Category: English

After I took a tumble down the stairs, Eleanor finally agreed to leave work to take care of me. But just as we were pulling up to the hospital, she got a call from a client and had to turn back. Later, as I was dragging my fractured leg downstairs to pay the bill, I saw her childhood best friend, Rupert, post a picture of her tending to his knee. The caption read: Who knew a grown man could be so clumsy? Good thing I have my Ellie to patch me up. That’s when I knew. There was no client. Our mutual friends didn’t dare comment. Only I did. I left a single like, and a reply: An idiot needs a babysitter. You two should just get together. 1 Eleanor was a workaholic. So when she said a client needed her, I understood. I even told her to prioritize her work, to go back and not worry about me. But then, as I hauled my broken leg down to the billing office, I saw it. The picture Rupert had posted. Eleanor, kneeling at his feet, dabbing antiseptic on his scraped knee. And that caption: Who knew a grown man could be so clumsy? Good thing I have my Ellie to patch me up. Something thick and hard lodged itself in my throat. I blew up at her over the phone. Her voice was frayed with impatience. “You get angry over everything,” she said. “If I’d told you the truth, do you really think you could’ve rested and recovered peacefully?” After that, my messages went unanswered. Radio silence. That night, my body rejected the anesthetic. I woke up multiple times during the surgery, drowning in waves of agony. When they wheeled me out of the operating room, there was no one there for me. A kind nurse saw me struggling and helped me downstairs. Still no word from Eleanor. I was left to juggle work emails and calls on my phone while navigating the hospital on crutches, a dead weight chained to my leg, hobbling up and down floors to pay bills and pick up prescriptions. The same sweet nurse took pity on me, running those errands for me when she could. The day I was discharged, a message from Eleanor finally appeared. I’m coming to get you. I knew what that meant. It was her way of turning the page, of wiping the slate clean. It was always like this between us. She hated fighting. Whenever I confronted her about Rupert, she’d give me the silent treatment, letting me stew in my own anger. Then, when she was ready to move on, she’d reach out. By then, my fury would have burned itself out, leaving nothing but embers. She could turn my emotions on and off like a switch. This time, the silence lasted for nearly half a month. In the past, a message like that would have sent a jolt of relief through me. I would have been thrilled that she was finally making time for me. But now? Nothing. A flat, calm sea. The days I’d spent fighting through this alone had cooled my head considerably. I typed back a simple reply: Don’t bother. I’ve already checked out. Her response was immediate. Then I’ll pick you up from home. No need, I’ll get a cab. I’m already on my way. Wait for me. I’ll be there in thirty. 2 Thirty minutes bled into an hour. No sign of Eleanor’s car. The sky had bruised from dusk to a deep, starless black. It was 9:30 PM. Not a single text from her. I didn’t ask. After another ten minutes, I gave up, opened the Uber app, and ordered a ride. It was 10:30 PM by the time I got home. The driver, a kind older man, saw me fumbling with my crutches and insisted on helping me up the five flights of stairs. The hallway light was busted, and there were no security cameras, so I kept a video call going with a buddy as we climbed. The driver didn’t seem to mind my caution. He got me to my door, gave a small nod, and left. Still nothing from Eleanor. I didn’t text her to demand an explanation. I just went inside, sent the driver a generous tip through the app, and collapsed onto the sofa. A new notification lit up my phone. It was Rupert’s Instagram. He’d posted another picture. That familiar silhouette was there, dabbing at another scrape on his arm. The caption was practically giddy: Barely five minutes after Ellie leaves and I take another tumble. Seriously, what’s wrong with me? LOL. The way she scolds me while wrapping my scrapes is just too cute! 3 I’d never been comfortable with the fact that Eleanor had a childhood best friend like Rupert. Every interaction felt like a small jab to the ribs, but I couldn’t stop myself from watching their every move. The weirdest part was when he added me on social media out of the blue. It turned out Eleanor had given him my contact. “I’m busy with work,” she’d explained. “Rupert’s all alone in New York. If he needs anything, maybe you can help keep an eye on him.” I, a person who rarely checked my feed, became a chronic scroller, my blood boiling with every flirty post he made featuring my girlfriend. It always ended in a massive fight. In the past, a post like this would have sent me into a rage. I would have called Eleanor, demanding she explain herself. But this time, I just tapped the ‘like’ button and left a comment. An idiot needs a babysitter. You two should just get together. My phone rang. It was my boss, Ms. Vance. I picked up. “Ethan,” she said, her voice crisp and direct. “I’ve spoken with corporate. We can raise your salary to one-point-three million. What do you say?” Our company was expanding its market presence. The London office was desperately looking for a new director. They had specifically requested me, but I’d turned it down every time, using the distance as an excuse. “And listen,” she continued, “I got approval for fifteen days of leave every five months. You can still fly back and see… your girl. How does that sound?” So, she’d known all along. It was never about the distance. It was about how far I’d be from Eleanor. I let out a short, sharp laugh. “That won’t be necessary, Ms. Vance. I don’t need the vacation days. When do I leave?” There was a stunned silence on the other end, then her voice bloomed with excitement. “End of the month! You got it, Ethan! No backing out now!” “I’ll start the transfer paperwork tomorrow.” 4 I was buried in a mountain of backlogged work on my laptop, so completely absorbed that I didn’t hear the front door open. When I finally looked up, Eleanor was standing there, her brow furrowed in a slight frown. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?” I glanced at my mobile. Sure enough, a few missed calls from around midnight. “I went to the hospital to pick you up. You weren’t there,” she said, a clear note of irritation in her voice. “Oh, really?” My tone was light, almost surprised. “My bad. I figured you weren’t coming tonight, so I just grabbed an Uber.” She looked at me as if she’d misheard. In the past, if she was even a minute late, I would have been on the phone, demanding to know where she was. That would have inevitably led to her accusing me of being suspicious, triggering another one of her cold spells. I would never have just carried on with my own plans without a word. She sighed, a long, weary sound. “Look… Rupert fell again. He has a congenital bone condition; even a small fall could mean a fracture. I couldn’t just leave him.” “Mm-hmm.” I didn’t even let her finish, just offered a placid, noncommittal hum. “Ethan?” She seemed taken aback. “Yeah?” I glanced up from my screen, feigning confusion. Her frown deepened. “You’re not mad?” “Mad about what?” I offered a small smile. “You two are childhood friends. I get it. It’s fine.” She took a deep breath and sat down beside me on the sofa. “You’re still angry, aren’t you?” “Nope,” I said, my smile unwavering. “I stopped caring about that stuff a long time ago.” She let out another soft sigh, her fingers finding mine and lacing through them. “I know I was wrong. I’m admitting it first this time. Can we just… let it go?” I chuckled lightly. “Seriously, it’s fine. You don’t have to do this. You’re making it into a bigger deal than it is.” A flash of pure shock crossed her features. This was the first time she had ever conceded first. And I had just refused her olive branch. The truth is, when someone no longer lives in your heart, it’s impossible to get angry at them. I checked the time and closed my laptop. “It’s getting late, Ellie. I’m going to bed.” I pushed myself up, but a searing pain shot through my leg, and I crumpled to the floor. 5 “Ethan!” Eleanor lunged, grabbing my arm. I gently pushed her hand away, my voice devoid of any anger. “I’m okay. Just forgot my crutches.” She frowned. “Why do you need crutches?” I answered with an airy calm. “It’s fractured.” In that instant, she froze. Perhaps she was remembering the excuse she’d just given me—that she was afraid Rupert might have a fracture. Her expression became a tangled mess of emotions. “I’m so sorry…” It was the first time she had ever truly apologized. She bent down to help me up. “Let me help you to bed.” To my own surprise, I shook my head and pushed her away again. “It’s okay. Could you just grab my crutches for me? They’re by the door. I can make it myself.” She didn’t move. “Wouldn’t it be better if I helped you?” In the past, if she’d offered any physical closeness, I would have melted into her arms. But now, the offer held no appeal. I smiled faintly. “No, thanks. I can manage on my own.” Her gaze was sharp, probing. “You’re still angry, aren’t you?” I paused. “No, really.” It was strange. She couldn’t stand it when I was angry, but now that I wasn’t, she seemed just as unhappy. She took a step closer. “If you’re angry, just say it. It’s not like I won’t listen. Why are you being like this?” 6 Eleanor hated conflict. She had a mind like a steel trap, capable of dismantling any argument, yet she’d repeatedly turned down invitations to join the university debate team. In her professional life, she was a woman of few words. When I was angry, her first instinct was to flee. “I’m exhausted from work every day,” she used to say. “I don’t have the energy for your baseless accusations! The reason I listen to Rupert is because he’s fragile. We grew up together; what’s wrong with me being a shoulder for him to lean on? If I actually liked him that way, where would that leave you? Besides, he never criticizes me! Can you just stop comparing yourself to him for once?” Those words used to pierce me like shards of glass. Now, remembering them, I felt nothing. Instead, I was just curious why she suddenly wanted to hear me out. I sighed. “I’m not angry. I’m really not.” Her breathing was uneven. “Then why won’t you let me help you?” “Because…” I kept the gentle smile fixed on my face, as if the memory of waking up in agony was a distant dream. “When I came out of surgery… I was alone then, too.” She stared, unblinking. “You had surgery?” I nodded. “You seemed busy. I didn’t want to bother you.” The corners of Eleanor’s eyes reddened. When she looked at me again, there was something new in her gaze… a flicker of pain. “You should have told me.” I shook my head. “It’s over now. If I could get through it alone then, I can certainly manage now that I’m recovering.” She looked down, her breath deepening. When her eyes met mine again, they were swimming with guilt. “So you’re blaming me for not being there.” I was done explaining. “I’m really not. Can you please just get my crutches? I want to go to sleep.” “If you’re not angry, why won’t you let me take care of you?” she pressed, stepping even closer. I was too tired to argue. I gave up, hopping on one foot, stumbling toward the door where I’d left the crutches. “Just drop it. Let’s go to bed.” Her fists were clenched at her sides. I ignored her, grabbed my crutches, and made my way to the bedroom. As I lay down, I heard her voice, sharp with fury. “Fine. Be that way. I’m going to go take care of Rupert!” The front door slammed shut. I glanced at the bedroom door, flicked off the lamp, and rolled over, closing my eyes. Within minutes, I was sound asleep. 7 I met Eleanor in the student union back in college. I was captivated by her sharp intellect and a profound, quiet confidence I’d never seen in anyone else. It took me ages to work up the nerve to ask her out. We’ve been together for six years—three in college, three after. And for almost all of it, my world has revolved around hers. My classmates from our graduating year are pulling in millions now, while I’m still hovering around six figures. Thinking back to when I was top of my class, I realize just how much I’ve let slip by. I didn’t text Eleanor again. My days were a simple loop: finish my work, then study for my certifications. Ms. Vance had hinted at another salary bump if I passed. Eleanor, for her part, hadn’t contacted me since she stormed out. That wasn’t unusual. She was never one for texting what could be said in person. Our typical dynamic was me sending her a barrage of updates about my day, to which she might reply with a perfunctory “Ok” or “Got it.” It never used to bother me. Not until I saw her chat logs with Rupert, the easy back-and-forth, the inside jokes. That’s when my composure finally cracked. That fight, like all the others, ended with her giving me the silent treatment. Thinking about it used to twist my stomach in knots, prompting me to find some new excuse to start another argument. Now, the memory just floats by, weightless. The prospect of a pay raise was infinitely more compelling. I had been planning to ask Eleanor out for a meal, to finally have the talk about our relationship. But she beat me to it. She sent me a picture of a reservation number for a private dining room. Let’s have dinner. I glanced at the restaurant I was about to order takeout from and realized, with a jolt, that it was the same place. Old habits die hard. This was Eleanor’s favorite spot. I had once secretly learned how to cook all of their signature dishes, hoping to surprise her. But she always said eating at home was a hassle; it was quicker to just go out. My culinary efforts were left to languish. Another habit I needed to break. Okay, I replied. 8 At 7 PM, I pushed open the restaurant door. I was off the crutches by then, but my walk was still a clumsy, uneven limp. A waiter kindly showed me to the private room. As the door opened, the first thing I heard was a peal of laughter. “No way! Your man really said that? If it were me, I wouldn’t be so petty!” Rupert was sitting right next to Eleanor, leaving only the seat directly across from them for me. I froze for a second, not expecting a third person. Eleanor looked up, a small, practiced smile on her face. “Oh, you’re here. We were just talking about old times.” Her eyes darted over my face, searching for a reaction. “Right. Carry on, then.” I returned her smile with one of my own and calmly made my way to the empty seat. Eleanor’s expression flickered. I turned to the waiter. “Could we get a menu, please?” The menu was in my hands for less than a second before it was snatched away. Rupert leaned intimately toward Eleanor, his finger tapping the page. “Ellie, this one’s amazing. And this one, and this…” She laughed softly. “Come on, you’re the one who wants it, aren’t you?” His eyes were full of a playful, adoring light. “No, it’s really that good.” Eleanor took the menu from him, checked off the items he’d pointed to, and handed it to the waiter. The waiter hesitated, looking at me. It was only then that she seemed to remember I was there. “Oh, right,” she said, passing the menu to me. “See if there’s anything you want.” I knew that look. It was the same analytical gaze she used to give me back when we first started dating, whenever I was giving her the silent treatment. The same look she’d have in those rare debate tournaments, searching for the fatal flaw in her opponent’s argument. She was watching me, waiting for me to crack. But I just glanced at the menu and smiled. “Looks good. Rupert has great taste.” Her hand, resting on the table, flinched. She looked at me as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. I passed the menu back to the waiter. “That’ll be all, thank you.” 9 After the menus were gone, a shadow fell over Eleanor’s face. Rupert, oblivious, draped an arm around her shoulder and grinned at me. “Heard you were mad at Ellie. Don’t worry, I gave her a piece of my mind for you!” I was in the middle of replying to a client’s message. I looked up and smiled politely. “Oh, that? It was nothing. Just a small thing.” Rupert clearly didn’t think so. He leaned in closer to Eleanor, pinching her cheek. “Hey, don’t take it personally, man. We’ve been like this since we were kids. I’m not interested in this block of wood, so you can relax!” I smiled again and went back to my phone. “Actually,” Rupert continued, his voice taking on a theatrical tone, “the reason Ellie takes such good care of me is because she kind of owes me her life.” Eleanor playfully swatted his arm. “Oh, stop it.” “No way! I can tell you never told him the story!” Rupert was practically glowing with self-importance. “You see, Ethan, when we were little, Ellie had a huge fight with her parents and ran out into a thunderstorm. I went looking for her and took a really bad fall. My leg never healed right. Turns out I have a congenital low bone density. That one fall almost crippled me for life!” Eleanor laughed, but her eyes were fixed on me. “Ethan’s not the jealous type. You don’t have to explain.” I looked up from my phone and echoed her smile. “She’s right. I stopped caring about that a long time ago.” Eleanor’s face went dark. The dishes began to arrive. I reached for a piece of the crispy-skin pork belly, but before I could get it, her chopsticks intercepted mine, snatching the piece and placing it in Rupert’s bowl. “Here,” she said with a soft smile. “You love this dish, don’t you?” All the while, she was watching me from the corner of her eye. I just smiled, picked up another piece for myself, and continued responding to a client’s voice message with my free hand. Her expression soured instantly. “You,” Eleanor said suddenly, her voice sharp. “Go sit on the other side.”

