Category: English

On my wedding day, the bride didn’t show up. Instead, a gig courier in a high-vis jacket walked down the aisle. “Mr. Mitch, hello. I’m here on behalf of Rebecca. She hired me to stand in for her and complete the ceremony.” The crowded chapel went dead silent. I stood there, wearing the custom tuxedo Rebecca had personally picked out for me, my fingers slowly crushing the bridal bouquet in my hand until the stems snapped. Only last night, she had stayed up until dawn, meticulously choosing the tie that would suit me best. “Connor,” she had whispered, her arms wrapped around my neck. “No matter how long that aisle is tomorrow, I’ll be right beside you to walk it to the end.” Sitting in the front row, my grandmother, whose eyesight had been failing for years, heard the commotion. She smiled warmly and reached her trembling hand out toward the altar. “Rebecca? Come here, sweetheart. Let Grandma hold your hand. After today, you’re officially my granddaughter.” The courier took a half-step back, her face turning bright red under the gaze of a hundred guests. Then, she pulled a folded sheet of paper from her pocket. I stared at the printed lines, a sudden numbness creeping into my fingertips. Right then, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Zach had posted an update on his private social media story—visible only to me. In the photo, Rebecca was wearing her custom-tailored wedding gown, smiling brightly as she wheeled a suitcase down a hallway ahead of him. His caption read: She said a wedding can always be rescheduled, but I only have today. From the front row, Gran’s quiet, fragile voice drifted up to me again. “Connor, why isn’t Rebecca coming over?” I tossed the mangled bouquet onto the altar. Without looking at the crowd, I handed the courier’s instruction sheet to the technician booth and had them project it onto the giant screens for every guest to see. “Gran,” I said, my voice echoing through the speakers. “She outsourced her own wedding. We don’t want a woman like that in our family.” … The text on the screens was magnified until every single word was agonizingly clear. Bride’s Entrance: Hired courier will walk the aisle in her stead. The Vows: Nod when prompted by the officiant; no verbal response required. Exchange of Rings: If the groom is emotionally stable, the courier may slip the ring onto his finger. If he is unstable, simply hand the ring box to the officiant. Note: Connor’s grandmother has severe vision impairment. If she mistakes the courier for the bride, there is no need to correct her. The color drained from the faces of the relatives in the front rows. Whispers broke out, turning into a low, angry hum. “Is this some kind of joke?” “Where the hell is the bride? She actually hired a delivery driver to stand in for her wedding?” “This is incredibly disrespectful to the Mitch family.” Rebecca’s mother, Mrs. Christian, was the first to snap out of the shock. Clutching her designer gown, she rushed up the steps of the altar. “Turn that off!” she hissed, glaring at the technician booth before turning her venom on me. “Connor, do you have to humiliate both of our families today?” I took a step back, keeping my distance. “Mrs. Christian, I didn’t humiliate anyone. Your daughter is the one who outsourced her wedding.” Her face flushed an ugly purple, and she lowered her voice to a threatening whisper. “Don’t forget who is sitting out there. Half of these guests are our business partners. Rebecca just had a temporary emergency. What do you gain by blowing this out of proportion?” I ignored her and looked at the terrified courier. “What else did Rebecca give you?” Fumbling with her pockets, the courier hastily produced a small black velvet box. Inside were two wedding bands. The groom’s ring was the one I had picked out myself, carrying it in my pocket for weeks. The courier’s voice shrank to a squeak. “Ms. Christian said… she said if you didn’t make a scene, I should just hand these to the priest. She told me I didn’t even have to touch your hand. I could just slide the box over.” Another wave of outrage rippled through the pews. Hearing this, Gran struggled to stand up. Because she rose too quickly, her balance gave way, and her fragile frame swayed. I rushed over and caught her before she could fall. “Connor,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Is she really not here?” My throat felt like it was coated in sand. “No, Gran. She sent a stranger to take her place.” Gran went quiet for a long, heavy moment. Today, she was wearing a vintage burgundy silk dress. It was the same dress she had worn to her own wedding decades ago. The waist was far too tight now, so she had stayed up until midnight, painstakingly altering the seams by hand under a dim lamp. Before we left for the chapel, she had been practicing her blessing in her room, whispering to herself. “Rebecca, my Connor has a stubborn streak, but he has a good heart. Please be patient with him.” Then she had looked up at me, asking softly, “Connor, do you think that sounds okay? I don’t want to embarrass you in front of her family.” I had held her hands and told her she was perfect. “That’s good,” she had smiled, her face wrinkling with warmth. “I wanted to wear something festive. I can’t let my boy down.” Now, Gran slowly reached up to her chest, unpinned her red rose corsage, and crushed it in her palm. Mrs. Christian was still trying to salvage the situation. She turned to the wedding planner. “What are you standing there for? Keep the music playing! The bride’s representative is here. We are continuing the ceremony!” She glared at me. “Connor, I’m giving you one last chance. When Rebecca gets back, you can throw whatever tantrum you want. But if you drag our family through the mud today, don’t expect her to ever walk down an aisle for you again.” I picked up the microphone from the altar. “To all our guests,” I said. “As you can see, the bride isn’t here today. She arranged for a courier to walk the aisle, nod to the vows, and exchange the rings. She even planned for all of us to lie to my grandmother.” I paused, looking out over the crowd. “The wedding is officially canceled. Every single registry gift and cash donation will be returned to you by the end of the day.” Mrs. Christian screamed, “Connor!” I didn’t give her another look. I plugged my phone into the AV system and projected Zach’s Instagram story onto the massive screens behind us. The white wedding car, the flowing lace of Rebecca’s gown, her radiant smile. And the caption: She said a wedding can always be rescheduled, but I only have today. “As for Rebecca,” I said, my voice steady and cold. “I’m done.” As I guided Gran toward the exit, my phone began to vibrate. It was Rebecca. I tapped the screen and put it on speakerphone. Her voice filled the quiet space—calm, sweet, and laced with a hint of exasperation. “Con, what’s going on? The coordinator just called and said you’re refusing to go through with the ceremony.” She spoke with such easy nonchalance, as if she hadn’t just abandoned her own wedding. As if I were merely a toddler throwing a fit over nothing. “Rebecca,” I said, “do you even know what you wrote on the instructions you gave that courier?” I heard her sigh softly on the other end. “I knew you’d be upset when you saw it. But I did it to keep things moving. You get so anxious in front of crowds, Con. I didn’t want you standing up there looking foolish and alone.” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “So you wanted our entire family to lie to my grandmother?” The line went quiet for a second. When she spoke again, her tone was softer, patronizing. “Con, let’s not make a big deal out of this. Gran’s eyes are so bad anyway, she wouldn’t have even noticed. Just cooperate with me, okay? Your tie is probably crooked, and it’s going to ruin the photos. You know how much I love you in that tuxedo. When I get back, we’ll take our own private photos.” “Where are you right now, Rebecca?” I asked slowly. There was a brief hesitation. “I’m with Zach. His landlord evicted him, and all his things were thrown onto the sidewalk. I couldn’t just leave him sitting out there in the cold.” I looked down at Gran, whose head was bowed. “So you left my grandmother to cry at our wedding instead?” Suddenly, Zach’s voice drifted through the receiver. “Rebecca, am I causing trouble again? You should go back. I’ll be fine on my own.” Rebecca’s voice instantly dropped, muffled as she spoke to him. “Don’t touch that box, Zach, it’s too heavy. Just wait for me.” Then she turned her attention back to me. “Con, a wedding is just a piece of paper and a party. You’re the one I chose to spend my life with. You’ve always been the sensible one. You wouldn’t want to embarrass both our families over something this trivial, right?” At that moment, the truth finally sank in. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how much this would hurt me. She knew. She just knew I would endure it. Because I was sensible. Because I loved her. She was handing me a blade, expecting me to press it into my own chest and smile through the bleeding. Gran suddenly reached up and took my hand. Her voice was quiet, but it carried perfectly through the silent hall. “You don’t let a stranger stand in for your wedding.” I squeezed her hand. “You don’t need to come back, Rebecca,” I said into the phone. “I’m not marrying you.” Her breathing finally hitched. “Connor, calm down. Don’t throw our future away over a tantrum.” I smiled, though there was no warmth in it. “You outsourced our wedding. I’m just cutting my losses on the marriage.” Before she could speak, I hung up. In front of Mrs. Christian and all the remaining guests, I blocked her number. As we walked toward the exit, the hotel manager caught up to us, looking highly uncomfortable as he held an invoice. “Mr. Mitch, I understand the wedding is canceled. But the remaining balance for the venue and catering must be settled today.” Before I could speak, Gran stepped forward. She reached into her coat and pulled out a faded red cloth purse. The edges were worn, mended with thick, uneven thread. I recognized it immediately. It was where she kept her life savings. Inside, there was supposed to be the welcoming cash gift for Rebecca, along with a pair of handmade red silk pillowcases she had spent weeks sewing for us. Because of her failing eyesight, she had worked on them day and night, tearing out the stitches and restarting whenever they went crooked. “Con,” she had told me when she finished them, “newlyweds need to sleep peacefully. These stitches carry my blessings for a long, happy life.” Now, she bypassed all of that and handed her debit card to the manager. “How much do we owe?” “Gran, no,” I said, trying to push her hand back. “I’ve got this.” She patted the back of my hand gently. “Connor. Money can always be earned back. But if you enter a family on your knees, you’ll spend the rest of your life unable to stand up straight.” The manager looked at her with pity. “Ma’am, the balance is quite high.” Gran nodded. “Run the card. My grandson doesn’t owe them a single dime.” Her hand shook violently as she pressed her fingers against the keypad to enter her PIN. She got it wrong the first time. And the second. Frantic, she apologized to the manager. “I’m so sorry. My eyes are failing me, and my fingers are clumsy. Please, don’t hold it against my Connor.” Watching her, a tight knot formed in my chest, making it hard to breathe. Just then, Mrs. Christian marched over. She snatched a red velvet jewelry box from her bag and threw it violently at my feet. The box burst open on the marble floor. “Since you’re calling off the wedding, give us back our family heirlooms,” Mrs. Christian spat. “Don’t act all high and mighty while holding onto our gold. Did you really think you deserved to be part of our family?” Gran instinctively bent down. Because of her poor vision, she thought something of value had dropped and wanted to help retrieve it. Before I could stop her, her palm pressed directly onto a shard of glass from the shattered box. Blood immediately began to pool on the floor. “Gran!” I gasped, dropping to my knees. Gran’s face went white with pain, but her first instinct was to pull her hand into her sleeve, trying to hide the wound. “Don’t let it drip, Con,” she whispered. “The hotel’s carpet looks expensive.” In that second, a blinding fury roared to life in my chest. Mrs. Christian scoffed, crossing her arms. “Oh, please. What a cheap performance. The Christian family gold isn’t something just anyone can touch.” I stood up, stepped forward, and slapped her hard across the face. The sharp crack echoed off the high ceilings of the lobby. Everyone froze. Mrs. Christian clutched her cheek, staring at me in absolute disbelief. “You… you dared to hit me?” I reached down, tore off the heavy heirloom gold bracelet from my wrist—the one she had insisted I wear as her future son-in-law—and hurled it straight at her chest. “Take your gold and get the hell out of my sight,” I snarled, my voice shaking with a rage I had never felt before. “If anything happens to my grandmother, your family won’t have enough money to pay for it.” In the sterile corridor of the hospital, I was still wearing my wedding tuxedo. Gran sat on a plastic chair outside the exam room, her palm bound in white gauze after receiving five stitches. I knelt in front of her, unable to look her in the eye. “Gran, I’m so sorry. I brought this on us. I chose the wrong person.” Gran reached out with her uninjured hand and gently stroked my hair. “Connor, don’t you dare apologize. Walking away today was the best thing you’ve ever done. My eyes might be failing, but today, I saw everything clearly.” That night, I spent hours returning every single registry gift and donation. By 1:00 AM, I finally unlocked the door to the apartment we were supposed to share. The entry code was still my birthday. I stood in the entryway, unable to take a step further. The living room was crowded with pink cardboard boxes, each one bearing Zach’s name in bold marker. His expensive sneakers were lined up on the top shelf of our shoe rack. His cologne sat dead center on my writing desk. In the master bedroom, his discarded jacket was draped carelessly over the headboard. The vibrant red silk bedding I had spent hours preparing for our wedding night had been ripped off the mattress and tossed into the dirty laundry hamper on the balcony like a piece of trash. My phone buzzed in my hand. It was a notification from our mutual friend group chat—the one containing me, Rebecca, Zach, and a dozen of our college friends. Zach had posted a short video. In the video, he was sitting on our new bed, wearing the spare wedding tie I had left hanging in the closet. He smiled warmly at the camera. “Finally moved into the new home she built for me,” he said. From off-camera, Rebecca’s voice filtered in, soft and slightly scolding. “Stop playing around, Zach. Connor will mind.” Zach leaned back, flashing a boyish grin. “But he’s always so sensible. You said yourself, he’ll get used to it.” The video went silent for a second. Then, Rebecca murmured softly, “Just don’t push him too hard.” A second later, the video was retracted from the chat. But it was too late. I had already downloaded and saved it to my drive. My phone lit up again. It was a private message from my best man, Will. Con, are you okay? I stared at the screen, and a sudden, quiet laughter spilled from my lips. It turned out I wasn’t even the first groom to sleep in my own wedding bed. I walked into the walk-in closet, dragged out my suitcase, and packed only my essential documents, a few changes of clothes, and the handmade red pillowcases Gran had sewed for us. When I stripped off the tuxedo, I stood in front of the mirror for a long time. Then, I hung it up neatly right in the center of the closet. I placed the wedding ring boxes on the nightstand, beside a simple note: Rebecca, we are done. The next morning, Rebecca returned to the apartment. She was still wearing her wedding dress, though the hem of the white lace was stained with grey dust from Zach’s moving boxes. Zach hovered behind her, his voice small and hesitant. “Rebecca, do you think Connor is still mad?” Rebecca offered a tired, dismissive chuckle. “His heart is too soft, Zach. No matter how bad the fight was last night, he just needs to sleep it off. I’ll buy him a nice dinner and he’ll be fine.” She pushed open the bedroom door. The smile froze on her face. The closet was half-empty. My clothes, my books, my documents—all gone. Only the wedding tuxedo hung in the center, looking like a ghost. On the nightstand sat the rings, the house keys, and my note. Zach’s face paled. “Maybe… maybe he’s just trying to scare you…” Before he could finish, Rebecca’s phone rang. It was the hotel manager. She answered it, trying to keep her voice steady. “The wedding balance. Contact my assistant, she’ll handle the payment.” The line was quiet for a second. “Ms. Christian, the balance was fully settled by Mr. Mitch last night. However, he left a message for us to convey to you.”

