded, saying nothing. He walked over to me, his eyes on my bags. “Packing for a flight?” “Something like that,” I said. He let out a breath he seemed to have been holding. “I have to run an errand today,” he said, his relief palpable. “I just came back to grab something. I won’t be staying for lunch.” “Okay.” I didn’t look up, just kept folding clothes. I had planned to tell him I’d quit during lunch, to finally put an end to our eight years. It seemed I wouldn’t get the chance. Vernon grabbed a red gift bag from the closet, picked up his jacket from the hook by the door, and rushed out. CRASH! As the front door clicked shut, the photo frame that had hung there for eight years suddenly crashed to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces. I looked over at the mess of splintered glass. It was a picture of Vernon and me at our first concert together, our hands clasped, faces beaming with joy. He had promised me that day that no matter how busy he got, we would go to a concert together every single year. He’d forgotten all about that promise the moment Serena became his apprentice. The only sound in the empty room was the ticking of the clock. After a long silence, I swept up the shards of glass and threw the smiling photo, along with the last vestiges of my broken heart, into the trash. 04 That evening, exhausted after finishing my packing, I was lying in bed when my best friend called. “What the hell is wrong with Vernon? This is too much, Chloe! Look at his story! He’s all over Serena, that little fox.” Her voice was vibrating with rage. “You’re not even divorced yet! How could he do this?” I opened my phone. The first story on my feed was Serena’s. In the photo, she was wearing a Van Cleef & Arpels clover necklace. In her hands was the red gift bag Vernon had come home to get that morning. So that’s what it was for. A concert gift for Serena. Her caption read: “Three years since we met, and I’m so lucky to have you. Happy third anniversary, Vernon! ♡” And then it hit me. Three years? Yes. Today was also my third wedding anniversary with Vernon. An anniversary we had never once celebrated. An anniversary I had completely forgotten myself. I let out a long breath. “He doesn’t need a divorce, Jessica,” I said quietly. “We never got the license.” “What?” “You’ve been married for three years, and he never legally married you?” Her shriek nearly deafened me. Yes. Three years since the wedding. And seventeen times he had stood me up at the courthouse. 05 Vernon came home at eleven, unusually early for him. He took off his jacket and turned to hang it on the hook behind the door. He froze, his hand hovering in mid-air, staring at the empty space where our photo used to be. “Where’s our picture?” he asked, a strange panic in his voice as he walked into the bedroom, still holding his jacket. “It fell. It broke.” He glanced at the trash can by the door and saw the broken glass. A look of relief washed over his face. He tossed his jacket aside and produced a shopping bag with an LV box inside. “I didn’t get a chance to give you your gift yesterday,” he said. “And since today is our third wedding anniversary… this is for you. Happy anniversary.” He placed the bag on the bed. For a moment, I thought I’d misheard him. After three years, he actually remembered our anniversary? But then I saw the receipt peeking out of the bag. The purchase time was from half an hour ago. He must have seen Serena’s post and been reminded, picking up a gift on his way home. He didn’t know I already owned two of this exact same bag. I just stared at him, silent. “Oh, right,” he started, his tone shifting. “The annual airline awards are coming up. I was wondering if you’d consider stepping down this year? Serena’s been in the industry for three years now, and her biggest dream is to win Best Flight Attendant, just like you. You’ve won it so many years in a row… maybe you could let her have it this year?” He stumbled over the words, avoiding my eyes. A bitter laugh caught in my throat. So, this last-minute gift came with a price tag after all. “Fine,” I said calmly. Not just this year. Next year, the year after that… I would never compete with her for another award. Because after tonight, I would be gone. “You… you agree?” My quick acceptance seemed to throw him off. He kept stealing glances at me from the corner of his eye. He couldn’t leave it alone. “I mean, she’s my apprentice, you’re her mentor’s wife. It’s only right,” he said, as if trying to convince himself. “By the way, I’m not flying tomorrow. Let’s go to the courthouse in the morning and get the license.” I said nothing. He seemed to remember my packing. His voice softened. “Oh, I almost forgot. You have a flight tomorrow, don’t you? What time?” “Three in the afternoon.” I looked at him, steeling myself to use this last chance to tell him I was leaving. But before I could speak, his phone rang. It was Serena. Her high-pitched, whiny voice drifted through the phone. She’d gotten her period and didn’t have any pads. She needed Vernon’s help. He hung up and looked at me, a guilty expression on his face. “Uh… Serena has a bit of an emergency. She’s all alone and can’t handle it. I should probably go over there.” For the first time, his voice held a trace of a question, as if seeking my permission. I swallowed the words I was about to say and forced a smile. “It’s fine. You should go.” Relief washed over his face. He stood up immediately. “A three o’clock flight gives you plenty of time,” he said as he walked to the door. “Tomorrow, ten AM. We’ll get the license. I promise, this time, no matter what happens, I’ll be there.” A bitter smile touched my lips. He wouldn’t even give me the chance to break up with him face-to-face. The next morning, I packed my last bag. I didn’t go to the courthouse. I went straight to the airport. By noon, I still hadn’t received a single call from Vernon asking why I hadn’t shown up. It wasn’t until I was boarding my flight that a message from him finally came through: “Hey, sorry. Serena wasn’t feeling well this morning, I just got back from taking her to the hospital. We missed our appointment. As soon as you get back from your trip, I’ll take you to the courthouse first thing.” I read the message, my heart a placid lake. Of course. The eighteenth time was a no-show, too. “Don’t bother, Vernon,” I typed back. “I’ve resigned. I’m on my way to Paris. After today, we will never see each other again.” I sent the message and prepared to turn off my phone. But a second later, the chat window, which had been silent for so long, began to vibrate uncontrollably.

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After twelve years of marriage, my husband, Mark, who pulls in a seven-figure salary, fell in love with the new receptionist at his company. She’s nearly forty, not as pretty as me, not in as good of shape, yet in just six months, she’d apparently provided him with “immense emotional support.” Mark looked at me, his face etched with exhaustion. “The house, the cars, they’re all yours. Clara, can you just let me go?” I looked down, my voice steady. “Okay.” Later that day, I bought a new desk calendar and drew a circle around a date one month in the future. Divorce countdown: 30 days. 1 It had been exactly forty minutes since Mark told me he was having an affair and wanted a divorce when I slid the separation agreement across the table to him. As he’d offered, the house, the cars, and primary custody of our son were all mine. He would pay a one-time settlement of three million dollars for alimony and child support. After that, our son and I would never bother him again. Mark was on a conference call. When he glanced down and saw the words “Separation Agreement,” his expression flickered for a fraction of a second. Then, he simply nodded, acknowledging it. I left his home office and, to save us both time, began packing his things. It took three large suitcases. I was meticulous, even adding a box of his childhood photos from the attic so he wouldn’t forget anything. Finally, my eyes landed on our wedding photo in the corner of the room. In the picture, Mark was impossibly handsome, and my smile was radiant. We were wrapped in each other’s arms, bathed in sunlight. I could almost hear his voice from back then, a constant whisper in my ear. “Clara, I love you so much. I’m the luckiest man in the world.” We met in college. He was the brilliant, quiet kid in worn-out sneakers who couldn’t afford new textbooks. I had plenty of guys trying to date me, but I only had eyes for Mark. He was calm, kind, and handsome. He was perfect. We got married right after graduation. He and his best friend started a tech company from their garage. After I got pregnant with our son, Leo, I became a stay-at-home mom, pouring all my energy into supporting Mark and our family. As the company grew, so did the business dinners and networking events. I carved out time between school runs and household chores to go to the gym, to keep up with fashion, to be the polished wife he needed on his arm. And for a long time, Mark was the perfect husband. No matter how busy he was, he’d come home and help with Leo, cook dinner, and always, always take my side in any minor squabble with his mother. To the outside world, we were the couple everyone wanted to be. I don’t know when it started. The late-night “meetings.” The occasional all-nighter at the office. My friends would joke, “You better keep an eye on him.” I’d laugh it off, but a seed of anxiety had been planted. A few times, I brought dinner to the office for him and his team. Everything always seemed normal. A group of developers huddled around a whiteboard, and the new receptionist, waiting patiently at her desk. Her name was Helen. She was in her late thirties, thin, with short, unassuming hair. A plain woman with a surprisingly gentle voice. She always smiled and greeted me warmly. For years, I’d braced myself for this day. I imagined it might be a sharp, beautiful associate, or a bright-eyed intern, or even a powerhouse CEO he was partnering with. I never once considered the receptionist. I’d heard her story. She was divorced; her ex-husband had cheated on her. This was her first job in years, and she was grateful for it. She came in early, memorized everyone’s coffee orders, and sometimes brought in homemade pastries. A few of his employees even paid her to pack them a lunch every day. I remember telling Mark that she seemed like a good person going through a hard time, that he should look out for her. He’d been dismissive. “It’s a workplace, not a charity. I’ve already told her to stop selling lunches to the staff.” At the time, I’d teased him for being a heartless boss. Now, I realize he was probably just angry at the thought of her having to go home and cook for other people after a long day. As for why he chose today to tell me? It was because I’d made him his usual hangover remedy after he’d come home late last night. He just stared at the glass on the table, pushed it away slightly, and sat in silence. Then he looked up, his eyes full of that crushing weariness, and asked if we could get a divorce. He confessed he’d been seeing her for six months. Every late night at the office was a lie. They were at a hotel. My heart felt like it was shattering into a million pieces, but I held myself together. I asked him who it was. When he said the name “Helen,” I thought I’d misheard him. A profound sense of defeat washed over me. I felt cold. So incredibly cold. 2 By the time Mark finished his call, I had finished my dinner, cleaned the kitchen, and was sitting on the couch watching a show, acting as if nothing had happened. He went to take a shower. A few minutes later, his voice, automatic and familiar, called out from the bathroom. “Clara, hon? Where are my towels?” I didn’t turn around. “They’re packed. You can use one of mine if you want. I’ll throw it out after you leave.” The silence that followed was long and heavy. When he came out, he finally saw the three suitcases by the front door. He sat on the chair opposite me and nudged the separation agreement on the coffee table. “The child support,” he started, “I can give you a million and a half now, and the rest in monthly install…” I cut him off. “No. One lump sum. A clean break. I’m sure she wouldn’t want you to have any reason to stay in contact with me.” A flash of frustration crossed his face. “Leo is my son, too, Clara. I have a right to be a part of his life. I know this is my fault, and I’m willing to compensate you, but you don’t get to use our son as a weapon.” I paused my show and looked at him, really looked at him. “The affair