Category: English

My grandma’s new boyfriend—a guy young enough to be my classmate—thought I owed him alimony. “I provided your grandmother with months of emotional support,” he said, cornering me outside the hospital cafeteria. “Now that she’s gone, it’s your turn to show some respect. It’s not much, just five grand a month. I’ve already texted you my Venmo. Don’t be late.” I actually laughed, shot him a look of disgust, and turned to walk away. That’s when he started wailing, a full-blown public spectacle. “Hey, everyone, get a look at this!” he shouted, tears streaming down his face with Emmy-worthy speed. “Granddaughter refuses to take care of her elders! She makes over ten grand a month and won’t spare a dime for the man who loved her grandma! This is what’s wrong with kids today! No respect!” I looked at the “elder” in front of me, who couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, and pulled out my grandparents’ marriage certificate. “Actually,” I said, my voice cold and clear, “you can start by paying back every single dollar my grandmother ever spent on you.” 1 In the months before she died, my grandmother, Eleanor, started acting strangely. One day she’d sigh about how she’d never seen the cobblestone streets of New Orleans in the spring. The next, she’d complain that my grandpa, Arthur, was a stoic old bore and she’d never even seen the big sky of Montana. I had already booked us flights to New Orleans. But just before we were supposed to leave, Grandma dropped a bomb: she was in love. My grandpa, a quiet man who spent his life building bridges and speaking in blueprints, just took off his glasses and polished them, his hands trembling slightly. He didn’t say a word, but I could see the tears welling in his eyes. “Grandma, what are you talking about?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. “You’re sixty-five. Grandpa is right here. Have you been watching too much reality TV?” She just glared at my grandpa, her nose scrunched up in a way I’d never seen before. “You don’t need to worry about it,” she sniffed. “I’m going to New Orleans with my new boyfriend. I’ll bring you back some beignets.” And just like that, she grabbed her suitcase and headed for the door. “Grandma, what about your blood pressure medication?” I pleaded, following her. “You can’t just go off by yourself! Do you even know how to use a mobile boarding pass?” She wouldn’t listen. She was a woman on a mission, dragging her little roller bag behind her, deaf to my protests. It was only when we got to the elevator that I saw him. A guy, maybe twenty-five or twenty-six, decked out in flashy streetwear, his blond hair meticulously messy. He stood there, bouncing one leg like he had a nervous twitch. “Yo,” he said, looking me up and down. “You must be the granddaughter. Nice to meet ya. Aren’t you gonna give your new grandpa a little welcome gift?” He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, expertly flicking one into his mouth. When he leaned toward Grandma, she actually blushed, fumbling in her purse for a lighter and sparking it for him. “You look so cool when you smoke, babe,” she cooed. “Babe?” I repeated the word, my voice barely a whisper. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. “Grandma, don’t tell me this is your boyfriend.” Her eyes darted away for a second, but the blond leech just wrapped an arm around her, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “It’s okay, sweetheart.” That was it. I put my hands on my hips, my voice rising. “Grandma, do you have any idea what you’re doing? You’re really going to New Orleans with this… this kid?” With him by her side, her confidence surged. “Yes! I am!” she declared. But he cut her off. “Hey, watch your mouth,” he snapped at me. “It’s not ‘this kid.’ I’m your grandma’s boyfriend. You’re gonna call me Grandpa.” I was about to unleash a string of curses, but Grandma stepped in front of him. “Chloe! What is wrong with you? I expect you to be polite to… to your grandpa! This is my boyfriend. A real, proper boyfriend. And yes, we are going to New Orleans together. Now stop interfering and remember your manners.” I felt like I was going to explode. “Grandma, do you know how old he is? How old you are? What manners? He’s barely older than I am! And can’t you smell that cheap cologne? He’s a gold digger! A leech!” Before I could say more, he planted a loud, wet kiss on her cheek. “You’re so good to me, sweetheart,” he purred. “Don’t listen to her. She doesn’t understand love. Spending money on the person you love is the most romantic thing in the world. Speaking of which, I saw the cutest matching backpacks at the mall yesterday. They’d be perfect for our travel photos. The mall is on the way to the airport…” 2 After the kiss, my grandma was beaming, a goofy grin plastered on her face. I don’t even think she heard what he said. She just nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, of course, darling! I love buying you things. When you look handsome, it makes me look good!” Just then, the apartment door opened again. My grandpa, his bad hip making him slow, had followed us out. He arrived just in time to see the blond kid give my grandma another sloppy kiss, leaving a faint trail of saliva on her wrinkled cheek. “Eleanor…” Grandpa’s voice was a ragged whisper, filled with more worry than anger. The kid glanced at him and sneered. “So this is the old geezer you wasted your life with, huh, babe? Poor you. But don’t worry, you’ve got me now.” Grandma snorted. “You’re right. He’s useless. No romance, no money. Now he’s old and I have to take care of him. Not like you. You just make me happy.” She turned on Grandpa, jabbing a finger in his direction. “Arthur! I’m telling you now, I am sick and tired of you! Stay out of my business!” The kid’s eyes lit up. He showered her face with more kisses. “So, babe, when are you gonna kick this fossil to the curb and marry me? I can’t wait for our honeymoon.” I watched them, my stomach churning. I glanced at my grandpa. The light had gone out of his eyes. His hand, which he’d raised as if to reach for her, dropped to his side. He looked utterly defeated. In that moment, I wanted to wash my hands of the whole thing. My grandma had been complaining about Grandpa for years. She was always yelling at him, claiming she was his caretaker, when in reality, it was him, limping and in constant pain, who looked after her. And now this… bringing this parasite into our home. I sighed and gently took Grandpa’s arm. “Grandpa, let’s go back inside. It’s not worth getting upset over this.” But he wouldn’t budge. He just kept muttering, “I have to bring Eleanor back… What if she gets hurt? She’s never had to fend for herself… What if he tricks her… Eleanor, don’t go…” As he spoke, the elevator doors closed, and my grandmother disappeared with her boy toy, without a single look back. 3 Grandpa suddenly pushed me away and lunged for the elevator, his bad hip causing him to stumble and fall. Even from the floor, he kept jabbing at the call button, his voice cracking. “Eleanor… Eleanor, don’t go… Come back…” The elevator was already on its way down. He tried to scramble toward the stairwell. “Chloe, please… help me get her back. She’ll get hurt out there. She’s never had a hard day in her life. What if he takes advantage of her?” Seeing the tears in his eyes, I finally gave in. But when we found them in New Orleans, she was nestled in the kid’s arms, putting on a public display of affection that made everyone around them uncomfortable. A little kid pointed and asked his mom, “Mommy, why is that grandma kissing her son?” The mother just grabbed her child and hurried away. Grandpa saw them together, and all the fight went out of him. “Chloe… I think she doesn’t want me anymore.” I couldn’t stand to see him like that. I marched over and pulled them apart. “Grandma, we’re going home. You wanted to see New Orleans, you’ve seen it. Grandpa and I will take you around, but you can’t listen to this guy anymore. He’s using you for your money! Can’t you see that?” She shoved me away. “Chloe! Your mother died when you were a baby! Who raised you? I just want to live my own life for once! Why can’t you support me? Are you going to just watch me waste the rest of my years with that boring old man?” She was so angry she was hyperventilating. The kid, whose name I learned was Kyle, just kept kissing her face, murmuring, “It’s okay, babe. You’re my sweet, generous baby. You told me spending money on me makes you happy.” Grandpa finally caught up, just in time to see Grandma pull a thick wad of cash from her purse and press it into Kyle’s hand. “Eleanor…” Grandpa’s hand trembled. “You’re being a fool…” My grandmother didn’t have a pension. She’d never worked a day in her life. All the money she was spending was Grandpa’s retirement savings. “Grandma!” I yelled. “That’s Grandpa’s money! You’re breaking his heart!” But she was beyond reason. “I’ve earned it! I slaved away for that old man my whole life! His money is my money! I’ll spend it however I want, and neither of you can stop me!” She took Kyle’s arm and stormed off. As they left, I heard her say, “Don’t listen to them, darling. Didn’t you say you saw a jacket you liked? I’ve got plenty of money, I’ll buy it for you…” I felt a knot tighten in my chest. All I could do was take my heartbroken grandpa for a walk to try and clear our heads. The next day, I got a call from the police. “Are you the next of kin for Eleanor Miller?” My heart sank. Grandma was dead. She and Kyle had been on their way to a designer clothing store. They had an argument because he wasn’t holding her hand to cross the street. In a fit of pique, she’d stormed into traffic and was killed instantly. Because she had run into the road, the accident was ruled her fault. Kyle, of course, was already trying to spin the story. “I’m telling you, she was just old, you know? Not looking where she was going. If I hadn’t jumped back, that car would’ve hit me too! My heart is still pounding… Can you believe it, officer?” He even had the gall to wink at the female cop who was taking his statement. She was not impressed. “Sir, this is a police station. Please conduct yourself appropriately.” My grandpa just stared at the death certificate, at the name ‘Eleanor Miller’ printed in stark black ink. His face was frozen. His mouth opened, but no sound came out except a strangled “Ah… ah…” Two silent tears rolled down his cheeks, saying more than words ever could. I felt a hollow ache in my chest. As Grandma had said, she was the one who raised me. My father had dropped me off with them after my mom died and then vanished from my life. She was the only mother I’d ever known. I thought she’d be with us for years to come. I never imagined this… this parasite Kyle would destroy our family. And he was still talking. “You know, she promised she’d buy me that jacket. We never even made it to the store. Hey, granddaughter, listen. After you deal with all the funeral stuff, you should do your duty and buy that jacket for your grandpa. And hey, I’ll let the whole ‘no welcome gift’ thing slide. But you’re going to have to start paying my monthly support on time.” 5 Hearing Kyle’s words, Grandpa finally snapped. He lunged at him, dragging his bad leg. “You! It’s all your fault! You killed my Eleanor with your sweet talk! You have to pay! Give me back my Eleanor!” He was aiming for Kyle’s throat, his eyes red with fury. But Grandpa was old and frail. Kyle, young and agile, easily sidestepped him. “Hey, old man, what’s your problem?” Kyle sneered. “Me and my babe had a thing, it was consensual. What’s it to you? Besides, look at you. You’ve got that old people smell. What woman would want you? Eleanor told me all about it! She said you were sloppy, that you never showered, that you stank! She said she was sick of taking care of you, sick of looking at you!” A police officer gently restrained Grandpa. But I couldn’t hold back anymore. I wanted to slap the smirk off Kyle’s face, but I knew, in a police station, that would only give him more ammunition. “Kyle,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “A minute ago you said you and my grandma were just friends. Now she’s your ‘babe’ again? Let me ask you, where were you when she stepped into the road? Why did you let her go?” His arrogant expression flickered. “Wh-what are you talking about? We weren’t anything serious. She was married. She just liked me, you know? Like a grandson. Bought me some stuff. It was no big deal. Don’t you go making accusations! I could sue you for slander! Besides, she was old! What would I want with her? She probably did it on purpose! Maybe she was tired of you two nagging her all the time! Yeah, maybe it was suicide! It had nothing to do with me!” The hypocrisy was astounding. One minute he’s demanding to be called ‘Grandpa,’ the next he’s calling her an old woman who killed herself. Before I could respond, I saw Grandpa clutch his chest, his face contorted in pain, and collapse. “Grandpa!” I screamed. Kyle just pointed a finger at him. “See! I was right! He knows his wife couldn’t stand him! That’s why she did it! He’s having a breakdown! I told you her death had nothing to do with me!”

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The year James cheated on me, I paid a fortune for the compromising photos and leaked them online. I shattered his reputation. To get back at me, he engineered a way to make me walk away with nothing, and then he delivered his final threat. “As long as I’m in Seacrest City,” he’d said, his voice cold as steel, “don’t even think about coming back.” I was forced out of the country. For five long years, no one in Seacrest remembered that James Vance had an ex-wife named Josephine. All they knew was that the love of his life was a woman named Tessa. But now, staring at the embossed invitation from Seacrest, a slow smile spread across my face. I turned to the man beside me. “How about,” I said, my voice a low murmur, “I go in your place?” 1 After all, there are some debts that have to be collected in person. Only then can you truly call it the end. Invitation in hand, I was about to enter the venue when a black Maybach screeched to a halt in front of me, blocking my path. A woman stepped out. “What’s this?” she purred, her eyes raking over me. “Are they letting in any stray now?” She laughed, a sharp, unpleasant sound. “Five years. I almost thought you had enough pride to die out there. But I guess,” she examined her fiery red nails, “you couldn’t make it after all. Crawling back to beg for scraps?” “Josephine.” Tessa flung her expensive leather handbag at me. “Why don’t you beg me? Just a little. If you beg, I might see if anyone here would even look at you,” her gaze traveled up my body, landing on my face with a sneer. “You pathetic—” The word never left her lips. I snatched the bag and slammed it into her face. Then I grabbed a fistful of her hair and smashed her head against the car door. The sickening thud echoed in the quiet street, and a thrill, hot and undeniable, shot through me. My blood was boiling with a vicious excitement. “Tessa,” I whispered, leaning close to her ear, “five years ago, you called me Mrs. Vance. You knelt at my feet and begged me to take you in.” A humorless laugh escaped my lips. “Did five years make you forget who’s the master and who’s the dog?” “Or did climbing into James’s bed and becoming the laughingstock of the entire internet make you forget what shame feels like?” “In that case,” I patted her cheek, the slap echoing softly, “why don’t I teach you a lesson?” I yanked her hair back, ready to slam her head against the door again. “You’re insane!” Tessa shrieked. A bodyguard lunged forward, grabbing my wrist in a crushing grip. “Who do you think you are!” he bellowed. His fingers dug into my skin, pressing down on the jagged scar that circled my wrist. A sharp pain shot up my arm, and I winced, but my smile only widened. “Five years, and he’s managed to train some loyal mutts!” I twisted, throwing a punch that connected squarely with the bodyguard’s jaw. As he staggered back, I drove my foot into his groin. He crumpled in pain, and I wrenched the steel baton from his grasp, turning my attention back to Tessa. “Tessa.” I hefted the baton, my smile cold and sharp. “I forgot to tell you.” I raised the baton high. “Now that I’m back, I have no intention of letting you go.” I swung the baton down, the air whistling. I heard Tessa’s terrified scream. “Josephine!” “James won’t let you get away with this!” “James will kill you!” “James!” The baton was ripped from my hand. Before I could even turn, Tessa’s voice rose to a hysterical, broken wail. “James, save me! James!” “It’s been five years!” “Five years, and she still wants to kill me!” “Save me!” The force of the pull sent me stumbling backward into a hard chest. A familiar scent, one that sent a chill down my spine, enveloped me. A voice, calm and measured, spoke from above my head. “Josephine.” “Five years,” James’s fingers clamped around my chin, forcing me to look up at him. “And you’re still so reckless.” “It seems,” his eyes, cold and dark, met mine. I stared at the face I hadn’t seen in half a decade, the same perfectly handsome face that graced magazine covers, and I felt a wave of nausea. “That you still haven’t learned what you should and should not do.” “Hmm?” 2 Trailing behind James was a crowd of his business partners, all of them hovering a few feet away, too intimidated to approach. They watched as James held my chin in his unforgiving grip, his words dropping like stones in the silence. “Apologize to Tessa. Beg for her forgiveness.” A ghost of a smile played on his lips. It was the same smile he’d worn five years ago when he’d thrown a one-way plane ticket in my face. “Do that,” he said softly, “and I’ll overlook your sudden return.” My blood ran cold. He tossed the baton to the ground, where it landed with a sharp clang. Just like five years ago. I had walked in on him with Tessa, my world shattering around me. I had cried and screamed, demanding an explanation. He had simply held Tessa in his arms and warned me. “Tessa isn’t like you. She’s delicate. Don’t scare her.” “Josephine, we’ve been together for too long. So long that I can’t find any passion with you anymore. As long as you behave, the title of Mrs. Vance is yours. But if you dare to hurt Tessa, I will end you.” Back then, I didn’t understand. I was so sure he loved me. I was certain that the years we’d spent building our lives from nothing meant something. I hired a private investigator, and when I got the photos, I plastered them all over the internet. No matter how much money he threw at it to bury the story, I paid more to make sure he and Tessa paid the price. Just as I’d planned, Tessa was expelled from her university, a social pariah. But my victory came at a devastating cost. I still remember the day James forced me to sign the divorce papers, giving up everything. His voice was like ice. “Your brother’s life,” he said, “is in your hands.” “Josephine. What’s it going to be?” Now, looking at him, I felt that same chill. “James.” “Five years,” I met his mocking gaze with a smile more vicious than his own. “Is this how you greet an old flame?” “If that’s the case, then I have a gift for you, too.” In one swift motion, I plunged a small, hidden blade into his abdomen. I watched the shock bloom on his face, my hand never ceasing its motion, twisting the blade, feeling the slick warmth of his blood on my skin. My laugh grew louder. “James.” “Do you like it?” “If you do,” I started to pull the knife out for another strike, but he grabbed the blade with his bare hand. The edge sliced through his palm, but he seemed not to feel it, his grip like a vise as his eyes locked with mine. “Josephine, after five years, you’ve really—” “Outdone yourself.” He kicked me hard in the chest, wrenching the knife from my grasp. He stood over me, looking down. “You want me dead that badly, don’t you?” “Josephine,” James stepped closer, his foot pressing down hard on my wrist. The old scar screamed in protest, and I bit back a cry of pain as he leaned down. “Too bad. This city is mine.” “If you want to take my life,” he dropped the bloody knife in front of me, “you’re not qualified.” Tessa scrambled over, her face a mask of horror as she saw the blood pouring from James’s wound. She burst into gut-wrenching sobs, turning on me with a shriek. “Josephine!” “Five years ago, you leaked those photos and ruined my future! You tried to destroy me and James! He had a heart and let you go, only sending you away! How could you be so vicious, so evil, that you’d come back and try to kill him!” Tessa threw herself in front of James, shielding him like a mother hen, her carefully constructed image shattering as she screamed at me. “If I had known that being soft on you back then would lead to you hurting James today,” she sobbed, “I would have—” “I would have killed you myself!” 