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Ever since my father-in-law moved into my house, I’ve been afraid to even open my own refrigerator. He had taped a note onto the crisper drawer where the Bing cherries were kept: Bought by Dad. For daughter only. Others, buy your own. Until last week, when my four-year-old son, Max, reached in and took one. My father-in-law slapped the back of his tiny hand so hard the cherry flew out of his grip and rolled across the hardwood floor. “Just like your father,” he sneered. “Always looking for a free handout.” Then he turned to my wife and said, “While you’re still young, you need to have a daughter. Send this boy to his father’s parents. Let them raise him.” And my wife? She just hummed in agreement. A quiet, dismissive, “Mmhmm.” That was it. I knelt down, picked up the cherry, wiped the dust off, and popped it into my son’s mouth. Then I walked over to the fridge, ripped down my father-in-law’s note, and taped a new one in its place. It read: This refrigerator, along with this entire property, belongs to Darren. Anyone not listed on the deed must vacate within three days. … “Darren, what the hell is wrong with you? Take this ridiculous note down right now!” Rae slammed the bedroom door open. She was clutching the note I had taped to the fridge the night before, her knuckles white. I was sitting on the edge of the bed, bending down to pull a pair of dinosaur socks onto Max’s tiny feet. At the sound of her voice, Max’s small shoulders flinched. He instinctively tried to tuck his hand—the one with the red, swollen bruise on the back of it—behind his back. I reached out, gently pressing his shoulder to keep him steady, trying to offer what little comfort I could. Only then did I look up, my gaze cool as I met my wife’s furious eyes. Rae marched across the room in three sharp strides and slapped the crumpled paper onto my dresser. “Do you have any idea how upset my father is? He couldn’t even eat breakfast!” “His blood pressure is already sky-high, and you’re in here trying to tear this family apart!” I stood up, stepping deliberately between her and my son. “Whether he eats breakfast or starves is none of my concern.” Rae stared at me, her mouth slightly open in disbelief. “Darren, listen to yourself. When did you become so utterly unreasonable?” “It was a single cherry! My dad was just teaching him a lesson. You don’t take things that don’t belong to you!” “And you? You write a note telling him to pack up and leave in three days?” “Are you trying to humiliate him? Or are you trying to humiliate me?” Her voice rose, turning shrill. My voice remained perfectly level. “This house is solely in my name. I paid the down payment, and I’ve paid every single mortgage payment. If I want someone out of my house, I don’t need your permission.” Rae froze, her voice cracking as anger hid her sudden embarrassment. “You… don’t you dare hold this house over my head! We’re married! What’s mine is yours, and what’s yours is mine. It is a daughter’s duty to take care of her father!” “Go to the living room and apologize to him right now, and we can forget this ever happened.” I didn’t answer her. Instead, I turned to the closet, pulled out Max’s small winter coat, and carefully zipped him into it. “Daddy, is Grandpa going to hit me again?” Max whispered, tugging weakly at my sleeve. I knelt down and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “I promise you, buddy. No one is ever going to hurt you again.” I took his small hand in mine, brushed past Rae, and walked out. Rae grabbed my arm, her nails digging in. “Darren! Are you listening to me?” “If you walk out that door today, don’t bother coming back tonight!” I stopped and turned my head slowly to look at her. “Rae.” I said her name quietly. “You have two and a half days left.” She blinked, caught off guard. “What?” “The deadline on that note. Two and a half days.” I peeled her fingers off my arm, one by one. “When the clock runs out, if he’s still here, I will personally throw his things onto the curb.” With that, I walked out of the bedroom, leading my son. In the living room, my father-in-law, Richard, was sprawled on the sofa, cracking sunflower seeds and spitting the shells onto the hardwood floor. When he saw me, he rolled his eyes and practically screamed toward the back of the house. “Oh, Rae! Come look at this wonderful husband of yours!” “He hasn’t even made a name for himself, and he’s already throwing me out!” “What a miserable life I have! I raised you with my own sweat and blood, and now I don’t even have a corner to lay my head!” He wailed dramatically, though his shifty eyes kept darting to see my reaction. Rae stormed out of the bedroom, her face pale with frustration. “Dad, stop crying. He’s just throwing a tantrum. He won’t actually kick you out.” She glared at me. “Darren, if you dare go to work today, we’re getting a divorce!” I reached the entryway and slipped on my shoes. I opened the door. “Fine,” I said, without looking back. “See you at the courthouse tomorrow morning.” The door clicked shut behind us. After dropping Max off at his preschool, I didn’t head to the office. Instead, I pulled into the parking lot of a quiet coffee shop I frequent, took a seat by the window, and ordered a black coffee. When I unlocked my phone, my screen was flooded with notifications. Rae had sent over a dozen voice messages. I tapped the speech-to-text option, and the screen filled with defensive, angry text. Are you losing your mind, Darren? You want a divorce over a single cherry? My dad is an old man. Can’t you just show some respect for once? I’ll buy a whole carton of cherries tonight for you and Max. Just come home. I stared at the promise of a carton of cherries and let out a cold, humorless laugh. That was always Rae’s logic. She genuinely believed that throwing a little material comfort at a problem could erase the terror my son felt, or the years of humiliation I had endured. But the cherries were never the point. What broke me was the cold, indifferent “Mmhmm” she uttered while our son’s hand was being struck. That single sound had severed the last remaining thread of our marriage. I swiped out of messages and opened our smart home security app. When I bought the house, I had installed a camera in the living room to keep an eye on Max when he was playing. The feed buffered for a few seconds before the room appeared in sharp high-definition. Rae had already left for work. Richard was home alone, humming a cheerful, off-key tune as he wandered around the living room with a pair of heavy kitchen shears in his hand. He stepped out onto the balcony, his eyes settling on the potted orchid I had kept alive for four years. I had bought that rare orchid to celebrate the day Max was born. Richard sneered, raised the shears, and snipped off every single blooming bud. “Pointless weed,” he muttered, tossing the delicate white petals into the trash can. “Taking up space where my granddaughter’s toys should go.” Then, he walked into the master bedroom. The camera couldn’t see inside the bedroom, but the audio was crystal clear. I heard drawers being violently yanked open and slammed shut, followed by the heavy, hollow sound of glass bottles hitting the bottom of a wastebasket. “Buying all this expensive skincare… spending my daughter’s hard-earned money!” Richard grumbled. “Once we get rid of that useless boy, I’ll make sure Rae finds a real man who can give her a proper daughter.” His venomous muttering spilled out of my phone’s speaker. I watched the screen, my face entirely numb. I downloaded the footage, merged it with the recording of him striking Max from the night before, and backed it up to my secure cloud storage. Then, I called my old college friend, Matt, who was now a senior partner at a divorce law firm. “Hey, Matt. It’s Darren.” “Yeah. I’ve made up my mind. I need a divorce.” Half an hour later, I was sitting in Matt’s high-rise office. I slid a folder across his mahogany desk. Inside was a copy of the deed, the pre-marital purchase agreement, and four years of bank statements. Matt adjusted his glasses, scanning the documents. “You bought this property in full before the marriage. There’s no dispute here—it’s solely your personal asset.” “But what if she claims she contributed to the mortgage after you got married?” Matt asked, looking up. I pointed to the stack of bank statements. “There is no mortgage. I paid the full amount upfront to save on interest.” “As for our living expenses over the last four years, every single utility bill, grocery run, and repair came directly out of my checking account.” “Rae’s paychecks? The day after she gets paid, her entire salary is transferred straight into her father’s bank account.” Matt paused, his fingers resting on the paper. He looked at me, a flicker of genuine pity in his eyes. “So you’re telling me that for four years, she lived rent-free in your home and didn’t contribute a single dime to your lives?” “It gets worse.” I unlocked my phone and slid it over, playing the security footage. “She enabled her father’s physical abuse of my son, and they’ve openly discussed abandoning him.” As the video played, Matt’s expression hardened. “This is crucial evidence. It’s more than enough to secure you sole custody and ensure she leaves with absolutely nothing.” Matt closed the folder with a heavy thud. “But Darren, prepare yourself. Women who are used to treating their husbands like a personal piggy bank don’t react well when the card gets declined. She’s going to get ugly.” I took a slow sip of my water. “I don’t care how ugly she gets.” “I just want her out of my life.” I pulled a draft of a divorce agreement from my bag—one I had quietly prepared weeks ago. “Help me finalize this, Matt. I want her to sign it in forty-eight hours.” After leaving the law firm, I drove straight to our building’s management office. I placed my deed on the manager’s desk. “Mr. Isaac, could you check how many key fobs are currently registered to my unit?” Mr. Isaac tapped away at his keyboard. “You have three active fobs, Darren.” “Deactivate two of them,” I said without hesitation. “Only keep mine active. And please schedule a locksmith to come to my unit. Two days from now. Eight o’clock sharp. I want the locks changed.” Mr. Isaac blinked, taken aback by my cold tone, but he nodded. “Understood, Darren. We’ll have them there.” I walked out of the office and looked up at the sky. The afternoon sun was blindingly bright, but for the first time in years, the suffocating fog in my mind had completely cleared. For the next two days, I didn’t go back to the apartment. I checked Max and myself into a clean business hotel near my office. Initially, Rae bombarded my phone with calls and texts. When I didn’t reply, she must have assumed I was just sulking. But by the second night, her tone shifted. She sent a long, breathless voicemail. “Darren, seriously, stop throwing a tantrum. Do you have any idea how much money you’re wasting staying at a hotel? You think money grows on trees?” “My dad already said that if you just come home and apologize to him, he’ll drop the whole cherry thing. Let’s just move on.” I listened to the message, felt absolutely nothing, and blocked her number. Sitting at the hotel desk, I spent the evening organizing a spreadsheet of our finances from the last four years. The columns of numbers were a stark record of our marriage: everything from high-end kitchen appliances to the imported joint supplements my father-in-law insisted on taking. I had paid for all of it. Rae had spent years systematically draining my savings to fund her birth family. On the afternoon of the third day, I left work early to pick Max up from preschool. “Daddy, are we going home today?” Max asked quietly from the backseat, his large eyes reflecting a quiet fear. “Yes, buddy,” I said, reaching back to squeeze his hand. “But first, we’re going to meet a few nice uncles who are going to help us.” I parked my car along the curb outside our building. A few minutes later, a large moving truck pulled up behind us. Four broad-shouldered movers jumped out of the cab. The foreman walked over and tapped on my window. “Mr. Scott? You called for the clean-out service?” I nodded and stepped out of the car. “Yes. Thank you for coming. Just follow my lead.” Right then, my phone buzzed in my palm. It was a motion-alert notification from my home security app. I tapped the live stream. The living room was crowded. Aside from Richard, Rae’s younger sister, Emily, was there along with her husband, Greg, and their five-year-old daughter, Zoe. They had clearly just arrived. Massive duffel bags and cardboard boxes blocked the entire entryway. Greg was lounging on my sofa, laughing as he watched Zoe bounce up and down on the premium white leather cushions. “Wow, Dad, Rae’s place is amazing. It’s so spacious,” Emily said, biting into an apple as she paced the room. Richard sat in my armchair like a king on his throne. “Of course it is! My eldest daughter is a success. This house is the new foundation for our family.” “I already told Rae to have you guys move in.” “Darren and that useless boy are occupying the second bedroom anyway. It’s a total waste of space. We’ll clear them out so Zoe can have her own room.” Richard’s loud, boastful voice echoed through my phone speaker. I stared at the screen, and felt a sudden, icy surge of laughter bubble up in my throat. Rae really was something else. Instead of taking my three-day warning seriously, she had invited her entire parasitic family over to claim my home as their own. I locked my phone and looked at the movers. “Gentlemen, no matter how much they scream or cry, I want you to carry every single item that doesn’t belong to me out of that apartment.” “If there are any issues, I will take full responsibility.” The foreman cracked his knuckles with a grin. “Don’t worry, boss. We’re professionals. As long as you’ve got the deed, we’ll clear ’em out even if the President himself is sitting in there.” I took a deep, steadying breath and took Max’s hand. “Come on, Max. Let’s go clean up our house.” With four movers and two building security guards behind me, we stepped into the elevator. The floor numbers ticked up slowly, but my heart rate remained perfectly, beautifully calm. The doors opened on the sixteenth floor. I walked up to my front door, bypassed my keys, and pressed the doorbell. From inside the apartment, a chaotic rush of footsteps scrambled toward the door. The lock clicked, and the door swung open. Emily’s smug grin instantly froze when she saw me. She took a step back, her eyes darting nervously from me to the four towering movers and the two uniformed security guards standing behind me. “Darren…?” she stammered. I didn’t answer. I simply guided Max past her and stepped into the living room. The air in the apartment was thick and rancid. A portable electric stove sat on the coffee table, a greasy hot pot bubbling away, splattering red chili oil everywhere. The hardwood floor was littered with empty beer bottles, used napkins, and sunflower seed shells. My three-thousand-dollar white leather sofa was covered in dark, greasy footprints from where Zoe had been jumping. Richard was in the middle of dipping a piece of beef into the pot. When he saw me enter, he paused, then slammed his chopsticks down onto the table. “Oh, look who decided to crawl back!” Richard sneered, his eyes narrowing. “I thought you’d starved to death out there!” “Well, don’t just stand there. Go to the kitchen, wash the dishes, and slice some fruit for us.” He completely ignored the small army standing behind me, still expecting me to play the submissive servant. At that moment, the master bedroom door opened. Rae walked out, wearing her silk bathrobe and yawning. When she saw me, her brow furrowed, but then a triumphant smile spread across her face. “What’s the matter? Couldn’t afford the hotel bill, so you finally came crawling back?” She walked over to the sofa, sat down, and crossed her legs. “I hate to break it to you, Darren, but you’re too late.” “My sister and her family moved in today. They’ve already taken the second bedroom.” “You and the boy can sleep on the living room couch tonight.” She pointed lazily to the oil-stained leather sofa, her voice dripping with venomous satisfaction. I stood in the center of the room, quietly watching her little performance—watching the smug, ugly entitlement written all over her face. “Rae,” I said. My voice was very quiet, very cold, cutting straight through the noisy bubbling of the hot pot. “Can you not read?” “My note said to vacate within three days.” “Today is the third day.” Rae snapped, jumping to her feet and pointing a trembling finger at my face. “Darren, have you completely lost your mind?” “My entire family is here today. I dare you to try and lay a single finger on my father!” “You think bringing a couple of security guards is going to scare us?” Richard slammed his hand on the table, joining in. “Exactly! This is my daughter’s home! Who the hell are you to throw us out, you outsider?” “Greg, get up and throw this trash out!” Greg looked uneasy, but with his father-in-law watching, he took a hesitant step forward. “Come on, Darren, don’t make a scene. We’re family, there’s no need to make things so ugly…” I didn’t take a single step back. I reached into my bag, pulled out a document, and threw it down onto the table right next to the boiling hot pot. “Look closely,” I said, my voice deadpan. “That is a certified copy of the deed. This house belongs to me.” “The ground you are standing on is my private property.” Rae’s eyes fell on the paper. The smugness on her face instantly shattered. She stared at the words Sole Owner: Darren, her lips trembling as she tried to form a sentence. “You… why do you have this?” Her voice shook, all her previous bravado evaporating in an instant. I didn’t bother answering her. I turned to the movers and security guards behind me. “Gentlemen, begin.” “Take every single piece of property that doesn’t belong to me and throw it out.” “Officers, please monitor them. If anyone tries to interfere, call the police immediately and have them arrested for trespassing.” The moment the words left my mouth, the four movers charged into the living room and the second bedroom. “Hey! What are you doing? Stop! That’s my bag!” Richard shrieked, lunging forward to grab a duffel bag from one of the movers. But he was no match for a grown man half his age. With a gentle nudge, the mover sent him tumbling back onto the floor. Emily and Greg clutched each other and their daughter, too terrified to utter a single sound. Rae completely panicked. She rushed toward me, trying to grab my hand. “Darren! You’ve gone mad! We can talk about this! Why are you letting strangers ruin our home?” I violently slapped her hand away. I reached into my bag one last time, pulled out another document, and threw it directly into her face. “Our home?” I stared at her face, which had gone entirely bloodless. “Look closely, Rae. Those are divorce papers.” “Now, take your father, take your sister, and get the hell out of my house.”