is your fault. Paying for the life you’re abandoning is your responsibility. Given your net worth, the house and cars are a drop in the bucket. As for Leo, I’ve been his primary caregiver since the day he was born. He’s a sensitive kid who needs consistency. How much time, exactly, will you have for him while you’re in the honeymoon phase of your new relationship? Being a father is about more than just money. It’s about time and attention.” He was speechless. Finally, he said, “I’m not paying three million dollars to be cut out of my son’s life.” I flipped a page of the agreement. “The three million is for alimony and child support. If you want to contribute to his life in other ways, you’re welcome to deposit money into a separate college fund I’ll set up for him.” A bitter laugh escaped his lips. “Wow, Clara. I never knew you were so obsessed with money. It’s all you’re talking about.” “What else is there to talk about?” I asked quietly. “Is loving you a better option right now?” That shut him up. His face hardened. He picked up a pen and signed the papers with a sharp, angry stroke, then told me we’d file them at the courthouse tomorrow. He called his driver, and a few minutes later, he was gone. I finished my show and went to bed. The next morning, Leo ran out of his room and hugged me, chattering excitedly about a happy dream he’d had. Listening to him, I gently tested the waters, telling him that Daddy’s work was very busy, and he might have to go on a long business trip. In the past, he would have pouted and demanded to call Mark. This time, he just pursed his lips and said, “Oh. That’s okay. As long as I have you, Mommy.” That’s when I broke. Tears streamed down my face. I ran to the bathroom to compose myself. The deepest pain of this divorce wasn’t my own heartbreak; it was the guilt of taking away my son’s chance at a complete family. But I knew, deep down, this wasn’t my fault. After I dropped Leo off at school, Mark and I met at the courthouse and filed the papers. There was a mandatory 30-day waiting period. After that, we’d be officially divorced. Back in my car, I circled the date on my calendar. Divorce countdown: 30 days. 3 I debated whether to tell my parents. They’re retired teachers who live in the city, and I’m their only child. They’re open-minded, but my father’s health has been fragile lately. I decided to wait. But two days later, Mark called. It was strange; he never called, he always texted. He knew I’d see a text immediately. I realized I had deleted and blocked his number last night. I picked up. His voice was normal, as if nothing had changed. “Clara, your mom just called. She’s making a big dinner tonight and wants us to come over. I was thinking, with your dad’s health… maybe we can wait to tell them about this until he’s feeling stronger. What time should I pick you up? And his birthday is next Sunday. We should probably go together.” His words solidified my decision. I told my parents that evening. I met my mom for lunch and laid it all out. When I finished, she just reached across the table, took my hand, and squeezed it. “Okay,” she said softly, her eyes a little misty. “It’s okay. This happens. He was unfaithful, and you found out. The sooner you leave, the better. But Clara, I need you to promise me one thing.” She looked me straight in the eye. “Now that you’ve made this decision, you never, ever go back to him. No matter what.” I cried then, nodding. “I promise.” That night, my dad gave me a card with a check in it. He said today was a new beginning and that was worth celebrating. “I just want my baby girl to be happy,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. Driving home, I sobbed in my car for a long time. I had always been so afraid of disappointing them. They’ve been married for forty years and barely ever argue. When I chose Mark, the poor kid no one approved of, they supported me. Now that he was a success and everyone envied me, they were supporting my decision to leave him. I wiped my tears and glanced at the calendar on my passenger seat. Divorce countdown: 28 days. 4 The next day, my son told me Grandpa had called and invited him for a sleepover for the whole week. His face lit up talking about the new drone Grandpa promised to fly with him. I packed his little suitcase and dropped him off. As I was leaving, my mom hugged me. “Go do something for yourself, honey. Have some fun.” I got in my car, and in the rearview mirror, I saw her standing on the porch, watching until I was out of sight. I looked at myself in the mirror—pale, sad, exhausted. I took out my makeup bag and put on my brightest red lipstick. Then I went home, packed a bag of my own, and drove to the airport. I spent a week on a solo road trip, seeing new places, meeting new people, listening to their stories. When I came back, I felt lighter. I felt more like myself. I looked at the calendar. Divorce countdown: 21 days. 5 I got back just in time for my dad’s birthday party. They’d booked a private room at a nice restaurant. It was a small gathering, just close family and friends. Naturally, everyone was asking where Mark was. Just before dinner, my dad stood up to give a little speech. Right on cue, Mark walked in, dressed in a tailored suit, carrying several expensive gift bags. Everyone greeted him warmly. He waited for my dad to finish, then walked over. “Happy birthday, Dad,” he said, handing him a thick envelope. My dad just looked at it. “That’s very generous of you, Mark, but I can’t accept this. Since you and Clara are getting a divorce, it wouldn’t be right.” A stunned silence fell over the room. Mark’s face froze. “We’ve only filed the papers…” he said quietly. “It’s the same thing,” my dad said, then turned to his guests and cheerfully announced it was time to eat. Mark just stood there, clutching the gifts. My mom politely told him he should take them with him. He didn’t linger. After he left, no one mentioned his name again. It felt… good. The weight of being “Mrs. Mark Sullivan” was lifting. I was becoming Clara again. The staff in my building, who had always called me Mrs. Sullivan, started calling me Ms. Miller. I threw myself into a new project: opening a small café. I found a perfect spot for lease, already built out. It just needed my personal touch. I spent my days planning menus, choosing furniture, and interviewing staff. Leaving the café one evening, I glanced at the calendar in my car. Divorce countdown: 15 days. 6 As I pulled into my driveway, I got a call from Chrissy, a young, bubbly woman from Mark’s marketing department. She was always my favorite. “Clara!” she said, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Are you and Mr. Sullivan really getting a divorce?” I confirmed it was true. “Is it because of Helen?” she asked. I figured Mark had gone public with their relationship. Before I could answer, Chrissy let out a groan. “I knew it! I knew it was her! That’s why you haven’t brought us any of your amazing coffee and pastries lately! We miss you so much!” “Well,” I said, smiling for the first time in a while, “I’m opening my own café. You’ll have to come by for the grand opening. Everything’s on me.” She squealed with delight, then got back to the gossip. “You have no idea, Clara. The second you stopped coming around, she changed. Mark promoted her to Office Manager, and suddenly she’s on a total power trip. The sweet, smiling act is gone. And get this—she’s been buying dresses and shoes that are total knock-offs of your style. Everyone sees it. I have no idea what Mr. Sullivan is thinking.” I finally got home and saw Mark’s car in the driveway. He was in the living room, playing a video game with Leo. “Mommy, come play!” Leo shouted. “We can team up and beat Daddy!” In the old days, Mark would have scooped Leo up, laughing, and then playfully chased me around the house. Now, he just gently ruffled Leo’s hair. “Mommy’s had a long day, buddy. Maybe next time.” I was too tired to make small talk. I just told Mark to lock the door on his way out. He said he’d promised Leo he could spend the night. I just nodded and went to my room. As I closed the door, I heard his phone ring in the living room. His voice was low, but I could hear the irritation in it. “I told you, I’m just here to see Leo. What are you afraid of? We’ve already signed the papers… How many times do I have to tell you we are not sleeping in the same room!” He hung up, and a moment later, knocked on my door. “Clara? Something came up at work. I have to go. I’ll come by to see Leo tomorrow.” I just said “Okay” through the door. Before his car had even left the driveway, I got a notification: a fifty-thousand-dollar deposit into my account. The memo line read: “Take Leo out for a nice dinner tomorrow.” I ignored it and opened my laptop to work on my café business plan. A notification popped up from a number I didn’t recognize. It was a single smiley-face emoji. The profile picture was a generic bouquet of flowers. The account was blank. I scrolled up. The last time this person had contacted me was two years ago. I had no memory of it. I typed back a question mark. The reply was instantaneous. [You must feel pretty proud of yourself, huh?] In that instant, I knew. It was Helen. But… Mark had only hired her six months ago. Why was she in my contacts from two years ago? Had this anonymous account been silently watching my life for all that time? A chill went down my spine. [Whatever you did to make him stay tonight, I can have him back here in five minutes.] So, it was her. And Mark hadn’t met her six months ago. He’d known her for at least two years. Maybe longer. Then, a picture came through. It was Mark, shirtless and asleep in a hotel bed. A woman’s hand, not mine, rested on his chest. In the bottom corner, a timestamp: February 16, 2023. I stared at the date, and a wave of nausea hit me so hard I had to grab the trash can and vomit. February 16, 2023. The day of my father’s first heart surgery. Mark had been “out of the country on business” all month. He had pushed back meetings and moved mountains to fly home just in time. He’d spent the entire night before on a video call with me, calming my fears as I sat by myself in a sterile hospital waiting room. He’d arrived at dawn on the 16th, looking exhausted, and held my hand for hours while we waited. And now I knew. Sometime during that frantic trip home, he’d made a detour. He’d found the time to sleep with her. How could he have looked me in the eye after that? When I didn’t respond, she sent more photos, all neatly timestamped. One was from our wedding anniversary. Another was from Leo’s birthday. Each time, he had been with her first, before rushing home to play the part of the devoted husband and father. The sickness in my stomach was replaced by a cold, hard clarity. This wasn’t a mid-life crisis. He wasn’t bored with our quiet life. This wasn’t some grand, new love story. Our marriage had been rotten for years. I just hadn’t been able to smell it. I went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. Then I went back to my computer and saved every single photo. I knew why she was doing this now. The full three-million-dollar settlement hadn’t been paid. Mark had transferred about a million so far, but said the rest might take a little time to liquidate. She was afraid that if I made a scene, it would jeopardize his business, the money, and her future. She was betting on my desire for a quiet, dignified exit. She just hadn’t expected me to be this quiet. But there was one thing that didn’t make sense. If she had been this patient for two years, why the sudden panic? The divorce was almost final. Why would one night with his son push her over the edge? I looked at the clock and called Chrissy. She was out with some coworkers, and it turned out they were all talking about the office drama. They’d pieced together a few things. A couple of weeks ago, Mark had been at a business dinner and gotten drunk. The CEO of the company he was meeting with—a notoriously beautiful woman—had personally driven him home. Since then, she’d asked him out for “follow-up” meetings a few times. With me no longer in the picture, the sharks were circling. And Helen couldn’t stand it. “Clara, you’re so amazing, I hate telling you this,” Chrissy said, her voice full of genuine sympathy. “But he’s a jerk. You’re going to find someone so much better. No, forget men! You’re going to have the most successful café in the city, and be a total boss!” I actually laughed. “Thanks, Chrissy. I’ll work on it.” After we hung up, I looked at the calendar on my desk, the red circle glowing under my lamp. Divorce countdown: 14 days.