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1 My entire family left for a ski trip to the Aspen mountains, leaving me behind. “I didn’t know you couldn’t even ski or rock climb, Nora,” Sherry, the girl I was swapped at birth with, pouted. “If I’d known, I would’ve picked somewhere else.” My parents and brother rushed to console her, saying it wasn’t her fault—I was just too ‘uncultured’ for such things. If only Sherry never came back, I thought, watching their car disappear down the drive. Then the unthinkable happened. An avalanche tore through the resort. My parents and brother returned home, looking like shell-shocked ghosts. “Sherry didn’t make it out,” my mother wailed, pulling me into a crushing hug. “Nora, you’re our only daughter now.” But I felt no relief. No joy. Because a second earlier, a text had buzzed on my phone. It was from Sherry. “Nora! Mom, Dad, and Leo are all dead!” … My mother must have felt me go rigid in her arms, because she slowly pulled back. “What’s wrong, Nora? We’re back now. Don’t be scared.” Her voice was so gentle it was alien to me. She only ever spoke that way to Sherry. With me, her tone was always as cold and sharp as winter ice. I stared at the three figures standing in the doorway. Though their faces were bruised and their clothes were stained with patches of what looked like dried blood, they were unmistakably my mother, my father, and my brother, Leo. So why would Sherry say they were dead? No, wait. If my mother was telling the truth, Sherry was the one who didn’t survive the avalanche. So who sent me that text? “Let’s get you out of those filthy clothes,” Leo said, his voice hoarse. He helped our sobbing mother into the living room. “Nora needs a minute to process everything.” As they passed me, a wave of bone-deep cold washed over me, making me shiver. A comment I’d seen on a news article about the avalanche flashed through my mind. “A tourist caught in a slide that big? They’re gone. If your loved ones come home safe, take a good, hard look. Make sure they’re still human.” The commenter, who claimed to be a mountain guide, had tried to explain that victims of a disaster sometimes don’t realize they’ve died and are driven by a single, obsessive need to return home. He was relentlessly flamed and deleted the comment. Something that bizarre… Could it be happening to me? As if on cue, the last ray of sunlight vanished below the horizon, plunging the living room into a deep, oppressive twilight. Or maybe it was just my imagination, but the temperature in the house seemed to drop several degrees. “Nora, what are you doing just standing there? Close the door,” my father’s voice rasped from the shadows. The way he turned was… wrong. He didn’t just turn his head; his entire torso rotated with it, stiffly, like he was frozen solid. The hair on my arms stood on end. I took an instinctive step back, my hand fumbling behind me for the doorknob. My phone buzzed again, a frantic vibration against my palm. It was Sherry. She’d sent a picture. Three black body bags, lined up neatly in a row. A new text followed. “They just flew the bodies back. Where the hell are you, Nora? I told you to get a car and meet me.” BANG! An arm slammed the door shut behind me. I snapped my head up, my eyes meeting my brother’s. He was looking down at me, his face unreadable. “Nora,” he murmured, his voice a low whisper, “who are you texting?” 2 He took another step forward, his presence filling the cramped entryway. I hadn’t noticed it before, but his skin had a sickly, grayish pallor, like meat that had been left in a freezer for days. My back was pressed hard against the door; there was nowhere left to run. I frantically mashed the power button, the screen going dark, and forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. “It was just Grandma and Grandpa. Asking if I’d heard anything. I was just letting them know you were safe.” Leo paused, then nodded slowly. A flicker of something like sadness crossed his face. “Ah. It’s a shame about Sherry. She was so fragile… she didn’t make it until the rescue team arrived. You should probably break the news to them gently.” He sighed. “Oh, right. I should call the rescue team, let them know we’re okay. I lost my phone on the mountain. Let me borrow yours.” Before I could react, he snatched my phone and held it up to my face to unlock it with facial recognition. Panic flared in my chest and I lunged for it, a purely instinctual reaction. Leo seemed startled by my sudden movement and lost his footing. He crashed to the floor with a heavy thud. The phone flew from his hand, hit the wall, and shattered into a spiderweb of glass and plastic. “Nora, are you okay?” he said, scrambling to his feet. In a complete break from character, he didn’t scold me. Instead, he anxiously checked to see if I was hurt. “I’m so sorry. I’ll buy you the newest iPhone in a few days, I promise.” A lump formed in my throat. A crazy thought sparked in my mind: if they could always be this kind to me, did it really matter if they were human or not? “I’m fine, Leo. It’s just too dark in here. Let me get the lights.” Taking a deep breath, I reached for the light switch. A common saying echoed in my mind: ghosts have no shadows. I squeezed my eyes shut, praying that this was all just my terrified imagination running wild. Click. The chandelier blazed to life, bathing the opulent living room in brilliant white light. And behind all three of them, faint but distinct shadows stretched across the floor. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. My mother warmed a pot of milk for my father and Leo, but poured a glass of juice for me. “For your lactose intolerance,” she said with a soft smile. “You can have this.” I took the glass, stunned. It was cherry juice, my favorite. This was the same woman who used to call my condition a “poor person’s disease” and force me to drink milk until I was sick, insisting I had to “get used to it.” “Nora,” my father said, his voice heavy, a trace of guilt on his stern face. “Sherry’s master bedroom… you should move in there.” Leo looked at me with an apologetic expression and gently ruffled my hair. “And make sure you lock your doors and windows. Especially on the ground floor.” I lowered my head, taking small sips of the juice. The sweetness spread from my mouth to my heart, and for a moment, I didn’t want to think about Sherry’s messages at all. Leo was still talking. “Especially tonight. Don’t open the door for anyone. Especially not for Sherry.” “Who?” I asked, sure I had misheard. At that exact moment, the chandelier flickered violently. And then went out. In the suffocating darkness, I could feel three wooden faces turn toward me. Three voices spoke in unison. “Don’t let Sherry in.” 3 “What happened to the lights? Another power outage in the neighborhood?” my father grumbled, getting up to check the fuse box. The sudden darkness sent a shiver down my spine, but their last words were still ringing in my ears. I forced myself to ask, “Sherry? Why would she be at the door? I thought she was… gone.” The dining table fell silent for a moment. Then, my mother began to sob softly again. “She is. But just before she passed… she kept asking why. Why it wasn’t you in the avalanche. Why it wasn’t you who died.” Her words choked off into a sob. Leo sighed heavily. “We’re afraid her resentment might keep her here… she might try to harm you. It’s always better to be safe than sorry. We’ll be careful for now, and then find a good day to have a cleansing ritual performed for her.” I hugged my arms tight, my thoughts a tangled mess. Their explanation sounded plausible. And even though they had always favored Sherry, the concern they were showing me now was something I had only ever dreamed of. Sherry, on the other hand, had been my tormentor from the day I was welcomed—or rather, tolerated—back into this family. She was terrified of losing her parents’ affection, of going from princess to pauper overnight. The ski trip itself had been her idea; she’d specifically chosen the destination after learning I couldn’t ski or climb. Who was I supposed to believe? My father’s footsteps returned, accompanied by a string of curses. “Yep, the power’s out. We pay such high property management fees for what? Not even a backup generator. All they do is hand out candles.” He pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit four white candles. The wicks caught, casting an eerie, greenish glow. Leo’s face changed in an instant. He blew them all out in a single breath. “These candles are wrong! Dad, did the security guard hand these to you himself?” My father looked confused. “No, they were just sitting on the doorstep. If it wasn’t security, then who—?” He stopped mid-sentence. We’d had power outages before, but management had never distributed candles. Four candles. The exact number of people in this house. A shiver traced its way down my spine. Could it be… was Sherry’s ghost really here to torment us? Wait. If Sherry was right and my family’s bodies had been recovered, their names would be on the official list of victims. My phone was broken, but there was a laptop in Sherry’s bedroom. If I could just confirm who died, I could stop scaring myself. “I—I think I’m going to go to bed,” I said, pretending to be frightened as I stood up. “Lock your doors and windows, and don’t wander around. Call for us if you need anything,” my mother said, patting the back of my hand. Her palm was icy cold, the touch so chilling it jolted me. And it cleared my head. Their kindness… it felt too deliberate. Too forced. I could understand a change of heart after losing one daughter, but could it really be this sudden, this complete? I quickly locked myself in Sherry’s room. The laptop, however, hadn’t been used in ages and the battery was dead. I rubbed my throbbing temples. Just my luck. I’d have to wait for the power to come back on. I got up to close the window. The pale moonlight streamed into the room, casting my reflection on the glass. And behind me, standing in the darkest corner of the room, was Sherry. 4 “Ahhh—!” A scream tore from my throat, my mind blank with terror. My legs turned to jelly, refusing to move. I could only watch as Sherry crossed the room in two long strides and clamped a hand over my mouth. Her hand was devoid of any human warmth. Her clothes were soaking wet, as if she had just clawed her way out of an ice-filled crypt. Her eyes, stark white against black pupils, were wide and staring, practically pressed against my face. “Who are the people outside?” Sherry’s voice was flat and wooden, each word forced out. “Why do I hear Mom, Dad, and Leo?” I struggled frantically until she finally loosened her grip. I didn’t know how to answer. If my family’s story was true, and I admitted it was them outside, would Sherry remember she was dead and drag me down with her out of spite? But if I lied, how could I explain it? “Nora. Speak,” Sherry’s tone grew more menacing, her icy fingers tightening around my neck. But what if my parents’ story was the lie? What if Sherry was the real survivor? I had to take a chance. “Are you sure Mom, Dad, and Leo died in the avalanche?” I asked, turning her question back on her. Sherry’s brow furrowed in annoyance, a familiar habit whenever she had to deal with me. “Obviously. The rescue team dug them out themselves and filed the death certificates. How could it be fake?” she snapped. “I sent you the pictures. It’s hard to get a cab when you’re hauling three bodies, and it’s pouring rain out there. That’s why I asked you to pick me up. Were you just ignoring me on purpose?” The words tumbled out of her in a rush, and some color finally returned to her pale face. My heart rate began to slow, but my doubts weren’t completely gone. “If I didn’t pick you up, how did you get back? And why didn’t you use the front door? Why were you hiding in here?” Sherry stared at me, her eyes hollow. The vacant look sent a fresh wave of goosebumps across my skin. “You have the nerve to ask me that? I had to call a hearse from the crematorium to take them first before any taxi would even consider picking me up,” she said. “I got to the front door and heard Mom, Dad, and Leo talking, saying they couldn’t let me in. What kind of sick game are you playing, Nora? They’re dead!” Sherry shoved her phone in my face. The screen showed a call log to a local crematorium and a digital copy of the official victims’ list, with my parents’ and brother’s names clearly written. A crematorium wouldn’t just take bodies without verifying their identities. My mind went completely blank. Her story was just as plausible. But if she was telling the truth, then who were the three people outside? I stammered as I told her how my family had arrived before her, claiming that she was the one who had died in the avalanche. Sherry’s mouth fell open. Before she could speak, a loud, heavy banging echoed from the bedroom door. Knock-knock-knock-knock. Knock-knock-knock-knock. “Nora, was that you screaming? What’s happening in there?” It was my mother’s voice, laced with panic. Sherry’s face darkened instantly. She pressed a finger to her lips. “Don’t make a sound!” “People knock three times,” she whispered, her voice a ghostly breath. “Ghosts knock four.”

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I took my sister for a routine check-up, and we walked out with a Stage III cancer diagnosis. I decided to drain my entire savings account to pay for her treatment, but my fiancé, Mark, stopped me. “Let’s make a bet,” he said, his voice serious. “Pretend it’s you who’s sick. Let’s just see if your parents are willing to do the same for you.” On a strange impulse, I agreed. The moment my parents found out, their advice was swift and clear. “Honey, a disease like that is a bottomless pit,” my mom said, her voice laced with pity. “Sometimes, you just have to accept your fate.” “Your sister’s wedding is just around the corner,” my dad added. “We really can’t afford any extra expenses right now.” My eyes started to burn. 1 The moment I saw my sister’s test results, my hand started to shake. I couldn’t imagine how my parents would take the news. My sister, Tessa, was getting married in two weeks. Her life was just beginning. Fate has a cruel sense of humor. I forced myself to stay calm as I rushed home to grab my bank book. The doctor said it was treatable, but between the surgery and the chemo, it was going to be expensive. I had about fifty thousand dollars saved up—my down payment for a house. But a life was more important than a house. I was about to run out the door when a hand clamped down on my wrist. It was Mark. My eyes were red with panic. “Don’t stop me!” I cried, trying to pull away. “My sister needs this money to live!” Mark sighed, pulling me into a firm hug. “Taking the money out can wait five minutes. Just listen to me first.” He reached over my shoulder and produced a bank card. “There’s a hundred thousand dollars on this card. It’s the money my mom gave us for the wedding.” I stared at him, confused. “I’ll give it to you for Tessa’s treatment,” he said, his eyes filled with a complicated emotion I couldn’t read. “But first, you have to make a bet with me.” “Tell your parents that you’re the one who’s sick,” he said. “If they agree to spend the money to treat you, then this card is all yours for your sister. No strings attached.” What kind of bet was that? My parents had two daughters. They’d never played favorites. Whatever Tessa got, I got. It didn’t matter which one of us was sick; they would move heaven and earth for either of us. Mark was basically just giving me the money. But for Tessa, I agreed. A hundred thousand dollars would be a massive relief. I made a silent promise to myself to pay him back one day. “You’re on,” I said with a smirk. “Prepare to lose.” Mark’s gaze flickered away. He couldn’t meet my eyes. “I hope I do,” he murmured. At that moment, I had no idea how devastating his words would prove to be. 2 According to Mark’s rules, I had to record the conversation with my parents as proof. “No problem,” I’d said. I hit record on my phone before I even knocked. As I raised my hand, their voices drifted through the door. “Are you sure about giving Tessa that extra twenty thousand for the wedding?” my dad asked, his voice hesitant. “Do you think Maya will have a problem with it?” “If we don’t tell her, how will she know?” my mom replied confidently. “Besides, Maya and Tessa are different. Maya can pull ten or twenty grand out of her own account without blinking. The only people Tessa has to rely on are us.” Then I heard my sister’s sweet voice. “I knew you guys loved me the most!” I felt like I’d been rooted to the spot. A month ago, after Tessa’s fiancé’s family had come over to finalize wedding details, she had pulled me onto the porch, crying about how my parents couldn’t afford to give her a proper wedding gift, how she’d be shamed in front of her new in-laws. My heart broke for her. I went to the bank the next day and gave her ten thousand dollars from my savings. And now I was hearing that on top of my ten thousand, my parents had secretly given her another twenty? They had told me they could only afford to give her a few handmade quilts. My temples throbbed. I pushed the door open and walked in. “Hey guys. What was that about twenty thousand dollars?” 3 The living room went silent. The looks on their faces were a mixture of guilt and panic. My mom was the first to recover. “Oh, twenty thousand!” she laughed, a little too loudly. “Your sister was just saying that the things we’re giving her for the wedding are so special, she wouldn’t trade them for twenty thousand dollars.” Tessa nodded eagerly, grabbing my arm. “Yeah! Mom’s quilts are so soft and cozy. They’re priceless!” I frowned, my eyes drifting to my mom’s hands. She’d spent her life doing housework, her knuckles were rough, but I’d never once seen her sew. “Since when does Mom know how to make quilts?” Tessa’s smile froze on her face. She slowly let go of my arm. I stared at her, then at my parents, who were suddenly fascinated by the carpet. The small doubt in my mind sharpened into a painful spike. I walked towards Tessa’s room, each step feeling like I was walking on broken glass. I went straight to her closet and threw open the doors. 