Category: English

There was a bakery near my office, “Sweet Bliss,” that was amazing and affordable. I loved it so much, I set them up as the vendor for our entire company’s daily afternoon snack break. On a day off, I was craving their stuff and saw they were on DoorDash. I was shocked when I got to the checkout. The total, after all the promos and a coupon, wasn’t just cheaper than our corporate rate—it was almost half the price. And the portions were bigger. I called the owner to ask why. “Why is our 150-person bulk order more expensive and smaller than a single DoorDash delivery?” Her response? “You shouldn’t complain about a free meal.” “You don’t pay a dime for it, your boss does!” she snapped. “Your CEO isn’t whining, so why are you making a scene?” She was right, I’m not the CEO. The CEO’s my dad. And if DoorDash is cheaper and better? Fine. Let’s have the entire company order from DoorDash. 1 When I saw the total, I thought I’d messed up the order. Nope. Taro Boba and a Strawberry Swirl Cupcake. Same as always. But the price… it was $7 cheaper than our corporate rate. I checked the bakery’s page. There was a “30% off orders over $15” promo, plus a $5 “DashPass” coupon I had. My total came to $8. Our company pays $15 per person for the exact same items. I figured this must be the catch. Everyone knows delivery portions are a rip-off. It would probably be tiny and stale. But when the Dasher handed me the bag, I realized I was the one being played. 2 The boba was amazing. The cup was coated in a thick, purple taro puree. The ones at work? They had a sad, single-spoon smear at the bottom. And the cupcake. The ones at the office had a thin layer of frosting. This one was piled high with a three-layer swirl, studded with actual, visible chunks of strawberry. On top of that, they’d thrown in a free mango mochi. A little sticker on the mochi box read: “5-star review + pic = $3 off your next order!” I was confused. Did she make a mistake? Did she grab someone else’s deluxe order? Or… had she been intentionally ripping us off this whole time? I couldn’t let it go. I dialed the shop. The voice that answered was sickeningly sweet, “Hi! Thank you for calling Sweet Bliss Bakery, how can I help you today?” I tried to keep my cool. “Hi, I’m calling from Aura Cosmetics—” She cut me off. Her voice was suddenly sharp, like scraping a fork on a plate. “Ugh, you girls again. My husband just dropped off your order.” “You all need to put your requests in the notes. I don’t have time to deal with this every day. You’re all so high-maintenance. ‘Half-sweet,’ ‘no ice,’ ‘extra hot’… I’m not just serving your company, you know! I have delivery orders piling up!” Her rant floored me. Aura Cosmetics is a beauty startup, so yeah, 95% of our staff are women. A free coffee and a pastry in the afternoon is a small perk that keeps morale high. I took pride in setting it up. I’d been so happy to give Sweet Bliss the business. We guaranteed them 150 orders, every single day, at a $15 per-person budget. We paid our invoices weekly, on the dot. We’d been their biggest client for four months straight. 3 “And another thing,” she was still going, “you always call right at the lunch rush—” I cut her off. “Why is our 150-person bulk order more expensive than a single DoorDash order?” The line went silent. “And why,” I continued, “are you so nice to a random customer, but so rude to your biggest client?” She coughed, trying to recover. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry! I’m just so swamped. I just… I feel like we’re so familiar, you know? I can be casual with you. Don’t take it personally.” “Familiar? Really? Then what’s my name?” She stammered. She couldn’t say it. “You don’t know who I am,” I said, my voice cold. “This isn’t ‘casual.’ This is taking us for granted.” “Now, answer my question. Why is the same order $7 cheaper on DoorDash, and it comes with a free mochi and a coupon?” “You said you were giving us your absolute rock-bottom price.” I expected her to apologize. Instead, she got defensive. “Look, you’re trying to have it both ways! You used a bunch of coupons. Those are platform promos! DoorDash pays for that, not me!” “That’s a lie,” I said. “I know how the platform works. The ‘30% off’ promo comes directly out of your margin. And DoorDash still takes its 25% commission. On my $8 order, you probably made $2. But you charge our company $15 for a worse product? You’re not just overcharging us. You’re robbing us.” She was still trying to gaslight me. “We do delivery for volume, not profit! I set the menu price at $15 for everyone. I even gave your company a 50-cent discount on that! What I do on DoorDash is my business!” I laughed. “Oh, really? So the watery boba and the dry cupcake we get are just ‘group discount’ quality?” 4 That finally broke her. She dropped the fake-sweet voice and went full-on nasty. “You’re just a little employee, mooching off a free perk, and you have the nerve to complain? Did you pay for it? No! It’s company money! Why are you so obsessed? You’re just a broke-ass brat.” “You freeload at the office all day, then go home and try to scam promos on DoorDash.” “I can’t stand girls like you, all dressed up in your nice clothes, but cheap as hell underneath.” I was stunned. “What do you mean, ‘mooching’?” I said. “It’s an employee benefit. We have a right to know what we’re actually paying for.” She let out a high-pitched, mocking laugh. “Oh, honey, you really think you’re special, don’t you? You really think that company is your house?” “If you hate the corporate order, go ahead and buy your own. Oh, wait… you’d never do that. You’d never pass up a free handout.” “Our CEO hasn’t said a word. So who the hell do you think you are, making a scene?” “Why don’t you call me back when you’re the boss.” Click. She hung up on me. I was so angry I was shaking. But then, I just felt… cold. Why was she so confident? Why wasn’t she afraid I’d report her? I pulled up a map. Our office park is in a new, remote development. It’s cheap rent, but it’s a food desert. I checked the apps. Besides Sweet Bliss, there were three other options: a sad-looking deli, a Starbucks (where $15 wouldn’t even cover a drink and a pastry), and a tiny mom-and-pop place that couldn’t possibly handle 150 orders. Brenda knew she had a monopoly. She thought she had us. That was a big mistake. I opened our company-wide Slack. I sent a message to the general channel. [@everyone, Hi team. Quick update on the afternoon snack. We’re pausing the group order with Sweet Bliss. Instead, starting tomorrow, please order your own snack from the ‘Sweet Bliss Bakery’ on DoorDash. Here’s the fun part: Create a new DoorDash account to get the new-user promos. Stack all the coupons you can. The company budget is still $15 per person. You’ll be paid back on a reimbursement. Any money you save… is yours to keep. Let’s see who can get the best deal!] The channel exploded. Not only were they getting a better-quality snack, but they were also getting a cash bonus. My phone buzzed. It was Brenda.

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Because I drank a bottle of Coke, my parents tried to kill me. Summer break had just started. I’d just survived the long, sticky drive back to our old house in the mountains. The heat was suffocating, so I made a beeline for the fridge. Luckily, there was one last bottle of Coke inside. I twisted the cap and drained it in one go. The cold fizz was life-saving. That’s when my mom came out of the kitchen. She was all smiles. “Alex! You’re finally home! Your dad and I are prepping ribs, we’re gonna have a big barbecue…” I was smiling, about to answer. But my mom’s face suddenly changed. Her eyes locked onto the empty Coke bottle in my hand. The bright, welcoming expression vanished, replaced by something dark and terrifying. She hissed, “You! Did you drink that Coke!?” 1 I flinched. At that moment, I still hadn’t realized how serious this was. I just said, “Yeah… why? Did it… did it taste weird to you?” I thought maybe it was expired. It wasn’t. The next second, my mom lunged at me. I had no time to react. She slapped me, hard, across the face. I yelled out, stumbling back, my cheek on fire. My mom’s expression was savage, like she wanted to murder me on the spot. My head was spinning. I was too stunned to speak. Thankfully, my dad heard the noise and ran in from the kitchen. I looked at him, my voice cracking. “Dad! Mom… she’s crazy… she just hit me for no reason!” My dad started to yell at her, but she just shrieked: “He drank the Coke!” And then I watched it happen all over again. My dad’s angry eyes snapped to me. He lunged, too. He kicked me, hard, in the stomach. This time, I didn’t stay standing. I crumpled to the floor, the wind knocked out of me. All I could do was groan. Through my blurry vision, I saw them standing over me, their faces twisted in pure disgust. “Quick… lock him in the cellar.” 2 I didn’t come to until it was dark. My stomach was a knot of pain. I sat up and realized the cellar door was locked from the outside. My phone was gone. I could hear my parents walking around upstairs. I banged on the door, I yelled, but they ignored me. What was happening? No dinner, a brutal beating, and now I was a prisoner. Then, I heard them whispering. “…what are we going to do with him?” “…no choice… even if he’s our son…” “…I agree… but let’s wait. It’ll be less painful if he’s asleep…” I froze. My parents, who had doted on me my whole life, were planning to kill me. All because… I drank a bottle of Coke? What was in that bottle? I had to calm down. I had to get out. I suddenly remembered… when I was a kid, I used to play hide-and-seek in this cellar. I always hid behind the old woodpile. Not just because it was a good spot, but because in the corner, behind the pile, there was a hole in the foundation. It was blocked by a few loose bricks. I used to sneak in and out. The woodpile was gone now, replaced by junk. But in that corner… An old, rusty metal cabinet. I scrambled over and shoved it aside. Yes! The loose red bricks were still there. I kicked one, and it shifted. I knelt, pushing and pulling the bricks out one by one. A dark, narrow hole appeared. It took time, and my whole body ached, but I finally managed to squeeze through. I came out in the damp, cool dirt under the porch. I didn’t wait. I just ran. This was a rural town. No shops, no payphones. I instinctively ran to the closest house: my grandpa’s. But as I stood in front of his door… I hesitated. What if he was like them? Just then, a voice came from the darkness behind me. “So there you are.” 3 I jumped out of my skin and spun around. It was my grandpa, leaning on his cane. I relaxed, just a little. It wasn’t my dad. “Grandpa, I…” I opened my mouth, but how could I explain it? “My parents are trying to murder me over a soft drink”? Would he believe me? He seemed… normal. He chuckled. “Figured you’d come see your old grandpa, huh? Come on in, come on in…” He fumbled with his keys and started to open the door. He was acting completely normal. But as he pushed the door open and waved me inside… it hit me. I stopped. “Grandpa, why aren’t you surprised to see me? Did you know I was coming home for the summer?” He smiled, his eyes glinting. “Of course I knew… It’s late, Alex. Get inside.” I didn’t move. “Who told you I was back? And… where are you just getting back from?” His smile froze. And my blood ran cold. My parents locked me in the cellar at dusk. Of course they would have told my grandpa. I had been so stupid. He wasn’t out. He was just coming back… from my house. I still clung to a last thread of hope. But then his face changed. The folksy charm vanished, replaced by a cold fury. He didn’t even bother to explain. He just raised his heavy wooden cane and swung it at my head. I was already backing away. I ducked, and I felt the whoosh of the cane as it smashed into the doorframe. He had put all his strength into it. My legs turned to jelly. I just ran. Behind me, I heard him yelling, “Damn it! Get back here, you little bastard!” The night air was cold. My heart was colder. What was in that Coke? 4 I ran until my lungs burned, and hid in a thicket of ferns. I was exhausted, but… I felt fine. My body wasn’t changing. I wasn’t growing scales or a third eye. It was just a normal Coke. But my family was treating me like I was a monster. I had to find out why. I couldn’t run forever. I couldn’t trust anyone. Except… maybe one person. My best friend, Josh. I had no money, no phone. I couldn’t even leave town without help. I cut through the dark woods to his house. I knew his room was on the ground floor. I crept up to the window. The light was on. I tapped on the glass. A second later, he appeared. I spoke before he could yell. “Josh! Don’t freak out! It’s me, Alex. I’m in serious trouble.” He let out a breath. “Dude! You scared the hell out of me! Why are you at the window? Come to the front door.” “Are your parents home?” I asked, my voice low. “No, they’re not. They got some weird call and just bolted out of here. Why?” My stomach tightened. It had to be about me. My parents knew Josh was my best friend. They must have found me gone. I was about to explain when Josh’s phone rang. 5 He answered it casually. “Hey, Dad? What’s up?” I stood frozen, listening. “Alex? Why are you looking for him?” Josh’s eyes shot to me, wide with confusion. He pulled the phone away from his ear and hit the speaker button. “No, I haven’t seen him. Why?” His dad’s voice was tense, urgent. “Because… because he drank a bottle of Coke! Son, I’m serious. If you see him, you call me or your mom immediately. Do you understand me? Don’t go near him.” Josh looked at me, completely baffled. “Uh… okay. Sure.” He hung up. “Dude,” he whispered, staring at me. “What the hell is going on? You drank a Coke, and my dad’s acting like you started a zombie apocalypse.” I finally felt a tiny bit of relief. He was normal. He hadn’t heard “he drank a Coke” and immediately turned on me. But his parents weren’t. They were part of it. Josh was smart. “My parents could be back any second,” he said, climbing out the window. “Let’s talk out here.” “My dad said your parents have the whole town out looking for you. This is insane. You didn’t just drink a Coke, did you? What did you really do?” It sounded crazy even to me. I told him everything that had happened since I got home. He listened, his expression growing more and more disturbed. When I finished, he was silent for a few seconds. “You know,” he said slowly, “my grandma used to tell this story… You’ve probably never heard it, since your family moved away for so long.” He told me the legend.