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In my last life, I won thirty million dollars in the lottery. I told my parents, bought them a house, a new car. I made them promise to keep it a secret from everyone. They promised. And then they turned around and told my cousin, Jessica. The next day, Jessica showed up with a DNA test, claiming she was my biological sister. My parents, overjoyed, welcomed her with open arms. Then they demanded I give half of my winnings to her. I refused. We fought. In the chaos, Jessica shoved me down the stairs. I spent the rest of my life as a vegetable. My parents forgave her. They let her be the daughter they’d always wanted. While they lived it up on my thirty million dollars, my lungs filled with fluid. I died of a hospital-acquired infection, alone. Then I opened my eyes. It was the day I won the lottery. And this time, I would not make the same mistakes. 1 The string of zeros in my bank account balance wasn’t a dream. It was real. I was back. And I was going to use this second chance. My phone buzzed, shaking me from my thoughts. “Annie, honey, is it true?” It was my mom, her voice practically vibrating with excitement. “What you texted? Did you really win something?” I leaned back, dangling the new debit card between my fingers. “Yeah, I did. I won 30.” “Thirty… thousand?” she asked, her breath catching. “Thirty dollars, Mom,” I said, a smile on my face that she couldn’t see, and wouldn’t have understood. “You thinking of something else?” “Well, what’s all the fuss in the group chat then? Jessica was just saying someone in our city won the big one. Thirty million dollars.” Ah, yes. I’d forgotten. In my last life, my parents had added Jessica to the family group chat. “Wow,” I said, pulling up a financial planning app on my phone. “Good for them. That’s some serious luck.” “Yeah, well. Just… come home soon, okay?” Mom said, the disappointment thick in her voice before she hung up. The moment the call ended, I requested the rest of the day off from work. I spent the afternoon driving all over town, opening multiple accounts at different banks and splitting the money between them. Call me paranoid. I’d earned it. If my parents wanted Jessica to be part of the family so badly, who was I to stand in their way? In fact, I was going to help them. I remembered that DNA test from my last life, and an idea began to form. I called an Uber and headed for Jessica’s apartment. “Jessica,” I said, standing in her doorway, doing my best to look overwhelmed and a little lost. I let my eyes drift around her cramped, stuffy rental. “What is it?” she asked, pointedly fiddling with a gaudy gold bracelet on her wrist, making sure I saw it. This time, I pretended I didn’t. “I think… I think our neighborhood is getting bought out.” Jessica’s eyes darted around, then she grabbed my arm and yanked me inside. “What are you talking about?” she hissed as soon as the door was shut. “I saw a zoning proposal,” I said, pulling up a screenshot someone had posted in the neighborhood Facebook group. “The city wants to build a new transit hub.” “And the payout? What’s the payout?” she asked, her eyes glued to the map on my phone. “It’s based on occupancy. Something like sixty thousand per legal resident.” I kept my voice vague, uncertain. I saw the light flare in her eyes. I knew, right then, that the hook was set. “What did your mom and dad say?” she pressed. “They said they’d take their hundred and twenty thousand, and I could use my sixty, plus a little extra I’ve saved, to make a down payment on a small condo for myself.” I was spinning the story out of thin air, but it sounded plausible enough. “You have money for a down payment?” Jessica asked, her voice laced with disbelief. I just grinned like an idiot. “Yeah, I’ve managed to save up about eight or nine thousand over the last few years. I was actually hoping I could borrow a little from you to round it out.” She stared at me, sizing me up. “I thought you only made, what, four thousand a month?” “I live at home, you know? Don’t have that many expenses.” I smiled and showed her the balance in my checking account on my banking app. The fish was on the line. The very next day, just like before, Jessica showed up at our house with a DNA test in her hand. Showtime. I stared at the report she’d slapped down on the kitchen table, feigning shock. “Mom? Dad? What… what is this?” “Annie, honey, let me explain,” Jessica started, her voice syrupy sweet. I just looked at her, waiting. I wanted to see how she’d play it this time. “When Mom and Dad were just kids, they had me,” she began, pulling an official-looking document from her purse. “They weren’t married, and their families would have disowned them. So, to avoid the scandal, they asked Aunt Carol—who couldn’t have kids of her own—to adopt me and raise me.” She was already calling my mother’s sister “Aunt Carol.” The nerve. I picked up the adoption certificate. The raised seal looked real. I felt a sudden, cold stillness in the room. “We thought you were going to be a boy,” Mom added, her voice trembling as she reached for Jessica’s hand. “So we let your sister go.” “All these years, you’ve suffered so much,” Dad said, his eyes filled with a pained, manufactured sympathy. “Dad, Mom, it’s my fault. I’m the one who failed you, not being there to take care of you,” Jessica sobbed, sinking to her knees in a display of pure theater. So I was the only one who had been kept in the dark. A flood of memories from my past life rushed back. The way my parents always paid Jessica’s rent. The way they made me bring her home-cooked meals every night after work. The way they had so easily forgiven her for putting me in a coma. “Oh, Jessica,” I cried, wrapping my arms around her in a hug. “You poor thing. You’ve been through so much.” If you want this daughter back so badly, I thought, then by all means. Have her. My parents explained everything—the shame of a teen pregnancy in their small town, the secret they’d carried for decades. They even told me a psychic once said I’d bring great fortune to the family. He was right, I guess, but I think he was probably just trying to save my life. “Mom, Dad,” Jessica said, wiping her tears away. “Annie mentioned something about the neighborhood buyout.” Here we go. I lowered my head to hide my smile. “Annie told you?” Dad asked, shooting me a disapproving look. “Dad, I didn’t think it was a secret. She’s not a stranger,” I said, my voice dripping with innocence. “Exactly,” Mom chimed in. “Annie said the payout is per person,” Jessica continued, her voice steady now. “I was thinking… I should have my residency officially transferred back here. That way, we can get a bigger share.” “But the buyout isn’t a sure thing yet, honey,” Dad said, hesitating. “But I’ll have to transfer it back home eventually anyway,” Jessica said, squeezing out a few more tears. “Mom, Dad, I just want to be here to take care of you.” “She really does, Mom, Dad,” I added, playing my part. “She just wants to be part of the family.” “What about your Aunt Carol?” Dad asked. “I’ve already talked to her. I’ll send her three hundred dollars a month for support. Of course,” she said, her eyes shifting to me, “I’ll need some help with that.” She was cornering me. “Of course, Jessica,” I said, my voice full of warmth. “It’s the least I can do. I mean, I’m the one who got to grow up here with them.” “Please, Dad? Just do this for her,” I begged. It was the second step of the plan, and it was falling perfectly into place. A few days later, my dad took care of the residency paperwork. In that same window of time, while he had the necessary documents out, I made copies and finalized the purchase of my condo and a new car. So my parents wouldn’t get suspicious, I moved my things out little by little, while Mom was busy making up for lost time with Jessica, taking her on shopping sprees for new clothes and jewelry. That night, as we lay in our beds in the room we now shared, I decided it was time. “Jessica,” I said into the darkness. “There’s something I need to tell you.” “What is it?” she said, her voice muffled, the glow of her brand-new iPhone illuminating her face. “The real reason Dad is so stressed about the buyout… The family’s in debt. Over a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. If the buyout goes through, we’ll get around two hundred and forty thousand total. We can use that to pay it all off, and maybe have enough left for a small place…” I kept talking, pretending not to notice the way she’d frozen. “When did this happen?” she cut me off, her voice sharp. “A few years ago. Dad’s