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When I listed the riverfront condo—the one where I’d personally put down the three-hundred-thousand-dollar down payment—the realtor asked how I could bear to slash the price so drastically just to get rid of it. I pulled at the corner of my mouth. “Because of a cashmere throw.” The night before, I had worked past midnight. My stomach ulcer flared up, leaving me shivering on the living room floor in a cold sweat. All I wanted was to slide into the master bed and close my eyes. But Devon’s hand clamped down on the doorknob, blocking me. He frowned. “Don’t go in. Mallory loves those silk sheets and that cashmere throw. The last time you slept in there, you left a trace of your perfume, and she couldn’t sleep a wink all night.” He closed the door tightly, keeping the gap sealed, and spoke in a hushed, pleading tone. “Just hold out on the sofa tonight, Bella. Mallory just got discharged from the psychiatric ward. We need to be accommodating.” The protective way he stood guard over that door felt like a physical blow. Suddenly, the home I had spent six months building—running to hardware stores, supervising contractors, picking out every piece of trim—felt freezing cold. I didn’t argue. I didn’t demand answers like I usually did. I simply turned around and walked back to the stiff leather sofa. Devon watched me go, shaking his head with a sigh, assuming I was just being difficult. Then he retreated to his study. I stared at my phone screen, watching the confirmation for my mortgage redemption appointment pop up. I closed my eyes and let sleep take me. I was done trying to force my way into the fortress of becoming Mrs. Devon West. … I woke up with my stomach still twisting in knots. The living room lights were still on. On the coffee table sat a half-empty glass of cold water. Devon hadn’t even bothered to find my medication. I forced myself upright, my palms slick with cold sweat. A faint strip of light glowed beneath the master bedroom door, accompanied by the low hum of a white noise machine. It was the sound of falling rain—the only thing Mallory could sleep to. I leaned against the wall, walking toward it. Hanging from the brass doorknob was a wooden sign: “Sleeping. Do Not Disturb.” It was brand new. I had never seen it before. I reached for the handle. The lock was turned from the inside. “Bella, don’t mess with the door,” Devon’s voice called out from the study. I turned to look at him. He was in his pajamas, holding a mug of warm water. He didn’t offer it to me. Instead, he set it down on the small console table right outside the master bedroom. “Mallory needs warm water if she wakes up in the middle of the night,” he explained. “Where is my stomach medicine?” I asked, my voice flat. He paused. “I’ll pick some up for you tomorrow.” I walked over to the entryway and flipped open the first-aid kit. My prescription was three months expired. Meanwhile, Mallory’s sleep aids were meticulously sorted into daily pill organizers, each slot labeled with the date and exact dosage. Devon stepped over, pressing his hand down on the lid of the kit. “Don’t mess with her medicine.” I let go of the box. “When did she move her things in here?” “She just got discharged. The doctor said she needs a stable, familiar environment to recover.” “This is our house, Devon. Our wedding home.” His brow furrowed, a look of deep exhaustion crossing his face. “Do you have to be so petty? She’s only staying for a few nights.” I turned and walked toward the guest bedroom. When I pushed the door open, the room was piled high with wedding favors. Stacked against the far wall was Mallory’s easel, and her rolled-up yoga mat lay on the floor. I turned back to him. “Is the guest room a temporary stay, too?” Devon avoided my eyes. “Painting keeps her calm.” I pulled out my phone. A notification from a real estate app showed the current valuation of the condo. It was a painful drop from what I had paid, but I didn’t care. I opened my banking app, reviewing the outstanding mortgage balance, prepayment terms, and penalties. Devon stood beside me, exasperated. “What are you throwing a tantrum over now?” I didn’t look up. “Just running some numbers.” He sighed. “Bella, be mature. Mallory is sick. You’re healthy. Don’t fight her for the bed.” My thumb froze over the screen. “Fight her for the bed.” I had spent six months checking on contractors, selecting drywall, and testing mattresses at seven different stores before finding the perfect one. And now, he used the word “fight”. I opened the digital copy of our purchase contract. “Sole Title Holder: Bella Shaw.” “Mortgage Borrower: Bella Shaw.” My down payment records were saved in my cloud storage, alongside every renovation invoice. Devon caught a glimpse of the screen, and his expression shifted. “Why are you looking at those?” I locked my phone. “I can’t sleep.” “Well, keep it down. Don’t wake Mallory.” I looked at the master bedroom door. It had someone else’s sign on it. The bed held someone else’s blanket. The cabinets held someone else’s medicine. I opened my messages and texted Janice, our real estate agent. “Is there any way we can list this place immediately?” Janice replied almost instantly. “Are you sure? You’d be taking a massive hit.” I typed back: “I’m sure.” Inside the master bedroom, the rain machine cut off for a brief second. Devon immediately turned, rushing to knock softly on the door. “Mallory? Are you awake?” I set my phone face down on the coffee table. If the master bedroom didn’t belong to me, then there was no reason for the house to belong to us. The next morning, I opened the refrigerator. My coffee beans were gone. So was my Greek yogurt. In place of my hot sauces sat a neat row of low-sugar oat milk. A post-it note was stuck to the door in Devon’s neat handwriting: “Mallory: No caffeine, no cold drinks, no high sugar.” He walked out of the kitchen holding a bowl of plain oatmeal. “You should eat light today too. Mallory can’t stand the smell of anything heavy right now.” I looked at the bowl. Last night, when my stomach was tearing itself apart, he hadn’t asked if I needed a single bite of food. But he remembered exactly what smells would trigger Mallory. I grabbed my purse. “I’m not eating.” Devon’s face hardened. “Another attitude? You’re going to sour the whole morning over breakfast?” I slipped into my flats. “Keep it for her.” “Bella,” his voice dropped, warning me. “Don’t speak like that.” I walked into the closet to grab my coat. The main racks were now occupied by Mallory’s beige trench coats, silk pajamas, and knit shawls. My garment bag containing my wedding dress had been relegated to the corner of the balcony door, the bottom of the bag dusted with gray soot. I picked up the bag. Devon followed me in. “She gets anxious when her things are left out in the open. Don’t overthink this.” “So her anxiety matters, but mine doesn’t when my wedding dress is collecting dust by the balcony?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are you really going to compare yourself to a clinical patient?” My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a notification from the West family group chat. Devon’s mother had sent a voice note. “Devon, how did Mallory sleep last night? Make sure Bella doesn’t go into the master bedroom and agitate her. A sick person can’t handle any stress.” Devon replied: “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ve taken care of it.” His mother messaged back: “Bella is strong. A few days of compromise won’t hurt her. We’re all going to be family soon anyway.” No one asked how my stomach was. No one asked where I had slept. I took a screenshot of the conversation. Devon noticed, his expression instantly souring. “Why are you screenshotting that?” “For the memories.” He reached out to grab my phone. I took a step back, my eyes cold. “Don’t touch me.” His hand hung suspended in the air. “Bella, why are you being so sharp lately?” I zipped the garment bag shut. “Your family is much sharper. I’m just trying to keep up.” That afternoon, I took a half-day off work. I exported my down payment transfers. I exported every single mortgage payment. I saved the invoices for the custom cabinets, the designer lighting, and the landscaping. In the entire ledger, Devon had only contributed a few scattered transfers for minor monthly expenses. The only major purchases under his card were the television and the dining table. I sent the files to Sam, my closest friend who worked in corporate law. “Help me draft a pre-marital asset liquidation.” Sam replied within seconds. “You’re finally awake?” I wrote back: “No jokes. Just do the math.” Sam sent a quick reply. “The deed is in your name, and you have the paper trail. Do not play nice.” Devon came home around lunchtime. He handed me a glass of lukewarm water. “I was too impatient last night,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry. This weekend, let’s go look at wedding bands.” I looked at the cup. The bottom of the glass still had a small thermal sticker Mallory used to measure her drinks. Forty-five degrees Celsius. I didn’t take it. His phone rang. A voice note from Mallory played automatically over his speaker. “Devon, the cashmere throw feels a little damp. I can’t close my eyes.” Devon instantly snatched his car keys off the counter. “I’ll take it to the dry cleaner. I’ll be back soon.” “What about the rings?” I asked. He paused at the door. “We can do that anytime. There’s no rush.” I looked down at my phone and clicked “Confirm” on my mortgage prepayment request. The screen blinked: “Request submitted.” He was busy protecting a blanket. I was busy dismantling a life. Devon had promised to accompany me to our wedding tasting. I had booked the reservation two weeks in advance, noting his parents’ dietary restrictions three separate times. But right before we were supposed to leave, his phone rang. Mallory was too terrified to go to her therapy session alone. Devon looked at me guiltily. “Go ahead without me. I’ll drop her off and meet you there as fast as I can.” I picked up my car keys. “Okay.” He let out a long breath of relief. “Thank you, Bella. I knew you’d understand.” I didn’t reply. When I arrived at the restaurant, the event coordinator handed me the seating chart for the reception. Right next to the head table, a new name had been added. “Mallory.” The notes beside her name were highly detailed: “Keep away from speakers. Avoid direct spotlights. Position near the exit/lounge area so Mr. West can easily assist her.” I held the pen, staring at the page. “Who requested this change?” The coordinator checked her tablet. “Mr. West called it in last night.” I set the pen down. “The head table is reserved for the bride, the groom, and their immediate families.” The coordinator offered an apologetic, awkward smile. “Mr. West mentioned the guest has special medical needs.” Half an hour later, Devon arrived. Mallory was trailing behind him, wrapped tightly in the cashmere throw, clutching a manila folder of medical records. “Bella,” Mallory whispered, her eyes downcast. “Should I not have come?” I looked at Devon. He immediately stepped in front of her, shielding her from my gaze. “I wanted her to get used to the venue ahead of time. We don’t want any unexpected episodes on the wedding day.” “It’s my wedding,” I said. “Who gave her permission to practice?” Mallory’s eyes welled with tears. Devon’s face darkened instantly. “Don’t raise your voice at her. She can’t handle stress right now.” I flipped open the menu. “Then she shouldn’t be here.” The tasting began. When the first course—a pan-seared sea bass—was served, Mallory covered her mouth with her napkin. “It smells too fishy.” Devon immediately signaled the server. “Please swap this dish out for something else.” When the soup arrived, she knit her brows. “The broth is too rich.” Devon turned to the coordinator. “Change this one too.” The coordinator looked at me for confirmation. I pushed the menu across the table. “Do whatever Mr. West wants.” The venue’s sound system began playing our selected ambient playlist. Mallory clutched the throw tighter to her chest, her breathing shallow. “This music… it’s making my chest feel so heavy.” Devon turned around. “Can we change the playlist to soft piano or white noise?” I stared at him. “Are our guests coming to a wedding, Devon, or a sleep clinic?” His voice fell into a harsh whisper. “Bella, the wedding is just a ceremony. Mallory’s health is real. She cannot be triggered.” “And what about me?” I asked. He hesitated, his voice softening slightly, though it offered no comfort. “You’ve always been the strong one, Bella.” The words hung in the air, cold and heavy. I closed my folder. Mallory spoke up, her voice trembling. “Maybe I should just leave. I don’t want to cause an argument between you two.” Devon immediately reached out, his fingers wrapping around her wrist to keep her in her seat. “No one is asking you to leave.” I stared at his hand on her skin. He realized what he was doing, flinching slightly as he let go. Mallory’s breathing became rapid and shallow. Devon stood up, supporting her by the shoulders. “I need to get her some air. Handle the deposit, and I’ll call you later.” The coordinator tentatively slid the invoice toward me. I didn’t reach for my pen. “We are putting the wedding date on hold indefinitely.” The coordinator gasped. “Ms. Shaw, you might lose the entire reservation deposit.” “Follow the terms of the contract.” As Devon helped Mallory into his passenger seat outside, my phone rang. It was Janice. “Bella, if you’re serious about selling that condo, I actually have a cash buyer who is ready to close quickly.” I watched Devon gently tuck the cashmere blanket around Mallory’s knees before shutting the car door. “I’m serious,” I said. Janice paused. “What about the price?” “Below market is fine. Just make it fast.” When I got back to the empty condo, I cancelled the catering, the florist, and sent a formal contract termination to the bridal boutique. Devon sent a text an hour later: “Mallory is resting now. Don’t overreact to what happened today.” I typed two words: “Too late.” He didn’t reply. I downloaded the standard residential purchase agreement template. A wedding could happen without me. And a house could certainly exist without him. At nine the next morning, I walked into the bank. The clerk noted the prepayment penalty fee on a slip of paper. “Ms. Shaw, this is a substantial fee. Are you sure you want to proceed with paying off the balance early?” I signed my name. “I’m sure.” She checked the documents. “Once the title is cleared, the property will be fully eligible for transfer.” I handed over my ID. “I understand.” When I stepped out of the lobby, Devon’s name flashed on my screen. “What do you want for dinner?” I replied: “Be home early. We need to talk about the house.” He wrote back: “Okay. I promise I’ll listen this time.” I slipped my phone into my coat pocket. By afternoon, Janice arrived with the buyers. Before they walked in, I had already gathered Mallory’s pillboxes, her diffuser, her slippers, and her sleep machine into clear storage bags, lining them up neatly by the front door. The buyer’s wife walked into the master bedroom, admiring the silk bedding. “These are gorgeous. Are they included?” “No,” I said. “The bedding goes with me.” The husband walked out to the balcony. “Why the sudden sale?” I handed him a copy of the cleared title deed. “I’m relocating out of state.” Janice pulled me to the side, whispering, “They’re going to try to negotiate because you’re moving so fast.” “If they can do a cash close, I’ll take the cut.” Janice looked at me, her eyes soft. “You’re really done, aren’t you?” “Entirely.” By twilight, Devon walked through the door. He stopped when he saw the cardboard boxes stacked in the hallway. “Are you organizing the wedding favors?” I placed the financial liquidation ledger on the coffee table. “Have a seat.” He looked at the document, his face losing color. “Bella, what is this?” “I slept on the couch last night, Devon. That was real. This is also real.” He sat down slowly. “Go ahead.” I flipped to the first page. “The down payment was three hundred thousand. I paid two hundred thousand; you paid one hundred thousand.” He nodded. “Yes. I don’t dispute that.” “The renovation costs were eighty thousand, paid entirely by me. The bulk of the mortgage payments, HOA fees, and interior design bills were also paid by me.” He rubbed his temples. “Is there really a point to doing this right now?” “Yes.” His phone began to vibrate. Mallory’s name lit up the screen. He pressed decline. It rang again immediately. On the third attempt, a voice note came through: “Devon, I’m alone in my room, and the windows feel like they’re falling down. I don’t want to live anymore.” Devon bolted upright, grabbing his keys. I stepped in front of the door, blocking him. “If you walk out that door tonight, we are finished.” He gripped the keys so hard his knuckles turned white. “She is sick, Bella! Don’t force me to be a heartless monster!” I looked him dead in the eye. “You were perfectly comfortable being a monster the night my stomach flared up.” He froze. Then, he pushed past me. The heavy front door slammed shut, and his hurried footsteps faded down the corridor. I sat down, opened my banking app, and initiated a wire transfer to his account. I calculated his exact share of the mortgage contribution, deducted his portion of the shared furniture depreciation, and hit send. In the memo line, I wrote: “Property and joint expenses cleared.” His phone call came thirty seconds later. I ignored it. I gathered the deed, the title release form, my ID, and the spare keys. At the title company’s office, the buyers were already waiting. Janice handed the paperwork to the closing officer. My phone vibrated continuously on the desk, Devon’s name flashing over and over. The officer verified my signature. “Property owner Bella Shaw, all documents are in order.” I placed the physical keys into the plastic tray. The officer looked up. “Ms. Shaw, do you confirm that you are selling this property of your own free will?” Behind me, the door to the office burst open. “Bella Shaw!” Devon’s voice cracked through the quiet room. “Don’t you dare sell this house!”