4 Inside, stacked neatly, were several beautiful quilts. They weren’t store-bought; they were made of a soft, pale pink fabric, with tiny, meticulous stitches along the edges. In the corner of one, her name, ‘Tessa,’ was delicately embroidered. I reached out and touched the fine needlework. And then I remembered: Tessa had always had quilts like these. When we were little, I’d begged for one just like hers, but my mom had always said Tessa’s were too heavy and mine were much more comfortable. So, all these years, my mom had been hand-making quilts just for her. And I had never noticed. My mom rushed in behind me. “Tessa has very sensitive skin,” she explained, her voice flustered. “She’s been allergic since she was a baby. The store-bought blankets have synthetic fibers, they give her a rash.” Her words were another stab to the heart. I’d had rashes my whole childhood. Red, itchy patches on my arms and legs that kept me up at night. My mom had always dismissed it as seasonal allergies. It wasn’t until I moved in with Mark, and he bought me a high-quality, hypoallergenic silk comforter, that the rashes finally went away. I’d thought it was just the change of environment. I finally understood. I had the same allergies as my sister. “Mom,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Did you know I was allergic too?” 5 “Alright, alright, our little girl is getting jealous,” my dad said, stepping in to break the tension. “Your mom will make you a new quilt tomorrow.” My mom muttered under her breath, “What for? She has money now, she can buy whatever she wants.” My dad shot her a look, and she went quiet. I took a deep breath, pushing down the hurt. “Mom, Dad,” I said, my voice steady. “I came here today to tell you that I’m sick. The treatment is going to cost a lot of money.” The smiles vanished from their faces. A chill ran down my spine, but I pressed on, clinging to a sliver of hope. “It’s late-stage cancer. You’re not going to just let me die, are you?” The air in the room felt thick enough to suffocate me. 6 My mom pulled out her phone, her fingers flying across the screen. “I’m looking it up online… it says here late-stage cancer can cost hundreds of thousands of dollars!” She looked up at me, her eyes filled not with sympathy, but with calculation. “What about Mark? His family is well-off. They won’t just abandon you. We really don’t have that kind of money.” My hand clenched the fabric of my dress. “He broke up with me,” I lied, my voice hollow. “The second he found out.” I saw the tension leave my father’s shoulders. My sister looked relieved. My mom grabbed my arm, her voice urgent. “Maya, you have to go back to him! You’ve been together for years, he still loves you. He’s a good person, he wouldn’t let you die!” Her next words were a punch to the gut. “Even if you’re really broken up, he owes you. Talk to him, get some money out of him. It’s better than nothing!” My own mother. My own family. They wouldn’t help me. They wanted me to go beg my “ex-boyfriend.” I turned to my sister, my last hope. 7 “Tessa,” I said, my voice shaking. “Your fiancé’s family gave you a thirty-thousand-dollar engagement gift, right?” If she offered it to me, I would give her all of my fifty thousand, right here, right now. But she recoiled as if I’d slapped her. “That’s my money! It’s for my future! How could you even ask for it?” Her face was pale, a stark contrast to her furious eyes. “Besides, with a disease like yours, it’s not a matter of if you die, but when!” The cruelty of her words was stunning. But it was her face… that same unusual pallor she’d had for weeks. She’d been crash-dieting for the wedding, eating almost nothing. I had been so worried about her that I had dragged her to the doctor for the check-up in the first place. I had been thinking only of them. And they had been thinking only of themselves. Why did my sister get handmade quilts? Why did she get twenty thousand dollars when they claimed to be broke? Why, when I was facing death, was their first reaction to protect their money? Tears welled up in my eyes. My phone buzzed in my pocket, a reminder from the real world. This wasn’t real. The person who was sick wasn’t me. 8 I finally found my voice, calm and distant. “Do you guys even love me? You have twenty thousand dollars for Tessa’s wedding, but nothing for my life?” My mother’s voice rose, shrill with indignation. “Of course we love you! Have you ever gone without food or clothing?” She pointed a finger at me. “Your sister is different! She needs our help! And here you are, being petty and jealous! You get sick, and the first thing you do is blame us? How can you be so selfish?” My father tried to calm her down, but she shook him off. “Even if I did give her the money, it’s our savings! She’s getting married, she needs to have something of her own! You have a good job, you have skills! Why can’t you figure this out for yourself?” In her eyes, my sister’s wedding was a priority. My life was “my own problem.” “If Tessa were the one who was sick,” I asked, cutting her off, “would you just watch her die, too?” My mother froze. But my sister exploded. “How dare you say that?!” SLAP. The sting on my cheek was sharp and shocking. “If I were sick,” she spat, her eyes blazing, “I would never be a burden to my family. Not everyone is as selfish as you are.” Good to know. 9 I stumbled out of the house and collapsed onto the curb, sobbing until I couldn’t breathe. It was all a lie. The idea that they loved us equally was a story they told me, a story I desperately wanted to believe. Their love was a pie, and my sister had always gotten the bigger slice. I remembered when I first started working. The stress gave me such bad anxiety that I developed painful cysts in my breasts. I called my parents, terrified, and they just told me I was being “too sensitive” and “overdramatic.” But when Tessa was diagnosed with mild anemia a few years later, my mother took a three-month nutrition course just to learn how to cook for her. Mark had joked about it then. “Your family really plays favorites, huh?” I’d gotten so angry at him, defending them. “Tessa’s always been fragile! Of course they worry about her more!” How stupid I had been. After what felt like an eternity, I finally pulled myself together. I remembered the report still in my bag. As much as I hated them in that moment, I couldn’t be as cruel as they were. They deserved to know the truth about their favorite daughter. I walked back to the house. As I approached the door, I heard their voices again. 10 “You shouldn’t have been so harsh with her,” my dad was saying. “She’s given us a lot of money over the years. We can’t afford to alienate her completely.” “How was I supposed to know she’d show up and start demanding Tessa’s wedding money?” my mom shot back. “Cancer is a money pit. Giving her cash is like throwing it into a black hole!” “You don’t get it!” my dad hissed. “She has savings. We play our cards right, we can get her to hand it all over. We could even buy Tessa a condo!” “But she’s angry now,” my mom fretted. “It’s easy,” my dad said, his voice dripping with cunning. “You call her, you cry, you tell her we’re going to sell the house to pay for her treatment. Get her to hand over her savings first. Then, it’s our money. Hell, we can even take out a life insurance policy on her. When she dies, Tessa will be set for life. It’s the least she can do for the family after all we’ve given her.” A wave of nausea washed over me. This conversation, this cold-blooded scheming, shattered the last remnants of my love for them. 11 I had pulled strings to get Tessa’s results back early. The doctor said with cancer, every day counts. But now? Who cares. I thought about all the times I had bailed Tessa out. The three thousand dollars she’d racked up on her credit card for a designer bag. The two thousand I’d given her for a custom wedding dress because the one she had wasn’t “special enough.” Mark had called me a doormat. He was right. I went home and texted Tessa. I told her I wanted my ten thousand dollars back. She didn’t reply. Minutes later, my phone rang. It was my mother. 12 “Maya, sweetie, I’m so sorry!” she wailed into the phone. “I was wrong, I said horrible things! We would never abandon you!” It was a pathetic, transparent performance. She wasn’t worried about me; she was worried about my money. “Your father and I had a long talk,” she continued, her voice thick with fake tears. “We’re selling the house. We’ll do whatever it takes to get you the best treatment. I’ve already called a realtor. We’ll have the money soon, I promise.” Then, the real question. “But Maya, just in case the house doesn’t sell right away… how much do you have saved up right now? We don’t want to delay your treatment.” I let a cold, dead smile spread across my face. “Mom, stop acting. I heard everything you said in the house. The plan to sell the house is just a scam to get my money. Let’s be honest. My life isn’t worth as much as your cash, is it?” The crying stopped instantly. 13 A few seconds of silence, then her voice, sharp and venomous. “What are you talking about? I think you’re the one who’s sick in the head! We try to help you, and this is the thanks we get?” “I’m not confused,” I said, my voice flat. “I heard you say you were going to ‘get me to hand over my savings.’ I heard you talking about the life insurance money after I die.” I finally asked the question that had been buried in my heart for years. “Why? Why her and not me? I’m your daughter too. Why was everything for her, and for me, you were just leeches, sucking me dry?” She was speechless. All I heard was the sound of something smashing in the background. “Fine! Have it your way! You’re so tough, you don’t need us! See who comes to your funeral!” My dad got on the line. “Maya, how could you speak to your mother like that? Apologize!” “Apologize?” I laughed, a bitter, broken sound. “Why should I apologize? For not being a good little sheep and letting you fleece me before you sent me to the slaughter?” My mother snatched the phone back. “We gave you life! You owe us! And if you’re going to die anyway, what’s wrong with us thinking about your sister’s future? You know what? Don’t call us. Don’t bother us. As of today, we don’t have a daughter named Maya!” 14 The line went dead. Mark came out of the bedroom, his face etched with a mixture of pity and anger. “You won,” I whispered. “I told you,” he said, pulling me into his arms. “I would have given anything to lose.” And then I broke. All the years of suppressed pain, of feeling second-best, of being used and unloved, came pouring out in a flood of tears. “Why don’t they love me?” I sobbed into his chest. “They’re blind fools,” he said, holding me tight. “But I see you. I love you. Ten times, a hundred times more than they ever could.” He pulled back and pressed the bank card into my hand. “Tomorrow, we’re going house hunting. We’re buying a place, in your name. You’re going to have your own home.” Through my tears, I managed a small smile. Then, a thought struck me. “You knew, didn’t you?” I asked. “You knew they wouldn’t help me.” He sighed. “Sometimes, when you’re in the picture, you can’t see the frame.” I finally understood.

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The year he loved me most, Julian Astor swore he’d die before his mother would let our engagement fall through. That was the same year he begged me to marry him. And now, he’s the one bringing his cousin into our lives, insisting she move in with us—on the same day we get married. Just before the wedding, Julian had the nerve to call and lay down the law. “Clara’s had a tough life,” he said, his voice smooth and commanding. “Letting her live with us is already a step down for her pride. On the wedding day, my driver will pick her up first and bring her to the estate. You just be a good girl, Nora. Don’t make a scene.” What Julian didn’t know was that I had already called the whole thing off with his mother. Tomorrow, I’m leaving New York for good. As for who gets picked up first, Clara or some other girl, it has nothing to do with me anymore. en I went to the Astor’s penthouse on Fifth Avenue to officially end things, his mother, Eleanor Astor, asked me, “Nora, are you absolutely sure about this?” I just nodded. “You understand,” she continued, her voice sharp but not unkind, “once you walk away from the Astors, even if you’re not the one at fault, breaking into this circle again, finding someone of a… comparable stature… will be next to impossible.” I met her gaze, my own unwavering. After I signed the papers dissolving the prenuptial agreement, she sighed and had her head of household, Mrs. Gable, show me out. Mrs. Gable took me the long way, past the rooftop conservatory. Tucked away in a corner were two faint, worn patches on the expensive turf, completely out of place with the rest of the manicured perfection. I couldn’t help but stare. Mrs. Gable’s eyes misted over. “I still remember it,” she said softly. “Three years ago. Mr. Julian knelt right there, begging Mrs. Astor to let him marry you. She wouldn’t budge, so he stayed out here for three days and nights. No food, no water. We thought we were going to lose him.” I froze, the memory hitting me like a physical blow. 2yents were entrepreneurs—new money. I was a “business girl.” Julian was an Astor, the heir to a fortune that was practically American royalty. Our worlds weren’t supposed to mix. But when I was seven, my parents and I were at the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, and through a crazy turn of events, I helped a lost little boy find his security detail. That boy was Julian. After that, he never really left me alone. Seven-year-old Julian was a cherubic kid in a tiny cashmere coat. The man he grew into was devastatingly charming. To say I didn’t fall for him would be a lie. But loving him was one thing. Marrying into his world was another. Julian knew my fears. He promised I would be his wife, his equal. When his mother objected, he staged that dramatic protest on their Hamptons lawn. I remember seeing him in his bed afterward, pale, his lips cracked, looking like a fragile porcelain doll. He was barely conscious, but he leaned his head on my shoulder and whispered, “Nora, my mother agreed. She finally agreed.” His voice was weak, but his eyes were shining. “You’re going to be my wife. My only one.” The sky was full of stars that night, but none of them burned as brightly as the smile on his face. A universe of stars that I’ll never see again. 3 MG was about to say more when the sound of laughter echoed from the hallway. Not far off, Julian was playing a game of tag with Clara among the modern sculptures. They were so caught up they didn’t see us. In a clumsy, playful lunge, Julian grabbed Mrs. Gable from behind, thinking she was Clara. “Gotcha!” he teased, his voice husky. Then he pulled off his blindfold. His grin vanished when he saw Mrs. Gable’s stony, unamused face. Clara, with her perfect timing, rushed over, pouting. “Julian, you found me!” Mrs. Gable had clearly had enough of her act. “Mrs. Astor was very clear,” the housekeeper said, her voice dripping with ice. “The young lady is not to act improperly with the master of the house before she is formally a guest. She instructed me to discipline Miss Clara on her behalf. A stern verbal warning is in order.” Before Julian could process it, Mrs. Gable delivered a verbal dressing-down so sharp and precise it was more humiliating than a slap. Clara’s face went from pale to crimson. Then, Clara’s tear-filled eyes landed on me. She immediately crumpled to the floor. “Nora,” she sobbed, “it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have stolen your thunder, moving in on the same day. If you hate me, you should have just said so! Why did you have to run to Mrs. Astor and have her… have her servant huliate mlike this? I may not have much, but I still have my pride! This is just cruel!” Julian spun on me. “Nora, what are you even doing here? You should be at home, getting ready for the wedding.” Before I could answer, Clara dramatically lurched towards a marble column as if to hit her head, then swayed and collapsed in a heap. “Are you happy now?!” Julian shot at me. He gave me a hard shove, then rushed to Clara’s side, cradling her. “Somebody! Get my security! Use my card to get Dr. Andrews from his private practice over here, now!” The hallway was decorated with a large, brutalist metal sculpture with wickedly sharp edges. Julian had pushed me right against it. A sharp pain made me hiss. “Miss, you’re bleeding,” Mrs. Gable said, alarmed. Julian’s gaze flickered to my right hand. The palm was sliced open, a messy combination of blood and mangled skin. He hesitated, a flash of concern in his eyes, but before he could speak, Clara moaned from his arms. “I know… I’ll never be lucky like Nora… marrying a man like you, Julian,” she whispered, as if delirious. “To die in your arms… I have no regrets.” Whatever softness was in Julian’s face hardened instantly. He looked back at me, his voice laced with contempt. “It’s just a little blood, stop being so dramatic. Clara’s life is on the line and she hasn’t made a sound. Your little tricks for attention are pathetic, Nora. I’m starting to find you disgusting.” “Mr. Julian, you will watch your tone!” Mrs. Gable snapped. “Mrs. Gable, I respect you because you helped raise me, but don’t forget your place. I am the heir to this family, and you are staff!” He didn’t notice the faint, triumphant smile that touched Clara’s lips as she lay “unconscious” in his arms. Before he left, Julian lowered his voice to a menacing whisper. “This is the last time. If you ever mess with Clara again, I swear to God, I’ll call off this wedding myself.” “Sir, you don’t understand, Miss Nora came to see your mother to—” Mrs. Gable blurted out, trying to defend me. I shook my head slightly, signaling her to stop. I knew Julian. It was all or nothing with him. If I told him I was the one ending it, he’d just see it as another power play, another move in a game against Clara. What was the point? Besides, when I met with his mother, she signed the papers, but she didn’t give them to me. “Nora,” she’d said, “I know your mind is made up. But please, for my sake, give my son one last chance. Indulge an old woman’s foolish hope.” So, we made a bet. A seven-day bet. To see if Julian would notice, truly notice, that was gting ready to leave his life forever. When we made the wager, Mrs. Gable had been so sure. “Seven days? Miss, he’s a sharp one. He’ll figure it out in one.” Now, Julian stared at me suspiciously. “What did you need to see my mother for?” “To complain,” I said flatly. As the word left my mouth, I felt the familiar heat rise in my ears. Mrs. Gable saw it instantly in the afternoon light, her expression turning hopeful. Lying always made my ears turn bright red. It was a dead giveaway. Back when he was still trying to win me over, Julian would catch me in a fib and just stare at my glowing ears with a knowing smirk. “You know your ears turn red when you lie, right, Nora?” he’d say. I’d get flustered and try to run, but he’d corner me under the cherry trees in the Brooklyn otanic Garden, cherry blossoms falling around us like snow. He’d lean in, his voice low and serious. “Nora. I’m in love with you.” After we got engaged, he loved telling people my quirks. How I loved the cannolis from that little bakery in Little Italy, how I was terrified of eating fish after choking on a bone as a kid, and how my ears always betrayed me when I lied. He’d told the story so many times that even Mrs. Gable could spot my lie from a mile away. But Julian, the man who claimed to know me best, just scoffed. “Complain? That’s so childish. God, Nora, sometimes I really regret fighting so hard to marry you.” He turned his back on me without another glance, carrying Clara away down the hall. I watched him go, a bitter taste filling my mouth. My heart felt like it was being squeezed and torn apart, a million tiny pinpricks of pain. Even though I had prepared myself for this, hearing those words from him still hurt more than I could bear. Mrs. Gable stamped her foot in frustration. “Idiot! Complete and utter fool! How could Mrs. Astor have raised such a blind fool? Are we sure he wasn’t switched at birth?” She muttered to herself, trying to salvage the situation. “Don’t you worry, miss. Don’t you worry. There are still six days left. There’s time! There’s time!” I let out a small, humorless laugh. A breeze swept through the conservatory. Petals swirled in the air. I reached out and caught one. The flowers were just as beautiful this year. What a waste. 