business failed. We’re paying thousands in interest every year.” I was feeding her the truth, but a truth from my last life. A truth I only discovered after I’d won the lottery and offered to pay off their debts, right before she sent me into a coma. “Why didn’t you say anything before?” she demanded, sitting bolt upright. “I thought Mom would have told you by now,” I said, my voice laced with fake surprise. “Whatever. We’ll just sell the house after the buyout and pay it off,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant. Oh, my dear cousin. You weren’t listening. I said the city wants to buy us out. I never said it was a done deal. A week later, the news broke in the neighborhood Facebook group. “The project’s been canceled,” Dad announced at dinner, looking at the notification on his phone. “What?” Jessica shot to her feet. “What do you mean, canceled?” Mom asked. “An environmental impact study found an endangered turtle species in the marshland behind our neighborhood. The whole transit hub is on hold indefinitely.” “It’s okay,” I said, trying to comfort them. “At least the four of us are together. That’s what matters, right?” “What’s good about this?” Jessica snapped, before storming out of the house. “Mom, what’s wrong with her?” I asked, playing the innocent, confused sister. “It’s… it’s nothing.” The way Mom’s eyes darted away told me there was more to the story. Jessica didn’t come home that night. Aunt Carol called to say she was staying with her. My dear cousin, I thought. You couldn’t even last a week? The fun is just getting started. I pretended to be heartbroken and went to my room. My parents even came to console me. They had no idea that under the covers, I was smiling so hard my face ached. The next morning, Jessica returned and started packing her things. “Honey, what are you doing?” Mom asked, watching her shove clothes into a suitcase. Jessica just shot me a venomous look and kept packing. “Annie, I need you to run to the store. We’re out of olive oil,” Mom said, waving me away. They were trying to get rid of me. I nodded, but as I walked out, I discreetly turned on the voice recorder on my phone and left it on the hall table. When I got back, Mom and Jessica were sitting on the sofa, looking for all the world like a happy mother-daughter pair. “Annie,” Mom said as I walked in. “Your sister and I have been talking.” She took a deep breath. “This house is only seven hundred and fifty square feet. It’s not big enough for four adults. We think it’s best if you move out.” I froze. “What? Why?” “Don’t be upset, Annie,” Jessica said, jumping up to put a comforting arm around me. “I was just thinking, you need your own space. Your own privacy. So I suggested this to Mom.” There it was. I glanced at the date on my watch. It was a Saturday. Most of our neighbors would be home. If you’re going to be cruel, then don’t blame me for being ruthless. I backed out of the apartment and into the hallway. “It’s okay, Mom. I don’t need my own space,” I said, my voice just loud enough to carry. I wanted to move out, but not like this. Not by being kicked out. “Every young woman needs her privacy,” Mom insisted from the doorway. Just then, the bottle of olive oil I was holding “slipped” from my grasp. It shattered on the tiled floor with a loud crack. Instantly, doors up and down the hall creaked open. “I can sleep on the couch, Mom! If Jessica needs the space, I can sleep on the couch!” I pitched my voice higher, letting it crack with emotion. Our neighbors, I knew, loved two things: drama and judging other people’s parenting. “Annie, what are you talking about?” Jessica said, rushing forward to pull me back inside. “Are you kicking me out too, Jessica? This is my home! I’ve lived here for twenty-six years!” I dug my nails into my palm, hard, until my eyes filled with real tears. “Honey, what’s going on?” Jessica shot Mom a panicked look. They both reached for me. As their hands touched my arms, I let my knees buckle and crumpled to the floor, staring up at them with wide, wounded eyes. “Mom?” I whispered, letting a single tear trace a path down my cheek. “Jessica… you too?” It hurt, but it was a good kind of hurt. A useful hurt. “I get it,” I said, slowly pushing myself to my feet and brushing the dust from my legs. “You fell on your own, Annie! Don’t you dare try to blame us!” Mom snapped, her voice shrill. “You’re right,” I said, backing away towards the stairs, my hand gripping the railing. “I fell all by myself. I almost fell right down the stairs.” “You…” Mom started, but I cut her off. “It’s okay, Mom. I’ll leave.” I walked back into my room, grabbed my phone—the one that was still recording—and walked out. “The nerve of some people,” Mrs. Gable from 3B muttered, rushing over to me. “It’s okay, Mrs. Gable. It’s fine,” I sobbed, letting the tears flow freely. “What kind of parents do they think they are?” The whispers started, a chorus of disapproval up and down the hall. Did you really think they’d side with you, Jessica? The newcomer? These people watched me grow up. As I listened to the rising tide of gossip, I smiled through my tears, called an Uber, and walked away without looking back. I was finally out. It was sooner than I’d planned, but not before I’d made them miserable. Lying in my own condo, a cool sheet mask on my face, I waited for my takeout to arrive. I was finally free. The sharp ring of my phone cut through the silence. I picked it up. “Hello?” I said, expecting the delivery driver. “Hello there… little sister.” The voice was unmistakable. I ripped the mask from my face and sat up straight. This was a high-end condo building. No one got past the front desk without resident approval. They couldn’t know where I was. So what was the point of this call? Before I could figure it out, Jessica spoke again. “You won the thirty million, didn’t you?” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. “Jessica, what are you talking about?” I played dumb. So far, no one knew. After my last life, I didn’t trust a single soul. “Check the picture I just texted you.” I could hear the smugness in her voice. I forced myself to keep my own voice even. “A picture? What picture?” I opened my messages. It was a photo from the lottery commission’s press release. I’d forgotten. They’d snapped a bunch of photos after I claimed the prize. But I’d worn a mask, a baseball cap, and a baggy men’s jacket. Even someone who knew me well would have a hard time recognizing me. “Is there a problem with this photo, Jessica?” I asked. “That person is you,” she said, her voice triumphant. “Jessica, if that was me, would I have let you and Mom kick me out of the house?” I said, my voice cracking with manufactured hurt. “So, what, you’re just going to deny it?” If I admit it, you’ll become a leech I can never get rid of. I’m not that stupid. “Jessica, I…” I trailed off, then hung up the phone. I’d known this day would come, but it was happening too fast. My phone rang again. I flinched and threw it across the room. The helplessness I’d felt in my last life, trapped in my own body, came rushing back. No. I will not go back there. Calm down. Think. I picked up the phone, the screen now a spiderweb of cracks. First things first. I needed to move the money again, make it untouchable. I went to a different carrier, bought a new phone, got a new number. That would buy me some time. Then, I contacted a high-end real estate broker and bought several small properties in different cities across the country. A rabbit needs more than one hole. By the time I was done, a good chunk of the money was tied up. I kept two hundred thousand in a liquid account for emergencies and put the rest into a series of trusts managed by a wealth advisor. The terms were simple: no one, not even me, could touch the principal without my physical signature, verified in person. Finally, just in case, I had a lawyer draw up a will. With all that handled, I took three days off, holed up in my condo, and went over everything, trying to find any loose ends. That’s when I remembered the recording. There had to be something on that recording that I’d missed. I found the file and pressed play. The familiar voices filled my silent apartment. “Honey, what are you doing?” “I can’t take it anymore, Mom! Four people in a seven-hundred-square-foot apartment? I’d rather be back in my own place!” The sound of clothes being thrown into a suitcase. “Calm down, honey.” “How can I calm down? She’s just some kid you picked up off the street. What right does she have to live here with me?” Some kid you picked up off the street. The world seemed to stop.