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Ever since I was diagnosed with narcolepsy—or what the doctors could only call a bizarre, daylight-onset coma—I would lose consciousness the moment the sun came up. We consulted endless specialists, flew to clinics across the country, but every diagnostic test came back frustratingly normal. Then, on the eve of my son’s birthday, I had a dream. A strange woman stood before me, her silhouette stark against a blinding white background. “You don’t actually believe you’re sick, do you? That a medical condition is what keeps you asleep all day?” I stared at her, paralyzed with confusion. She leaned in, a sharp, knowing smile on her lips. “It’s because my soul is fused with yours. We split this body. Twelve hours each. I get the day; you get the night.” “And the best part? Your husband and your son know all about it. In fact, to keep me around, they ran the only spiritual medium who could separate us right out of the city.” My mind went entirely blank. My hands, hanging at my sides, began to shake violently. She looked thoroughly satisfied with my horror. As the dreamscape began to fade with the rising sun, she whispered mockingly: “Don’t believe me? I’ll step back for the next few days. See for yourself.” … For three years, this was the first time I had ever opened my eyes during the day. Sunlight streamed through the blinds, casting golden stripes across our bedroom. The alarm on the nightstand buzzed. Elliott, who had been heading toward the master bath, stopped. Seeing me wide awake, his eyes softened, and he slid back into bed, wrapping his arms around me from behind. “Morning, beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. “Do I get a reward? I did exactly what you asked last night—I didn’t touch Naomi once.” The blood in my veins turned to ice. Ever since the daylight sleeping started, Elliott and I hadn’t been intimate. Not once. At first, he was too consumed by worry to even think about it. But at some point, the late nights started. Every evening when I woke up at dusk, the house was dark, empty, and silent. Unaware of my sudden terror, Elliott buried his face in the crook of my neck, breathing me in. His voice was low, teasing, and intimate. “Melanie, I’m skipping the office today. Let me just drop Toby off at school, and when I get back…” Before he could finish, our five-year-old, Toby, burst through the door. “Daddy! You’re hogging Mommy again!” “You broke our promise! You don’t have to work during the day, so you get her all the time. We agreed mornings belong to me!” I stared blankly at the scene playing out in front of me, feeling as if I’d been doused in freezing water. It all made sense now. Why Elliott, the CEO of his firm, worked so late every night. He wasn’t working. He was saving all his daylight hours to spend with Melanie, leaving only the dark, exhausting nights to Naomi. Elliott pecked Toby on the forehead, then leaned in to kiss my lips. I turned my head away sharply, a bitter lump rising in my throat. “Go help Toby brush his teeth first,” I said, struggling to keep my voice steady. “You know he always gets his collar soaked when he does it himself.” Without waiting for a response, I threw off the duvet, practically bolted out of bed, and locked myself in the bathroom. By the time I unlocked the door and stepped out, Toby was already dressed in his preschool uniform, sitting at the kitchen island. Elliott emerged from the kitchen holding a warm skillet. “Here we go, sweetheart. Sunny-side up eggs and avocado toast, just the way you like them.” I stared at the plate. I had always preferred a simple bowl of warm oatmeal, but Melanie must have craved this instead. My chest felt heavy, as if a lead weight were crushing my lungs. Yet, in some twisted form of self-torture, I picked up the fork under Elliott’s expectant gaze and took a bite. It tasted like cardboard. “It’s good,” I lied. I needed to see how far they had gone for Melanie over the last three years. I needed to witness the full depth of their betrayal. Before they left, Toby wrapped his little arms tightly around my waist. “Mommy, can you bring me two lunchboxes today?” “I want to save one for dinner. I’ll ask the teacher to heat it up for me. I don’t want to eat the food the “other” mommy makes.” I stood frozen as Toby clung to me, my fingertips turning numb with cold. No wonder. Every night, I would wake up and pour my heart into preparing a beautiful dinner, only for Toby to take two bites, drop his fork, and run to his room. I thought he was just a picky eater. It wasn’t that. He had already eaten the dinner prepared by his “real” mother during the day. Elliott scooped Toby up into his arms, his brow furrowing slightly. “Toby, we’ve talked about this.” I snapped my gaze to Elliott, my fingernails biting hard into my palms. A tiny, desperate spark of hope flared in my chest. “Naomi is still your mother. You need to respect her enough to finish the dinner she makes you.” Seeing Toby pout, Elliott chuckled softly and pinched his cheek. “Besides, Daddy has found a way to let Mommy Melanie stay with us for much longer.” “Remember that spiritual medium who almost let Naomi find out the truth last year?” “He knows how to bind her soul so Naomi only wakes up once every seven days. Daddy’s assistant is already tracking him down.” A sharp, agonizing pain pierced my heart. The rest of Elliott’s words faded into a loud, ringing silence. I managed to whisper, “I’m going back to sleep,” before retreating inside and shutting the door on them. I sat alone in the quiet, echoing house. When the tears finally stopped flowing, there was nothing left inside me but an empty hollow. I pulled out my phone, scrolled to the very bottom of my contacts, and found the number I had saved months ago. To: Alistair “I will pay you triple your fee.” “But when you bind my soul, I need you to do one more thing.” … Later that morning, an emergency cropped up at Elliott’s firm. He went in to resolve it, wrapping up his other meetings while he was there. For the first time in years, he didn’t have to “work late” that evening. But when he and Toby returned at twilight, their warm, affectionate behavior from the morning had vanished completely. They looked at me as if I were a stranger occupying their space. “Hi, Mom,” Toby mumbled, skirting past me to head straight to his room. And Elliott, facing the wife he hadn’t seen all day, offered only a cold, practiced indifference. “Oh, you’re awake.” If this had been the past, I would have run to him, excited to ask about his day and share whatever little things had happened in my quiet hours. Today, I merely nodded. I turned my back on him and walked into the kitchen. At dinner, Toby pushed his food around, took two reluctant bites, and dropped his napkin. “Can I go to my room?” But with Elliott actually at the table tonight, he couldn’t let it slide. He cleared his throat, his tone firm. “Toby, sit back down. You don’t disrespect the effort your mother put into making this dinner.” I stared at them, finding the irony almost comical. Only hours ago, I had lovingly packed leftover roasted chicken and vegetables into two bento boxes and brought them to Toby’s preschool. He had devoured every bite with a massive smile on his face. Yet here we were, with the exact same ingredients, cooked the exact same way, and he refused to even touch it. It wasn’t the food. He just hated that the woman who cooked it was me. I stood up abruptly, snatched Toby’s plate from the table, and walked over to the sink, dumping it with a loud clatter. “If you don’t want to eat, go to your room. Don’t ruin everyone else’s appetite.” It was the first time I had ever spoken to Toby like that. No matter how difficult or spoiled he had been, I had always met him with infinite patience. Startled, Toby burst into tears. He cried loudly, casting covert glances at me, clearly expecting me to fold, to rush over and pull him into my lap the way I always did. But I only frowned. I turned around, went into the master bedroom, and shut the door, letting the wood block out his escalating wails. It took half an hour for the crying to stop, dying down as Toby cried himself to sleep. Shortly after, Elliott stepped into the room. He slid his arms around my waist from behind, pulling a small velvet jewelry box from his pocket and draping a diamond tennis bracelet over my wrist. My chest tightened. Earlier today, shortly after Elliott texted that he was heading to the office, his personal assistant had arrived at our house with several luxury boutique couriers in tow. “Mrs. Ward, Mr. Ward said he’s tied up today. Should we leave these apology gifts upstairs as usual?” Curiosity—or perhaps a grim desire for truth—led me to follow the assistant up to the 25th-floor penthouse closet. The first thing I saw on the wall was a massive portrait of Elliott, Toby, and me at Disneyland. Or rather, Melanie in my body, looking radiant. Inside the walk-in closet were rows of designer handbags, couture dresses, and three custom-built jewelry islands. When Elliott and I married, his startup was on the verge of bankruptcy. I remembered the night he proposed on one knee with a cheap silver band, swearing that one day he would buy me enough diamonds to fill an entire vault. But as his business grew, his time dwindled. His promises were deferred, year after year. And yet, another woman had stepped into my skin and claimed the life he had promised to build for me. I violently shook my arm, knocking the tennis bracelet from Elliott’s hand. It clattered onto the hardwood floor. I had seen the receipt for this exact bracelet in the boutique bags delivered this morning. It wasn’t a gift of love; it was a companion piece bought to meet a minimum spending limit for one of Melanie’s designer bags. Elliott stared at the fallen jewelry, his eyes shifting from confusion to a cold, familiar annoyance. Looking at him, I finally spoke. “Elliott, I want a divorce.” He froze, the word registering slowly. “No way. Absolutely not!” The panic in his eyes was real as he reached out to grab my hand. I saw my own reflection in his pupils, but I knew with absolute certainty that he wasn’t looking at me. He was desperate to keep the body that housed Melanie. “You love someone else, Elliott. I’m stepping aside so you can be with her. Isn’t that what you want?” Elliott blinked, stunned. “What?” Then, a harsh, dismissive laugh escaped him. “I wondered why you’ve been acting like this all day. You think I have a mistress?” I realized then that he had no idea I knew about Melanie. To him, the concept of two souls sharing one body was too bizarre to ever be discovered. If Melanie hadn’t revealed herself to me, I would have spent my entire life in the dark. I didn’t bother explaining. “Believe whatever you want.” My silence only hardened his contempt. He stepped closer, his voice dripping with condescension. “Naomi, be realistic. Do you really think you can walk away from this?” “You’re twenty-eight, not eighteen. You’re a mother who hasn’t worked a day in years. Without me, how are you going to afford a life like this?” “Go to bed. We have Toby’s birthday party tomorrow.” With that, he turned on his heel and walked out, heading to Toby’s room. I watched his back disappear, feeling nothing but a profound, exhausting emptiness. When I woke up the next morning, the atmosphere in the house had shifted completely. It was as if they were entirely different people. The impatience and irritation that usually shadowed Elliott’s face when he looked at me were gone, replaced by a soft, attentive warmth. Toby crawled into bed with me, snuggling close and whispering about how much he hated the “bad mommy” from last night who wouldn’t let him eat. He was talking to Melanie, of course, but his words only made my chest ache with a dull, hollow throb. Because they had both slept in, we had to rush to get dressed and drive over to the private dining club where Toby’s birthday lunch was being held. The moment we stepped into the private room, family members swarmed us. “Toby looks more and more like Elliott every day!” “Melanie, sweetheart, thank you so much for the plum wine you had Elliott send over. Your father-in-law and I absolutely loved it.” “She sent me some too! Oh, it was divine!” As Elliott’s mother and aunt chatted, none of the other relatives batted an eye. It was clear as day: Elliott had already introduced Melanie to his entire family under my name, or perhaps they simply knew and accepted her. They had built an entire life around her, while I, the actual wife, was treated like a ghost who had finally decided to show up. After lunch came the cake. Toby proudly cut the first slice and brought it directly to me. “For you, Mommy Melanie!” His eyes were bright with adoration. I looked down at the perfectly iced slice of cake. In the three years since Melanie had taken over my days, I hadn’t attended a single one of Toby’s birthday parties. The first year, I woke up in the evening to a smashed plate of half-eaten frosting and squished fruit. After that, they simply stopped saving any for me. After pressing the paper plate into my hand, Toby tugged on my sleeve, gesturing for me to lean down. He leaned in close and whispered in my ear: “Mommy Melanie, my birthday wish this year was for the bad mommy to go away forever. I only want you.” I stared at this little boy. When I was in labor with him, the doctors had told Elliott that my life was in severe danger and they might only be able to save one of us. I had begged them to save my baby. I endured forty-eight hours of excruciating labor just to bring him into this world. A bitter smile touched my lips as I reached out to ruffle his hair one last time. “Okay,” I whispered. “Mommy will make your wish come true.” “If you don’t want me, I won’t want you either.” Elliott walked over, joining us. He put a hand on Toby’s shoulder, then wrapped his other arm around my waist, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “What secrets are you two whispering about? Share with—” Before he could finish, a sudden, violent wave of nausea surged up my throat. I pushed him away and began to gag uncontrollably. The smell of his cologne, his touch, his breath—it all made my stomach heave. The room erupted into worried murmurs as relatives gathered around. Without answering their questions, Elliott scooped me into his arms, ushered Toby out, and drove at breakneck speed to the hospital. In the exam room, the doctor handed us the results. “Pregnancy: Five weeks.” Elliott’s hands shook with sheer joy as he read the paper. “Melanie, what do you want to eat? Tell me, I’ll get it right now.” “I’ll have my assistant order some top-tier organic supplements. And I’ll slice some fruit for you—how about I make those little apple bunnies you like?” I watched him, his eyes filled with a tenderness I hadn’t seen in years. When I was pregnant with Toby, Elliott’s company was failing. We were so poor we lived on instant ramen and stale bread. He was never home, always running from meeting to meeting, too exhausted to even ask how I felt. Now, carrying a child in the exact same body, I was receiving the care I had desperately craved back then. But it wasn’t for me. It was for Melanie. I looked away, my heart entirely cold. Elliott’s phone buzzed. It was his assistant. “Mr. Ward, the spiritual medium, Alistair, has just arrived in the city. Should I bring him to the house now?” Before Elliott could speak, I cut in, mimicking Melanie’s soft, breathy cadence: “Elliott, let’s go home. I don’t want to only have twelve hours with you anymore. I want us to be together for good.” When we got back, Alistair was already waiting in the living room, surrounded by his bags of herbs and candles. Yet, Elliott, who had been so eager to initiate this, suddenly fell silent. His eyes drifted to the cheap, framed wedding photo hanging on the wall—a photo of me in a simple white dress, taken back when we had nothing. Alistair didn’t rush him, patiently waiting. After a long pause, Elliott spoke up, his voice tense. “If we do this… can we change it back later?” “Of course,” Alistair replied smoothly. “But my energy is limited. I can only perform the ritual once a year.” “Then do it,” Elliott decided. “If Naomi learns to accept Melanie’s presence, we can always switch back to sharing the days later.” Alistair began setting up his brass bowls and lighting the sage. Toby danced around me excitedly. “Yay! Mommy Melanie is going to put me to sleep tonight!” Elliott walked over, taking my hand in his. “Melanie, soon we’ll have all the time in the world.” I pulled my hand back gently and smiled at him. “Yes. I can’t wait.” I was smiling, but for some reason, the moment my hand left his, Elliott’s heart seemed to skip a beat. A sudden, cold dread flashed through his eyes. The ritual began. I could feel my soul being forcibly peeled away from my body. It was an agonizing, shredding pain, like a thousand tiny knives slicing through my consciousness. I collapsed onto the floor, screaming and writhing. Alistair hadn’t lied to Elliott. If it were a simple binding ritual, it could be undone in a year. But I hadn’t paid him to bind me. I had paid him to sever my soul completely. Once a soul is fully severed, it can never, ever return to the host body. A brilliant white light engulfed my vision, and I plunged into absolute darkness. At that exact moment, Melanie took full possession of the physical body. She opened her eyes, gasping, and immediately threw her arms around a stunned Elliott. “Elliott, it’s me!” “That idiot Naomi was the one playing tricks the last few days. But she just had the medium perform a full soul severance. She’s gone, Elliott! She’s never coming back!”

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I pulled three consecutive all-nighters to finish my research project early. I wanted to clear my schedule to celebrate Oliver’s birthday. But instead of a text from him, my sister Zora’s Instagram DM popped up first: “Oh my god, Chicago is so much fun!” The photo showed her and Oliver, heads tilted together, smiling. My smile froze. “You’re in Chicago?” “Yeah! Got here three days ago. Wanted to surprise Oliver for his birthday!” I stared at the screen, then calmly called Oliver. “Isn’t your defense in two days? I thought you said you were drowning in prep work and couldn’t make time for anything?” Oliver’s voice was perfectly level. “It’s not that hard for me, Lydia. But Zora rarely gets to travel. I knew you were buried in your lab work these past few days, so I figured I’d take care of her for you.” My eyes stung. A wave of bone-deep exhaustion finally crashed over me. To keep up with Oliver, I had never allowed myself to stop. What took him a day to master took me five. I thought if I just kept my head down and ran fast enough, I would eventually catch up and find a place in his heart. But the truth is, you don’t have to run for someone who actually wants you. I remembered the way he used to ruffle Zora’s hair, calling her “silly but cute” with a gentle warmth in his eyes that he had never, not once, shown me. I fell silent for a moment. Then, I opened my inbox and replied to the offer letter from Los Angeles that had been sitting there for three days. 01 I turned off my phone and crashed. The research project had been brutal. Starting from scratch, I had poured my heart and soul into getting these results. The deadline wasn’t even until tomorrow, but my lab partners knew I had planned a birthday surprise for Oliver. They had pushed themselves to help me wrap up early. When I finally woke up, my phone was blown up with over a dozen missed calls. From Zora, from Oliver, and from my mother. I only called my mother back. “What is wrong with you?” her voice boomed through the receiver. “Your sister rarely visits Chicago, and you’re throwing a tantrum? Call them back right now.” I blinked rapidly, trying to swallow down the sudden lump of hurt in my throat. “Mom, I didn’t even know Zora was coming. I just pulled three all-nighters. Am I really expected to drop everything and cater to her mood right now?” “She didn’t want to disturb you because she knew you were busy! She told Oliver, didn’t she? Why are you being so difficult today, Lydia?” “Difficult.” Growing up, “easy” and “mature” were the only words anyone used to describe me. I studied hard—I was mature. I got straight A’s—I was mature. I never fought for anything, never demanded attention—I was just so mature… But no one ever stopped to ask me if I actually wanted to be. My mother kept talking, but her words blurred into static. Except for the last sentence—the one I knew by heart. “Zora’s health isn’t great, you know that. Just look after her.” I calmly hung up. “I’ve looked after her enough.” My mom always said Zora was an unexpected miracle. She had been born sick, a constant visitor to hospitals. Naturally, my parents’ entire world revolved around her. And I, very early on, had learned to live in the quiet corners of their neglect. I opened Instagram. It was a photo dump. Nine photos, and Zora looked stunning in every single one. Right in the middle of the grid was her and Oliver. She was radiant, her smile splitting her face; his eyes were filled with soft, indulgent warmth. Underneath, a neighbor had commented: “Zora, your boyfriend is so handsome!” Zora had replied: “Oh stop, Mrs. Davis! That’s my sister’s boyfriend—my future brother-in-law!” To which the neighbor replied: “Ah, my bad… my eyes must be failing me.” I let out a soft, humorless laugh. Her eyes weren’t failing her. Mine were. 02 When did Oliver start looking after Zora like it was his job? Probably around the same time everyone else decided she was the only one who needed taking care of. Her name was Zora—meaning “life”. My mother used to say they didn’t expect Zora to achieve greatness; they just wanted her to stay healthy and be happy by their side. At first, I felt the same way. I worked twice as hard, trying to give her the best of everything. But gradually, everyone forgot that I had needs, too. Our birthdays were only two days apart, but the family always celebrated them as one. When we were kids, I didn’t mind. Until the year Oliver brought over two gifts. Zora immediately grabbed the pink cashmere gloves. “I love these! Thank you, Oliver!” I froze. Oliver had promised me those exact gloves weeks ago. I looked at him. For a second, he seemed taken aback, too. But then he simply smiled, ruffling Zora’s hair. “If you like them, they’re yours, Zora.” I blinked back the sting in my eyes and lowered my head. “That’s fine,” I whispered. “I actually like the blue ones anyway.” A tear slipped down my cheek, splashing onto my phone screen. Just then, my screen lit up with a text. It was from Henry, my senior in the lab. Henry: “I ran that dataset one more time for you. You can use it directly—no errors.” I stared at the message, a bit stunned. It was the set of data I had rushed through without double-checking in my hurry to finish. I hadn’t realized Henry had caught it. I bit my lip, and on a strange, sudden impulse, I typed back: “Thank you, Henry. Can I buy you lunch tomorrow to make up for it?” 03 My screen went quiet. Then, the bubble popped up: “Henry is typing…” It took him a long moment to reply. “Tomorrow? Aren’t you supposed to be celebrating Oliver’s birthday?” I smiled sadly. “No need.” As soon as I sent it, I felt a wave of guilt. It felt cheap, like I was using Henry as some sort of shield. I was about to unsend the message and explain, when his reply flashed on the screen. “Sure.” Now I was the one left speechless. Oh well. It was just a lunch. No big deal. Besides… Oliver probably wouldn’t bother reaching out to me tomorrow anyway. The next morning, I woke up with a bad case of cold feet. I wanted to back out. But before I could text him, Henry beat me to it: “What are we eating? Meet at noon?” Locked in, I had no choice but to get ready. I washed my hair, put on some makeup, and arrived on time. Henry was already there. When he looked up and saw me, he paused. “You look beautiful today.” “Thanks, Henry.” I felt a sudden flutter of awkwardness and avoided his eyes. But he caught me off guard by asking, “Is the look for Oliver?” I opened my mouth, surprised. Henry was our advisor’s star student, the golden boy of the department. He was one of those naturally gifted geniuses I could never hope to compete with. We weren’t particularly close. I honestly hadn’t expected him to accept my invitation, let alone ask such personal questions. Usually, I was too intimidated to even speak to him. “Not really…” I mumbled. Seeing my discomfort, Henry didn’t push. We ate in comfortable silence. But when the dishes arrived, I realized they were all my favorites—spicy, bold flavors. “How did you know…?” Henry smiled gently. “I noticed during our lab dinners. I tend to observe people.” It didn’t feel invasive. Instead, a quiet warmth bloomed in my chest. It had been a very long time since anyone had remembered what I liked. “Thank you,” I said, my voice suddenly thick. Henry noticed my glassy eyes but didn’t pry. He simply placed a piece of chili-seared beef onto my plate. Just then, the restaurant doors opened, and a familiar burst of laughter echoed through the space. I froze. I turned my head. It was Zora and Oliver. They stopped dead in their tracks when they saw me. “Lydia!” Zora squealed, running over to wrap her arms around my shoulder. “What are you doing here? You didn’t answer my calls, I was so worried!” Oliver’s eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at Henry. A flash of something like hostility crossed his face before vanishing. He stepped closer, his voice cool and measured. “Lydia, what’s going on with your phone?” I forced a small smile. “Must be broken.” It was a terrible excuse, but it was a way out. Zora gasped, looking at Henry. “Wow, hello! You’re gorgeous. Are you my sister’s friend?” Henry ignored her outstretched hand, giving her a polite, distant nod. “Nice to meet you.” Zora looked momentarily embarrassed, but she quickly bounced back, turning to me with a bright smile. “Lydia, isn’t this place amazing? Oliver brought me here specifically! If we’re eating this for lunch, what are the plans for tonight?!” “Specifically.” I looked at Oliver. I knew he hated spicy food. He was highly disciplined, preferred bland, healthy meals, and couldn’t stand Sichuan cuisine. But Zora loved it. And so did I. But what I liked had never really mattered. 04 “I’m treating Henry to thank him for his help,” I said, trying to diffuse the sudden chill in the air. “Since you’re here, why don’t you join us? Henry, do you mind?” Henry smiled warmly at me. “Not at all.” The four of us sat down. Zora immediately took over the conversation, chatting animatedly about her sightseeing over the last few days. She was like a hyperactive puppy. That description wasn’t mine, of course. It was Oliver’s. It’s funny how, once your eyes finally open, all the ignored details of the past start rushing back to hit you. How had Oliver ever described me? “Lydia, you’re always so sensible.” That was it. Nothing more. They ordered more dishes, none of which were things I liked. Actually, I used to like them, but once Zora claimed them as her favorites, I stopped. Maybe it was just a pathetic, unspoken rebellion of mine—declaring I didn’t care for them until I actually believed my own lie. Take the sweet and sour ribs, for instance. I always claimed they were too greasy. But suddenly, a golden-brown rib was placed gently in my bowl. I looked up. It was Henry. As Henry served me, I saw Oliver’s jaw tighten. But why should he care? He had been busy putting food on Zora’s plate the entire time. The lunch ended on an awkward, strained note. I was the one to cut it short. “Thank you for coming, Henry,” I said. My words were polite, but my eyes carried a deep apology. Henry smiled, his gaze soft. “My pleasure. See you around, Lydia.” He didn’t bother saying goodbye to the other two. “Lydia, is he…” As soon as Henry walked out, Zora leaned in with a sly grin, nudging my shoulder. She knew Oliver was standing right there. Oliver, who was supposed to be my boyfriend. But Oliver wouldn’t care. I could see it in his eyes. He had never once lost his composure because of me. That evening, I dragged myself through dinner with them, followed by a walk and a movie. By the end of the night, Zora insisted she wanted a drink. I frowned. Even Oliver said, “Zora, don’t be reckless. Your heart.” “Oh, come on, Oliver! Just a little bit. I’m so happy today!” Oliver glanced at me, then sighed. “Fine. Just a sip.” I turned and walked away without a word. I didn’t touch a drop of alcohol. Zora didn’t have to face the consequences of a hangover, but our master’s defense was tomorrow. I couldn’t afford to mess up, and I assumed Oliver couldn’t either. But he drank with her anyway. And he drank a lot. By the end of the night, my job of “looking after Zora” morphed into dragging both of them back to the hotel. I was angry. I threw Oliver onto his bed, ready to leave. But as I turned toward the door, I heard him mumble. “Zora…” I froze, cold dread seeping into my bones. I didn’t play the part of the tragic heroine who runs away crying. Instead, I marched back to the bed and grabbed Oliver by his collar. “Oliver. Who did you just call?” Oliver was too drunk to answer. I had never checked his phone before. I had always thought it was beneath me. But tonight, I chose to be cheap. His text logs were clean. Everything looked normal. Until— I found a hidden album in his gallery. There were only two photos in it. I recognized the first one instantly. It was from when we were ten, playing in the snow. Zora was wearing a bright orange puffer jacket, looking like a little burst of sunshine against the white winter. The camera was centered entirely on her. I was barely visible, a blurry shoulder in the far corner of the frame. The second photo was a digital note. The top line was written in Zora’s messy, childish handwriting. The line beneath it was in a young Oliver’s sharp, elegant script. The background was decorated with cute, childish doodles. But to me, it looked like a knife. “Zora Loves Oliver.” “Oliver & Zora.” I let out a quiet laugh. It was so incredibly pathetic. But as I laughed, tears began to stream down my face. I didn’t close the album. I dropped his phone onto the mattress beside him. Then, I pulled out my own phone and sent him one last text. “Oliver, let’s break up.” 05 The brutal reality of adulthood is that even if you spend the night crying until your chest aches, you still have to wake up, put on a professional outfit, and deliver a flawless master’s defense the next morning. I channeled all my grief and anger into my presentation. The sheer adrenaline made my delivery sharper than ever, earning a round of thunderous applause from the committee. Down in the auditorium, my lab mates were waiting with a bouquet of flowers. Henry stood near the back, giving me a quiet, reassuring nod. I had never been the star student, but today, I had outdone myself. Oliver, on the other hand—the boy who was supposed to breeze through his defense—faltered. He was visibly unprepared, his voice flat and distracted. When he finished, the applause was sparse and polite. He apologized to the panel, his eyes scanning the crowd until they locked onto me. But I had already turned my back, walking out to get ready for our department’s celebratory dinner. By the time I changed and walked down to the lobby, Oliver was waiting for me. He looked exhausted, a cigarette burning between his fingers—a habit he rarely indulged in. “Can we talk?” I kept my eyes forward. “There’s nothing to say.” Oliver looked down at his shoes. “About the photos… I can explain.” “Explain what? We grew up together, Oliver. Do you think I don’t recognize Zora’s handwriting? Or did you just think I was too stupid to care?” “Lydia, do you have to be so hostile? Zora rarely gets to visit. You’re ruining everything over a tantrum—” “Ruining everything?” I let out a harsh laugh, the dam inside me finally breaking. “I’m throwing a tantrum? Oliver, are you serious? Did Zora even bother to tell me she was coming to Chicago? I pulled three all-nighters just to clear my schedule for your birthday, and you think I’m the one throwing a tantrum? Did you mention to me, even once, that you were spending all your time with her? And those photos—did I hidden-archive them on your phone, or did you?” All the resentment I had buried for years spilled out in a bitter rush. Oliver stared at me, stunned. He had never seen me like this. He didn’t know what to do with a Lydia who wasn’t compliant. Then, he muttered, “She’s your sister. How can you be jealous of her?” “How can I be jealous?” I wiped a tear from my cheek, a cold, empty smile spreading across my face. The years I had spent chasing him suddenly felt like a massive joke. “I am jealous, Oliver. Go ahead and call the cops on me. To be honest, I’ve been jealous for a very long time.” I turned on my heel, ready to walk away. But then I stopped and looked back. “Oh, and don’t lay the blame for your terrible defense today on our breakup. You got cocky and lazy. That’s on you. And one more thing—I used to think you were brilliant. Today? You were mediocre.” I walked away, leaving him standing there in the cold wind. 06 I hurried away, only to collide with someone around the corner. I looked up. It was Henry. The bravado I had shown Oliver crumbled instantly. My mascara was running, and I was a total mess. Embarrassed, I tried to push past him, but his hand gently caught my wrist. “Where are you running? You looked so fierce a second ago.” He pulled out a tissue and gently dabbed at the tears on my cheeks. I stared at him, frozen. “Henry, do I look hideous right now?” I asked, the words slipping out before I could stop them. Henry’s gaze held mine, his expression intensely serious. “No. You’ve always been beautiful. And I don’t just mean your face. You were beautiful during your defense today, you were beautiful when you were angry just now, and the way you work so hard… that’s the most beautiful thing of all.” I stared at him, my mouth slightly open, completely speechless.

