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.”
🌟 Continue the story here
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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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It was the middle of the night when the frantic banging started on our front door.
“Mia, open up! It’s my dad, he collapsed! You gotta get him to the hospital!”
My husband, David, started to sit up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, ready to get the door.
I grabbed his arm, pulling him back down.
“Shh. Don’t say a word.”
In my last life, my husband and I opened that door. We helped carry his father to our car out of the goodness of our hearts.
That single act of kindness cost us everything. It led to the ruin of our home and the end of our lives.
1.
David blinked at me, his voice thick with sleep.
“Mia? What’s wrong?” he whispered. “It’s Rick. His dad is sick and they don’t have a car. We should help them.”
A cold smile touched my lips. “If it’s a real emergency, why not just call 911?”
“Don’t turn on the lights. Don’t make a sound. Pretend we’re not home.”
David was confused, but he listened to me. He scratched his head, laid back down, and pulled the covers up.
A moment later, he murmured, “Mia, if his dad… if something happens because we didn’t help, won’t you feel guilty?”
I shook my head, hiding the inferno of hatred in my eyes.
Guilty?
Never again.
The banging continued for a long, relentless time. Then our phones started buzzing, one after the other, calls from Rick and his wife, Brenda. Luckily, I had silenced them both before bed.
Now David was starting to see that something was wrong.
“This is weird,” he said, his voice low. “You’d think they’d give up after a few knocks. Why are they just hammering on the door?”
“And if his dad is dying, why are they wasting time here instead of finding another ride?”
He was right. They’d been at it for nearly ten minutes.
I crept out of bed and tiptoed to the door, pressing my ear against the cool wood.
“Damn it, nobody’s home. Now what?” It was Rick’s voice, raw with frustration. He spat on the ground just outside our door.
“Did you find anyone else?” he asked Brenda.
“No.”
A heavy sigh from outside.
“Son of a bitch. What rotten luck. We need someone now. Fine, call 911. We can’t let the old man kick the bucket yet.”
Their voices faded as they walked away.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and turned to face my husband. His eyes were wide with shock.
“They… they wanted to…?”
I nodded, my expression grim. “Yes. Exactly what you’re thinking.”
For a long time before he finally fell asleep, David kept muttering in disbelief.
“How could they be like that? I don’t understand.”
“We’ve been neighbors for years. I thought we were friends.”
“How could they want to hurt us?”
I placed a hand gently over his mouth.
“Stop,” I whispered. “Just go to sleep.”
2.
In my last life, David and I opened the door immediately.
We helped them carry the old man, who was barely breathing, into the back of our car. As soon as we were on the road, they started screaming at us from the back seat, telling us to drive faster, faster.
After running the second red light, we crashed.
We just clipped the side of another car. It was a minor fender bender, nothing serious. But that little bump was all it took.
By the time we got to the hospital, the old man was gone.
Rick and Brenda’s faces changed instantly. They started wailing in the hospital corridor, pointing at us, screaming that we were murderers. They claimed the minor collision had caused their father to hit his head on the back of the seat, and that’s what killed him.
There was, in fact, a cut on the back of his head.
Before we could even say a word, the driver of the other car stormed in and pointed a finger at us.
“I’ll testify to it! They saw my car and sped up on purpose, they deliberately rammed into me!” he shouted. “They knew they had a sick man in the car and they did it anyway! What kind of monsters are you?”
And just our luck, that particular stretch of road had no traffic cameras.
He died in our car. We had no choice but to take the blame. We paid them the money they demanded. But it wasn’t enough.
They got a copy of his latest physical, made huge banners, and started protesting outside both of our workplaces. They told everyone that he had been on the road to recovery. They screamed that if it weren’t for us, he would be alive and well. That he was the rock of their family, and now their lives were in shambles, their kids were too grief-stricken to go to school.
They told the world that we had destroyed their family. That we were unforgivable, cold-blooded killers.
They forced us to start covering their living expenses, their child support, everything. They became a bottomless pit, sucking the life out of us. We paid one bill, and another would appear. They demanded we fund their children’s lives all the way into adulthood.
If David or I showed the slightest hesitation, they’d start the waterworks and the histrionics, making our lives a living hell. They bled every last cent from our savings and still they weren’t satisfied.
