Category: English

A “Finding Mom” video went viral online. A five or six-year-old boy, standing in front of a backdrop of yellow earth, sang “Mommy, where did you go?” His eyes were filled with tears, a truly pitiful sight. Kind-hearted netizens helped in the search. Celebrities and influencers posted, “Come home, little boy’s mom! Your child misses you!” urging their followers to help. Finally, someone found the mother’s address and posted her information online. Just as everyone was cheering for the successful search, for the family reunion, for the child’s suffering to finally be over, my doorbell rang. The boy from the video, along with his father, his grandmother, and a crowd of reporters, appeared at my door. 1 The child was even thinner and smaller than in the video. When he saw me open the door, he rushed in wildly and clung to my leg. “Mommy! I finally found you! I looked for you for so long! I was so scared I’d never see you again!” He burst into tears, as if to pour out all the suffering of his search and his longing for his mother. “Mommy, I missed you so much! Grandma and Daddy missed you too! This is great, we’re finally all together again!” Not a single reporter on the scene was unmoved. I looked down at the live stream open on my phone. The topic was already number one on the hot search list. And in the camera’s lens, I stood, a cold and out-of-place figure in this supposedly heartwarming scene. The audience’s comments were a one-sided attack: [This isn’t what I imagined. Shouldn’t a mother and son cry and hug when they’re reunited?] [As a mom, I can’t stand seeing kids cry. The way he sang in that video broke my heart. Seeing his mom’s reaction makes it even worse.] [Chen Xiaohan, do you even have a heart? Your child is crying his eyes out, and you won’t even hug him!] [I say we dox Chen Xiaohan and ruin her reputation! Make it impossible for her to live in the city! Then she’ll have to go back with her kid, and the family can be whole again!] … A reporter shoved a microphone right in my face. “Ms. Chen! Xiao Bao is such a good, sweet boy. How could you have been so cruel as to abandon him back then?” “This video has been trending for days. You didn’t even come forward. Don’t you feel any guilt?” “This child has been kneeling and hugging you for so long, and you’re still completely cold! Ms. Chen, are you a mother? Are you even human?” One heavy accusation after another pushed the atmosphere, both on-site and in the live stream, to a fever pitch. Hundreds of thousands of viewers flooded the stream. I watched the numbers climb, my fists clenched tightly. It’s not enough. This still isn’t enough! With everyone staring at me, I let out a cold laugh. “What makes you so sure I’m this child’s mother?” “My personal information is all over the internet. What makes you think that I, a graduate from the Central University of Finance and Economics, would marry someone from a remote mountain village?” “Let’s take a step back. Do you have the child’s birth certificate? A marriage certificate? Do they have my name, Chen Xiaohan, written on them?” 2 The online comments paused for a moment. The reporters looked at each other, nonplussed. From the very beginning, they had only heard one side of the story—Xiao Bao’s family’s side. They had none of the documents I’d asked for. [Wait, I’m kind of convinced. If Chen Xiaohan gave birth to Xiao Bao, she would have had to be pregnant at 18, right? She would have still been in high school!] [Look at their faces! They look identical! If they’re not mother and son, I’ll eat my keyboard.] [She’ll say anything to disown her child. Look at poor Xiao Bao. He’s crushed.] [But they had a photo when the search started! It was Chen Xiaohan! She’s still trying to lie!] I sneered. “There are plenty of people in the world who look alike. Aren’t you afraid you found the wrong mom?” The reporter hesitated, turning to the boy. “Xiao Bao, is she your mommy?” “Could you be mistaken? Chen Xiaohan is only 24. You’re 5. If she had you in her senior year of high school, she couldn’t have possibly gotten into a top university like CUFE.” Xiao Bao immediately stood up and wrapped his arms around my waist. “I’m not wrong! This is my mommy!” He clung to me, refusing to let go. The old woman and Zhang Qiang, who had been silent until now, began their attack. The grandmother wailed for the camera. “Daughter-in-law! I know the city is tempting! But when you married into our family, we asked you, and you agreed!” “We spent money on a wedding banquet for you! We gave you gifts! How can you just disown us like this?” She took out an old phone and played a video. The video quality was poor, blurry, but you could still make out the smiling bride. It was me. Looking closer, you could see the bride’s stomach was slightly rounded. She was clearly a few months pregnant. The netizens exploded. [My God! I actually believed her for a second! These honest country people wouldn’t lie!] [Look at the kid! Xiao Bao is hysterical! His own mother disowning him… this is too tragic.] [Some people are just born without a human heart. You need to use extreme measures for people like her. Dox her! Now!] … The grandmother choked on a sob. “Xiaohan, Mom doesn’t blame you. Just come home. The whole family needs you.” “Look how much the boy misses you! How can you be so heartless?” “The corn at home is all ripe. I promise, you won’t go hungry!” Zhang Qiang, in his wheelchair, added painfully, “Wife, the baby and I can’t live without you. If there’s anything you don’t like about me, I’ll change! I’ll change everything!” “Just come back, and we’ll be the happiest family in the world!” I scoffed. “You people are ridiculous.” “That video is so blurry you can’t even see the person clearly, and you say it’s me?” “Do you really think playing the sympathy card will make everyone support you?” “I’ve already called the police. Harassing a resident… do you think the law doesn’t exist?” 3 At my words, their faces changed. The reporter said angrily, “We’re just trying to help a child find his family. How can you be so cruel?” The live stream viewers had now swelled to over a million. Even official government media accounts had entered the stream to watch. My heart pounded. I was waiting for the police. Zhang Qiang’s eyes darted around, and then he pointed at my chest and shouted. “You’re not going to give up, are you?” “You have a birthmark on your chest! A face can look similar, but can a birthmark?” “All you have to do is pull off her shirt, and you’ll know if she’s my wife!” The stream’s chat lit up with gifts and jeers. [Wow, she won’t do it. Confirmed: heartless mother.] [A disobedient woman needs to be beaten. Zhang Qiang is too soft on her.] [Someone needs to teach her a lesson for the child’s sake. She won’t even let her family in!] Zhang Qiang wheeled himself forward and, before I could react, yanked my collar open. He froze. “Where’s the birthmark?” The reporters were also stunned. A moment ago, they had been convinced. But now, the “proof” Zhang Qiang spoke of was nowhere to be found. “Mr. Zhang… are you sure you have the right person?” “Do you have any ID, any documents at all?” “Or just tell us the hospital where he was born! With this many people watching, the hospital could check its records!” I, too, looked at the three of them, curious to see how they’d answer. After all, I had searched for years and never found a birth certificate. The old woman trembled, then burst into tears. “What documents! Xiao Bao was born at home!” “We’re poor! We live in the mountains! The hospital is too far! We’d never make it in time!” “You city people talk so easily! Have you ever thought about us, the people in the gullies?” “We sold everything we had, spent all our money, just to come here and find you for Xiao Bao’s sake!” “How can you say such things? You’re breaking our hearts! You’re breaking the hearts of all the poor farmers struggling to get by!” The reporter was shamed into silence. Xiao Bao, hearing his grandma, screamed at the camera. “Mommy! I’ll save all my yummy food for you! Please come home!” “This family can’t be without you! I can’t be without you!” Zhang Qiang, seeing his son, also began to cry. “Xiaohan, I won’t force you. If you won’t admit it, fine. But can you at least let Xiao Bao stay here?” “He’s your son! Can you really stand to hear him crying for ‘mommy’ in his sleep?” “I can live without a wife, but Xiao Bao can’t live without a mother!” He kneeled before me. “Wife, if you don’t love me anymore, you don’t have to come back.” “Just let my mom and Xiao Bao stay. I’ll go. I won’t be a burden. But the child is innocent!” The live stream was now at ten million viewers. The reporter, excited, pushed me to agree. “Ms. Chen, Mr. Zhang has compromised this much! Are you still going to deny it?” “Look at the comments! This is the ending everyone wants!” At that moment, my phone rang. It was my boss. “Chen Xiaohan, that ‘finding mom’ story is huge. Our clients are calling me about it.” “Admit you’re the mother. Now. Spin this into a heartwarming story.” “Your husband said you don’t even have to go back. Just keep the kid.” “The stream has ten million viewers! Do it! It’s great PR for the company!” “Your promotion or your termination depends on what you do next.” He hung up. I glanced at the viewer count, then at the people in front of me. Zhang Qiang, hopeful. The grandmother, weeping. Xiao Bao, who whispered, his voice only for me, “Mommy, you have to be good. Daddy breaks the legs of people who aren’t good.” I saw the police officers who had just arrived. I pinched the flesh of Xiao Bao’s arm, hard, and spoke calmly. “No marriage certificate. No birth certificate. They didn’t know the mother’s address, and at first, they didn’t even know her name. Doesn’t that seem strange?” “Am I really so stupid that I would fly 5 hours away to a remote village to get married while I was in high school?” “Or maybe… behind this ‘search for mom’… is a much more cruel truth?” “I am not his mother. His mother is already dead!” 4 The moment I finished, Xiao Bao shrieked in pain. He finally let go of me and, just like his father, began to kowtow on the floor. “Mommy, don’t curse yourself! Don’t say you’re dead!” “If you don’t want us, we’ll go! Just don’t curse yourself!” Thud. Thud. Thud. The sound of his small forehead hitting the floor echoed in everyone’s hearts. A woman had arrived with the police—Aunty Wang, from the neighborhood committee. She knew my situation better than anyone. But now, she rushed forward, pulling Xiao Bao up, her face a mask of sympathy. “Good boy, don’t cry. You tell Aunty what you need. I’m from the committee, I’ll help you.” She turned to me. “Xiaohan! Can’t you just talk to them? Why are you bullying a small child?” “I saw the live stream! They have photos! The boy is a carbon copy of you! And you’re still hung up on ‘paperwork’? What are you trying to prove? That you’re an educated intellectual and they’re illiterate?” “They’re simple country folk! They don’t understand your city ways! All they know is that this child wants his mother!” An officer gently tried to calm her down. Aunty Wang, displeased, quieted down but continued to hug Xiao Bao, glaring at me. This, I supposed, was human nature. Everyone sympathizes with the weak—the harmless child, the disabled man, the old woman. Aunty Wang’s words sent the chat into another frenzy. [I’m so disappointed. I thought there was a twist. But the neighborhood committee is on the family’s side. It’s confirmed. She’s the mom.] [That poor boy. His mother is a monster. I hope she gets hit by a car!] [I’ve seen it all today. Chen Xiaohan’s skin is thicker than a city wall! When she’s cornered, she curses herself to death. She’s ruthless!] … The officer, “Officer Li,” sighed. “Ms. Chen, you called us. But this situation has a massive public profile. We need you to come to the station to cooperate with our investigation.” “Of course, if what you’re saying is true, we will also issue a formal warning to those spreading rumors.” Just then, new “evidence” appeared online. People from the village had posted a “high-definition” photo of the mother. [I was the one who delivered Xiao Bao. This photo was taken right after he was born. Take a look. Is this Chen Xiaohan or not?] The woman in the photo was disheveled, holding a baby. It was much clearer than the wedding video. Aside from the fatigue and messy clothes, she looked identical to me. [When Zhang Qiang was sick, Chen Xiaohan took care of him. I filmed it, I was so moved. I can’t believe she’s acting like this now.] A short video played, showing the woman from the photo, holding the baby, dutifully caring for a man in a hospital bed. More and more “villagers” posted photos, swearing I had lived there, that I was a hardworking wife, and that this new “city” version of me was a complete, monstrous change. Aunty Wang saw this and puffed up with self-righteousness, blocking the police officers. “Officer Li, don’t stop me. I am here representing this community and all good-hearted people!” “I’ve seen too many women like Chen Xiaohan. Gold-digging, heartless, disgusting!” “Don’t tell me you weren’t willing! With Zhang Qiang’s physical condition, how could you have gotten pregnant if you weren’t willing?” “You’re an irresponsible animal! You abandon your own child! You’re worse than scum!” “Officer Li, the facts are clear! Taking her to the station will just be a slap on the wrist! It won’t work on people like her!” “This kind of person needs to be taught a lesson… by society!” The crowd was surging, angry. Officer Li couldn’t control the scene and called for backup. Xiao Bao, his eyes red and swollen, stood in front of the crowd. “Don’t blame my mommy! It must be because I’m a bad boy that she doesn’t want me!” “Mommy, I’ll be good! I’ll cook and wash clothes! I’ll listen to you! Please don’t disown me!” He was so “understanding” it was heartbreaking. My own neighbors started trying to convince me. Xiao Bao glanced back at me, a flash of triumph in his teary eyes. He mouthed the words silently: “Mommy. This is the price for not obeying.” I couldn’t breathe. So this is what it felt like to be completely alone. Even the police were neutralized. Everyone was just waiting for me to give in. Then, a shout from the crowd: “Chen Xiaohan’s parents are here!” Two gray-haired, elderly people pushed through. My father marched up to me and slapped me across the face. “You disgrace! Your own son is here, and you still deny him?” “Are you trying to ruin this family’s reputation?” I looked at my furious parents, and I smiled. Good. Now everyone was finally here.