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Everyone knew Landon Hayes had boundaries. Sharp ones. Don’t get too close. Don’t touch his things. Even I, his girlfriend, was no exception. For years, I had navigated our relationship by carefully obeying his rules. Until Mimi arrived and shattered them all. I was following my long-established routine, leaving his packed lunch just outside his office door, when I saw her. Mimi, his new protégé, was pressed right up against him, playfully snatching at his phone. I clutched my hands, my wrist still swollen and throbbing from where he had gripped it too hard yesterday, just for accidentally brushing against that same phone. Silently, I spoke to the void. System, I want to go home. 1 I was in the middle of packing when Landon burst in, his face a mask of fury. “Where did you hide Mimi?” I froze. “What are you talking about?” “She’s missing!” he roared. “The security footage shows you two meeting yesterday afternoon. You slapped her, and then she vanished!” I looked down, continuing to fold my clothes into a suitcase. In all the years I’d known him, I had never seen him so unhinged. Seeing my silence, he lunged forward and grabbed my wrist. A sharp, searing pain shot through the swollen flesh, and I gasped. A flicker of something—pity? regret?—crossed his eyes, but he didn’t let go. His grip tightened. “Where is she? What did you say to her?” “Why don’t you ask what she said to me?” I shot back, my voice trembling. Landon barely contained his impatience. “What did she say?” “She said she had you wrapped around her little finger…” His hand cracked across my face. “Stella, this is a matter of life and death!” he snarled. “How dare you joke at a time like this!” I wiped a smear of blood from the corner of my mouth and laughed, a hollow, broken sound. Mimi was right. He would never believe me. “I’m not joking, Landon. And I’m leaving.” I was supposed to have late-stage cancer. The System told me that marrying Landon would cure me. After the wedding, I could choose to return to my own world or stay here. But somewhere along the way, something went terribly wrong. The tables turned. I fell for him. I loved watching the way his brow furrowed in concentration as he worked. I loved that he always remembered our anniversaries, planning little surprises for me. As long as I followed his rules, we were, for all intents and purposes, a happy couple. Then Mimi showed up, and I learned the truth. The person he truly loved didn’t have to follow any rules at all. Landon stared at me, a deep frown creasing his forehead. “Are you really pulling this again, Stella? Trying to get my attention?” “You were jealous, so you made Mimi disappear?” He let out a sigh that was meant to sound weary but was laced with contempt. “Stella, I already agreed to marry you. Why are you so threatened by a young girl?” “She’s young, and she’s brilliant,” he continued. “I’m mentoring her because she has talent. That’s all.” “Is this mentoring?” I asked, and before he could react, I closed the distance between us, my nose almost touching his chest. He recoiled instantly, a look of reflexive disgust on his face. A bitter smile touched my lips. Seven years. The only time we were ever close was when he initiated it. I remembered when my mother died, how I’d reached for him, desperate for comfort, only for him to push me away. “Stella, you know I have issues with personal space.” Right. A man with issues about personal space who lets his new protégé cover his eyes from behind to play “guess who?” Who lets her press against him, again and again, trying to snatch his phone. I’d even seen him, when she pouted in frustration, deliberately lower his hand so she could finally grab it. And then she would tap at the screen, trying password after password. “Professor,” she’d whine, “what’s your passcode?” I couldn’t watch it anymore. 2 He told me to stop making a scene. If Mimi wasn’t found, he wouldn’t marry me. “Okay,” I said. It didn’t matter anymore. Because Mimi had already told me her secret. She had a System, too. And if Landon married me, her System would erase her. My heart had turned to ice. I knew who Landon would choose, and it wouldn’t be me. The wedding was never going to happen. The System informed me that the process to send me home had already begun. As compensation for my efforts, it would petition the Main System for a bonus. I was about to thank it when Landon’s fingers clamped around my jaw, forcing me to look at him. “Stella, I’m giving you three days. If you don’t tell me where Mimi is, I’m done playing nice.” Threatening his girlfriend of seven years for a girl he barely knew. My answer was the same. “I don’t know where she is.” He dragged me to a storage room in the basement and threw me inside. The room was filled with terrifying, life-sized mannequins. I screamed, my body shaking uncontrollably. He knew. He knew my deepest fears were ghosts and dolls. As I struggled to my feet, he kicked me hard in the chest, sending me sprawling. He produced a rope and tied my ankles together. “Three days, Stella,” he said, his voice cold as stone. “Tell me sooner, and I’ll let you out sooner.” My face was ashen. “Landon, she staged her own disappearance.” “Staged it?” he scoffed. “Do you think everyone is as manipulative as you are? Mimi’s time is valuable. And besides, she has no reason to be jealous of you.” I froze. He was right. She didn’t need to pull stunts to get his attention. She already had all of it. Landon tossed a crumpled note at my feet. It was in Mimi’s handwriting. “See for yourself. I want to know exactly what you said to her to make her this terrified.” I picked it up. Professor Hayes, I’m so sorry. I overstepped and made your fiancée angry. What she said to me… it was too much to bear. Please don’t force her to tell you where I am. Don’t worry about me. The paper was stained with what looked like tear drops. I couldn’t tell if they were Mimi’s or Landon’s. “And this note makes you think I’m responsible?” “Please,” he sneered. “You’re the one who faked a medical emergency, crying that you were dying, just to get me to come home. Is there anything you won’t do for attention, Stella?” I stared at him, stunned. The time I was hospitalized… he thought I was faking it. “Thankfully, Mimi saw right through you,” he continued. “If it wasn’t for her, I would’ve missed that critical conference.” 3 The heavy door slammed shut, plunging me into darkness. As my eyes adjusted, they met the dead, staring eyes of a dozen mannequins. I squeezed my own eyes shut, scrambling into a corner and curling into a ball. Just sleep, I told myself. When you wake up, the System will have taken you home. But then, the mannequins started to move. Landon’s voice drifted from outside the door. “These were originally for a haunted house attraction. Congratulations, Stella. You’re the first to test them out.” They shuffled towards me, the sound of their gears grinding a horrifying mechanical symphony. “No! Landon, please! Let me out!” I screamed. The grinding stopped. “Are you finally ready to tell me where Mimi is?” he asked. I shook my head, sobbing. “I don’t know where she is, but—” “Hah. Unbelievable.” He’d only heard the first part. He flipped a switch, and the deafening noise of the machinery drowned out the rest of my words. I passed out from fear countless times. Each time, Landon would enter, hook me up to an IV drip, and splash cold water on my face to wake me, before sealing me in the dark once more. Eventually, my throat was too raw to make a sound. I was drenched in sweat, my mind a numb, vacant haze. Only then did he shut them off. “Three days are up,” he said, opening the door. “Are you ready to talk?” Three days. It had really been three days. I managed a ghastly smile. “Landon… can you hold me?” “If I hold you, will you tell me where she is?” I nodded. He rushed forward and pulled my limp, sweat-soaked body into his arms. I felt the familiar warmth and tried to press closer, greedy for one last moment. But he pushed me away, pulling out a sanitizing wipe and scrubbing his hands with a look of disgust. “Alright. Start talking.” I laughed. “Landon, today was supposed to be our wedding day. Why don’t we get married? Maybe then Mimi will come back.” He froze, then his face contorted with rage. “How dare you mock me, Stella!” he roared. “I can’t believe how inhuman you are. A person’s life is at stake, and all you can think about is getting married?” “I’ve already called and postponed the ceremony.” “And let me tell you,” he spat, “until Mimi is found, it will stay postponed. Forever.” I was certain my plan would work. One hundred percent certain. But he didn’t believe me. He called for his lab assistant. “Take her to the Memory Extraction Device,” he commanded coldly. “I’m going to see for myself how this vicious bitch drove Mimi away.” The assistant blanched. “Professor Hayes, please reconsider! That device is still in the experimental phase. It could cause irreversible damage, or even kill her! We’ve never tested it on a human subject—” Landon cut him off with a chilling smile. “No better time to start. She can be our first guinea pig.” 4 I was too weak to resist. He strapped me into the chair with ease. He picked up a metal helmet, bristling with wires and needles. Just before placing it on my head, he gave me one last chance. “Stella, just tell me the truth. Stop lying and tell me where Mimi is.” “Otherwise,” he continued, his voice devoid of emotion, “the probe needles and chemical solution inside this helmet will pierce your brain, extracting your memories by force. It will strip you of all dignity. The pain will be unbearable.” A faint, tragic smile touched my lips. “Landon, I’ve already told you everything I know. You’re the one who refuses to believe me.” “Stubborn to the end.” He forced my thumb onto the inkpad and pressed it onto a waiver. If anything happened to me, he wouldn’t be held responsible. He was so afraid of missing a single clue that could lead him to Mimi that he called in the entire lab staff. They were to watch the large screen where my memories would be projected for all to see. A kind-faced graduate student spoke up. “Professor… maybe we should just call the police. This project really isn’t ready…” Landon’s smile was cruel. “Can the police pry open her skull and see what she said to Mimi that day? Begin.” The helmet was locked into place. Thousands of tiny needles sank into my scalp. I screamed, but my voice was a shredded, inhuman croak, like the rasp of a demon clawing its way out of hell. It sent a shudder through the room. The screen flickered to life. An image appeared. It was Landon, at twenty-two. The day he agreed to be my boyfriend. Before I could even celebrate, he laid down the law. “Even though you’re my girlfriend, I expect you to respect my boundaries.” I remember being taken aback, but I nodded. The scene shifted. My own suppressed sobs filled the room. “Landon, my mom’s gone. I don’t have a mother anymore.” He hung up and rushed to my side. I reached for him, needing to be held, but he hesitated, taking a step back. Seeing the state I was in, he finally relented and pulled me into a stiff embrace. In the days after her funeral, I was plagued by nightmares of demons dragging me to hell. I ran to his room, begging to sleep with him. He sighed and pulled back the covers. He placed a pillow between us like a barrier, but he let me hold his hand. In that moment, I believed I was different. Special. He had broken his own rules for me. As he slept, I leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Landon,” I whispered, “we’ll get married someday, right? And when we do… you won’t need all these boundaries with me anymore, will you?” In the lab, the real Landon scowled. “Why is it pulling up this useless garbage?” he snapped. “I want to see the day she drove Mimi away!” The assistant sighed. “Professor, a person’s mind isn’t a computer. We can’t just search for a specific date.” Landon strode over to me. “Stella, focus. Think about what happened a few days ago. If you don’t, this is going to get much, much worse for you.” I said nothing. The System had already told me the transfer was complete. I would be going home today. My silence enraged him. “Increase the intensity!” he ordered. “I want to see memories related to Mimi!” The needles dug deeper. A choked, guttural sound escaped my throat. The image on the screen changed. After a few flickers, Mimi’s face appeared. Landon’s eyes widened. “Mimi!” he breathed. On the screen, Mimi was smiling as she knocked on my door, a slice of cream cake in her hand. “Miss Stella? You must be the Professor’s girlfriend. I’m his new protégé.” “Oh, hello.” “Professor Hayes said he was too busy to see you today, but he wanted to wish you a happy birthday.” I took the cake, thanking her for coming all this way. “You really shouldn’t have. He could have just sent a courier.” She puffed out her chest proudly. “He said he didn’t trust a courier, so he sent me instead.” That was the first time we met. I liked her. We even exchanged numbers. I had no reason to be suspicious as I ate the cake. Outside the screen, Landon sighed wistfully. “She was such a good kid. She knew I’d forgotten your birthday, so she ordered a cake and brought it to you herself.” He turned to me, his voice dripping with accusation. “And this is the sweet, kind girl you decided to terrorize?” Despite the agony, I found the strength to smile at him, gesturing for him to keep watching. On screen, I lit a candle on the cake and made a wish. I hope… I hope Landon and I can get married this year. Because my time is running out. I took a bite of the cake. Then another. Suddenly, I was clutching my throat, gasping for air. A violent rash erupted on my arms and legs. I collapsed to the floor. My first instinct was to call him. “Landon,” I rasped into the phone, “I think I’m dying. Help me…” 5 Landon froze. From the other end of the line, Mimi’s voice chirped, “Professor, we’re about to board. Who are you talking to?” “It’s Stella. I think something’s wrong.” “That’s impossible. She was fine when I gave her the cake. Oh, I get it. She’s just trying to guilt you into spending her birthday with her. Don’t fall for it.” Mimi’s voice was full of certainty. And Landon believed her. “Stella, be good,” he soothed. “I’ll make it up to you when I get back. We’ll celebrate your birthday then.” The line went dead. My vision blurred, and the world faded to black. Watching this, Landon looked at me in disbelief. “Stella… you have an allergy?” Before I could answer, the female grad student spoke up, her eyes red. “Professor, it must have been the cake!” “How could it be… When Mimi offered to remember your birthday for me, I specifically told her you were allergic to mango…” Landon sank into a chair, muttering, still trying to deceive himself. “She must have forgotten. Yes, that’s it. She just forgot.” “Keep going,” he ordered. Luckily, a delivery driver who had a package for me saw me through the window and called an ambulance. I was rushed to the hospital. When I woke up, the doctor’s face was grave. “Young lady, did you know you have a severe mango allergy? You nearly died.” Tears streamed down my face as I clutched my phone, scrolling through my old messages with Landon. But there were no new ones from him. Instead, a message from Mimi popped up. It was a photo of her holding Landon’s phone. [Guess what Professor Hayes’s passcode is, Stella?] My hand tightened around my phone. Landon never let anyone touch his phone. Ever. I bit my lip, refusing to reply. But she was persistent. She called me. I heard her sweet, girlish voice on the other end. “Professor… what’s your passcode? Can I… can I change it to my birthday?” Then, Landon’s voice, laced with a soft chuckle. “Go ahead, if you want.” “But… won’t Stella be angry if she finds out?” “She won’t. She never touches my phone. And besides, she wouldn’t pick a fight with a kid like you.” “Are you sure it’s okay for us to share a hotel room? It’s all my fault for not booking one in advance.” “Don’t overthink it. I’ll sleep on the couch. I have work to do, make yourself at home.” Even after he said he was busy, Mimi kept chattering in his ear, and he would give soft, distracted replies. If it had been me, I would never have dared to disturb him while he was working. By the time I hung up, my face was soaked with tears. Landon’s expression was grim. He hadn’t known Mimi was on the phone with me. He turned, meeting my weak, mocking gaze. Then, inexplicably, he got angry first. “Why didn’t you tell me?” “Tell you?” My voice was a reedy whisper. The pain in my head was a dull, throbbing numbness. “Would you have believed me?” The assistant rushed to my side, checking my vitals. “Professor! Her body is at its limit! We have to stop!” Landon was silent for a moment. Then, “Continue.” I knew then. Once he set his mind to something, there was no turning back. Even if I died in this chair, he would just dissect my brain and keep searching. This time, the current that shot through my head made my eyes roll back. My body convulsed, drool spilling from the corner of my mouth. I must have looked hideous. Many in the room turned away, unable to watch. I could feel my life draining away. The memories on the screen began to flash by like a sped-up film. Most of them were of Landon’s back. Me, watching him from a distance. But slowly, a new, bright figure appeared at his side. I remembered someone joking once, “Professor, you and Mimi make a perfect couple.” The words had haunted me ever since.