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Three years after my cat died, he came to me in a dream, meowing. He said he was hungry. He said the other cats were bullying him. He said he was cold when he tried to sleep… My heart shattered. I went to his grave and burned all his favorite things: a can of tuna, his little catnip mouse, and—just in case—a 3D-printed Wolverine claw. That night, a new app mysteriously appeared on my phone. It was called “Whisker.” When I opened it, my cat Lucky’s face filled the screen. His little paws were scratching frantically at the display. “Mom? Is that you?” “Mom, I miss you so much!” Behind him, a group of scruffy-looking ghost cats were nursing their wounds, hissing in frustration. “You’re a cheater! Calling your mom when you lose a fight is against the rules!” 1. It all started during a work trip to New Orleans right around Halloween. The city was alive with a strange, electric energy. I saw a woman in Jackson Square leaving out bowls of food and water along a row of makeshift altars. I saw an old man lighting candles for spirits I couldn’t see. In one of the famous cemeteries, the “cities of the dead,” people had left countless offerings on the tombs. There were the usual flowers and photos, but I also saw a baby bottle next to a half-empty can of beer, and a plate of spicy jambalaya. Offerings for the young souls and the old soldiers, I guessed. They were placed on the ground, so that any spirit, even one who couldn’t stand, could have a dignified meal. But what made my breath catch in my throat was a small pile in the corner. Someone had left out bags of cat and dog food. A little sign was propped up against them: For all God’s creatures, big and small. Tears instantly welled in my eyes. My cat, Lucky, had been gone for three years. Every year on the anniversary of his passing, I’d leave his favorite treats at his little grave in my backyard, but I never knew if they reached him. Do the rules of the afterlife apply to animals? Is there a spectral mailman for beloved pets? I’d heard New Orleans was full of spiritualists. On a whim, I found a woman in a small shop in the French Quarter, surrounded by herbs and candles. “Excuse me,” I started, feeling foolish. “I want to leave some things for my cat who passed away. Is there any way to know if he’ll get them?” The woman wasn’t the spooky figure I’d imagined. She was a kind-faced old woman with warm eyes. She was burning incense, the smoke curling in the air like dancing spirits. For a moment, it didn’t feel scary at all. It felt like coming home. “Here,” she said, her voice like rustling leaves. She handed me a small vial of clear liquid. “An old folk remedy. Anoint your eyes with this. You’ll see what you need to see.” I did as she said. The world flickered. Gray, hazy shapes drifted at the edges of my vision—some vaguely human, others like the ghosts of animals, all of them like mist I couldn’t quite grasp. I scanned the spectral crowd, my heart pounding, but I couldn’t find him. Defeated, I wrote down Lucky’s name, a description of him, and our home address on a piece of paper, and asked the woman if she could somehow “forward” my offerings to him. On my way back to the hotel, I saw an old woman hunched over, searching for something on the sidewalk. It was late, and I was worried for her. “Ma’am? Are you looking for something? Can I help you?” She looked up, her face etched with worry. “Young lady, have you seen a little tuxedo cat? White chest and paws, green eyes?” I shook my head. “No, I’m sorry.” She sighed, a long, weary sound. “Thank you anyway.” I walked on. A sudden gust of wind blew past me, and when I looked back, the old woman was gone. … That night, I dreamed of my cat. He was meowing, his beautiful black and white fur matted and dirty. “Mom, I miss you so much,” he cried, a heartbreaking little sound. I stared, unable to believe it. My hand trembled as I reached out and pulled him into my arms. “Lucky?” “Mrow!” I hugged him tight, tears streaming down my face, my whole body shaking with a joy so fierce it hurt. “Lucky! You’re back! Oh, I missed you so, so much!” Lucky buried his head against my chest, his purr a rumbling engine of happiness. I ran my hands all over him, checking his old wounds, asking him if he was okay, why he hadn’t come to see me sooner. He told me he was always hungry, that bigger ghost cats stole his food, that he shivered at night from a cold that had nothing to do with the weather. He asked me if I didn’t love him anymore. Why had I forgotten him? Finally, he looked at me, his green eyes full of a sorrow that broke my heart all over again. “Mom… I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough. I died before you got there.” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, forcing back a sob. My voice shook. “No, baby. You were the bravest boy. You held on for so long. It’s my fault. I’m the one who wasn’t there… I’ve missed you every single day.” I’m so sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye. Lucky, never the brightest bulb, seemed satisfied with this. His tail gave a happy flick. “I missed you too, Mom!!!” “Baby,” I asked, “did you get any of the things I left for you?” He licked his ghostly lips. “I did! An old lady gave them to me!” …Three years. It took three years for him to get his first care package. What kind of existence had my poor baby been living? Fresh tears pricked my eyes. “Why didn’t you come to me in a dream sooner?” He hung his head. “Cats have to work in the afterlife. You have to earn enough points to send a dream. But I’m not a good mouser… and nobody wants to hire me.” He curled into a tiny, ashamed ball. “I’m sorry I’m not as good as the other cats. They all saved up enough to see their owners.” My heart ached. This was my precious boy, my pampered prince who used to need me to stand over his bowl before he’d deign to eat. I couldn’t imagine him struggling like this. “So how did you make it here tonight?” I asked. He perked up, gesturing with his paw. “It was the old lady! She helped me! She chased away all the mean cats who were bullying me!” He even held up the slip of paper I’d given the spiritualist in New Orleans. Taking advantage of his temporary spectral bravado, I rushed to burn his favorite can of tuna, his catnip mouse, and the 3D-printed Wolverine claw. My little ghost cat purred his goodbyes and faded away. I then burned a stack of spirit money in the direction he’d indicated, bowing my head in gratitude. “Thank you,” I whispered to the unseen benefactor. “Thank you for helping my cat.” Faintly, on the wind, I thought I heard an old woman’s voice. “Excuse me, but have you seen my cat?” But when I looked, there was nothing there. The next night, the “Whisker” app appeared on my phone. When I opened it, there was Lucky’s face, batting at the screen. “Mom? Is that you?” “Mom, I miss you so much!” Behind him, a gang of mangy-looking ghost cats were yowling. “You’re a cheater! Loser has to call his mom! You don’t fight with honor!” 2. Lucky was a rescue. The night I finally fled my boyfriend’s apartment, a torrential downpour was hammering the city. On the side of the road, I found a tiny, soaking wet kitten, its eyes not even open yet. It was no bigger than a mouse. The vet at the emergency clinic just shook his head. “He’s too young, probably abandoned by the mother. He’s unlikely to make it.” But I insisted they try. He was fighting so hard to suckle from the little bottle. Watching him, I saw myself, desperately trying to survive. Against all odds, Lucky made it. My small, empty apartment slowly filled with cat bowls, cat beds, and cat trees. Lucky was a perfect gentleman. He never scratched the furniture, but he also never seemed to learn much of anything. It didn’t matter. Whenever I was home, he was a permanent, purring attachment to my body. For a while, I thought I had adopted the world’s most angelic cat. Until I realized—every single online test for cat intelligence, Lucky scored a perfect zero. Finally, I took him back to the vet. The doctor looked at me with pity. “He’s a very sweet cat,” he said gently. “He’s just… not an Ivy League candidate.” Fine. It’s not like I expected him to go to college. What was I going to do, divorce my cat? Coming home from work, lounging on the sofa, falling asleep at night—there was always a soft, warm, purring body snuggled up against me. Raising Lucky felt like I was healing my own childhood. Until the day the doorbell rang. The delivery guy said I had a package that needed a signature. I was expecting something, so I didn’t think twice. I opened the door. My blood ran cold. It was Jake. He reeked of whiskey. As I tried to slam the door, he forced his way in and kicked me hard in the stomach. “You bitch!” His palm cracked against my face, my head ringing. He grabbed me by the hair and dragged me backward. I couldn’t breathe. “You’re seeing someone else, aren’t you?” he slurred, his hands tearing at my clothes. “My dad was right. All women need is a good beating to learn their place!” Buttons popped. I screamed, struggling, fumbling for my phone to dial 911. The call connected for a split second before he kicked the phone out of my hand. I managed one desperate cry for “Help!” before he clamped his hand over my mouth. Just as I thought it was over, a black-and-white blur shot across the room. It was Lucky. My timid little cat, who usually hid under the bed when the mailman came, launched himself at the hand choking me and sank his teeth into it. Jake roared in pain and kicked him. Lucky flew across the room and hit the coffee table with a sickening thud. He didn’t make a sound. “Lucky!” A wave of pure adrenaline surged through me. I rammed my head into Jake’s gut, knocking him off balance. I scrambled towards my cat’s limp body. “Lucky!” He was completely limp. My hands were shaking, my limbs numb. Suddenly, my hair was yanked back. Jake was on me again, his face twisted in rage, his hands closing around my neck. “You dare hit me?” My fingers closed around a heavy vase on the end table. I swung it with all my might against the back of his head. He staggered, and I broke free, scooping up my cat. “HELP ME!” I screamed, running for the door. At that moment, there was a loud banging on the door. My neighbors. “Maya! Maya, are you in there?” Jake lunged for me again, covering my mouth and nose. The knocking stopped. My heart sank. Then, CRACK! The door splintered open. My neighbor from next door, a big guy from the gym downstairs, and a few others had heard my screams and broken the door down. They saw Jake on top of me. Jake finally looked scared. He let go and tried to run. The gym guy tackled him and held him until the police arrived. “Are you okay, kid?” one of them asked, stuffing a dirty sock in Jake’s mouth to shut him up. My face was covered in blood. I was shaking uncontrollably as I held my cat. “Lucky… Lucky…” My neighbor saw the state I was in, grabbed his keys, and drove me to the nearest 24-hour animal hospital. He waved off my thanks as I left a pool of blood—mine or Lucky’s, I couldn’t tell—on his car seat. “Just go!” I ran inside, clutching my cat. … The prognosis was grim. The hospital set up a group chat for updates. In the days that followed, the vibration of my phone became the sound I feared most in the world. The news was never good. And it kept getting worse. “Lucky remains in a deep coma.” “No signs of waking. The outlook is not positive.” “He developed a fever this