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In the third year of our relationship, Liam cheated. I watched the whole thing, calmly, on a video sent from his “best friend.” Everyone thought I loved him. They thought that even after his betrayal, I’d be too weak to leave. They don’t know that I’m not holding on to him. I’m using him as bait. I’m holding on to attract the attention of his older brother, Marcus. Marcus Walker has a habit of taking everything Liam owns. Especially the women Liam loves. 1 Liam Walker is wild. He burns through girlfriends, with his previous record being one month. With me, he lasted three years. His friends all said they’d never seen him so committed. In his orbit, only two women ever stick around. Me. And his “female bro,” Chloe. Liam has a short attention span and a wide social circle. I hate networking. My presence at his parties was always a wet blanket. So, he started taking Chloe everywhere. “She knows how to have fun,” he’d say. The subtext was clear. Chloe has been Liam’s shadow since boarding school. He swears he “sees her as a brother.” She’s loud, she can party, and she never lets the energy die. Because she knows how to “have fun,” they eventually had “fun” in his bed. 2 I’m two years older than Liam. I was his T.A. in a graduate-level seminar he was only taking for an “easy A.” He fell for me instantly and launched a full-scale campaign. He was a classic golden-boy heir: relentless, charming, and full of a manic energy I mistook for passion. Eventually, I fell for him. We had a routine: study sessions, dinners, movies, planning a future. Then, Chloe reappeared. She’d dropped out of college and crashed in New York, landing right in Liam’s guest room. Our library dates turned into his “I’ll be right back,” which turned into a no-show. I knew he was a playboy taming himself for me. Chloe was the one who untied his leash. My love for him evaporated the moment she “accidentally” sent me that video two weeks ago. A 10-second clip of them in bed. His face, her face. Unmistakable. She recalled it instantly. “OMG, wrong chat!!!” she texted. I pretended I never saw it. From that day on, I buried my disgust and became the perfect, understanding girlfriend. I let Chloe’s petty provocations slide off me. Liam wanted a sweet, supportive, low-drama partner? I could play that. As long as I didn’t break up with him, I was his official, family-approved girlfriend. That meant access to his world. Access to the resources I needed. Chloe could be the dirty little secret he kept in his guest room. On New Year’s Eve, Liam went out. Chloe was with him. She spent the night “accidentally” sending me blurry, intimate photos from the party. A total clown show. Around midnight, I put on my “devoted girlfriend” mask and texted Liam. “Hey, is the party winding down? I can come pick you up.” It took him half an hour to respond. “Sorry babe, they keep pouring me drinks. Just saw this. We’re wrapping up.” He sent a location pin and Venmo’d me $100. “Get a car. It’s freezing out.” I took the money. “Okay.” I got to the club. They weren’t out. It was 5°F. It really was freezing. I paid an Uber driver $40 to let me just sit in his car at the curb. After thirty minutes, I saw Liam’s friends stumbling out. Show time. I paid the driver, got out, and made a show of rubbing my hands together and shivering. Chloe came out first. She saw me, her eyes widened, and she immediately looked away, pretending not to notice. She waited for Liam, then grabbed his arm, standing on her toes to whisper something in his ear. Whatever she said made him laugh. He playfully pinched her nose. They looked every bit the couple. “Liam,” I called out. He turned, saw me, and instantly ripped his arm away from Chloe. He ran over. Chloe was left standing alone, her fists clenched. 3 “Ava! How long have you been here? Why didn’t you go inside?” “Oh, not long,” I lied. “Maybe forty minutes?” “You’ve been standing here?” He looked horrified. “Mhm. It’s not that cold.” I let out a perfectly timed sneeze. He immediately unzipped his massive puffer jacket and wrapped me inside it, pulling me against his chest. “You should have texted me! Why would you wait out here?” “I didn’t want to bother you,” I murmured into his chest. “You were having fun with your friends. You deserved a night off.” He looked at me, his eyes shining with guilt. “Ava, you’re too good to me.” Just then, Chloe walked over, grabbing Liam’s other arm. “Well, damn, Walker,” she said, her voice intentionally loud. “Who’s this? You’ve got women lining up to drive you home?” “What are you talking about? This is Ava,” Liam said, annoyed. “Oh, Ava! Sorry! I thought you were another one of Liam’s side-pieces.” She playfully bumped his shoulder. Liam shoved her. “Shut up, Chloe.” I took off my mask. “It’s okay.” My lack of reaction clearly pissed her off. She tried again. “Hey, Liam,” she said, “don’t forget our bet. You won this round, but I will be kissing you back.” I couldn’t let that slide. It would be out of character. “Kissing him back? What does that mean?” I looked at Liam. He panicked. “Chloe, what the hell are you saying? It was just a game!” “Relax,” Chloe said, turning to me. “You’re so understanding, Ava. I’m sure you won’t get the wrong idea.” “So, what does it mean?” I pressed. Chloe got evasive. “God, it was nothing. Liam and I are just… bros. You know?” Liam was furious. “Chloe, stop talking! There’s nothing to talk about!” She ignored him, grabbing my arm. “Ava, we’ve been best friends forever. You know our vibe. Don’t be so paranoid.” My face went cold. “I’m not being paranoid, Chloe. If it’s nothing, just say what it was. Being this secretive just makes it look like you’re hiding something.” She rolled her eyes. “Ugh, you girls are all the same. So uptight.” “Are you not a girl, Chloe?” She scoffed. “Not like you.” She hooked her arm through Liam’s again. “I’m one of his bros.” Liam didn’t respond to her. He grabbed my shoulders, desperate. “Ava, I swear to God, we’re just friends. I don’t even see her as a woman.” “I believe you,” I said, cutting him off. I took his hand. “You and Chloe have known each other forever. If something was going to happen, it would have happened by now, right, Liam?” His eyes darted away for a millisecond. “Right. Nothing.” I held his gaze. “And you wouldn’t lie to me. Would you?” His eyes were wet with guilt. He swore he’d never lie. He swore on his life. Good. I hope he loses it. 4 I’d never cared about Liam’s family, just that he was rich. After the video, I ran a full background check. Liam was the baby, the “golden child.” He had two older sisters, both married off. And one older brother. Marcus. The illegitimate one. Marcus was the family pariah, treated like dirt, until the patriarch, Charles Walker, had a stroke five years ago. Marcus seized control of Walker Industries in a brutal, overnight coup. He is the real power. He spends a fortune cleaning up Liam’s messes and indulging his every whim, keeping him a spoiled, useless brat. It looks like love. But I know it’s a long-con. I can’t be tied to a useless puppet. The Walker name, the Walker resources… that is my ladder. And Liam is the first rung. I just need a way to get to Marcus. Liam was a perfect, guilty boyfriend for weeks. He even sat in the library with me, bored out of his mind. Chloe’s texts and calls made his phone vibrate off the table. He looked at me, sheepishly. “I’ll turn it off.” As if he didn’t want me to see how “in-demand” he was. I played the part. “Oh, don’t. It might be an emergency. You should take it.” When he stepped out, Chloe texted me. “Hey, Ava. K-BBQ tonight? My treat.” I didn’t reply. When Liam came back, I asked, “Are you free tonight? I’m craving K-BBQ.” He flinched. “Ah, shit. I have a team dinner. I can’t.” I knew it. Chloe was setting a trap. And I was walking right into it. This was my chance. 5 I got to the restaurant. Chloe greeted me, all smiles, and led me to a private room. Then she led Liam’s friends to the room next to mine. “Ava, you know how these guys get,” she said sweetly. “They’re animals. I’ll just put you here where it’s quiet. You’ll be more comfortable.” The rooms were separated by a paper-thin divider. I could hear every word. “I believe you,” I said, sitting down. As she turned to leave, she pulled down the collar of her sweater, flashing a necklace. A very specific, custom-designed diamond solitaire. Liam had given me an identical one. “Oh, this?” she said, “Liam’s so bad at gifts. He asked me to pick something out for you, and I loved it so much, he just bought me one too. You don’t mind, right? We’re bros.” “Why would I mind?” I said, not even looking up from the menu. “It’s his money. He can buy as many as he wants.” Her face tightened. “Right. I guess some women will put up with anything for a blank check.” “Exactly,” I said, finally looking at her. “And you’re different. You’re his bro. He doesn’t even see you as a woman. You’re the one person I never have to worry about.” Her smile was a strained, ugly grimace.

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The last male Phoenix had fallen to ash and memory, leaving the females of our kind to drink from the River of Genesis to continue our lineage. And I, Elara, the one with the greatest potential to birth a Progenitor Phoenix of old, turned my back on the river. Before the disbelieving eyes of my entire clan, I chose instead to leap into the Pyre Abyss. In my last life, I had poured my very soul, every last drop of my essence, into birthing the most noble of all fledglings—a Golden Phoenix. But on the Phoenix Dais, in my moment of triumph, he had shredded through my chest with a single claw, then fluttered into my stepsister’s arms, chirping “Mama” with sickening affection. My stepsister, Lyra, became the Phoenix Matriarch, revered by all and ascending to greatness. I was branded a child-thief, my feathers brutally torn from my body before I was cast into the Pyre Abyss to be incinerated in the living flames. Even as I burned, a single question haunted me: The Golden Phoenix was mine. He was born of my blood and my pain. Why did he call my stepsister his mother? Then I opened my eyes. I was back. Back to the day I was meant to drink from the River of Genesis. … 1 The waters of the River of Genesis swirled before me, a silver ribbon of life. I was so lost in the phantom agony of plucked feathers and searing flames that I didn’t even hear my stepsister, Lyra, until she called my name for the third time. “Elara, your essence is so powerful! I can’t even imagine what kind of phoenix you’ll birth after drinking from the river. I bet… I bet it will be the Golden Phoenix, the most noble of all the ancients!” Looking at Lyra’s deceptively sweet smile, a chill snaked down my spine, cold as graveyard dust. The memories were too raw: being robbed of my child, scorned as a thief by my own kind, the searing pain of my wings being torn apart before the fire consumed me. I wouldn’t let it happen again. Without a word, I stood and turned to leave. If drinking from that river meant birthing the child who would betray me, then I would rather remain barren forever. Lyra’s smile vanished. She darted in front of me, her voice rising in feigned alarm. “Matriarch, come quickly! Look at my sister! What’s wrong? Why is she leaving?” The Matriarch appeared, blocking my path. Her smile was warm, motherly, but it never reached the frost in her eyes. “Now, now, Elara, my sweet. This is no time for tantrums. Every phoenix must drink from the river to bear a child. It is the law of our clan. To defy it is to invite a curse upon us all.” The current Matriarch of the Phoenix clan was none other than Lyra’s mother—my stepmother, Morwenna. My own mother, the radiant Prismatic Phoenix, was the previous Matriarch. She had… fallen, they said, strayed into darkness shortly after my birth, leaving me to be raised by Morwenna. After my father’s passing, the few remaining male phoenixes withered away one by one, until none were left. The law was absolute. Every female had sworn a blood oath: for the future of our people, we would bear children from the river, no matter our own strength. And only the one who birthed the most powerful fledgling would become the next Matriarch. My stepsister’s bloodline was diluted, her essence weak. She could drink the entire River of Genesis dry and never produce a phoenix of any true power. But I was different. My blood was pure, my generative essence the strongest in the entire clan. In my previous life, I had been desperate to create the most magnificent phoenix imaginable, to become Matriarch and repay Morwenna for her years of kindness. Lyra and I drank from the river at the same time, conceived at the same time, and laid our eggs at the same time. My stepmother gave me a secret tome, an ancient phoenix text. It spoke of a ritual: nourish the egg with your own heart’s blood, sustain it with a forbidden art, and a Golden Phoenix shall be born. I never questioned it. I did as the book commanded, pouring my essence and my blood into the egg until I was a hollow shell of myself. After ten days of excruciating agony, a crack appeared, and from it emerged the rarest of creatures: a Golden Phoenix. Dragging my exhausted body to the Phoenix Dais, I cradled the tiny phoenix, my heart swelling with pride. I was moments away from being named the new Matriarch. But in a flash of unimaginable betrayal, while my guard was completely down, the fledgling in my arms lashed out. Its razor-sharp talons shredded through my chest, and with an arrogant cry, it flew directly into Lyra’s embrace, chirping “Mama.” A fledgling instinctively bonds with its birth mother. No one would ever doubt the child was Lyra’s. Lyra stroked the Golden Phoenix’s head, her eyes filled with false pity as she looked at me. “Sister, how could you be so cruel? To steal my egg and switch it with your own… I want to forgive you, I truly do. But as the new Matriarch, I must uphold our laws. You must be punished.” Her words painted her as a selfless leader and me as a hideous monster. The clan’s disgust was a palpable wave that crashed over me. They swarmed the dais, tearing my feathers out with their bare hands. I lay there, a bleeding, broken thing, drowning in their contempt. “Traitor! After all the Matriarch did for her, she repays her by stealing another’s child! Shameless!” “Whoever said Elara was the powerful one was blind! Lyra birthed a Golden Phoenix! Her generative power is clearly stronger. Elara was just jealous and stole it, just as vile as her mother who fell to darkness. She should be cast out of the Aerie!” On the day of Lyra’s ascension, I was dragged from our home. As I struggled to my feet, someone shoved me from behind, sending me plummeting into the Pyre Abyss to burn. Even in death, I couldn’t understand how Lyra had done it. How had she stolen my child from me? Now, watching the two of them blocking my path, their faces etched with a desperate urgency, a plan began to form in the ashes of my old life. “I just feel… unwell,” I murmured, feigning weakness. “I want to rest. I’ll come back another time.” My stepmother’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Then I’ll have Lyra accompany you. You can return together next time.” I frowned. There were many other phoenixes drinking from the river, and they had all birthed perfectly normal fledglings. The water itself was pure, constantly flowing. The problem wasn’t the river. Could it be the timing? Was I forbidden from drinking at the same time as Lyra? Morwenna had been Matriarch for centuries; she knew secrets I couldn’t fathom. Perhaps Lyra and I drinking together broke some ancient taboo. “No, it’s alright,” I said, forcing a small smile. “I think I’m feeling better now.” Lyra and I walked to the riverbank. I watched as she took a deep drink. Then, shielding my face with my sleeve, I pretended to drink, but instead secretly funneled a small amount of the water into a hidden vial. I would drink it later, alone. The heavens had granted me a second chance. This time, I would not miss a single detail. 