One night, they got us drunk, stole our IDs, and took out a series of high-interest online loans in our names. The money went straight into their pockets, leaving us with a mountain of debt.
I will never forget the day the loan shark’s thugs came to our door. Rick was standing off to the side, watching the show, casually cracking sunflower seeds.
“Yeah, that’s them! A couple of shameless murderers!” he yelled, egging them on. “Hit ‘em! Good and hard! Better if you just kill them!”
“You’d be doing the world a favor!” he shouted as the first punch landed.
He paused, then added with a smirk, “Oh, and hey, don’t kill the woman. She’s got a nice body. You guys could have some fun. When you do, don’t forget to call me over.”
And just like that, David and I were beaten to death on our own doorstep.
Even after we were dead, they weren’t finished. They started a live stream, trashing our names online, and incited their followers to go and desecrate our graves.
But fate, or God, or whatever you want to call it, gave me a second chance. It sent me back to the very day our descent into hell began.
3.
The next morning, we ran into Rick and Brenda on our way out of the apartment complex.
Rick shot us a venomous glare. “What were you two up to last night? We knocked for ages.”
David managed a weak smile. “Oh, hey, Rick. We had a company dinner, got back really late. Was something wrong?”
Brenda snorted. “My father had an attack and needed to go to the hospital, that’s what was wrong.” She rounded on me. “Mia, do you have any idea that because of you, my father almost died?”
My husband, David, opened his mouth to explain, but I stepped in front of him, a faint, mocking smile on my face.
“I’m sorry, Brenda, I don’t understand,” I said sweetly. “What does your father’s health have to do with us?”
That set her off. She put her hands on her hips. “What does it have to do with you? You delayed his medical treatment! After all these years as neighbors, you don’t even answer your phone! Whose fault is it if not yours?”
My smile widened. “Wow, the standards for being a good neighbor are getting pretty high these days. For a second there, I thought I’d signed a 24-hour, on-call caregiver agreement.” I tilted my head. “You had time to call us over and over, but no time to call 911?”
“You—!”
Brenda was stunned. I had always been the quiet, agreeable one. She wasn’t prepared for this.
She pointed a trembling finger at me. “This is your fault, and you won’t even apologize! How dare you talk to me like that! All those years of neighborly kindness were wasted on a dog!”
“You’re lucky my dad is okay,” she shrieked. “Otherwise, I would make you pay!”
Rick spat on the pavement beside him. “Fine. You want to play it this way, deny everything, no decency? Don’t blame us for what comes next.”
I feigned shock, taking a small step back. “Rick, are you threatening me? You should know, I have a very weak constitution. I get frightened so easily. If your threats cause me any health problems… could you really afford to take responsibility for that?”
Rick just stared at me, his face a cold mask.
“Just you wait,” he muttered, before turning and stalking off.
4.
Rick’s dad didn’t die.
Remembering everything from my past life, a terrible suspicion began to form in my mind. When I told David, he came to the same conclusion.
A few days later, the old man was discharged from the hospital.
Brenda called me immediately. Her voice was syrupy sweet, all traces of her previous hostility gone.
“Mia, honey, what are you doing? Are you busy?”
When I didn’t answer, she chuckled nervously and continued. “My father-in-law is being released, and I was hoping you could give us a ride home. You know I don’t have a car, and he’s still too weak to walk.”
“We’re neighbors, right? Just a little favor. I’ll even buy you a few cases of fruit to say thanks.”
I let out a soft laugh. “I don’t think I’d dare accept any fruit from you, Brenda. A few days ago you were ready to ruin my life, and now we’re best buddies again?”
“Anyway, I’m busy. Can’t help you.”
I hung up before she could reply. I could just picture her fuming on the other end of the line, and it made me want to laugh.
A minute later, a message from her popped up in the neighborhood group chat.
[Is any kind neighbor free to give my father-in-law a ride home from the hospital?]
[I asked Mia, but she refused. It’s so hard for me to manage with an elderly person all by myself…]
I had to laugh. She had time to post in the group chat, but no time to call an Uber. All this to save a twenty-dollar fare.
Someone replied almost instantly.
[OMG, Brenda, that’s terrible.]
[It’s so difficult with a sick parent. I thought you were so good to Mia’s family? I can’t believe she wouldn’t help you!]