3 The little beggar who once cried and pleaded for me to take her in. The country girl James wouldn’t even deign to look at. Now she was a high-society woman, screaming at me as if she had the right. I looked at Tessa, then at James, whose expression softened with pity for her, and I started to laugh. I couldn’t help it. I began to applaud them. “You know,” I said, my smile wide and mocking, “you two really are perfect for each other.” “What’s that saying again?” I pretended to think. Then, as if struck by a revelation. “A bitch and a dog,” I said, my eyes locking with James’s darkening face, “together forever. Hahahaha.” “Isn’t that right, James?” “Hahahaha.” “You’re asking for it!” James shoved Tessa aside and lunged at me, but his rage gave me the opening I needed. I snatched the knife from the ground and charged forward. As the blade sank into Tessa’s side, I saw the composure on James’s face crack. The man who was always in control let out a raw, desperate roar. “Tessa!” “TESSA!” Tessa’s face was ashen. She collapsed into James’s arms, her eyes still soft as she reached up to touch his face, her gaze filled with adoration. “James,” she whispered. “I protected you, too.” “James…” Her eyes fluttered shut. As she lost consciousness, James lost his mind. He scooped her into his arms, screaming, “Doctor! Somebody get a doctor!” Before he raced toward the hospital entrance, he turned, and his eyes met mine. They were filled with a murderous rage. “Josephine!” “There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you for five years,” his eyes were blood-red. “Before you signed the divorce papers, when I told you your brother was still showing signs of life…” “I was lying.” He turned away, tossing the final, devastating words over his shoulder. “He was already dead long before you signed anything.” “Your signature was just to get you to disappear from Seacrest for good.” A bolt of lightning split the sky. The thunder cracked, and in my mind, I heard my brother’s weak voice calling my name. I saw the truck hurtling towards me, saw Aiden use all his strength to push me out of the way. He crumpled under the wheels, his eyes gentle as he reached for me. “Jo…” “It hurts,” I had crawled to him, holding him, my world collapsing. He had squeezed my hand. “But protecting my sister…” “It was worth it.” After that day, I lost the only family I had left in the world. Aiden was in a coma, separated from me by a heavy hospital room door. James had dragged me out, throwing me to the floor and pointing at my unconscious brother. “Josephine, why do you think your brother was there?” “He saw the photos. He was coming to find you.” “Did you ever think, Josephine, that in your quest to hurt me, the person you’d really destroy wouldn’t be me, but your only brother?” “Sign the papers, Josephine.” He had thrown them at my feet. All the strength had drained from my body. I stared at the agreement, and I heard James’s voice, a lifeline in the darkness. “Sign it, and I’ll make sure your brother doesn’t die.” “Agree to leave Seacrest forever, and I promise to take care of him.” But later, as soon as my plane took off, I received a video from Tessa. In it, my brother was being buried in a crude, unmarked grave. Tessa’s voice was a triumphant sneer. 4 “This is what you get for crossing me, Josephine.” “That car crash was no accident,” her words were thorns, wrapping around my heart, squeezing until I couldn’t breathe. “It was just a little lesson from James. He never expected your brother would be stupid enough to die for you.” “So whose fault is that?” “It’s yours, you bitch.” I had scrambled to get off the plane, desperate to go back, but the cabin was filled with James’s men, their eyes watching my every move. I couldn’t escape. I couldn’t go home. I spent five years abroad. Five long years. I felt those thorns grow into a monstrous tree inside me, its branches constricting my lungs with every breath. And to think, even his promise was a lie. I screamed, trying to lunge at James, but his bodyguards pinned me to the wet pavement. I could only watch as he carried Tessa away. I screamed until my throat was raw. “James!” “I will make you pay!” “James! I will kill you! I swear I will kill you!” The crowd of onlookers jeered. “She’s insane! Everyone knows Mr. Vance runs this city!” “I heard about what happened back then. To get justice for Miss Wen, he had her brother’s bones ground to dust and scattered. Miss Wen even livestreamed it.” My mind went numb. Someone else whispered, “Damn, ground to dust? That’s brutal.” “What do you expect? Mr. Vance said that whoever makes Miss Wen unhappy, he’ll make them a hundred times unhappier. Even his own wife.” “But didn’t he build his empire with his ex-wife’s money?” The voices faded. The rain fell in sheets, a deluge that matched the storm in my soul. The words ground to dust and livestream echoed in my head. I could see the video playing on a loop, Tessa smiling sweetly into the camera five years ago. “I didn’t want Mr. Vance to go to such lengths for me, but he said that whoever makes me unhappy, he’ll make them a hundred times unhappier.” The box containing my brother’s remains was opened. “No,” I choked out, a raw, hoarse sound. No one heard me. I watched, helpless, as James scooped up a handful of ash and let it drift into the wind. It was as if I could still feel my brother’s warmth in the air, a painful comfort in the cold, wet night. “No.” I screamed it over and over, begging them, pleading with them not to do this to my brother. A ringing phone pulled me back to the present. I was on the line with someone, sobbing hysterically. “I want revenge! I’ll make James pay! I want Tessa dead! I want them both dead!” Tessa’s injury wasn’t serious. It was a shallow wound, and she was playing it up for James’s sympathy. Seeing him fuss over her, ignoring his own injury, she smiled. “James,” she said softly. “After this is all over, let’s get married, okay?” Even after five years, even after all the lavish gifts and public affection, he had never given her the title of Mrs. Vance. She took his hand. “I don’t want us to miss any more time.” “James,” her voice was thick with emotion, “I just want the right to officially stand by your side.” She looked so fragile, so devoted, that James’s expression softened. But before he could answer, the hospital room door was kicked open. I stood there, covered in blood and mud, a knife still clutched in my hand. I met James’s shocked, then resigned, gaze as he muttered. “You really don’t know when to—” Quit. The word died on his lips. I was already on him, driving the knife straight into his heart. I grabbed his hair, my voice a venomous hiss. “James! Today is the day you die!”

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1 When Larry White became obsessed with the double-slit experiment and missed our wedding for the ninety-ninth time, I didn’t have a hysterical breakdown. Instead, I calmly watched him as he rushed in, still wearing his white lab coat. “The experimental data was fluctuating. I’m late.” I’d heard that line countless times. I thought he might at least offer an apology, but Larry simply grabbed a handful of wedding candy with a completely untroubled expression. “Since everything’s fine, I’ll head out. Nina’s waiting for me to tutor her.” Nina was his junior colleague, his protégé. And for their tutoring sessions, Larry never missed a single one. I turned to see my parents, their shoulders slumped, apologizing to our guests. A wave of exhaustion and weariness washed over me. Suddenly, I realized something. The groom didn’t have to be him. … Larry didn’t care about anything that wasn’t related to physics. He’d even mistaken me for someone else on occasion. I used to think he was just lost in his own world, that he was like that with everyone. But just now, the candies he’d grabbed were all Nina’s favorites. Strawberry-flavored, wrapped in pretty foil. Meanwhile, he’d never once remembered that I was allergic to flowers. An angry rash of red hives was already blooming on my arms. I stared blankly at the yellow roses Larry had brought as a token apology. I thought of all the times I had lost my temper over his carelessness. He never explained, just creased his brow into fine, handsome lines and silently watched me vent until I was done. Then he’d act as if nothing had happened. “Ava!” My mother turned and gasped at the sight of the red welts covering my skin. She and my dad rushed me to the hospital. My consciousness began to fade, my mother’s suppressed sobs echoing in my ears. “It’s all your fault, David! You were the one who insisted on introducing Larry to Ava!” My dad was Larry’s university professor. He had seen Larry’s potential and had been determined to set us up. I, in turn, had been captivated by Larry’s cool, detached aura and chased after him relentlessly. He had sighed once, telling me, “Ava, I don’t know how to be in a relationship.” I had just blinked up at him, my voice bright. “That’s okay! I’ll teach you!” He had smiled then. It’s only now that I can finally read the helplessness and annoyance that were hidden in that smile. My dad couldn’t reach Larry. He called the university lab, his voice tight with anger, but they couldn’t find him there either. “Larry isn’t here. I think he had something important to take care of.” “What could possibly be more important than his fiancée being hospitalized?” Just as my dad roared the words into the phone, I looked up and saw him. Larry. He was supporting a pale-faced girl, helping her walk. Larry, who always kept a respectable distance from everyone, had her tucked right against his side, without an inch of space between them. And this man of few words was fussing over her endlessly. “Nina, the doctor said you have to take the fever medication every day, you can’t…” His words trailed off as his eyes met mine across the hallway. So, Nina’s minor fever was a crisis of epic proportions to him. Important enough to pull him away from his precious experiments. I remembered the time I was harassed by a group of thugs on the street. I had frantically called Larry for help. His voice came through the phone, as cool and dispassionate as the clinking of glass beakers. “It’s no use calling me, Ava. The person you need to call right now is the police.” In Larry’s eyes, I was no different from any other nameless stranger on the street. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked, walking over, as if bestowing a great kindness. Nina was still clinging to his arm, looking weak and apologetic. “Ava, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I bothered him so much on your wedding day.” I curved my lips into a smile. “Oh, don’t worry. You can bother him as much as you want from now on.” “Because I’m not marrying him anymore.” 2 The straight, firm line of Larry’s mouth suddenly slackened. My parents, on the other hand, looked at me with a mixture of shock and relief. They knew I was stubborn as a mule; once I made up my mind, I never backed down. And when I was done with something, I never looked back. Larry, apparently, hadn’t realized that yet. He pressed his fingers to his temples, a weary gesture. He assumed I was just throwing another jealous tantrum. “Ava, you’d better mean that.” He said it because every time I’d broken up with him in the past, I’d come running back within two days. He thought this time would be no different. But when he finally returned home after finishing his long, complicated experiment, he was greeted by silence and an empty, cold apartment. Larry’s exhausted mind stuttered to a halt. He frowned, thinking for a moment before pulling out his phone to call me. “Ava, I’m hungry.” I froze on the other end of the line, stunned that this was the first thing he had to say to me after our standoff. Then, a dry, self-deprecating laugh escaped my lips. Larry was hailed as a genius in the world of physics. He could solve the most complex problems, conduct the most intricate experiments. But that same man had zero life skills. I was young then, and my world revolved around him. I willingly moved into his place and became his caretaker, his maid, his everything. I thought my devotion could thaw his icy heart. But just a moment ago, Nina had unblocked me on social media, and her latest post had appeared on my feed. [Day 100 of bringing lunch for my mentor. Today is eggplant with minced pork!] The picture showed a brightly colored lunchbox. I instantly recognized the long, elegant hand in the corner of the frame. It was Larry’s. [He said it was delicious and ate every last bite!] Reading that sentence, my eyes stung so badly I thought tears would fall. Because the one food Larry absolutely despised was eggplant. My fingers pressed hard against the screen, zooming in desperately until I saw it. The nutritious, meticulously prepared meal I woke up at 6 a.m. every single morning to make for him. Tossed in the trash can in the corner. I fought back the wave of nausea and rage, my voice low and steady. “Larry, do you just think I’m that easy to push around?” He heard the tremor in my voice. His breath hitched, and he started to say something else, but I had already hung up and blocked his number. He’s a smart man, I thought. He should understand that when an adult refuses to communicate, it means the relationship is over. But Larry was clearly missing a crucial piece of common sense. The rain was pouring down in sheets when he appeared at my door, holding a cake box. “Nina said girls like cake when they’re upset, so I went all the way to…” “Enough!” I shoved the cake out of his hands, sending it splattering onto the wet ground. The dam of my emotions finally broke. “Larry, you’re not Nina’s lapdog! You don’t need to ask her opinion on everything you do!” “I’m so sick of it! Just go be with Nina! I sincerely, truly wish you two the best!” I slammed the door in his face. Through the glass, I saw his long eyelashes, beaded with raindrops, his expression utterly stunned. It was only then that it seemed to slowly dawn on him that this time was different. Before he could process it, his professor called. There was a problem with the experiment’s data. Larry had no choice but to leave. We didn’t speak for two weeks. From the bits and pieces my dad told me, I gathered he was preparing to compete for the Buckley Prize, one of the most prestigious awards in physics. Then, one evening, my phone rang. It was him. “Ava, what are you doing?” His voice was hoarse with exhaustion. I paused for a beat before answering truthfully. “I’m trying on wedding dresses.” 3 Maybe it was my imagination, but Larry’s tone suddenly sounded much lighter. “When’s the date?” Even though the wedding had nothing to do with him anymore, I told him. “A week from today.” “Okay. I got it.” Just as he was about to hang up, I heard a sweet, playful shriek from his end of the line. “Larry, where did you put my pajamas?” Clatter. The phone slipped from my grasp, and my head started to buzz. They… they were sleeping together? The thought alone was enough to make my eyes burn. A memory I had tried so hard to bury came rushing back. It was shortly after Larry and I had started dating. I begged him to introduce me to his colleagues and juniors. Unlike the others, who were all worn down and lifeless from their experiments, Nina was a constant ball of sunshine. That night, everyone was teasing Larry, pressuring him to drink. They kept asking him who the person he loved most in the world was. The alcohol had flushed his face, his eyes glassy behind his rimless glasses. He was drunk. And his subconscious answered for him. “It’s Nina…” The entire room fell silent. I twisted my fingers together in my lap, forcing a smile. I tried to convince them, and myself, “He meant Ava! He said Ava!” The awkward moment passed, but I stubbornly clung to Larry’s side, believing that time would prove everything. But after eight years of chasing him, I was just so tired. Now that I was no longer in the way, it was only natural for them to get together. So, I prepared myself to forget him. I started by throwing away all the complex LEGO sets he’d given me. I never actually liked those brainy puzzles; what I loved was the process of building them with him. But Larry was always too busy. So I would secretly hide a few pieces, hoping it would make him stay with me a little longer. His sharp eyes, however, saw right through me. “You hid the pieces, didn’t you,” he stated, not asked. “Ava, I don’t have time for your games. Nina is waiting for me to run some test data.” Nina had always been a thorn in my side. The moment I heard her name, I would become sharp and bitter. “Are you like this with Nina, too?” He seemed to pause for a second before stating a simple fact. “Nina isn’t boring like you.” That casual remark shattered my defenses. Three days before the wedding, my dad left an important file at home and asked me to bring it to the university. I took a shortcut through the physics building. I had barely stepped inside when Nina blocked my path, her face set in a stern expression. “Ava, Larry is busy with his experiment right now. You should stop harassing him.” Nearby students started whispering. “Wow, that’s Larry’s doormat fiancée.” “Such a shame. I totally ship him and Nina.” I frowned. Hadn’t Larry told them we broke up? My phone was buzzing nonstop with calls from my dad. I didn’t have time to explain. “I’m in a hurry,” I said, trying to move past her. “No!” Nina shoved me. My feet tangled, and for a heart-stopping second, I realized I was at the top of a three-story staircase. A strong arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me back from the edge. I turned, my fear instantly replaced by a joyful surprise. “What are you doing here?” 4 “If I hadn’t come, you’d be a pancake on the floor right now.” Leo held me securely, his arm familiarly around my waist. He was my childhood best friend, and also the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with. Before I could say anything, a glacial voice cut through the air from behind me. “What are you two doing?” Larry stood there, his safety goggles pushed up on his forehead, revealing eyes red-rimmed with fatigue. His gaze slowly traveled down, locking onto Leo’s hand on my waist. A crowd was starting to form. I felt a flush of embarrassment and muttered, “It’s nothing. Just an accident.” Larry wasn’t the type to press for details. But this time, he was different. As I walked past him, he grabbed my wrist, his voice intense. “You haven’t answered my question.” Just then, a series of soft sobs broke the tension. No one had blamed Nina, but she had started crying anyway. Larry’s expression changed in an instant. He dropped my hand without hesitation and rushed to her side. “Who bullied you?” Nina just looked up at me silently, tears streaming down her face. Larry followed her gaze, his brow furrowing in displeasure when he saw me. “Why are you picking on Nina again?” I was the one who had almost been hurt, but Larry didn’t give me a chance to speak. Maybe a man so devoted to logic didn’t actually care about the truth. “Can you just stop making trouble?” He placed all the blame on me. “I told you not to drag other people into our problems.” “I’m flying out for the competition tomorrow, but I promise I’ll be back in time for the wedding. Just relax, okay?” Leo let out a soft “tsk” and was about to step forward, but I stopped him. I was perfectly calm. “First of all, I never touched Nina. Her tear ducts are her own problem. Secondly, the groom isn’t you, so you don’t need to rush back.” “Right, right. It’s not you,” Larry said, but it was clear he didn’t believe a word. He took Nina’s arm and led her away through the crowd. That night, Nina’s social media updated. [He said it’s responsibility, not love. He said he and I are the ones on the same path.] The picture was of a spectacular fireworks display over a mountaintop. I had told him more than once how much I wanted to see fireworks. But Larry always had an excuse, always too busy. It turns out that when someone truly cares, they can always find the time. Larry had said he’d be back in two days. But because Nina suddenly came down with a stomach ache, he delayed his return by a full week. His colleagues were worried. “Larry, what about your wedding?” “Ava might not forgive you so easily this time.” Larry just pushed his glasses up his nose, unconcerned. “It’s fine. She’s easy to please.” But when he finally arrived at my parents’ house, laden with gifts, he was met with cold, stony silence. He asked, “Where’s Ava?” My mother, finally getting her moment of vindication, smiled brightly. “Ava? Oh, she’s on her honeymoon.”