2 Back in my chambers, my stepmother arrived, just as she had before. She brought a collection of rare spiritual herbs and that same secret tome on incubation. I smiled and accepted them, but the moment I was alone, I summoned a brazier and tossed both the herbs and the book into the flames, watching them curl into ash. I once believed Morwenna was the kindest soul alive. She had always treated me better than her own daughter. From childhood, the rarest treasures and most potent herbs were always given to me first. When Lyra would gaze at them with envious eyes and I, in my love for her, offered to share, Morwenna would fly into a rage, scolding Lyra for her greed. Everyone praised her selflessness. Everyone trusted her. And I… I had truly loved her as my own mother. When she was injured gathering herbs, I, a mere child, had thrown myself in harm’s way to protect her. I treated Lyra like my own blood, depleting my own essence time and again to help her advance her meager powers. Only now, after the betrayal, did I see the truth. Everything she did was a carefully constructed stage for Lyra’s ascent. To them, I was nothing but a vessel. A tool for birthing a god. So, even though I didn’t yet understand the full extent of their treachery, I knew that book was poison. I drank the water from the River of Genesis and waited. The strange, wondrous feeling of life coalescing within me returned. I felt the water’s warmth settle deep in my belly, glowing with a soft white light. This time, I didn’t pour in my own essence. I didn’t take a single herb to fortify the pregnancy. I released my obsession with birthing a Golden Phoenix. Soon, my belly swelled, and I laid a single, perfectly white egg. I didn’t rush to incubate it. Instead, under the cloak of night, I slipped into the forbidden grounds of the clan. This was where my mother had once lived. After she “fell to darkness,” the clan had deemed it a place of ill omen, barring anyone from entering. My memories of her were a complete blank. Morwenna had always told me my mother was a restless beauty who abandoned me, her own child, to run away with a demon lord. My father had always been distant. Only Morwenna had showered me with unconditional love. For years, I had suppressed any thought of my real mother, convincing myself Morwenna was all I needed. But my death told me that Morwenna’s stories were lies. My mother’s chambers were sparse, but every item left behind was a testament to her love for me. My childhood toys, my favorite snacks, even the tiny nest I had slept in as a fledgling. My eyes burned with unshed tears. How could she not have loved me? There had to be more to the story. Amidst a pile of ancient scrolls, I found it: her personal manuscript on incubation. Following my mother’s true instructions, I began the hatching process. And from the shell emerged not a golden, but a Prismatic Phoenix! A Prismatic Phoenix was even rarer than a golden one. And this fledgling… its essence was incredibly strong. It was destined for greatness. My own mother had been a Prismatic Phoenix, a strain known for their gentle, intelligent nature. Compared to the arrogance of a Golden Phoenix, this would be a child who loved me. Joy, pure and triumphant, surged through me. All my efforts had paid off. This child was mine, and mine alone. The Matriarch’s seat would finally be mine! Clutching the fledgling, its eyes still sealed, I headed for the Phoenix Dais. But along the way, I heard the whispers of the clan. “Did you hear? Someone stole Lyra’s fledgling!” My blood ran cold. “Lyra? Her bloodline is weak, her power pathetic. What kind of phoenix could she possibly produce that’s worth stealing? If anyone’s child was a target, it would be Elara’s. With her power, she might actually birth a Golden Phoenix!” “And you know what Lyra is claiming? She’s telling everyone she hatched a Prismatic Phoenix! Can you believe the nerve? As if! Those are even rarer than the golden ones!” An icy dread gripped my heart. Lyra’s egg had also produced a Prismatic Phoenix? This was no coincidence. The gossiping phoenixes saw me and rushed over, their eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Elara! Has your egg hatched yet? What kind of phoenix is it?” Just then, I saw Morwenna and Lyra searching frantically nearby. When Morwenna’s eyes landed on me, they lit up with a terrifying recognition. 3 I didn’t answer anyone. I turned and fled, sprinting back to my chambers and slamming the door shut. My heart hammered against my ribs. I had to know. Would this child know me as its mother? I drew a single drop of my heart’s blood and let it fall onto the fledgling’s sealed eyes. It blinked them open. And stared at me with eyes as empty and cold as a winter sky. A voice called from outside my door. It was Lyra. “Elara, why did you run off like that? Have you seen my baby? I hatched a little Prismatic Phoenix, you see. I was thinking… maybe it wandered over to you?” At the sound of Lyra’s voice, the fledgling in my arms stirred. It heard its mother’s call. It arched its neck, preparing to cry out. My hand clamped around its throat. Tears streamed down my face as I snuffed out its life force with a wave of my own essence. I’m sorry, I thought, my heart breaking. But I cannot let the past repeat itself. If I am destined only to birth the knife that will be plunged into my own heart, then it is better you were never born at all. The door burst open. Morwenna and Lyra stood there, their faces masks of fury. “Elara, where is the phoenix you hatched? Where is it?” I wiped my tears away, my expression turning to stone. I shook my head. “It was a failure. The egg was empty.” Morwenna and Lyra exchanged a look, their disappointment a palpable thing. Suddenly, Lyra changed her tune. “Oh, I must have been mistaken. I failed too. There was no Prismatic Phoenix. I was just… so anxious, I must have imagined it. It’s alright, sister. We’ll just go to the River of Genesis again.” Once more to the river. Once more, I brought the water back in secret. I wracked my brain, trying to find the flaw in their plan. If it wasn’t the water, and it wasn’t the incubation method… then the problem had to be with me. I gathered everything I had ever used—my clothes, my tools, my jewelry—and sealed them all away with a powerful enchantment. I meticulously checked my own body against my mother’s notes, searching for any abnormality, but found nothing. I looked around the room I had lived in for centuries. It was no longer safe. I locked the door, and that night, I took my new, unlaid egg and hid myself away in my mother’s forbidden chambers. Her incubation manuscript contained other techniques, including a dangerous ritual that involved channeling the raw power of wind, rain, thunder, and snow into the egg. The fledgling that emerged would be infused with one of these elemental attributes. No one, not even with the most powerful scrying magic, could possibly guess what lay inside. And I would hatch it in front of the entire clan. After days of channeling raw elemental power, I walked toward the Phoenix Dais, cradling an egg that shimmered with captured lightning and swirling frost. The Aerie was buzzing with excitement. “Did you hear? That failure Lyra is going to hatch her egg in public today. What a joke.” A familiar, hopeless despair washed over me. Why? Why was Lyra doing the same thing as me, again? What was the point of all my effort? Why couldn’t I escape the chains of my past life? I stood at the foot of the dais, a bitter smile on my lips. Morwenna and Lyra sat enthroned at the top. Before them was an egg, shrouded by a red cloth. As long as it remained covered, no one could see what it truly was. The closer I got to the dais, the more the egg in my hands thrashed, a stark contrast to its calm when we were alone. Did it already sense that Lyra was its true mother? And then, the horrifying truth hit me like a physical blow. I was wrong. Utterly, completely, devastatingly wrong. It didn’t matter what kind of phoenix I hatched. It never mattered. No matter what I created, Lyra could somehow claim it as her own. The egg under that cloth could be a common stone, but once my fledgling flew to her and called her “Mama,” she could simply claim I had switched them. Lyra looked down at me from the dais, and her lips curled into the exact same triumphant smile she had worn in my past life. “Well, well, sister Elara. What a beautiful egg you have there. Weren’t you planning on hatching it for all to see? What a coincidence, so was I. You’re the elder sister. Why don’t you go first?”

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It started as a freak accident—a glitch in the matrix, or maybe just a really weird app update. Somehow, I was FaceTiming with myself from ten years in the future. Excitement bubbling over, I asked the big question: “So, who do we end up with?” Future Me went silent for a beat. Then, he dropped the name of my mortal enemy. I burst out laughing. “Man, I didn’t know I’d still be this sarcastic in my late twenties. Good one.” But before the laugh could fade, a figure walked into the frame on his end. “Babe, who are you talking to?” I stared at the screen. The woman was older, more glamorous, but unmistakable. It was my high school nemesis. I froze, effectively turning into a statue. 1. The visual was surreal. I was locking eyes with Chloe. The Chloe. She was wearing silk pajamas, leaning casually against Future Me’s shoulder. After about sixty seconds of brain-dead silence, I let out a screech that probably shattered windows. Chloe raised an eyebrow, looking amused by my existence. Then, just to mess with me, she kissed Future Me on the cheek and shot the camera a smug, challenging look. My world was ending. Seeing my mental breakdown, Future Me jumped in for damage control. He started rattling off a list of Chloe’s “good qualities” to explain how on earth we got married. It was horrifying. It was like watching a body snatcher inhabit my future self. After a few minutes of him praising her, I couldn’t take it anymore. “You are a disappointment,” I snapped. “You know how much I can’t stand her. I literally just graduated high school, celebrating my freedom from her existence, and you’re telling me I marry her in a decade? That’s not a future; that’s a diagnosis.” Maybe he’d been happy for so long he forgot the trenches. Future Me looked genuinely confused until my outburst reminded him that currently, Chloe and I were like oil and water. If we were in the same room, eyes were rolling. He scratched his head, looking awkward. Chloe, standing next to him, smirked. “Hate to break it to you,” she drawled, “but we go to the same college in the fall.” She looked so triumphant. It took everything in me not to punch my monitor. Ten years later, and she was still the same—one expression from her could send my blood pressure through the roof. I glared. She beamed. Seeing my will to live fading, Future Me shoved Chloe out of the frame and leaned in, lowering his voice. “Look, we do end up together, but you have other flings before that.” “Like who?” I perked up. He thought for a second. “Remember that cheerleader captain who helped you with registration? The blonde? You guys date for a bit. It’s great.” We started excitedly discussing my upcoming love life, completely forgetting the woman standing behind him. You know, his wife. It wasn’t until I saw Chloe’s face—a mix of amusement and icy rage—that I realized we messed up. “Uh…” I whispered to Future Me. “You might want to check your six.” He turned around, confused, and met the gaze of a very unamused wife. His smile died instantly. Panic set in. “Actually,” he stammered, pivoting hard, “she was totally mid. And she ghosted me. Really, she couldn’t compare to you, honey.” Watching myself lie was painful. I realized now that my poker face was trash. Chloe scoffed. She snatched the phone from his hand. “We’re done chatting. Future You and I need to have a little talk.” She hung up. But right before the screen went black, I saw her sit on his lap. I stared at the reflection in my dark screen, my brain short-circuiting with intrusive thoughts. I was going insane. 2. Thanks to Future Me, I didn’t sleep a wink. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Chloe. The worst part? We had a post-grad hang at a Karaoke spot the next day. And obviously, Chloe was going to be there. I psyched myself up and walked into the private room. The sound of off-key singing blasted out. When I opened the door, the music cut. Everyone turned to look at me. Then, in perfect synchronization, they turned to look at Chloe. Because our rivalry was legendary, we were basically a package deal in everyone’s minds. The room was split between people waiting for a fight, people holding back laughter, and the weirdos who secretly “shipped” us. Usually, I ignored it. I hated Chloe. It was simple. Until last night, when I found out my nemesis becomes my wife. The couches were packed. The only empty spot was—you guessed it—right next to Chloe. I sighed, accepted my fate, and sat down. Chloe glanced at me. She noticed the dark circles under my eyes and frowned slightly before masking it with a tease. “Rough night? Or were you just tossing and turning dreaming about me?” Normally, I’d tell her to get over herself. Unfortunately, she was technically right. I looked away, feeling heat rise in my cheeks. “You’re delusional,” I muttered, grabbing a Coke to cool down. Chloe paused, dropping the sarcasm. She stared at me, realizing something was off. I avoided eye contact like it was a sport. The others didn’t notice the weird vibe and dragged Chloe up to sing. The moment she stood up, I exhaled. But my peace lasted two seconds. My phone buzzed. Future Me: Calculated the time zones. You’re at Karaoke right now, yeah? Future Me: Fun fact: The song she’s about to sing? It’s for you. My heart started hammering against my ribs. The phone felt radioactive in my hand. I looked up instinctively and locked eyes with Chloe. On the screen, the title popped up. “Perfect” by Ed Sheeran. The room erupted in whistles and cheers. Chloe kept looking at me as the intro played. 3. I hate to admit it, but Chloe can sing. The room faded away. Maybe it was the text messages messing with my head, but I swear I could feel the weight of her gaze. In the dim light, there was something in her eyes I’d never let myself see before. When she finished, everyone clapped. Some brave soul asked if she was singing it for anyone specific. She didn’t deny it. She didn’t confirm it. She just smiled. She sat back down next to me, looking jittery. Her hands were clenched in her lap. My phone buzzed again. Future Me: She thinks singing that will make you realize she has a crush on you. Spoiler: You didn’t get it. You sat there like a lump. Future Me: She tried to work up the nerve to ask you if you liked the song all night but chickened out. Future Me: Look at her hands. She’s literally shaking. I glanced sideways. Sure enough, her hands were trembling. The corner of my mouth twitched up. I leaned in close, whispering with a teasing lilt, “Chloe, why are you shaking?” Her head snapped toward me. She scooted away reflexively. But when she saw the mischief in my eyes, she realized I was messing with her. A flash of disappointment crossed her face before she put her armor back on. “What are you looking at? It’s cold in here,” she snapped. “I’m freezing.” She was so defensive. Usually, I’d be mentally roasting her, but right now? It was kind of cute. I noticed the tips of her ears were bright red. I felt like I had discovered a new continent. I finally had the upper hand. I grinned at her. ” careful, Chloe. People might think you have a crush on me.” I watched her face crumble. Her eyes went wide, her ears turned scarlet, and her fingers twitched. “As if!” she shouted, way too loud. Realizing she was making a scene, she dialed it back, looking away. “You wish.” I almost laughed out loud. I immediately texted Future Me. Me: I went for it. Asked if she had a crush on me. Future Me: No way. What did she say?? Me: She denied it. Aggressively. Future Me sent a face-palm emoji. I felt the cringe transcending time and space. Minutes passed, and Chloe was still malfunctioning. She was fidgeting, refusing to look at me. I snapped a sneaky picture and sent it to the future. A moment later, I got a voice note. I meant to play it quietly, but my thumb slipped. I hit speaker. Future Chloe’s voice boomed through the Karaoke room. “God, was I really that cringe? I was so emotionally constipated.” EVERYONE turned to look at me. Chloe froze, staring right at my phone. I panicked, tried to stop it, and accidentally hit the next voice note. “I’m surprised I ever got a husband acting like that. Look at me, wanting to say something but acting like a brat.” Dude. Future Chloe was ruthless. She was roasting her younger self into oblivion. I fumbled with the phone and finally killed the volume. The room was silent. “Uh,” I stammered. “My cousin. She was telling me a story about… her friend. Who waited ten years to tell a guy she liked him because she was too stubborn.” It wasn’t subtle. It was a neon sign. Chloe whipped her head around, staring at the wall. The others bought it and went back to fighting over the mic. But Chloe went quiet. She was thinking. Thirty minutes later, she leaned over. “So?” she whispered. “What happened?” “What happened with who?” “Your cousin’s friend. Did she get the guy?” “Of course… not,” I said. “My cousin’s friend was too proud. Kind of like you. She spent all her time arguing with him instead of being nice. Why would he like her back?” I was being petty. Even knowing we get married, I still wanted to mess with her. Chloe’s face fell. I sighed, feigning wisdom. “Life’s short. You gotta shoot your shot. Otherwise, you miss the bus.” Chloe bit her lip. She looked up at me, sudden and intense. “I like you.”