afternoon.” “Lucky started having seizures. We’re stabilizing him now. He’s experiencing liver and kidney failure.” … I filed a police report immediately. I had broken up with Jake because I discovered he was violent. I had been so careful when I moved, telling none of our mutual friends my new address. I had no idea how he found me. I couldn’t quit my job. The vet bills were piling up. I wanted to be at the hospital with Lucky every second, but I had to earn the money to save him. Every day at work was torture, my stomach in knots, dreading the next notification from the group chat. One morning, the sky was a grim, oppressive gray. A terrible feeling washed over me. I checked the group chat. The last message was from midnight, after they’d brought Lucky back from cardiac arrest. I let out a shaky breath. No news is good news. I was wrong. Jake, that bastard, wasn’t done with me. I got to my office building, and he was there, waiting with a group of his friends and a bouquet of roses. He had a sheepish grin on his face. “Babe, I’m sorry. It’s just a cat. Forgive me?” he said, trying to hand me the flowers. “I’ll buy you a new one.” “Get away from me,” I spat, not even wanting to look at his disgusting face. One of his friends chimed in. “Come on,嫂子 (sao-zi, sister-in-law). He knows he was wrong. You’ve been together for years. A little fight is normal.” I stopped. I looked at this crowd of pathetic excuses for men. “I’ll say this one more time. Jake and I are broken up. He broke into my home, he tried to rape me, he nearly killed my cat, and he trashed my apartment. I’ve already called the police.” Jake’s face darkened. He threw the roses on the ground. “Don’t be a bitch,” he hissed. “You really want to do this?” This monster worked as an executive at a big tech firm. The company culture favored employees in stable, long-term relationships. He was up for a promotion. That’s why he was here. … In the middle of the confrontation, my phone rang. I saw it was the animal hospital. My heart leaped into my throat. As I reached for it, Jake slapped the phone out of my hand. It hit the pavement, the screen cracking. “You’re recording me?” he snarled. I scrambled for the phone. It had to be about Lucky. “Let go of me!” I screamed. I slapped him, hard. His smile vanished. He grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron. “You’re asking for it, aren’t you?” My coworkers tried to intervene, but his friends blocked them. “Hey, it’s just a lovers’ quarrel. Stay out of it.” “Let me go! It’s the hospital!” I fought like a wild animal, scratching his face, kicking his shin. He finally yelped in pain and let go. “Are you crazy?” I probably looked it. I didn’t care. I grabbed my phone. The screen was black. I didn’t think. I just ran into the street, flagging down a cab, desperate to get to the hospital. But when I got there, the vet looked at me with sad eyes. “Lucky passed away five minutes ago.” He sighed. “He was waiting for you.” My body went cold. I reached out and touched his still-warm body, the tears finally coming, hot and endless. “Baby… Mom’s here…” Lucky’s eyes, which had been open, finally closed. 3. I was going to kill Jake. He killed my cat. Because of him, I wasn’t there to hold him in his final moments. That day, one of Jake’s idiot friends had filmed the confrontation at my office and posted it online. “Unbelievable. My buddy’s girlfriend is a total gold-digger. He treats her like a queen, and she dumps him over a cat.” “He goes to her office to try and win her back, and she attacks him like a psycho. It’s tough being a man these days.” The comments section was a dumpster fire. “Rule 1: Never date a crazy cat lady. Just run.” “These chicks treat their cats like gods. It’s sick.” “It’s an animal. Animals die. Your boyfriend is trying to apologize, and you’re acting like this? He should dump you.” The video showed me, hair wild, attacking Jake while he backed away, a “patient, loving” expression on his face. At the end, his friend asked him off-camera, “Dude, just give up. She slapped you just for missing a call from the vet. Why do you want her back?” And Jake, sighing like a martyr, said, “It was my fault, I didn’t see the cat. Maya’s a good girl. She’ll come around.” “Redefining ‘good girl.’” “I assault my boyfriend in public, but I’m a good girl.” “This is why women shouldn’t have rights. Her man is right there, and she cares more about a flea-bitten animal.” “Wow, her boyfriend is so hot and patient. Does anyone have his @?” … I was dogpiled online. Men showed up at my office with signs. FIRE THE ABUSIVE CAT LADY! BITCHES BE CRAZY! APOLOGIZE!!! I started losing my hair. I couldn’t sleep. But I refused to back down. The D.A. was slow to press charges. Jake kept texting me from blocked numbers. “Give it up. You can’t win.” I didn’t care. I put my condo up for sale. I needed money for the best lawyer I could find. I wanted that bastard to pay. 4. Jake was arrested, but only held for a short time. My injuries weren’t “severe” enough, and in the eyes of the law, Lucky was just property, a stray cat with no monetary value. The system couldn’t punish him properly. Jake’s lawyer claimed he was remorseful and willing to offer financial compensation. Since we had been in a relationship, the police suggested we settle out of court. His family was well-connected in the city. Friends, former colleagues, even my own boss started calling me, gently suggesting I drop the case. “It’s just a cat. Is it worth all this drama?” “The family has money. Just take the settlement and get a new one.” “Why are you being so stubborn?” Eventually, the suggestions turned into threats. “You want to keep working in this town? Think carefully.” But that was my baby. He was brutally killed, and he died alone and scared, surrounded by strangers. And somehow, it had all become my fault. While I was still gathering evidence, I found out Jake had been quietly released. I couldn’t accept it. I filed an appeal. I started documenting my entire legal battle online. My company, wanting the bad PR to go away, sent me on the extended “business trip” to New Orleans. I thought I would never see my Lucky again. I never imagined I’d see him on a video call, purring and happy, on an app that came from the other side.

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The notification blew up my phone right as I was cleaning up the last of the glitter from art time. Caden’s mom, Jessica, was tagging me in the preschool’s parent group chat. A dozen rapid-fire voice memos followed. 【Ms. Miller, what is the meaning of this? Why isn’t there a single picture of my Caden in today’s photo dump?】 【Did someone else bribe you? Every other kid is in there. Are you deliberately singling out my son?】 【You have no idea who you’re dealing with. I will report you to the state licensing board. You’d better give me a damn good explanation, or this isn’t over!】 The “Little Sprouts Academy Parents” chat immediately lit up. 【Huh? That’s weird, she’s right. No Caden.】 【Is this, like, a passive-aggressive way of asking for a ‘teacher appreciation’ gift? Kinda shady…】 My heart hammered against my ribs. I quickly typed a reply, tagging Jessica. 【Hi Jessica, Caden wasn’t in school today. You called him in sick this morning, remember?】 1 I knew Jessica was going to be a handful from the very first day of school. Before we opened the doors, our director, Mr. Harrison, gave us the annual pep talk. “Remember, every year we get a few… challenging parents. Just keep your cool, be professional, and de-escalate at all costs.” I thought I was prepared. I was not. Caden arrived with an entire entourage: Mom, Dad, and both sets of grandparents. Jessica, with the air of a queen presenting her heir, handed Caden over to me. “Ms. Miller,” she said, her voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “As you can see, Caden has a little bit of a cold.” My internal alarms went off. A classroom of three-year-olds is a petri dish. One cold can take out the whole class for a week. “Oh, dear. Maybe it would be best for him to rest at home today?” I suggested gently. Jessica’s face soured instantly. “Are you trying to get out of doing your job? We paid our tuition for the month. We’re not losing a day just because you want one less kid to watch.” I held up my hands placatingly. “That’s not it at all, I promise. It’s just that if he’s not feeling well, he’d be more comfortable at home. Plus, it’s our policy to prevent spreading germs.” A sly smile crept onto her face. “Oh, it’s not a cold cold. It’s just his allergies. He gets a runny nose. Anyway, that’s not what I needed to talk to you about.” I nodded politely. “Okay, well, welcome to Little Sprouts, Caden.” I turned to lead him inside, but she clamped her hand on my arm. “Hang on, I’m not finished.” “Yes?” She narrowed her eyes. “Like I said, his nose is running, and it makes him uncomfortable. I expect you to clear it for him every hour.” “Of course,” I said. “We have plenty of soft tissues and saline spray—” “No,” she cut me off. “Tissues are full of bleached paper pulp and harsh chemicals. They’ll irritate his delicate skin. I want you to use your mouth to suck the snot out.” 2 My brain short-circuited. I must have misheard. I stared at her, my mouth hanging open. Her eyes bugged out. “What’s with that look? Are you too good for that? Are you disgusted by my child? Let me tell you something, a child’s mucus isn’t dirty! It’s pure! It’s all-natural! I’ll even pay you for it. Five bucks a day for the extra service.” I wanted to scream. I could feel the blood pounding in my ears, but Mr. Harrison’s voice echoed in my head. De-escalate. I forced a tight, pained smile. “Jessica, we have a strict policy against that kind of… physical contact with the children. I absolutely cannot do that.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, we don’t care about that rule. I’m his mother. I’m giving you my official authorization to suck my son’s snot.” I felt bile rise in my throat. “I’m sorry, but that is a request I cannot fulfill. You are welcome to come in every hour and do it yourself.” She rolled her eyes as a few other parents, who had overheard the entire exchange, gasped. “Are you for real?” one dad muttered. “If you think his snot is so pure, you suck it! Why would you ask a teacher to do that?” “Yeah, who do you think your kid is, Prince George?” another mom chimed in. “If you’re so worried about paper towels, send him with silk handkerchiefs!” Flushed with embarrassment under the weight of everyone’s judgment, Jessica finally backed down. “Fine! Be that way,” she snapped. “I don’t know why you’d turn down an extra five bucks a day on a preschool teacher’s salary. I guess you can’t appreciate a holistic approach to childcare.” She then turned her back to me. “Just take good care of Caden. And I expect photo updates in the group chat throughout the day.” With that, she stormed off. I took Caden’s hand to lead him to the classroom. He promptly wiped a long, green streamer of snot from his nose onto the back of my hand. “Caden, honey,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “We use tissues for that. We don’t wipe our noses on people. It’s not polite.” He stuck his tongue out at me. “Nuh-uh! Mommy says tissues will hurt my nose! I’m using your hand!” He then yanked his hand away, ran across the playground, and snatched a basketball from a little girl. I separated the two crying toddlers and returned the ball. A second later, my phone buzzed. A new picture in the group chat, from Jessica. It was a photo she must have snapped from the parking lot. Jessica: 【Ms. Miller, what is this? So other kids can play with the basketball, but my Caden can’t?】 3 I took a deep, steadying breath. It was going to be a long year. I replied: 【Jessica, another child was playing with it. We can’t snatch toys from our friends.】 