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My parents divorced when I was five. I chose to live with my dad. Two years later, a car accident left me paralyzed from the waist down. My father decided I was a burden he wasn’t willing to bear. He drove me to my mother’s house, left me on the doorstep, and never looked back. But my mom, Laura, she didn’t see a burden. She saw her daughter. For twenty years, she was my hands and my feet. She was my constant. To pay for my medical bills, she worked three jobs, collapsing from exhaustion more times than I can count. Her second husband, Mark, finally gave her an ultimatum. “If you don’t put that girl in a state home, we’re done.” She signed the divorce papers without a second thought. Her devotion went viral, a storybook of maternal sacrifice that captivated the nation. They called her “America’s Greatest Mom.” Everyone told me how lucky I was to have her. Then I won the lottery. Ten million dollars. And I transferred every last cent to the father who had abandoned me. The internet branded me a monster. An ungrateful viper. A reporter tracked me down, shoving a microphone in my face. “Your father didn’t spend a single day caring for you in twenty years, but your mother sacrificed everything. She’s buried in debt because of you. Why wouldn’t you give her a dime?” I looked straight into her camera, my voice even. “Install a hidden camera in our house. Livestream everything for three days. Then you’ll know why.” 1 The camera was no bigger than a screw head, tucked away on a bookshelf. The secret broadcast began. That evening, my mother came home, her body stooped with the familiar weariness of a long day. She shuffled to my bedside, her movements slow and deliberate, preparing to clean me for the night. When she pulled back the sheets, the mess beneath me was obvious. But there was no disgust in her eyes. Only a wave of guilt and heartache. “Oh, Anna,” she whispered, her voice raspy. “Did you have an upset stomach last night?” She pressed the back of her hand to my forehead, her brow furrowed with self-reproach. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. I’ve just been so tired from work, I must have slept right through. I didn’t get up to check your blankets. You must have been so uncomfortable all night…” I watched her, my expression unreadable. I said nothing. The live chat, however, was a waterfall of emotion. “OMG, this mom is an actual saint. She comes home to that, and her first thought is to blame herself?” “Right?? I’d be screaming. After a 12-hour shift? No way.” “This is why they call her America’s Greatest Mom. I’m literally crying.” Unaware of her audience, my mother began the arduous process of helping me turn, preparing to lift me into the bathroom for a bath. But she was older now, worn thin by years of this. Her arms strained, her knuckles white, but she couldn’t get the leverage to lift my dead weight from the mattress. Just then, a sharp knock echoed from the front door. Mom opened it to find my father standing there. She froze. “Rick? What are you doing here?” He held up a duffel bag, a lazy grin on his face. “If I recall, when we split, we put this apartment in Anna’s name. I’m her legal guardian, her father. Nothing wrong with a dad crashing at his kid’s place for a few days, is there?” He shouldered his way inside before she could answer. Mom was too tired to argue. She just sighed. “Fine. Then make yourself useful. Help me get Anna into the bathroom. I need to give her a bath.” My father glanced at the bed, his nose wrinkling in disgust. “Jesus. Smells like a sewer. I’m not touching her.” Mom’s jaw tightened. “She’s your daughter, Rick! She just gave you ten million dollars. You can’t even be bothered to help lift her?” He scoffed. “She gave it to me. Her choice. Don’t try to guilt-trip me now.” Mom let out a long, weary breath. “I respect Anna’s decisions. She gave you the money because she wants you to have a stable life, to get back on your feet.” Her voice pleaded with him. “She shows you that much respect. Can’t you show her a little kindness?” Rick’s eyes were cold. “What’s the point? She’s a cripple. Has been for twenty years. A useless vegetable.” He shook his head, looking at my mother as if she were insane. “I don’t know why you bother keeping her around. It would have been better for everyone if she’d just died.” The live chat exploded. “WHAT DID HE JUST SAY?? He wished his own daughter was dead? To her face??” “And this is the piece of trash she gave TEN MILLION DOLLARS to. Not a penny to her saint of a mother, but all of it to this monster.” “There’s something seriously wrong with this girl. Her mom gives up her entire life for her, goes into debt, gets divorced, and gets nothing. This daughter is sick in the head.” “She didn’t just paralyze her legs, she paralyzed her brain.” 2 In the end, my father didn’t help. It took my mother over an hour to get me cleaned up and settled. She was sweating, her hair plastered to her forehead, but she carefully dressed me in fresh pajamas and transferred me to my wheelchair. “You must be starving, Anna,” she said, her voice soft. “Let me go make you some dinner.” She almost fainted as she stood up, her body swaying from the effort. She steadied herself against the wall for a moment, took a deep breath, and walked into the kitchen. A short while later, she emerged with a tray. Roast chicken, mashed potatoes, steamed green beans, and a bowl of chicken noodle soup that smelled like home. She set the tray on the table in front of me, then spooned some of the soup, blowing on it gently before lifting it to my lips. “I went to the farmer’s market to get a fresh chicken for this soup, sweetie. Just like you used to love when you were little. Try some.” I turned my head away. “I don’t want it,” I said, my voice flat. Worry clouded her face. “Anna, honey, you need to eat something. Especially after being sick last night. You’ll waste away.” I met her gaze, my own eyes cold. “I’m not hungry.” My gaze drifted over to my father, who was slouched on the sofa, scrolling through his phone. My voice softened. “Dad, can I have that slice of pizza on the coffee table?” He didn’t even look up. “That’s mine. You want pizza, wheel yourself down to the corner and buy some.” My mother shot him a furious look before turning back to me, her voice gentle again. “Anna, please, just eat your dinner. I’ll go out and get you a fresh pizza as soon as you’re done, okay?” I shook my head stubbornly, refusing to even look at the meal she’d prepared. The internet was having a meltdown. “Is this girl for real? Her mom makes a home-cooked meal and she wants the cold, greasy pizza her deadbeat dad is eating?” “I thought she was just confused before, but this is just… cruel. Her dad treats her like garbage and she’s still begging for scraps from him?” “That poor woman. All that work for nothing. She made a whole feast and her daughter won’t even look at it.” “This is disgusting. The more I watch, the more I hate this daughter. She’s the real monster here.” 3 The first day of the livestream ended with a torrent of abuse aimed squarely at me. The next day, my mother came home a little earlier than usual. She was holding a warm paper bag. “Anna, I remembered you wanted pizza,” she said, her voice bright with forced cheerfulness. “I picked one up on my way home from work. Pepperoni, your favorite. Here, have a slice while it’s hot.” She held it out to me, her eyes searching my face for a flicker of approval. I glanced at the pizza box, then back at her. My voice was monotone. “I don’t want it anymore.” A shadow of hurt and disappointment passed over her face, but she quickly masked it with a smile. “Okay, sweetie. Well, what would you like? I can make you anything.” I gave her a long, cold look. “I don’t want anything you make.” With that, I turned my wheelchair toward the balcony, needing some air. As I exited my room, I ran directly into my father, who was staggering out of his, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in his hand. The bottle slipped from his grasp and shattered on the floor. His face contorted with rage. “Goddammit, are you blind? That was a brand-new bottle of Jack!” He snatched the neck of the broken bottle from the floor and, in a fit of fury, kicked my wheelchair with all his strength. The chair bucked violently, tipping sideways. “Anna!” My mother screamed, diving toward me. She threw her body between me and the floor, her arms wrapping around me as the full weight of the chair and my body crashed down on top of her. A jagged piece of metal on the wheelchair’s frame sliced her arm open, a deep, horrifying gash that bled instantly. But she didn’t even seem to feel the pain. Her only concern was me. She scrambled to right the chair, her hands shaking as she checked me over, her voice frantic. “Are you okay? Did you hit your head?” Once she was sure I was unharmed, she rounded on my father, her voice trembling with fury. “Rick, you could have killed her!” My father just stared at me. “She’s a paralytic. It’s not like she can feel anything anyway. What’s the big deal?” He kicked at a piece of broken glass. “Such a waste of good whiskey.” He stormed back into his room, slamming the door. My mother, still breathing heavily, ignored the blood pouring from her arm. Her focus was entirely on the wheelchair. She noticed a clasp had been knocked loose by the kick. Immediately, she went to find the toolbox. She spent the rest of the night on the floor, carefully tightening screws and reinforcing the frame, long after I had gone to bed. In the live chat, the fury was incandescent. “I’m dead. This woman is a living angel. Her arm is ripped open and all she cares about is her daughter.” “And for what? So her heartless, dead-eyed daughter can keep treating her like dirt?” “Is this girl’s heart made of stone? How can she see what her mother does for her and feel nothing? How can she be so cold?” “They say you reap what you sow, but this mother sowed love and harvested a monster. That girl deserves to be paralyzed.” “Just leave her, Laura! My God, just walk away! This child isn’t worth it!” The vitriol was so intense that the reporter called me again, her voice strained. “Is this what you wanted? This three-day secret livestream? Do you have any idea what people are saying about you?” she asked, exasperated. “Your mother is a saint. This is just making you look like the most evil person on the planet.” I glanced into the living room, where my mother was sitting alone, clumsily trying to bandage her own wound. “There’s still one day left,” I said quietly. “Tomorrow, you’ll understand everything.” 4 On the morning of the third day, my mother came into my room as she always did. “Morning, Anna. How are you feeling today? Is your appetite any better?” she asked softly, her hands expertly checking my circulation and looking for pressure sores. I didn’t answer, but my eyes flickered to the thick gauze wrapped around her arm. Fresh blood had already started to seep through. Ignoring my silence, she began my daily physical therapy, gently massaging my legs and flexing my joints to prevent muscle atrophy. Her touch was tender, as if she were handling the most precious treasure in the world. “Look, Anna, it’s a beautiful day out,” she said, trying to fill the silence. “After breakfast, I’ll take you outside for some fresh air. The doctor said it would be good for you.” I just stared out the window. “I don’t want to.” Her hands faltered for a second, but she said nothing, resuming the massage. When she was done, she brought a bowl of warm water and carefully washed my face and hands, then went to make breakfast. The live chat was still simmering with yesterday’s rage. “Same dead fish expression on her face today. I can’t stand looking at her.” “Her mom’s arm is literally bleeding through the bandage and this girl can’t even ask if she’s okay?” “I’m convinced. Some people don’t deserve kindness.” My mother didn’t go to work that day. She said she wanted to spend some quality time with me. After cleaning up from breakfast, she wheeled me out onto the small balcony to sit in the sun. She brushed my hair, clipped my fingernails, and cleaned my ears. She tended to every part of me until I was pristine. Then, she pulled up a small stool and sat beside me, taking my hand in hers. Her grip was tight. “Do you remember this, Anna?” she began, her voice low and thick with memory. “When you were a little girl, you loved sitting on the porch with me in the sun. You’d say the sunshine made all the sad feelings go away.” She squeezed my hand. “We didn’t have much money back then, but you always said that as long as you had your mom and dad, you were the happiest girl in the world.” A sad smile touched her lips. “You said when you grew up, you were going to take me on a trip around the world…” Her eyes grew misty. Just then, her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, then looked back at me, a deep, unreadable expression in her eyes. She silenced the call. She stood up, looking down at me. “Well, Anna,” she said, her voice strangely calm. “It’s about time.” A small smile touched my lips. Finally. The moment was here. My mother turned and walked back into the house, leaving me on the balcony. She went into my room and did something that made every single person watching the livestream gasp. 5 Under the silent watch of thousands, my mother opened my closet. She began taking my clothes, my personal items, and carefully folding them, placing them one by one into a worn, old suitcase. Her movements were slow, weighted with a sense of finality. The live chat erupted with question marks. “What is she doing? Where are they going?” “Is she finally leaving him? Taking the daughter and running? GOOD FOR HER.” “Wait, she’s packing Anna’s things. Is she… sending her away?” “No way. Not after all this. She loves her daughter too much to put her in a home.” “Maybe the daughter pushed her too far. She finally broke.” Just as the speculation reached a fever pitch, my father emerged from his bedroom, yawning. He saw my mother packing the suitcase, and a smirk spread across his face. “So, Laura,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “You finally came to your senses? You’re really going through with it?” My mother didn’t turn around. She just kept packing. “Yes,” she said, her voice a low hum. My father chuckled and walked over to my wheelchair. He bent down, his face close to mine, and his voice was laced with mock pity. “You know, Anna, you’re one lucky girl. Paralyzed for twenty years, and you get a sucker like your mom who just won’t quit.” He shook his head. “Even after everything you’ve put her through, she still couldn’t bring herself to dump you in a state facility.” He paused, his grin widening. “Oh, by the way. That ten million you gave me? It’s gone. Had a bad run in Vegas. Not only is it gone, but I’m another hundred grand in the hole.” He said it like he was telling me the weather. “Good news for me is, I’m still your legal guardian. So I sold this apartment to cover my debts. The new owners will be here in a few days to take possession.” He patted my shoulder. “I was going to have you sent to a nursing home, but your mom here threw a fit. Cried and screamed about how they wouldn’t take proper care of you. Can you believe that?” I glanced at my mother. Her face was a mask, showing nothing. But the internet had seen enough. The dam of outrage broke. “TEN MILLION DOLLARS?! GONE?! And he sold their home out from under them?!” “This man is not human. He’s a demon. He’s going to leave his ex-wife and disabled daughter homeless.” “Well, daughter dearest, are you happy now? Your precious ten million fed a monster.” “This is karma. She was blind and stupid and now she’s paying the price.” “The mother is the only victim here! She worked for 20 years to care for that girl, and now she has nothing. No money, no home, nothing!” “And she’s STILL taking the daughter with her? Is she crazy? Run, woman! Run for your life!” The livestream was a raging inferno of hate for me and my father. As my mother finished packing and my father went to the kitchen for a beer, my phone rang. It was the reporter again. “Anna, is this the father you emptied your bank account for?” her voice crackled with disbelief. “Ten million dollars, and he didn’t say thank you, didn’t lift a finger for you, and pissed it all away before selling your home! Meanwhile, your mother, who has no legal obligation to you, has devoted her life to you. She has nothing, and she’s still choosing you.” She took a sharp breath. “After today, the entire world thinks you’re a monster. Don’t you have anything to say? Why are you being so cruel to your mother?” 6 The reporter’s voice was a frantic buzz in my ear. My eyes found my mother’s back as she zipped the suitcase closed. Twenty years had turned her dark, glossy hair to a dry, brittle gray. Her once straight posture was now permanently bent, as if under an invisible weight. I remember how much she used to care about her appearance. A single gray hair would send her into a spiral for a whole afternoon. Now, for me, she had aged into a little old woman before her time. Such a good mother. What a shame. I sighed, my voice calm as I spoke into the phone. “It’s not time yet.” I hung up. My mother had finished packing. She grabbed the handle of the suitcase with one hand and the back of my wheelchair with the other. “Let’s go, Anna,” she said, her voice steady. “Don’t you worry. No matter what happens, Mom will take care of you.” My father leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a mocking sneer on his face. “Don’t be a martyr, Laura. You’re not young anymore. How are you going to find a job, pay the rent, all while dragging this anchor around?” He gestured at me. “It’s not too late. Just drop her at the county home. You’ve done more than enough. You don’t owe her anything else.” My mother looked up at him, her eyes blazing with a sudden fire. “As long as I am breathing, I will never abandon Anna,” she said, her voice ringing with conviction. “I carried her for nine months. She is a part of my own body. She is my heart.” Without another glance at my father, she pushed my wheelchair out of the apartment we had called home for so long. The livestream from inside the apartment cut out, but the reporter wasn’t giving up. The story was too big. Within minutes, she was on the street behind us, her camera operator filming from a distance as she provided live commentary. My mother took the last few thousand dollars she had to her name and rented a tiny, dilapidated studio apartment in a rough part of town. Once she had me settled, she threw herself back into work, harder than ever. I spent most of my days lying in bed. The reporter’s feed, now followed by millions, focused primarily on my mother. Her drone camera hovered discreetly outside the grimy windows of our new apartment. Through that lens, the world watched my mother’s struggle. With the added expense of rent, she was working herself to death. She cleaned houses during the day, washed dishes in a greasy diner at night, and came home late to assemble cheap electronics for pennies apiece. The camera captured it all. It watched her drag her nearly lifeless body home each night, only to begin the second shift of caring for me: cleaning my body, massaging my limbs, cooking my meals, and feeding me. And I remained a stone wall. I often refused the food she so carefully prepared. I met her every act of sacrifice with cold indifference. The livestream continued. The hatred for me never waned; it only intensified. “Is that girl made of wood? Her mother is literally killing herself for her, and she’s still acting like a zombie.” “Does she just think this is normal? That this is what she’s owed?” “If I were her mother, I would have walked away so long ago. I’d be on a beach in Mexico.” “I can’t take this anymore. That woman is a saint, and she’s wasting her life on an ungrateful monster! Your kindness is worthless if you give it to someone who doesn’t deserve it!” “Seriously, what did this horrible girl ever do to deserve a mother like that?!” The abuse was constant. My mother’s labor was endless. On the third day in our new apartment, after working for nearly twenty hours straight, my mother came home and started to prepare my dinner. She took two steps into the tiny kitchen, her eyes rolled back in her head, and she collapsed onto the linoleum floor. She was unconscious. I did not move. I did not call for help. A small, satisfied smile spread across my face.