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My world fell apart. I’d woken up inside a novel, as the tragic heroine in one of those grim, tearjerker stories. You know the type. The heroine gets mentally and physically torn to shreds, suffers a miscarriage, has her eyes gouged out, a kidney stolen, and then, finally, dies a miserable death. Only then does the male lead realize she was innocent all along, and he’s left to drown in a lifetime of regret. Seriously, this lawless world of yours can kiss my ass. I fell asleep seeing red, cursing them all under my breath. When I opened my eyes, I was in the exact moment the heroine was framed by the male lead’s “one true love” for her own miscarriage. Oh, hell yeah. Now this, I can work with. I whipped out my phone and dialed three little numbers. “Help! Someone just tried to murder me!” Let’s just see if this angsty, tragedy-filled world of yours actually has cops. 1 When I came to, I was slowly waking up in a hospital bed. The sharp, sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air, and I wrinkled my nose in disgust. “Ugh.” A tall figure in a black trench coat stood beside the bed, his voice as cold as ice. “If you’re awake, stop playing dead. Go and apologize to Lila.” That line… why did it sound so damn familiar? Wasn’t this from that god-awful novel I was reading before bed? Matt Lennon’s features were sharp and handsome, but silhouetted against the light, with his hands shoved in his pockets, he just looked like an arrogant prick. In the original story, Matt and the heroine, Elara, were married in name only. Elara had been secretly in love with him for years, and while Matt was drawn to her, he never admitted it to himself. Not until his childhood sweetheart, Lila, returned to the country. Lila, desperate to break them up and take Elara’s place, drugged Matt, intending to sleep with him. But through a twist of fate, Matt ended up in bed with Elara instead. Forced to adapt, Lila flipped the script and accused Elara of being the one who drugged him. Elara couldn’t defend herself, and Matt, believing she was a manipulative schemer, grew colder and more distant. From that one night, Elara got pregnant. The first trimester was already precarious, but Lila showed up at their home, deliberately provoking her. She shoved Elara down the stairs, causing an immediate miscarriage. And now this asshole wanted me to apologize to her? Un-fucking-believable. I am not the original Elara. I’m here to collect your souls. I scowled, my patience worn thin. “Apologize? Like hell I will!” Matt blinked. “?” His brief confusion hardened into a deep frown. “So, you’re finally dropping the act. Lila was right. Your gentle, understanding persona was all a facade!” He lunged forward, grabbing my arm to drag me from the bed. “You carelessly fell down the stairs and had the audacity to frame Lila. She’s so consumed with guilt that she hasn’t eaten or had a drop of water since you lost consciousness. If you have a shred of decency, you’ll go and apologize to her right now!” Screw you and your decency! I ripped my arm from his grasp, a wave of dizziness washing over me. This body was still incredibly weak from the miscarriage. I peeled my eyes open and glared at him, extending my hand. “Give me my phone.” Matt’s frown deepened, but as he took in my pale face, a flicker of pity crossed his eyes. He pulled out his phone as he spoke. “Fine, you can call her to apologize. I’ll let it slide this time, given your condition. But don’t you ever be so defiant again, or else—” He was still talking, but I’d already snatched the phone. With deliberate purpose, I pressed three numbers. The call connected instantly. I spoke calmly into the receiver. “Hello, 911? I’d like to report an assault. Aggravated assault, actually.” Matt: ? The police arrived with surprising speed. Soon, a few officers were gathered around my hospital bed. I cleared my throat and let out a theatrical, gut-wrenching sob. “Officers, you have to help me!” I pointed a trembling finger at the utterly bewildered Matt. “My husband is cheating on me with his mistress! She came to our house and pushed me down the stairs! My baby… my baby is gone because of her! Oh, God, my poor child! Waaah!” Matt’s face turned a shade of furious grey. He met the officers’ stern, suspicious gazes and stammered, “That’s not… I didn’t…” “Matt…” A soft voice called from the doorway. Everyone turned to see Lila, dressed in a simple white dress, looking fragile and delicate. She gazed at the room with wide, innocent eyes. What a goddamn actress. My mind raced. I had to strike first before she could spin her web of lies and play the victim. I ripped the IV needle from the back of my hand and scrambled to the far corner of the bed, yanking at my hair to make it a mess. “Help me!” I shrieked, my voice cracking with manufactured terror. “She’s here! The murderer is here! She’s come to finish me off! She killed my baby, and now she wants to kill me!” Lila’s carefully crafted expression of vulnerability almost shattered. She took a hesitant step forward, her face stiff. Matt started to move towards her, but the lead officer blocked his path. “Sir, the complainant has accused you both of assault. We need to get a statement. Please maintain your distance.” Lila: ? Another officer gently tried to calm me down. I pretended to compose myself, hiding behind him and shivering. “It was her. She’s the one who pushed me down the stairs. My poor baby… only three months along. He never even got a chance to see the world.” Matt’s face was a thundercloud. “Elara! What nonsense are you spouting? You fell by accident! How dare you slander Lila and waste police time by calling them? Do you have any idea how illegal that is?” I clutched the officer’s sleeve, my voice small and pathetic. “She really did push me. After I got pregnant, I installed security cameras all over the house for safety. You can check the footage, officer!” One of the officers nodded, got the address from me, and quickly left with his partner to retrieve the recordings. Lila looked like she was about to have a panic attack. She had been so bold because she thought there were no witnesses; the idea of cameras had never crossed her mind. The original heroine was a real piece of work, wasn’t she? Holding onto evidence but choosing to suffer in silence. What was she trying to do, win an award for tragic performance art? The police were efficient. They returned to the hospital room shortly after, holding up a body cam that was playing the security footage. It was crystal clear: Lila cornering me, her hand shooting out to shove my shoulder, sending me tumbling down the stairs. A pool of crimson spread beneath me. The video showed Matt rushing in moments later, finding only Lila kneeling beside me, looking utterly helpless. Lila’s legs gave out, and she collapsed to the floor with a thud. Matt shook his head, muttering in disbelief. “No… it can’t be. Lila… she really killed my child…” Lila crawled towards him, grabbing his pant leg. “Matt, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to! I just wanted her to stop clinging to you! I never wanted to kill your baby! It was an accident, I swear! Please, forgive me, please?” I couldn’t take it anymore. “What the hell is wrong with you? Who are you asking for forgiveness? I’m the one you pushed down the stairs! I’m the one who had a miscarriage! And I’m the one still lying in this goddamn hospital bed! You’re crying at the wrong damn grave, you idiot!” Lila: ? Matt: ? The entire police force: ??? Shit. I forgot my character. I quickly clutched my stomach, my voice dropping into a mournful whisper. “Now that the evidence is clear, officer… Lila is guilty of aggravated assault. I want to press full charges. Please, you have to arrest her. She’s vicious and manipulative. She’ll try to hurt me again. I’m so scared… Every time I think about my poor, dead baby, I can’t sleep… Waaah…” My acting may have been terrible, but the facts were undeniable. Lila was arrested and taken away. She’d be held for at least 15 days. Matt just stared at me blankly, then watched as Lila struggled and cried while being escorted out. A look of profound confusion clouded his handsome face. Confused? You’re part of the problem, you magnificent dumbass! I settled back onto the hospital bed. “Matt, I want a divorce.” His lips trembled. “A divorce? What right do you have to ask me for a divorce?” …And there it is. A classic line straight out of a billionaire romance novel. Without another thought, I snatched the water glass from the nightstand and hurled it at his stupidly handsome head. “Do you think having a few bucks in your pocket makes you some kind of emperor who owns my life? I said I want a divorce, and I will get a divorce! It has nothing to do with ‘rights’! It’s a power granted to me by the goddamn law, not some favor you benevolently bestow upon me! I’ll have the divorce papers sent to you tomorrow. If you dare refuse to sign, I’ll leak everything that happened today. ‘CEO of Lennon Corporation in Adulterous Affair; Conspires with Mistress to Cause Wife’s Miscarriage.’ Just wait for your stock to plummet, your market value to evaporate, and the board of directors to demand your head!” The glass had cut his forehead, and a trickle of blood ran down his temple. Fresh water stains dotted his black trench coat. He had probably never looked so pathetic in his entire life. The confusion in his eyes only deepened. “Elara, you’re not supposed to be like this.” A cold laugh escaped my lips. “And how am I supposed to be? Should Elara forever be the weakling you speak of, letting you and Lila walk all over her without a peep? Should she always be your docile, obedient little wife, forced to watch you flirt with your mistress and swallow her pain? Should she just accept all the abuse you dish out? Go to hell. No one is going to coddle you forever. I’m not your mother!” Matt stumbled out of the room, looking completely lost. Suddenly, a dull ache throbbed in my chest. I realized it was the original Elara’s lingering heartbreak. Don’t hurt for him anymore, I thought. He’s not worth it. 2 Ultimately, Lila was detained for 15 days for assault. The fact that she avoided criminal charges was likely due to some backroom maneuvering by Matt. The day after I called the police, I hired a lawyer and had the divorce papers drawn up, making sure our marital assets were divided clearly and fairly. I never understood the heroines in those angsty billionaire novels. Why did they always insist on leaving with nothing? What was this noble act of self-sacrifice all about? You’ve been abused mentally and physically. When you finally get a divorce, taking your share of the marital property is the bare minimum you’re owed. I hadn’t even billed the bastard for emotional damages! Unfortunately, the divorce process wasn’t going smoothly. Matt stubbornly refused to sign the papers. After several heated arguments, he sent in his mother—my mother-in-law—to persuade me. Mrs. Lennon, dressed in an expensive Chanel suit, took an elegant sip of her coffee before speaking. “I know Matt was in the wrong. But in wealthy families, it’s common for couples to have their own lives. Marriage is often just for show. Your decision to call the police made things very ugly. If the Lennon Corporation hadn’t suppressed the story, it would have been a city-wide scandal. You were being terribly immature.” Oh, for fuck’s sake. The apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree. This family was a cesspool of toxicity. I wasn’t about to play nice. I picked up my own cup of coffee and, without a word, flung its contents squarely in her face. “Ahhhhh!!!” Her composure shattered. Brown liquid stained her perfectly coiffed hair and dripped down her priceless suit. “Elara! Are you insane?” “Yes, I am! Driven insane by you and your shameless family! Your son cheats on his wife and gets his own child killed, and you have the nerve to tell me to just let it go? Are you even human?” “You—!” “‘You’ what? You raised a son and failed to teach him basic decency, letting him grow into the degenerate he is today. He cheats on his wife and kills his unborn child. You think you, as his mother, bear no responsibility for the crooked path he’s on?” “I—” “‘I’ what? It’s easy for you to talk about couples having their own lives. Did you forget how you threw a fit—crying, screaming, threatening to jump off a bridge—when my father-in-law was alive and keeping a starlet as his mistress? You’re a master of holding others to impossible standards while letting yourself off the hook! If you’re so damn magnanimous, why didn’t you arrange a few concubines for your own husband back then?” “He—!” “‘He’ what? Let me make this crystal clear: I am getting this divorce. Our shared assets will be divided strictly according to the law, and you won’t cheat me out of a single penny. The fact that I’m not suing your disgusting family for emotional damages is a testament to my kindness!” Mrs. Lennon’s face darkened, her eyes glinting with malice. She was ready to teach me a lesson. “Guards!” she boomed. “Take this insolent woman to the basement! I’m going to teach her some manners!” ? Right. I’d forgotten. This old hag used to constantly abuse and gaslight the original Elara. Under the guise of teaching her “rules,” she’d lock the poor girl in the basement to “reflect,” torturing her both physically and mentally. False imprisonment, huh? Let’s see about that. I whipped out my phone and dialed the now-familiar number—911. “I’m at the Lennon mansion on the hill, in the back garden! My mother-in-law is trying to imprison me against my will! Officers, help!” Mrs. Lennon stared at me, her face a mask of disbelief. “What are you doing?” I gave her a chilling smile. “Giving you a little taste of what a civilized society feels like.” The police were, as always, incredibly efficient. When they arrived, the lead officer’s gaze flickered between me and Mrs. Lennon, his expression a mixture of exasperation and pity. “You again.” I scurried behind him for protection. “Yes, me again! This old woman is my mother-in-law! She’s trying to lock me in the basement to stop me from divorcing her cheating son!” The officer frowned at Mrs. Lennon, who was now at a complete loss for words. “I… I was just trying to scare her…” “Bullshit! If I hadn’t been quick enough to call you, her guards would have dragged me down there by now!” I pulled out my phone and played an audio file at full volume. “I have a recording, officer!” Mrs. Lennon: “…” Thank God I had anticipated this old bat would pull something shady. I’d started recording the moment I stepped foot in this mansion. The audio captured everything perfectly: her twisted logic, her attempts to manipulate me, and her furious command to the guards when her brainwashing failed. The officer listened to the entire recording, his expression grim. His cold gaze fell on Mrs. Lennon. “This is a society of laws, madam. Do you think you’re some kind of local tyrant? Unlawful detention is a serious crime!” All the fight went out of her. “But… I didn’t actually do anything…” “Making threats is also illegal!” For the next fifteen minutes, Mrs. Lennon, with her ruined hair, smeared makeup, and coffee-stained Chanel suit, stood with her head bowed as the officer gave her a stern lecture on civics. I knew that without any actual harm done, they couldn’t arrest her. But seeing her get a lesson in the law was satisfaction enough. As I left the mansion with the police, the lead officer looked at me with a heavy, sympathetic gaze. “You’re going through hell. Stay strong.” “…Thank you, officer. I have a feeling I might be needing your help again soon. My apologies in advance.” Watching the patrol car drive away, I couldn’t help but marvel, “You gotta love the public services in this country!” 3 Matt continued to drag his feet on the divorce, but I wasn’t the only one getting antsy. Lila was like a cat on a hot tin roof, finding new ways to harass me every few days. Too bad for her, I wasn’t the original Elara. I wasn’t going to be her punching bag. She tried releasing a venomous snake near my apartment, hoping it would bite me. Unfortunately for her, I had a thousand contingency plans. My new place was rigged with even more cameras, which captured the entire incident. I calmly called the police. “Yes, it’s me again. Lila tried to have me killed with a snake.” She launched an online smear campaign, hiring trolls to paint me as a homewrecker. They doxxed me, leaking my private address and photos, unleashing a torrent of online abuse. What could I do? I called the police. “Officer, I’ve been doxxed and harassed online. It’s taking a severe toll on my mental health. I think I’m developing severe depression from the trauma!” And so, Lila found herself back in a holding cell for another 15 days. But even with her gone, I had no peace. Matt started following me around like a ghost, a truly unwelcome presence. “What the hell do you want?” I finally cornered him in a coffee shop, my patience completely gone. Matt looked like he’d lost weight. I couldn’t tell if it was from the anger of his once-obedient wife suddenly growing a spine, or the sorrow of discovering his “one true love” was rotten to the core. After I’d called the cops on his mother, he’d called me, absolutely livid, accusing me of disrespecting my elders. I had reamed him out in eight different languages over the phone. He then began giving me the silent treatment, which I thoroughly enjoyed. It wasn’t until Lila’s second arrest for the snake incident that he decided to unilaterally end our cold war. The man was certifiably insane. He stared silently at his coffee. “I was wrong about you before. I never thought Lila was capable of such things. I apologize.” “Okay, accepted. Anything else? If not, I’m leaving.” His eyes were slightly red as he looked at me, a searching expression on his face. “Elara… why do I feel like you’ve changed so much?” Here we go again. I rolled my eyes. “Changed? You mean because I’m no longer your doormat? Is that what you can’t get used to?” A strained smile touched his lips. “You’ve changed… you don’t love me anymore.” Now it was my turn to be silent. I no longer felt the original Elara’s heartache. Perhaps losing the child, coupled with Matt’s betrayal, had finally shattered whatever feelings she had left for him. I nodded solemnly. “You’re right about that.” His expression turned pathetic. “Why?” ??? Why? ??? “You’re seriously asking me why? You’re a married man who couldn’t keep his hands off another woman, living out some tragic ‘lost love’ fantasy. Have you lost your mind? Your precious ‘one true love’ killed your unborn child! And now that you see she’s not so pure after all, you come crawling back to me asking why? It’s because you broke her damn heart, that’s why!” “You have eyes, but you can’t see a thing! Is that a tumor on your neck instead of a head? Do you have no capacity for rational thought? All you do is open your mouth and ask stupid questions! Try some self-reflection for a change instead of interrogating others!” Matt: “…” The verbal beatdown felt good. I didn’t know or care how he felt. I grabbed my bag and stood up to leave. Just before I walked out, I turned back to him. “Sign the divorce papers soon. Otherwise, my next step is to sue.” As expected, Matt was as stubborn as a mule. Another half a month passed. Lila was released from custody, and he still refused to sign. Fine. I spent a small fortune hiring the best divorce lawyer in the city and filed a lawsuit. While waiting for the court date, I avoided Matt like the plague. I couldn’t stand his bizarre logic or his pathetic attempts at feigning affection. It was nauseating. Finally, the day of the hearing arrived. In court, my lawyer presented all the evidence of Lila’s harassment. She also showed the court text logs from the original Elara’s phone, revealing years of Matt’s cold indifference, his mother’s degrading and belittling comments, and the provocative photos and videos Lila had sent to taunt her. “The defendant, Mr. Matt Lennon, had a weak emotional foundation with the plaintiff. He was consistently indifferent to her well-being, failing to fulfill his responsibilities and duties as a husband. He maintained an emotional entanglement with Ms. Lila throughout the marriage, failing to remain faithful. It was Mr. Lennon’s tacit approval that enabled Ms. Lila to escalate her campaign of psychological torment against my client. This culminated in Ms. Lila pushing my client down a flight of stairs, causing a miscarriage. Undeterred, she later attempted to poison my client with a venomous snake. Both incidents are corroborated by police reports and body camera footage from the local precinct. This marriage has caused my client, Ms. Elara Lennon, immense pain and suffering, inflicting deep trauma upon her both physically and mentally. The defendant, Mr. Lennon, is the at-fault party in this marriage. We request that the court grant an immediate divorce!” I secretly gave my lawyer a thumbs-up. Worth every penny. In the end, the court ruled in my favor, granting the divorce and dividing the marital assets equitably. The moment I stepped out of the courthouse, the sun felt brighter, my spirit lighter than it had in ages. Matt stumbled out after me, trying to grab my hand. I sidestepped him easily. “Excuse me. We are no longer married. Please refrain from touching me, or I will file a harassment complaint.” He looked lost, his voice pleading. “I’m sorry. I never knew Lila sent you those things. But the photos… they were fake! Nothing ever happened between us!” I stared at him, baffled. “And how is that my problem?” “Elara, you…” His voice broke. “I’ve been thinking a lot these past few days. I realize now… I think I’m in love with you. I just didn’t see it before. What I felt for Lila was just nostalgia for a past that was long gone. I…” My face twisted in horror. “Whoa, stop right there! Don’t make this weird, ex-hubby!” A desolate look shadowed his handsome features. “I regret everything. I regret not cherishing you. You have every right to hate me, to resent me. Elara, I promise, I will do everything I can to make it up to you!” I was already halfway down the street. As far as making it up to me went, a bigger share of the assets would have been a good start. 