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When the heir to the Thorne fortune, Julian Thorne, broke up with me, I cried my eyes out. He frowned, annoyed. “Are you really this in love with me?” Then he wired me ten million dollars as a breakup fee. I covered my mouth and ran away, sobbing. Everyone thought I was hopelessly devoted to him, a pathetic, obsessed simp. Until that night. My Finsta account was accidentally exposed. @NotYourBabe: “He’s as cold as a fish and as stubborn as a mule.” @NotYourBabe: “God, this idiot is so annoying.” @NotYourBabe: “FINALLY. Free at last,嘻嘻.” Julian, his face blank, crushed the glass in his hand. He sent me a text. “I’ll give you another ten million.” “You’d better pray I don’t catch you.” 1 Three weeks of dating, and Julian texted me to end it. I couldn’t just let it go. I ran to confront him. The VIP section of the club was dark and loud. In front of all his friends, I bit my lip, my voice cracking. “Babe, are you really doing this?” Julian leaned back on the velvet couch, a cigarette burning between his fingers. “Yeah. We’re done.” His voice was as cool as his posture. “No, please. Tell me what I did wrong. I’ll fix it.” I was pathetic, crying like a fool. My heart was pounding so hard I could barely breathe. A few seconds of silence. Julian scowled and stubbed out his cigarette. He looked at my tear-filled eyes, a flicker of annoyance and… confusion… in his. “Are you really this in love with me?” I nodded, tears streaming. “More than anything, babe.” His scowl deepened, his lips pressing into a thin line. A moment later, my phone buzzed. A bank alert: $10,000,000.00. Julian looked away, his voice cold as he dismissed me. “That’s for your trouble. Forget me.” 2 For a second, all the color drained from my face. My body swayed. “Fine. If that’s what you want.” A fresh tear rolled down my cheek. I covered my mouth and ran, feeling the pitying stares of everyone in the booth. Behind me, I vaguely heard someone say, “Damn, Julian, paying her off like that? That’s brutal. A total humiliation for her.” “She looked like she was about to shatter.” “Should I go get the money back?” Julian’s voice, hesitant, drifted after me. …I ran faster. The night air was cold. I squatted under a streetlight, my face buried in my hands, eyelashes still damp. The System cleared its throat in my head. [Hey, kid. Don’t take it too hard. At least the mission is complete.] I lowered my hands and looked at the scrape on my arm. I got it a few days ago, tripping while bringing Julian his stupid craft-brewed-by-Tibetan-monks coffee. “Did I look like I was about to shatter?” I asked, my voice flat. “God, I feel so… misunderstood.” […What?] “Like a nun being accused of running a brothel,” I clarified. […] 3 The System finally rebooted. [Wait… you were faking it?!] “How’d I do? Oscar-worthy, right?” I stood up and stretched, the “heartbreak” gone. I’d died in a spectacular and embarrassing accident (don’t ask). A ‘Love System’ snagged my soul and brought me here, promising to send me back to my life if I completed one task: Successfully “conquer” a top-tier, high-quality man and stay in a relationship with him for at least three weeks. It picked the target for me: Julian Thorne. Heir to the Thorne conglomerate. Handsome, rich, and emotionally unavailable. Difficulty: five stars. I’d spent months trying to crack his code. I was relentless, devoted, playing the part of a woman desperately in love. Even the System thought my performance was real. But Julian remained a block of ice. Then, for no reason I could figure out, he suddenly agreed to date me. He was still cold. Wouldn’t even hold my hand. The entire relationship was me, the “obsessed simp,” doing all the work. Whatever. It didn’t matter. I pulled out my phone and smiled at the bank alert. “Hey, System? Can I take the cash with me?” [No.] …Great. All that acting. For nothing. 4 The System said it would take a few days to upload the mission data. Since I couldn’t keep the money, I decided to spend it. I rented a supercar. I moved into a glass-walled penthouse. I bought out half of Rodeo Drive. I was living my best, most obnoxious rich-person life. Tonight, I’d dressed to kill and gone clubbing. Coming out of the bathroom, I ran straight into one of Julian’s friends. “Nina? You here to see Julian?” “Nope, nope. We’re done, remember?” I tried to sidestep him. “Ouch. Rough, Nina. I’m sorry.” He gave me this pitying look, like he knew I was just putting on a brave face. “Hey, his childhood friend Chloe just flew in. We’re all in the VIP for her welcome-home party. C’mon, I’ll get you in.” He grabbed my arm and started pulling me, ignoring my protests. In the booth, Julian’s head snapped up. His face was tense. A very cute, bubbly girl was sitting right next to him. “You must be the ex-girlfriend,” she chirped. Then her face soured. “You pathetic simp. You deserved to get dumped. You’re not good enough for him. Stay away from Julian.” 5 “Sure, honey. You’re the one. You’re totally the one.” “Life is so boring, and then a toad hops up to critique a human.” My mission was over. I was done being nice. I plopped down on the couch, crossed my legs, and poured myself a drink. Chloe looked like I’d slapped her. She clutched her chest and fell sideways into Julian. “Julessss, she’s being mean to me.” Julian’s face darkened. He stood up. “Nina!” He looked like he was about to defend his precious Chloe. Chloe, having missed her target, stood up and tried to grab his arm. “Jules…” But Julian abruptly sat back down. He just stared at me, his face impassive, and said, “That was uncalled for.” …That’s it? The tension was so thick, one of his friends tried to break it. “Hey, c’mon, we’re all friends. Drink up!” “Chloe, don’t mind her, she’s just heartbroken.” “But she was mean to me first!” Chloe whined, her eyes filling with tears. She was so aggressively stupid, it was almost impressive. “Talking to you is a waste of my time. I’d rather be scrolling Twitter,” I said. “It’s one thing to play dumb, but don’t overdo it. You’re like a glitching NPC with amnesia.”

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1 My parents’ adopted daughter led three teenagers to their deaths on a mountain. And my parents framed me for it. My father forced me to kneel before the victims’ families and shattered my leg with a trekking pole, bone by bone. “These are the legs she used to lead your children into danger,” he declared. “I’ll make sure she never climbs again!” My mother officially disowned me. “Patty is destined to break world records,” she said, her voice like ice. “She can’t have a disgrace like you for a sister. She’s sacrificed so much for you over the years. It’s time you paid her back.” Even my childhood sweetheart, Ethan, made me a promise. “Patty has nothing. If she had to take the blame for this, she’d fall apart. But you have me. No matter what happens, I’ll wait for you.” “Those families just want someone to blame,” he’d whispered. “They won’t let you go to prison. Once their anger cools, you can come home.” But to protect their precious Patty’s reputation from the slightest blemish, he joined my parents in fabricating evidence, and together, they sent me to prison. They lied to my face, telling me it was for my own protection, to keep me safe from retaliation. They had no idea I had already given up on them. … The fluorescent lights of the bus station were blinding. I stood at the empty gate, then began the long, slow walk back to the house that was no longer a home. On a massive screen in the city square, a news report played on a loop: Patty, breaking a world climbing record. In the video, my parents and Ethan stood in the crowd below, their faces ecstatic, cheering for her. It seemed they had completely forgotten that today was the day I was released. I walked for nearly three hours before I saw Ethan’s car screech to a halt beside me. He must have remembered at the last minute. He saw the unevenness in my gait and rushed over, grabbing my arm. “Clara, what happened to your leg? Did someone hurt you in there?” I met his concerned gaze and felt a bitter laugh rise in my throat. “Weren’t you the one who, along with my parents, was so worried about Patty’s reputation that you sent me to prison before my leg had even healed?” Because my injury was never properly treated, I would never be able to climb again. Ethan’s eyes darted away, unable to meet mine. “We were just worried the victims’ families would come after you,” he mumbled. “That’s why we did it. And even if… even if there’s a problem with your leg, I won’t ever hold it against you. It’ll be my turn to take care of you.” I didn’t have the energy to argue. I pulled open the car door, but stopped when I saw Patty sitting in the passenger seat. “What is she doing here?” Ethan quickly shut the door. “Our friends are throwing a party to celebrate Patty’s record. It… it might be a little awkward if you came.” “Awkward?” I snapped. “The murderer gets to go, but the one who was framed can’t? How is that not awkward?” My words made him panic. He glanced nervously at Patty in the car, relieved when he saw she hadn’t heard. He turned back to me, his expression hardening with disapproval. “Patty is still severely traumatized by what happened. Are you trying to push her over the edge by saying things like that?” “Just get a cab home,” he said, his tone dismissive. “I’ve already wasted enough time looking for you. I have to get Patty to her party.” With that, he got in the car and drove off, apparently forgetting that a person just released from prison doesn’t have a single penny to their name. It took another hour to walk home. By the time I arrived, a sharp, stabbing pain was shooting up my leg. I reached the front door and heard the sound of cheerful chatter from inside. “Yes, Patty is so accomplished. It’s a good thing we adopted her. I don’t know what we’d do without her.” “Don’t even mention Clara. We haven’t had a single good night’s sleep since she killed those kids. Patty was heartbroken, you know. She kept saying she wanted to take the blame for her sister.” I knocked on the door. My mother opened it. The smile on her face vanished the moment she saw me. “Why are you back now? Go wait outside. We have guests. Don’t you dare embarrass us!” Her words were merciless. As the door swung shut, I heard her explain to the relatives inside, “Oh, it’s nothing. Just someone collecting for charity.” Later that night, when I was finally allowed in, my father greeted me with a slap that sent me sprawling to the floor. “You knew today was a big day for Patty, and you still came back to ruin it! Would it have killed you to stay in there one more day? Because of you, we’ve become a laughingstock!” My mother shot me a look of pure disgust, quickly snatching Patty’s trophy off the mantelpiece as if my very presence might tarnish it. “She definitely chose today on purpose. Patty has such a tragic past, and still, she bullies her. Why didn’t they lock her up for longer?” 2 I had been hearing things like this ever since my parents adopted Patty. I was used to it. I looked at them coldly. “Have you told these lies so often you’ve started to believe them yourselves? Don’t forget, the person who got those kids killed was Patty.” As the words left my mouth, there was a thud from behind me. My parents rushed to Patty’s side, who had dramatically collapsed. “Don’t listen to her, Patty,” my mother cooed. “What happened back then was just an accident. It had nothing to do with you.” “Besides,” my father added, glaring at me, “if Clara had just told you how dangerous climbing was, you never would have taken those kids. I think she wanted something to happen to you. It’s not the first time she’s tried to hurt you, is it?” “Now get over here and apologize to your sister!” Ethan looked at me with disappointment. “Clara, that was way out of line,” he said coldly. As he walked towards me, Patty grabbed his hand, her eyes welling with tears. “Mom, Dad, Ethan, don’t blame her,” she whispered pitifully. “She probably just got out and saw my success, and it made her feel… inadequate. But I really did earn this on my own. It had nothing to do with the things you left behind.” “If it makes you feel better,” she cried, “I don’t need this trophy! I can leave this house, so I’m not a bother to you anymore.” With a dramatic flourish, she snatched the trophy from my mother’s hands and smashed it on the floor before running out of the house. “Patty!” Ethan shoved me aside and ran after her. I stumbled and fell onto the shattered remains of the trophy. Shards of glass dug into my flesh, and I gasped from the sharp pain. I had barely struggled to my feet when my father kicked the back of my leg. I collapsed again, my knees landing directly on the broken glass. An agony I could barely endure shot through me. Blood quickly stained the floor, but my parents acted as if they couldn’t see it. Without a shred of concern, my mother threw a tube of superglue at my feet. “You can get up when you’ve glued that trophy back together. Otherwise, consider yourself no longer our daughter!” Her words didn’t even faze me. From the moment Patty entered our home, their hearts had belonged entirely to her. After Patty’s biological parents were arrested for their crimes, she was sent to an orphanage. She was smart and sweet-tongued, and my parents, who were patrons of the orphanage, decided to adopt her the first time they met. At first, I felt sorry for her. But on her second night with us, she deliberately cut my hand with a knife and then poured superglue into the wound. When my parents rushed in, she was the first to cry, throwing herself into their arms. “I’m so sorry, Mommy, Daddy! I just saw Clara’s hand was hurt, and I wanted to help her. It’s all my fault! She has every right to be angry with me. Please, don’t blame her!” The wound on my hand burned like fire. I tried to explain what had really happened, but they didn’t believe me. They decided I must have been trying to hurt Patty and injured myself by accident. From that day on, no matter what happened between us, it was always my fault. They even blamed me for the time their brakes failed while they were on a trip with Patty, convinced I had sabotaged the car. I painfully pulled myself up from the floor, intending to clean my wounds. As I passed my parents’ room, I overheard them talking. “That trophy is smashed to pieces. Making her glue it is pointless. We’re letting her off too easy.” “The trophy is just an excuse. I don’t want her interrupting Patty and Ethan. You don’t actually want to see Ethan marry that girl, do you?” “Of course not. I wish she’d rot in there forever. She only makes Patty miserable when she’s around.” 