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Back in college, I “bought” a boyfriend. The deal was simple: be with me, and I’d cover his family’s medical bills. For four years, the brilliant, broke scholar swallowed his pride and stayed by my side. Then, my family went bankrupt. When I broke up with him, he was as cold as ever. He didn’t say a single word to ask me to stay. Years later, I was working as a cocktail waitress in a high-end lounge to pay off my debts. He had become a tech mogul, with the former campus belle on his arm. He asked me, “Do you regret it?” “No.” “Well, I do.” 1 After all these years since graduation, I never imagined I would run into Damian Sterling like this. As I served the fruit platter, I kept my head down, praying he wouldn’t see my face. Vanessa Croft sat beside him. The prodigy and the beauty—a perfect match. “Waitress,” Damian called out to me. “Slice the orange.” I turned my back to him, my hands beginning to tremble as I sliced the fruit into neat crescents. A long time ago, when oranges were my favorite thing in the world, Damian would always cut them for me. He had a surgeon’s precision, each slice a perfect, uniform thickness. Back then, I thought it was a gesture of love. Only later did I realize it was just a habit. His mind would wander to a thousand different things as he performed the simple task, but never, not once, to me. Four years. It felt like half a lifetime. Somehow, the conversation in the private room drifted to college romances. Someone piped up, “I heard Mr. Sterling had a girlfriend for all four years of college.” My hand faltered. Damian just hummed in acknowledgment. “Wow, four years. That’s your entire college experience. How romantic.” Damian didn’t respond, and an awkward silence fell over the group. The guest, trying to fill the void, pressed on, “Four years is a long time. She must have been unforgettable, right?” The silence stretched, thick and heavy. After what felt like an eternity, Damian let out a soft, dismissive laugh. “Hardly.” 2 “Honestly, it’s a miracle Damian doesn’t despise her,” Vanessa explained with an effortless grace, saving the conversation. “Damian and I went to the same university. You have no idea… ugh, I felt so bad for him back then. If his ex hadn’t been in the way, do you really think it would have taken us this long to get together?” “Of course! Vanessa, you’re a huge star now. No matter how great his ex was, could she ever compare to you?” The mood in the room instantly lifted. I tugged the brim of my cap lower, desperate to just disappear. The fruit knife slipped, slicing my finger. A sharp hiss of pain escaped my lips, drawing the attention of the table. “What’s wrong with you?” Vanessa complained, her voice sharp with annoyance. “Can’t you even cut a piece of fruit?” “I’m so sorry. I’ll get you a fresh platter.” I snatched the plate, ready to flee. “Wait.” Damian’s voice stopped me in my tracks. Each word was slow, deliberate. “Turn around.” 3 My feet felt nailed to the floor. One second. Two. My manager, sensing trouble, rushed over. “My apologies, everyone. She’s new, still learning the ropes. The fruit platters are on the house tonight.” She shot me a pointed look. “What are you waiting for? Go get a new one!” It was the escape I needed. Later, my manager, a kind woman named Sarah, pulled me aside. “You need to be quicker on your feet next time,” she said gently. “We were all new once. But a complaint from that room, and you’d be working tonight for free.” “Thank you, Sarah.” “Don’t mention it. Just be extra careful with the VIP room. They’re all heavy hitters, especially the youngest, most handsome one in the middle. He’s the founder of a huge tech startup. He’s not someone we can afford to cross.” “Sarah… I’m a little shaken up. Could you possibly take the new platter in for me?” “Sure thing.” I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. If there was one person in the world who had already crossed Damian Sterling beyond forgiveness, it had to be me. I was the ex he was talking about. The one it was a miracle he didn’t despise. 4 I still remember him so clearly from our freshman year. Damian Sterling, standing amongst the sea of new students in his faded, worn-out clothes, a world apart from everyone else. He was visibly poor, but he was also visibly proud, carrying himself with a straight-backed dignity that money couldn’t buy. I loved the cool, quiet timber of his voice. I loved the way his eyelids would lower when he looked at me. He was desperate for money, but the financial aid he was counting on was snatched away by a legacy student with connections. So, after a night class, I cornered him, grabbing his hand like a predator. “Damian, I like you. Be my boyfriend. I’m loaded, we can share my allowance. Hell, I’ll even pay you for every kiss if I have to.” Of course, he refused. But my life up to that point had been a gilded path of yeses. I didn’t understand the meaning of defeat. The more he pushed me away, the tighter I clung. The breaking point came when his grandfather, the man who had raised him, fell critically ill. Without a second thought, I paid the mountain of medical bills. Damian finally surrendered. In my blissful ignorance, I thought I’d saved him. It took me a long time to understand the truth. I had won him, but in doing so, I had broken his spirit. Even after we were together, he worked relentlessly, taking on every part-time job he could find to pay for his own expenses. He barely touched my money, but things only got worse. Whispers started circulating on campus. They said Damian had sold himself for money. His classmates looked at him differently. They gave him ugly nicknames. I remained hopelessly optimistic and naive. I’d squeeze his hand and say, “Don’t listen to them. They’re just jealous.” … I lived in my own ivory tower, completely oblivious to the solitary war Damian was fighting. Senior year, my family went bankrupt. I didn’t tell him. I just called him to meet me and said, “Let’s break up.” “Why?” “I’m bored of you.” “Okay.” And just like that, it was over. I imagine he must have been happy, finally free. The day we broke up, I snapped my SIM card, deleted my social media, and boarded a train to a different city to start working off my family’s debt. I only returned three months ago. Damian looked like he was doing more than okay. He was always a genius, the kind who made the rest of the department look like children. In just four years, he’d become a tech mogul worthy of a business magazine cover. And Vanessa Croft, our old campus belle who’d become a celebrity in her junior year… I never expected them to end up together. Good for them. It’s for the best. I pressed a hand to my chest, forcing down the bitter ache. At 4 a.m., my shift was finally over. I was the last to leave. A coworker, thinking the building was empty, had already shut off the main lights and the elevators. I jabbed at the elevator button in frustration, hoping to bring it back to life. “You should probably call someone.” Damian’s voice echoed from the darkness behind me. 5 I froze, then mechanically called my coworker. The elevator whirred back to life. Damian and I stood in the cramped space, the silence deafening. “You guys work this late?” he asked, his tone casual. “We leave after the last guest is gone.” “Is the pay good here?” “It’s alright.” I kept my head down, the cap hiding my face. He didn’t seem to recognize me. He chatted idly for a moment, then glanced at his watch. “This elevator is painfully slow. My girlfriend is probably getting impatient. She’s very clingy, you know. Loves to be doted on.” My heart clenched. He was talking about Vanessa. “What about you?” he continued. “You get off this late, doesn’t your boyfriend come pick you up?” “I live close by.” The elevator dinged. The second the doors opened, I bolted. But Damian, who had been so calm just moments before, finally snapped. “What are you running from?” he growled, his voice dangerously low. “Where do you think you can run to, Elara?” “Was it fun? Just vanishing off the face of the earth?” 6 Damian advanced on me, closing the distance between us. He was still the boy from my memories, but the youthful edges had hardened into a restrained, mature intensity. “New number, deleted accounts… not even our old professors could find you. You’re really something else, Elara.” I slowly lifted my head, meeting his gaze. “You must have… used your connections to find out, right? That my family went bankrupt, that my father is still buried in debt…” “Why didn’t you tell me?” I was speechless. “Was it too much for your pride, Miss Vance? Too embarrassing to admit you’d fallen?” “No—” Before I could finish, Vanessa walked over. “Oh my god? Elara! It really is you!” She was even more beautiful than in college, polished to perfection from head to toe. “It’s been forever! Everyone from our class has been looking for you. Where have you been for the last four years?” “I moved down south.” “No wonder,” Vanessa said, her eyes scanning my uniform, then landing on my coat with feigned surprise. “Elara, isn’t that the down jacket you bought in junior year? The filling is coming out. Are you still wearing this?” I used to be the kind of person who threw clothes out after one season. Her question was a deliberate jab, meant to humiliate me. But I was numb to it now. “It’s not broken. It still works.” Vanessa’s expression softened into one of pity. “Are you having a hard time? You should have just said something! We’re old classmates, we can help.” She pulled a credit card from her purse. “Here, take this. Don’t worry about paying me back.” “Thank you, but I don’t need it.” I looked from her to Damian, a quiet smile on my face. “I’m getting married soon. You should both come.” The words hung in the air. I saw the shock register on Damian’s face, his entire demeanor freezing over. 7 The lounge was just my night job; I had a day job to get to. On Monday, a major potential client came into the office. My coworkers were gossiping. “I heard this guy is a genius. Apparently, he created his entire system just to find someone.” “Really? Who?” “His ex-girlfriend, I think.” A prickle of unease ran down my spine. A very bad feeling. “Did he find her?” “No idea. The system isn’t even fully launched yet, but investors are pouring money into it. The potential is massive. That’s why our boss is so desperate to partner with him.” I gathered the presentation materials. As I approached the conference room, I heard Damian’s voice. “Regarding the partnership, I’m going to need more time to consider.” I pushed the door open and placed the files on the table. Damian’s eyes, sharp and intense, locked onto mine. “What are you doing here?” “I work here.” This was my main job. My boss looked between us, curious. “Elara, you know Mr. Sterling?” I chose my words carefully. “We’ve met.” “Just met?” Damian’s voice was laced with a familiar anger. What was he so angry about? He was the one who walked away without a second glance when I broke up with him. He pointed at me. “Mr. Davis, I’ll sign the contract on one condition. I want Elara Vance assigned as my project assistant.” My boss agreed instantly, not even giving me a chance to object. They talked all day. At five o’clock, I packed my bag to leave. Damian blocked my path. “Where do you think you’re going? I haven’t dismissed you.” “Mr. Sterling, I can’t work overtime today. I have to be somewhere.” “Where?” “I have to go deliver for DoorDash.” Damian stared at me, his face a mask of disbelief. 8 I used to be so spoiled I wouldn’t even touch a takeout container. For four years of college, Damian had been the one delivering food after class. His dinner was often just a free meal box from the delivery company. I found him once, in a cramped break room, huddled with a group of other couriers, shoveling rice from a flimsy box. “Damian, why are you eating this? It’s not sanitary,” I’d said. He’d looked deeply uncomfortable. “Does it matter?” “Come on. Let’s go get steak.” I dragged him to a new high-end steakhouse where a single meal cost over a hundred dollars. He stood outside for a long time, silently taking off his delivery uniform before stepping inside. After my family’s fall from grace, I finally understood the humiliation he must have felt that day. Just like I was feeling now. It started to snow. The ground was slick, and I wiped out, sending the customer’s food spilling across the pavement. I called to explain, but he just screamed at me. “Stop making excuses! Late is late!” My scraped palm throbbed in the biting cold, but I ignored it, repeating “I’m sorry” over and over. Suddenly, Damian was there, lifting my delivery bike. I don’t know how long he’d been watching. I instinctively hid my injured hand behind my back. “Don’t hide it,” he said, his voice hoarse, his eyes rimmed with red. “Go wash it.” “I have to deliver this first.” “Get in the car. I’ll take you.” The customer lived on the first floor. When I handed him the remade order, he muttered, “Damn, even people in Porsches are doing DoorDash now?” I had to get to my next order. “Stop,” Damian said. “Don’t do any more deliveries tonight.” “I can’t. I haven’t made nearly enough.” “Then I’ll buy your time.” “What?” A notification pinged on my phone. A new order, assigned directly by him. “I’m buying the rest of your night,” he said. 9 Damian drove me to his apartment. I stood in the entryway, refusing to go any further. “Vanessa will be angry.” “You have time to worry about other people?” he shot back. “Look at yourself. You’re a mess.” Besides the scrape on my hand, I was covered in dirty, melted snow. “And another thing, Elara,” he said, gesturing around the pristine, minimalist space. “Does this look like a woman has ever been here?” “You don’t live together?” “I’ve never been with her. Not really.” He tossed a contract onto the coffee table. “She came to me six months ago and proposed a deal. She didn’t want to get cornered by sleazy producers, so she asked me to pretend to be her boyfriend. In return, she helps me handle difficult clients.” He paused, as if worried I wouldn’t understand. “Some clients think the best way to do business is by sending women to my hotel room. It’s a headache. Vanessa acts as a buffer.” The contract spelled it out clearly: a professional arrangement, no interference in each other’s private lives. Damian took my hand and began cleaning the wound. I saw a row of unopened boxes on a shelf. A line of luxury hand creams. It was the brand I used to love. He had the entire collection. “I asked your coworkers about you today,” he said, his voice low. “You don’t have a boyfriend. You even said you were single at a team dinner last week. Elara, you were lying to me, weren’t you?” “I wasn’t.” “Then show me a picture. Of you and this man.” “We haven’t taken any.” “You? The girl who documents everything? You don’t have a single picture with your new love?” “Thanks for the reminder. I’ll take one next time and send it to you.” A bitter laugh escaped Damian’s lips. He suddenly leaned forward, bracing his hands on the sofa on either side of me, trapping me. The heat from his body radiated through my sweater. “I bought your time, Elara. You know what that means, don’t you?” “I’ll refund you. Damian, I’m serious, I’m getting married.” His hand trailed down my arm, his fingers stopping at my wrist. “Getting married, but still wearing a bracelet your ex gave you? Doesn’t seem right, does it?”