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My mom has severe mobility issues, so I hired a nanny to look after her. But my mom kept insisting that the nanny was verbally abusing her and stealing her money. I installed security cameras all over the house, but the footage only showed my mom screaming like a lunatic at a silent nanny. Because of this, I had several huge fights with her. The nanny, Martha, looked incredibly hurt every time: “If it weren’t out of respect for you, Claire, I would have quit months ago!” But I started to wonder… if she was suffering so much in our house, why did she refuse to quit? *** **1** My mom sneered when she heard Martha’s tearful words. “Oh, cut the act, Martha!” “Claire, listen to me. I might be old, but I am not losing my mind!” “Fire her! Right now!” I was drowning in a major project at work, my husband, David, was out of town on business, and I had already left our kid with my mother-in-law. I literally had zero time or energy to take care of her myself. “Mom, this is the fourteenth nanny we’ve had! If we fire her, the agency won’t even send us anyone else!” “I checked the cameras, Mom. Martha didn’t say a single word. Can you please stop making a scene?” Maybe it was because I was so stressed lately, but I snapped. My voice was sharp, and I even had stress ulcers in my mouth. Seeing my exhausted state, my mom’s shoulders slumped. “Fine. Once you’re old, you’re just a burden to everyone.” I rolled my eyes, walked out of her room, and turned to Martha. “I’m so sorry, Martha. My mom has a terrible temper. Thanks for putting up with her.” I pulled out a $100 Target gift card that my company had given me and slipped it into her hand. “Take this. Get yourself some treats on your day off. Please, just hang in there for me.” Martha sighed and took the card. “Claire, honestly, if I didn’t see how hard you work, I would have… well, never mind. It’s my job, after all.” “Oh, by the way, I made some organic honey grapefruit tea. You should take a jar home. It’s great for stress.” Martha took a glass jar from the fridge. She insisted I take it. Before leaving, I looked back at my mom’s room. “Mom, I’m heading out. Call me if you need anything.” My mom just waved her hand dismissively, not even looking at me. As soon as I got into my car, I opened the security app on my phone. The live feed showed Martha kneeling on the floor, massaging my mom’s feet. “Helen,” Martha said on screen, her voice gentle. “You’re older than me, but you have to understand your kids have it hard. You keep calling Claire back home every two days. I know you miss her, but she has a career to focus on.” My heart ached when I heard that. It was true. I had been chasing this client for three months. It was the peak of my busy season. But at the same time, my mom’s diabetes complications had left her bound to a wheelchair. I was desperate, which was why I had gone through fourteen nannies. Her temper had only gotten worse since she got sick. Martha was the only one who had lasted. She had been with us for six months now. I sighed. But suddenly, my mom’s sharp scream pierced through my phone speaker. “You’re mocking me again! You psycho! Get away from me! Get away!” “Let go of me! It hurts! Claire, look at her! She’s stabbing me!” I quickly rewound the footage. But Martha’s mouth hadn’t moved at all! There was no sound of abuse on the recording, yet my mom was screaming in terror. She shoved Martha away, causing Martha to stumble onto the floor. Martha looked up with tears in her eyes. “Helen, I know you don’t like me, but I’ll stop talking, okay?” “Just please don’t stress Claire out. She’s so busy.” “Get out of here! You snake!” I couldn’t watch it anymore. I wanted to yell at my mom through the camera’s speaker, but I stopped myself. Just then, my coworker leaned over my desk, seeing my miserable face. She tapped my shoulder. “Is your mom throwing another tantrum?” “Yeah. She keeps saying the nanny is abusing her. I installed cameras, but they show absolutely nothing. She was never like this before.” “Maybe you should get her evaluated for Alzheimer’s? I heard sudden personality changes and paranoia are early signs of dementia.” Her words made me freeze. It was true. Ever since my mom lost her mobility, she had become a completely different person. I thought it was just because of her illness, but could there be another reason? After finishing my shift, I went back to my own apartment. I didn’t go to my mom’s place because I was just too exhausted. I wanted to get one day of rest and visit her the next morning. But that night, my phone rang. It was my mom, sobbing. “Claire, come quick! She’s doing it again!” *** **2** I jumped out of bed, threw on a hoodie, and rushed to my car. When I parked downstairs at my mom’s place, I instinctively opened the security app to check the playback. The footage showed Martha bringing a basin of warm water to wash my mom’s feet. But out of nowhere, my mom suddenly started screaming obscenities at her and kicked the basin over, splashing water everywhere. My head throbbed. I went upstairs, unlocked the door, and walked in. Martha was on her knees, drying the hardwood floor with a towel. Seeing me, she let out a long sigh. “Claire, I think Helen’s mental state is deteriorating. You really need to take her to a neurologist.” My mom went ballistic. “You liar! You fake bitch! How dare you frame me!” “Claire, she—” “Enough, Mom! I am exhausted!” My head was pounding so hard I felt sick. I had never felt this level of frustration before. “Why do you keep doing this? We’ve gone through fourteen nannies! Are you trying to drive everyone away?” “Do you have any idea how hard my life is right now?” My mom gasped, staring at me in shock, unable to speak. Martha stood beside her, looking deeply hurt. “Helen, I’ve told you a hundred times, I never said those things. If you keep doing this, I’m going to lose my mind!” Hearing this, my mom lost it. She furiously rolled up her sleeves. “Look! She doesn’t just abuse me, she stabs me!” She grabbed my hand. “Claire, I raised you. I’m your mother. Do you really not believe me?” I sighed, completely drained. “Mom, if you really believe that, let’s just call the police.” My mom choked. “The police?” Martha stepped in. “Actually, let me call them. I don’t want Helen to think I have something to hide, and I don’t want you caught in the middle, Claire.” Martha pulled out her phone and dialed 911 right in front of us. My mom sneered. “Fine! Call them! Let’s see how long you can keep up this act!” I watched Martha’s face closely. There wasn’t a single trace of panic. Ten minutes later, two police officers arrived. My mom immediately told them that Martha was abusing her and stabbing her with needles. “Look at my arms! Look at these marks!” I leaned in to look. Indeed, there were tiny, red, swollen puncture wounds on her arms. Martha calmly spoke to the officers. “Sir, nanny agencies have strict rules against carrying sharp objects. I was fully vetted. I have no idea why she is accusing me of this. You are welcome to check the security cameras.” I nodded and showed the officers the footage. There was absolutely no sound of Martha speaking, let alone abusing her. My mom was shaking with rage. “You’re all in on this! Get out! All of you, get out of my house!” One of the officers looked at my mom, his face serious. “Ma’am, if you call us out here for a false report again, we will have to take legal action.” My mom froze. “What?” “Filing a false police report is a crime.” The officer then turned to me. “Does your mother have a history of mental illness? You should really get her checked out.” I was mortified. I apologized profusely, escorted the officers out, and turned to apologize to Martha. Martha patted my shoulder gently. “It’s okay, Claire. Before I took this job, the agency told me your mom was difficult. But you’re around my daughter’s age, so I understand.” “Taking care of parents is just a heavy cross we have to bear.” My mom screamed from her room, “Shut up, you witch!” Martha shook her head. “I’ll ignore that.” I couldn’t control my anger anymore and turned to my mom. “Mom, stop it! I’m working overtime, sleeping three hours a day, and you’re pulling this crap? Look at me! I look like a corpse! I beg you, just stop!” *** **3** I threw my hands up in defeat. My mom took a deep, shaky breath, slowly turned her wheelchair around, and rolled into her bedroom without saying another word. I wondered if I had hurt her feelings, but I literally had nothing left in me to comfort her. I asked Martha to keep an eye on her, and since I couldn’t bear the thought of driving back to my place, I went into the guest bedroom and collapsed onto the bed. Right before I drifted off, a thought popped into my head. I pulled out my phone and opened the camera app. I watched the footage again, frame by frame, zoomed in. Martha’s lips definitely did not move. Yet, my mom’s physical reaction—the way she flinched and screamed—was extremely genuine. My mom was a gentle, sweet woman before she got sick. She wouldn’t act like this for no reason. And those puncture wounds on her arms were real. But Martha didn’t have any needles in her bags. I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Finally, I opened Amazon and ordered a few hidden spy cameras. The next morning, I took a sick day from work. I sent Martha out to the grocery store, and while she was gone, I hidden-installed the cameras all over the house. I even attached a tiny button-sized spy camera to one of my mom’s cardigans. My mom watched me do this, looking confused. “Claire?” “Mom, I want to protect you. But you have to cooperate with me. Tell me the absolute truth—what is going on?” “I couldn’t find any evidence before. If you’re telling the truth, I won’t let anyone hurt you. But I can’t accuse someone without proof.” My mom looked incredibly vulnerable. “She really does abuse me, Claire. But her mouth doesn’t move. The voice… it just comes out of her.” I stared at her, stunned. Later that afternoon, I drove to the agency, *Joyful Care*, bringing a box of expensive donuts. The manager, Leonard, recognized me immediately and smiled. “Hey, Claire! Are we looking for nanny number fifteen?” I shook my head. “Actually, no. I’m here to thank you for sending Martha. She’s been a lifesaver.” “My mom’s mind has been a bit fuzzy lately, and she’s been giving Martha a hard time. I just wanted to make sure Martha feels appreciated.” “I’m sure you’ve heard about the police incident.” Leonard waved his hand. “Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s part of the job. You shouldn’t feel guilty.” “By the way, what does Martha like? I want to get her a nice gift, maybe send her and my mom on a small day trip to get them out of the house.” Hearing this, Leonard let his guard down completely and started chatting away, telling me all about Martha’s background and habits. When I walked out of the agency, my hands were clenched into tight fists. I ran to my car and sped back home. Halfway there, my phone buzzed. It was a video from Martha. She was in the kitchen making apple pies, while my mom was yelling in the background. *“Are you coming home for dinner, Claire? I’m baking pies,”* Martha’s text read. In the video, my mom’s eyes were bloodshot. “My daughter will destroy you when she finds out!” Then, Martha walked closer to my mom. Her back was completely blocking the main security camera. The audio on the main feed was silent. But the tiny button camera on my mom’s cardigan captured everything crystal clear: “You old piece of trash. Keep crying. Let’s see if anyone believes you.” “You think complaining to your daughter will save you? You called the cops, and they almost locked *you* up. You’re a useless, paralyzed waste of space.” Hearing those words, I almost blacked out from rage. That psychopath! She had fooled us all! On screen, Martha suddenly shoved my mom into the bathroom. My mom let out a blood-curdling scream! Through the hidden camera, I saw Martha pull something small and sharp from her pocket and viciously jab it into my mom’s mouth!

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My biological mother thought my six-year-old self was a drag on her chances of marrying into a wealthy estate. So, she dumped me under a highway overpass. To get a bite of food, I grabbed the leg of a passing street punk and wouldn’t let go. “Hey, big brother, your boots are dirty. Let me wipe them for you.” “Hey, big brother, are you thirsty? I can go steal some water for you.” A bunch of street punks looked down at me. “Damn, this kid knows how to hustle. Fine, let’s keep her. She’s our little sister now.” From that day on, I had twelve gangster brothers. They never taught me any grand life philosophies. They only taught me one thing: if someone bullies you, beat them to a pulp. Because of this, in twelve years, my twelve brothers had never actually been in the same room together. Either one was doing time for breaking someone’s leg, or another was locked up for cracking someone’s ribs. But against all odds, I studied hard, got into college, and became the only university student from our run-down neighborhood. Yet, on the very first day of classes, my roommate lost her luxury necklace and pointed the finger straight at me. Our academic advisor, the dorm supervisor, and the roommate’s rich parents marched right to my place, demanding to search it. I blocked the doorway. “Can we please just resolve this at the school office?” The roommate’s mother shoved me aside. “Guilty conscience, huh? I want to see exactly what kind of trashy home breeds a thief!”