4 I assumed Matt’s dramatic declaration outside the courthouse was just empty words, but it turned out he was serious. He started appearing everywhere in my life. Fresh roses were delivered daily. Trendy jewelry from luxury brands would mysteriously appear on my doorstep. He even had gourmet breakfasts sent over every morning, tirelessly performing what he thought were acts of profound love. I’ll admit, it was becoming a nuisance. Since I was determined not to go back, accepting his gifts was out of the question. It was a matter of principle. So, every morning, I fed his expensive breakfasts to the stray cats and dogs in the neighborhood. They were delighted. Matt may have paid for it, but the good karma was all mine. The daily bouquets of flowers were always fresh and fragrant, but I couldn’t keep them. I stuck them in the public flowerbeds along the street, doing my part for city beautification. The expensive jewelry, however, was a problem. After some thought, I hired a courier to deliver it all to his mother’s mansion on the hill. I heard she fainted from rage several times, cursing Matt for being such a spineless fool. I no longer felt any emotional feedback from the original Elara. She had truly let go. As much as I used to curse her for being a pushover, being kind-hearted isn’t a crime. She was just a tragic woman caught in a terrible story. I had taken over her body, and with it, I hoped I could change her fate—our fate. Matt’s relentless pursuit was getting on my last nerve. One day, after a shopping trip, he was tailing me again. I finally snapped and dialed that all-too-familiar number. “Officer, I’m being stalked.” Matt: “…” When the police arrived, they found Matt squatting dejectedly by a lamppost. The officer’s face was as dark as a storm cloud. “Are you kidding me?” Matt looked up, his eyes red-rimmed and desperate. “I’m just trying to win back my ex-wife.” The officer’s response was swift and righteous. “First of all, where was this energy before? Second, there’s a fine line between ‘winning her back’ and harassment, and you, sir, have crossed it!” After a lengthy mediation session with the police, Matt promised to stop using stalking and other alarming methods to “win me back.” Before leaving, the officer clapped me on the shoulder. “I hope you find your peace soon,” he said, his voice heavy with sincerity. I nearly burst into tears. Finally, someone who gets it! Matt watched me from a distance, a desolate figure. “Elara,” he called out, “can I ask you one question?” “Go ahead.” “Are you really Elara?”

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Ryan’s mother offered me ten million dollars to leave her son. I thought our love was unshakable, so I planned to tell him about it as a joke. But later that night, after we’d made love, I answered his ringing phone by mistake. A woman’s bright, cheerful voice came through. “Ryan, darling, should the wedding invitations be gold-leaf or classic ivory?” I felt like I’d been plunged into an ice bath. Ryan Wood was getting married. So what did that make me? On his wedding day, I boxed up every memory of our life together and mailed it to him before boarding a flight to another country. Two years later, he used every trick in the book to lure me back, all so I would watch a fireworks display with him. On the old city wall, with cherry blossoms falling like rain around us, he looked at me with bloodshot eyes and asked, “When we were nineteen, you said that people who watch fireworks together are meant to be together forever. Does that still count?” 1. After our lovemaking, Ryan stepped into the shower. I lay in bed, calling to him through the frosted glass door. “Ryan, your mother came to see me today.” His voice was muffled by the sound of the water. “What did you say?” Just then, his phone on the nightstand started buzzing insistently. Wincing from the pleasant ache in my lower back, I rolled over and answered it. A woman’s bright voice chirped on the other end. “Ryan, darling, should the wedding invitations be gold-leaf or classic ivory?” The world froze. So, his mother had been telling the truth. Ryan was getting married. And I was… what? His secret? When Ryan emerged from the bathroom, a towel slung low on his hips, I was still holding the phone, motionless. He nuzzled my neck, his voice a low murmur. “What’s wrong?” I pushed him away, my own voice unnervingly calm. “Your fiancée wants to know if you prefer gold-leaf or classic ivory for the invitations.” He didn’t hesitate. The towel dropped to the floor as he pulled on a tailored suit, his movements sharp and urgent. He was out the door in less than a minute. That night, I showered until my skin was raw, scrubbing away his touch. I waited until dawn, but he never called. I met Ryan in high school. He was the golden boy, the heir to a corporate empire, worshipped by everyone. The line of girls trying to win his affection could have circled the campus ten times over. His desk overflowed with love letters every single day. I never, in a million years, thought someone like him would notice me. So when he confessed his feelings on graduation day, I couldn’t believe it. To prove his sincerity, he followed me to my small hometown. He ate at greasy spoon diners and sat on dusty park benches with me. For two solid months, he told me he loved me every single day, as if afraid I’d forget. Just before college started, I finally said yes. We were inseparable for four years, a blur of stolen kisses and late-night study sessions. After graduation, he took over his family’s company, and I became an English teacher at the city’s most prestigious private high school. It was only later that I learned the school’s primary investor was one of Ryan’s closest friends. My entire life, I realized, was interwoven with his. And now, one phone call from another woman, and he was gone. He’d left like his hair was on fire, terrified of hurting his precious fiancée’s feelings for even a second. He hadn’t even had the decency to tell me he had one. He had been lying to me, year after year. When I saw him again, he acted as if nothing had happened, waiting for me after work. “Clara, I’m coming over tonight.” Smack. The sharp sound of my hand connecting with his cheek echoed in the quiet parking garage. He lunged forward, pressing me against the cold metal of my car. His beautiful, expressive eyes traced a line from my collarbone downwards. “You’re the one who takes your own clothes off,” he murmured, his meaning clear. I shoved him away. I raised my hand to strike him again, but he caught my wrist mid-air. “Clara, are you done making a scene?” Was I done? This man, who had once treated me like a goddess, was now asking if I was done, all for another woman. Our eight years together—had it all been in my head? In his eyes, was I nothing more than a dirty little secret, a mistress to be kept in the shadows? I bit my lip until I tasted blood, then spat at him. “You’re disgusting, Ryan.” He held onto me, his voice softening. “I don’t want to hurt you. If you’re willing, we can go on just like we were before.” Like before? As his secret lover? He continued, his voice a persuasive caress. “Clara, you have to be realistic. A man of my standing needs to marry someone of equal status. Victoria’s family and mine have been allies for generations. She’s running a subsidiary of her family’s corporation. Marrying her is the most logical arrangement.” “And me?” I asked, my voice breaking. “What about me? What was I?” 2. He let out a soft, condescending laugh. “Clara, I thought I was being perfectly clear. For an English teacher, your reading comprehension is surprisingly poor.” He gestured dismissively. “It’s not just your family background. You’re a schoolteacher. You don’t understand the world I live in. How could you possibly stand beside me?” The absurdity of it all was suffocating. I swung my hand and slapped him again, catching him off guard. He retaliated by shoving me into the car. “Are you insane?” I grabbed his wrist and bit down, hard. He didn’t flinch, letting me bite until the metallic tang of blood filled my mouth. Only then did I let go. “You’re a bastard, Ryan,” I panted. “You were the one who said you loved me for being simple and pure. Now you’re saying I’m not sophisticated enough to be by your side. You always have to have it both ways, don’t you?” He said nothing, simply got into the driver’s seat. I was too exhausted to fight anymore. I let him drive me wherever he wanted. Thirty minutes later, we pulled up outside my apartment building. Before I got out, he handed me two invitation samples. “So,” he asked, his voice casual, “do you think the gold-leaf looks better, or the classic ivory?” His words were razors, carving up my heart until I couldn’t breathe. I snatched the invitations from his hand and threw them back in his face. The sharp edge of the cardstock grazed his cheek, leaving a thin red line. A crushing weight settled on my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs. I walked away without looking back. Ryan always knew exactly how to hurt me the most. I never imagined that the person I loved more than anyone in the world would be the one to cause me the most pain. The next day, Victoria found me at school. She was stunning, just as bright and captivating as her voice. “Leave the city. And leave Ryan,” she said, wasting no time. “Do you love him?” I asked. She scoffed. “This is a merger, not a romance. All that matters is maximizing our families’ profits. If his name were David or Michael, it wouldn’t make a difference. I’ve known about you for a while. So what? Ryan is only ever going to marry me. All I want is the title of Mrs. Wood.” She looked me up and down. “But I’ve been the center of attention my whole life. If he wants to marry me, he needs to cut ties with his… indiscretions. So, you have to go.” I started to laugh. Laughing at my own stupidity, and at Ryan’s. “Miss Hayes,” I said, my voice steady, “I’m not going anywhere. And I won’t have anything more to do with Ryan. I know the difference between right and wrong. I’m not the type to knowingly be with a taken man.” “You—” She knew I was calling her out, and she couldn’t deny it. Her hand flew up as if to strike me, but she let it drop. “Damn it, Ryan,” she muttered under her breath. Since she couldn’t intimidate me, Victoria found another way to force me out. If I had known how dirty she was willing to play, I would have left without a second thought. The headline “Local Teacher in Scandal with Business Tycoon” went viral. Photos of Ryan and me, tangled together on my sofa, were all over the internet. His face was artfully blurred, but mine was on full display for the world to see. My principal, Ethan, called me into his office. “I know that man is Ryan,” he said quietly, “but the scandal is too big. The school board has decided to terminate your employment.” And just like that, branded with a crime I didn’t commit, I was despised by my students, condemned by their parents, and jobless. 3. When I got home, I found that someone had thrown a bucket of chicken blood against my front door. I unlocked it to find my mother waiting for me on the sofa. Before I could even turn around, a cup flew through the air and shattered on the floor by my head. It was the one Ryan had bought me last year. “You have the nerve to come back here?” she shrieked. “You should have just died out there! Do you have any idea what your aunts are saying about me? They’re all saying I can’t raise a daughter right! Your father was stolen by a homewrecker. I’ve spent my whole life hating women like that, and now my own daughter has become one!” Her voice dripped with venom. “You’re just as cheap as your father, sneaking around. Does it feel better in secret?” “Mom, no, it’s not like that,” I sobbed. “He framed me—” She slapped me across the face. “He framed you? Look at yourself in the mirror. What do you have that’s worth framing?” She pulled a fruit knife from somewhere and held it to her own throat. “Record a video. Right now. Send it to the family group chat and tell them you’re no longer my daughter. If you don’t, I’ll die right here.” I did as she asked. My mother, satisfied, added her own message to the group chat: “From this day on, Clara is no longer my daughter. Whatever she does has nothing to do with me. If you want to blame someone, blame her deadbeat dad.” She turned to me, her eyes cold. “We may have cut ties, but you still owe me for raising you. For the sake of our twenty-seven years together, you can pay me a lump sum.” I gave her my entire life’s savings. As she was leaving, she saw a childhood photo of us on the table and smashed it to the floor. “The thought of being in the same picture as you makes me sick,” she hissed. “The thought that a slut like you came from my body makes me want to vomit.” Then she was gone, and the nightmare was over. I slid down the wall, my legs numb. I don’t know how long I sat there. The phone rang over and over. I finally answered it, annoyed. It was Ryan. “Are you okay?” he asked, his tone casual. “Don’t be so dramatic. In a few days, everyone will forget about it.” His fiancée had maliciously destroyed my life, and he called me dramatic. “Go to hell, you son of a bitch,” I seethed, and hung up. I picked up my phone and started posting. I uploaded our old chat logs, our photos, pictures of every gift he’d ever given me. “I am the woman from the scandal,” I wrote. “But I am not a homewrecker. I think Mr. Ryan Wood and Ms. Victoria Hayes know who is. The moment I learned of their wedding, my world fell apart. I suddenly realized that in Mr. Wood’s eyes, our eight years of love was nothing more than a casual affair. He could have broken up with me when he decided to marry Ms. Hayes, but he didn’t. He wanted both a docile mistress and a powerful wife. He tried to have it all. When I refused to play along, he and Ms. Hayes fabricated lies to force me out, with him willingly playing the part of a wronged man. How generous of him.” The post blew up. Though the Wood and Hayes families tried to suppress it, their business rivals made sure it stayed at the top of every newsfeed. It was too late. 4. The Wood Corporation’s stock plummeted. Ryan and Victoria were too busy with damage control to bother me. For a few days, I had peace. But I knew it wouldn’t last. A message from Ryan appeared on my screen. It was a picture of my mother, using the money I’d given her to play mahjong with a group of women on the street. “Clara, you’re a smart girl,” his message read. “Your little outburst has cost my family a fortune. You know what you have to do.” My mother and I had only ever had each other. She was obsessed with her reputation. After my father left, she would take out her humiliation on me whenever someone gossiped about her. Now, I had become the very thing she hated most. I couldn’t blame her for wanting to distance herself. But I still couldn’t let him hurt her. I had to give in. I started a live stream, and a million people flooded in instantly. A text from Ryan came through: “You know what to say and what not to say.” I typed back one word: “Fuck off.” The comment section was a war zone. Some people defended me, others championed Ryan and Victoria. “What do you expect from these billionaires? It’s not the first time they’ve played with someone’s heart.” “Stay strong, girl! We believe you!” “Her? The Wood family could have anyone. Why would they need to deceive her? She’s probably just a gold digger.” “If I were Ryan, I’d choose Victoria too. He’s rich, not blind.” “Hey honey, forget the rich guys. They’re trouble. Come with me instead.” … With the world watching, I began. “I’m here today to apologize. I lied to all of you.” The comments filled with question marks. “Mr. Wood and I did have a relationship for several years,” I continued, my voice flat. “But that’s in the past. Ms. Hayes and Mr. Wood are a perfect match. I was the one who couldn’t let go, and that’s what caused this whole mess. I am truly sorry to everyone who was hurt by my actions.” The mood in the comments shifted instantly. A tidal wave of insults crashed over me. But I had seen so much ugliness already, I was numb to it. The live stream ended abruptly. There was a knock at the door. I curled up on the sofa, not caring who it was. The distinct click of the electronic lock being opened echoed in the silent apartment. A tall figure approached and sat down across from me. I didn’t need to look. I knew it was Ryan. “You were very sensible,” he said. “The villa on the east side of town—I’ve put it in your name. Consider it compensation. If you’re willing, we can pretend none of this ever happened.” He knew exactly how to twist the knife. When I didn’t respond, he continued. “After all this, who else would want you?” I rose from the sofa and walked over to him. The sharp crack of my palm against his cheek echoed in the night. He smirked, touching the spot I’d hit, as if pleased. “You’re shameless.” He grabbed my wrist, his smile widening. “You’ve known that from day one.” “Get out,” I screamed, my voice raw. He picked up his suit jacket and placed a credit card on the table. “There’s five million on here. Spend it however you like.” Maybe it was the stress of the past few days, but a sudden, tearing pain shot through my abdomen. A warm gush of liquid flowed down my legs. The last thing I did before I lost consciousness was call for an ambulance. This was for the best. This way, Ryan and I were finally, completely done.