3 The last fragile piece of my heart shattered. I went back to my old room, now occupied by Patty, and began gathering my things. As I was packing, a video on her phone caught my eye. It was an old recording of me on a difficult climb, years ago. She had posted it on her own social media account. In the video, I was bundled up against the cold, my face completely covered. No one would recognize me. The comments section was flooded with praise for Patty. “Wow, Patty was tackling mountains this dangerous years ago! No wonder she’s my favorite!” “It’s a shame someone so amazing has a sister like that. She was so jealous of Patty’s talent that she secretly took three teenagers on an illegal climb and got them killed.” “She killed three people out of sheer selfishness? How can she even live with herself?” Soon, my personal information was leaked online. The internet exploded with hate. But amidst the bile, there were a few voices of reason. “Could this be a misunderstanding? I seem to remember some climbers saying they saw Patty leading the three teens that day.” “I know Clara. She’s a professional. She never climbs with others, let alone with inexperienced minors.” Just as these two comments started gaining traction, two familiar accounts posted lengthy replies beneath them. “I am Patty and Clara’s father. I can confirm that it was Clara who took those three children climbing. She did it to frame Patty, never imagining the consequences would be so dire. As her father, I am filled with regret. If I had known she would turn out like this, I wish she had never been born.” “I am Patty’s mother. The only reason Clara knows anything about climbing is from stealing and studying Patty’s notes and guides. It’s been like this her whole life. Anything Patty wants, she has to steal!” … Reading my parents’ words, twisting the truth and heaping filth onto my name to protect Patty, left me numb. But what truly broke me was Ethan. After being hurt by my parents time and time again, he had become the one person I trusted, the one person I cared about most. I told him everything. Even the video Patty had just posted—I had only ever sent it to him. Years ago, Ethan, an amateur climber, had been caught in a flash storm on a solo climb. It was pure chance that I was nearby. I risked my own life to save him. If I hadn’t, he would have died on that mountain. After he recovered, he latched onto me, following me everywhere, his eyes shining as he begged me to be with him. “Clara, if you don’t say yes, I’ll follow you for the rest of your life!” “I can see you’re carrying a heavy burden. Let me help you carry it.” His persistence wore me down. I finally agreed to be his girlfriend, and I told him everything about my family. At first, he was my comfort, promising to build a real home with me, for me. But somewhere along the line, he started getting closer to Patty. By the time I realized what was happening, the accident had occurred. Before I could even confront him, he had conspired with my parents to make me the scapegoat. Seeing that video, any love I had left for him died. Ethan came home late that night. When he saw my injuries, he rushed to my side. “How did this happen? I’m taking you to the hospital!” I shook his hand off and stared at him, my eyes cold. “What’s the deal with the video?” He paled, realizing what I was talking about. “Patty was in a really bad state. You have no idea what that trophy meant to her. I only showed her the video to stop her from doing something stupid. Besides, you can’t climb anymore. That stuff doesn’t mean anything to you now.” “You’re not me. How would you know what it means to me?” My question seemed to spark a flicker of guilt in his eyes. He stepped closer, taking my arm again, his voice softening. “It was an emergency. I didn’t have time to think. I promise, I’ll take you to any mountain you want to see. We’ll make new videos, better ones.” I looked into his earnest eyes, my mind a chaotic mess of emotions. Just then, my parents burst into the room. “Ethan! Something’s happened to Patty!” 4 Ethan dropped my hand and ran out of the room. My parents, halfway out the door, noticed I hadn’t moved and shot me a furious glare. “Your sister is in trouble, and you don’t even care? I bet you had something to do with this!” After spitting their venom, they hurried away. I was just about to lie down when my phone rang. It was Ethan. He was silent for a long moment before speaking, his voice heavy. “Clara, you need to get over here, quickly. There’s new evidence in the climbing accident case. The injustice you suffered… it can finally be cleared up.” I was skeptical, but the desire to clear my name was stronger. I went to the address he gave me. When I arrived, Ethan was standing there, his head bowed, chewing on his lip. Before I could ask what was going on, my father swung a trekking pole, striking my good leg. The crack of bone echoed in the quiet room. I collapsed, a wave of nausea and cold sweat washing over me as the agonizing pain hit. Several familiar faces loomed over me. It was the families of the teenagers who had died. My mother’s voice cut through the haze of pain. “It was selfish of us to hide the truth. The fact is, Clara was jealous of Patty’s success, and she deliberately took your children climbing to spite her.” A deathly chill spread through me. The scene from years ago was replaying itself. Ethan knelt beside me, his voice a low, urgent whisper. “They thought the accident was just that—an accident. So after you went to prison, they let it go. But now, they’ve seen the news online, and they know it was intentional. They’re furious.” “They couldn’t find you, so they came for Patty. I was afraid something would happen to her, so I…” Tears blurred my vision. I looked up at him and laughed, a broken, hollow sound. “So you lured me here? To make me take the fall for Patty all over again?” “You wretched girl, what nonsense are you spouting?!” my father roared. “You’re the one who killed them! What does this have to do with Patty?!” Before I could reply, he struck me again, this time across my back. My mother cradled Patty in her arms, looking down at me on the floor with cold indifference. “You made your bed, now you have to lie in it. Are you trying to drag Patty down with you? Because of you, she’s reliving that trauma all over again. If her condition gets worse, I’ll never forgive you!” Ethan gently wiped the sweat from my brow, his hand gripping mine tightly. “Just let them get their anger out, and then we can start a new life. No matter what, I won’t leave you. I’ll face this with you this time.” My father threw the trekking pole down in front of me. “None of this would have happened if you didn’t cause so much trouble!” My mother, clutching Patty, sobbed with rage. “Clara, do you have any idea how much Patty has suffered because of you? She finally has a chance at a bright future. Are you really going to destroy it?” She has a bright future? What about me? Am I supposed to live the rest of my life covered in this filth? My questioning gaze made my parents look away, a hint of shame in their eyes. Ethan’s eyes reddened. “Clara, as soon as this is over, we’ll get married,” he promised. At his words, Patty shot me a look of pure hatred before her eyes rolled back and she fainted in my mother’s arms. “Patty!” Ethan’s head snapped around. He saw Patty, limp and unconscious, and a look of conflict crossed his face. “Ethan, you’re the only one who can stop her from doing something drastic,” my mother pleaded. “Please, come with us to the hospital.” “But…” He glanced at me, hesitating for a moment before squeezing my hand. “They just want to know the truth. They won’t actually hurt you. I’ll be back for you soon. Patty needs me right now. I can’t let anything happen to her.” I watched as Ethan and my parents disappeared, and I closed my eyes in utter despair. When I opened them again, they were filled with ice. I looked at the victims’ families and smiled. “You want to know the truth of what happened that day?”

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1 My husband, Kristopher, is hopeless with directions. A GPS is just a confusing voice to him. He got so lost on the way to our own wedding that we had to postpone the ceremony for three days. On our anniversary, a whole table of food I’d cooked grew cold while he wandered the city, lost again. It didn’t matter that I was eight months pregnant when I fell in the bathroom and cried out for help. He sounded frantic on the phone, but he still got lost on the five-year-old route home. By the time he finally arrived, I was already at the hospital, and our baby had been cremated. I was drowning in a fog of grief, but everyone just offered placating words. “You know his silly head; he can’t remember roads. He wasn’t trying to be late. Don’t fight, you’ll have another baby.” I just nodded, numb. But on the way to our son’s funeral, I noticed something. Kristopher was driving without the chauffeur, and he navigated a series of back roads with perfect ease… right to his assistant’s house. “Evelyn,” he said, not looking at me, “the funeral won’t start for a bit. I need to take Zoe to the airport first. She has to get back to her hometown.” He didn’t wait for my answer. The car was already pulling up to her door. The assistant, Zoe, slid into the passenger seat like she owned it. Her words were daggers in my heart. “See how well I’ve trained him?” she purred, playfully swatting his arm. “You forget the way to my place again, and I’ll tan your hide.” She finally noticed me in the back and stuck her tongue out playfully. “Oh, Mr. Grey, I was just kidding.” I clenched my jaw, my silence a scream he couldn’t hear. After dropping Zoe off, Kristopher promptly forgot the way to the cemetery. The funeral was delayed by half an hour. As I cradled the tiny urn in my hands, my heart turned to stone. It turned out he could be an exception for someone. It just wasn’t for me, or for our child. I pushed the urn into his hands and got into the driver’s seat myself. The silence in the car was heavy enough to suffocate. Kristopher rubbed his temples, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. “Evelyn, I’m sorry. I even reviewed the route last night. I don’t know how I still…” His words trailed off, but a memory surfaced in my mind: Kristopher, before bed, studying a map on his tablet. The pin he’d marked wasn’t the cemetery. It was Zoe’s house. Kristopher truly was terrible with directions; he’d been getting lost since he was a child, always needing someone to find him. Before we got married, our friends used to joke about it. “Evelyn, you’re basically his human GPS. Let’s just hope your kids don’t inherit that broken compass of his.” But now I knew the truth. There was one place he could always remember. Those winding roads were never the problem. He could stay up all night, tracing the path under a lamp, completely oblivious to his wife weeping in the other room over the child they’d lost. What was I to him? What was I? At the funeral, as I placed the small urn into the earth, the tears I’d been holding back finally fell. And in that most sacred moment of remembrance, Kristopher stood up to leave. “Evelyn, something’s happened with Zoe. I have to go.” Zoe. His assistant. I couldn’t count the number of times he’d abandoned me for her. The prenatal appointment we were supposed to go to together—one phone call and he was gone. Our anniversary dinner at the restaurant I’d booked months in advance—canceled without a second thought. This time, my voice was a roar. “You dare walk out of here right now, and we are getting a divorce.” Kristopher froze. “It’s an emergency, Evelyn. Don’t make a scene.” A bitter, broken laugh escaped my lips. “A scene? I’m making a scene? Our son is gone, and you, his father, can’t spare five minutes to say goodbye? Don’t you dare tell me it’s for work, Kristopher. Anyone else can handle it. What could possibly be so important that only you can do it?” He chewed on his lip, hesitating for a fraction of a second before blurting out, “Zoe’s trying to kill herself. There’s a huge crisis with her family. I can’t just ignore it…” I cut him off. “I gave all the company drivers the day off. You wouldn’t even be able to find her place. Call the police, Kristopher. Let them handle it.” He hesitated for a moment, then walked out anyway. I stood there alone, a solitary figure in black and white, saying farewell to my child. It felt just like my pregnancy—a journey I had taken all by myself, a child it seemed only I had ever wanted. After the funeral, I turned on the location tracker I’d synced to his car. I watched as Kristopher drove five hundred kilometers without a single wrong turn. Hours later, his car’s icon stopped precisely over Zoe’s hometown. He hadn’t wasted a single minute. It seemed that finally learning to use a GPS had taken a lot out of him. He was unreachable for the rest of the night. What was left to misunderstand? I pulled out my phone and found my lawyer’s number. “I need you to draw up divorce papers.” 2 The next day, I went to visit Kristopher’s family. I wasn’t expecting him to be there, and certainly not with Zoe in tow. The expressions around the dinner table were varied, but no one reprimanded Kristopher. The unspoken blame was a heavy blanket smothering the room. After all, I had focused on my career for a decade before finally deciding to have a child, only to lose him. In their eyes, I was the selfish one. The failure was mine alone. “To lose the baby after all that excitement,” his grandmother sighed. “Such a shame. You two need to hurry up and try for another one.” No one asked why the bathroom floor had been wet that day. No one cared how weak my body was after the miscarriage, or that the stretch marks on my stomach hadn’t even faded… The weight of their judgment was crushing me. I put down my chopsticks. “There won’t be another one.” His grandmother’s smile froze on her face. Kristopher quickly jumped in, patting her hand reassuringly. “Evelyn’s just not ready yet, Grandma. We’ll try again in a little while.” Later, he cornered me. “Why would you say that? You know how much Grandma wants a grandchild.” I looked down at the divorce papers in my purse and laughed a hollow laugh. What did this family think I was? A broodmare? My children would only be born into a world of love, not to fulfill someone else’s expectations. I pulled out the documents. “Sign these. If she wants a grandchild so badly, she can find someone else to give her one.” Kristopher was stunned speechless. But before he could even process what he was looking at, Zoe appeared. I don’t know what his rush was, but he scribbled his signature without even reading the papers. It saved me a lot of trouble, but it made the two of us look like we were having a clandestine affair. A smug smile touched Kristopher’s lips. “That new project was a huge win, and with all the family drama settled, you can have anything you want as a gift. Name it.” Just as I was about to leave, Zoe looked at me with wide, pleading eyes. “Evelyn, could I have that necklace you’re wearing? Please?” My fingers instinctively went to the chain around my neck. It was a custom piece, one of a set of three for our little family. Kristopher had spent weeks sketching the design, overseeing the craftsman… He didn’t even recognize it. “Evelyn, just give it to Zoe,” he said casually. “You have so much jewelry. You don’t need this one.” Zoe’s face lit up with a triumphant smile. It felt like a fishbone was lodged in my throat. Every word was pain. “Are you sure?” Kristopher leaned in for a closer look. “Oh, it’s that one…” He paused, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He frowned at me. “Look, Evelyn, I already promised her. It’s bad form for a boss to go back on his word. How about… I’ll buy you both a new one later?” My