4 My bet wilr Astor had stakes. If she won, I’d tear up the annulment papers and marry Julian. If she lost, she’d grant me one favor a day. Day one, she lost. My request was for a vial of the Seraphina Serum. It was a legendary, custom-compounded formula from a private clinic in Switzerland, famous for its regenerative properties. One course of treatment, and they said your skin would be flawless, scars vanished. Hearing my request, Mrs. Gable assumed I was finally going to fight for Julian’s affection. She was practically giddy when she delivered it to my apartment. “If you really put your mind to it, miss, that Clara doesn’t stand a chance against you. Not even for a second.” Then she saw the raw, gaping wound on my palm, and her excitement turned to horror. “Oh, dear child. That must have hurt so terribly.” I managed a small smile. “It’s better that it hurts. The pain helps you remember.” After she left, I called my assistant. “Take this to Catherine Sheffield,” I instructed. “Go to the service entrance. Knock three times. Make sure you hand it directly to Catherine herself, no one else.” The serum was for Catherine. She’s three years older than me, a kind, brilliant woman who once defended me when some society snobs were making fun of my “new money” background. But she married the wrong man. That bastard from the Sheffield family was cheating on her openly with his assistant. Three days ago, Catherine was violently mugged coming out of a charity event. Her husband? He was “out of town” with his mistress and didn’t eve bother to come back. Catherine survived, but the attack left a deep, ugly scar across her cheek. Before this, she was known as the most beautiful woman in Manhattan. The Seraphina Serum was meant for her. 5 On the second,ent to my shops downtown early. My family’s business consisted of about a hundred retail properties—some my parents left me, and a few Julian had given me as gifts. I’d already found buyers for my parents’ properties. The ones from Julian were trickier: two bakeries, a designer clothing boutique, a high-end cosmetics shop, and a custom jewelry store. The cosmetics shop, in particular, was a gold mine. My plan was simple: sell the property deeds to the current store managers, who I trusted, and transfer the money back to the Astor family account. The deals for the bakery, jewelry, and clothing stores went smoothly. But when I got to the cosmetics shop, I ran into Clara. Her forehead was smooth, a touch of pink highlighter at her brow bone. Not a scratch on her. When the manager, Mr. Shaw, greeted me as “the owner,” she let out a derisive laugh. “Owner? Please. We all know you just sweet-talked my cousin into giving you one of the best retail spots in the city.” Mr. Shaw, ever the professional, simply smiled and politely escorted her out. After we finalized the contract, he paused before signing. “Ms. Vance,” he asked, his eyes sharp, “when you leave the city, are you heading to the West Coast, by any chance?” I was surprised. “How did you know I was going to California?” “I’m not blind, ma’am. A few days ago, I saw you arranging for two large shipping containers. The manifest listed a month’s worth of personal supplies and several crates of… artisan textiles. Out of all the markets in the country, that specific style does best out west. It was just a guess.” “You’re right. I’m leaving New York to start a new business there.” “Forgive me for being blunt, but I don’t believe you. Your New York network is your lifeblood. You wouldn’t liquidate everything just to expand. I’m not a genius, but I’m loyal. Please, when you go, take me with you.” “Why? Isn’t business good here in New York?” I asked, genuinely confused. By my estimates, his appointment book was full for the next three months. “I have someone… a fiancée… in California,” he said, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “I’ve been in love with her for a long time. It took me ten years to save up enough to finally propose and feel worthy of her. The drive across the country is long and hard. A direct move with your resources would be much easier. I’d be happy to work for you there.” I looked at him. “And would you, after getting engaged, invite your cousin to come live with you and your fiancée?” He looked horrified. “What? Of course not! I’m marrying into her family. If I triedo pl a stunt like that, her brothers would probably bury me in the desert!” He looked down, embarrassed by his outburst. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll take you with me. Be ready to leave in six days.” When I got back to my apartment, Julian was there, sipping a whiskey. He scowled when he saw me. “Our wedding is in six days,” he snapped. “And you’re out all day, running around town with other men. What is that supposed to look like?” “After I marry into your family, I won’t be able to manage these businesses personally. The managers have been excellent, so I decided to sell the properties to them. It saves the Astor family any potential embarrassment.” Julian stared at me, his eyes fixed on my ears. They were burning hot. They must have been beet red. I felt a pang of panic. Did he see? Did he finally realize I was lying to him? 6 He hesitated for a nhen reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. Inside was a pair of stunning ruby and diamond earrings, shaped like butterfly wings. “Here. These are for you.” I took the box and set it on the table without opening it. His face tightened with anger. “Clara begged me for those for weeks, and I didn’t give them to her. I give them to you, and you act like they’re nothing. Nora, there’s a limit to how much you can sulk!” He had forgotten. I don’t have pierced ears. I never wear earrings. Sensing he had the upper hand, he pressed his advantage. “Where’s the deed to that cosmetics shop on the west side? Give it to me. Clara doesn’t have much of a trust fund. If she moves into the estate with nothing to her name, people will talk.” “But everyone in New York knows you gave me that shop as an engagement present,” I said, my voice dangerously quiet. “Giving it to Clara as a ‘welcome to the family’ gift… that’s what will make peoplealk.” Why do you have to be so petty, Nora? It’s just one property! Besides, I gave it to you, which means I have the right to decide who gets it! If my mother hadn’t put a limit on my monthly allowance, you think I’d be here asking you for it?” “Well, you’re too late. I already sold the deed to the manager. The money has been wired to your family’s account. If you want it, you’ll have to ask your mother.” “You did this on purpose,” he snarled, his eyes flashing. “You went to my mother to make Clara look bad, didn’t you?” “If that’s what you want to believe, fine,” I said, my exhaustion hitting me like a wall. “I’m tired. Rose, please show Mr. Astor out.” Julian, convinced I had done it all just to spite Clara, stormed out, muttering under his breath. Before he left, he snatched the jewelry box off the table. “If you don’t want them,” he spat, “I know someone who will.” Because of our bet, Eleanor Astor had people keeping tabs on us. The moment Julian left my building, a report was sent to her. On the second day, she lost again. This time, my prize was simple: I asked her to forgive my “presumptuousness” in selling the properties without consulting her fi

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Three days ago, Paul bought me an engagement ring. Last night, at the birthday party of the woman he never got over, he knelt and slid that same ring onto Crystal’s finger. It was too loose. When she curled her fingers, it fell and clattered to the floor. In the video, Paul’s face flushed with embarrassment. He picked it up, voice thick with rehearsed emotion: “Crystal, I’m still waiting for you. Come back to me.” He even squeezed out a few pathetic tears—a performance worthy of an award. My drama-loving best friend spammed me with the videos, adding: “Lol, isn’t it hilarious? The guy you chased for eight years is acting like her lapdog.” Her words were pure salt in the wound. She wasn’t wrong. The boy I’d have shielded from any harm was groveling at another woman’s feet. Every year I loved him, he spent begging for her. That ring was my last hope for us. Now, he’d used it to propose to her. I took a slow breath, and the knot in my chest finally loosened. I typed back calmly: “Who’s Paul? I don’t know him.” … Paul and I grew up together. He was my ideal—quiet, steady, grounded. Chasing him for eight years had been an exhausting marathon. Then, three days ago, he came home reeking of whiskey, pulled me into an uncharacteristically tight embrace, and whispered in my ear, “Let’s get engaged. We’ll pick out a ring tomorrow.” To say I was ecstatic would be an understatement. Tears streamed down my face, hot and unstoppable. That night, Paul was different. The usual rough, perfunctory intimacy was replaced with a slow, lingering tenderness. As his breathing grew ragged against my neck, he began to murmur a name, over and over. “Crystal… Crystal…” My heart seized. My body, which had been moving in sync with his, went completely still. My eyes flew open in the darkness. He thought I was her. In the most intimate moment a couple can share, the man I loved was calling out another woman’s name. There is no greater humiliation. The love was a lie. The tenderness was a lie. In his eyes, I was nothing more than a convenient stand-in, a body to use when the one he truly wanted was unavailable. I spent the rest of that night with cold, silent tears tracking into my pillow. The next morning, Paul was in high spirits, completely oblivious to the arctic chill emanating from my side of the bed. He went about his routine—showering, dressing, whistling a tune. Before he left, he leaned in, a bright smile on his face. “Aria, meet me after work. We’ll go pick out that ring.” He sealed the promise with a lingering kiss on my forehead. Looking at him then, he was still the man I had loved for so long. Time had been kind to him, leaving no trace of the years on his handsome face. Maybe getting engaged means he’s finally ready to move on, I told myself, a desperate internal monologue. He’s trying to let go of Crystal, right? I forced a smile onto my face, trying to inject some life into my numb features. But reality has a way of slapping you back to your senses when you least expect it. Watching that video now—Paul’s adoring gaze, the ring on Crystal’s finger—the whole thing felt like a sick joke. That ring was a one-of-a-kind custom piece, registered to his ID. A man could only ever order one. I remembered him leaning over the counter, meticulously discussing details with the jeweler. At the time, it had looked like pure devotion. I had even tried to haggle over the price, but Paul had waved it off with uncharacteristic ease. “No need. We’ll take it.” Of course he was quick to pay. It was never meant for me. I started packing a suitcase, my mind replaying our history. Except, it wasn’t my suitcase. It was his. The apartment was in my name. For years, he had been a freeloader, never contributing a dime to rent, utilities, or groceries. He’d been shameless, and I’d been a fool. It was time for him to go. I threw all of his belongings into a cardboard box and left it by the door. On top, I tossed the cheap teddy bear he’d won for me at a carnival five years ago for my birthday. It had cost him maybe five dollars. It’s strange how love works. When you’re in it, even the most worthless trinket feels like a treasure. When it’s gone, the most precious memories just look like clutter. Paul hadn’t sent me a single message. My friend, on the other hand, had sent dozens, each one a little jab of pity-laced schadenfreude. I ignored her and sent Paul one final text: “Engagement’s off. We’re done.” Then, I began the purge. Block on social media, delete contact. Block number, delete from call history. I even changed my privacy settings to prevent him from adding me again. If I was going to be ruthless, I was going to do it right. Wednesday. A normal workday. As a seasoned corporate drone, the crushing pressure and frantic pace of my job were a welcome distraction. There was no time to wallow. The office was buzzing with unusual energy. My colleague and best friend, Chloe, saw me and expertly slid her chair over to my desk, handing me a beautifully wrapped box of chocolates. “Wedding favors from the marketing team next door,” she said. “Everyone got one.” Then she nudged her phone toward me, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You have to see this.” Chloe and I had been through college and the corporate trenches together. We were battle-hardened best friends. She knew every sordid detail of the Aria-Paul-Crystal love triangle. I opened the message. It was a photo of Crystal getting into a Porsche with an older, balding, and distinctly sleazy-looking man. They looked very familiar with each other. Chloe explained that she’d snapped the picture last night. The man was nouveau riche, his family having made millions when their neighborhood was bought out for redevelopment. He was a known quantity in their old neighborhood. The implication was clear: Crystal was a gold-digger, playing the innocent maiden to keep Paul on a string while she chased after real money. “Paul is such an idiot,” Chloe seethed, fiercely protective. “He can’t tell a good person from a snake.” I just smiled, closed my phone, and handed her the work files I’d prepared. “Forget it. Let’s get to work.” A month ago, this news would have sent me into a spiral of vengeful glee. The irony of Paul making a heartfelt declaration to a woman who was simultaneously being wined and dined by her sugar daddy was almost poetic. But now… I didn’t care. Her life was her problem. Our company had just landed a massive client, and the entire marketing department was drowning in overtime. The only break we got was a brief lunch. On my way to the restroom, I ran into Crystal. In college, she was a year below me in the same program. Paul first saw her when he came to find me at a networking event. He’d told me then, with a desperate, pleading look in his eyes, that he had never felt this way about anyone before. He begged me to help him, or he would regret it for the rest of his life. So, in a moment of noble, self-sacrificing stupidity, I gave him her number. A few days later, they were “official” on social media. Now, we worked in the same building. I was on the fifth floor, she was on the second. For her to come all the way up to my floor to use the restroom… her motive was painfully obvious. The moment she saw me, her neutral expression sharpened into a look of smug superiority. As I stepped toward the restroom door, she shoved past me. “I was here first,” she sneered. “Get out.” I couldn’t be bothered to argue with an animal. But then she brought up the ring. “Paul gave me a ring at my party yesterday.” She pulled it from her pocket, her smile twisting into something ugly. “It’s a little loose, though. I can’t really wear it. You want it?” She dangled it in front of my face. “The quality is a bit cheap, but for you… it’s probably just right.” This was her victory lap. It wasn’t the first time she’d gloated. I remained calm, about to deliver a retort, when a voice boomed from the doorway. “Did someone take a dump in here? Why does it smell so bad?” It was Chloe. She marched right up to Crystal, theatrically sniffing the air around her. Then she turned to me with a look of mock discovery. “Aria, I found it! It’s the smell of two-faced bullshit!” Crystal’s face contorted with rage, and she raised a hand to strike Chloe. I caught her wrist in a vise-grip, my voice dropping low and sharp. “You want to get physical? You’re not even worth the effort. Since you clearly never learned any manners, let me teach you a lesson.” I leaned in close to her ear and whispered, “By the way, that ring? It is trash. And trash is the perfect accessory for a girl like you.” Her wrist turned red under my grip, but I didn’t let go. Mercy to your enemies is cruelty to yourself. Crystal, accustomed to always getting her way, was stunned by my aggression. She struggled, calling me a psycho, a monster. I just thought to myself how exhausting it was to always be the bigger person. Sometimes, being the villain was so much more fun. Chloe snorted, linked her arm through mine, and we swaggered out. “I can’t stand her,” she fumed. “That felt so damn good! One minute she’s playing the innocent victim with Paul, the next she’s letting some old creep paw at her. Girl’s got an appetite, I’ll give her that.” I laughed, a real laugh this time. “My appetite’s pretty good too,” I quipped. “But for eight years, I chose to eat garbage.” Crystal must have run crying to Paul. The second I walked out of the office building that evening, he was there, blocking my path, his face a thundercloud. “Aria, what is the meaning of this?” he demanded, his fingers digging painfully into my arm. I almost laughed. What a devoted knight in shining armor, rushing to defend his damsel’s honor. It was pathetic. And even more pathetic was the fact that I had loved this man for eight years. Eight whole years. “I have nothing to say to you,” I said, my voice devoid of the warmth he was used to. “We’re done.” The ring had been the final straw. Paul’s brow was furrowed, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion. A rough stubble was starting to appear on his chin, a sign of neglect for a man who was usually so meticulously groomed. His grip on my arm didn’t loosen, and my patience snapped. “Paul, we’re adults,” I said, my voice sharp. “You have the right to chase your own happiness. And so do I. I’ll admit, you gave me hope. But do you know what’s worse than having no hope? It’s the crushing despair that comes after it’s snatched away. If you don’t love me, stop pretending!” The words poured out of me, eight years of frustration and quiet humiliation finally given a voice. I had followed him, worshipped him, made him the center of my universe. Even when Crystal came along, I had maintained my dignity, my respect. I remembered his birthday, how I’d shown up at his dorm with a cake I’d spent all day baking, only to find him locked in a passionate embrace with Crystal. He had pulled away, his face glowing, and rested his forehead against hers. Crystal had seen me, and with a sickeningly sweet smile, took the cake from my hands. “Wow, Paul always said you were an amazing baker, Aria! I’m so lucky. I’m so clumsy, I can’t do anything right.” I don’t remember much else, except for the adoring look in Paul’s eyes as he gazed at her, gently stroking her hair. He never once thanked me. Instead, he looked at Crystal and said, “If you like it, I’ll have Aria make you one every day.” The jealousy had been real. The feeling of being worthless had been real. He had treated me like a personal chef, a maid, someone who should be grateful for his scraps of attention. I was done with that life. Paul looked as if I had physically struck him. His face went pale, the light in his eyes dimming. His lips parted, but no words came out. We stood there in a tense stalemate for several minutes until Crystal emerged from the building. “Paul, darling! You came to pick me up!” she trilled, loud enough for everyone in the vicinity to hear. Marking her territory. How amusing. When she saw me, her sunny expression clouded over. She sagged against Paul’s shoulder, dabbing at her eyes with a delicate, practiced motion. “Paul, Aria was so horrible to me today. She said the ring you gave me was ugly… that it was trash… It hurt my feelings so much, knowing it was a gift from your heart…” For a moment, I was struck by her sheer stupidity. She knew it was a gift from him, but she had no idea it was supposed to have been my engagement ring. At the mention of the ring, Paul’s head snapped up. A flicker of realization crossed his face, and the hardness in his eyes softened. “Aria…” he began, his voice trembling. “I… I…” He only ever called me by that nickname during our most intimate moments. It used to make me feel special. Now, it just sounded grating. If it weren’t for those videos, I might still be lost in the fantasy of our life together. Paul, I thought with a grim sense of finality, you really took me for a complete fool. Crystal tried to continue her performance, but Paul was unresponsive, lost in his own thoughts. She tugged at his sleeve, desperate for his attention. I turned to leave, just as a black Mercedes G-Wagen pulled up smoothly to the curb. The passenger window rolled down, and a two-liter bottle of iced green tea came flying out, thrown with considerable force. It missed Crystal’s head by inches. What a pity. Amidst Crystal’s shriek of surprise and Paul’s stunned silence, Chloe, sitting in the driver’s seat with a pair of dark sunglasses, yelled, “Get in!” After only a moment’s hesitation, I grinned. “You got it!” I hopped into the passenger seat, buckled up, and with a roar of the engine, we sped away. In the rearview mirror, I saw Crystal stomping her foot in fury. And Paul… Was he watching me?