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The day of our seventh wedding anniversary, as I was waiting for Elias to come home, a video with a staggering number of views popped up on my feed. It was a photo of a recommendation letter, the text glowing over it. “She is my star student. Incredibly resilient and handles pressure well, though she can be a bit clumsy. Please, take the time to mentor her.” “If there are any issues with her work, tell her directly, but please don’t yell at her. She’s all alone, so far from home.” “Be advised: my student talks a lot and loves to complain to me. I have no children of my own, and I have a habit of playing favorites.” Every word was steeped in a genuine, tender affection. It was obvious this professor adored his student. I smiled, about to scroll away, when my thumb froze. For a split second, the world went numb. The signature at the bottom read: Elias Dawson. The shock lasted only a moment before I shook my head, a small, disbelieving laugh escaping my lips. It couldn’t be him. Elias was famously rigid, a man of unforgiving standards. He had refused to write a recommendation letter even for me, back when I was his student. In the seven years since, not a single one of his graduate students had ever received one from him. They’d complained to me in private about his cold, unyielding nature. Thinking of it now, the smile on my face deepened. The only thing that notoriously severe man had ever done that broke from his character was proposing to me. That single act had been my anchor. So even when our married life remained as coolly methodical as his academic papers, even when he adhered to a strict rule of seventy thrusts in bed—no more, no less—I knew, I just knew, that I was special to him. But then my thumb slipped, and I tapped on the user’s profile. The warmth in my veins turned to ice. The student’s pinned video was a blurry, candid shot of her professor in profile. It only took a single glance. It was Elias. 1 My fingertip, trembling, hovered over the screen. I played the pinned video again and again. The profile was out of focus, a fleeting moment captured by a loving hand, but I saw it with perfect clarity. How could I not recognize the man I had shared a life with for seven years? My mind was a blank slate of roaring static. I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing myself to take a breath. There has to be a mistake. A man like Elias simply did not write letters of recommendation. Especially not one overflowing with such raw, undisguised devotion. But as I scrolled through her profile, the details sharpened into a cruel reality. The student’s location tag was for our city. Her university affiliation was Northwood, where Elias taught. Could it all be a coincidence? My heartbeat hammered against my ribs, loud enough to fill the empty house. I shouldn’t be doubting him. I knew him better than anyone. I shouldn’t— “I’m home.” The voice, as flat and predictable as ever, cut through my thoughts. My head snapped up to see Elias stepping through the door, his face a familiar, placid mask. When I didn’t respond, his brow furrowed slightly. He looked over at me, his tone clipped. “What’s wrong?” I instinctively hid my phone, forcing my lips into a smile as I stood to take his coat. “You’re late. Everything okay?” Elias’s movement was almost imperceptible, a slight hesitation before he answered. “I was helping a student with her work.” A cold dread seized me. My mind flashed back to the comment section of that video. A chorus of strangers was shipping the professor and his student, begging her for updates. Just half an hour before Elias had walked in, she’d replied to one of them. “Tee-hee, my advisor just finished helping me pack up my apartment!” I inhaled, and the scent that clung to his coat wasn’t the sterile, unscented laundry detergent of our seven-year marriage. It was a cheap, cloying gardenia perfume. He didn’t seem to notice my distress. He strode into the living room, then stopped short. His gaze landed on the bouquet I’d bought on a whim earlier that day—a ten-dollar bundle of gardenias from the discount bin at the grocery store. “Married this long and you’re still buying flowers?” he asked. His voice was devoid of accusation, a simple statement of fact, but it felt like a shard of glass in my heart. My throat felt tight, as if a hand were squeezing it shut. It took a moment to find my voice. “They were on sale.” Elias just nodded, saying nothing more as he walked into the bathroom. His phone was on the coffee table, just a few feet away. I stared at it, unable to move. The truth was likely right there, a coiled snake waiting to strike, and I was terrified to touch it. It felt as if opening that phone would transform seven years of what I believed was love into a slap across the face. The sound of the shower started. My heart steeled itself. I walked over and picked it up. The password was his birthday. It hadn’t changed. At first glance, his messages looked normal. With everyone but me, he was a man of few words. He hadn’t even given me a pet name; my contact was just “Grace.” Except for one. A contact named “Lily.” My hand shook as I opened their chat history. It looked innocent enough. She was the talkative one, sharing everything from what she had for lunch to a photo of the sunset. A few hours ago, she had texted him complaining about how tiring it was to pack. Elias’s replies were short, but he replied to every single one. “Looks delicious.” “Beautiful.” “I’ll come help you.” “Open the door.” “I’m leaving. Lock up.” In that instant, the carefully constructed fortress around my heart crumbled into dust. Tears flooded my eyes. A moment later, a large hand snatched the phone from my grasp. “Grace, you have no sense of boundaries.” 2 His sudden movement startled me, and I stumbled backward, landing hard on the floor. Elias instinctively reached out to catch me, but his hand froze in mid-air. He stood over me, his brow furrowed, his voice still a cold, flat line. “You’ve never gone through my phone before. I’ve told you I don’t like people invading my privacy.” He sighed, a sound of pure exasperation. “This time, I’ll let it go. But I expect this to be the last time.” He bent down, extending his hand to help me up. I flinched away from his touch, scrambling to my feet on my own. A bitter laugh escaped me. “People?” I asked, my voice trembling. “Elias, we’ve been married for seven years. I’m your wife.” His jaw tightened. His expression didn’t change, but the pressure in the room dropped. He was angry. Because I saw his messages with Lily? “Who is she?” I demanded. “A student.” The words were clipped, dismissive. He turned and walked to the dining table, taking his seat as if the conversation was over. I followed him, my voice rising despite my attempts to stay calm. “A student?!” I cried. “You don’t treat your other students like that! When you told her that her lunch looked delicious, you were eating the breakfast I made for you! A breakfast I asked you about, and you told me was just ‘fine’!” “When you told her the sunset she sent was beautiful, I had sent you a picture of the very same one, and you never even replied!” “She says she’s tired of packing and you drop everything to go help her? Elias, do you really think that shows a sense of boundaries?!” The fork in his hand finally clattered onto his plate. He looked up, his eyes flat and filled with a profound disappointment. “Grace, what’s happened to you? You’ve lost all sense of gracefulness. All you talk about is the rising price of groceries at the market. And now you’re screaming at me like a madwoman. Do you find this fulfilling?” He stood up, his chair scraping against the floor, and walked towards the guest bedroom. “I told you. She’s just a student. If you don’t believe me, feel free to investigate it yourself. Just stop making a scene in my house. It’s exhausting.” The door slammed shut. I stared at the elaborate anniversary dinner I’d cooked, a feast for two. My first thought, absurdly, was that if we didn’t eat it, it would go bad. I sat down and began to mechanically spoon food into my mouth. The steak was tougher than I remembered. Tomorrow I’d have to go to a different butcher. The asparagus wasn’t overcooked this time, which was good, but it tasted too salty. My eyes felt hollow as I raised a hand to wipe my cheek. It wasn’t the asparagus. I was tasting my own tears. A jolt went through me, sharp as lightning. I had become her. The woman Elias complained about. A frumpy, nagging housewife. Seven years ago, I was vibrant, full of life and passion. How did I become this? My heart ached with a hundred different sorrows. The food in my mouth tasted like ash. I numbly cleared the table, washed the dishes, and went to our bedroom alone. I didn’t sleep a wink. The next morning, Elias left for the university at eight o’clock, sharp, just as he always did. I got up and followed him. Even though I knew, deep down, what his behavior meant, I had to see it with my own eyes. 3 He was only a few steps from the faculty parking lot when a young woman in a preppy plaid skirt and knee-high socks came bounding up behind him, throwing her arms around his waist in a playful hug. My steps faltered. I pressed a hand to my mouth to stifle the sound that threatened to escape. Elias stopped, a long-suffering sigh escaping him as he gently pried her arms off and turned her around to face him. “What are you doing here so early?” Lily’s face was glowing with excitement as she pulled out her phone. “Look! The video has three million views! Everyone is shipping us! Isn’t that hilarious?” Her phone’s volume was low, but I heard every word with piercing clarity. I had spent the entire night watching that same video, tears streaming down my face. Elias’s brow furrowed. He took the phone from her, studying it for a long moment before his voice turned cold. “I wrote you that letter to help your future, not for you to post frivolous videos like this.” “Delete it.” A wave of relief washed over me. He didn’t know. He hadn’t approved of it. But then Lily’s eyes instantly welled with tears. “I just wanted to have a record of our time together. Why can’t I post it? Once I start my new job, I’ll barely get to see you. When I miss you, I can watch the videos.” Elias, the man who had always been completely unmoved by female tears, let out another sigh. This time, it was softer. He reached out and gently wiped a tear from her cheek. “Don’t cry.” “I’ve already submitted my resignation to the university.” “The company that hired you offered me a position as a senior consultant. I accepted.” “You’ll still see me.” I bit down hard on my lower lip, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth as my vision blurred. Three years ago, the tech giant I worked for had tried to recruit Elias, offering him a generous package. He’d turned them down flat. “My life’s work is in academia, Grace. I won’t abandon it for anyone. You know that.” And I did know. I hadn’t complained. But now, every small sacrifice, every moment of loneliness I had endured over the past seven years, felt like a series of sharp, stinging slaps. I suddenly realized that Elias wasn’t immutable. He wasn’t the rigid, unbending man I thought I knew. He was capable of writing heartfelt recommendations. He was capable of changing his entire life for someone. Just not for me. Lily’s joyful cheer echoed in the quiet morning air. I couldn’t take it anymore. I surged forward and swung my handbag with all my might, catching him across the face. He staggered back, his face a mask of shock that quickly curdled into dark fury when he saw it was me. “Are you following me? Grace, when will you stop?” Seeing my red, swollen eyes, Lily let out a delicate laugh. “Oh, you must be the professor’s wife. My goodness, your eyes are so puffy. Were you crying all night? What did he do to make you so upset? He can be so dense sometimes, you can tell me all about it.” She chattered on, reaching out as if to comfort me. I shoved her away, and she stumbled to the ground with a small cry. Ignoring her, I pulled out my phone, brought up the video, and held it in front of Elias’s face. “This is the letter you wrote for her. And you still claim there’s nothing going on?” I screamed, my voice cracking. “When have you ever written a recommendation for anyone else?!” “Elias, you—” “Have you had enough?!” His face was a thundercloud. I had never seen him this angry. It was because I had pushed Lily. He helped her to her feet, shielding her with his body as he glared at me. “One more scene, Grace, and we’re getting a divorce.” The last sliver of hope in my heart died. Suddenly, a strange calm washed over me. I looked at the man before me, truly looked at him, as if for the first time. He couldn’t see the dark circles from my sleepless night. He couldn’t see the eyes that were raw from crying. He couldn’t see the seven years of compromises, the swallowed resentments, the slow erosion of my own spirit for his sake. He couldn’t see my hysteria, my pain, my grief. All he could see was that Lily had been pushed. And in that moment, I felt an immense, soul-crushing exhaustion. Elias turned, taking Lily’s arm to lead her away. As I watched his retreating back, my voice, though trembling, was clear. “Fine.” “Let’s get a divorce, Elias.” 4 Elias paused for a fraction of a second. He didn’t turn back. His voice, cold and distant, drifted back to me on the wind. “As you wish.” I went home, packed a suitcase, and waited. My phone buzzed. It was my best friend, Olivia. “Grace, have you seen the posts online?! What the hell is going on with your husband? Is he really messing around with a student?” I frowned, not having a chance to process before she sent me a link. “Just look! That girl, Lily, posted that video of him last night, and someone figured out it was Elias! Now all of his former students are crawling out of the woodwork, saying he never wrote a letter for any of them and that something shady is definitely going on! I mean, Elias is the youngest tenured professor at Northwood, everyone knows who he is. People are posting all the photos they’ve taken of him and Lily together on campus!” “The way they’re standing so close… Anyway, I won’t say more. Just look for yourself. Call me if you need anything. I’m here for you in San Diego.” The call ended. Holding my breath, I clicked the link. The post had even more traction than the original video. Of the hundreds of thousands of comments, the top-rated ones were all from Elias’s former students. “We all studied under Professor Dawson. As far as we know, he’s always been incredibly strict and has never, ever written a student a letter of recommendation. The fact that he wrote one for Lily, plus all these photos? How is that not a smoking gun?!” “Also, his wife—Grace—was his student too! He didn’t even write one for her!” My hand trembled as I scrolled through the photos in the comments, one after another. So many days when I had waited for a reply that never came, he had been with her. Taking her to a flower shop, buying a huge, extravagant bouquet that made my ten-dollar bargain bin flowers look pathetic. Taking her to the movies. They were even watching a children’s animated film, the kind of thing he’d always called a waste of time. Taking her for walks across campus, something I had begged him for for seven years, and never once gotten. I looked at each photo, and with each one, my heart grew colder, calmer. My phone buzzed again. A message from Olivia with a screenshot of a flight confirmation. “Tonight’s flight. Come stay with me. Don’t argue. You only have me now.” I didn’t argue. She was right. I had no one else. In the past seven years, both of my parents had passed away. I had let my social circle wither, my entire world revolving around Elias. After my miscarriage three years ago, I fell into a deep depression and even quit my job. I caught my reflection in the dark screen of the TV. I didn’t recognize the woman staring back at me. I refused to become even more of a stranger to myself. Elias didn’t come home until late that night. The fury on his face was undisguised. He stormed over and threw his phone at me; it landed softly on my lap. “This was your doing, wasn’t it?” he seethed. “Do you have any idea what this will do to Lily? To her reputation?” “Why did you have to drag an innocent person into our problems?! There has to be a limit to your irrationality!” I clenched the phone in my hand and stood up. I placed the signed divorce papers on the table in front of him and let out a hollow, self-mocking laugh. “Elias, in your eyes, I’m the innocent person who got dragged into this, aren’t I?” I asked softly. “Seven years. You’ve done things for her that you never once did for me. Is that how you treat a student? Because it feels like I’m more of a student than she ever was.” “Just sign it.” Elias stared at me for a long time, as if finally realizing I was serious. A flicker of panic crossed his face. He reached for me, but I pulled away. “Don’t touch me,” I whispered. “You reek of gardenias. It’s nauseating.” The flowers on the table had started to wilt, their sweet scent turning cloying and sour, just like the smell clinging to him. The stench of decay. He understood my meaning perfectly. His face turned ashen. After a long, tense silence, he snatched the pen and signed his name with a furious scrawl. His voice was a low growl, squeezed from between clenched teeth. “You’ll regret this.” I smiled and picked up my suitcase. “No, I won’t.” I had just reached the elevator when I heard his footsteps pounding down the hall behind me. But they stopped abruptly at his apartment door. A moment later, I heard Lily’s frantic, wailing voice through his phone’s speaker. “They’re all attacking me online, Professor! I can’t take it anymore, I want to die—” “I’m on my way right now. Wait for me!” Elias burst out of his apartment, shoved past me without a glance, and jabbed the elevator’s down button. I didn’t fight him for it. I calmly watched the doors slide shut. Then, I turned and walked to the other elevator. If I couldn’t have his love, his special favor, then I didn’t want any of it anymore.