The reply was from Sharon, the stay-at-home mom who lived on the floor below us. For some reason, she’d always seemed to have it out for me, even though we’d barely exchanged a dozen words.
Never one to miss a chance to stir the pot, she tagged me directly.
[@Mia, you need to have a conscience. I always see Brenda bringing you guys fruit and helping you carry things.]
[You can’t even help with a little thing like this?]
[Everyone knows you and David aren’t short on money, and you have a car. Why wouldn’t you give her a ride?]
Once Sharon broke the ice, others chimed in.
[Let’s not jump to conclusions. Mia is usually very helpful. Maybe she really is busy?]
[Yeah, and there are always taxis at the hospital. She can just grab one.]
Some defended me, while others joined Sharon in calling me heartless.
[A taxi? With a sick old man? A car would obviously be better.]
[Exactly! I’ve seen Brenda’s father-in-law, he’s in a wheelchair. It’s a huge hassle to get a taxi.]
Before long, a full-blown argument had erupted. No one was even talking about helping Brenda anymore.
She started to get anxious.
[Please don’t fight, everyone. It’s all my fault for bringing it up.]
[So… is anyone able to come get me?]
The group chat went silent.
5.
The timing was perfect. I went into the group chat and tagged Sharon.
[@Sharon Sorry, just saw this, been swamped with work.]
[I seem to remember you have a car. You’re such a kind and compassionate person, I’m sure you’ll be happy to go pick Brenda up, right?]
It took Sharon a long time to stammer out a reply.
[I… I have to cook dinner for my son! Brenda, you should just get a taxi…]
Oh? So now a taxi was a good idea? A moment ago she was saying how inconvenient it would be.
I quoted her earlier message back to her.
[Weren’t you the one who just said he has trouble walking? And now you’re telling her to get a taxi? What are you trying to pull, Sharon?]
[It seems some people who are quick to judge others are just putting on a show.]
The tide turned. Other neighbors started calling Sharon a hypocrite for trying to force me to do something she wasn’t willing to do herself.
Sharon panicked. She quickly tagged Brenda.
[@Brenda I’m on my way now. Send me your exact location.]
[I’m not like some people, who are all talk.]
Brenda responded with a flood of grateful emojis, acting as if Sharon was her savior.
An hour later, they were home. Brenda posted a picture in the group: the three of them—her, Sharon, and the old man. Sharon was holding a bag of fruit, and on the floor were several cases of milk. Her smile was so wide it was wrinkling her face.
[Sharon is such a good person, truly a different class from some people.]
[From now on, I’ll be counting on your help, Sharon! Your son is growing, he could use the extra milk.]
Sharon replied instantly.
[It feels so good to do a good deed! Of course, Brenda. Anything you need, just ask.]
[If I can help, I will.]
I looked at my phone and laughed out loud.
Brenda had found her new sucker.
From that day on, Brenda started calling on Sharon for everything. She never messaged her privately, always making her requests by tagging Sharon in the public group chat. Boxed into a corner by her own public declarations of kindness, Sharon had no choice but to help.
She eventually replied in the group, asking Brenda to message her directly instead of “cluttering up the public space.”
Brenda readily agreed, and then promptly forgot. The very next time, she was back in the main chat.
[Oh, Sharon, dear, I’m just so forgetful at my age!]
[I have the group chat pinned, so it’s just easier to find you here. You don’t mind, do you?]
The worst part was that every time Sharon helped, Brenda would post a photo of it in the group, and the neighbors would shower Sharon with praise, making it impossible for her to refuse.
One evening, I was walking past Sharon’s apartment and heard her complaining on the phone to a friend, asking for advice on how to get Brenda off her back.
Before she hung up, I saw Brenda coming down the stairs, carrying a bag of fruit. She shot me a dirty look, then immediately plastered a smile on her face.
“Sharon! Here, let me give you some fruit.”
“It’s from my family’s garden, all-natural, no pesticides.”
I kept walking toward my door, catching snippets of the conversation.
“Oh, by the way, we have something to do tomorrow, could you watch my father-in-law for me…?”
“Oh, it’s no big deal, you just have to change his diaper every hour or so.”
I could hear Sharon desperately trying to refuse, but Brenda just talked right over her, as if she couldn’t hear a thing.
Sure enough, a new notification popped up on my phone. It was another picture from Brenda: Sharon with the old man.