Jessica: 【She’s a girl. What’s she doing with a basketball? That’s a boy’s toy. He was just taking it back. What did he do that was so wrong?】 I typed quickly, hoping to end the conversation. 【Jessica, as it says in the welcome packet, children can bring a toy from home for outdoor time. If you’d like Caden to have a basketball, you’re more than welcome to send one with him. But snatching is not okay. My job is to intervene when I see that behavior. I’m sure you wouldn’t want another child to snatch something from Caden, right?】 I silenced my phone and led the kids inside. The first day was chaos. A room full of crying three-year-olds. My two co-teachers and I were so swamped we didn’t even get to eat lunch. Just as I finally got the last child down for a nap, my brain buzzing from the constant noise, Mr. Harrison appeared at the door. “Sarah, can I see you in my office? I’ve received a complaint.” I felt like a deflated balloon. In his office, Mr. Harrison looked grim. “Can you tell me what this is all about?” He turned his monitor toward me. It was a long, formal complaint emailed directly to him. The sender: Jessica. She accused me of having a “hostile and discriminatory attitude” toward her and her son. The language was inflammatory, claiming I was unfit to be an educator. She demanded a formal, in-person apology, or she would take this to the licensing board and “every mommy blog on the internet.” Mr. Harrison pinched the bridge of his nose. “So, explain.” The injustice of it all made my eyes burn. I recounted the morning’s events, from the snot-sucking request to the basketball incident. He sighed heavily. “Ah. So we got one of those this year.” “What do we do now?” I asked, rubbing my eyes. He looked at me with a weary expression. “We’ll do a home visit together tonight. I’m sorry, Sarah, but you know how it is. Enrollment is down. We need to keep the parents we have.” 4 So that evening, I found myself on the world’s most awkward home visit. At least Mr. Harrison was with me. Jessica had insisted that since we were coming anyway, we should just bring Caden home with us. Mr. Harrison, desperate to avoid another incident, had agreed, making me record the entire car ride on my phone for liability reasons. The moment we walked in the door, Caden ran into his mother’s arms and started wailing. Jessica didn’t even greet us. She just knelt, hugged her son, and started her performance. “What is it, my sweet baby? Did someone hurt you? Was it Ms. Miller? You can tell Mommy! It was Ms. Miller, wasn’t it? Don’t be afraid. Mommy will protect you. Did Ms. Miller bully you?” I wanted to scream. It was a masterclass in leading a witness. Caden sobbed, “Mommy… stuffy nose… my nose is stuffy!” Jessica’s head snapped up, her eyes locking on me with venom. “You didn’t take care of his nose? I told you exactly what to do! Is basic childcare not in your job description? Mr. Harrison, you see? Your teacher is negligent!” Mr. Harrison managed a polite smile. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but as I believe Ms. Miller explained, we have a strict policy against that kind of… oral contact between staff and students.” Jessica paled. She clearly hadn’t expected me to tell him her insane request. “Wh-what contact?” “For instance,” Mr. Harrison said smoothly, “using one’s mouth to suction a child’s nasal passages. That is absolutely forbidden.” 5 Jessica stood up, pulling Caden behind her defensively. “Well, you’re a young woman,” she sneered at me. “Aren’t you ashamed, describing something so graphic to a man? I said to suck the snot, not his whole nose. You can do it from a distance!” I was caught between rage and laughter. “Jessica, I am not capable of doing that.” “Then you’re incompetent! You’re not qualified to care for my son! What’s so hard about it?” She pulled Caden forward and, to our absolute horror, demonstrated. She placed her mouth over his nostrils and inhaled sharply, then spat the contents into a tissue. “See? Was that so hard? A child is the purest thing on earth. Your mind, Ms. Miller, is what’s truly filthy.” I could see Mr. Harrison’s chest heaving. He was trying not to vomit. I just nodded, my lips pressed into a thin line. “Yes, Jessica. You’re… you’re very skilled.” My praise seemed to mollify her. Just then, Caden’s grandmother emerged from a back room. “Oh! The director and the teacher are here! Come in, come in, sit down!” We perched awkwardly on the edge of the sofa. “Jessica, what are you doing standing there?” her mother-in-law commanded. “Get our guests a snack!” Jessica shuffled into the kitchen and returned a moment later with a small plate holding two boiled eggs. “You must be hungry after a long day,” she said. “Have an egg.” After the snot show, my appetite was gone. But when we politely declined, it just set her off again. “See? What did I tell you? They look down on us!” Mr. Harrison, flustered, quickly grabbed an egg and started peeling. “No, no, not at all! We just had some leftovers at school before we left.” Jessica sniffed. “Oh, how nice for you. Using our kids’ meal fees to feed yourselves.” Mr. Harrison nearly choked. I quickly grabbed the other egg and started peeling, trying to smooth things over. I took a tentative bite. The taste was… bizarre. Musty and deeply unpleasant. “This egg has a very… unique flavor,” I managed, forcing a smile. Jessica beamed, her chin held high. “Of course! It’s a vitality egg. I get them from a special free-range farm. They’re an ancient wellness food. Very good for you.” 6 Mr. Harrison and I both froze. A moment later, he made a gagging sound and stumbled toward the bathroom. I chugged the glass of water on the coffee table. Jessica glared at his retreating back. “What is wrong with you people? Disrespecting our family’s traditional foods?” “No!” I said quickly, trying to do damage control. “It’s not that! Mr. Harrison has a sensitive stomach from… from eating all the school leftovers. A powerful food like this is just a little too much for his system.” Her expression softened. “You eat the children’s leftovers?” Mr. Harrison emerged, wiping his mouth, his eyes watery. He nodded weakly. “Yes. We don’t like to waste food.” “Oh,” she said, finally seeming satisfied. “I see.” The rest of the visit was a blur of awkwardness. Before we left, Jessica delivered her final ultimatum. “Fine. For my mother-in-law’s sake, I’ll drop the complaint. For now. But starting tomorrow, I want an hourly photo update from Ms. Miller. If I don’t get it, I’m going straight to the board.” On the way back, Mr. Harrison said, “Sarah, in thirty years in education, I’ve never met a parent like that. Do what you have to do… but if you can find a way to encourage them to un-enroll, you have my full support. I’m worried about the influence on the other children.” That was all the permission I needed. The next morning, Jessica pointed to a basketball left on the playground from the day before. “Go on, honey. If no one’s playing with it, it’s yours.” I rushed over. “Caden, that belongs to one of the older boys. He’ll be here soon. Let’s find another toy.” Caden responded by sinking his teeth into my hand. “I want it! Mommy said I could!” he shrieked, shoving me aside and grabbing the ball. Just then, the ball’s owner, a boy from the pre-K class, arrived. “Hey! Why are you playing with my ball?” he yelled.

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1 It was time for the groom to kiss the bride. I closed my eyes and leaned in toward my wife, Isabella, only to get a mouthful of fur. Her little assistant, Leo, was holding a camera, roaring with laughter. “The great Bronson Cross can’t even tell if he’s kissing his bride or a beast!” I stared at the panting husky in front of me, a wave of nausea churning in my stomach. I was about to go after Leo when Isabella stopped me. “It was just a joke, Bronson. Don’t be so sensitive!” Leo’s face was flush with triumph, his tone dripping with arrogance. “She’s a bitch, too, Mr. Cross. Why don’t you just take her home and make her your wife? It’s not like you deserve my Bella anyway.” A wave of snickering rippled through our employees. That was it. I’d had enough. I sent him flying with a single, hard kick. The next second, a wine bottle shattered over my head. Isabella stood over me, demanding I get on my knees and apologize. I wiped a sticky mixture of wine and blood from my face and, with a cold smile, made an overseas call. “The wedding’s short one bride. You in?” I’d put all my strength into that kick. Leo’s face had turned a sickly green from the pain. The employees who had been laughing along with him fell silent, their eyes wide with shock. Everyone knew Leo was the apple of Isabella’s eye. To cross Leo was to cross Isabella. And I was, for all intents and purposes, Isabella’s number one doormat. Clutching his chest, Leo glared at me. “Can’t you take a joke? God, you’re so dramatic!” Then, turning to Isabella, his voice cracked. “Bella, my chest… it hurts. I think he broke a rib!” Instantly, two security guards had my arms pinned behind my back. Isabella, in her sharp stilettos, drove her heel into my stomach. She’d spent over a decade as a ballerina; the power in her legs was devastating. A bolt of agony shot through me. My face went pale, and a cold sweat broke out on my forehead. Isabella didn’t even seem to notice. Her eyes were fixed on me, filled with rage, as if I were her mortal enemy, not her husband. “Have you lost your mind, Bronson?” she hissed. “Leo was just trying to liven things up! It was a good-natured prank. You could have just swallowed a little dog fur and thanked him for the thought!” An itching sensation began to creep across my back. I looked at her, my eyes red-rimmed. “You know I’m allergic to dogs, Isabella.” She was unmoved. “So what? It’s not like an allergy is going to kill you. Stop being so pathetic and apologize to Leo. Now. Or don’t even think about me signing that marriage license.” Her words felt like a thousand icy needles piercing my heart, stealing the air from my lungs. In her world, my health, my well-being, meant less than a smirk on Leo’s face. Leo shot me a triumphant glance, then put on a mask of remorse. “Bella, I’m the one who should apologize. I didn’t mean to ruin your wedding. I just… I had no idea Mr. Cross was so sensitive.” He raised a hand dramatically. “Mr. Cross, I’m so sorry. If you’re still not satisfied, I’ll slap myself!” He actually made to do it, but Isabella caught his wrist just before the blow landed, her eyes filled with pain, for him. “What are you doing? It’s not your fault! If anyone should be slapping themselves, it’s not you!” She turned her gaze to me, her expression hardening from tender to vicious. “You’re going to slap yourself, right now, as an apology to Leo.” Fighting the allergic reaction crawling up my skin, I stared at her, my eyes bloodshot. “Isabella, have you forgotten? I almost ended up in the ICU saving you from a rabid dog once! And now, at our wedding, you let your assistant humiliate me with one. Doesn’t your conscience ache at all?” For a fleeting moment, a flicker of hesitation crossed her