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In the third year of my marriage to Audrey, my uncle came home. He was, and perhaps always had been, the one that got away. I saw the current that still flowed between them, saw the way Audrey’s eyes clung to him when she thought no one was looking. This time, I decided to let go. The marriage between the Prescotts and her family was only ever on the table because my uncle, Grayson, didn’t want it. It fell to me. I packed my bags, erased my presence from our home, and chose a bright, clear day to leave. Audrey called. “Ethan, once I’m done showing your uncle around, I’ll be home to celebrate your birthday.” I watched the white contrail of a jet score the blue sky and said softly, “Don’t worry about it. I’m not really celebrating this year.” 1. The Prescott family has a standing dinner every month. My wife, Audrey, is a busy woman, and she rarely attended with me. When I showed up alone at the family estate, I was an easy target for their casual disdain. After years of the same remarks, you build a kind of immunity. So when my Aunt Carol started in again about my lack of ambition, about my inability to hold Audrey’s interest, I simply let my mind drift, outlining the next chapter of my novel. “Well, it’s one thing for you to be useless,” she said, her voice cutting through my thoughts, “but thank God Grayson is back today. He and Audrey were always so close. From now on, we should just let him spend more time with her.” Let Grayson do what with Audrey? My focus snapped back to the dining room. I felt a surge of disbelief. “Aunt Carol, Audrey is my wife. What are you trying to say?” She set down her fork with an impatient clatter. “What do you think I mean? They were good together. If Grayson hadn’t been so stubborn about going abroad for his doctorate, you never would have had the chance to pick up the scraps.” “Audrey is my wife,” I repeated, my voice tight. “We’ve been married for three years.” I pushed myself up, gripping the edge of the heavy mahogany table. The sudden emotion brought on a wracking cough, a familiar betrayal by my own body. Every eye at the table turned to me, their expressions dripping with contempt. I clenched my fists at my sides. I’ve always been the invisible Prescott son. Frail and prone to illness since childhood, I spent more time in bed than out of it, easily overlooked. When my mother was alive, she watched over me, even from her own sickbed. But after she died, I became a ghost in my own home, trailing behind my cousins, taking whatever they didn’t want. It wasn’t until I started earning my own money as a writer that I found any semblance of peace. Their scorn, their dismissal of me—I could live with that. But Audrey, my wife… that was the one thing I couldn’t concede. I couldn’t just play deaf and dumb while they plotted to push the woman I loved into another man’s arms. Why in God’s name should my uncle be the one to “spend time” with my wife? “I’ve lost my appetite. Please, enjoy the rest of your meal. Excuse me.” I turned to leave. “You stop right there! Who taught you to speak to your elders that way? Have you no manners?” My father’s voice boomed, his palm slamming the table. “It would make sense if I didn’t,” I said, turning back to face him, my gaze unflinching. “After all, you never taught me any.” The standoff was broken by a voice I hadn’t heard in three years. “Ethan, what’s all the fuss? Don’t ruin a perfectly good family dinner.” It was my uncle, Grayson. He sounded the same as ever—his words feigning concern while every syllable dripped with condescension, painting me as the petulant child. He hadn’t been in the house for five minutes, knew nothing of the situation, and had already laid the blame at my feet. I turned, an irritable retort on my lips, but it died when I saw who was standing beside him. A person who was supposed to be working late at her firm. “Audrey? What are you doing here?” 2. I hurried over to Audrey, my feet carrying me before my mind caught up. By the time I reached her, the reason for her presence was painfully obvious. Grayson explained with a wide, charming smile. “Today’s the family dinner, isn’t it? I was worried I wouldn’t make it in time from the airport, so I mentioned it to Audrey. Next thing I know, she’s insisting on picking me up herself.” I heard a quiet snicker from the dinner table. Before the meal, my father had asked why Audrey was absent again. I’d told them she was swamped with work. Yet one word from Grayson had her racing across the city to the airport and then all the way out to the family estate. The hierarchy was crystal clear. I forced a smile, looking at Grayson. “Uncle, if you needed a ride, you could have called a car service. You didn’t have to bother Audrey.” “We’re old friends from school,” Grayson said, draping an arm around Audrey’s shoulders in a theatrically familiar gesture. “What’s the big deal if she comes to get me? Right, Audrey?” Audrey slipped off her scarf and coat with practiced ease and handed them to me. “Ethan, don’t overthink it. Let’s just sit down and eat. Your uncle is finally back. It’s a reunion for everyone.” A sudden sting filled my eyes. She had already turned away from me, finding a seat next to Grayson. They sat shoulder to shoulder, their heads bent toward each other in conversation, looking for all the world like the high school sweethearts they once were. Anyone would say they were a perfect match. After all these years, it was like no time had passed for them. And me? After three years of marriage, was I just her convenient valet? A bitter smile touched my lips. Leaving now would only cause a bigger scene. I retreated to my original seat, directly across from them. Grayson’s presence lit up the room. He handled the relatives’ questions with the effortless grace he’d always possessed. For as long as I could remember, he was the center of attention, the golden child. I had once admired him, even tried to emulate him. Then, I grew to despise him. And Audrey… she still watched him with that same unwavering focus. My heart seized. I knew that look. It was the exact same way she used to watch him in high school. She was forever the salutatorian to his valedictorian. While Grayson worked on problem sets, Audrey would rest her chin on her desk and just stare at him, completely captivated. It never surprised me that she fell for him. Grayson was perfection on the surface. Before we were married, I had even wished them well. But now we were married. If she still held a flame for him, what did that make me, her husband? I picked at my food, the taste of it lost on me. On the drive home, Audrey said she was tired and asked me to drive. She sat in the passenger seat, eyes closed. I decided to test the waters. “Audrey, you do know that we’re married, right?” She frowned, her eyes still shut. “If you’re ever unsure, you can always look at the certificate in the filing cabinet.” I let out a breath, laughing at my own paranoia. But her next sentence plunged me right back into the ice. “By the way, Grayson’s just getting resettled. There’s a lot he’s not up to speed on here. I’m going to spend the next few days showing him the ropes.” 3. Audrey took Grayson to a corporate gala. When I said I wanted to go, she waved me off while selecting a gown. “I don’t need you there. One escort is enough. You should stay home and work on your novel.” Before I could ask why she was taking him instead of me, her husband, she offered a placating smile. “You can come pick me up when it’s over.” So I swallowed the words that might have started a fight and simply said, “Okay.” I didn’t want to fight with Audrey. Around eight o’clock, guessing the event was winding down, I packed a thermos of the ginger tea I’d brewed for her—it always helped settle her stomach after drinking—and grabbed a cashmere wrap in case she got cold. I parked near the hotel entrance, rolling down my window so I wouldn’t miss her, and waited, a sense of hopeful anticipation fluttering in my chest. At nine, she and Grayson emerged, arm in arm, and were immediately swarmed by a throng of reporters and photographers. I got out of the car and started pushing through the crowd, wanting to get her out of there quickly. She always hated the noise and flashing lights after a few glasses of champagne. But before I could reach her, I heard a reporter’s question cut through the din. “Ms. Hale, you’ve never made a public appearance with a date since your marriage. Is the gentleman with you tonight your husband?” I froze, looking up at Audrey from the edge of the crowd. She leaned into Grayson’s embrace, giggling at the question. “This is… this is the man I’ve loved for years.” In that moment, Grayson, perfectly sober, met my eyes over the heads of the press. After the reporters dispersed, Grayson and I helped a stumbling Audrey into the back seat of my car. “She’s had a bit too much to drink,” he began, a lecture forming on his lips. “Remember to get some of that tea into her when you get home. Take good care of her, Ethan, her tolerance isn’t what it used to be, you’ll have to be patient…” “Are you finished?” I cut him off. He looked at me, surprised, then clapped me on the shoulder with a reassuring, patronizing smile. “Ethan, I know they say ‘in vino veritas,’ but don’t take it to heart. Don’t fight with Audrey over this.” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “She said she loved me for years. Past tense. She didn’t say she still does.” “Is that right? You really think so? That’s great. I was worried you might get the wrong idea.” The night air was cool, but a hot, frustrated anger burned in my chest. From the back seat, Audrey mumbled. “Ethan… I think I’m gonna be sick…” I shot Grayson a glare and drove home.

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After my husband gave our four-year-old daughter, Lily, a bath, she came crying to me, saying she hurt “down there.” I was terrified. My immediate reaction was to take her to the ER. But my husband, Mark, frantically tried to stop me. “It’s probably just irritation from not drinking enough water,” he stammered. “No need for all that drama.” I hesitated, but a mother’s instinct won out. I took her to the hospital. After the examination, the doctor looked at me with a heavy, somber expression. “Your daughter may have been sexually abused. You need to call the police.” 1 Sexual abuse? My brain exploded. The words felt alien, impossible. “Doctor, are you… could there be a mistake?” I clutched the report, my voice trembling. But the doctor’s answer was firm. However, he couldn’t confirm if the injury was self-inflicted out of curiosity or caused by someone with malicious intent. For Lily’s physical and mental well-being, he strongly advised involving the police. My lips quivered as I squeezed my daughter’s small hand. Lily didn’t understand. On the drive home, she looked at me with wide, innocent eyes and asked, “Mommy, what does ‘sexual abuse’ mean?” I didn’t know how to explain it to a four-year-old. The priority was figuring out how she got hurt. I pulled over near a park and sat Lily on a bench. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I asked gently, “Lily, can we have a little chat?” She nodded obediently. “Honey, have you… touched yourself down there recently?” She looked at me, then down at her dress, and shook her head. “No, Mommy.” Panic set in. If she didn’t do it herself… Mark? Usually, I handle bath time. Last night, I was stuck at a work dinner and couldn’t make it back, so I asked Mark to bathe her. And this morning, she woke up crying about the pain. I didn’t want to suspect Mark. He was a doting father. His social media was 90% Lily. He even ran a TikTok account documenting their cute moments, and his followers constantly praised him as the perfect “girl dad.” Sometimes, I was even a little jealous. No matter how busy work got, I always made time for Lily, hoping I mattered just as much to her. How could a father like that hurt his own daughter? “Then…” I hesitated, asking the question that terrified me most. “Has anyone else touched you there?” Lily went silent, thinking. Every second felt like an hour. I could barely breathe. Finally, she spoke. “What do you mean ‘touch’? Like how Daddy touched me in the bath? Does that count?” My blood ran cold. “Daddy…” My voice shook so hard I could barely form words. “How did Daddy touch you?” Lily started to lift her hand toward her skirt to show me. I couldn’t watch. I stopped her immediately. Even though I didn’t want to believe it, her words, her reaction, and Mark’s strange behavior this morning… it all pointed to him. I had to confront him. And then, I had to put that monster in prison. 2 I called in sick and took Lily home. As soon as we walked in, Mark greeted us with a beaming smile. “Hey, you’re back! How’s my little princess?” I kept my face neutral, trying to figure out how to get Lily out of the room before confronting him. Sensing my mood, he picked Lily up. “What did the doctor say? Just dehydration, right? Did they prescribe anything?” “No,” I said stiffly. “Then what?” He pressed, his expression unnatural. “Did she just scratch herself?” He was still playing dumb. Rage bubbled up inside me. When he leaned in to kiss Lily’s cheek, I snapped. I yanked her out of his arms. It was too rough. Lily burst into tears. Mark glared at me. “What the hell are you doing? Even if she hurt herself, she’s four! You don’t take it out on her. We educate her, okay?” Seeing him cradle our crying daughter so tenderly, my resolve wavered. He loved her so much. Could he really…? “I wasn’t…” I mumbled. Mark ignored me and carried Lily to her room to calm her down. I followed and stood outside the door. Watching him make silly faces to get her to smile, my certainty began to crumble. 3 Once Lily was settled with her iPad, I called Mark out. He came out looking annoyed. “Okay, explain. Why were you so rough with her?” I pulled the medical report from my bag and handed it to him. “The doctor says Lily was likely sexually abused.” I stared at his face, searching for any crack in his mask. He frowned. “But she never goes out alone. No men have been over. How could…” I didn’t answer. I just stared. Realization dawned on him. “Honey… you don’t suspect me, do you? Are you insane? I would never touch her like that!” “I don’t want to believe it either…” I buried my face in my hands. “But you bathed her last night, and this morning she was in pain. She said you touched her…” “She misunderstood!” He was frantic now. “I just washed her with a washcloth! I didn’t do anything weird! Maybe she learned something bad from a boy at preschool?” His words sparked a memory. There was a boy in Lily’s class, a troublemaker who liked to lift girls’ skirts and hug them inappropriately. Lily had complained about him before. We had even spoken to the principal about moving him to another class. Could he have gotten to her? I immediately demanded we go to the preschool. Mark looked at Lily’s closed door and refused. “Lily’s upset. We can’t drag her there now. You go check the security footage. If you find anything, we call the cops. I’ll stay here, watch her, and make dinner.” It sounded reasonable. I grabbed my bag and left. Downstairs, I realized I’d left my car keys on the shoe rack. I went back up. As I stepped out of the elevator, I heard a muffled cry from inside our apartment. “Daddy, stop! No!” My heart hammered in my throat. I punched in the code and burst through the door. Mark was on the sofa, holding a struggling Lily. Her face was flushed. I saw red. I swung my heavy purse and smashed it into his face. “Ow!” He yelled, letting go of Lily and clutching his eye. I grabbed Lily, screaming, “Mark, you bastard! She’s your daughter! You’re an animal! I’m calling the police right now!” I fumbled for my phone, but Mark snatched it away. His eye was swelling shut. He glared at me. “Are you crazy?! I was trying to give her Vitamin D!” Vitamin D? I looked at the coffee table. There was an open bottle of chewable vitamins. “But I heard her screaming ‘no’!” I was still shaking. He sighed, looking exasperated. “Lily, tell Mommy.” I looked down at my daughter. She pouted angrily. “Daddy’s mean. I hate the medicine. He forced me.” It was true. Lily hated taking vitamins. It was always a battle. I felt like the worst person in the world. “Mark, I’m so sorry. I’m just… paranoid.” I tried to touch his swollen eye. “Do you need a doctor?” “No.” He pushed my hand away. “I get that you’re worried, but I’m her father. You shouldn’t doubt me. Just go check the footage. I’ve got this.” He was right. I was wrong to suspect him. “Okay. I’m going.” I grabbed my keys and left, guilt heavy in my chest. 4 At the preschool, I showed the principal the medical report. She was shocked and immediately pulled the security tapes. The footage showed Lily playing normally. Until yesterday afternoon. A boy I didn’t recognize snuck into her classroom. Lily hesitated, then followed him out. They disappeared from the cameras for ten minutes. When Lily reappeared, her face was red, and her clothes were disheveled. The principal and teachers went silent. “Mrs. Evans,” the principal said carefully. “Although this boy took Lily, we don’t have proof he… did anything. Maybe we shouldn’t jump to conclusions.” “No proof? He’s not in her class! Where did they go for ten minutes? And look at her clothes! I’m calling the police. I don’t care if he’s four, I want answers!” The principal tried to stop me. “Think about Lily. A police investigation… the rumors… it could traumatize her. And the boy is a minor; he won’t face legal consequences.” Her words hit home. If the law couldn’t punish him, dragging Lily through an investigation might do more harm than good. But I demanded to see the boy’s parents. I couldn’t let this go. The principal agreed and called the mother.