nails dug into my palms, the sting of pain grounding me. I glanced at the signed divorce papers in my purse. Right. What was there left to care about? “Fine.” My quick agreement seemed to startle him. He looked like he was about to take it back, but I had already unclasped the necklace. Then, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the matching bracelet. The family set. Let them have it all. The moment the necklace was off, a strange sense of lightness washed over me. I planned to leave that very night. To my surprise, Kristopher followed me out. “Evelyn, are you angry? I’ll buy you a new one right now. Look, pick whichever one you like.” He held out his phone, showing me an entire collection. He was right. I didn’t lack for jewelry. What I lacked was his heart. And since he didn’t have it to give, I didn’t want it anymore. I tapped a random image on the screen and drove back to our house to pack. I didn’t expect him to follow me home. He stood awkwardly in the doorway, rubbing his hands together. “I just followed your car the whole way. Zoe’s feeling much better, so I sent her home.” I ignored him and started clearing out the nursery. He watched me for a moment, confused. “Why are you getting rid of all this so soon? We’ll just have another baby, and we’ll have to set it all up again.” Even now, he thought I was just throwing a tantrum. Of course he did. He’d never experienced the morning sickness. Never felt the baby kick. He had no idea how every tiny flutter had been tethered to my heart. A wave of emotion crested, but I forced the tears back down. I fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep. When I woke up, the last person I expected to see was Zoe. She was kneeling on my doorstep. “Evelyn, please, you have to help me,” she begged. “You’re the only one who can.” I stared at her, utterly bewildered. Kristopher tried to pull her up, but she remained rooted to the ground. “My grandmother is all alone in the cemetery back home,” she sobbed. “I want to bring her to the city. Please, I’m begging you, give her a home here.” I almost slammed the door in her face. This was a matter for a funeral director, not for me. Kristopher blocked the door. “She’s never asked you for anything, Evelyn. Just hear her out.” Zoe’s face was a mask of grief. “Your son’s plot… the baby was so small, he doesn’t need all that space. Can’t you just share a part of it? It’s just sitting there empty…” She wanted me to bury her grandmother in my son’s grave? The refusal was instant and absolute. Zoe’s eyes turned a desperate, raw red. “There isn’t another plot in the city with such a peaceful spot… Evelyn, please, can’t you see this is my last act of love for her…” “Don’t even think about it,” I said, my voice like ice. But Kristopher stepped in my way. “Evelyn, I have a say in this too. Sharing a plot isn’t that weird. Don’t be so old-fashioned.” His words were a blade that split me open. I grabbed his shirt, and my hand flew up, the crack of the slap echoing in the morning air. “You say that again. I’m telling you, over my dead body.” Zoe scrambled to her feet, shielding Kristopher. “Evelyn, if you’re angry, take it out on me! Don’t be like this! It’s fine, I’ll just take my grandmother back home.” I thought the absurd affair was over. That night, Kristopher stormed in, his eyes wild. He grabbed my shoulders, shaking me. “Zoe already gave up! What is wrong with you? Why would you send her a threatening letter? It’s a tragedy that our son had a mother like you! No wonder he chose to leave!” I just stared at him, the world tilting on its axis as tears streamed down my face. “What?” He must have realized he’d gone too far, because his tone softened slightly. “I know you’re upset, but you didn’t have to threaten her. Zoe already dropped the whole thing. You’ve scared the poor girl so much she can’t even sleep.” I was resolute. “I’m calling the police, Kristopher. I will not take the blame for something I didn’t do. And we are getting a divorce!” He actually believed her, believed this pathetic, clumsy lie. I remembered our wedding vows. He had smiled, his eyes full of adoration, and said, “Whatever you say, I’ll believe it. If it doesn’t come from you, I won’t believe it.” That privilege still existed. It had just been given to someone else. Just like I used to be his navigator. And now that he had learned to read a map for someone else, I was useless. Arguing was pointless. The front door slammed shut. Kristopher was gone again. He didn’t even realize how little time he spent at home anymore. The day I returned from giving my statement to the police, I got a frantic call from the cemetery administrator. “Ms. Reed? There’s a group of men here at your family plot. They’re trying to dig up the grave! They say they’re here for a joint burial and that your husband approved it.” My heart seized. I jumped in my car and sped toward the cemetery. By the time I arrived, they had already dug halfway down. I launched myself at them, shoving them away from the disturbed earth. “Who are you? Get away from here! What are you doing at my son’s grave?” A couple of the burly men grabbed me and threw me to the ground. “Shut up, lady. This is Zoe’s spot now. We’ll do whatever we want.” They pinned me down, their weight crushing the air from my lungs. I screamed for him. “Where is Kristopher? Where is Zoe? I don’t believe he would do this! He promised he would stop this!” They just laughed. I watched, helpless, as they opened the grave, pulled out my son’s tiny urn, and set it aside to make room for Zoe’s grandmother’s casket. My son’s ashes were just… tossed on the dirt. Then, a boot came down right on the urn. “NO!” I shrieked, my voice tearing from my throat. The small box shattered, and the ashes, my son, scattered on the wind. I was a mess, crawling on the ground, desperately trying to gather the dust between my fingers. He was so small, just a tiny handful of ashes. The breeze took him, and he was everywhere and nowhere at once. I tried with all my might, but I couldn’t save any of him. My spirit broke. I was still on the ground when the grave was sealed again. Only then did Kristopher and Zoe finally rush over. Zoe ran to the men and slapped them theatrically. “What are you doing? I told you Ms. Reed didn’t agree! We were taking Grandma back home! How could you just come here and dig up the grave on your own?” The men shuffled their feet, lowering their heads. “Uh… sorry about that, Mr. Grey. We must’ve misheard. We just thought Grandma’s final rest was the most important thing.” Kristopher looked at the chaos, at my tear-streaked, dirt-smeared face. I was clutching a worthless piece of splintered wood. Not a speck of ash remained. The anger that had started to rise in him was quickly extinguished. He crouched down beside me. “Evelyn,” he said softly, “what’s done is done. Let’s just… let it go. They know they were wrong. We can light a memorial lamp for him at a church.” I scrambled to my feet and lunged at him, a wild animal. “That man stepped on him on purpose! An eye for an eye, Kristopher! I’m going to smash his grandmother’s urn and scatter her ashes to the wind!” Zoe’s eyes immediately filled with tears. “Evelyn, my grandmother was an old woman. She doesn’t deserve that kind of disrespect. Besides, my brothers are a little hot-headed, but they’re not bad people. They would never do something like that.” So my son deserved it. Kristopher, who do you believe? He hesitated for a single, damning second. Then, he moved his body, silently, deliberately, blocking my path. I stared at him, unable to believe that a father could treat his own child this way. “For Zoe?” I whispered. “You would go this far for her?” He scowled. “I just don’t want things to get more complicated. It’ll just make everyone miserable. What’s done is done. Let’s just call it even for the threatening letter.” I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood. I shoved him away. “I told you, I didn’t send that letter! I filed a police report! No one is touching my son’s final resting place!” Ignoring the ugly look on his face, I took a rock and smashed the windshield of our wedding car before driving away.

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My adopted sister, Savannah, was obsessed with apocalypse-prepper novels. So when the temperature in Denver plunged to 70 below zero and stayed there for three straight days, she wasn’t scared; she was ecstatic. She declared it was the End of Days and, in a manic frenzy, maxed out every credit card she could get, buying enough freeze-dried food and ammo to last a decade. As a meteorology grad student at CU Boulder, I kept showing her the atmospheric models. It was a severe polar vortex, an anomaly, but it wasn’t permanent. “It’ll thaw in a week,” I pleaded. “Just buy enough for a few days.” But she wouldn’t listen. She filled our parents’ garage with hundreds of pounds of frozen meat. Worried about the biohazard of it all thawing and rotting, Mom, Dad, and I decided to give the excess food to our neighbors, who were already running low. That night, Savannah murdered us. She cornered us in the kitchen, her eyes glittering. “Rule number one of the apocalypse, Ivy: kill the bleeding hearts. Family doesn’t mean squat!” She stabbed my father first. “Three fewer mouths to feed. My chances of survival just went way up.” She was still gloating when a National Guard rescue team drove by. Thinking they were raiders coming for her stash, she charged out of the house, knife raised. They shot her dead. I opened my eyes. We were back. All of us. Seated at the dining table for Sunday dinner. Three days before the freeze. “From now on, I am done with the Miller family! We are through!” The shout came from Savannah. The fork in my hand clattered to the plate. I knew instantly—she remembered, too. Mom and Dad were blindsided. “Savannah, honey, what are you talking about? What’s wrong?” I glanced at the thermostat. It was August. 77 degrees. But I knew what was coming. Thinking of what she did to us, I couldn’t speak as my parents tried to calm her down. “You don’t get to tell me what to do!” she spat, grabbing her purse. “You’re not even my real parents!” With that, she stormed out. Over the next three days, she leveraged every predatory payday loan and high-limit credit card she could find, racking up an insane $500,000 in debt. She bought a reinforced cabin in the foothills, installed a bunker, and paid triple the market price for generators, supplies, and high-powered hunting rifles. Then, just as I knew it would, the snow began to fall. In August. The city panicked. People mobbed the grocery stores. I calmly took Mom and Dad to King Soopers and we bought a reasonable, two-week supply of food and water. We’d just finished unloading the car when my phone rang. Savannah. Her voice was giddy. “A hundred pounds? Seriously? I saw the Ring camera. You yuppies are pathetic. A hundred pounds of cabbage is, what, ten heads?” She laughed. “I’m not responsible for you this time. I’m going to be a queen in this apocalypse. When you’re starving, maybe I’ll toss you some scraps if you beg nicely.” Mom and Dad looked at our modest pantry, their faces etched with worry. “Ivy… is she right? Is this really it? This isn’t enough.” I didn’t even look up from my laptop, where I was tracking the NOAA data. “She’s rotted her brain with prepper-porn. It’s a severe anomaly, but it’s not the end of the world. Trust me.” My confidence as a meteorologist calmed them. A little. They stopped fussing over the food and instead, Mom texted Savannah. “Please be safe, honey. Ivy says this will all be over in a few days. We’ll come get you then!” My stomach clenched. We’d been switched at birth, and Savannah had lived with us for 15 years. Her biological parents were dirt-poor, and she hated them. But Mom and Dad… they still loved her. When they heard her birth family was trying to marry her off for cash, they’d brought her right back home. They never saw the monster I did. Not until she was standing over them with a knife. Savannah’s reply text was scathing: “A few days? You’ll be popsicles in a few days! Denver has NEVER seen temps like this. This is IT! Just watch me rule this new world. If you live that long.” Dad sighed and went back to organizing his workbench. Mom started a game of online bridge with her friends. Savannah, who must have been monitoring our home’s security feed, called again, enraged. “You’re playing cards? The world is ending, and you’re acting like it’s a snow day? We’ll see how long you last!” I took a deep breath. I couldn’t swallow the rage from last time. “Heard you bought a cabin, Savannah. And generators? Rifles? Where’d a broke girl like you get that kind of cash?” She shrieked. “None of your business! I got it myself, with my own skills!” I laughed. “You mean payday loans? Maxed-out credit cards? Don’t act like you’re some kind of financial genius. How are you going to pay that back? We’re not bailing you out.” “Pay it back?” she scoffed. “When everyone’s dead, who’s gonna come collect? I’m never asking you for a dime, and don’t you dare come begging me! It’s every man for himself now!” A moment later, our family text chain lit up. Dozens of photos. Three massive storage units, packed floor-to-ceiling. “I hear city people can live on a single leaf of lettuce a day. Good luck with your 100 pounds of cabbage! Thoughts and prayers!” I immediately screenshotted everything and posted it on the r/Denver subreddit. Title: My sister thinks it’s the apocalypse and is ‘prepared.’ Body: [PHOTOS] She just sent these to our family. Says she’s stocked for 10 years and we’re all gonna die. Is she… okay? The post blew up. At first, it was jokes. user1: This is what happens when you read ‘The Stand’ too many times. user2: Holy hell, does she have a bunker? Is she single? Asking for a friend. user3: Damn, she’s not just a prepper, she’s the final boss of preppers. Then, one comment stopped me cold. Mike_D78: Is this real? Can you share her location? My kids and I are 10 miles away, our power is out and we have no food. We’re going to die. Please, can she spare anything? I realized this wasn’t a game. The disaster was real, even if it wasn’t the apocalypse. People were already in serious trouble. A chorus of support for Mike flooded in. OP, tell your sister to donate! People are dying! I replied to the thread: Sorry everyone, she’s not with us. She has the food, but she won’t share. She’s made that very clear. Please find other help. Then, I deleted the entire post. The snow kept falling. A high-tech drone buzzed outside our window and dropped a package in the yard. It was a piece of rotten, freezer-burned meat. Savannah’s voice came over its speaker, tinny and mocking. “Don’t say I never gave you anything! A little treat, for old time’s sake.” I was staring at our own full pantry when I heard a loud banging from her end of the still-open phone line. A muffled man’s voice: “Ma’am, State Emergency Services! We need to talk to you!” I heard Savannah panic. “Who are you? How did you find me?” “Ma’am, we saw reports online of a significant stockpile of supplies at this address. The situation downstream in Aurora is critical. We’re asking for donations.” “You saw what? Online? No! I’m not giving you anything!”