I stood at the door of my off-campus place, looking at Mrs. Miller, our academic advisor, who had her usual “just-following-protocol” face. Behind her stood a middle-aged couple practically dripping in designer labels, and Chloe, my roommate, leaning against the hallway wall with a smug smirk. “May,” Mrs. Miller said, adjusting her glasses. “If you really have nothing to hide, you should let us and Chloe’s parents take a look inside. It’s the best way to clear your name.” Chloe’s mother sneered at me, scanning me from head to toe before her eyes settled on my faded, worn-out canvas sneakers. She let out a loud, dramatic sigh. Chloe stepped forward, lowering her voice, but making sure everyone in the hallway could hear: “May, you could barely afford the tuition deposit, right? I heard you’re only here on financial aid. With your background, who else would steal my four-thousand-dollar Tiffany necklace? Who’s going to believe you?” I ignored her and looked straight at Mrs. Miller. “Mrs. Miller, can we please just handle this through the campus board?” “Why are you so scared?” Chloe’s father took a step forward. He had a massive gold pinky ring and pointed his finger right in my face. “My daughter’s necklace is the latest Tiffany collection! Four grand! If it wasn’t you, then who? We are searching your place today. I want to see what kind of trashy family raises a thief!” Chloe laughed out loud beside him. I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. “Fine,” I said. “Let’s go.” As we walked out of the campus gates, Chloe kept pace right next to me, her high heels clicking loudly on the pavement. “May, do you even know who bought me that necklace? My boyfriend. The one who drives the Mercedes,” she said, tossing her hair. “Honestly, you’re not ugly. Why do you do stuff like this? Why not just find a guy to take care of you? What’s the point of finishing college if you’re just going to be broke forever?” I stopped and turned to look at her. “Was that Mercedes rented or borrowed?” I asked flatly. “Because last week, I saw him riding a rental scooter outside the gate.” Chloe’s face went rigid. Her mother overheard and immediately rushed over. “How dare you speak to my daughter like that! Chloe’s boyfriend is in business! What does a charity-case student like you know about anything?!” I didn’t reply. I just kept walking. But my mind drifted back to my twelve brothers. When I was six, my birth mother, Eleanor, abandoned me under a highway overpass because I was getting in the way of her marrying a rich guy. She left me with twenty dollars and never looked back. I huddled under that overpass for two days, dizzy with hunger. Then, I saw a crew of guys walking down the alley. The leader had bleached blonde hair, a cigarette dangling from his lips, and walked like he owned the streets. I was tiny, but I had survival instincts. I rushed out and wrapped my arms around his leg. “Hey, big brother, your boots are dirty. Let me wipe them for you.” “Hey, big brother, are you thirsty? I can go steal some water for you.” The crew looked down at me. “Kid’s got game,” the blonde guy said, spitting out his cigarette. “Fine, we’re keeping her. She’s our little sister now.” From that day on, I had twelve brothers. The oldest was Jax, the blonde leader. The second was Leo, the big guy with a scar across his face. The third was Blade, skinny as a rail. The fourth was Hammer, the one with fists like iron. All the way down to the twelfth, whom we called Gizmo. He picked the name himself, saying a weird street name keeps you safe. They never taught me morals. They only taught me one rule: *If anyone messes with you, let your fists do the talking.* So, for twelve years, the twelve of them were never all together. Someone was always in county jail for breaking a collarbone or cracking a rib. But they loved me fiercely. When I was a kid, we were dirt poor. We lived in a rundown trailer park that leaked rain in the summer and let in freezing wind in the winter. But my plate always had the best cuts of meat, scooped out of my brothers’ own bowls. When I was seven, a boy at school cut a chunk of my hair off and mocked me for having no parents. I didn’t cry. I didn’t say a word when I got home. But Jax somehow found out. The next day, that boy showed up to school with a completely shaved head, crying his eyes out all day. When the teacher asked who did it, the boy just whimpered that someone had pinned him down in the bathroom with a razor. When I asked Jax about it, he was eating instant ramen and didn’t even look up. “What? I was at the internet cafe all night. Don’t look at me.”

But I saw the electric clippers tucked in his back pocket. When I was eight, a local creep tried to touch my face in the alley. Again, I said nothing. But the next day, that creep was kneeling in front of our porch, his face swollen like a balloon, begging for my forgiveness. Blade was leaning against the wall, smoking. He smiled when he saw me. “Hey, sis. This guy wanted to apologize, so we helped him find his manners.” Later, I found out Blade had taken on that creep and four of his friends by himself. Blade spent two weeks in the hospital, but when he came home, he brought me a cheap hair clip. “Got it from a street vendor for two bucks. Don’t hate it,” he grunted. I still have that clip. … “May! Why are you walking so fast? Guilty conscience?” Chloe’s voice snapped me back to reality. She jogged up to match my pace, a smug smile plastered on her face. “Are you scared of us seeing how you live? I heard the area you live in is basically a slum. Are you renting some sketchy room? Or do you live with your weird relatives?” I ignored her. My phone buzzed. I pulled it out and saw a text from Gizmo, my youngest brother. *“Hey sis, how was orientation? Get your butt home quick, the guys put together a huge surprise for you!”* A surprise. My palms started sweating. I knew exactly what their “surprises” looked like. The day I finished my high school exams, they said they had a surprise. I ran home excited, only to find a guy kneeling on our living room floor. It was a bully from the high school next door who used to corner me for lunch money. My brothers had handled him before, but that day, he was black and blue, sobbing. “I’m sorry! I’ll never do it again! Please tell your brothers to let me go…” Jax was sitting on a lawn chair, eating watermelon. He tossed the rind aside when he saw me. “Sis, this guy wanted to apologize face-to-face. We just facilitated. You satisfied? If not, I can make him kneel a bit longer.” What was I supposed to say? So, seeing the word “surprise” now made my heart race. Chloe leaned over to peep at my screen before I could lock it. “Ooh, who’s texting you?” she sneered. “Some street trash boyfriend? Figures. With your background, you’d only attract lowlifes.” I shoved the phone into my pocket and remained silent. She leaned in closer, whispering, but loud enough for Mrs. Miller and her parents to hear. “May, are you embarrassed of your home? Don’t worry, being poor isn’t a crime.” She tossed her hair. “But stealing is. That necklace is four grand. You can’t even pay your tuition—how are you going to pay me back? If you hand it over now, we can settle this privately. Otherwise, once we search your place and find it, I’m calling the cops.” I stopped walking. “I didn’t take it.” Chloe rolled her eyes. “Sure, you didn’t. Let’s see what you say when we find it.” Her mother caught up and grabbed my arm tightly. “Why are you stopping? Trying to run?” “I’m not running,” I said, trying to pull away. “Not running?” Her mother gripped harder, her sharp acrylic nails digging painfully into my skin. “You look like you’re about to bolt! We should hold her down, otherwise, she’ll run for sure!”

Chloe chimed in immediately, “Yes! Hold her!” Mrs. Miller turned around, frowning, but she didn’t stop them. Chloe’s father walked over. “Mrs. Miller, I agree. If she runs, who pays for the four-thousand-dollar necklace? We need to secure her.” Mrs. Miller hesitated, then nodded. “May, just cooperate for now. It’s for everyone’s peace of mind.” Chloe’s mother pulled a nylon strap from her designer bag, trying to bind my wrists. I violently yanked my arm back. “Back off.” Chloe’s mother gasped. Chloe froze. Mrs. Miller’s frown deepened. “May! Show some respect to your elders!” “I said, back off,” I glared at them. “I didn’t steal anything. You have no right to bind me.” Chloe’s father lunged forward to grab me. I dodged. Chloe sneered, “May, you want to fight? I can get you arrested for assault!” “Go ahead,” I spat, staring her down. Her father lunged again. I raised my hand to block, and somehow, my fist connected squarely with his jaw. Honestly, I don’t even know how I threw that punch. Maybe it was the muscle memory from the self-defense moves my brothers drilled into me, or maybe I was just pushed to my limit. Chloe’s father groaned, stumbling back against the brick wall. “You struck my husband!” Chloe’s mother shrieked, throwing herself at me and grabbing my hair. Chloe joined in, clawing at me. Mrs. Miller was shouting “Stop it! Stop it!” from the sidelines, but no one listened. I was pinned to the gravel ground. My scalp burned from being pulled, and I took a couple of hits to the face. During the scuffle, something slipped out of my pocket and clattered onto the concrete. It was a jade amulet. A pale green piece, carved in the shape of a little rabbit. Blade had given it to me. On my thirteenth birthday, Blade had just gotten out of county jail after a three-month stretch for protecting his crew. He was visibly thinner, but he smiled when he saw me and pulled this amulet from his pocket. “Happy birthday, sis.” When I asked where he got it, he just told me not to worry about it, that it was a good piece. Later, Jax told me Blade had taken it from some rich prick who tried to hustle their crew. The guy used the jade to buy his way out of a beating. Jax said it was worth a lot of money and told me to keep it safe. I had kept it close to my chest for years. I never took it off. Chloe snatched the jade off the ground. “What’s this?” She turned it over, her eyes lighting up. “Mom, look! This is real jade!” Her mother leaned in, and the two whispered frantically. Then Chloe looked up at me, triumphant. “May, you can’t even afford college. Where did you get a piece of jade like this? This is worth thousands! You definitely stole this from somewhere!”

“Give it back!” I scrambled up from the ground, reaching for it. Chloe held it high, stepping back. “You dare try to steal it back?” Her mother shoved me away. “This is clearly stolen property! We’re giving this to the police!” “Give it back!” I lunged, grabbing for the amulet. In the chaotic struggle, there was a sharp, sickening *crack*. The jade flew out of Chloe’s hand, smashed against the brick wall, and fell to the pavement. It shattered. It broke into several pieces. The little carved rabbit split right down the middle. I froze. Chloe froze too. Then she shrugged. “Whatever. It was stolen anyway. Let’s go to your place. I want to see what else you’ve hidden.” I knelt down, carefully picking up the broken shards of jade, cradling them in my palm. My eyes stung. But I didn’t cry. My brothers told me: *Our family doesn’t cry.* I tucked the shards into my pocket, stood up, and kept walking. Chloe muttered behind me, telling her mom I was definitely a serial thief. I ignored them. After a ten-minute walk, we reached the trailer park at the edge of the city. The alleyways were narrow, littered, and overhead wires hung like chaotic spiderwebs. Chloe laughed out loud. “May, you actually live here? Is this even fit for humans?” Her mother covered her nose. “Ugh, what is that smell? Disgusting!” Chloe’s father, nursing his bruised jaw, sneered, “No wonder she’s a thief. Growing up in a dump like this, how else would she survive?” Mrs. Miller pinched her nose but remained quiet. I walked up to our rusty metal gate. Chloe nudged me. “What are you waiting for? Open it! Let’s see your little rat hole.” Her mother added, “Yes, open it! Get your parents out here! I want to see who raised a brat like you!” I pulled out my keys, my hands trembling slightly. Not out of fear. But because I could see shadows moving through the cracks of the door. There were voices. More than one person was home. I pushed the door open. And I stopped dead in my tracks. Sitting in the living room was a massive circle of men. Twelve of them. Every single one was there. Jax, the oldest, still had his bleached hair, but today it was neatly combed. He wore a brand-new T-shirt and actually looked presentable. Leo, the second, still had his facial scar, but he had squeezed into a buttoned-up white shirt, looking incredibly uncomfortable. Blade, skinny as ever, sat upright, smiling the moment he saw me. Hammer, the fourth, sat with his hands on his knees, posture perfectly straight. The fifth, the sixth, the seventh… All the way to Gizmo, who had actually washed his hair and slicked it back with so much gel a fly would slip off it. On the table in front of them sat a massive cake. Written on it in clumsy frosting was: *Congrats on College, Sis!* Jax was the first to stand up, smiling as he walked toward me. “May, you’re back! We were waiting for you. It’s your birthday, so we all chipped in and got a—” He stopped mid-sentence. He saw the people behind me. He saw the red marks on my face. He saw my messy hair, my dirty clothes, and the mud on my sleeves. The smile vanished from Jax’s face. Leo stood up. Blade stood up. Hammer stood up. One by one, all twelve of them stood up. Behind her mother, Chloe whispered, “Who are these guys? May’s relatives?”

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My mom told me my dad had terminal lung cancer, and his treatment would cost $500,000. So, I dropped out of middle school and went to work in an illegal, underground sweatshop. I got paid ten cents for every part I assembled. I worked sixteen hours a day. For the sake of my dad’s life, I didn’t dare to stop for even a second. But on my sixteenth birthday, I ran a dangerously high fever. Clutching a ten-dollar bill I had secretly saved, I wanted to slip out to a local clinic. My mom ripped the bill right out of my hand. “Stop being so dramatic! Just drink some hot water and get back to work. Taking half a day off means losing your attendance bonus!” So, I dragged my shivering, burning body back to the assembly line. Until a bank notification popped up on my phone screen: *“Your account ending in 8888 has transferred $50,000 to Hunter. Memo: Down payment for son’s new townhouse.”* I froze. Then, my mind flashed to my dad’s rosy, healthy cheeks. And my brother Hunter’s brand-new truck and expensive Yeezys. ###

My heart went completely, utterly cold. Late that night, I crawled out of the sweatshop’s moldy dorm. An agent stopped me in the alley and asked if I wanted to make real money. Free housing, free meals, and $25,000 a month. My brain was foggy from the fever, but I still muttered out of instinct, “How much is the agency fee?” He stared at me, shocked, and said, “No fee. Actually, I’ll give you a $300 advance right now.” I took the cash and, without a single shred of hesitation, stepped onto the bus heading toward the border. I squeezed the three hundred dollars tightly in my hand. This was the first time in my entire life that I actually held money that belonged to me. Before this, my paycheck was automatically routed to my mom’s bank account the second it hit my card. The bald man sitting next to me, Frank, kept eyeing me up and down with a greasy, creepy smile. “Hey kid, you look pretty young. What’s a girl like you going to a place across the border for?” I ignored him, burying the cash deeper into my jacket pocket. “That place eats people alive,” Frank muttered, leaning in. “Once you cross over, your life isn’t yours anymore.” I wasn’t afraid of dying. In fact, that place sounded like heaven to me. Because the agent said they provided free food and housing. I wouldn’t have to drink tap water to fool my stomach just to save fifty cents on a piece of bread. I wouldn’t have to collect plastic bottles in the freezing winter in thin canvas shoes just to buy my brother limited-edition sneakers. “We’re here,” the driver barked, slamming on the brakes. The metal door rattled open. In front of us was a towering barbed-wire fence. A few heavily tattooed men carrying rifles walked toward the bus. The passengers started panicking. Some cried; some wanted to turn back. Only I stood up quietly. I was the first one to step off the bus. The smuggler in charge was a guy with a nasty scar across his face. People called him Scarface Nick. He gave me a surprised look. “You aren’t scared?” I shook my head. I flashed the three hundred dollars in my hand and tucked it back. “I took the money. I’ll do the work.” Nick smirked. It was the kind of look a merchant gave to a cheap piece of cargo. “Great. I love the ones who know their place. Take her to Zone C.” Zone C. Even though I had never been here, I had heard the whispered rumors on the bus. That was the holding pen for the “hostages.” If you didn’t meet your quota, you were beaten, forced to sell your blood, or worse—harvested. I was shoved into a damp, mold-smelling room. There were only a few filthy, stained mats on the concrete floor. A terribly thin girl, Lily, shivered in the corner. She looked at me with terror-filled eyes. “Run… run while the gate is still open…” she whispered, pointing a trembling finger at a small, half-welded window. I walked over, looked out at the pitch-black jungle outside, and then shut the window tightly. I lay down in a corner. “I’m not running.” Why would I go back? To keep earning medical bills for a father who faked cancer? To keep buying houses and cars for a brother who did nothing but drain my blood? To listen to my mother scream at me about how I was a useless, worthless daughter? My fever was still raging, making my skin burn. Before my consciousness drifted away, I touched the cheap phone in my pocket. There was a scheduled text message I had drafted a long time ago but never dared to send. Now, I could finally send it. ###

Meanwhile, inside the family’s newly purchased luxury apartment, the lights were bright. The dining table was piled high with ordered lobster and premium ribeye steaks. Hunter chewed on a lobster claw, impatiently tapping the table. “Mom! When is the rest of the renovation money coming? The designer said we still need ten grand for the custom furniture!” “Why hasn’t Chloe’s salary been deposited yet?” The “Chloe” he was talking about was me—his younger sister, who was currently working herself to the bone in a sweatshop. My mom, Brenda, wiped the grease from her mouth, her forehead creasing into a deep frown. She unlocked her phone and checked her banking app. It was empty. “That little brat is losing her mind!” Brenda slammed her phone onto the table. “Today is payday. Her money is usually in my account by now.” “Is she slacking off again? Just because I took ten dollars from her last time, she dares to throw a tantrum?” Sitting at the head of the table was my dad, Arthur. He looked completely healthy, his face flushed red as he poured himself another glass of expensive Bourbon. Did he look like someone with terminal lung cancer? Not even close. He let out a loud burp and waved his hand dismissively. “Call her! Is she trying to quit?” “If she doesn’t want to work, bring her back and marry her off! The creepy old landlord down the road offered $30,000 for her. That’s enough to buy Hunter a private parking space.” Brenda immediately dialed my number. “The number you have dialed is currently switched off…” Hearing the automated voice, Brenda’s temper flared instantly. “She turned off her phone? How dare she!” She immediately called the manager of the sweatshop—her distant cousin, who was paid to keep an eye on me. As soon as the call connected, loud machine noises and angry shouting echoed through the speaker. “Brenda! I was just about to call you!” “Your girl ran away!” Brenda froze. Her mind went blank. “Ran… ran away?” She looked out the window at the dark night, murmuring, “It’s the middle of the night. Where could a young girl go? The streets are so dangerous… what if she runs into bad people?” “Mom! What the hell are you thinking about?” Hunter slammed his fork onto the plate, violently cutting off Brenda’s tiny shred of motherly instinct. “If she ran away, what about my house renovations? What about my parking spot?” “If she actually cared about this family, why would she run? She’s just selfish! She wants to keep all her money for herself!” With that roar, the last bit of worry on Brenda’s face vanished. It was replaced by a furious sense of betrayal and panic over losing her cash cow. Yes. If her daughter ran away, who would pay for her son’s lifestyle? Worry? How much was that worth? Arthur’s face darkened too. He slammed his glass down, a vicious glint in his eyes. “Find her! We must bring her back!” “I don’t care if she’s dead or alive, as long as she’s breathing, drag her back to work!” “If she refuses, we’ll pack her off to that landlord immediately. Not a single penny of that thirty thousand can be missing!” Brenda spat, her chest heaving with rage. She gritted her teeth and dialed 911. “Dispatcher? I want to report a theft!” “My daughter stole $50,000 from our home and ran off with some guy!” “Go arrest her! She’s been a thief since she was a kid. She’s evil to the core!” To force the police to act, and to drag back the daughter who dared to escape her cage, she effortlessly threw the filthiest lie onto her own child. ###