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The year I was paralyzed, my husband cleaned out our bank accounts and ran. Before he left, he asked our son and daughter who they wanted to go with. Ryan, my son, chose him without a moment’s hesitation. My daughter, Emily, chose to stay and take care of me. I was paralyzed for twelve years. Emily took care of me for twelve years. Even after she got married, she kept me with her. To pay for my medical bills, she worked three jobs a day, collapsing from exhaustion more than once. Her husband, Mark, couldn’t take it anymore. “If you keep taking care of that cripple mother of yours, we’re getting a divorce!” Emily divorced him without a second thought. Her devotion went viral, and she was hailed online as “America’s Most Devoted Daughter.” Everyone envied me for having a daughter like her. Until the old family property was bought out by a developer, and I received an eight-million-dollar check. But I transferred every last cent to Ryan, the son who had gone with his father. The internet erupted, calling me a monster, a misogynist who favored her son. A journalist found me. “You’ve been paralyzed for twelve years. Your son never visited you once, while your daughter stood by you, took on mountains of debt for you. Why wouldn’t you leave her a single penny?” I looked at the reporter and said calmly, “Install hidden cameras in my home. Livestream everything, secretly, for three days. Then you’ll know why.” 1 As soon as the micro-cameras were installed, the secret livestream began. Emily came home from work, dark circles under her eyes, and walked wearily to my bedside to clean me up. Seeing the mess I’d made, there wasn’t a trace of disgust in her eyes, only heartache and guilt. “Mom, did you have an upset stomach last night?” She gently brushed the stray, graying hairs from my forehead, blaming herself. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been so exhausted from work lately, I slept too heavily. I forgot to get up in the middle of the night to make sure you were covered. You must have been miserable all night…” I watched her in silence. The live feed’s comment section, however, was exploding with emotion. “OMG, this daughter is an actual saint. She just got off work, sees this, and her first reaction is to blame herself.” “Right? If I came home to that after a long day, I’d lose my mind.” “No wonder they call her the most devoted daughter. I’m literally crying right now.” Emily, oblivious to the cameras, tried to shift my weight, wanting to get me into the bathroom for a bath. But she was too tired. She strained with all her might but couldn’t manage to lift me from the bed. Just then, there was a knock at the door. Emily opened it to find Ryan standing there. Her eyes widened slightly. “What are you doing here?” Ryan slouched in, all swagger. “Mom gave me eight million bucks. Dad said I should crash here for a few days, you know, for appearances. Stop the neighbors from talking.” He squeezed past her into the apartment. Emily was too drained to argue. “Fine. Then make yourself useful. Help me get Mom into the bathroom. I need to give her a bath.” Ryan glanced over, his face twisting in disgust. “Gross. It smells like a hospital in here. I’m not touching her.” Emily’s brow furrowed. “Ryan, Mom just gave you all eight million dollars from the buyout. You can’t even be bothered to help lift her?” He scoffed. “She gave it to me. Her choice. Don’t try to guilt-trip me.” Emily sighed. “I respect whatever Mom decides. She gave you all that money because she wants you to settle down, find a wife, and build a good life.” Her voice softened. “I just hope you don’t let her down. Don’t break her heart.” Ryan’s expression was pure contempt. “Emily, she’s a paralyzed old woman. Why do you waste so much time thinking about her feelings?” “Taking care of her is a waste of your life.” “Honestly, it would be better if she just died.” The comments section went into a frenzy. “WHAT?! What kind of son is this? Cursing his own mother to her face?” “And this is the kind of trash son the mother dotes on! Eight million dollars! Didn’t even blink, just handed it all to this monster!” “I don’t get it. Her daughter is drowning in debt for her, lost her marriage for her, and gets nothing. This isn’t just favoritism, it’s brain-dead!” “She ignores the daughter who is a total gem to spoil this inhuman piece of garbage. A preference for sons so toxic it’s no wonder she ended up paralyzed!” 2 In the end, Ryan didn’t help. It took Emily over an hour to get me cleaned up. She was drenched in sweat, but still, she carefully dressed me in fresh clothes and settled me into my wheelchair. “Mom, you must be hungry. I’ll go make you dinner.” She almost fainted as she stood up, the fatigue overwhelming her. But she just paused for a few seconds, steadied herself, and pushed on into the kitchen. A short while later, she emerged with a beautiful meal: pan-seared fish, a slow-braised beef, sautéed greens, and a steaming pot of chicken soup. Emily placed the food in front of me, then ladled a spoonful of soup, blew on it carefully to cool it, and brought it to my lips. “Mom, I went to a farm out in the country to get a fresh chicken for this soup. It was always your favorite. Here, try some.” I turned my head away. “I don’t want it,” I said, my voice cold. Her eyes filled with worry. “Mom, your stomach is already upset. If you don’t eat something, you’ll get weaker.” I looked at her, my tone just as detached. “I don’t have an appetite.” Then, my gaze shifted to Ryan, who was sprawled on the couch, scrolling on his phone. My voice softened. “Ryan, honey. Mom wants that piece of cake on the coffee table.” He didn’t even look up. “I bought that for myself. If you want some, wheel yourself down to the store and buy your own.” Emily shot her brother a glare, then turned back to me, her voice gentle. “Mom, just eat your dinner first. After you eat, I’ll go out and buy you a cake, okay?” I shook my head stubbornly, refusing to even look at the food she’d made. The comment section was a battlefield. “Is this old woman insane? She won’t eat the incredible meal her daughter made but wants the cake her son won’t even give her?” “I thought she was just biased, but this is next-level sick. The way he treats her, and she’s still fawning over him?” “I feel so bad for her daughter. All that work for nothing. She cooks this whole feast and her mom won’t even glance at it.” “This is disgusting. The more I watch, the more I realize the mother is the real monster here.” 3 The first day of the livestream ended. The feed was a waterfall of insults directed at me. The next day, Emily got home a little earlier than usual. She was carrying a small, elegant box from a bakery. Inside was a strawberry shortcake. “Mom, you wanted cake yesterday, remember? I stopped on my way home to get this for you. Your favorite, strawberry. Please, have a piece.” She held the cake out to me, her eyes shining with hopeful anticipation. I glanced at it, my voice flat. “I don’t want it anymore.” A shadow of disappointment and pain crossed her face, but she forced a smile. “Okay. Well, what would you like to eat? I can make you anything.” I gave her a cold look. “I don’t want anything you make.” With that, I maneuvered my wheelchair, intending to get some air on the balcony. As I came out of the bedroom, I ran right into Ryan, who was walking with his head down, engrossed in a game on his phone. The phone clattered to the floor. He exploded. “Damn it! That was a critical team fight! You made me get killed! It was a promotion match!” He snatched the phone off the floor and, in a fit of rage, kicked my wheelchair. Hard. The chair lurched violently, tipping to one side. “Mom!” Emily screamed and threw herself forward, using her body to shield me and stop the chair from toppling completely. The metal frame scraped her arm, opening a gash deep enough to see bone. Blood gushed out. But she ignored the pain. After steadying me, she turned on her brother, her voice shaking with fury. “Ryan, you could have seriously hurt Mom!” He shot me a dirty look. “She’s a paralytic. It’s not like she can feel pain. What are you getting so worked up about?” “This is such crap. Another ranked match lost,” he muttered, storming into his room to resume his game. Emily, still shaken, checked me over from head to toe. Once she was sure I was unharmed, she finally tended to her own injury, then began inspecting the wheelchair he had kicked. She found a loose latch. Immediately, she got out a toolbox and spent the rest of the night carefully tightening bolts and reinforcing the frame. In the livestream chat, the fury was relentless. “I’m sobbing. Where do you find a daughter like this? Her arm is sliced open, and all she can think about is her mother’s safety.” “And for what? A mother who is blind and heartless. What a waste.” “Seriously, is this woman’s heart made of stone? After everything her daughter does for her, she treats her with such coldness?!” “You know what they say, pitiful people have a reason to be hated. This mother’s favoritism is so off the charts, she deserves to be paralyzed!” “This is suffocating to watch. Emily, please, just leave! This mother and brother aren’t worth it!” The stream was a torrent of condemnation. Even the journalist called me. “Is this what you wanted? This three-day secret livestream? Do you have any idea what people are saying about you?” he demanded. “Your daughter has done everything for you. You’re just setting yourself up to be hated.” I glanced at Emily in the living room, silently cleaning and bandaging her own wound. “There’s one day left,” I said quietly. “Then you’ll all understand everything.” 4 The morning of the third day, Emily came into my room as usual as soon as she woke up. “Mom, how are you feeling today? Is your appetite any better?” she asked softly, her hands expertly checking my circulation. I didn’t answer, just gave a brief, flat glance at her bandaged arm. Blood was still seeping through the gauze. When I remained silent, she began her routine, massaging my limbs and moving my joints to prevent muscle atrophy. Her touch was gentle, as if she were handling a priceless treasure. “Look, Mom. The weather is so beautiful today.” She gestured toward the window, trying to fill the silence. “After we eat, I’ll take you outside for a walk. The doctor said getting fresh air is good for you.” My reply was the same cold wall. “I don’t want to.” Her hand paused for a fraction of a second. She said nothing more. After the massage, she brought a basin of warm water and carefully washed my face and hands before going to make breakfast. The comments in the live feed kept scrolling. “Same dead-eyed look from the old lady today. It makes me sick.” “Her daughter’s arm is seriously injured, and she still has to serve her. Not even a single word of concern?” “Truly disgusting. Some people don’t deserve the kindness they get.” Emily didn’t go to work that day. She said she wanted to spend the day with me. After finishing all the morning chores, she wheeled me out onto the balcony to sit in the sun. She brushed my hair, clipped my nails, and cleaned my ears. She tended to every part of me until I was spotless. When she was done, she pulled up a small stool and sat beside me, taking my thin, frail hand in hers. She began to speak in a low voice. “Mom, do you remember? When I was little, you used to bring me out on this balcony to sit in the sun.” “You loved to braid my hair out here and tell me stories.” “You told me that your greatest wish was just to see me happy.” As she spoke, her eyes grew misty. Just then, her phone rang. But she didn’t answer it. She looked at me, a deep, meaningful look, and declined the call. Then she turned back, a small smile on her face. “Mom,” she said softly. “It’s about time.” I returned her smile, a faint one of my own. The moment had finally arrived. Emily stood up, gave me one last, inscrutable look, and then did something that stunned every single person watching the livestream.

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The day before my arranged marriage to Joey Vance, the scion of New York’s elite, my sister was reborn. She ran to our parents, crying and screaming that she wanted to call off the engagement. Just as I was about to ask what was going on, a stream of comments flashed before my eyes: 【Wait, how did the female lead get reborn? Author, explain yourself! This can’t be right.】 【This is a dark romance! It’s supposed to be a ‘she runs, he chases’ story. If she doesn’t marry him, what am I even reading?】 【Chill, everyone. Maybe a second chance is good. The heroine loves her freedom. Imagine a life where your food is flown in on private jets, your clothes are all custom-made, and your billionaire husband even dictates the brand of your toothpaste. A life with no struggle, no hardship… how could she possibly endure such a thing?!】 My eyes lit up. I was ready to volunteer as tribute. She couldn’t endure it? I sure as hell could. 1 I was pretty sure my sister, Eleanor, had been reborn. There was no other explanation for it. Just yesterday, she was blushing and showing off her engagement ring. Now, after a single night’s sleep, she was wailing and trying to back out of the deal of a lifetime. In the living room, she was pleading with our parents, tears streaming down her face. She claimed that Joey Vance, the golden boy of New York society, was a possessive, controlling monster behind his gentlemanly facade. This was news to all of us, considering she’d never even met the man. Just as I was about to speak, the comments appeared again: 【Seriously, why did the main character get a do-over?】 【This is a dark romance! The whole point is the possessive male lead! If she doesn’t marry him, the plot is dead!】 【Hey, don’t get so worked up. A choice is a choice. The heroine values her freedom. A life where your groceries are flown in daily, your wardrobe is haute couture, and your husband micromanages every little thing… a future of effortless luxury with no challenges? What a nightmare for her!】 My eyes practically glowed. This world was insane. I didn’t love freedom. That so-called nightmare was the ultimate goal for a socially anxious lazybones like me. But the insanity didn’t stop there. My parents, their faces etched with concern, helped Eleanor up. They declared that they would break the betrothal, arranged since our childhood. They were willing to risk bankruptcy and the wrath of New York’s entire upper crust to protect their daughter’s freedom. Hello? Weren’t they forgetting someone? Had they never heard of the old sister-swap trope? I watched as my father’s trembling hand reached for his phone. I dropped to my knees with a thud. “Dad! Mom! If Eleanor doesn’t want to, I’ll marry him! Is that okay?” The living room fell silent for two long seconds. My mother grabbed my father’s arm. “Oh, honey, we forgot about Lynn! She’s willing to go! This is perfect. Don’t make the call yet, dear. The original agreement never specified which of our daughters it had to be.” My father let out a huge sigh of relief and put his phone down. And just like that, everyone was happy. 2 That night, I was happily packing my things in my little room. The comments continued to scroll by: 【Who is this random side character? How did she just waltz in and steal the female lead’s role?】 【She looks pretty happy about it. Does she really think a life without freedom is so great?】 【Ummm, does anyone else notice the huge difference in how the family treats the two daughters?】 【To the person above, I noticed it in the living room. And look at their rooms. The sister gets the master suite with a private bathroom, and the younger one gets a tiny room converted from the maid’s quarters. It’s blatant favoritism.】 【So what if they’re biased? Our Eleanor is the main character! The whole world should be biased in her favor.】 I ignored the bickering and continued to neatly fold my clothes. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Eleanor stood in the doorway, her eyes filled with uncertainty. “Are you really going to take my place and get engaged to Joey?” My stomach dropped. She wasn’t having second thoughts, was she? “Well… should I not go then?” I asked tentatively. Eleanor didn’t answer, biting her lip. “Joey is a terrifying man. You have no idea. He’s so ruthless in business that he’s driven people to their deaths.” Business deals didn’t have much to do with me. “But does he hit people? Does he make them do chores?” Eleanor stared at me, then shook her head with a bitter smile. “It’s ten times worse than that.” My heart clenched. “He’ll monitor your social life,” she continued, “and control your every move!” Oh. Is that all? Phew, no problem then. Social life? I was a low-energy introvert. I hated socializing. Going out? I was a homebody. Leaving the house was my personal kryptonite. Seeing my visible relief, Eleanor looked confused and was about to say more. I quickly cut her off, claiming I was tired, and closed the door. My whole life, if anything ever went wrong for her, our parents would blame me. I was terrified of her. Now, finally, I had a chance to escape it all. 3 The next day, our entire family boarded a private jet to New York. Of course, we couldn’t afford it. The flight was chartered by the Vance family. The engagement ceremony was held in a lavishly decorated ballroom. In the bridal suite, I met the legendary Joey Vance for the first time. All I can say is… damn. I thought, with the way Eleanor described him, he’d be average-looking at best. I never imagined he’d be this tall, elegant, and impossibly handsome. I had hit the absolute jackpot. During the ceremony, he took my hand and gave me a warm smile. “Let’s go, my fiancée.” My heart hammered against my ribs. The comments went wild: 【I can’t breathe, he’s so hot. I volunteer to possess the fiancée for just five minutes.】 【OMG, did you hear how he stressed the word ‘my’? I’m melting.】 【What are you all shipping? Didn’t you see Eleanor in the audience? She’s about to cry. This was supposed to be her engagement ceremony.】 【Person above, are you dense? She’s the one who gave it up!】 After the ceremony, my sister dragged our parents over to say goodbye. She even reached out to shake Joey’s hand. I immediately intercepted, grabbing her hand myself. “Thank you so much, sis! I’ll remember everything you said. My fiancé will, too!” Joey glanced at me, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. Eleanor bit her lip, looking both resentful and relieved at the same time. 4 That evening, Joey took me back to the Vance family mansion. Staring at the enormous bedroom with its panoramic views and private balcony, I asked hesitantly, “Is this really for me?” When he nodded, I almost cried. But the real surprise was yet to come. Seeing how much I liked it, Joey immediately instructed his butler to draw up a contract to transfer the mansion’s deed into my name. Happiness had struck so suddenly it felt like a dream. “You’re really giving me the mansion, too?” Joey leaned down and kissed the top of my head. “As long as you never leave me, everything I have is yours.” I immediately swore an oath to the heavens, ready to bow down and worship my new benefactor. The comments reappeared: 【There it is. That’s my kind of deliciously dark, possessive vibe~】 【I’m not jealous at all. She may have gotten a multi-million dollar mansion, but she lost her precious freedom. sobs】 【No, why does she get everything? All of Joey’s things should belong to Eleanor! This side character needs to know her place. She’s so shameless.】 【Okay, person above, I’m gonna have to fight you.】 After signing the contract, I drifted off into the most blissful sleep of my life. Sometime in the night, half-awake, I felt a burning gaze watching me from the bedside. 