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After my thesis advisor rejected my paper for the ninety-ninth time, I tearfully messaged my online boyfriend. “Babe, my advisor said if it’s not perfect by tomorrow, he’s going to make me defer my graduation.” He replied instantly. “Your advisor is a f*cking moron. What does that old fossil know anyway!” “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll write it for you. You just get your beauty sleep tonight.” The next day, after I handed in the paper my online boyfriend had revised, my advisor went silent for a long time. His eyes grew strange. When he finally spoke, he stammered. “Are you… are you sure this is your work?” 1. In the final year of my Master’s program, my life was an endless cycle of revising my thesis. This latest draft had cost me three all-nighters. The next morning in class, my advisor, Professor Croft, picked up my paper with two disdainful fingers and tossed it aside as if it were contaminated. “Who wrote this garbage? Don’t you dare put my name down as your advisor. That’s pure slander.” Professor Croft was a big deal—a visiting scholar from Cambridge and the scion of some powerful East Coast family. He was brilliant, and to make matters worse, he had the face of a movie star. My best friend was green with envy that I got to stare at that handsome face every day. But only I knew just how venomous his tongue was. One lick and you’d probably drop dead from the poison. I shakily stood up. Instantly, his gaze locked onto me, the kind of look you’d give a particularly slow-witted insect. “How did you even get into this university? Or did you suffer a recent and severe head injury?” Laughter rippled through the classroom. My face burned with humiliation. I wished the floor would swallow me whole. After class, he called my name. “Lily.” “Do you have some alternative timeline in mind for your graduation?” I stood before him like a cornered mouse, too terrified to speak. The next second, he flicked his wrist, and my thesis fluttered to the floor. “This is your last chance. If you hand me this kind of dogsh*t again tomorrow, you can plan on spending another year here.” Biting back tears, I snatched the papers off the floor and fled. 2. I ducked into an empty classroom, and the dam finally broke. I sobbed, fumbling to open the chat with my online boyfriend. “Babe, my advisor said if my paper isn’t perfect by tomorrow, he’s going to make me defer graduation.” I come from a single-parent home. During my first year of grad school, my mom, who worked as a street vendor, was hit by a car while trying to avoid code enforcement. It was a hit-and-run; they never caught the driver. She ended up in the ICU. To pay for her medical bills and stay in school, I started working as a voice-acting streamer. I’d chat with people in a live stream room, my face hidden. I didn’t expect much to come of it. Until he showed up. In a single night, he gifted me three hundred virtual “Galaxies,” the platform’s most expensive gift, becoming my top supporter. That money paid for my mom’s treatment. It saved her life. Overwhelmed with gratitude, I added him on a private messenger. We started talking, and soon, feelings developed. He was incredibly gentle, the complete opposite of my advisor. Every time Professor Croft tore me down, I’d run to my online boyfriend for comfort. And every time, he’d get just as angry as I was, joining me in cursing out my advisor. This time was no different. A string of furious messages appeared. “Your advisor is a f*cking moron. What does that old fossil know anyway!” “My girl is a genius. There’s no way you could have done it wrong.” His comfort was like a shield, making me feel bold. I sent him the latest draft of my thesis. “He said he’s read his share of bad history, but this was the first time he’d ever read dogsht history. He called my thesis a pile of dogsht!” The document status switched to “Read.” The “typing…” bubble appeared and disappeared several times, but no message came through. I nudged him impatiently. “Babe? Say something! Babe!” This time, a series of cute, head-patting emojis popped up. “…It’s okay. My papers used to get ripped apart too.” “Stop crying, you’re breaking my heart.” “I’ll write it for you. You just get your beauty sleep tonight, sweetheart.” His kindness was a warm blanket. Just as I managed to stop my tears, an icy voice cut through the silence. “Does crying provide you with research data? Or perhaps it lowers your plagiarism score?” I hiccupped in shock. Professor Croft pushed open the slightly ajar door, his face as dark as thunder. “If you can’t handle the pressure, then withdraw from my research group. I have no room for useless people on my team.” As he spoke, a few younger students, all vying for a spot under his supervision, filed in behind him. “I expect to see your revised thesis on my desk at eight a.m. sharp tomorrow.” He gave me a pointed look. “I suggest you get to work.” 3. Fleeing the classroom, I walked back to my dorm, tears streaming down my face again. How could a human being say such cold-hearted things? But besides his terrible temper, Professor Croft was top-tier in every other way—industry reputation, academic expertise, everything. He was the best at the university. And I needed to graduate with honors to get a good job and give my mom a better life. I gritted my teeth, wiped my eyes, and tried to rally. Of course, the moment I entered my dorm, I ran into my roommate, who loved to get under my skin. “Well, well. I hear someone might be enjoying an extra year of school. Guess the standards for getting into this university are really slipping if they’re letting just anyone in.” I didn’t have the energy to deal with her. I ignored her and climbed into my bunk. Even though my boyfriend offered to rewrite the paper, I couldn’t just take it for granted. To thank him, I offered to buy him a coffee. The second I sent the message, a transfer notification popped up on my screen. Fifteen thousand dollars. “No, sweetheart. Let me treat you.” Holy crap. What kind of coffee costs fifteen grand? I stared at the string of zeros, completely floored. I’d only ever seen that many zeros on a price tag in a high-end boutique in Beverly Hills. The day ended as it usually did, with my boyfriend trashing my advisor. “He’s an idiot. He wouldn’t recognize a genius like my baby if she slapped him in the face.” “I bet his home life is a wreck. Wife probably left him for another man, his kids aren’t his. That’s why he’s a bitter bastard who takes it out on everyone else.” Reading his messages was a balm to my soul. I sent back a couple of kissy-face emojis and went to sleep, feeling much better. 4. The next morning, I woke up refreshed. The revised thesis from my boyfriend was waiting in my inbox. Sent at 5 a.m. Attached was a note: “You’re the best, sweetheart!” My heart melted. Professor Croft exploited me, and I exploited my boyfriend. It was the circle of academic life. I spammed him with grateful kissy-face emojis, then scrambled to get ready and head to class. As soon as I walked in, I heard my roommate’s shrill voice. “Tsk, look who dared to show up. She went to bed super early last night, didn’t even touch her paper. She must know it’s dogsh*t no matter how many times she polishes it.” “Look at our poor advisor, though. The dark circles under his eyes are huge. Her paper probably gave him insomnia!” “Let’s just sit back and watch the show.” I ignored her, choosing a seat near the door. But that just egged her on. “Smart move, sitting by the door. Makes for a quicker exit when you’re kicked out.” “Look at her, so arrogant. She’s about to get chewed out and cry again.” The words were barely out of her mouth when Professor Croft walked in. He was yawning, looking like he genuinely hadn’t slept. He strode to the lectern, took a huge gulp of coffee, and scanned the room with a cold gaze that finally landed on me. “Lily Yao. Your paper?” My heart hammered against my ribs as I handed him the printed copy. He took it with the same indifferent expression, flipping it open casually. Suddenly, he froze. His eyes widened slightly as he began flipping through the pages rapidly, his gaze darting up to look at me with a strange expression several times. My roommate’s gleeful whisper cut through the silence. “Look, he’s about to explode.” A knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach. I had read the paper. My boyfriend’s work was brilliant. Why was he reacting like this? Finally, he finished his rapid scan. He slapped the paper down on the lectern and stood there in silence for a very long moment. When he looked up again, he stammered. “Is this… are you sure this is your work?” 5. His stare made my skin crawl, but I forced myself to answer. “Y-yes, Professor.” “I spent a lot of time rethinking my approach last night…” His expression grew even more peculiar, a mix of disbelief and the look one might give a newly discovered, unclassifiable species. He tapped a finger on the cover of the paper. “Come to my office.” In his office, Professor Croft paced back and forth, a restless energy radiating from him. I stood meekly, staring at my own shoes. Suddenly, he stopped. “Lily Yao.” His voice wasn’t cold like it usually was. The way he said my full name had a strange, almost gentle quality to it that sent an involuntary shiver down my spine. I shook my head, trying to clear it of such a ridiculous thought. “Be honest with me. Who wrote this paper for you?” My breath caught in my throat. He knew? How could he know? My online boyfriend lived in a different state; there was no connection between them. “Professor, I really did write it myself.” I had to stick to my story. “Yourself?” A short, derisive laugh escaped him. The smirk on his handsome face was particularly cutting. “The first draft you submitted was a logical mess, and your data was completely fabricated. And you’re telling me that overnight, you transformed it into this perfectly structured, rigorously argued paper?” “Lily, do you think I’m a fool, or do you see yourself as some kind of academic prodigy?” His words left me speechless, my cheeks burning. “I…” “Just get out,” he said, his face suddenly hardening as he pointed to the door. “Since you have so much ‘potential,’ I want a complete literature review and feasibility analysis on the ‘Urban Kitchen Wastewater Treatment’ model you mentioned in the paper. Have it on my desk by three p.m.” His eyes were cold as ice. “If you can’t deliver, you know the consequences.” 6. My mind went completely blank. “Urban Kitchen Wastewater Treatment” was the core theory of the revised paper. The academic principles involved were so complex they gave me a headache just thinking about them. It was impossibly difficult. And three p.m. was less than four hours away. This was an impossible task. He was deliberately trying to make me fail. I clutched the “perfect thesis” like a hot potato and trudged out of his office, my head hanging in defeat. The second I got back to the classroom, my delightful roommate was on me. “Ooh, get another scolding? Told you so. If you don’t have the skills, you just don’t have them. No point in pretending.” I didn’t have the mental space to deal with her. My brain was consumed by one phrase: “Urban Kitchen Wastewater Treatment.” What was I going to do? There was only one person I could turn to. My all-powerful boyfriend. I pulled out my phone and frantically typed out the situation. “Babe, HELP! I think my advisor knows I didn’t write the paper. He’s making me write a full analysis of the ‘Urban Kitchen Wastewater Treatment’ model in less than four hours!” “I’m so screwed!” The message was marked as “Read” instantly. “Don’t panic, sweetheart.” “Your advisor is just trying to screw with you. I bet he doesn’t even understand that model himself.” “The key is wastewater pipe centralization and the purification process. Focus on those two aspects.” “I just emailed you the research data. Organize data sets A, B, and F and plug them into the template I sent you.” “For the conclusion, make sure you emphasize ‘high risk, high reward,’ and add a line recommending a ‘small-scale pilot program.’ Your rigid-minded advisor will think you’re being incredibly thorough.” I stared at his detailed instructions, completely stunned. How… how did he know all of this? How did he predict exactly what my advisor would think?