At the police station. Officer Miller, an experienced cop, frowned as he looked at the couple sitting across from him, both dressed in flashy, expensive clothes. Brenda was still throwing a hysterical fit. “Officer! Why are you guys so slow?” “It’s been two hours! Why haven’t you caught that little brat yet?” “That’s fifty thousand dollars! That’s my husband’s life-saving money!” Arthur chimed in, clutching his chest and coughing weakly. “Yes… I have terminal lung cancer. I need that money for my surgery…” Officer Miller threw a folder onto the table with a cold stare. “Terminal lung cancer?” “Arthur, this is your medical report from the general hospital last month.” “Aside from a slightly fatty liver and mild high blood pressure, you are as strong as an ox. Your lungs are perfectly clear. Not even a single spot. Care to explain your ‘terminal cancer’?” Arthur’s face stiffened, his eyes darting around. “That… that was a misdiagnosis! The first doctor told me it was cancer…” “Enough!” Miller slammed his hand on the desk. The loud bang made Hunter drop his phone. “We checked Chloe’s bank statements.” “Every single payday, her entire check was instantly transferred to an account under the name of Hunter. Is this what you call ‘theft’?” “Also, we just raided that illegal sweatshop.” Miller turned his screen around, showing several shocking photos. A dark, damp workshop, piles of heavy metal parts, and a wooden cot with nothing but a thin, torn sheet. On the small crate next to the bed sat a half-eaten jar of cheap pickles and a pack of the cheapest painkillers. “This is where your daughter lived?” “Her coworkers said she worked sixteen hours a day. She didn’t even dare to take a sick day when she had a 104-degree fever.” “Because she believed her dad was dying and needed the money.” Miller’s voice shook with suppressed fury. “You took the blood money she earned with her life to eat steaks, buy luxury apartments, and drive trucks.” “Yet you lied to her that her father had a terminal illness just to force her to slave away for you?” “Are you people even human?!” The interrogation room fell dead silent. A young female cop standing next to Miller, Officer Avery, had red eyes, glaring at the three of them with pure disgust. Brenda’s face flushed red, then turned pale. But she quickly raised her chin defensively. “So what? I’m her mother! I gave birth to her and raised her. She owes me!” “Besides, we only lied to give her some motivation to work hard!” “Young people today are lazy. If you don’t push them, they’ll never know their potential!” Hunter muttered under his breath, “Exactly. I’m the son, the one who carries the family name. It’s her duty to support me.” “Officer, stop lecturing us and just find her. Since she left, there’s no one to clean the house.” Miller’s hands were shaking with rage. He had been a cop for twenty years. He had seen bad people, but he had never seen parents this vile. Just then, a tech officer burst into the room, his face completely pale. “Captain! We tracked her!” “Chloe’s phone signal pinged one last time near the southern border!” “And… the border patrol cameras caught the bus she boarded last night.” “It belongs to Scarface Nick. He’s a notorious cartel smuggler who takes captives to the lawless compounds across the border!” “What?!” Miller stood up so fast his chair screeched against the floor. Brenda and Arthur looked completely clueless. “Across the border? Like a vacation? How did that brat have money for a trip?” Hunter, however, realized what it meant. His face drained of all color. He spent all his time online. He knew exactly what those cartel compounds were. “Mom… that’s… that’s where they run scams and harvest organs…” “Once you go in, you never come out.” Brenda froze, the color slowly leaving her face. “Har… harvest what?” she stammered. “But… people die there! Why would she go to a place like that…” Terror washed over her, but then she shrieked, “That stupid girl! She must have been blinded by the high pay they promised! She got scammed! What does that have to do with me?” “I gave her food and clothes! She walked into that hellhole herself! She’s doing this to punish us! Even if she dies out there, she brought it on herself!” ###

Arthur panicked too. He gripped the edge of the table, his lips trembling. “Officer, you must have made a mistake. She’s usually too scared to even walk down a dark street. How could she cross the border? What if… what if she really doesn’t come back…” But he quickly straightened his back, coughing to cover his fear. “Hmph! Maybe a little suffering will do her some good! Kids today think they’re so tough. Once she gets beaten up out there, she’ll realize how good she had it at home!” “I bet she went to that dangerous place on purpose just to scare us and make us beg her to come back! No way!” … In the briefing room of the Border Police Station. The atmosphere was suffocatingly tense. The family had been brought here overnight. Officer Miller threw a freshly intercepted video onto the table in front of them. “Take a look.” “This was sent by an informant across the border. It shows the group of captives smuggled in yesterday.” The video was blurry and shaky. The background showed a dark, thick jungle and armed guards holding rifles. A group of exhausted, thin people were being forced off a truck like cattle. In the corner, a small, frail figure stood out. She was wearing a faded school hoodie, clutching a small bottle of water. Though her face was blurry, Brenda recognized her instantly. It was Chloe. The daughter who always kept her head down at home and never dared to speak loudly. In the video, a muscular guard was whipping a man who walked too slowly. The sound of the whip hitting bare skin made everyone in the room shudder. “Officer! Can… can you still save her?” Arthur finally lost his composure. “I don’t need the treatment anymore… I don’t want the money! Just bring her back to work on the farm! That place looks like a death trap!” Miller looked at him with sheer disgust. “Save her? That is a lawless wasteland controlled by ruthless cartel syndicates.” “Going in there is a death sentence.” “And according to our intel, this batch of people was bought to be ‘blood bags’ and ‘donors’.” “Donors?” Hunter squeaked. “Living organ donors,” Officer Avery added coldly. “They drain your blood, take your corneas, and harvest your organs until there’s nothing left of you. That is the place you forced her into.” “She literally sold herself to raise the surgery money for a father who faked cancer.” “According to the smuggler we arrested, right before she crossed, she was still asking if she could get a $50,000 advance on her salary.” “Because her mother told her that her dad’s surgery was still $50,000 short.” At that moment, the last bit of color drained from the family’s faces. Brenda slumped into her chair, her lips shivering. “I… I just said that randomly…” “I just wanted her to make more money… I didn’t want her to die!” Suddenly, Brenda lunged forward, grabbing Miller’s sleeve so hard her nails tore into the fabric. She screamed hysterically: “Officer! You’re a cop! You have to save her! She went there to save her father’s life! We lied to her… we ruined her!” “Please, go save her! If you’re too late… Chloe will be gone forever!” Miller coldly pushed her hand away. “You’re crying now? It’s too late.” *Ding.* Suddenly, Brenda’s phone lit up on the table. A scheduled text message from Chloe popped up on the screen: *“Mom, the boss gave me an advance of $50,000. Dad can have his surgery now. Don’t worry about me.”* Those few words felt like a red-hot iron branding Brenda’s eyes. She shrieked in pain, and the phone clattered to the floor. Arthur stared at the message, then raised his hand and slammed a hard slap across his own face, letting out a guttural, animal-like sob. Just then, the border patrol radio crackled to life. Through the static, a tense voice came through. “Report! We have an update from the border!” “The cartel compound’s weapons depot just exploded!” “It triggered a massive chain of explosions and a raging fire! The entire compound is swallowed in flames!” “No survivors!” “While clearing the perimeter, we recovered a charred backpack.” “Inside was an ID card. The name is… Chloe.”

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The day I was kidnapped, the abductors called my fiancée of five years, demanding a $50,000 ransom. But she only sounded irritated on the other end. “Ethan, you know I don’t have that kind of money.” “I just lent our remaining fifty thousand to Julian.” My fiancée was supposedly poor, yet she didn’t hesitate for a second to give away all our savings to rescue her childhood crush. But after my death, as my spirit floated by her side, I discovered the truth. She was actually a billionaire heiress from New York’s elite high society. She hung up the phone and laughed about it with her friends. “Ethan has officially gone crazy. He actually thought I’d fall for some fake kidnapping scheme just so he could play the victim.” But when my cold corpse was finally laid out in front of her, she completely lost her mind. The sharp blade pierced my heart. Strangely, the pain only brought a sense of relief. Nobody knew the pure hell I had endured in those final hours before my death. They had used a knife to carve into my skin, inch by inch, letting my blood pool onto the cold floor. They were professional torturers. Every single cut was calculated to bring maximum pain without killing me instantly. Finally, they drove the blade straight into my heart, ending my miserable life. When I opened my eyes again, I was standing inside a luxurious VIP lounge. The loud, chaotic music gave me a pounding headache. I looked around, completely lost as to why my soul had ended up here after death. Then, my eyes fell on Madelyn, who was sitting right in the center of the crowd, leaning comfortably in Julian’s arms. Julian gently stroked her hair. Madelyn didn’t pull away. She just rested her shoulder against his, looking completely relaxed. They looked like a perfect, picture-perfect couple. It pierced my eyes like a physical blow. I rushed forward, trying to pull her away from him, but my hands passed straight through her body. It was useless. Both Madelyn and Julian were dressed in designer clothes. The people surrounding them kept tossing out flattering compliments. Didn’t Madelyn tell me that Julian’s family was going through a financial crisis? Wasn’t that why she kept taking our money to bail him out? But looking at this luxurious lounge, the groveling crowd, and the effortless aura of wealth and arrogance radiating from both of them… None of this looked like a family struggling to survive. My mind went blank. Suddenly, the words of my killers flashed back to me. “Man, this guy is pathetic. What’s fifty grand to a billionaire heiress like Madelyn Sterling? But she wouldn’t even spend a single penny to save his life.” “She and Lord Julian are a match made in heaven. Who does this trash think he is? Pathetic.” I felt something wet on my face. One of the kidnappers had spit on me. In my memory, I raised a hand to wipe the filth away, but I could only watch helplessly as they threw me back into the dark corner of the warehouse to rot. Before I closed my eyes for the last time, I actually thought it was funny. I thought those thugs had the wrong person. Maybe it was just someone with the same name. Because in my world, Madelyn was just a hardworking girl from a poor background, struggling to get by. How could she have anything to do with some elite high-society family? But now, looking at the glamourous Madelyn in front of me, raising her champagne glass as everyone toasted to her… Her dominant status in this room was glaringly obvious. I stared at her, memorizing every detail of her face. I desperately searched for even a single difference between this woman and the Madelyn I knew. But no matter how hard I looked. She was Madelyn. The girl I had loved for five years. The fiancée who had promised to marry me. I remembered the phone call the kidnappers had made to her. They had asked for fifty thousand dollars. But she had only reacted with annoyance. “Julian is in a tough spot. I already gave him the last fifty thousand we had. Your little tantrums won’t work on me anymore.” “I literally have no money.” The kidnapper had paused, letting out a dark chuckle. “Miss Sterling, if you don’t pay up, Ethan Vance is going to die today.” “Then let him die.” Those were the very last words I heard from her before my heart stopped. And just as she wished, I was dead.

I first met Madelyn at a charity event for low-income college students. She was wearing a simple white dress. Her innocent, fresh face stood out instantly in the crowded room. When I approached her, she looked up and smiled softly. “Are you here to help me, sir?” That single smile completely captured my heart. I nodded like an idiot. She let out a sweet laugh. “You’re funny.” After that, I sponsored her through her remaining college years. She told me she was an orphan. She said she had been bullied constantly at the orphanage. I was the very first person who had ever reached out to help her. I thought I was saving her life. After graduation, Madelyn struggled to find a job. Knowing how hard it was for a young girl to survive in the city, I offered to take care of her. She agreed. And just like that, we became a couple. Even on the nights I worked late, no matter how exhausted I was, I would always bring home small surprises for her. Anything to make her smile. Seeing her happy was enough for me. During our five years together, she told me she wanted to focus on her fashion design. So, I told her to stay home and focus on her art. I took care of all the bills. I started working double shifts and doing DoorDash deliveries after my regular job. It was exhausting, but the thought of Madelyn waiting for me at home made all the pain melt away. She used to curl up in my arms, her voice incredibly sweet. “Ethan, once my designs get noticed, we’ll finally live the good life.” The good life. I gave everything I had for that promise. But now, the stranger standing before me had clearly been living the good life all along. Just as Madelyn was about to bring the champagne glass to her lips, Julian gently stopped her. “Your stomach has been acting up lately. Don’t drink so much.” Madelyn looked at him, her eyes filled with tenderness. “Since when do you control me?” Julian snatched the glass from her hand and drank it in one gulp. He teased, “How can I not? Your stomach issues only started because you used to skip breakfast every single day.” So… that was the real reason? I stared blankly at the empty glass in his hand. I first found out about her stomach problems when she had a severe case of acute gastroenteritis. She told me it was because she had to drink too much during client dinners at her previous jobs, and her stomach was practically ruined. Back then, my heart ached for her so much. I spent hours learning how to cook gentle, stomach-soothing meals for her every day. But the more it had hurt back then, the more ridiculous I felt now. Someone in the crowd started teasing, “So, Miss Sterling, when are you and Julian finally getting engaged? We’re all waiting for the big news.” Madelyn didn’t answer. Instead, her gaze fell onto the diamond ring on her finger. The diamond wasn’t huge, but its brilliant cut showed it wasn’t cheap either. I had saved up for months, working endless overtime and delivery gigs, just to buy her that ring. When I placed it on her finger, she had looked so incredibly happy. Another friend noticed her gaze and sneered, “Don’t tell me our billionaire heiress actually fell for that poor loser? That ring looks so cheap.” Julian also looked at the ring, waiting for her reaction. Madelyn casually slid the ring off her finger and tossed it to the person who had spoken. “You like it? Keep it. It’s not worth anything anyway.” A wave of laughter erupted in the room. “Of course! What high-end jewelry hasn’t Miss Sterling seen? Why would she care about this piece of garbage?” The ring was kicked onto the floor. Someone stepped on it maliciously, and the once-shiny band was quickly covered in dirt and dust. Julian smiled, pinching Madelyn’s cheek gently. “Who called you earlier, by the way?” Madelyn replied lazily, “Ethan. He hired some cheap actors to stage a kidnapping. He actually tried to extort fifty grand from me.” “He’s completely lost his mind.” A sharp pain flared in my chest—a pain far worse than the blade that had pierced my heart. Julian’s eyes darkened. “Aren’t you afraid it might be real?” Madelyn let out a dismissive laugh. “Ethan is dirt poor. Who in their right mind would kidnap him?” So, in her eyes, the life I had worked myself to the bone to provide for her was just a “dirt poor” existence she looked down on. As she spoke, Madelyn pulled a luxurious velvet box from her bag and handed it to Julian. Julian opened it. Inside was a ridiculously expensive luxury watch. “What’s this for?” Madelyn shrugged. “I bought it with Ethan’s money. He saved up fifty thousand over the years. This watch was basically all he could afford.” “That’s what he gets for fighting with me. Consider this his punishment!” My soul felt entirely cold, even though I was already dead. Madelyn had taken the savings we had pinched and scraped for years to buy Julian a luxury watch, yet she refused to use that exact same amount to save my life. Before my kidnapping, Madelyn and I had the biggest fight of our lives. She had demanded our savings, claiming Julian’s family business was in trouble and she needed to help him. Naturally, I refused. Ever since Julian had reappeared in her life, Madelyn had changed. Her warmth and sweetness were gone, replaced by endless cold shoulders and insults the moment I walked through the door. When I refused, she had screamed at me, “Ethan, how can you be so heartless! This is a person’s life we’re talking about!” We had parted on terrible terms. I had driven to a quiet park to clear my head, and that was when I was snatched. And now, the money she claimed was to “save a life” was used to buy a toy to make Julian smile. Julian frowned, tossing the watch casually into the trash can. “His money? Gross. I don’t want it.” I felt a rush of cold despair wash over my soul. The watch bought with my life was thrown into the trash like garbage. Just like how Madelyn had thrown me away.