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My mother was getting remarried, and nothing my dad said could change her mind. He begged, he pleaded, but it was useless. Defeated, he finally agreed to the divorce. At her wedding, Dad and I stood in the back, watching her find her new happiness. I had just turned eighteen. I never thought my own mother could become a stranger so quickly. After that day, we didn’t speak for over twenty years. Then, on her sixtieth birthday, an email landed in my inbox. It was a legal demand for support. 1 The words on the screen made the blood rush to my head. [1: A demand for monthly elder support payments of $1,500, benchmarked against the average cost of living in her county.] [2: A clause requiring an annual increase to match the Cost-of-Living Adjustment (COLA).] [3: Payments to be made via direct deposit to her specified bank account by the 10th of each month, with late fees applied for any overdue amount…] The first contact from my mother in two decades, and it was a bill. My knuckles turned white as I gripped my phone, the text blurring in front of my eyes. Not long after she remarried all those years ago, my dad started a new family too. I remember showing up at his new house once. My stepmom, Brenda, slammed the door so hard the walls shook. Dad looked at me, his face a mask of helplessness. “Ethan,” he’d said, “you’re a man now. I’ll try to send what I can for tuition and expenses.” He couldn’t meet my eyes. “Brenda… she’s pregnant. She wants us to be a real family, and when you show up, things get… tense. Maybe it’s best if you don’t come by unless it’s an emergency.” I just stared past him, my throat too tight to speak, and then I ran. The moment I was out of sight, the tears I’d been holding back finally broke free. The world is a big place, but in that moment, I had two living parents and felt like an orphan. Those years were a blur of hardship. Without a family to fall back on, every day was a struggle. My college girlfriend eventually left me, tears in her eyes, because she couldn’t see a future with a guy who was barely treading water. After that, I gave up on relationships, not wanting to drag anyone else down with me. That’s why, at forty, I’m still single. Over the last twenty years, I’d imagined it a thousand times: my mother calling me out of the blue. Telling me she missed me, that she had her reasons, that she was sorry. It’s why I never changed my number. But this email proved it all a fantasy. I was never loved. Staring at the reality on my screen, I blocked her number and email without a second thought. “I’m forty years old,” I whispered to the setting sun from my apartment balcony. “I’m used to being alone. What’s one more disappointment?” The block brought a few days of quiet. I thought that might be the end of it. Then I got a call from a private number. It was the Court Mediation Services from my hometown. “Am I speaking with Mr. Ethan Miller?” “Yes.” “Mr. Miller, your mother, Ms. Sharon Peters, has filed a petition for filial support. As per state procedure, we’d like to schedule a pre-trial mediation. Are you willing to participate?” My throat felt like sandpaper. It took a moment before I could force out a single word: “No.” The voice on the other end remained professionally calm. “Understood. The case will now proceed to the formal litigation process. You will be served with a court summons shortly.” A week later, a manila envelope was taped to my door. 2 The moment my fingers touched that envelope, I felt a chill spread through my entire body. After more than twenty years, our first reunion would be in a courtroom, as plaintiff and defendant. I sat on my couch all night with the summons in my hand, unable to cry, unable to curse. A profound sense of absurdity and sorrow washed over me. It felt like no matter how far I ran, I could never truly escape. Fine. If I couldn’t escape, I would fight. I called a lawyer. “Legally speaking,” he said, his voice matter-of-fact over the phone, “most states with filial responsibility laws on the books rarely enforce them, but it’s not impossible. The court will consider her actual needs, your income, and the local standard of living. She won’t just get what she’s asking for. Those clauses about automatic increases and late fees? We can argue those are unreasonable.” His words were little comfort. I’ve spent my adult life feeling like a ghost, haunted by a past I didn’t create. There were nights I’d find myself walking by the river, just sitting on a cold bench from dusk till dawn, the dark water looking almost peaceful. I still get chills thinking about how close I came. My mother cut me off without a backward glance. Now that she’s old and needs help, she suddenly remembers she has a son. Does her age just erase all the damage she did? It’s a tragic joke. I put down the summons, grabbed a bottle of whiskey, and took a long, burning swallow. The fire in my throat did little to extinguish the one in my chest. I tried to laugh, but no sound came out. I thought my heart had turned to stone years ago, but I was wrong. It still ached. Fine. Let it ache. But I’m not that desperate kid anymore, begging for scraps of affection. The court can order me to pay. I’ll pay. But she’s going to find out that her money won’t come easy. 3 If she could be heartless, then so could I. My lawyer gave me a clear action plan: “First, gather any evidence you have that she failed to fulfill her parental duties after she left. Second, document your own financial limitations. Third, and this is key, find proof that her actual financial needs are not as dire as she claims.” After the call, I felt a familiar tightness in my chest. Digging through the past felt like pulling shards of glass out of my own skin. But I had no choice. On instinct, I pulled a dusty shoebox from the back of my closet. Inside, among old report cards, was a worn photograph. The memory hit me like a punch. I was eight, and I’d gotten a perfect score on a math test. My mom had hugged me, her face beaming with pride. “Ethan,” she’d said, ruffling my hair, “you’re the smartest kid in the world. I’m so proud to be your mom.” I puffed out my little chest. “When I grow up, I’m gonna take care of you, Mom! I’ll buy you a big house and everything!” She’d just laughed, a bright, happy sound that I can barely remember now. Flipping through the box, I saw fragments of that woman. The one who stood up to a bully for me when I was ten. The one who cried with pride at my middle school graduation. And then, at eighteen, it all just… stopped. She started looking at my dad and me with a kind of weary disgust. The slightest thing would set her off. I thought it was my fault, that I’d done something wrong. But the truth was simpler: her heart was already gone. At the bottom of the box was one last photo of the two of us. She’s young and beautiful, holding me as a toddler, both of us smiling for the camera. A perfect moment, frozen in time. It turns out her love had an expiration date. I closed the box, my face a blank mask. You have to keep moving forward, right? I took a week off work and drove back to my hometown, a place I hadn’t seen in a decade, to hunt for the evidence I needed. I ended up at my father’s front door. 4 My dad answered. His hair was almost completely white, his face a roadmap of wrinkles. He looked shocked to see me, then a flicker of something like joy crossed his face. “Ethan? My God, look at you. You’re so thin.” He grabbed my arm, pulling me inside. “Your stepmom finally had a boy after you left for college. Your brother, Kevin. He’s in college now too! You two should connect, you know? Family should stick together.” My smile felt like cracking plaster. I let him lead me into the bright, spacious living room. This was the house he’d bought for Brenda, in a good school district, after selling the small house I grew up in. Their house. Their family. Brenda’s eyes widened for a second before she pasted on a fake smile and offered me a seat. Kevin glanced up from his phone, gave me a dismissive nod, and went back to his game. The sneakers on his feet probably cost more than my food budget for an entire semester in college. Dinner was an exercise in awkwardness. They chattered about their lives, occasionally turning to me with a question, but every conversation ended with a hint that I should be prepared to “help Kevin out” when he graduated. I stared at the food on my plate, my stomach churning. After the plates were cleared, I took a deep breath and laid out why I was there. I needed a written statement from him. “I need you to testify,” I said, my voice steady, “that Sharon hasn’t seen me or contacted me in over twenty years. That you never saw her send money, or gifts, or even call to check on me. And that after you remarried, I was on my own, working my way through college with no support.” As I spoke, the color drained from my father’s face. He looked away, unable to meet my gaze. Brenda slammed her water glass down on the coffee table. “I knew it,” she hissed, crossing her arms. “I told you your son was trouble, Frank. Parents sacrifice everything, and this is the thanks they get? It’s your duty to care for your mother. He hasn’t given you the time of day in years, and now he wants to weasel out of helping his own mom? Get out. We don’t want your kind of cold-hearted poison in this house.” I wasn’t surprised. It wasn’t the first time she’d thrown me out. I stood up, turned, and walked out without another word. There was no love left for me here. Nothing to hold onto. Halfway back to my motel, my phone buzzed. It was a text from my dad. For a foolish second, I thought it might be an apology. Instead, it was the final nail in the coffin. 5 [Ethan, you’re a grown man now. I hope you haven’t forgotten the meaning of basic decency. We may have let you down, but our legal obligation to you ended when you turned 18. We did what the law required. Your mother is right about one thing. Your coldness… it makes you a stranger to me.] My coldness? They ignored me for twenty years, and I’m the one who’s cold? Where were they when I was digging through dumpsters for food behind the campus cafeteria? When I was taking ice-cold showers in my dorm in the middle of winter because I couldn’t afford to fix the hot water heater? When I wore the same jacket for three years, stitching the seams back together myself? I tried calling them back then. A few times. It was always a short, strained conversation that ended with one telling me to call the other. Eventually, my calls just went straight to voicemail. They were both tucked away in their new, happy lives, and I was the baggage they’d left behind. They built their own lifeboats, pushed me into the ocean, and now, twenty years later, they’re blaming me for not knowing how to swim. The hypocrisy was breathtaking. And that phrase—”a grown man.” As if I had a choice. I stood there on the cracked pavement of the motel parking lot, the evening breeze suddenly feeling sharp and cold. A piece of grit blew into my eye, making it water. Was I supposed to just accept this? Let them define me by their failures? No. The wind could howl all it wanted; it wasn’t going to knock me down. Not anymore. This fight? I was ready for it.

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I thought Audrey Lane was the love of my life. I’d planned a wedding for the ages, timed perfectly with the launch of the Eternity Collection—a jewelry line worth a fortune, built entirely around our story. Then, seven days before the wedding, she told me she had to marry someone else first. Her high school sweetheart, Ryan. It was to honor his late mother’s dying wish, she explained. After that was done, she would marry me. She said it with a straight face, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world. “It’s about his mother’s memory, Grayson. Some things are more important than money.” Then she added, a little too casually, “If you can’t handle that, I guess you can find someone else to marry.” Just like that, I understood. In her world, my love, my life’s work—it was all disposable. A temporary roadblock on the path to serving the ghost of her first love. I turned away, my heart a block of ice, and dialed my sister-in-law. “Eleanor,” I said, my voice steady. “The wedding is still on. I just… need you to find me a new bride.” 1 The day of the final dress fitting, I waited for what felt like an eternity in the black town car idling in front of Audrey’s downtown office. She finally emerged, sliding into the leather seat beside me without a glance. She tossed a small, branded box onto my lap. A miniature model of a private jet. “A little something from Ryan,” she said. “He felt bad about how you acted at the memorial service. You should probably call him and apologize.” The model was a cheap gift-with-purchase. I’d seen the real thing—a top-of-the-line Gulfstream—in Audrey’s online shopping cart a few days ago. “I don’t want it,” I said quietly. Audrey’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “What is your problem now? You’re the one who stormed into his mother’s memorial service and made a scene, telling everyone I wasn’t his fiancée. He’s being the bigger person here, and you can’t even accept a simple gift?” The woman who once defended me, who saw me as her entire world, was gone. In her place was someone who cherished another man’s feelings above all else. She cracked the window, the city noise flooding in, a tangible representation of the static between us. When it became clear I wasn’t going to soothe her irritation, she sighed. “Fine. Whatever. Today is supposed to be a happy day. I won’t let you ruin it.” It was the closest she’d come to an apology in months. At the bridal salon, a hushed temple of silk and lace, the consultant greeted us with a reverent smile. “Ms. Lane. Mr. Cole. We have the one hundred and twenty custom gowns you commissioned ready for your selection.” But Audrey’s eyes weren’t on the sea of white before us. They were glued to her phone, her thumb swiping furiously. I saw the flash of panic on her face before she shoved the phone into her purse. “Grayson,” she said, her voice laced with a practiced sort of regret. “Something’s come up with Ryan. It’s an emergency. I have to go. You know my style… just pick one for me? I trust your taste.” Before I could answer, she was out the door, hailing a cab, leaving me alone in a room built for two. The consultant approached cautiously. “Mr. Cole? Would you… would you like to make the selection yourself?” I drew my gaze away from the empty space where Audrey had stood and gave a slow nod. Oh, I would be choosing a dress. Just not for Audrey Lane. Because the bride had changed. “Eleanor,” I’d said into the phone, the words feeling foreign and heavy in my mouth. “The wedding’s still on. I just… need you to find me a new bride.” There was a stunned silence on the other end. “You’re calling it off?” “No,” I said, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “She is. She’s marrying someone else.” To be with Audrey, I’d fought my own family, battled my way through boardrooms, and staked the biggest launch of my career—the Eternity Collection—on our wedding day. Now, it was all turning to smoke. Eleanor was quiet for a long moment. “Then it has to be Sloane Davenport,” she said finally. “Her family has been putting the pressure on, and she’s been looking for a suitable arrangement.” I winced. Sloane Davenport was my lifelong rival. The day I announced my engagement, she’d sent me a bottle of hundred-year-old scotch with a note that said, “Here’s to watching it all go up in flames.” Turns out, she was a prophet. But time was running out. “Fine,” I bit out. “Ask her. If she says no, I’ll figure something else out.” Eleanor’s reply was suspiciously quick. “Oh, she’ll say yes. Don’t you worry.” Before I could ask what she meant, she claimed she was busy and hung up. I drove home, half-expecting the house to be empty. But Audrey was there, bustling in the kitchen just before dinner. She walked over to me, holding out a takeout container from a ridiculously expensive Italian place across town. “I went all the way to Marcella’s to get this for you,” she announced, a triumphant smile on her face. “Your favorite Cacio e Pepe.” I looked down at the pasta. There were three forkfuls missing from the top. On one of the remaining swirls of spaghetti, I could clearly see a bite mark. Thirty minutes earlier, I’d seen Ryan’s Instagram story. A picture of this exact dish, a half-empty glass of wine beside it. The caption read: My girl still knows how to spoil me after a long day. Love you, A! I set my fork down, my appetite vanishing. The self-loathing was a physical taste in my mouth. “I’m not hungry. Throw it out.” Audrey’s face hardened. She took a breath, visibly restraining herself, and sat down next to me. “You have no idea what Ryan went through today,” she began, her voice taking on a martyred tone. “My parents showed up at his apartment and demanded he prove his financial stability. The poor guy broke down in tears.” She slid her arm through mine, a gesture that used to feel like coming home. “He’s just getting back on his feet after moving back to the States. He doesn’t have that kind of money. I was thinking… I could give him the money you were giving my parents.” I pulled my arm away, looking at her as if for the first time. “Let me get this straight,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “You want me to bankroll your other husband?” 