5 Maybe it was because the engagement had gone so smoothly, but I let my guard down. When I woke up the next morning, I found that my luggage had been taken away by the staff. Just as my mind started spinning with dramatic scenarios of high-society power plays, a maid came to ask me to the dressing room. Joey was waiting for me there. It was less a dressing room and more of a luxury boutique, twice the size of my family’s living room. Rows upon rows of clothes and handbags were arranged by color. The thought of a future where my tears of joy would be designer, too, made me chuckle out loud. “What are you laughing at?” Joey had appeared silently beside me, holding a dress. I waved my hand dismissively. “Are all these clothes for me?” He looked down at me, his eyes dark and intense. “I had all of these brought in last night, tailored to your measurements… I imagined you in every single one of them. From now on, only I will decide what you wear. Is that alright?” His words made my eyes burn. I quickly lowered my head. The comments started exploding. 【Here we go! In the original novel, the heroine Eleanor flipped out at this line, called him a psycho, and their relationship went downhill, making him even more possessive.】 【The original book was just angst for the sake of angst. He doesn’t mean it maliciously. He just wants to express that they belong to each other.】 【OMG, look! Lynn’s reaction is even stronger! She looks like she’s crying from anger! Joey thinks she hates him; his whole expression has changed!】 Reading that, I snapped my head up. My eyes met Joey’s dark, stormy gaze. 6 I snapped my head up, my eyes meeting Joey’s stormy gaze. His lips were pressed into a thin line, the light in his eyes dimming as a terrifying pressure filled the room. 【Oh no, oh no, why is she crying? He’s definitely going to think she finds him creepy too.】 【For the love of God, explain yourself! You said you were into this! Don’t blow it now!】 【Is she faking it? Pretending to go along with it so she can escape later? Clever girl.】 Seeing Joey’s hurt but stoic expression, my heart ached. I wasn’t crying because I was angry! I was crying because I was touched! I grabbed his hand, my eyes welling with tears as I looked up at him. “I… I’m just so moved.” “No one… no one has ever been this good to me before.” “My parents only ever had eyes for my sister. I always wore her hand-me-downs. My room was a converted maid’s quarters. Even my name, Lynn, was chosen because Eleanor means ‘shining light.’ They wanted me to be plain, quiet, so I wouldn’t compete with her.” “I’ve never had so many beautiful clothes. I never dreamed someone would do all this for me overnight.” The more I spoke, the more emotional I got, tears streaming down my face. “Joey, you’re too good to me. I’m afraid this is all a dream.” Joey was stunned. He reached out and gently wiped the tears from my cheeks with his thumb. His touch was light, tentative, as if he were afraid I might break. “So… you don’t hate me for controlling you?” I shook my head so hard it was a blur. “No! Not at all! Please, by all means, control me to death!” The darkness in Joey’s eyes vanished, replaced by a smile that he couldn’t contain. He pulled me into a fierce hug, resting his chin on my head and letting out a contented sigh. “Lynn, you’re wonderful.” 【??? I did not see this coming.】 【Holy crap, she hit him with the reverse-uno psychology. She just fried his circuits.】 【This is what I call a pro move! Ladies, take notes! When a possessive billionaire tries his controlling nonsense, don’t fight back. Cry and tell him he’s too good to you and you can’t handle it!】 【Person above, got my notepad out. I’ll use this in my next life.】 The days that followed were pure bliss. I’d wake up whenever I wanted. Joey would have already left for work, but my breakfast was always hot, with dozens of options to choose from. After eating, I’d curl up in the home theater or spend hours in the game room. In the afternoon, professional beauticians and masseuses would come to the house. Every evening, Joey would be home right on time for dinner. He was exactly as my sister had described, “monitoring” my social life. He bought me a new phone and, right in front of me, registered his own fingerprint. “From now on, I can check your phone whenever I want.” I nodded obediently. “Of course. The passcode is your birthday.” He paused for a second, then leaned down and kissed my forehead, a smile in his voice. “Good girl.” 【AAAAAAH, I’m dead, this is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen!】 【Lynn: I have no social life. Check my phone? You’ll be checking my grocery list.】 【LMAO, I bet she has less than twenty contacts, and ten of them are food delivery bots and brand newsletters.】 The comments were spot on. My only social interaction was with my mother. Our chats were simple. Mom: 【Lynn, dear, how are you? Is Joey treating you well?】 Me: 【He’s great.】 Mom: 【That’s good to hear. Your sister has been in a bit of a funk lately. Could you ask Joey to introduce her to someone nice? She sacrificed so much for you.】 I almost snorted at the word “sacrificed.” I handed the phone directly to Joey. “Here. My mom wants you to find my sister a boyfriend.” Joey took the phone and scrolled for a few seconds, his brow furrowing. “Have they always treated you like this?” “Pretty much,” I shrugged. “I’m used to it.” He didn’t say anything. He just took my phone and blocked both of my parents’ numbers. Then he looked up at me, his eyes serious. “From now on, I’m your family.” “I want you to rely only on me. Okay?” What else could I say? I launched myself at him like a tiger, tackling him onto the sofa. “Okay!” I yelled, overcome with emotion. “You’re my one and only family! My one and only… daddy!” Joey: “…” 【BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!】 【’Daddy’? Lynn, what is going on in that head of yours?】 【Joey: I thought you were my wife, but you see me as your father? We’ve got a problem here!】 7 The days passed, and Joey and I grew closer. I realized he wasn’t a monster at all. His so-called “control” was more like a clumsy, awkward form of caring. He didn’t want me going out because he thought the world was dangerous and was afraid I’d get hurt. So every time I did go out (dragged by him), I was flanked by eight bodyguards. The procession looked like a royal visit. He controlled my diet because I had a sensitive stomach and was a picky eater. So he hired a team of nutritionists and chefs to create an endless variety of delicious, healthy meals for me. After a month, my face was noticeably rounder. As for controlling what I wore… Looking at the acres of designer clothes, bags, and shoes in my closet, all I could say was, “Please, sir, may I have some more?” One day, I was lounging on the sofa, eating cherries that had been flown in that morning, when Joey handed me an invitation. “There’s a charity gala tonight. I need you to come with me.” I frowned. “Do I have to?” I despised social events. They were noisy, exhausting, and required a lot of fake smiling. Joey pinched my cheek. “You have to. This one is important. A lot of my business partners will be there.” “Please? For me?” he added softly. With him putting it like that, I reluctantly agreed. That evening, wearing a stunning, star-dusted gown Joey had chosen for me, I arrived at the gala on his arm. We were a striking couple, and we immediately drew the attention of the entire room. I shrank back, feeling a little self-conscious. Joey noticed and whispered in my ear, “Don’t be afraid. Just stay by my side.” He introduced me to a few important people, and all I had to do was smile, nod, and look pretty. Just as I was plotting my escape to the dessert table, an unwelcome guest appeared. My sister, Eleanor. She was wearing an elegant white gown, her makeup flawless. Beside her stood a gentle, scholarly-looking man. When she saw me, a flash of jealousy and resentment crossed her face before she masked it with a look of concern. “Lynn, what are you doing here?” Before I could answer, Joey spoke, his voice cool. “She is my fiancée. Where else would she be?” Eleanor’s face paled, and she bit her lip. “Joey, I know you’re powerful, but you can’t do this to Lynn! She’s still young! You shouldn’t keep her locked up like a bird in a gilded cage!” 【Whoa, the heroine is here! And she brought the second male lead with her!】 【That guy has to be Mike from the original novel, right? The soulful artist who represents freedom.】 【Here we go, the classic showdown. The sister has arrived with ‘Freedom’ to rescue the ‘imprisoned’ sibling.】 I looked at Eleanor’s self-righteous expression and had to stifle a laugh. “Sis, I think you’ve got the wrong idea.” “I’m doing great. See?” I pinched the new chub on my cheek. “I’ve even gained weight.” The man beside Eleanor, Mike, frowned at me. “Miss, material wealth does not equal spiritual fulfillment. A free soul is something no amount of money can buy.” I blinked. “But I don’t need a free soul. I just need a free-flowing bank account.” Mike: “…” Eleanor’s face flushed with anger. “Lynn! How can you be so shameless? Has he brainwashed you?” She reached out to grab me. Joey’s expression hardened. He moved me behind him, his cold eyes fixed on them. “Miss Eleanor, please have some self-respect.” “And my fiancée’s name is not for you to speak.” His possessiveness was on full display. Eleanor flinched, stepping back as if struck. Her eyes turned red. “Joey, don’t go too far! Lynn is my sister!” “The moment she agreed to take your place, she became my wife, and mine alone,” Joey replied, his voice like ice. People around us started whispering and pointing. I sighed in annoyance. They had completely ruined my night. And I hadn’t even gotten to the mini cheesecakes yet. I tugged on Joey’s sleeve. “I’m hungry. Can we go get something to eat?” Joey looked down at me, the frost in his eyes melting instantly. He nodded. “Of course.” And just like that, as if no one else existed, he led me to the buffet. He left Eleanor and Mike standing there, their faces a mixture of shock and fury. 【LMAOOOOOOOOOOOOO!】 【Well played! Nothing is more important than food!】 【Eleanor: I prepared a 300-word speech to save you. Lynn: K, but cake first.】 【Mike: The soul and freedom. Lynn: Cherries and steak. She’s on another level, people.】

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385430”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The Zion trip was the light at the end of the tunnel. For three years, since freshman year, it was the thing Liam and I planned for, the epic post-graduation adventure that made all the late-night study sessions and SAT prep worth it. The night before our flight, he blew it all up. He secretly changed everyone’s tickets to a cushy all-inclusive resort in Cancun. The one Chloe, our school’s reigning queen bee, had been talking about for weeks. I overheard his friends teasing him in the hotel lobby. “Dude, what about your little master planner? Just gonna leave Maya high and dry?” “She’s so attached at the hip, she’ll probably cry when she finds out we left.” Liam paused, and then I heard the casual arrogance in his voice that had become all too familiar. “Nah, it’s fine. She has the password to our Google Doc itinerary. She checks it like ten times a day. Once she sees I changed the flights, she’ll book a new ticket and chase us down to Mexico. She always does.” I didn’t confront him. I didn’t scream. I just quietly backed away. I didn’t touch his new itinerary. I didn’t change my destination. I only changed one thing. On my laptop, I logged into the university portal, declined my offer from UCLA—his dream school, just 3000 miles away from my own dream—and officially committed to NYU. He wanted to lounge on a beach with Chloe. I had my own mountains to climb. That adventure map, the one I’d spent countless nights perfecting, was never just for him anyway. 1 The notification on my phone was subtle: “Liam Miller made edits to ‘Project Zion.’” I opened the Google Doc on my tablet, my heart sinking as I saw the familiar red rock landscapes of Utah replaced with stock photos of turquoise water and white sand beaches. Cancun. The editor, based on the little profile icon, was Chloe Vance. Tablet in hand, I walked towards Liam’s hotel room, planning to ask what was going on. But their voices, leaking through the door, stopped me cold. He knew. He knew how much hiking Zion meant to me. Back in freshman year, I’d told him my dream was to stand on top of Angel’s Landing, to conquer a trail that was bigger and wilder than anything in our suburban Connecticut town. Liam had looked me right in the eye and promised, “The day after we graduate, I’m taking you there. We’ll do it together.” He’d watched me pour over maps, create gear lists, and book campsites for years. And now, less than twelve hours before we were supposed to leave, he’d just… changed his mind. “Aren’t you worried Maya’s gonna flip?” one of his friends, Mark, asked. “It’s just a trip. We can go hiking anytime. Chloe mentioned she wanted a real vacation. How could I say no to that?” Mentioned she wanted it? Liam and I had grown up next door to each other. He gave me my first kiss in ninth grade, a clumsy peck on the cheek behind the bleachers, and told me he had a surprise for me after graduation. But everything shifted when Chloe transferred to our school sophomore year. My 18th birthday party? Liam ditched it because Chloe wanted to go to the city for a concert. The slice of cake I’d saved for myself after a rough day? Chloe saw it, said it looked good, and Liam handed it to her without a second thought. The morning of our final SATs? Chloe “forgot” her bag of supplies, so Liam ripped my backpack out of my hands and gave it to her, leaving me to sprint across campus and beg a proctor for a spare pencil thirty minutes before the exam. Afterward, he’d always say the same thing with a shrug. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll make it up to you.” “…Besides, man, Chloe’s a knockout,” Mark’s voice drifted through the door. “Rich family, super hot… when a girl like that asks for something, you give it to her. Only a tomboy like Maya would want to go play in the dirt for a week.” Then came Liam’s voice, a sarcastic chuckle that shattered the last piece of my heart. “She’s basically a puppy dog. She’ll whine a bit, but she’ll still follow me wherever I go. God, it’s so annoying. I can’t shake her.” A wave of laughter followed. I leaned against the cool wall, feeling the floor drop out from under me. 2 I stumbled back to my room in a daze. The Zion itinerary was still glowing on my laptop screen. My roommate, Jenna, saw the look on my face. “Hey, what’s wrong?” I held back the tears, not wanting to admit I’d been eavesdropping. I just mumbled something about a change of plans for tomorrow. Jenna, bless her heart, didn’t know the backstory. She leaned over to look at my screen, and her eyes widened. “They changed my ticket too? The hell? If they want to go get sunburned in Cancun, fine, but why drag me into it? I don’t want to go!” She was ready to storm down the hall and give Liam a piece of her mind, but I grabbed her arm. That’s when the tears finally broke free. Jenna stopped, her anger melting away when she noticed my flight itinerary was the only one they hadn’t changed. We were all staying at an airport hotel to catch our early flight. They had rebooked their new flight to leave two hours earlier than our original one. If I hadn’t seen that notification, I would have woken up tomorrow to an empty hotel. They would have been gone, and I probably wouldn’t have even been able to reach them. The thought was a physical pain in my chest. “That son of a bitch!” Jenna seethed. “That ungrateful, brainwashed idiot! After everything you and your family did for him!” Liam’s mom passed away when he was little. His dad worked two jobs to raise him, but then, in our freshman year of high school, he was diagnosed with cancer. During that time, Liam was juggling final exams and daily hospital visits. I couldn’t stand to see him suffer, so I started going with him, just trying to be a small help. Right before his dad passed, when Liam had stepped out of the room, he grabbed my hand. His was so weak. He asked me to look after his son. Torn apart by my crush on Liam and my sympathy for his situation, I just nodded blindly. After the funeral, I begged my parents for days until they agreed to let Liam move in with us. They treated him like their own son. I’d always been a bit shy, a little hesitant. With Liam around, I felt braver, and I started sticking close to him, like a shadow. My parents used to joke that I’d finally gotten the big brother I always wanted. Tears streamed down my face. I couldn’t understand how the boy who clung to me, sobbing, after his father died… the boy who moved into my house and told me with red-rimmed eyes, “Maya, you’re the best person in the world, I feel safe when you’re around,”… how could he have turned into this? A person who mocked me behind my back, who acted like even saying my name was an embarrassment. I closed the Google Doc and, with a trembling hand, opened my browser to the NYU student portal. For his dad’s sake, I had promised I would always be there for Liam if he needed me. That’s why, even though my SAT scores were nearly 80 points higher than his, I was planning on going to UCLA with him, settling for a school that was great, but not my first choice. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Liam didn’t need me anymore. And if that was the case, why was I still clinging to him? I checked the box, clicked the button, and confirmed my enrollment. I was going to New York City, 3,000 miles away from him. Jenna watched me, a long sigh escaping her lips. She just reached out and patted my head. I didn’t book a new ticket to Cancun. I didn’t go knock on their door to demand an explanation. Hiking in Zion was my dream. My obsession with this trip was never about Liam. It was about challenging myself, seeing those majestic cliffs with my own eyes, and proving that the timid girl I used to be could handle a real adventure. Liam could trade our promise for a week with Chloe. Fine. I could choose to walk my own path, without him. For the first time, I wasn’t going to compromise for Liam. 3 The next morning, I was up before sunrise. When Liam and his crew stumbled into the lobby with their suitcases, Jenna and I were already there, waiting with our backpacks. Liam, who had been looking around nervously, broke into a smug grin when he saw me. He clearly thought I’d seen the changes and caved. He cleared his throat, addressing the group like a camp counselor. “Hey guys, quick update. Chloe’s been feeling a little under the weather, and the forecast for Utah is showing some rain. Bit risky for hiking. So, we’ve rerouted the grad trip to Cancun for some R&R.” Chloe, standing behind him, pulled on his sleeve and offered me a weak smile. “I’m so sorry, Maya. I know you wanted to go hiking. It’s just a little cough, really. Liam’s just being overprotective.” Mark chimed in immediately. “Chloe, you’re too nice. A vacation is supposed to be fun for everyone, right? It’s not fair for one person to dictate the whole thing. That’s just being a tyrant.” A tyrant? After all the hours I’d spent planning, coordinating schedules, and fronting my own money for deposits, I was the tyrant for not wanting the entire trip changed at the last minute? A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I looked straight at Liam, my voice dangerously calm. “The plan was set. You don’t just change the core of it overnight. I’m sorry, but my plans haven’t changed. I’m going to Zion.” It must have been the first time I’d ever openly disagreed with him. His brow furrowed, his expression souring. “By yourself? Don’t be ridiculous, Maya, it’s dangerous. It’s just a flight change. You saw the doc, it’s not a big deal. Besides, Zion will always be there. I’ll take you next time, I promise—” “I made the plan,” I cut him off, my voice flat. “I’ll be fine on my own. You can trade your adventure for a beach chair, but I won’t. I have my own views I want to see. Mark, Jenna, your choice. Zion with me, or Cancun with them.” Jenna stepped to my side without hesitation. Mark scoffed and shuffled over to Liam’s group, shooting me a defiant look. Only Liam stood there, his face turning a blotchy red. “Maya, are you really going to be this stubborn? Do you have to ruin it for everyone?” I smiled, a real one this time, and turned away from him, grabbing Jenna’s arm. “Ruin it? I’m pretty happy, actually. You do you.” As we walked away, I could feel his incredulous stare on my back. He couldn’t believe I was actually leaving. “Maya, you’re going to regret this!” he yelled after me. “Don’t come crying to me later!” Jenna leaned over as we headed for the security line. “Is he twelve?” 