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At a downtown high-society auction, where elites traded vanity and prestige, my private photos were the star lot. My childhood friend Nathaniel Rivers, just to amuse his date, had his friends drive up the bid—forcing me to fight for my dignity. Desperate, I planned to call my other childhood friend Mikkal Thorne for help. But during the auction break, I overheard their call. “You’re the mastermind, Mikkal,” Nate smirked. “Taking Lydia’s photos while she was passed out drunk. Now she’ll never dare cross Stella.” “I hired someone to take them,” Mikkal replied coolly. That’s when it clicked. Two months ago, my abduction, three days of torment and humiliation—it was all their game. A way to leverage me for Stella. “Just photos, no big deal,” Mikkal added. “When Lydia calls, play your part.” A bitter laugh escaped me. I slipped my phone into my purse and returned to the hall. When the auctioneer asked if I’d keep bidding, I glanced at Nate. “I withdraw.” I give up. On everything. I don’t want it anymore. 1. The moment the words left my mouth, the color drained from Nathaniel’s face. He never expected me to fold. “Lydia, do you have no self-respect? Are you really going to let your photos fall into some stranger’s hands?” I looked at him, my expression a mask of pain. “Weren’t you the one who put them up here for everyone to bid on?” My question choked him. His shock morphed instantly into rage. “What the hell are you talking about? You’re the one who has no shame, fooling around, getting yourself photographed like that. And now you’re blaming me?” Stella, the girl beside him, chimed in, her voice dripping with indignation. “Lydia, Nate has been so good to you. How can you slander him like this?” Her tear-filled eyes made Nate’s heart ache with protective tenderness. I couldn’t stand to watch their nauseating performance any longer. I turned and walked away. My phone was vibrating incessantly in my purse. It was Mikkal. Are you that eager to play your part, Mikkal? So eager to join Nate in trampling on what’s left of me? 2. I answered the call just outside the auction hall. “Lydia? I heard what happened. Why didn’t you call me? I would have helped you, you know I would.” Mikkal was still in the dark. He was playing his role to perfection. “How would you have helped?” I asked, my voice flat and cold. He was too wrapped up in his performance to notice the chill in my tone. “I’ll get the photos back for you, don’t worry.” “But… you know Nate and I owe Stella’s mom. We just want to repay that debt.” I knew. They talked about it all the time. When they were kids, they’d been kidnapped, and Stella’s mother had died saving them. That’s what they said. So, ever since, they treated Stella like a princess. If it ever came down to a choice between me and her, I was always the one who had to step aside. They were always repaying that debt, favor after favor. And I was always caught in the fallout, with no choice in the matter. I had worked tirelessly, clawing my way to an opportunity that would finally prove my worth, that would finally set me free from them. A single, coveted position at a prestigious research institute. But Stella had gone to them again, demanding I give it up for her. When I refused, they resorted to this. Maybe I truly couldn’t stay by their side any longer. Mikkal was still talking. “Just give her the spot at the institute. You have me, Lydia. Anything you ever want, I’ll give it to you.” I touched the necklace around my neck, the one my mother gave me before she died. She’d made me promise not to blame Nate and Mikkal. She said she didn’t regret taking a bullet for them, because she knew they would take care of me for the rest of their lives. I fought to keep my voice from trembling. “Fine. I’ll do it.” Mikkal, ecstatic, hung up immediately. I wiped a tear from my eye and sent a text. Dr. Moss, I’ll take the field assignment. I’ll be ready to leave with you on Saturday. 3. I was in my room packing when Nate and Stella got home. Seeing my open suitcase, Nate sneered. “I almost thought you’d grown a spine and were actually leaving. But you’re just as pathetic as ever. You’d rather give up your career than lose the roof over your head, wouldn’t you? Leeching off my family is all you know how to do.” He thought I was unpacking, putting my clothes back. Stella smiled, looping her arm through his. “Oh, Nate, don’t be so harsh. Lydia’s just been in love with you since we were kids. She can’t bear to be away from you.” Nate’s face twisted in disgust. “Being loved by a bitch in heat is nothing to be proud of.” I didn’t understand why he had become so cruel. “What did I ever do to you?” The question seemed to catch him off guard. He didn’t understand it either. This was all supposed to be an act he and Mikkal had cooked up. But the fact that I had called Mikkal for help, not him, had lit a fire of pure resentment in his gut. “Am I wrong? You’ve lived off my family your whole life. Now your wings are grown and you think you can just fly away? You just want to be free to sleep around, don’t you?” He grew more agitated with every word, finally kicking a box I had placed at the foot of my bed. Its contents spilled across the floor. Dolls, trinkets, little keepsakes—all gifts from him and Mikkal. “Pathetic,” he spat. “Pretending you’re so tough, but you can’t even leave without clinging to our things.” He was so focused on humiliating me that he didn’t see the word I had written on the side of the box in black marker: DISCARDS. Stella shot me a contemptuous look, then turned to Nate with a pout. “Mikkal already booked a table for us. We should get ready, we don’t want to keep him waiting.” Nate’s expression softened as he stroked her hair. Stella blushed, then glanced back at me. “Don’t get the wrong idea, Lydia. They’re just celebrating me getting the job at the institute. It’s not like they have feelings for me.” Hearing this, Nate looked at me, waiting for a reaction. I gave him nothing. “Why are you wasting your breath on her?” he said impatiently. “She’s a jobless nobody. From now on, she’ll be groveling at our feet just to survive.” With that, they ignored me, changed their clothes, and left. 4. The next day, while running errands, I bumped into Alex, a colleague from the institute. He looked surprised at the papers in my hand. “I didn’t think you’d go. I’m surprised you agreed to the assignment.” The field mission was notoriously difficult. I had turned it down before, unwilling to leave the only life I’d ever known. But now, I had to be responsible for myself. I needed to discuss some research protocols with Dr. Moss ahead of time, so after finishing my paperwork, I went with Alex to the institute. At the entrance, I ran into Stella and the others. Mikkal looked surprised to see me. “Lydia, you promised me you wouldn’t come here.” I didn’t want to cause a scene. “Dr. Moss has been very kind to me. I just wanted to apologize to her in person.” But Stella wasn’t having it. “The institute is only hiring one person this year. Not just any stray can wander in. I’ve already met with Dr. Moss and we had a lovely chat.” She waved a file folder in the air. Alex, standing beside me, clearly disliked her attitude. “The institute values character as much as it values ability.” His words made Stella’s face burn. Mikkal’s expression soured. “Lydia, since when do you associate with people like this? Tell him to apologize to Stella.” “This is Alex,” I said, my face a blank mask. “He’s one of the lead researchers on a major project here.” Stella’s demeanor changed in a heartbeat. She beamed. “Oh, a senior researcher! It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Stella. I’ll be your new colleague.” Alex didn’t even glance at her. He just guided me away. Behind us, Stella stomped her foot in frustration. Mikkal watched me walk away, a thoughtful look on his face. He calmly pulled out his phone and made a call. “The plan is still on. But I want it done fast. All over the internet in thirty minutes.” 5. I stayed at the institute until evening. When I finally checked my phone to note the time, a breaking news notification caught my eye. I clicked on it. And there I was. Photos of me in every degrading position imaginable, humiliated beyond recognition. My blood ran cold. The world froze. I collapsed into my chair. How could this happen? I already gave them what they wanted. Why won’t they just leave me alone? The memories of those three nights came rushing back, a suffocating nightmare. Overwhelmed, I grabbed a utility knife from the desk and, without a second thought, dragged it across my wrist. Just then, Dr. Moss and Alex burst in. Seeing the blood, the photos on my screen, Dr. Moss understood everything. She had been my parents’ colleague; she had watched me grow up. She knew I wasn’t the kind of person they portrayed me to be. She wrapped her arms around me, holding me tight. The dam broke. I sobbed into her shoulder, telling her everything. She comforted me, her voice a soothing balm, promising she wouldn’t abandon me, promising we would leave this toxic place behind soon. I returned to the Rivers’ mansion in a daze. Stella opened the door. Her face was a picture of false concern, her eyes dancing with triumph. “Oh, Lydia. Your photos are everywhere. It’s just awful. I feel so, so sorry for you.” As she spoke, she gestured, showing off the ruby necklace and ring she was wearing. Weren’t those my mother’s? The last things she left me? I kept them hidden away, safe. How did she have them? Nate walked up behind her. “Someone leaked your photos. Stella was worried sick about you all afternoon, so I gave them to her to cheer her up.” He said it so casually, as if he’d just given away a cheap trinket. I ignored him and held out my hand. “Give them back.” Nate was taken aback by my defiance. He scoffed. “Your mother’s dead. They’re useless to you anyway. The institute is having a welcome party tomorrow. Stella can wear them and make a good impression.” I didn’t hesitate. I lunged at Stella, my hands closing around her throat. “Give. Them. Back.” 6. My ferocity must have stunned Nate. He just stood there, frozen. But Mikkal, who had just walked in, reacted instantly. He kicked me hard in the small of my back, sending me flying. Stella, gasping for air, scrambled into Mikkal’s arms, sobbing hysterically. Her cries snapped Nate out of his stupor, and he rushed to her side, checking for injuries. The two of them held her, stroking her back, murmuring comforting words. I lay on the floor, coughing up blood. The gash on my wrist had torn open again, blood pooling on the polished hardwood. My vision blurred, the image of the three of them locked in an embrace swimming before my eyes. It was like I was twelve again. The day my mother died. The three of us had clung to each other just like that. They had promised me, promised they would take care of me forever. A bloody laugh bubbled up from my chest, shattering their tender moment. Nate stalked over to me and stomped on my bleeding wrist. “What’s with the act? You almost choked Stella to death, and now you’re spitting up blood for sympathy?” “I’m telling you, even if you die here tonight, this isn’t over.” The pressure on my wrist intensified. A scream of agony tore through me. I could feel the bones grinding, felt his intention to snap my hand in two. Just then, Mikkal spoke. “That’s enough. We need to get Stella to the hospital.” He lifted her into his arms. As he passed me, he leaned down and whispered, his voice laced with venom. “You’re the one who killed your own mother. You don’t deserve to wear her necklace. Stop taking it out on innocent people.” I killed my mom? He was right. If I hadn’t begged her to go save them from the kidnappers, she would still be alive. It was my fault. All of this was my penance. “Hahaha… penance… it’s all my penance…” I struggled to my feet and stumbled out of the house. After a while, I saw lights in the distance. I tried to raise my hand, but the world tilted, and I slammed into the ground. 7. When I woke up, I was alone in a hospital room. A nurse saw I was awake and looked at me with pity. “We saved your hand,” she said softly. “But I’m afraid you may never regain full dexterity.” Her voice was full of regret, but I felt a strange sense of peace. Let this hand be the proof. The proof that the bond between us is finally, irrevocably broken. I grabbed my phone from the nightstand, ready to check myself out. A message from Dr. Moss said she was coming to pick me up. I had to go back and get my things. At the payment counter in the lobby, I ran into Mikkal. His face hardened when he saw me. “Didn’t I tell you to leave Stella alone? What are you doing here?” “Nate and I see her as a sister. She has no one else. We’re all she has. What is your problem?” I looked at him, listened to his words, and felt… nothing. The storm inside me had finally passed. “It won’t happen again. Never again.” Mikkal, assuming I was there to cause more trouble, was stunned by my reply. But then he remembered my past “outbursts” and his expression hardened again. “Stella has the welcome party tonight. You hurt her badly. You should give her the necklace and ring as an apology.” I nodded silently. “Fine.” Mikkal froze. He hadn’t expected me to agree so easily. He must have figured I’d finally realized I was in the wrong. “And your parents’ research data,” he added. “Give that to Stella, too. As a congratulatory gift.” That research was my parents’ life’s work. Dr. Moss had given it to me for my eighteenth birthday. And he was telling me to just hand it over. “Fine.” My immediate agreement seemed to unsettle him. He looked at me as if he’d never seen me before. “Alright, Lydia. After we celebrate Stella tonight, Nate and I will throw a party for you, too. To wash away all this bad luck. I’ll invite all our friends.” He said it without a hint of irony, completely oblivious to the fact that those “friends” had already passed my photos around, calling me a cheap, used-up whore. He was only thinking of Stella, of how much she loved big, lively parties. He was still talking when another voice cut him off. “I’ve been looking all over for you. What are you doing standing here?” 8. Nate saw me behind Mikkal, and his face contorted with rage. “You have the nerve to show your face here? Do you want to lose your other hand, too?” Mikkal quickly stepped between us. “Lydia has realized her mistake. She’s agreed to give Stella the jewelry as an apology, and she’s even giving her your parents’ research data.” Nate’s expression softened slightly. “Then I’ll let it go for now. But last time, Stella spent a fortune at the auction to buy back your photos for you. You may not have kept them safe, but you still owe her the money.” Mikkal said nothing, tacitly agreeing. “I’ve already taken the liberty of transferring all the assets your parents left you into Stella’s name,” Nate continued. “And that house of yours… I had it demolished. We’re rebuilding. So don’t go there anymore. It would upset Stella to see it.” “From now on, you’ll stay at our house. You’ll have food and a roof over your head. No one will mistreat you.” I stared at him, horrified. Was he trying to erase my entire past? To destroy everything my parents had left me? A silent tear rolled down my cheek, and Nate stopped talking. His throat seemed to tighten, as if he couldn’t speak. Mikkal noticed my distress and was about to say something comforting when Stella appeared. Instantly, they were both at her side, fussing over her. I didn’t look back. I turned and walked away. They wanted to say more, but they figured they would have plenty of time to explain everything to me after tonight. They didn’t follow. At eight o’clock that evening, I picked up the suitcase I had left by the door. I placed the house key on the counter and closed the door on the prison that had been my home for fifteen years. Outside the institute, Stella, dressed to the nines, clung to Nate and Mikkal’s arms. Tonight, she was going to be the star. The institute’s director stood at the podium, beaming. He spoke of his pride in the younger generation’s spirit of self-sacrifice and said he wanted to personally praise this year’s brilliant new recruit. In the audience, Stella was trembling with excitement. She had finally surpassed me. She had finally earned their recognition. Nate and Mikkal, beaming with pride, stood ready to cheer when the director announced her name. The director continued. “This year’s new recruit, Miss Lydia Croft, is an exceptional talent. She has already departed with Dr. Moss to the front lines to participate in a new research project.” From their seats, Nate and Mikkal shot to their feet. “What did you just say?”