2 There was a time when I would have given Audrey anything she asked for. I would have burned down the world to keep her warm. But she was the one who handed me the extinguisher. Looking back, ever since Ryan returned from overseas, every decision she made, every move, was for him. She had completely forgotten that I was the man she had promised to spend her life with. My question infuriated her. “What is that supposed to mean? Are you saying no?” She stood up, her eyes flashing. “You need to understand something, Grayson. Ryan is my oldest friend. You will make him happy. If you don’t, I swear to God, I won’t marry you.” She stormed out, the slam of the front door echoing in the silent house. My head pounding, I went for a run in the park downstairs to clear it. I’d barely completed a lap when my phone rang. Sloane Davenport. Remembering her cool, perpetually unimpressed expression, I hesitated for a second before answering. “Just so we’re clear,” she said, her voice like chilled vodka. “You’re my problem now. You try to back out of this, and I’ll make you regret it.” Classic Sloane. I remained silent, and she continued, all business. “FedEx me a copy of your driver’s license. My assistant will handle the marriage certificate. I don’t trust you not to get cold feet.” Sloane, what is going on with you? I found myself thinking. I pictured a thousand ways she could use this marriage to torment me, to settle old scores. All I could manage to say was, “I’ll see you at the altar, Ms. Davenport.” Just as I hung up, a voice cut through the evening air from behind me. “You’re inviting Sloane Davenport to our wedding? Absolutely not.” It was Audrey, her arms crossed, her face a mask of fury. “Grayson Cole, I told you to stay away from her. She’s always had a thing for you. If you insist on having her at our wedding, don’t blame me for what happens.” Before I could even process the hypocrisy, she’d laid down her ultimatum. Audrey had always harbored a strange, baseless animosity toward Sloane. Early in our relationship, she’d thrown a fit over Sloane and me trading sarcastic comments on social media, so I’d eventually just cut contact. But her saying Sloane had a thing for me? That was new. I was about to ask what she meant when Ryan stumbled, leaning dramatically against Audrey’s shoulder. “Audrey, baby, you’re holding my hand too tight…” That’s when I noticed their fingers were interlaced as they walked. Audrey coughed, a faint blush on her cheeks, but she didn’t pull her hand away. Ryan shot her a look of pure adoration before turning his attention to me, his face a caricature of apology. “Hey, Gray, sorry about this. We were just… practicing our walk down the aisle. You know, for the wedding. Don’t mind us.” He paused, his expression shifting to one of deep concern. “And listen, I won’t tell anyone about you hiring those guys to jump me or what you did to my mother’s grave. Just… please don’t hurt Audrey. A woman’s heart is a fragile thing.” I had no interest in watching this soap opera. I turned to leave. “Since you’re so convinced, maybe I’ll go find some thugs and desecrate your mother’s grave for real tonight.” SLAP! The sting on my cheek was sharp, but not as sharp as the pain in my chest. Audrey stood before me, breathing heavily, her face dark with rage. “How can you be so vile, Grayson?!” So vile? He spins a ridiculous lie, and she believes him without question. Five years of my life, of my unwavering devotion, hadn’t earned me an ounce of her trust. A white-hot anger surged through me. I opened my mouth to confront her, but Ryan stepped in front of her, shielding her. “Please, Gray,” he said, his voice trembling. “I’m begging you. As soon as the wedding is over, I’ll give her right back to you. Just… show some mercy. Don’t hurt the people I care about. Don’t hurt Audrey.” He made a show of starting to kneel. Audrey gasped, wrapping her arms around his waist to hold him up, glaring at me over his shoulder. “Don’t you dare pull your rich-boy power plays with us, Grayson! You know how much I hate that. If you still want to marry me, you’ll stop this nonsense right now!” With a final, warning look, she told me to stay away from them until the wedding. I didn’t expect to hear from her the next day, but she called, her voice shrill with accusation. “Grayson, you actually did it! You dug up Ryan’s mother’s grave! I can’t believe you’re that kind of monster!” Confused and furious, I called my assistant, Mark, and told him to find out what the hell was going on. An hour later, he called back with a piece of information that changed everything. Ryan’s mother… wasn’t dead. 3 Of course. No wonder he could so casually use his own mother’s grave as a weapon to frame me. The whole thing was a scam. I sent Audrey a single text message: Ryan’s mother is alive. The proof is in the email I just sent you. Whether she chose to open it was no longer my concern. My flight was in three days. Sloane had booked it herself. When Audrey came home that evening, she found me sorting through my closet, creating two piles: one for donation, the other to be shipped to Chicago. “Why are you packing?” she asked, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “Moving,” I said, not looking at her. She was quiet for a moment, missing the finality in my tone. “Well, the company headquarters is in Chicago, so we’ll have to move there after the wedding. It’s good you’re starting early.” She then fixed me with a hard stare. “And you will apologize to Ryan’s mother on the day of the wedding. Don’t make this difficult for me.” With that, she went to find her passport. Today was the day she and Ryan were getting their marriage license. She didn’t come back that night. Around midnight, my phone buzzed. A text from Ryan. It was a photo of Audrey, shot in low light. She was wearing a French maid costume, looking directly at the camera. I squeezed my eyes shut, a sharp, familiar pain piercing my chest. I forced it down, silenced my phone, and turned off the screen. But the night offered no peace. Every hour, like clockwork, my phone would vibrate on the nightstand. Another text from Ryan. A video clip of him and Audrey. A taunt. A reminder. The next morning, a different message appeared. It was from Sloane. Mr. Cole, the peonies are in bloom. It’s time to come home. Attached was a photo of two crisp, new marriage certificates lying next to a vase filled with the most magnificent crimson peonies I had ever seen. I’d given her a cutting from my garden years ago, a casual peace offering after a particularly brutal business negotiation. I never imagined she would actually cultivate it. A strange, unfamiliar warmth spread through my chest. I texted back a single word: Okay. I was packing up the files in my home office when Audrey finally returned. She was pulling a suitcase, stuffing her everyday essentials into it. “I’m going to stay with Ryan for a few days,” she announced. “He can’t manage all the wedding prep by himself. Just remember to be at the ceremony the day after tomorrow. Don’t be late.” She followed it with a long-winded explanation about how it was all perfectly innocent and that I shouldn’t “make a scene.” “I won’t be there,” I said, my eyes focused on the laptop in my hands. After last night, the last embers of whatever I felt for her had finally turned to ash. My calm demeanor seemed to unnerve her. A flicker of panic crossed her face, and for a second, she looked like she might stay. But then her phone buzzed, and I saw the name ‘Ryan’ on the screen. The memory of his cloying affection was enough. Her hand, which had been gripping the suitcase handle, relaxed. Grayson loves me too much, she was surely thinking. What could possibly go wrong? With that thought soothing her, she turned and disappeared from my sight without another word. I watched her go, then picked up my phone and made a call. That evening, a helicopter landed in the private square behind my building. A man in a pilot’s uniform approached me. “Mr. Cole? Your charter is ready. We’ll have you safely in Chicago in three hours.” I nodded and handed him a large manila envelope. “Make sure this is delivered to the wedding venue tomorrow. It’s my gift to the bride and groom.”

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My mom is an A-list actress. On the set of a family reality show, the host asked my mom which of us three kids she loved the most. Mom gave her signature serene smile. “That’s like asking me to choose a favorite limb. I love them all equally.” My younger brother, Mason, and my sister, Skyler, exchanged a knowing look and snuggled up against her. “No matter how busy she is with filming,” Skyler chirped, “Mom always takes us on an international trip every year. We feel so lucky.” I smiled and chimed in, too. “Even though she’s never taken me abroad, she did take me to see Mickey Mouse at Disney World when we came to L.A. this time!” The moment I said it, every smile in the room froze. Because Disney World is in Florida. 1. Realizing I’d messed up, I shrank in my seat, my eyes darting nervously to my mother. She recovered in a split second, laughing as she patted my head. Her touch was feather-light for the cameras. “Oh, Chloe, sweetie. You’re thinking of Universal Studios.” The host let out a booming laugh, smoothing over the awkward moment. But the live-stream chat was already on fire. 【She’s like, what, a teenager? How can she not know the difference between Universal and Disney? I bet she’s never been to either.】 【Hold up, even if it was Universal, they don’t have Mickey Mouse. That lie doesn’t even make sense.】 【I heard this is the daughter from her first marriage, with the guy who went broke. She was dumped with her grandma in some flyover state and they only brought her out for the show to fix her image.】 【And the other two? They’re the producer’s kids. She keeps them by her side like they’re made of gold.】 A moment later, those comments disappeared. The users were banned from the chat. How dare they speak the truth? I’d never been to Disneyland. Or Universal Studios. For the past fifteen years, I’d been living with my Nana in a tiny town in Ohio. Back when my dad’s business went under, my mom filed for divorce without a second thought and moved to Los Angeles with a big-shot producer. Not long after, crushed by the weight of losing his company and his family, my dad jumped from a bridge. My mom knew Nana and I were barely scraping by, but for fear of the tabloids digging into her past, she never sent a single child support check. It was Nana who raised me, working as a house cleaner, collecting cans, doing whatever it took. Now, Nana was in the hospital. She needed surgery, urgently. I finally managed to get in touch with my mom, sobbing and begging her for the money. It just so happened that a rival actress had just leaked to the press that “America’s Sweetheart” had an abandoned older daughter. So, my mom saw an opportunity: she’d bring me on this reality show to salvage her reputation. I didn’t want to come. But she promised me ten thousand dollars after the show wrapped. Ten thousand dollars could save Nana’s life. So I came. 2. “Time for us to get our beauty sleep! No peeking, camera-bots!” Skyler said sweetly. The moment the red light on the camera went off, the atmosphere shifted. Mason stormed over and kicked my shin, hard. “You’re not even worthy of tying my shoes. Who said you could be my sister?” I clutched my leg, glaring at him. Before I could say anything, Skyler rolled her eyes. “What are you looking at? My brother’s right. You don’t even know where Disney World is. It’s so embarrassing. No wonder Mom didn’t want anyone to know about you.” The warm, maternal smile on my mother’s face had vanished, replaced by a cold mask. She looked down at me like I was a piece of trash on the floor. “This is a live show. The whole country is watching. Watch what you say,” she hissed. “If anything like today happens again, you won’t see a single penny of that ten thousand.” She yanked a worn, thin blanket from a closet. “This bed isn’t big enough for all of us. Chloe, you can sleep on the floor.” Without another glance at me, she opened her suitcase and pulled out a plush, fragrant duvet set for the bed. Seeing her other two children still making faces at me, she snapped, “What are you two still standing there for? Go brush your teeth and get to bed! Chloe can look rough, but you two have perfect skin. We can’t have you showing up with dark circles tomorrow.” I numbly picked up the thin blanket, an outsider to their warm, happy family. A familiar ache rose in my chest, and I forced it back down. Growing up, kids used to tease me for not having a mom. “That’s not true! My mom’s a famous movie star!” I’d argue, my face burning. They’d laugh. “Oh yeah? Then have your movie star mom show up for the parent-teacher conference. Otherwise, you’re just a liar.” After a while, I stopped arguing. Maybe… maybe Nana had lied to me. Maybe my mom was dead. But Nana would point to the radiant, impossibly beautiful woman on the TV screen and insist, “You have a mother. That’s her.” I’d press my face against the cool glass of the TV, trying to feel her warmth through the screen. I told myself there had to be a reason she left me. Maybe she was too busy, maybe she didn’t want me to suffer with her, maybe… Maybe she just didn’t want me. Just admit it, Chloe. Your mother abandoned you. You’re the kid nobody wanted. 3. My “Disney World in L.A.” comment made the show’s ratings skyrocket. The producers, sensing they’d struck gold, added a special segment the next morning. “We’re going to play the ‘Family Sync Challenge’!” the host announced. “The kids will write down an answer to a question, and the parent has to guess it. Your ranking determines the difficulty of your task for the day!” The host lowered the cue card, his eyes landing on me with a sly grin. “For Team Isabelle, let’s have Chloe play with her mom, shall we?” I didn’t answer. I just looked timidly at my mother. She hesitated for a fraction of a second before her perfect, camera-ready smile clicked into place. She bent down, stroking my hair gently. “I have faith in you, Chloe. Let’s do this together.” Her body blocked the camera, so only I could see the ice in her eyes. I shivered, managed a weak smile, and let her lead me to the game chairs. 4. The host blew a whistle. “First question! Kids, write down a single word on your board. Any word.” We went through the other families. When it was our turn, my mother faced the camera with practiced confidence. “I know Chloe. She definitely wrote ‘Mom,’ right?” The host flipped my board around. The camera zoomed in for a close-up. “Chloe wrote… ‘Nana’!” I flinched, not daring to look at my mother’s face. The host’s smile faltered for a beat before he quickly recovered. “Wow, it’s clear that Chloe and her Nana have a very special bond! Raised by her since she was a baby, that’s a connection you can’t replace.” My mother’s gentle expression was cracking at the edges. Her fingers tightened into a fist, but she forced a laugh. “It’s true. They’re so close, I get a little jealous sometimes.” The live chat exploded. 【Seriously? Her actual mom is right there and she writes ‘Nana’? Oof, that’s awkward.】 【If I were Isabelle, I’d be mortified.】 【OR… maybe it’s because the ‘A-list mom’ has never actually been around for her kid?】 【Don’t jump to conclusions! Isabelle is a busy woman. It’s normal for a kid who just moved from her grandma’s to be closer to her.】 Sensing the mood shifting, the host rushed to the next question. “Okay, next up! Kids, write down your favorite food!” My palms were sweating as I gripped the marker. I had no idea what my mother would guess. I could only write my truth: “Fried Bologna.” Because bologna was cheap. The few hundred dollars Nana made a month barely covered my school fees. Meat was a luxury we couldn’t afford. Most nights, our dinner was a fried bologna sandwich, maybe with a few lettuce leaves from her tiny garden. Nana would always give me the crispy, browned slice, saying she preferred the softer parts. But I’d see her carefully scraping every last fried bit from the pan for herself. I snapped back to reality as the host held the microphone to my mother. She stared at me intently, trying to read my expression for a clue. “Chloe probably likes… hamburgers? No, wait, sushi? Or maybe ice cream?” “Final answer, Isabelle!” She frowned, then her face lit up. “Cake! It has to be cake. What girl doesn’t love cake?” The host nodded, taking the board from my hands. As he revealed it, his professional smile froze solid. “Wow… Chloe’s favorite food is… fried bologna. A real down-home classic!” My mother’s eyes were wide with a mixture of shock and a flicker of disgust she couldn’t hide. It took her a moment to speak. “That’s… not very healthy, sweetie. You should eat less of that.” From the sidelines, Skyler piped up immediately. “Totally, big sister. Fried bologna is so gross. The housekeeper made it once and we threw the whole thing out.” Mason nodded, deliberately flashing the designer watch on his wrist. “If you want good food, just ask me, Chloe. I’ll have Mom buy you anything. You don’t have to eat that cheap stuff anymore.” Their words felt like tiny hammers pounding on my heart. I gripped my marker, saying nothing. The chat went wild again. 【A kid whose favorite food is fried bologna? Isabelle Vance’s daughter is surprisingly… normal.】 【She makes millions a year and can’t buy her oldest daughter a decent meal? I’m starting to feel really bad for this kid.】 【Stop twisting things! Maybe Chloe just likes it. Look at the other two, they’re clearly well-cared for. Isabelle is a good mom.】 The host pointed to the scoreboard. “Team Isabelle is still at zero points! You’ll have to get this last one right to avoid the hardest task of the day!” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Alright, for the grand finale… Kids, what is the one thing you want to do most, right here, right now?” I took a deep breath, sneaking a glance at my mother. She was holding her smile for the camera, but I could see her foot tapping impatiently. An idea sparked in my mind. I slowly, deliberately, wrote on my board: Help Mom win the game. I wasn’t sure if it would work, but for Nana, I had to take the risk. Soon, it was our turn. The host grinned at my mother. “Isabelle, the final question. What do you think Chloe wants to do most right now?” My mother was silent for a few seconds. Her eyes flicked from me to the camera, as if weighing her options. Finally, she clenched her fists. “I think… I think what Chloe wants most right now… is to help her mom win the game.” The host dramatically revealed my board. The words Help Mom win the game were written in clear, block letters. The studio erupted in applause. “And that’s the only team to get the final question right!” the host boomed. “Now that’s what I call a mother-daughter connection!” My mother’s smile was wider than ever. She walked over and pulled me into a hug. “I knew it,” she said into the microphone. “Chloe has always had her mom in her heart. She’s just a little shy about showing it.” Her arms were tight around my back, the pressure a clear warning. I stood stiffly in her embrace, a sudden sting in my eyes. It was the first time my mother had ever hugged me. And I felt nothing but cold. The chat’s opinion flipped on a dime. 【YES! They finally got one! See? That’s the bond they have!】 【Chloe is so sweet, wanting to help her mom win. This is so wholesome!】 【To everyone who said Isabelle was a bad mom, you can shut up now. Look how in sync they are!】 5. My mother was clearly pleased with this outcome. But the producers wanted more drama. They shoved a mic in my face. “Chloe, why did you want to help your mom win so badly?” My mouth opened, but no words came out. I couldn’t exactly say it was because she promised me ten thousand dollars for Nana’s surgery, could I? My mother gracefully took the mic from my hand. “Everyone knows Chloe grew up with her Nana, and they assume we’re not close. But it’s actually the opposite,” she said, her voice dripping with emotion. “Chloe’s grandmother wouldn’t let me take her, you see. I had no choice but to send money and trust that she was taking good care of her.” She looked at me, her eyes pleading. “But we have a mother-daughter bond. She knows how much I love her, and of course, she wants to be a good daughter to me. Isn’t that right, Chloe?” The production team pounced. “Chloe, is that true? Was it your Nana who was keeping you from living with your mother?” I bit my lip, trapped. I wanted to scream, No, that’s a lie! But I was terrified she’d take back her promise. The ten thousand dollars… Nana… Just as I was trying to figure out what to say, a production assistant rushed onto the set and handed me a phone. “Chloe! It’s the hospital… they said your Nana… she didn’t make it through the surgery…”