4 On the plane, Jenna and I re-worked the plan. After we landed, we called the outfitter we’d booked and changed our five-person guided trek to a two-person rental. By the afternoon, we had our gear and were standing at the trailhead. The sun was intense and the wind kicked up dust, but we had prepared for this. Instead of being beaten down by the trail, we felt energized, more alive with every step. Under the vast, empty sky of the desert, all my drama with Liam felt so incredibly small. All the doubts I’d had were being baked away by the sun, and looking at the incredible scenery around me, I was flooded with gratitude. Thank God I didn’t back down. Thank God I was here. Jenna and I made a silent pact not to mention Liam’s group. We were giddy, consulting our map, taking pictures of every cool rock formation, and just enjoying the moment. My phone buzzed a few times. Liam. I checked the time. They would have landed and settled into their resort by now. He was probably calling to “make peace.” That was his move. He’d throw a punch, then offer a band-aid. He’d be incredibly dismissive of my feelings, then smother me with fake concern and soft words later. I used to fall for it every time, getting trapped in a cycle of self-doubt. Maybe he doesn’t mean it. Maybe he’s just bad with words but really cares about me. But in that moment, looking out at the canyon, I suddenly saw it with perfect clarity. There’s no such thing as a tough exterior with a heart of gold. The moment the words left his mouth, that was him. That was the real person. The only reason he kept me around was because he couldn’t stand the thought of losing his personal doormat. The buzzing was annoying me. I’d already called my parents to let them know I’d landed safely. There was no one else I needed to talk to. I switched my phone to airplane mode and focused on taking pictures with Jenna. As dusk settled, we reached the mouth of a canyon and set up our small tent. The temperature dropped fast. We pulled on our down jackets as the first stars pricked the darkening sky. Soon, the whole night was a glittering, silent, magnificent canvas. Unable to reach me, Liam started calling Jenna. She was changing, so she put it on speaker. His voice, tinny and anxious, filled our tent. “Where’s Maya? Why isn’t she answering her phone? Where are you guys? Are you safe? Tell her to stop pouting. The resort here is amazing. She should just book a flight over. We saved a room for you.” Jenna just said “Piss off,” and hung up. We looked at each other and burst out laughing. Under the breathtaking blanket of stars, I felt a strength inside me that I’d never known before. 5 Our first day was tough, but perfect. As it got darker, other backpackers started setting up camp near us. We shared stories and trail tips, and Jenna and I tweaked our route for the next day based on their advice. After hanging up, Liam immediately called back. He kept calling, interrupting our conversation with the other hikers, until Jenna finally answered, her voice dripping with annoyance. “What do you want? Don’t you ever give up?” Liam’s tone was frantic. “Where are you? Maya’s phone is going straight to voicemail. Are you two safe?” Just as I predicted. His classic manipulation tactic. The old Maya would have melted, her anger dissolving into guilt, and she would have immediately started apologizing. I took the phone from Jenna and kept it on speaker. “We’re on vacation. Your constant calling is really annoying.” There was a stunned silence, then Liam actually laughed. “Still mad? Look, I was gonna tell you about Cancun yesterday, I just wanted it to be a surprise. What’s so fun about a dusty desert anyway? We have pools and amazing food here.” He lowered his voice into that fake-cajoling tone he used. “I forgot to tell you yesterday, my bad. Don’t be mad, okay? C’mon, be good. No one’s gonna want you if you’re always this difficult.” I listened to his words, my face a blank mask. He really thought I was just mad because he didn’t tell me. He thought that if he just “handled” me with a few sweet words, I’d fold. I was about to say something scathing when another voice piped up on his end, syrupy sweet. “Yeah, Maya, please don’t be mad. Liam’s been in a terrible mood all day because you’re upset.” Hearing Chloe’s fake, breathy voice made my skin crawl. Suddenly, being on the phone with them was ruining my perfect night. “It’s all my fault…” she continued, her voice trembling. “If you’re going to be mad at anyone, be mad at me. Don’t take it out on Liam. Please just book a flight over. I’ll apologize, I promise.” Liam’s voice turned hard. “Maya, did you hear that? Chloe’s about to cry. You need to fix that attitude of yours. Who else is going to put up with you but me? I don’t care what you do, you book a flight here for tomorrow and you apologize to Chloe. Stop making everyone miserable just because of you.” “Why don’t you both just shut your mouths,” I said, my voice ice cold. “I can smell the bullshit through the phone.” I laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. “I’m doing my thing, you’re doing yours. And you want me to apologize to you? You’ve got to be kidding me.” There was a long pause. “Maya,” Liam warned, his voice low and dangerous, “don’t push it.” I hung up. 6 Someone had started a campfire. Jenna and I sat near the flames, sharing a bag of beef jerky while other campers offered us s’mores. “That asshole,” Jenna muttered around a mouthful of jerky. “After all the good things you did for him. He’s such an ungrateful bastard. A total snake.” I should have been furious, but watching Jenna get so worked up on my behalf, a wave of warmth washed over me. I smiled, watching the flames dance. “It’s my fault, really,” I said quietly. “I let him build my comfort zone, and I just stayed in it. For so long, I made him think I couldn’t live without him, that I’d always just follow him around.” I sighed, looking up at the impossibly bright Milky Way above us. “Walking that trail today, I realized something. The sky doesn’t fall without Liam. I think… I think I was in love with the boy he used to be. The one who dreamed about adventure with me… or maybe,” I paused, “maybe not even him.” Jenna looked at me, confused. “Maybe I was just in love with the idea of it. That feeling. The one that feels like your whole life is ahead of you.” Jenna grinned and threw an arm around my shoulder. “Well, tonight, let’s say goodbye to that part of our lives!” I laughed with her, feeling lighter than I had in years. I raised my water bottle like a champagne flute. “To the end of an era!” I shouted into the vast, starry night. “And to a clean break!”

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My mother’s chemotherapy had failed. Her last wish was for one final family dinner. But on that day, my husband Julian’s new flame showed up at our door, pregnant and provocative. The shock was too much for my mother. Her condition worsened, and she passed away that same night. I called him again and again, but he never answered. It wasn’t until after I had arranged the funeral that he finally called back. “She’s just a kid, she doesn’t know any better,” he said, his tone dismissive. “You and your mom shouldn’t take it so seriously.” “Her emotions are all over the place because of the pregnancy. Don’t go looking for trouble with her.” “If you can’t accept her, I’ll make sure she never shows up in front of you again. But she’s the mother of my child, so I have to spend time with her. I’ll be home with you on the weekdays, and I’ll stay with her on the weekends.” Listening to his non-negotiable terms, I didn’t argue. I just gave a quiet “mm-hmm.” Then I turned back to my laptop and submitted my application to Doctors Without Borders. If the promises of our youth were now empty, then I would let him go. And I would let myself go, too. 1 As Julian laid out his new life plan, I calmly scrolled through the requirements for Doctors Without Borders. I met all of them. Without a second thought, I started filling out the application. When he finished speaking, he heard the faint tapping of my keyboard. “Anna, did you hear a word I said?” he asked, a note of annoyance in his voice. “Mm-hmm,” I murmured, a flat acknowledgment. He fell silent, clearly surprised by my easy compliance. After a long pause, he sighed. “Anna, if only you’d always been this agreeable.” His words made me freeze. I remembered the countless fights. In the five years we’d been married, a parade of women had shown up at my door. The first time it happened, I had shattered everything in our living room, screaming at him, demanding to know why he was doing this to me. Back then, his eyes were filled with nothing but exhaustion. “It was for work,” he’d insisted. “We were just playing a part. Nothing happened between us. How many times do I have to tell you that for you to believe me?” He was disappointed by my lack of trust, worn out by my willingness to believe others over him. Afterward, I hated myself. Maybe I was being paranoid. I apologized, begged for his forgiveness. But not long after, the tabloids exploded with photos of him and a famous actress entering a hotel together. I lost my mind again. All I wanted was an explanation. This time, his eyes were filled with disappointment. “Anna, in your eyes, am I really that untrustworthy? If that’s the case, then I’ll be exactly what you think I am.” From that day on, he stopped hiding. He was in the headlines with a different woman every week. I even saw him with my own eyes once, kissing a woman passionately in his car. When I confronted him, he no longer offered explanations. He just met my rage with silence. I’ve lost count of how many times we’ve fought over the past five years. All I felt was a bone-deep exhaustion. I had thought about divorcing him, about ending this tragic, ridiculous marriage. But my mother’s greatest wish was to see me happy. She was suffering so much already; I couldn’t bear to add to her pain. So I endured. I ignored everything related to Julian, turned a blind eye to the women who showed up at our door. I thought that by doing so, I could maintain the illusion of happiness. But just before she passed, my mother, her body withered to almost nothing, lay in her hospital bed, tears streaming down her face. “My dear girl,” she whispered, “it’s all my fault… I just wanted you to be happy… If you’re unhappy, you have to let yourself go…” Her last wish had changed from a simple family dinner to my happiness. Thinking of her final words, my eyes welled up. “Julian,” I asked, my voice trembling, “you can’t give me the happiness I want anymore, can you?” 2 He didn’t answer my question directly. He just sighed. “Anna, we’re almost thirty. We need to be more mature. Love… it’s not that important anymore.” It was his way of telling me he didn’t love me. I understood. A laugh escaped my lips, but it was hollow, laced with the sound of a sob. “Okay,” I said. “Then I’ll let you go. And I’ll let myself go.” The moment I said the words, my heart clenched. Five years ago, Julian had said something similar to me. We were living in a tiny, dark apartment, and the only ring he could afford was a simple silver band. He had proposed with such earnest devotion. “Anna, I promise you, wherever I am, that will be your home. I will build you a safe harbor, a place where you will never suffer again. For the rest of your life, you will only know happiness.” I believed him. I said yes. He had reacted like a child given the most precious gift in the world. “Anna,” he’d exclaimed, “from now on, you are my wife! We will never be apart! Don’t you ever think I’ll let you go!” But now, he had forgotten his promise. After I spoke, he didn’t argue. He just said, “Okay. But don’t worry, the title of Mrs. Vance will always be yours. No one can ever take your place.” When we were first married, hearing someone call me Mrs. Vance filled me with pride. Now, the title was just a bitter irony. Since his affairs became public, I was the object of pity in our social circle. Someone had even sneered at me once. “The way Mr. Vance goes through women, who knows how long you’ll be Mrs. Vance. You should try to have a baby while you still can. At least you’ll get a bigger settlement when he divorces you.” “If she could have a baby, don’t you think she would have by now? It’s been five years. I bet she’s barren. That’s why she can’t hold on to him.” They didn’t know that in our first year of marriage, I had been pregnant with our child. Julian was at a networking dinner, and some clients were deliberately trying to humiliate him, forcing him to drink. To close the deal, he endured it all with a smile. I had just finished dinner with some colleagues and saw the whole thing. My heart ached for him. I saw the pain on his face, the way he held his stomach, and I went to get him out of there. But the clients jeered. They said if I drank a glass of whiskey, they’d sign the contract and even pay for our ride home. I knew how much that contract meant to Julian. I couldn’t bear to see him fail. So I took the glass and drank it all. That day, he got the deal he’d been working so hard for. And we lost our first child. After that, no matter how hard we tried, no matter how many doctors we saw, I never got pregnant again. Maybe it was God’s punishment for not protecting my baby. Maybe I just didn’t deserve to be a mother. As Julian’s words hung in the air, a tear I’d been holding back finally fell, landing hot on the back of my cold hand. 3 After my mother’s funeral, I went back to work at the hospital. My mentor, Dr. Evans, had heard about my application to Doctors Without Borders. “Anna,” she said, her voice gentle, “are you sure about this? The next deployment is to a country in the middle of a war. You’ll be facing gunfire every day.” “I’m sure, Dr. Evans. I’ve wanted to do this for a long time. I just never had the chance.” Before, I couldn’t leave my sick mother. I couldn’t leave Julian. Now, my mother was gone. And the Julian who had loved me was gone, too. I had no reason to stay. One place was the same as another. I might as well do something meaningful. Seeing my determination, she didn’t press the issue. She gave me a few words of advice and left my office. Just as she walked out, Julian walked in. “Where did you just say you wanted to go?” he asked, a frown on his face. I paused what I was doing and looked up at him. “Traveling,” I said calmly. “I haven’t really gone anywhere since I started working.” He knew that in college, I was always taking trips with my friends. He didn’t seem suspicious. “That’s a good idea,” he said. “It’ll be good for you. Oh, by the way, Noelle needs to come to this hospital for a prenatal check-up. Can you arrange a time for her?” He was so direct. Not even a hint of pretense. A sharp pain lanced through me. I thought of the child we had lost. I wanted to scream at him, to ask him if he ever thought of our baby while he was so eagerly awaiting this one. But I bit back the words. What was the point? The past was the past. He had probably forgotten anyway. I swallowed the lump in my throat. “All the doctors at this hospital are very responsible. You can just book an appointment and wait in line like everyone else.” Just then, a familiar figure appeared at the door. Noelle, her baby bump prominent, walked in and took Julian’s arm. “Julian, honey,” she said, her voice a wounded whisper, “does Dr. Hayes not want to help us? It’s all my fault, I forgot to make an appointment. I’m so sorry to waste your time.” Julian didn’t push her away. He gently squeezed her hand. “It’s no waste of time to be with you and our baby. If she won’t help, it’s fine. I’ll wait with you.” He saw the fatigue in her eyes, leaned in, and kissed her forehead, murmuring words of comfort. The tender scene was like a knife in my heart. There was a time when he had been that gentle with me. He would make silly faces to cheer me up, spend all his money on a necklace I wanted just to see me smile. He used to say that whatever other girls had, I would have too. He worked so hard, and no matter how exhausted he was, he would come home with a smile, telling me funny stories about his day. He’d stay up late just to listen to me talk, even when he could barely keep his eyes open. He said it made him feel complete. I don’t know when it changed, but we went from having endless conversations to sitting in silence. I looked away. I couldn’t watch anymore. But Julian seemed to remember something. “What happened the other day was Noelle’s fault,” he said. “I had someone buy some gifts. We’ll bring them to your mom later to apologize.” “Don’t bother,” I said, my voice flat. “She doesn’t need them anymore.” 4 The day my mother died, I had called him countless times. All I got was a cold, mechanical voice on the other end. With each unanswered call, my initial rage slowly cooled into a numb emptiness. I had thought about hunting them down, making them pay for what they did to my mother. But whenever I closed my eyes, I heard her last words. She told me not to blame anyone, not to live with hatred. She wanted to see me free, happy, living my life to the fullest. And I would honor her wish. Julian, however, misunderstood my words. He thought I was still holding a grudge against Noelle. “Anna,” he said, his brow furrowed, “you don’t need to hold on to such a small thing. It’s in the past.” It was in the past for him. For me, it would never be. I looked at him, my eyes cold. “My mother is gone. You won’t be able to find her.” “Anna! Don’t be ridiculous! She’s your mother, how can you say such things? She’s so sick, where else would she be but the hospital?” My mother had treated him better than she treated me. She always saved the best for him. When his business was failing, she had given him her life savings to pull him out of debt. And because of him, she couldn’t even die in peace. Noelle chimed in. “Dr. Hayes, I know you and your mother are upset with me. I apologize, okay? Julian is really worried about her. Can’t you just stop being difficult?” “You don’t have the right to speak her name!” Hearing her mention my mother, the dam of my anger finally broke. “Get out! I don’t want to see you!” I stood up, pointing to the door. Julian immediately moved to shield her, as if I were going to attack her. His eyes turned cold. “Anna, throwing a patient out of your office… is this your idea of professional ethics?” He pulled out his phone and, right in front of me, dialed the hospital’s complaint line. “I’d like to report Dr. Anna Hayes in surgery for a serious breach of medical ethics…” He was going to teach me a lesson, he said. Watching him, my calm facade finally cracked. He didn’t wait for me to say anything. He just turned and left with Noelle. As they walked out, she looked back over her shoulder and gave me a triumphant smile. See? it said. He’s on my side. You’ve lost. Soon after, I received an official warning from the hospital administration. When Dr. Evans heard, she helped me appeal to the board, and they allowed me to take an early leave to prepare for my deployment. After completing the paperwork, I went home. Julian wasn’t there, but his social media was constantly updated. A picture of Noelle’s ultrasound, sharing his joy about becoming a father. A photo of the nursery he was putting together himself, with the caption: “Come out soon, little one. Mommy and Daddy can’t wait to meet you.” He hadn’t blocked me from seeing his posts. I stared at the screen for a moment, then calmly liked his latest post. When I checked again later, I found that he had blocked me. I wasn’t angry. I opened his profile and, just as he had done to me, I blocked him. From now on, we would be strangers. For the next few days, Julian felt a persistent sense of unease. He was so distracted he didn’t even hear Noelle when she called his name. He chalked it up to the guilt of not visiting my mother. One day, he left work early and bought a basket of expensive gifts, heading straight for the hospital. But a nurse told him, “Dr. Hayes’s mother? She passed away a few days ago. We were the ones who took her to the crematorium. You’re her son-in-law… didn’t you know?”