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The day my sixteen-year-old daughter was assaulted by her tutor, I heard her cries for help. And I did nothing. In fact, I locked the door to her room, leaned against it, and cheered him on. Afterward, my daughter’s spirit shattered. She stood on the edge of our rooftop, her dress torn, the wind whipping around her. But when the first responders rushed up, I was the one who screamed at them. “She wanted it!” “She dresses like that, what does she expect? She was asking for it!” “What are you even doing here? If she was going to jump, she’d have done it by now!” Everyone just stared, frozen in shock. My husband, Mark, lost his mind. The crack of his palm against my cheek echoed in the rooftop air, sending me stumbling to the ground. “How can you call yourself a mother?! You bitch. I’m divorcing you!” A firefighter held our daughter, Sophie, in his arms. She was sobbing, overwhelmed with grief and confusion. Even then, she was the good daughter. The thoughtful one. “If Mom just testifies for me in court,” she wept, “I’ll forgive her!” I met the weight of all their judgmental stares and let a cold smile spread across my face. “Sorry,” I said. “No deal.” 1 My parents, arriving in a frantic rush, heard that last part. They looked at me, their faces masks of disbelief, as I continued my tirade. “Are you insane? Anna, that is your daughter!” my father roared. “What kind of animal are you? How could you say something like that?” Sophie struggled out of the firefighter’s arms and collapsed into my mother’s embrace, her composure finally breaking. “Grandma, Grandpa, what’s wrong with Mom?” she cried, her voice ragged. “My tutor… he hurt me… and she just brought him a plate of fruit! She didn’t want to help me!” “Did I do something wrong? Did I embarrass her?” Every word was a shard of glass, tearing at the hearts of everyone who listened. The crowd’s gaze on me hardened, turning from disgust to pure loathing. My father, a man who hadn’t cried in thirty years, had red-rimmed eyes. He fought for control, his voice strained. “Anna, I don’t know what’s going through your head, but you need to take Sophie to the police station. Now.” “You’re her mother. It’s your responsibility. She’s just a child!” I touched the stinging red handprint on my cheek and shrugged, a picture of pure indifference. “She can go if she wants. I’m not going.” “And if any of you lay another hand on me,” I added, my voice dangerously low, “I’ll press charges for assault.” A wave of murmurs rippled through the onlookers. They started pointing, condemning me for being a monster, for abandoning my daughter in her hour of need. A police officer stepped forward, his expression grim. “Ma’am, the victim is a minor. A guardian needs to be present. As her mother, you need to come with us.” Sophie reached for the hem of my shirt, her small hand trembling. I slapped it away. My eyes were like ice as I looked down at her. “You’re sixteen years old. That’s practically an adult. If you want to go to the police, go by yourself. This isn’t my problem.” Her lips quivered, her face a canvas of terror. “Mommy, I’m scared,” she whispered. “Please, Mommy? You love me more than anyone, remember?” Mark couldn’t take it anymore. He wrapped his suit jacket around her shivering shoulders, then turned on me, his voice a raw roar. “Anna! What the hell is wrong with you?” “She’s not stable! If she tries to kill herself again, can you live with that?!” I remained unmoved. My mother was the first to break. Wiping away tears of pure disappointment, she took Sophie’s hand, her voice soft and soothing. “Sweetheart, will you come with Grandma to the station? Is that okay? Grandma will be with you.” “We’ll protect you. We’ll make sure no one ever hurts you again.” But as they took a single step, Sophie shrieked. Her body shook violently, tears streaming down her face. “I want my mommy! Mommy, save me! Please, save me!” “Get away from me! I want my mom to protect me!” Anyone could see it—the profound, primal bond a child has with her mother. It only made my parents more confused. For her entire life, Sophie had been the center of my universe. She was a fragile baby, born premature, and we nearly lost her. Doctors advised us to try for another child. Instead, I went to a clinic and had my tubes tied, determined that no other child would ever steal an ounce of love meant for her. I researched diets, therapies, and holistic treatments, running myself into the ground to build up her health until my own body gave out and I was diagnosed with stress-induced heart failure. When she started middle school, I threw myself back into my career, not for myself, but to build a fortress of security and capital for her future. The bond between us was legendary in our family. But today, watching this heartbreakingly pathetic scene unfold, I just threw my head back and laughed. I pointed a finger at my daughter, speaking to the entire crowd of onlookers. “You know,” I said, my voice ringing with amusement, “this is the same way she cried for help when she was flirting with her tutor!” For a second, there was absolute silence. No one could process that a mother would use those words to describe her own child. My husband lunged for me again, his hand raised, but Sophie instantly threw herself in front of me, sobbing. “Daddy, don’t hit Mom. Please.” “I must have done something to make her angry. That’s why she’s saying these things.” Mark let out a long, defeated sigh. “Anna, do you see this? Do you have any idea how much your daughter loves you?” “How can you be so cold?” I gave a dismissive sneer. “If you’re taking her to the station, then go. Stop wasting my time.” But Sophie shook her head fiercely. Ignoring my repeated rejections, she took my hand again, her touch as tentative as a butterfly’s wing. “Mommy,” she choked out, “I only want you. I’m so scared…” The crowd started whispering again. “That poor girl must have PTSD. I heard they were close. Her mom must have really manipulated her.” “Totally! What kind of mother is this? She’s worse than a wicked stepmother!” Listening to their insults, my parents’ faces were etched with desperation. They were practically begging me now. “Anna, we don’t understand what’s going on. But Sophie was hurt. That’s a fact. We have to get justice for her!” I let out a short, sharp laugh. “No matter what, I will not be testifying for Sophie.” Just then, a detective’s calm voice cut through the noise from behind me. “Mrs. Miller, this is now a criminal investigation. It’s not up to you anymore.” “You will come with us to the hospital, and you will provide a statement for your daughter.” Just when everyone expected me to refuse again, I surprised them all by nodding. “Fine,” I said. “Let’s go to the hospital.” The results came back quickly. Sophie had clear signs of an assault. There were bruises on her thighs and calves, angry red marks from where she’d been held down. But in her distress afterward, she had taken a shower, scrubbing away any trace of DNA evidence. Now, the only hope for a conviction rested on me. The sole witness. I saw the flicker of pain in my parents’ eyes when they heard the news. Sophie hadn’t stopped crying since we’d arrived at the hospital. Her hand never left the fabric of my sleeve, clinging to me like a baby bird to its mother. Anytime I showed the slightest sign of impatience, of wanting to leave, a police officer would place a firm hand on my shoulder, forcing me to stay. After the examination, a court date was set. My parents, holding on to one last shred of hope, asked me again. “Anna, why are you acting like this? You love Sophie more than life itself.” I lowered my gaze, my expression a frozen mask. “I told you, I won’t testify. And if I’m forced to, I will only say things that will hurt her case.” My parents refused to believe it. They pleaded and reasoned, but their words were wasted. They were destined for disappointment. In the courtroom, the judge’s voice was grave. “Anna Miller, according to the victim, Sophie Miller, you were present at the scene.” “Did you, with your own ears, hear Sophie Miller resisting or calling for help?” I looked at the defendant’s table, at the young and terrified face of the tutor, Ethan. Then I smiled, a provocative, challenging smile aimed right at the courtroom’s live-feed camera. “No.” “Ethan is a college student. He’s handsome, charming. Girls like him.” “My daughter,” I said, my voice dripping with contempt, “is cheap. She throws herself at any man who looks her way.” “I saw it with my own eyes. Sophie lifted her own skirt and sat right on Ethan’s lap. She was the one who seduced him.” The courtroom exploded. Sitting at the plaintiff’s table, Sophie’s face went white as a sheet. She swayed for a moment, her eyes rolling back, and then collapsed to the floor in a dead faint. The judge called for an immediate recess. The moment we were in the hallway, Mark’s hand cracked across my face again, harder this time. His eyes were bloodshot with rage. “You monster! Why would you lie about your own daughter?!” He turned desperately to my parents. “Mom, Dad, you know Sophie! She would never do something like that, right? Right?!” My mother’s eyes were full of a terrible, final disappointment. “Anna, as of this moment, I no longer have a daughter.” “We will raise Sophie from now on. She doesn’t need a mother as venomous as you.” Paramedics revived Sophie. The first thing she saw was the raw, red handprint on my cheek. Tears instantly welled in her eyes. “Don’t hit Mommy.” Her small, soft hand found mine, squeezing it. Her voice was a plea. “Mommy, why? Why would you say those things about me?” “Is it because you think I’m… dirty now? That I’m not good enough to be your daughter anymore?” I could see the pity on my parents’ faces. They rushed to her, hugging her tightly, their own tears flowing. “Oh, sweet girl, how could any of this be your fault? You’re the innocent one here!” But I remained completely unmoved. In fact, I started to laugh, a wild, unhinged sound. “You’re right! You are dirty! You’re not fit to be my daughter!” “I wish you’d just end up with that tutor. Since you’ve already been raped, you might as well marry him, right?” Sophie’s face was ashen, her lips trembling. Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks. My father was shaking with rage. “You… you ungrateful child! Shut your mouth!” He turned to Sophie. “Don’t listen to her, sweetheart. Your mother has lost her mind.” Just then, the doors to the hallway burst open. A swarm of reporters surged in, pointing their cameras at my face, carefully avoiding Sophie’s. Behind them, a detective looked at me, his face grim. He held up our home’s smart security camera. “Mrs. Miller, we found this camera in your living room and are seizing it as evidence.” A knot tightened in my stomach. “That’s useless,” I said quickly. “Ethan and Sophie were in her bedroom for the tutoring session.” Another officer informed me with an air of finality, “We’ve checked the specs on this model. It has audio recording capabilities.” “The feed is linked to your phone’s account. There should be a cloud backup of the video. We’ll need you to cooperate.” I scowled, hiding my phone behind my back. “I turned it off yesterday.” At those words, a look of utter despair crossed Sophie’s face. A reporter couldn’t help himself. “What kind of person are you? Why would you turn off the camera at that exact moment?” The detective’s voice was cold steel. “We deal in facts, ma’am. Hand over the phone.” “If the evidence is on there, it can prove what Ethan really did to your daughter!” They moved in, prying the phone from my grasp. The camera had indeed been turned off. But a technician quickly discovered that the cloud backup was still intact. The recording from that day was still there. They submitted it to the court as new evidence. In the recording’s background, you could hear it all: Sophie’s terrified screams, her voice, raw and desperate, crying my name over and over, begging me to save her. A wave of relief and vindication washed over the room. Then, on the screen, my image appeared. I walked slowly to her bedroom door, holding a plate of sliced fruit. I didn’t help. Instead, I pulled the door shut, locking it from the outside. The room was filled with gasps of shock and fury. Based on the recording, I wasn’t just a witness. I was an accomplice. “What is wrong with this woman? Hiding the truth about her own daughter’s assault.” “I bet she was having an affair with the tutor. That’s why she’s defending him.” “That would make sense. Look at her, you can tell she’s the type.” The way my parents looked at me was beyond disappointment now. It was horror. “Anna,” my father said, his voice trembling, “we raised you. We never knew you were capable of such evil.” Mark’s jaw was clenched so tight I could hear his teeth grinding. He glared at me. “We’re done. You don’t deserve to be my daughter’s mother.” I straightened my shoulders and looked at the police. “Since you’ve copied the recording, I’ll take my phone back now.” Sophie gently tugged on my sleeve. “Mommy? Do you believe me now?” “I really didn’t seduce him. Will you be my witness? Will you testify for me?” “Then… then everyone will stop saying horrible things about you…” I didn’t have to look to know what the comments sections on the news feeds were saying about me. I brushed her hand away and held her gaze for a long moment. Then I turned to my mother. “Mom, I need to talk to you. Alone.” She was still my mother. After a moment of hesitation, she followed me into an empty conference room. I whispered something to her. A few moments later, my mother walked out. Standing in front of all the reporters, her eyes grew red. “Sophie.” “Listen to Grandma. Let’s drop the charges. Let’s just go home.” A collective gasp went through the crowd. My mother took Sophie’s hand, her voice thick with unshed tears. “Sweetheart, please, don’t pursue this anymore!” Sophie stared at her, stunned. Then she screamed. “Grandma, are you crazy too?! Why are you just like Mom? Why won’t you believe me?!” A court officer immediately stepped between them. “Ma’am, this is a criminal proceeding. The charges can’t be withdrawn by the family at this stage.” My mother could only choke back a sob and fall silent. Her face now wore the same expression of grim resolve as mine. Soon, the recess was over. The audio evidence was played again for the court. Mark slammed his fist on the table. “It’s all my fault,” he said, his voice breaking. “If I had been home, this never would have happened to Sophie!” The judge looked at me, his eyes filled with controlled anger. “Mrs. Miller. Do you have anything to say now?” I said nothing. But across the room, at the defendant’s table, Ethan suddenly shouted. “I have something to say!” He shot a quick glance at me, then raised his voice. “Mrs. Miller, you were the one who came on to me! You told me your husband couldn’t get it up anymore!” “I wasn’t interested in an older woman like you, but then you offered me Sophie! You said I could have both of you! That’s the only reason I ever slept with you! And now you’re accusing me of rape?!” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of lingerie, holding it high in the air. It was a lacy, risqué style, clearly belonging to a grown woman. “I’m sure this has Anna Miller’s DNA all over it,” he declared to the judge. “I request a forensic analysis!” Under an expedited order, the results came back in record time. It was, indeed, my underwear. The courtroom erupted. But my face remained calm. “A desperate lie from a desperate man,” I said with a sneer. I glanced at the watch on my wrist, as if I were waiting for something. The next second, the courtroom doors opened. My mother rushed in, out of breath. Her face was a storm of pain and conflict, but her hands were steady as she held up a small, pink, hardcover book. “Your Honor,” she announced, her voice ringing with conviction. “I have new evidence to submit!”

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