face. Leo saw it too and immediately doubled down on his performance. “My chest… oh god, it hurts so much! I can’t breathe! Bella, am I dying?” That was all it took. Her momentary doubt vanished, replaced by cold fury. “I know you’ve always been jealous of Leo, Bronson. That’s why you hit him so hard. But why did you have to make a scene at our wedding? Were you trying to humiliate me?” “Now, get on your knees and apologize to him!” I let out a short, cold laugh. Then, I strode over to Leo and slapped him across the face, hard. “Is that sincere enough for you?” “Bronson! You’re dead!” The next thing I knew, four security guards tackled me, forcing me to the ground. There, in front of everyone, I was made to kneel like a dog before Leo. He took a bottle of champagne and leisurely poured the entire thing over my head. Isabella didn’t stop him. Instead, she took the empty bottle and smashed it against my skull. Sharp, blinding pain exploded through me. Her voice, cold as ice, whispered in my ear. “The wedding is off. When you’re ready to kneel before Leo like the dog you are and beg for his forgiveness, we’ll talk about getting married again.” With that, she took Leo’s arm and turned to leave. My eyes burned into their retreating backs. “Isabella,” I called out, my voice dangerously calm. “If you care that much about your little assistant, then you don’t deserve to be my wife.” She stopped. Leo’s eyes welled up with fake tears. “Bella, did I cause trouble again? I shouldn’t have come today,” he whimpered. “You should go back and finish the ceremony with Mr. Cross. I’ll be fine on my own.” The performance was pathetic, but it melted Isabella’s heart. She spun around, her eyes filled with disgust for me. “What is this, Bronson? Another one of your pathetic games to get my attention?” she sneered. “Fine! If you don’t think I’m worthy of being your wife, then go marry that husky. She’s a bitch, too!” And with that, she and Leo left without a backward glance. The guests stared, their expressions a mix of pity and scorn. I clenched my fists, swallowing the bitter pill of humiliation. “I apologize to everyone,” I announced to the room. “Today’s wedding is canceled. Please, enjoy the rest of your day.” The moment I closed the door to the dressing room, the world went black. When I woke, the sharp, clean scent of antiseptic filled my nostrils. The hospital room was warm, but it couldn’t thaw the ice that had formed around my heart. I had loved Isabella for ten years. A decade of devotion. Until yesterday, I truly believed I was finally getting my happy ending. But our wedding, that disaster, was the slap in the face I needed to wake up. It was the moment my love for her finally died. I pressed the call button. It wasn’t a nurse who entered, but Isabella. She was still in the sleek evening dress she’d worn for the reception, but her hair was a mess, her lips swollen and bruised, and a series of fresh, angry-red marks dotted her neck. She seemed relieved to see I was conscious, but the relief quickly soured into annoyance. “You don’t look so bad. Leo was right. Just another one of your little pity parties,” she said, crossing her arms. “Honestly, Bronson, for a grown man, you are so incredibly petty. You ruined a perfectly good wedding.” She sighed impatiently. “So, have you learned your lesson? Are you ready to go apologize to Leo?” I just stared at her, my silence a wall. Before, I would have swallowed my pride just to appease her. God knows I’d done it enough times. The time Leo “accidentally” smashed my birthday cake in front of everyone, I had to apologize. The time he deleted the proposal I’d spent sleepless nights perfecting, I had to apologize. Even the time I was in the hospital and he tripped on the steps outside, I had to apologize. Every concession, every retreat, had earned me nothing but her accusation of being “petty.” Six months ago, a fire broke out in the conference room because Leo had carelessly tossed a cigarette butt. As we escaped, a flaming beam started to fall. Isabella shoved me into its path, using my body to shield Leo so he could get out first. He walked away without a scratch. My back was covered in severe burns. While I lay in a hospital bed, groaning in agony, she took Leo on a trip to “calm his nerves.” She only showed up on the day I was discharged, a month later. The first words out of her mouth were: “You embarrassed Leo in that meeting, you know. That’s why he was so upset he had to smoke in the conference room. He’s been having nightmares for a month because of it. Why don’t you go apologize to him? If you do, we can get married. How about that?” For the sake of love, I compromised. Again. But from that moment, the love I had for her began to wither. And at our wedding, when she chose to walk away with him, it vanished completely. Seeing that I wasn’t going to speak, Isabella spat a few more venomous words and stormed out. After the doctor left, I picked up my phone, planning to hire a private nurse. That’s when I saw Leo’s latest post. He’d taken the husky to the new house I’d bought, our marital home. He had filmed it shitting and pissing all over our new bed. In the video, he grinned into the camera. “Heard this is a good cure for your allergy, Mr. Cross. Don’t thank me!” Rage, hot and blinding, surged through me. I called Isabella again and again. Finally, just as my battery was about to die, she picked up. Her voice was impatient. “What? You regret it? Ready to apologize to Leo?” “Apologize to your mother!” I snarled, the profanity slipping out before I could stop it. “Did you take Leo to my house? That’s breaking and entering! Vandalism! I can have you both arrested!” There was a stunned silence, then her voice came back, sharp as a whip. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to, Bronson? Don’t get cocky with me! You said that house was a gift, so it’s mine! Besides, you hurt Leo. He was just blowing off a little steam. He’s being merciful, so you can stop playing the victim!” She took a breath. “I was actually thinking of giving you another chance, of going to sign the papers. But since you’re so unrepentant, I’ve decided I’ll sign them with Leo instead.” As soon as she finished, I could hear Leo’s excited voice in the background. “Really? Bella, if you say that, I might just take you seriously!” “I am serious. Let’s go right now.” “Wow, so tonight would be our wedding night? In that case, maybe we should take care of the important stuff first, then go get the license. Come here, wife…” The sound that followed was a series of moist, sickening noises. My hand holding the phone trembled. Those two disgusting creatures, doing that in my house. The first thing I would do when I got out of here was sell that place. Just then, another call came through. It was the resort for our honeymoon. “Mr. Cross? Calling to confirm your reservation for the honeymoon suite.” I took a deep breath. “Cancel it,” I said without hesitation. “It’s not needed anymore.” But then, an idea sparked. “Wait,” I said quickly. “Don’t cancel. Postpone it for a week. And one more thing… could you fill the suite with red roses? Thank you.” Three days later, I was discharged. I had already contacted a real estate agent and was heading to the house to pack up a few things. I pushed the door open to find Leo, wrapped in a towel, stepping out of the master bathroom. His bare torso was a roadmap of fresh scratches and love bites. He jumped when he saw me, but his shock quickly morphed into a smug grin. Before I could say a word, Isabella emerged from the same bathroom, also wrapped in a towel. “Leo, you were incredible just now, I…” Her words died in her throat when she saw me. “You’re back,” she said, her tone stiff. When she saw my cold stare, she launched into a ridiculously transparent lie. “The pipes were broken. Leo came over to help me fix them. He got his clothes wet, so I let him take a shower.” Leo smirked at me. “That’s right. Just fixing the pipes. There was so much water, it sprayed all over me.” My fists clenched. I wanted to lunge at him. Isabella moved fast, stepping between us and grabbing a baseball bat from the corner. “Are you crazy, Bronson? Just out of the hospital and you’re already starting trouble?” she warned, pointing the bat at me. “I haven’t even dealt with you for what happened before! If you so much as touch a hair on his head, I promise you’ll be right back in that hospital bed.” The scene felt sickeningly familiar. Ten years ago, she had defended me just as fiercely, throwing herself in front of me. That was what made me fall for her so completely. Ten years later, she was protecting someone else from me. In that moment, I just felt… tired. It was all so meaningless. “This is my house,” I said, my voice flat. “I want you both out. Now.” Without another glance at them, I walked into the master bedroom. The husky-soiled sheets were gone, replaced. But so was our wedding portrait that had hung above the bed. In its place were dozens of photos of her and Leo, some so explicit they made my stomach turn. The floor by the bed was littered with more than a dozen used condoms. Isabella followed me in. Seeing me stare at the photos, she looked momentarily flustered. After a few awkward coughs, she softened her voice. “I just… I Photoshopped those to punish you. They’re not real.” She tried a conciliatory tone. “Look, if you admit you were wrong and promise it won’t happen again, I’ll put our wedding photo back up.” I looked at her face, still beautiful, but it no longer stirred anything in me. “Don’t bother,” I said coolly. “If it was taken down, it must be trash. Just throw it away.” She opened her mouth to argue, but just then, Leo walked in holding a bowl of a thick, creamy substance. “Mr. Cross, what Bella said on the phone about marrying me… she was just saying that to make you jealous. Don’t take it the wrong way,” he said with a syrupy smile. “To show there are no hard feelings, I made you some peanut butter porridge. Here, try some.” He held the bowl out to me. When I didn’t take it, Isabella’s voice turned sharp. “Leo was kind enough to make that for you and bring it to you personally. Who do you think you are, putting on that face?” Leo feigned sadness. “I guess Mr. Cross doesn’t want to make peace with me.” I let out a small laugh and took the bowl from him. Isabella nodded, satisfied. “That’s more like it.” A rare smile touched her lips. “Since you’re being so reasonable, I’ve decided we can have the wedding again this weekend.” She paused. “But, there’s one condition. I want Leo to stand in for you during the first part of the ceremony.” Without a second of hesitation, I nodded. “Okay.” This time, it was Isabella who was stunned. After a moment, she asked, her voice laced with suspicion, “You… you just agreed? Just like that? You’ve always hated it when I get too close to Leo.” My voice was placid. “I agreed because it’s what you want.” For the first time in a long time, she gave me a genuine smile. Leo clapped me on the shoulder. “Finally, Mr. Cross understands Bella! Don’t you worry, I’ll make sure this wedding goes off without a hitch!” He winked. “Oh, and I have a very special wedding gift for you.” Meeting his smug gaze, I tilted the bowl in my hand, pouring the peanut porridge into the trash can beside me. I looked back at him, a slow smile spreading across my face. “I’ll have a surprise for you both as well. You won’t want to miss it.”

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