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I have an Instagram account—a small, curated corner of the internet dedicated to my life with my husband, Jackson. Today is our third wedding anniversary, and true to form, he had ninety-nine roses delivered to our door. It’s our thing. A little extravagant, a little over the top. It’s him. I snapped a quick photo and posted it, the crimson petals filling the frame. Usually, my comments section is a quiet affair, a dozen or so messages from close friends. But today, it exploded. “Am I counting wrong, or are there only 98 roses here? Knew this girl was faking it. Finally caught her in a lie.” The comment was from a troll who’d developed a bizarre fixation on me, someone who always got a rise out of my followers. But this time, the replies underneath were all in agreement. “She’s not wrong. I counted. It’s 98.” “Whoa, I just went back and looked at her posts from the last two anniversaries. They were all 98 roses, too!” I stared at the flurry of comments, my phone feeling heavy in my hand. A cold knot formed in my stomach. Refusing to believe it, I counted them myself. Twice. They were right. One was missing. I pushed the roses aside and sank onto the sofa, where I sat for the rest of the day, the silence of the apartment pressing in on me. It was long after dark when the front door finally opened, and Jackson walked in. He brought a gust of cold night air with him, and something else: the pure, unfamiliar scent of flowers. 1 The apartment was dark. “Eleanor?” Jackson called out, his voice echoing slightly as he fumbled for the switch. The light flooded the room. He saw me on the sofa and frowned. “Nora, why are you sitting in the dark?” Before I could answer, his eyes landed on the scattered roses on the floor. His expression shifted to surprise. “What happened? Why did you take them apart?” I stood up and took his coat from him. “It’s nothing,” I said, my voice steady. “I just wanted to count them.” Jackson froze for a second. I continued, “It’s strange, though. There were only ninety-eight. One was missing.” He looked down, busying himself with the cufflinks on his shirt. I couldn’t see his face. After a few seconds, he looked up, his expression casual. “The florist must have made a mistake. I’ll have them send another one over tomorrow to make up for it.” He leaned in and kissed my forehead, then turned and headed for the bathroom to shower. I stood there, motionless. The scent that clung to him wasn’t cologne. It was the pure, unadulterated fragrance of a hundred different blossoms mixed together. A moment later, I pulled Jackson’s phone from his coat pocket. In five years of marriage, I had never once looked through his phone. This was a first. The passcode was my birthday. It had always been my birthday. I opened his Instagram. It didn’t take long to find the account he used to order the flowers. The owner was a woman. Her handle was “Sophie.” Her profile picture was a simple, hand-drawn sunflower. I opened their DMs. The conversation was clean—just a series of orders and confirmations. No flirting, nothing overtly inappropriate. But as I scrolled up, my thumb stopped. He had been ordering from her for the last three years. Jackson was a creature of habit; once he found something he liked, he stuck with it. That wasn’t the strange part. The strange part was that he had kept three full years of their chat history. Jackson had a quirk. He compulsively cleared his chat logs. No conversation ever lasted more than a week. I was the only exception. From our first date to our wedding day, Jackson had saved every single message we’d ever exchanged. He was meticulous about backing them up whenever he got a new phone. And now, there was a second exception. Taking a deep breath, I navigated to Sophie’s profile. Amidst a sea of floral arrangements and shop promotions, one post stood out. It was a photo of a delicate hand holding a single red rose. The caption read: Even a single petal of your truth is more than enough. It was posted today. Jackson hadn’t commented. But he had liked it. In that instant, I felt the floor drop out from under me. I don’t know how long I stood there before the bathroom door opened. Jackson walked out, toweling his hair. He saw me with his phone and paused, but then a teasing smile played on his lips. “Eleanor, finally decided to see what I’m hiding?” I turned to face him. There wasn’t a trace of guilt on his face, only the familiar, gentle mockery. I forced my own expression to remain neutral and held up the phone, showing him Sophie’s post. “One rose was missing from my bouquet,” I said, my voice flat. “And this was posted on our anniversary.” “Jackson, I need an explanation.” He actually looked surprised. “It’s just a coincidence, Nora.” I held his gaze. “You liked her post. And you saved three years of your messages.” The smile vanished from his face. Silence stretched between us. Finally, he sat down next to me on the sofa, took my hand, and sighed. “Eleanor, it’s not what you think.” “I saved the chat history to keep track of the orders,” he said. “They messed up an order once and refused to admit it, so I started keeping the logs as proof.” “As for the ‘like’? It was just a mindless tap. That’s it.” I said nothing. At first blush, the excuse sounded reasonable. But I knew Jackson better than that. He had an almost pathological intolerance for incompetence. His last executive assistant, a woman who had been with him for years, was transferred after making a single, minor error. For Jackson to break his own rule for this florist meant she was special. Seeing my silence, his brow furrowed. “Eleanor? You don’t trust me?” I looked at him, my voice quiet but firm. “If that’s the case, then you can delete her contact and we can find a new florist. Right?” His face hardened. “You really don’t believe me!” I didn’t answer, just kept my eyes locked on his. His expression shifted, a flicker of anger passing through his eyes. He stood up abruptly, his voice cold, as if he were daring me. “Fine. Do whatever you want.” I nodded slowly. Then, right there in front of him, I deleted Sophie from his contacts. “Are you satisfied now?” he snapped. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response. He snatched the phone back from my hand, turned on his heel, and stalked into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him with a resounding crack. The force of it seemed to travel through the floorboards and up my spine. I collapsed back onto the sofa, the strength draining out of me. Only then did I notice that my hands were trembling violently. 2 The days that followed were cold and silent. Jackson and I were locked in a stalemate. He didn’t make his usual move to apologize and smooth things over, and I didn’t press the issue of “Sophie” any further. But I knew. Even if nothing physical had happened, the balance of a normal relationship between a man and a woman—a married man and another woman—had been broken. On the tenth day of the cold war, I came home from work to find Jackson in the kitchen, wearing an apron. Hearing the door, he turned and gave me a small smile, as if the frost of the past week and a half had never existed. “Go wash up. Dinner’s almost ready.” I hesitated for a moment before heading to the bathroom. As I passed the dining table, I stopped. There was a bouquet of flowers in a vase. The branded card of a well-known downtown florist dangled conspicuously from a ribbon, placed as if to ensure I would see it. It wasn’t from Sophie’s shop. I understood immediately. This was Jackson’s peace offering. This was his way of bending. I stood there for a long moment before walking over and adjusting the flowers in the vase. When I came out of the bathroom, dinner was on the table. The sight made me feel a little dizzy, like I was looking back in time. The last time Jackson had cooked was years ago. It was back when he was first launching his company. Every penny we had was tied up in the business. There was a stretch of time where we were so broke, we couldn’t even afford two packs of ramen. We’d make one and supplement it with cheap spaghetti noodles. Jackson would always pick the ramen out and put it in my bowl, leaving himself with a soggy pile of overcooked pasta. Then his company took off. He started taking me to the finest restaurants, buying me anything I wanted. We never had to huddle over a tiny kitchen table, our foreheads nearly touching as we shared a bowl of noodles again. But sometimes, I missed it. I missed the people we used to be, the ones who were fiercely, desperately in love. Not the people we had become—two successful individuals shining in our own orbits, with less and less to say to each other every day. The cold war between us ended with that meal, an unspoken truce. But that didn’t mean I had forgiven him. If I were twenty, I would have slapped him across the face and walked out. But I’m twenty-nine. The law firm I co-founded with my partner is just getting off the ground. Our most significant retainer is with Jackson’s company. Keeping that connection is critical for our growth. So, I made a choice. I would turn a blind eye. As long as Jackson didn’t cross my ultimate line, I wouldn’t burn everything to the ground. 3 Two weeks later, I was in a conference room, walking a client through the details of their case, when a wave of nausea hit me so hard I had to excuse myself. I rushed to the restroom and spent the next five minutes dry-heaving over the toilet. A terrible premonition washed over me. A trip to the doctor confirmed it. I was a little over two months pregnant. The doctor said the baby was perfectly healthy. But he had come at the worst possible time. After a long moment, I crumpled the ultrasound report in my fist and took a deep, shuddering breath. This wasn’t a decision I could make alone. Jackson was the father. He had a right to know, a right to have a say. A small, foolish part of me wondered if this was the universe giving us a chance to repair things. I drove to his office building. The young woman at the reception desk recognized me instantly, offering a bright smile. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Pierce.” I nodded back. As I did, my gaze fell on a long table against the wall, and I froze. On the table sat a large cardboard box filled with individually wrapped single roses. The receptionist, ever observant, noticed my stare. “Oh, that?” she explained cheerfully. “Valentine’s Day is tomorrow, so Mr. Pierce ordered a flower for every woman in the company. Just grab one on your way out.” I didn’t respond. My eyes were glued to the familiar sunflower logo printed on the side of the box. After what felt like an eternity, I managed to pull my gaze away, my voice raspy. “Does he do this every year?” She thought for a moment. “I think he started about three years ago.” It felt like a physical blow to my chest. I forced a smile that felt like cracking glass and made my way to the elevators. Outside Jackson’s office, I raised my hand to knock, but the door was pulled open from the inside. A pretty young woman stepped out, her face lit with a smile that instantly vanished the moment she saw me. We stared at each other. Neither of us spoke. Jackson emerged right behind her. The color drained from his face when he saw me, and he instinctively moved to stand slightly in front of Sophie. “Eleanor. It’s not what you think.” His words came out in a rush. “She was just dropping off the flowers. The Valentine’s Day order was placed months ago, it was too late to cancel—” I held up a hand, cutting him off. “Jackson, stop trying to explain. It just makes you sound ridiculous.” His face darkened, but before he could speak, Sophie stepped forward, her chin lifted defiantly. “Mrs. Pierce, that’s a horrible thing to say. It’s not like that between Mr. Pierce and me. Our relationship isn’t sordid like you’re implying!” She bit her lip, then turned to look at Jackson with an expression of pure, doe-eyed devotion. “I’m the one who has feelings for him, but he’s never once reciprocated. His heart belongs completely to you!” she declared, her voice ringing with sincerity. “He’s a wonderful man, Mrs. Pierce. You should cherish him.” I looked at her, my own expression calm. “Do you know what I do for a living?” Sophie blinked, confused. I continued, my voice level and cold. “I’m a lawyer. I’ve seen more criminals put on a show in a courtroom than you can imagine. Weeping, sobbing, performances that could move an entire jury. Your little damsel-in-distress act? It’s amateur hour. Only the most desperate kind of fool would fall for it.” Sophie’s face flushed a deep crimson, and tears welled in her eyes. Jackson saw her wounded expression, and his own face contorted with anger and embarrassment. “Eleanor, that’s enough,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. I let out a small, humorless laugh. “Oh, is this too much for you?” “Jackson, I’m a litigator. I have a vocabulary of much sharper, much crueler words I haven’t even used yet. Would you like a sample?” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, his patience clearly gone. “Eleanor, what do you want?” My hand instinctively went to my stomach. A hot sting filled my eyes. I fought to keep my voice from trembling. “Jackson, I’m giving you one choice. Either she disappears from my life forever, or I do.” “You choose.” He frowned, letting out a long, heavy sigh. “Eleanor, can you please stop being so dramatic?” And just like that, the frantic, emotional haze that had clouded my mind evaporated, leaving behind a cold, hard clarity. It was foolish of me to hold out hope for a man whose heart had already strayed. I took a deep breath and pulled my lips into a semblance of a smile. “Fine,” I said. “I understand.” “Jackson, I want a divorce.”

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