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At one in the morning, I was jolted awake by a rapid-fire series of text notifications. It was from the mother of a boy in my son’s kindergarten class. She sent a photo of my son Leo’s arm. On it was a faint, shallow bite mark. The text that followed read: “Is this Leo’s mom? Did my Dylan bite your son today?” I figured she was texting to apologize, so I quickly replied that it was no big deal, that kids will be kids. I thought that would be the end of it. Then she sent another picture: a receipt from an emergency dental clinic. Confused, I was about to type a reply when my phone started ringing. It was her. “Leo’s mom,” she said, her voice sharp. “My Dylan chipped his front tooth when he bit your son. What are you going to do about this?” 1. The words chased the last remnants of sleep from my brain. A sharp pain started throbbing in my temples. Is this something a human being would actually say? I thought I must have misheard her. I pressed my forehead and asked for clarification. “Jessica, are you saying that your son bit my son, and because your son’s tooth got chipped in the process, you want me to be responsible?” “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.” Her voice on the other end was shrill and laced with an incredible, unearned arrogance. “What else would I mean? If your son’s arm wasn’t so tough, would my Dylan’s tooth have chipped? What kind of parents are you, anyway? Raising him to have skin like armor. What are you feeding him, gravel?” She was on a roll now. “Talking to people like you is a waste of time. I guess it’s true what they say, people with nothing going for them just pop out kids and don’t even teach them basic manners.” I was so angry I started to laugh. “Jessica, if you’re sick, go see a doctor. Don’t call me in the middle of the night to have a psychotic episode. My son was the one who got bitten. We weren’t going to make a big deal out of it, but now you’re coming after me?” She cut me off with a shriek. “Oh, so now you’re getting an attitude? You pathetic little nobody.” “Let me tell you, this isn’t over! Your son is responsible for my son’s chipped tooth and the severe emotional distress this has caused him. Tomorrow, I want you and your son on your knees, begging for forgiveness. Then we can put this behind us.” “Otherwise, I’ll be at that school every single day, making such a scene that your son will be forced to leave!” On our knees? She really thought she was somebody. I don’t respond well to threats. Wasting another word on a woman like this was pointless. “Your son bites people because you don’t have him on a leash. That has nothing to do with my son. Maybe you should spend less time harassing me and more time taking him to a vet.” I hung up and blocked her number. The rest of the night was sleepless. Having Leo in the same class as a kid like that was a ticking time bomb. I decided I would find a new school for him. The next morning, I brought up the idea of transferring. Leo’s little lip quivered, his eyes instantly welling up with tears. “But Mommy, I don’t want to change schools. Today is rehearsal for the class play! Me and Sophie are supposed to recite a poem together.” Seeing his heartbroken face, my resolve melted. Fine. One more day. What could happen? That woman, Jessica, was probably all bark and no bite. The school has teachers, security cameras everywhere. What could she possibly do? With that thought, my anxiety subsided. “Leo, if anyone, and I mean anyone, bothers you at school today, you call me immediately. Do you understand?” “Okay, Mommy! I’m going now!” Just in case, I sent a long text to his teacher, Ms. Davis, asking her to please keep an extra eye on Leo. With everything seemingly in order, I drove to work. My firm had just landed a major development project downtown, and I was buried in work. It wasn’t until two in the afternoon that I finally had a second to grab a drink of water. I opened my phone and habitually checked my texts with Ms. Davis. The last message was still the long one I had sent that morning. Usually, no matter how busy she was, she’d reply with a quick “Got it.” Today, there was nothing. The knot of anxiety I’d felt earlier returned, tighter than before. I called her cell. It went straight to a cold, robotic voice: “The number you have dialed has been turned off.” My heart sank. I tried calling Leo’s smartwatch. The result made my blood run cold. “We’re sorry, the number you are calling is currently unavailable.” 2. A powerful sense of dread seized me. I abandoned my half-eaten lunch, grabbed my keys, and sprinted out of the office, heading for the kindergarten. I burst through the main doors and nearly collided with Ms. Davis. I grabbed her arm. “Where is Leo?” “Leo’s mom, the children are on a field trip today for a day camp. Didn’t you know?” Ms. Davis’s face was arranged in its usual professional smile, but when she saw me, a flicker of panic crossed her eyes. I didn’t have time for her games. I demanded the address of the camp and turned to leave. “Leo’s mom, please don’t worry, the children are perfectly safe there, we have teachers watching them,” she called after me, but I was already peeling out of the parking lot. The day camp was in a large state park on the outskirts of the city. I followed the signs, searching every designated activity area—the playground, the picnic grounds, the nature center. Not only was Leo not there, but I didn’t see a single child from his class. I found a park ranger, who told me there were no kindergarten field trips scheduled for today at all. My blood turned to ice. “Where did you hide my son?!” I spun around to face Ms. Davis, who had just arrived. I grabbed the front of her shirt. “What did you do with my son?!” “Leo’s mom, please calm down. There are people here. Can’t we discuss this calmly?” “Yes, you’re being very aggressive. This isn’t helping anything,” another teacher said, joining her. They surrounded me, not to help me find my son, but to criticize my behavior. In their eyes, my missing child was somehow proof that I was the one being unreasonable. If he wasn’t in the activity areas, I would search elsewhere. The woods, the fields, the lake… I scoured the entire park like a madwoman. “Leo’s… Leo’s mom, if you don’t stop, we’re going to have to call the police!” one of the teachers threatened, her voice shaking. “Go ahead! Let’s see who they arrest when they get here!” That shut them up. Just then, I heard it. A muffled, suppressed cry. It was coming from an old, abandoned cabin on a small hill. The teachers’ faces went white. They exchanged terrified glances. “Leo’s mom, that area is off-limits! It’s dangerous! You can’t go over there!” I shook them off and ran towards the cabin. Their warnings were just noise. The only thing in my mind was getting through that door. It was locked from the inside. I threw my entire body against it, again and again, until the lock finally splintered. When I saw what was inside, I felt a murderous rage so intense I wanted to tear them all apart with my bare hands. My Leo, my precious baby, was kneeling on the floor. His hands and feet were tied to a thick wooden pole. A woman was holding his head, forcing him to bow it to the ground in front of another boy. “Get your hands off him!” Leo heard my voice and started crying harder, struggling against his bonds. I lunged towards my son, but a group of people—other parents—surged forward, forming a human wall between us. The woman in the center, the one holding my son, stood up slowly. I recognized her. It was Dylan’s mother, Jessica. “Leo’s mom, I warned you last night,” she said, her voice dripping with venom. “I told you to teach your son some manners. You didn’t listen. So I guess I have to do it for you.” As she spoke, she shoved my son’s head down again, hard, against the cold wooden floor. Leo’s forehead was already a mess of purple bruises. His lip was split and he was sobbing so hard he could barely breathe. My heart felt like it was being crushed in a vice. I could barely breathe. My sweet boy, who I had never even raised my voice to, was being tortured. “Leo’s mom, don’t be so dramatic,” Ms. Davis said, blocking my path with a ridiculously earnest expression. “Jessica is just teaching Leo a valuable lesson about respect.” “That’s right,” another parent chimed in. “This is a community. We can’t have one child ruining it for everyone. Why shouldn’t he be held responsible for chipping another boy’s tooth? If he gets away with it, it sets a bad example for our children. Can you take responsibility for that?” I can understand some parents being ignorant. But the teachers? They were educated professionals. How could they stand by and let this happen? 3. I tried to push through them, but there were too many. Jessica had come prepared. There were at least a dozen other parents she had rallied. They linked arms, and I couldn’t break through. My eyes were burning with tears of rage. “Let my son go! This is child abuse! It’s a felony!” Leo’s head was swelling, and his breaths were ragged. But he tried to be brave for me. “Mommy… it doesn’t hurt… I’m a big boy.” Jessica let out a cold laugh. “You hear that? Your son himself says it doesn’t hurt.” She turned back to Leo. “Okay, sweetie, you’ve apologized. Now, if you just crack open these ten walnuts with your forehead, I’ll let your mommy off the hook. She won’t have to get on her knees.” “Really, ma’am? You promise?” Leo asked, his voice small. “NO!” I shrieked. “Leo, don’t listen to her! Mommy said no!” Leo hesitated, his little mouth clamping shut. The next second, Jessica grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head back. Another parent rushed to pin his arms. Leo let out a piercing scream of pain. “You monsters! Let him go! If anything happens to him, I swear to God, none of you are walking out of here!” “I already called the police on my way here! They’ll be here any minute! Every single one of you can look forward to having this on your permanent record!” That gave them pause. The human wall wavered. I saw an opening and was about to charge through when Jessica laughed again. “The police? And who do you think they’ll listen to? In this city, the Harrison family calls the shots!” She gave a smug smile. “So you can all stop worrying. In fact, if you help me keep this crazy woman under control, I’ll have my Mark send a few projects your companies’ way. A thank you, from me.” The Harrison family? Mark? Mark Harrison! That’s my husband’s name! Since when was he her Mark? My mind reeled. A few of the parents, hearing the promise of business deals, lit up. One man lunged forward, grabbed my hair, and slapped me hard across the face. “That’s for messing with Mrs. Harrison!” Jessica’s smile widened. The others took their cue, pushing and shoving me. I was a rag doll in the middle of a vicious mob. I screamed, my voice raw. “She’s a liar! She’s not Mrs. Harrison! I AM!” Leo was on the verge of passing out, his small body limp. “Leo’s mom, lying isn’t a good habit,” Ms. Davis sneered. “No wonder your son is so badly behaved. He learned it from you.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I spun around and slapped her across the face. “You shut your mouth!” “You don’t believe me? I can video call Mark right now!” Jessica sauntered over, her eyes full of contempt. “A video call? In the age of deepfakes? Please. You want to prove who you are? You’ll need more than that. Besides,” she added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “you’ve been ‘calling the police’ for a while now. Do you see any cops?” It had been almost two hours since I called 911. Even with a slow response time… My heart sank into a black pit. She savored my expression. “Let me be clear. The Harrisons have had this whole park cleared out. No one is coming to save you. Unless… you have your precious son crack this entire basket of walnuts. Otherwise, neither of you is leaving.” She gestured to a man in a suit standing by the door. “Mr. Evans, bring in the ‘dessert’ I prepared for Leo.” The man walked in. When I saw his face, I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. It was Mr. Evans, Mark’s most trusted executive assistant. 4. I couldn’t process why he was with Jessica. All I could think about was saving Leo. I scrambled towards him and grabbed his sleeve. “Mr. Evans, please! You have to help us! Get us out of here!” He looked at me as if I were a complete stranger and pried my fingers off his arm, one by one. “My apologies, madam. I only take orders from Mrs. Harrison.” I felt a chill spread through my entire body. Mrs. Harrison. Jessica. A thousand little details suddenly clicked into place. The late nights “at the office.” The strange business trips. The ‘LW’ necklace he wore, which he claimed was his mother’s, Loretta’s. It stood for Lin Wei, Jessica’s name in Chinese. No, in English it’s Jessica… was it Jessica Williams? JW? Or… wait, her name was Lin Wei. LW. He had told me her name was Jessica. She was Chinese-American. The necklace was LW. For Lin Wei. A lie within a lie. And what about me? Our eight years of marriage, building his company from nothing… what was all that? Seeing my devastation, Jessica burst out laughing. “Some people just can’t accept their place in the world. Always dreaming of a life they don’t deserve. Tell me, Leo’s mom, do you still insist you’re the real Mrs. Harrison?” “I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Please… Mrs…. Mrs. Harrison… have mercy on my son. I’ll teach him better, I promise.” My knees gave out, and I knelt on the floor in front of her. Even though Mark and I were legally married, Leo’s life was on the line. I couldn’t provoke her further. The more I humbled myself, the more she would gloat. And maybe, just maybe, Leo would suffer a little less. “Like mother, like son,” she sneered. “Trash begets trash.” “Mrs. Harrison, don’t let her off so easy!” one of the other parents shouted. “Her son chipped a tooth today, who knows what he’ll do tomorrow! He’ll probably become a school shooter! And she wasted so much of our time! You need to teach her a lesson!” Someone kicked me hard in the back. A coppery taste filled my mouth, and I coughed up a spray of blood onto the floor, splattering Leo’s broken smartwatch. The thought of him, trying desperately to call me for help… my heart felt like it was being shredded. “Since you all feel so strongly about it,” Jessica announced, “I’ll do you all a favor. For every walnut this little bastard cracks, I’ll give you one hundred thousand dollars.” I looked up, my eyes bloodshot. She was going to kill him. “No! He’s just a child! He’ll die!” But my voice was drowned out by the greedy shouts of the parents. They swarmed around Leo, a pack of vultures. He cried out in terror as they pushed and shoved him, his small voice quickly lost in their taunts. “I am Ava Prescott! My father is the chairman of the Prescott Group! If you stop now, I can forget this ever happened. Otherwise, I will hold every single one of you accountable!” Ms. Davis laughed. “Leo’s mom, that lie wasn’t believable the first time. Why would it be the second?” “Mrs. Harrison,” another parent suggested, “I think we should just knock all of the little brat’s teeth out. That’ll stop him from growing up to be a liar like his mother.” Jessica smiled. “An excellent suggestion. I’ll do it for free.” She pulled a small hammer from her purse and crouched down next to my son. “NO! JESSICA, YOU PSYCHO, STOP!” Leo was barely conscious, a broken doll in their hands. He heard my voice and struggled to open his eyes, to look for me. But I was pinned to the floor, helpless, forced to watch. Jessica kicked Leo hard in the ribs, then pried his mouth open. She raised the hammer. Just as she was about to bring it down, the door to the cabin was kicked open from the outside. “What the hell is going on in here?” The man standing there… it was Mark.

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