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He dumped me again, all because I couldn’t get him the limited-edition sneakers he wanted for his birthday. “Not enough cash? Why didn’t you just pick up a few extra shifts? Don’t make excuses for being lazy!” “Is this cheap crap all you think I’m worth?” “You never really cared about my birthday, did you?” “We’re done!” He took a pair of scissors and shredded the sneakers I’d spent three months working three part-time jobs for, sleeping only four hours a night. Then he threw the mangled pieces at me. The flying laces whipped across my face, leaving a stinging, hot welt. A wave of exhaustion, deeper than anything I’d ever felt, washed over me. “Fine,” I said. “We’re done.” And just like that, the comments popped into my vision again, scrolling across the air like a live feed only I could see. `OMG, babe, don’t break up with him! You’re his whole world! Look at him, he’s totally falling apart just hearing you say that!` `He’s just deeply insecure!!! He needs you to prove you love him through your actions! I bet you anything he’s gonna sneak back later and pick up those shredded shoes and treasure them forever!` `Yeah, he threw them at you, but trust me, his heart is bleeding. The pain he feels inside is a million times worse than the sting on your cheek!` 1 Right. He was always so insecure. That’s why he had to test me, over and over, just to prove to himself that my love was real. He loved watching me sacrifice for him. My family isn’t wealthy. To afford those sneakers he “had to have,” I was either in class, at a job, or on my way to another job. Four hours of sleep was a luxury. The moment my eyes opened, it was time to work again. I was so tired I felt like I could fall asleep standing up. To save every penny, I lived on practically nothing. A cheap granola bar for breakfast. For lunch, I’d get a cup of instant ramen from the campus store and use the free hot water from the dining hall. I couldn’t even bring myself to splurge on a ten-dollar jar of peanut butter to make the ramen taste less like cardboard. Asher would sit across from me in the bustling dining hall, his tray loaded with a gourmet burger from the grill, a side of sweet potato fries, and a vibrant kale salad. He’d even have a fancy bottled iced tea. The first time he saw me slurping my bland, watery noodles, he frowned. “God, why are you eating like you’re homeless?” But then a slow, pleased smile spread across his face as if a thought had just occurred to him. “Actually, this is good. Girls look better when they’re thin anyway. Keep it up.” I thought he’d at least show a little pity. But hearing that, a chill went down my spine. That’s when the comments first appeared. `Don’t be sad, sweetie! He’s hurting for you on the inside! He’s just addicted to the feeling of being loved and sacrificed for.` `Don’t blame him! He never had any love growing up, so he’s forcing himself to watch you suffer just to feel your love a little longer. You have no idea how hard this is for him. Aww, my poor baby, I just want to give him a hug.` So, during lunch, Asher would meticulously eat his three-course meal while watching me, with a look of pure contentment, choke down my ramen. The savory smell of his burger drifted over, making my mouth water uncontrollably. I’d have to swallow hard to keep from drooling. He never offered me a single fry. `OMG, I’m living for this!!! The angst! His girl is eating ramen every day just to save up for his birthday gift. Who’s shipping this as hard as I am?!` 2 There was another time. I worked late every night, coming home to the small off-campus apartment we shared. To save on bus fare, I got a cheap monthly pass for the city’s bike-share program. Rain or shine, I was on that bike. One night, my shift didn’t end until 2 AM. I was dragging myself home, completely exhausted. I was so tired, I felt like I could literally fall asleep while pedaling. And then, I did. One moment I was yawning, the next, I was flying over the handlebars and into a ditch on the side of the road. I was a mess of scrapes, bruises, and torn clothes. A couple of drivers saw it happen and pulled over. They were horrified and called 911 for me. While we waited for the ambulance, they kept me calm. “Hey, kiddo, you okay? My God, what are you doing out on a bike this late? It’s not safe for a young woman to be out alone.” It hit me then that I was usually terrified of the dark. The first night I had to bike home that late, with only the occasional car and my own shadow for company, I was shaking. But the thought of getting Asher that gift had somehow pushed the fear away. When I tried to get up, they stopped me. “Don’t move, don’t move! You could have a fracture. Just wait for the paramedics.” “You look like you’re just a college kid,” one of the women said kindly. “Should we call your parents?” The kindness of these strangers made my eyes well up. But when Asher finally arrived at the hospital and saw me, patched up with gauze and antiseptic cream, a flicker of concern crossed his face before it was replaced by pure anger. He lit into me immediately. “Can you stop causing trouble for one second? Is that all you know how to do, make my life harder?” “Do you have any idea that I have a midterm tomorrow? If I fail because of this, are you going to take responsibility?” “If you can’t handle the job, then just quit!” Strangers gave me comfort. My boyfriend gave me blame. The unfairness of it all was overwhelming, and tears started streaming down my face. And then, the comments were back. `Don’t cry, baby girl! He’s just saying the opposite of what he means! He’s super worried about you! Using the exam is just an excuse because he’s so scared for you. In his heart, you’re more important than any test!` `That’s just how guys like him are, all tough talk and a soft heart. The meaner he sounds, the more he cares! It’s a fact!` `You don’t even know, babe. Every night you come home late, he stays awake, waiting. He can’t sleep until he knows you’re home safe. When you see him ‘sleeping,’ he’s just pretending so you don’t feel bad.` `He loves you so, so much. He just doesn’t know how to show it.` But I really didn’t get it. If he was so worried about me biking home alone, why didn’t he ever offer to pick me up? And if I was the person he loved most in the world, why did he get so much pleasure from seeing me suffer for him, as if my pain was the ultimate proof of my love? 3 After the breakup, I moved back into my dorm. I never wanted to move in with him in the first place. When I’d initially hesitated… His face had darkened, his lips thinning into a hard line. “Why not? You don’t want to be with me every day?” I tried to explain. “No, it’s not that, I just think it’s… not a good idea right now.” “So being with me is a ‘bad idea’? Fine. If that’s how you feel, let’s just break up.” He just stood there, his fists clenched, his face pale, looking like he might shatter into a million pieces. I remembered when we first started dating. He’d held me tight and told me about his past. “When I was a kid, my mom had an affair. She divorced my dad to be with the other guy, and she didn’t want me.” “My dad, he saw her in me. It soured things. Then he remarried, had other kids. His new wife hated me, which just made him hate me more.” “I’ve never really been loved,” he’d whispered. “So I’m insecure, I’m awkward, I’m sensitive. I don’t know how to love someone properly. If we fight, I might say things I don’t mean. I hope you can be patient with me then. Just… be the one to make up with me. I’m easy to win over, I promise.” Back then, my heart ached for him. I wrapped my arms around his waist, looked him straight in the eye, and said with all the sincerity I had, “It’s okay. No one loved you before, but I’m here to love you now.” Slowly, he got used to being loved. But he never learned how to love back. The days without Asher felt… light. Unbelievably light. No more juggling school and three jobs. I could sleep a full eight hours. I could focus on my studies, hang out with my roommates, go to the mall. The only downside was how often I ran into Asher and his crew on campus. And the fact that seeing him still sent a pang through my chest. I’d remember the way he’d tilt his umbrella over me in the rain, or the time I woke up from a nap in the library with his jacket draped over my shoulders… 4 One afternoon, his friend Leo called me, his voice frantic. “Summer! Asher wrecked his bike! We’re at the bottom of the canyon roads, you need to get here now!” He hung up before I could ask anything. I knew Asher loved his custom motorcycle. I also knew he loved the adrenaline rush of racing people on dangerous roads. My mind instantly flooded with images of him, bleeding out on the asphalt. The string of logic in my brain just snapped. I ran out, desperate to get to the canyons. On my way, I was so frantic I almost got hit by a car. The bumper was inches from me—inches from death. The driver laid on the horn and cursed at me. I’d fallen, and the rough pavement scraped my hands and knees raw, embedding bits of gravel into my skin. The sting was sharp, but I barely felt it. I just picked myself up, mumbled an apology to the driver, and flagged down a cab. When I finally got there, I realized I was a complete joke. Asher was standing there without a scratch on him. His friend Leo was smirking. “See? Told you. The second she hears you’re hurt, she comes running.” “Whoa, looks like you took a tumble on your way here. See, Asher? I told you she’s not over you.” Asher’s eyes drifted to the bloody scrapes on my knees. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards—his telltale sign of a good mood. Leo nudged me. “Look, since you obviously still love him, just apologize and get back together. Stop playing games before you lose him for good.” “Asher’s a hot commodity,” another guy chimed in. “If you keep up this drama, some other girl is gonna snatch him up.” The comments were going crazy. `Babe, just apologize to him! You know his pride will never let him do it first. You have no idea how that psycho Diana has been all over him since you two broke up.` My eyes instinctively flicked to Diana, who was standing next to Asher. His childhood friend. It was common knowledge in their circle that she’d asked him out 99 times and been rejected every single time. Her 100th attempt was cut short because Asher and I had just started dating. The deafening roar of a motorcycle engine cut through the tension. I noticed another group of guys there, a rival crew. The leader, a guy with streaks of electric blue in his hair, looked at us impatiently. “Asher, you done with your little soap opera? I don’t have all day. We racing or what?” But as his eyes scanned the crowd, they landed on me, his gaze aggressive and unsettling. Asher snapped back to the moment, swinging a long leg over a sleek, powerful-looking bike. “Let’s go!” The blue-haired guy’s eyes glinted with malice. “How ’bout we make this interesting? That your girl?” He jerked his chin at me. “For this race, we each take a passenger. You take your girlfriend, I’ll take mine. If I win…” he pointed a finger at me, a sleazy grin spreading across his face, “…your girl spends the night with me.” He shrugged. “Of course, if you’re too scared to play, just say so.” Without a moment’s hesitation, Asher agreed, his voice dripping with arrogant confidence. “You’re on. Let’s see you try.” He turned to me, his eyes shining. “Trust me,” he said. “I won’t lose.” My blood ran cold. It took me a long moment to find my voice. When I did, it was firm. “I’m not doing it.” The comments exploded. `Summer, what are you doing?! He’s definitely going to win! How can you not trust him? Ugh, now you’re just gonna hurt his feelings.` `If you don’t go, you know that snake Diana will! He loves YOU, how can you reject him like this?!` `No trust at all! She doesn’t deserve his love! Get lost, you idiot!` I could only laugh bitterly. He loves me? So he uses me as a bargaining chip in a race? Isn’t the foundation of love supposed to be respect? He wasn’t even treating me like a person, just an object to be won or lost. Did he even stop to think about what would happen to me if he lost? Asher’s face clouded over. Diana immediately seized the opportunity, shooting me a triumphant look. “She won’t? I will! Asher, I trust you completely!” Asher shot me one last, cold glare. “Don’t regret this.” The prize had been swapped. The blue-haired guy looked Diana up and down, looking less than thrilled. Asher’s tone was sharp. “We playing or not? If not, get lost.” The guy reluctantly agreed. The second before the race started, Asher looked at me one last time, his eyes full of disappointment. Then, with a thundering roar of engines, they were off. The bikes tore down the winding, treacherous canyon road. Two hundred kilometers an hour, weaving through hairpin turns. The others were watching, thrilled by the danger. I had no desire to see the rest. As I turned to leave, Leo blocked my path. “Where are you going?” he sneered. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving now.” He feigned a look of realization. “Oh, I get it. First, you refuse to ride with him. Now you’re jealous seeing Diana’s arms wrapped around his waist while they race together? You can’t have it both ways, you know.” I looked coldly at the arm barring my way. “Move.” He just shrugged. “I’ll move when Asher’s race is over.” I nodded slowly. “Okay. You won’t move.” 5 I pulled out my phone and aimed the camera at Asher’s speeding motorcycle. Leo watched me, confused. “What, you gonna tattle on him?” He scoffed. “Oh, I see. You’re filming Diana hugging him so you can hold it over his head later. You women are so petty.” Seeing that I wasn’t trying to leave anymore, he turned his attention back to the race. A few minutes later, Asher screeched back to the starting line, having left his opponent in the dust, executing a perfect, stylish drift. His friends erupted in cheers. Diana clung to him, her face flushed with excitement. “Asher!!! We won!” Over the whoops and hollers, her voice was piercingly loud. “As my prize for winning, can I get a kiss?” “Kiss her! Kiss her!” the crowd chanted. “Kiss her!” Amidst all the chanting, Asher looked directly at me. Then, without hesitation, he lowered his head, tilted Diana’s chin up, and kissed her deeply. Diana threw her arms around his neck, kissing him back passionately. It was a hot, messy kiss, and I could have sworn I saw a string of saliva connecting their lips when they finally broke apart. The comments practically leaped off my screen, trying to shield my eyes. `Babe, don’t look! It’s not real! I swear he has zero feelings for Diana, he’s just trying to make you jealous! You’re the one he loves!` `You can’t really blame him. Diana did help him win. It would have been super embarrassing for her if he rejected her in front of everyone. You have to see it from his side, too.` Seeing him kiss another girl did hurt. A little. A tight, prickly pain in my chest. But mostly, it was clarifying. A man who would kiss another woman right in front of my face, just to spite me? I didn’t want him. If he was willing to do this just to make me angry, what would he do if he got even angrier? Sleep with someone else to teach me a lesson? The thought made me sick to my stomach. We were out in the middle of nowhere, miles from campus. Getting a ride-share out here would be nearly impossible. As if to punish me, Leo said, “Hey, Summer, since you don’t like motorcycles, looks like we can’t give you a ride. Guess you’ll have to walk back. Or, hey, if you’re not scared anymore, you could ask Asher if he’ll take you.” Asher’s voice was ice. “I won’t.” Leo grinned. “Well, that’s too bad. It’s a two, maybe three-hour walk. Good luck.” Suddenly, a new voice cut in. “That’s alright. She can get a ride with us.” Leo whipped his head around, annoyed. “Who the hell are—” He stopped short when he saw several state troopers in their reflective vests walking toward them. “Illegal modification of vehicles, reckless driving, and illegal street racing,” the lead trooper said calmly. “You’re all coming down to the station.” Leo’s eyes widened in realization. “Summer! You called them, didn’t you! You little—” “You little what?” the trooper interrupted, stepping in front of Leo. “Still trying to threaten people right in front of me? You think I’m invisible?” Leo clammed up immediately. In the end, some of them were detained, and everyone got a hefty fine. I just gave a witness statement and was allowed to leave. Asher was one of the ones they held overnight. The comments were heartbroken. `The heroine is so cruel! She actually got the hero thrown in jail!` `And the idiot is still happy about it! He thinks she only reported him because she was jealous of him and Diana. My poor, poor boy.`