After the party, Julian wrapped his arm around Madelyn’s waist as they walked to his car. He leaned over to fasten her seatbelt. The air inside the car grew warm and heavy. Julian stared into her eyes, slowly leaning in for a kiss. The moment his lips touched hers, Madelyn flinched as if she had been shocked. She quickly pulled back and wiped her mouth. Julian’s face immediately turned incredibly dark. “Maddy, what is wrong with you?” Madelyn seemed surprised by her own reaction too. She sat up straight, flustered. “Just drive. I’m tired. I want to go home.” Watching her pull away, I remembered how I used to protect her. Madelyn was beautiful, and she used to get harassed quite a lot. Every single time, I was the one who stood up to chase those creeps away. Afterward, I would look at her seriously and say, “Maddy, you’re my girl. Promise me you won’t let other guys get too close to you.” “I get jealous easily.” She would hug me and pout, “I know, dummy. My heart only has room for you. Why would I ever look at anyone else?” Was she… remembering those times now? I laughed at my own foolishness. To a rich girl like Madelyn, I was probably just a temporary distraction. Why would she ever care about my words? To her, I was just an entertaining clown. Madelyn had Julian drop her off at our apartment. Before leaving, she gave the still-pissed-off Julian a brief hug. “Don’t be mad. If I don’t go back tonight, Ethan will get suspicious.” Julian spat coldly, “Why don’t you just dump him already?” Madelyn hesitated for a second before mumbling, “I’m not bored of him yet.” After watching Julian drive away, she walked into our apartment. In the past, whenever I didn’t have to work late, a warm, home-cooked meal would be waiting for her on the table. But lately, she had been coming home later and later, and she hadn’t touched a single bite of my food. Now I knew why. It all started when Julian came back. Madelyn called out into the empty, dark apartment. No one answered. Annoyed, she threw her designer bag onto the couch. “Still throwing a tantrum? Get over yourself.” *I won’t. I will never fight with you again, Madelyn. Because I will never appear in front of you again.* I whispered the words into her ear, but she couldn’t hear a thing. After removing her makeup, she sat on the couch scrolling through her phone until midnight, but the front door never opened. She cursed under her breath and dialed my number. It went straight to voicemail. Her anger flared. She slammed her bedroom door shut and locked it. “Fine! If you don’t want to come back, then never come back!” She kept checking her phone, but there was not a single Snapchat notification or text from me. Eventually, she fell asleep with her phone in her hand. I stood by her bedside, quietly watching her all night. The next morning, Madelyn rubbed her sleepy eyes and opened her bedroom door, habitually calling out, “Ethan, I want bagels from the bakery down the street. Go grab them.” It had been her routine for years, and eventually, it became my habit too. Every single morning, before the sun even rose, I would stand in line to get her favorite fresh bagels. But today, there was only silence. The apartment was exactly as she had left it last night. No one had been home. Her face went cold as she dialed my number again. After a long ring, just when I thought it would go to voicemail, the call actually connected. But a stranger’s voice came through. “Hello? Do you know the owner of this phone?” She had blocked my main number during our last fight, so she must have used her work phone to call me this time. Madelyn frowned, her voice icy. “Where is Ethan? Put him on the phone!” There was a long pause on the other end. “He’s… he’s dead.” “It looks like a homicide. The police are currently investigating. If you know him, please contact the station immediately.” My breath caught. I stared intently at her face, searching for any sign of grief. But after a brief shock, she actually laughed out loud. “Are you kidding me? Has Ethan gone completely insane with this acting?” “Tell him to stop playing games. I’ll find a way to give him back that fifty thousand.” The voice on the other end sounded incredibly weary. “Ma’am, I am serious. He is dead…” Madelyn’s tone snapped. “Are you done? Is Ethan really going to act like this just because he’s throwing a fit?” “Fine! Tell him he never has to come back!” She slammed the phone down, turned on the TV, and began aggressively flipping through channels. Then, a local news broadcast caught her eye. I looked at the screen too. It was a breaking news report about a homicide. A male body had been found in a warehouse. His face had been heavily mutilated beyond recognition. Looking at the blurred-out photo on the screen, the feeling of my blood draining away rushed back to me. The phantom pain made me want to scream. There was no doubt about it. That mutilated corpse was me. But Madelyn merely scoffed, quickly switching the channel. She muttered, “Why is the news always so depressing? Ethan actually thinks he can scare me with this cheap drama.” “So pathetic.” 3 The doorbell rang. Madelyn opened it to find Julian standing there with breakfast. Julian looked around the modest apartment with clear disgust before handing the food to her. Madelyn smiled, taking the food and curling up on the couch to eat. Julian paced around the small living room, finally stopping in front of a framed photo on the shelf. It was a photo from our very first trip together, after we had saved up for months. We had taken so many photos that day, but this was the only one Madelyn had liked. Julian frowned, picking up the frame and walking over to her. Madelyn glanced at it casually. “Oh, that’s just a photo from some old trip. What about it?” Julian leaned in close, his breath brushing against her ear, his voice dropping low. “I don’t like seeing photos of you with him.” “Throw it away, okay?” Madelyn stared at the photo, showing a rare moment of hesitation before gently pushing him back. Seeing her hesitate, Julian’s expression soured. “Madelyn, you know Ethan was nothing but a toy to you.” “I am your real fiancé. You are supposed to marry me.” “Our families arranged this years ago.” Madelyn quickly softened her voice to soothe him. “Okay, okay, I know you get jealous easily. It’s just a stupid picture. If you want to throw it away, go ahead.” Satisfied, Julian pulled the photo out of the frame and slowly tore it into tiny pieces right in front of us. I lunged forward, trying to grab the pieces, but my hands swept through nothing but air. I could only watch as our only memory was shredded into dust. Just like the love I once had for her. I had cherished that photo more than anything. Madelyn knew that. She just didn’t care about my feelings. To her, I was just a fool she could manipulate at her whim. She and Julian were the ones who truly belonged together. Once the photo was completely destroyed, the playful mood seemed to vanish. Madelyn asked quietly, “What are we doing today?” Julian took her hand, gently rubbing his thumb over her skin. “Let’s go shopping.” Madelyn hesitated. “Today…” She unlocked her phone, checking the date. An alert popped up on her screen—it was the same news report from earlier. The police were now desperately trying to identify the victim’s body. Madelyn frowned, quickly swiping the notification away and locking her phone. “Not today…” Julian cut her off. “Why? Do you have other plans? With Ethan?” Madelyn remained silent. Her silence was the answer. Because today was our scheduled appointment to finalize the wedding suit and gown. I stared at her quiet face, a pathetic spark of hope rising in my chest. Did she… actually remember? Julian’s voice broke the silence, cold and demanding. “Madelyn, choose. Me or Ethan?” “Don’t tell me you actually fell for that loser.” Madelyn’s eyes widened, and she immediately denied it. “Are you crazy? How could I ever be serious about Ethan?” “I don’t have any plans today. Let’s go.” Once again, when given a choice between me and Julian, she chose Julian. It wasn’t the first time. Ever since Julian returned, she had made this choice countless times. And no matter how much I begged, she always chose him. Because she knew I would never truly get mad at her. She knew how desperately I loved her, which was why she felt she could trample all over my dignity without consequence. On Madelyn’s last birthday, both Julian and I had prepared celebrations for her. I had booked the absolute best restaurant I could possibly afford. She had invited a group of her friends, and after dinner, I drove her and Julian to a club. On the way there, a truck suddenly lost control and swerved directly into our lane. My instinct took over instantly. I threw my body over Madelyn in the passenger seat. The impact was deafening, and the entire world spun as our car flipped over. The driver’s side door was crushed completely, pinning my legs beneath the steering wheel. But my first thought was still Madelyn’s safety. When I blinked through the smoke, my heart shattered. Madelyn had a small cut on her forehead, but otherwise, she was completely fine. Because I had shielded her with my own body. But she was already dragging a semi-conscious Julian out of the backseat, walking toward the crowd gathering on the street. She never once looked back at me. Shard of glass dug deep into my legs, the agonizing pain keeping me brutally conscious. I croaked her name, begging for help, but she kept walking. Only when the ambulance arrived did she finally mention to the paramedics that someone was still trapped in the front seat. I was rushed into emergency surgery. Julian, having received immediate attention, was completely fine. But my leg was permanently damaged from being pinned under the wreckage for too long. During my entire hospital stay, Madelyn only visited me once. She looked at my bandaged leg, a flicker of guilt and disgust crossing her eyes. “About that night… I panicked and forgot you were still in the car. It wasn’t on purpose.” I had stared at her quietly, feeling something die inside me. But I still forced a smile. “It’s fine. I know.” I loved her so much that I chose to ignore the obvious truth: her heart had already left me.

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In the fifth year of my marriage to Chloe, she brought her first love, Ryan, right in front of me and asked: “Ethan, if I divorce you and marry Ryan, would you be our best man?” She had no idea that the man standing in front of her was actually my clone. He was created with only one purpose: to obey her every command. Without a single second of hesitation, my clone smiled and agreed. Chloe flew into a rage. She glared at him and spat, “You spineless wimp! Do you just do whatever the hell I tell you to do? If I asked for your life, would you just give it to me?” My consciousness, trapped deep inside the clone’s body, could only let out a bitter, silent laugh. *Chloe, I don’t have a second life left to give you.* 1 *BANG!* My body was sent flying by Ryan’s car. The man who hit me scrambled out of the driver’s seat, rushing over with a face full of fake, theatrical panic. He cried out, “Chloe! I swear Ethan threw himself in front of the car! It’s not my fault!” Chloe is my wife. Today is our fifth wedding anniversary. She rolled down the car window, frowning slightly as she glanced at my crumpled body on the asphalt. Her voice was ice-cold. “Don’t worry about him, Ryan. He’s just acting. He’s fine.” She sat comfortably in the passenger seat, not even bothering to open the door. “Ethan, stop embarrassing yourself with such pathetic acting.” Her feet seemed glued to the car floor. She wouldn’t take a single step toward me. Seeing that I wasn’t moving, her frown deepened. “Enough, Ethan. How long are you going to play dead? Get up.” If this were before, the clone would have jumped up the second he received her command. But the violent impact of the car had caused a temporary glitch in his neural system. So, she waited, but there was no response. Losing her patience, Chloe finally opened the door, seemingly planning to drag me up herself. But before she could step out, Ryan grabbed her arm. His voice trembled slightly. “Chloe, don’t touch him. Let’s just call 911. If something actually happens to him, we don’t want to get sued…” Before he could finish, Chloe interrupted him with an annoyed huff. “He got hit at barely fifteen miles per hour. What could possibly happen to him? He’s just throwing a tantrum.” Sure, fifteen miles per hour won’t kill a man. But it still hurts. It still breaks bones. But Chloe didn’t care. Then again, if she had ever cared, how could she have failed to notice over the last five years that the “Ethan” standing by her side was a fake? The real me died five years ago when I failed my mission to win her heart. This body was just a clone I created to fulfill my promise of “loving her forever.” My soul was bound to this synthetic shell. I could feel its emotions and its physical pain. But I couldn’t control it. And honestly, there was no need to. When I made this clone, besides giving him my DNA, I only programmed him with my happiest memories of Chloe. He was literally engineered to be a simp customized just for her. I thought that by leaving him behind, he would keep Chloe happy and loved in a world without me. But there is always an exception to every rule. And the exception in our marriage was Ryan. 2 Today was supposed to be our fifth anniversary. Following the programmed memories of her favorite things, the clone bought a bouquet of blood-red roses and went to Chloe’s office building. The lobby was packed with people whispering and pointing. The clone squeezed through the crowd, only to see Chloe standing in the center, blushing as Ryan knelt before her on one knee. Ryan held her hand, looking up at her with puppy-dog eyes. “Chloe, will you marry me and let me give you the life you deserve?” The clone stood frozen in the crowd, his database unable to process this scenario. This was something that had never happened in my memories. Under Ryan’s intense gaze, Chloe’s eyes began to wander. She swept her gaze over the crowd and stopped right on my clone. Her eyes locked onto him, her voice dripping with provocation. “Ryan, I’m not technically divorced yet. Are you sure you want to propose to me right now?” Ryan followed her gaze and smirked when he saw my clone. The next second, he pulled out a diamond ring. He slid my wedding band off Chloe’s finger without any resistance and slipped the new diamond onto her ring finger. Chloe stared at the clone, waiting for a reaction. But the clone just walked up to her, holding out the roses. “Chloe, happy anniversary. I got these for you. Do you like them?” The smugness in Chloe’s eyes instantly vanished, replaced by an explosive rage. She slapped the bouquet out of his hand, scattering red petals all over the floor. “Ethan! Are you blind? Didn’t you just see another man propose to your wife?!” The clone looked down at the ruined roses, confusion flickering in his eyes. He gently grabbed Chloe’s hand and asked anxiously, “Chloe, why are you angry? Is it because you don’t like roses anymore?” Chloe didn’t say a word. She just stared into his eyes. I knew what she was looking for. She wanted to see some real emotion—jealousy, anger, madness. But the clone disappointed her. His eyes held nothing but pure, innocent confusion. Not a single trace of anger. After staring at him for what felt like an eternity, Chloe let go of his hand and let out a cynical laugh. “Ethan, you really are incredibly generous. Since you’re so open-minded, how about you serve as our best man when Ryan and I get married?” 3 Nobody knew that my soul, trapped inside this artificial body, was curling up and screaming in agony. My original mission in this world was to make Chloe fall in love with me. Technically, once we got married, my mission was complete. According to the System’s original script, Chloe was supposed to die in a car accident shortly after our wedding. But I truly, deeply loved her. I couldn’t bear to let her die. So, I traded my own life with the System, asking it to transfer her fatal car accident to me. The System agreed. With the last of my remaining time, I built this clone. The clone was born for Chloe. He would love her forever and obey her every word. Even if her commands were ridiculously cruel, he would comply. Hearing Chloe’s request, the clone’s confusion melted away into a bright, innocent smile. “Really, Chloe? If I act as your best man, will that make you happy?” Chloe’s gaze turned incredibly cold. “Ethan, you are unbelievable. Is it true that you’ll do literally anything I ask?” “Yes, Chloe,” the clone answered instantly. Chloe’s face turned pale, completely choked by his response. Ryan chimed in from the side, “Chloe, since Ethan is totally cool with it, why don’t we go to City Hall today? We can sign the divorce papers and register our marriage at the same time.” Chloe didn’t say no. She let Ryan drag her by the arm toward the exit. As Ryan passed my clone, he intentionally shoved his shoulder hard against him. The contempt and triumph on Ryan’s face were clear. The clone stood there, a look of mild confusion on his face. He didn’t understand why Chloe still looked so unhappy even though he had agreed to her request. Halfway to the parking lot, Chloe stopped. She told Ryan to go bring the car around while she marched back to the clone. “Ethan, do you think this is a joke? You stopped loving me a long time ago, didn’t you?” Chloe screamed at him, her voice shrill with frustration. I found it hilarious. The one who stopped loving was clearly her. If she still cared, how could she be flaunting another man in my face? Maybe she just wanted to see the old me—the one who would get jealous and lose his mind for her. But she would never see that man again. The man who could feel jealousy and rage was already dead. The clone didn’t possess complex human emotions. He couldn’t feel jealousy or resentment. Unlike the real me, he would never complain about her lifestyle. Even if she stayed out all night partying with Ryan, the clone would only quietly prepare a perfect breakfast for her when she returned. He would never question her. Isn’t this exactly what she wanted? So why did she still look so miserable? 4 Chloe waited for a response, but the clone just stood there, waiting for her next command. Her voice raised another octave. “Ethan! I’m talking to you! Why aren’t you answering me?!” The clone listened to her carefully, his voice firm and sincere. “No, Chloe. I will love you forever.” Chloe sneered, her lips curling with disgust. “I hate your hypocritical face more than anything, Ethan. Fine. You said you’d fulfill any request, right?” The clone nodded. “Yes, Chloe. Anything.” Chloe laughed darkly as she opened the passenger door of Ryan’s car. She looked back and said, “In that case, if I tell you to go die, would you do it?” The clone nodded. “Yes.” Chloe laughed hysterically, almost like a maniac. It took her a long time to calm down before she said: “Fine. Go die then.” My soul felt like it was being ripped apart. I never, in my wildest dreams, thought Chloe would ever say those words to me. Having received the direct command, the clone didn’t hesitate. The moment Ryan started the engine and accelerated, the clone threw himself directly in front of the car. Maybe because I had been lying on the ground for too long, Chloe finally got out of the car. She walked over in her high heels, her steps slow and deliberate. Due to the heavy impact, my clone’s automatic gene-repair sequence had kicked in. When she finally pulled me up, she saw the small pool of blood on the pavement. For the first time, panic flashed across her face. She let go of me instantly, letting my body drop back onto the asphalt. Chloe clung to Ryan, her hands shaking violently as she dialed 91

She kept whispering to Ryan, trying to convince herself: “Ryan, it’s fine. It’s not your fault. Ethan threw himself at the car. Even if he dies, it has nothing to do with you.” A cold, mechanical voice echoed in my mind. *“Ethan, do you regret it now?”* Five years ago, when I transferred Chloe’s fate to myself, the System had asked me the exact same question. Back then, I had answered without hesitation: *“No.”* I had even begged the System to delay my physical death so I could finish building the clone to love her in my place. The moment the clone was successfully activated, my original body finally died. The car crash had left my body completely mangled. To prevent Chloe from being traumatized, I begged the System to erase all traces of my physical corpse. At that moment, the cold mechanical voice of the System actually showed a hint of pity. *“Ethan, do you want to know why Chloe was supposed to get into that car accident in the first place?”* In my silence, it told me: *“In Chloe’s life script, she was destined to die in a car crash on her way to see the person she loved most.”* On the day I took that crash for her, the person she was rushing to see was Ryan. It was only then that I realized Chloe’s true love had never been me. Even though the clone’s self-healing sequence had started, the physical pain was excruciating. The suffocating sensation made my soul tremble. For some reason, I suddenly remembered the first time I met Chloe. That day, when I first arrived in this world, she had risked her own life to save a little girl playing in the middle of a busy street. In my original world, people were cold and indifferent. Nobody would have cared about a stranger’s child. Maybe her heroic aura back then was just too bright. It blinded me so completely that even now, I still looked at her through a soft-focus filter. Before my consciousness faded again, I whispered to the System: *“System, I don’t regret it.”*

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