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I saw my newborn brother get switched at birth, and I did nothing. Because in my last life, I fought tooth and nail to keep him. The man who tried to take him destroyed my face for it. And for what? So my brother could grow up to fall in love with the charity case our family sponsored. So he could mow me down with his car to make sure she got the one scholarship spot at our dream school. As I lay dying, he stood over me, his face twisted with malice. “Don’t blame me, Sadie,” he’d said. “Blame yourself for being so stingy. You should have just given the nomination to Jade.” He’d even laughed. “You’re a monster, and you deserve every ugly thing that’s ever happened to you.” So this time, reborn in that hospital room, I chose to be a spectator. I watched, with cold, clear eyes, as my brother’s fate was swapped for another’s. 1 The sound of a baby’s cry pulled me from the darkness. I opened my eyes and found myself curled on a cot, my small body stiff. Next to me, in the hospital bed, my mother slept the exhausted sleep of a woman who had just given birth. It took me a second, but then the realization hit me with the force of a physical blow. I was back. Back on the day the man came to switch my brother. To prove it to myself, I forced my gaze toward the sound of the crying. And there he was. The man, Rick, was prying the little gold bracelet from my brother’s wrist and forcing it onto his own son’s. The movement was rough, and it made my brother wail, his tiny face screwed up in pain. Rick’s face soured with impatience. He slapped my brother—my real brother—across the face. The cry cut off into a choked silence. Then, as if sensing he was being watched, his head snapped in my direction. I squeezed my eyes shut, my heart hammering against my ribs, and forced my breathing to even out, mimicking the deep rhythm of sleep. It was so different from the last time. Last time, all of three years old, I’d launched myself at the man’s leg, clinging on for dear life to stop him from taking my brother. He’d kicked me away like a dog, sending me crashing into the wall. I heard the crack of my own bones. But I’d screamed through the pain, a raw, desperate sound that finally brought a nurse running. The man, furious that I’d ruined his plan, had pulled a knife. “You stopped my boy from having a good life,” he’d snarled, dragging the blade across my face. “So you won’t have one either.” From that day on, my face was a ruin of scar tissue. I spent years in and out of hospitals. I was nine years old by the time I was well enough to start first grade alongside my brother. School was a special kind of hell. My looks made me a target for ridicule and cruelty. Even my own parents, and Liam, the boy I’d saved, looked at me with a thinly veiled disgust. My existence was an embarrassment to them. So I buried myself in books. My only goal was to get into a good college, find a good job, and get as far away from my family as I possibly could. I never imagined that in my senior year of high school, after I’d finally secured the sole nomination for the Harrison Scholarship, my own brother would murder me for it. All for a girl he’d fallen in love with. As I bled out on the asphalt, his final words echoed what he’d told me before. “You’re a monster… you deserve this.” But I was only a monster because I had tried to save him. The deepest cut, though, came after. When my parents found out what Liam had done, they didn’t blame him. Not for a second. They helped him cover it up. Helped him dispose of my body. It was then, in the fading moments of my life, that I made a vow. If I ever got a second chance, I would respect my brother’s destiny. I would not interfere. And so, here and now, I listened as the footsteps faded down the hall and the door clicked softly shut. When I opened my eyes again, the man was gone. My brother was gone with him. My mother stirred, her voice groggy. “Sadie? Was the baby crying just now?” I tilted my head, summoning the most innocent smile a three-year-old could manage. “Was he? I didn’t hear anything.” She frowned, confused. “Oh. Maybe I was dreaming.” A week later, my mother and my new, counterfeit brother, Liam, were discharged from the hospital. I was sent to preschool. This time, the teachers were kind. The other children didn’t shy away from me. There were no whispers, no pointing, no horrified stares. For the first time in two lives, I finally had the quiet, ordinary existence I had always craved. 2 Ten years dissolved in the blink of an eye. We were at the county fair, the air thick with the smell of popcorn and cotton candy, when someone bumped hard into our group and snatched Liam’s phone. I knew him instantly. The thief was my biological brother. He was nothing like the boy from my memories. He was rail-thin and grimy, dressed in clothes that looked like they’d been pulled from a dumpster. He walked with a pronounced limp. It was painfully clear that his life had been anything but easy. A memory from my past life surfaced. My brother—the real one, the one who grew up as Liam—screaming at me alongside his friends, calling me a monster. I had confronted him, my voice shaking with rage. I look like this because I saved you. He’d just sneered. I never asked you to save me. A person like me would have been fine anywhere, even with a killer for a dad. Stop trying to guilt-trip me. Now, seeing him thriving like this… I could finally breathe easy. My parents started to give chase, but I chose that exact moment to feign a fall, crying out as my knee hit the pavement. It was a calculated risk. My real brother was the spitting image of my father. If Dad got a good look at him, he’d start asking questions. In this life, without the scars, with my excellent grades, I was an asset. My image-conscious parents valued me. Just as I’d hoped, they abandoned the chase and rushed to my side. “Sadie, honey, are you okay?” My eyes followed my brother as he vanished into the crowd. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “I’m okay,” I said, looking up at them. “Just scraped my hand. It stings a little.” Meanwhile Liam, furious about his brand-new phone, was cursing a blue streak. “That little piece of trash. If I ever see him again, I swear I’ll kill him.” I lowered my eyes, a quiet thought forming. This world was smaller than you’d think. I needed to do something. 3 For the rest of the day, Liam’s eyes scanned the crowd, hungry for a fight. While my parents were in the restroom, he suddenly grabbed my arm. “Sadie, I see him. That little rat.” Before I could stop him, he shot off like a cannonball. I glanced toward the restrooms—still no sign of Mom and Dad. Relieved, I took off after Liam. This time, my real brother—Finn, I would later learn was his name—was caught off guard. Liam cornered him in a narrow alley between two game stalls. Caught red-handed, Finn became defiant. “What’s your problem? You rich people have everything. Why are you so cheap, making a big deal over one stupid phone?” It was so perfectly him, the same as last time. Always turning the blame, making himself the victim. Liam laughed, a humorless, ugly sound. “Just because I have money means I’m supposed to be a doormat for every piece of garbage like you?” “Whatever, man, just chill out,” Finn shot back, his voice dripping with unearned confidence. “Here’s your phone. Now let me go. I’m a minor. Cops can’t do anything to me.” But Liam wasn’t the type to let things go. He had his real father’s temperament: he hated school and loved to fight. He shoved Finn hard against the brick wall. “Funny. I’m a minor too. As long as I don’t kill you, the cops won’t do much to me either.” For the first time, a flicker of fear crossed Finn’s face. I watched, my expression unreadable. Just like last time, when Liam had let his friends torment me. Just as Liam drew back his fist, a small figure darted between them, shielding Finn with her body. “Stop it! Don’t hurt him! Finn’s dad is really sick. He was just desperate, that’s why he took your phone.” It was such a blatant, shameless lie. Rick, Finn’s criminal father, had never been sick a day in his life. When I got a clear look at the girl’s face, my brow tightened. Of course. I knew her. It was Jade, the girl my brother had worshipped in our last life. The charity case who was the indirect cause of my death. 4 I wasn’t surprised to see her here. In the last life, she and Liam—the version of him who was my real brother—had been childhood sweethearts. Now that their places were swapped, it made a twisted kind of sense that she would be Finn’s childhood friend instead. Tears welled in her eyes as she looked pleadingly at Liam. “I’ll make sure he gives the phone back. Please, just let him go, okay?” Liam was a bully and a brute, a king in his own small, violent world. He never listened to anyone. But the sight of Jade’s tears seemed to short-circuit his brain. He softened instantly. “Okay, okay, stop crying. It’s not that big of a deal.” For a dizzying moment, I was thrown back in time. I saw Jade, crying just like this, after I’d won the Harrison Scholarship. My brother—the real one—had seen her tears and gone berserk. He’d rounded up his dirtbag friends to “teach me a lesson,” to make sure I never coveted something that wasn’t mine again. I fought like a cornered animal, but their filthy hands were everywhere. They didn’t stop until one of them ripped the surgical mask from my face. The sight of my scars made them recoil in disgust. “Jesus, it’s a monster.” “You couldn’t pay me to touch that.” “God, I think I’m gonna be sick.” My face, the source of all my misery, had saved me from something worse. When I got home, I showered for four hours, scrubbing my skin until it was raw and bleeding. Then I just huddled in the empty tub, broken. I thought I could move on. But the nightmares started. The ugly faces, the putrid smell, the hands slithering over my skin like snakes. I couldn’t even see a man on the street without doubling over, my stomach heaving. I realized then that it would never be over. It was a part of me now. So, so disgusting. A cold breeze blew down the alley, and I shivered, the memory receding. Liam noticed my pale face. “You okay, Sadie?” he asked, his voice softer than usual. I looked at him, burying the revulsion deep inside. I was about to say I was fine when Jade suddenly grabbed my sleeve and dropped to her knees in front of me. “Please, miss,” she begged, her voice thick with fake emotion. “You’re not going to let him go, are you? Please, have mercy. His life is already so hard.” I stared down at her, a long, deep look. She was a master of her craft, always positioning herself as the victim, using pity as a weapon. “Come on, Sadie,” Liam urged. “Let’s just drop it.” My voice was calm, steady. “I won’t press charges against a child. But I need to speak to his mother. I have to warn her. He needs to be taught a lesson. Today it’s a phone. If she lets this continue, who knows what he’ll do next.” At the mention of his mother, Finn, who had been watching with a defiant smirk, finally looked terrified. 5 It didn’t take long to find his mother, Brenda. She was a stocky, middle-aged woman with hard eyes. When she saw Liam and me, a flash of panic crossed her face. It was obvious she knew exactly who we were. She glanced nervously behind us, and when she saw we were alone, she visibly relaxed. “What… what are you two doing here?” I explained what had happened, and the relief that washed over her was almost comical. “Don’t you worry,” she said, her voice overly cheerful. “I’ll make sure he learns his lesson.” As she spoke, I saw Finn flinch. I nodded slowly, letting my words land with deliberate weight. “He was lucky this time. It was just me and my brother who caught him. If my parents had been there, they wouldn’t have been so forgiving.” Brenda’s expression darkened as the implication hit her. “I understand. I’ll keep a better eye on him. He won’t be causing any more trouble.” She grabbed Finn by the arm, shoved him into their small, rundown apartment, and locked the door behind him. “You stay in there and think about what you’ve done.” Finished, she turned back to Liam, her face stretched into a sycophantic grin. “Young man, would you like to come in for a soda? I just bought some cookies.” Liam wrinkled his nose in disgust. “No way. This place looks filthy.” He turned and stalked off without another word. Brenda started to follow, then thought better of it. She went back inside. A moment later, I heard Finn’s screams, followed by the sound of blows. Brenda was taking out her frustration on him. When I caught up to Liam at the end of the alley, Jade was waving to us, a sweet, harmless smile on her face. “Bye-bye, pretty lady! Bye, handsome boy!” Pretty lady? Hearing that from Jade’s lips was a novelty. The last time we’d spoken, she was leaning over me as I lay dying, whispering in my ear. “Ugly monster. This is all your fault. You should have listened to him. Now you can just die.” The memory was so vivid that for a second, I felt the phantom pain in my chest. Liam, captivated by her farewell, started to turn back, a stupid grin on his face. I grabbed his arm, my grip tight. “Come on. Mom and Dad will be worried.” In just a few minutes, he was already under her spell. If they spent any more time together, I had no doubt he’d end up just as twisted around her finger as my real brother had been. I couldn’t let history repeat itself. Reluctantly, Liam let me pull him away. He didn’t see Jade’s smile curdle into a scowl the moment our backs were turned, the innocent rabbit act vanishing as if it had never been. 6 After that day, I never saw Finn again. It seemed Brenda had taken my warning to heart. With no more distractions, I focused on my studies. Just as before, I earned the nomination for the Harrison Scholarship. This time, there was no one to stand in my way. I was accepted to my dream university. My parents, bursting with pride, threw me a lavish party. As friends and family congratulated them, my parents beamed. But whenever Liam’s name came up, their faces would fall. He was a terrible student, a magnet for trouble. They had tried everything—threats, punishments, an army of expensive tutors—but nothing worked. He remained stubbornly, defiantly himself. It was in his blood. His biological father, Rick, was the same. My dad, unaware of the genetic truth, tried to put a positive spin on it. “Liam’s just like me,” he’d say with a forced laugh. “A late bloomer. He’ll do great things one day.” My mother would chime in, her eyes pleading with me. “That’s right. Sadie, don’t you ever look down on your brother, you hear me? It would break his heart.” “I won’t,” I promised, my expression placid. I lowered my eyes, remembering a different time. My real brother calling me a monster, and my parents praising his wit, marveling at how clever he was to come up with such a rhyming insult. They had told me to stay away from him, so my “horrifying face” wouldn’t give him nightmares. The hypocrisy was suffocating. Fortunately, Liam’s spectacular failures had an upside. My parents had decided that I would be the one to take over the family business. They knew, even if they wouldn’t admit it, that leaving it to Liam would be corporate suicide. He’d bankrupt them within a year. I made a point to be kind to Liam. I defended him when our parents yelled at him, took his side in arguments. I wanted them to believe that after they were gone, I would continue to take care of him. And in a way, it was true. This was my path. In this new life, I understood one thing with perfect clarity: power was the only real protection. I had to seize every opportunity to make myself stronger, to ensure no one could ever hurt me again. I thought my life would continue on this quiet, upward trajectory. I never expected Brenda to show up on our doorstep, with my brother in tow. 7 It started when Liam got into a fight on his third day of high school. He came home with a split lip and a black eye, courtesy of another student. That student was Finn. Our housekeeper was the one who told me. She said that Finn’s mother had brought him over to apologize. To beg for my parents’ forgiveness, she had beaten Finn bloody right there on our front porch, but my parents refused to even come downstairs to see them. “Shouldn’t you go out there and tell her to stop?” the housekeeper asked, her voice laced with pity. I felt a jolt, as if I’d misheard. “What did you say the boy’s name was?” “Finn,” she replied. “I heard his dad is some kind of murderer on the run. Like father, like son, I guess. He seems like a little thug himself.” There was no doubt now. My biological brother had come to me. All those years ago, Rick had swapped the babies because he’d just killed someone. He knew he was going to be caught, and he wanted his son to have a better life. I was surprised he hadn’t been apprehended yet. But I was more surprised that Brenda would have the audacity to bring Finn here. Finn was a mirror image of our father. The second my parents laid eyes on him, they would know. They would have to know their son had been switched. Was this Brenda’s conscience finally catching up to her? Did she want to swap them back? No, that didn’t make sense. If she felt guilty, she wouldn’t be beating Finn to a pulp on our doorstep. I had to know what game she was playing. I decided to go down and see them for myself, to see my brother after all these years. My plan was to intercept them before my parents could, to get them away from the house without a scene. But as I reached the bottom of the stairs, the front door opened, and my parents walked in. My father saw me and his face hardened. “Good, Sadie, you’re here. Come with us. We’re going to meet the little punk who hurt your brother.” “He’s going to regret ever laying a hand on our Liam,” my mother added, her voice dripping with venom. It seemed fate had decided. My parents were about to meet their real son. I took a deep breath, steeling myself. “Let’s go.” I was no longer the helpless victim. Even if Finn returned to this family, he couldn’t hurt me. Not like before. 8 The moment I saw my brother, I understood why Brenda had dared to come. His face was destroyed. A web of angry, raised scars crisscrossed his skin, the kind of burn you get from hot oil. He was almost unrecognizable. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who was responsible. Brenda had him on the ground, his body bruised and bloody. He stared up at us, his eyes burning with a hatred so pure it was almost beautiful, like a devil clawing its way out of hell. My mother gasped, taking a step back and clutching her chest. “My God, what a monster. He’s hideous. I shouldn’t have come down here. Seeing that face will give me nightmares.” Her words hit him like a physical blow. He let out a raw, agonized roar. “Shut your mouth! I wasn’t always like this! She did this to me! She threw hot oil in my face!” He struggled to his feet, trembling with rage. “Why does everyone look at me like I’m garbage? Does being ugly mean you don’t even deserve to live?” I watched him, my face a perfect mask of calm. I remembered his last words to me in our other life: You’re a monster, and you deserve every ugly thing that’s ever happened to you. Now, the words were his. The scornful glances, the disgust—it was all his now. Was this karma? Brenda just shrugged at his accusation. “It was an accident. Honestly, you’re so dramatic.” She turned to my parents, her smile slick and apologetic. “I heard my Finn here got into a scuffle with your boy. I brought him over to say sorry, and I’ve already taught him a good lesson. I hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive him.” She held out two gift baskets. “I hear your son is still in the hospital. I’m so worried about him. Could I… could I maybe go see him?” So that was it. She wasn’t here for Finn. She was worried about her own biological son, Liam. Before my parents could answer, Finn spat out, his neck corded with defiance, “I did nothing wrong. He called me a freak and said he was going to take my Jade away from me. He deserved it.” Brenda hit him on the back of the head. “Will you shut up? Do you know who Liam is? He’s a golden boy, born to have the world at his feet. You’re not even worthy of polishing his shoes. So what if he said a few words to you?” Finn’s face crumpled with betrayal. “Are you even my mother? You’re always taking his side. Guys like Liam are just spoiled brats who got lucky. So what? I got into that private school on a full scholarship because I’m smart.” Brenda hit him again. “You and your stupid grades. Liam is going to be a CEO someday. You’ll be lucky to be his janitor.” Finn laughed, a cold, sharp sound. “CEO? That idiot? He’s a lost cause. I heard his sister is the one inheriting everything, not him.” Brenda’s face went slack. She turned to my parents, her voice tight with panic. “Is that true?” My father’s expression was glacial. “This is a family matter. It has nothing to do with you.” “But Mr. Harrison,” she pleaded, her voice cloying. “You have to understand. A daughter gets married, she becomes part of another family. Your legacy… it has to go to your son.” She was desperate now, practically begging my parents to change their minds on behalf of a boy who wasn’t even hers. My parents looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “It’s our money. We’ll give it to whoever we want. Now get off our property.” Seeing Finn so thoroughly brutalized, they’d lost their appetite for revenge. They had the housekeeper escort Brenda and Finn out. They didn’t let her see Liam. But I knew this wasn’t over. As Brenda was being led away, she shot a look over her shoulder at me. It was pure, undiluted venom. In her eyes, I was the one stealing what rightfully belonged to Liam.

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