[Sharon is an angel! She’s agreed to look after my father-in-law for me tomorrow.]
[Such a kind soul is a role model for all of humanity! If anyone in this community dares to bully Sharon in the future, they’ll have to go through me first!]
The neighbors filled the chat with thumbs-up emojis.
[Sharon is really one of a kind. I remember his diapers need changing, right?]
[Wow, Sharon, you’re so selfless. I know I couldn’t do it.]
I was unlocking my door when Brenda came up the stairs. She shot me another glare and a cold snort.
“Don’t be jealous of all the nice things I’m saying about Sharon. She’s just a better, kinder person than you.” She looked me up and down. “No wonder you’re still childless after years of marriage. You’re too evil to conceive.”
Seeing I wasn’t responding, she leaned in, sneering.
“What, cat got your tongue? Feeling regretful now?”
“If you want to repent, I suppose it’s not too late. You can help Sharon take care of my father-in-law tomorrow.”
“You…”
My only reply was the sound of my door slamming shut and a single sentence.
“You’re certifiably insane.”
Furious, Brenda stood outside my door and cursed at me for ten solid minutes.
6.
The next day was Saturday.
Brenda and Rick took their grandson out for a day of fun, leaving Sharon with the mess. Sharon’s husband, annoyed by the situation, went out to play cards. Her son was at a tutoring class. She was all alone.
From our apartment, we could occasionally hear her muffled shouts from downstairs.
“Did you seriously go again?! What is wrong with you?!”
“I just changed you!”
“Are you even human? Can’t you hold it in?”
The poor old man, unable to speak clearly, could only stammer apologies with a thick tongue. David and I just shook our heads, put on our headphones, and started a movie.
We weren’t far into it when there was a knock at our door. It was Sharon.
She wrung her hands, pushed the old man in his wheelchair toward our doorway, and gave my husband a bright, pleading smile.
“Hey, David. Could you guys just watch him for a bit?”
“I’m just one person, I really can’t handle this.”
I held up my hands. “We can’t either. He’s not our father. You know who to call.”
Sharon completely ignored me, keeping her eyes fixed on my husband. “David, please, just help me out. Just let Mia watch him for the afternoon. I’ll come get him tonight.”
She clasped her hands together, her voice dripping with flattery. “Please, David. I’m begging you.”
David gave her a flat look and said, “Not my problem.”
Sharon’s smile froze on her face.
Before she could recover, I grabbed the door to close it. Suddenly, Sharon stuck her arm out, blocking it. Her eyes were red, practically shooting flames.
“Mia! Do you have to be like this?!” she screamed. “It’s not like you haven’t taken care of him before! Who are you putting this act on for?! This was supposed to be your job in the first place! I’ve already done half the work, and you’re still not satisfied?”
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When our daughter was one month old, my husband Julian’s enemies kidnapped her. They demanded ten million dollars.
Julian told me the business was struggling, that he couldn’t get the cash.
Then he turned around and bought a twenty-million-dollar diamond necklace for his old flame, Isabelle Reed.
I was hollowed out, ready to die. That’s when Julian’s arch-nemesis, Marcus Thorne, found me. He showed up with a blank check.
He said if I divorced Julian and married him, he’d pay the ransom.
I signed the papers without a second thought. Marcus, insisting on handling it himself, hired a private security team and brought my daughter back.
I was convinced he was my savior.
But when our daughter, Mia, was five, I saw him at the park. He was pointing to Isabelle, telling Mia, “Go give Mommy a hug.”
“Marcus,” Isabelle said, “you’ve sacrificed so much for me and Mia. You shouldn’t have had to marry Seraphina—that damaged goods—and get blood on your hands.”
“As long as you’re happy in the Vance family, I’m happy,” he replied. “Just be careful. If Seraphina ever finds out her real daughter died five years ago, she’ll have a psychotic break.”
My rescuer wasn’t a savior. He was the man who’d murdered my child.
Watching the three of them—Marcus, Isabelle, and Mia—laughing together like a perfect family, I calmly pulled out my phone and dialed the number for the kidnappers.
“I’ve got a thirty-million-dollar job for you. Are you in?”
1
At the amusement park, Marcus watched Mia and Isabelle, his eyes soft with adoration. He was so lost in the moment, he didn’t see me standing just a few yards behind him.
His assistant walked up.
“Mr. Thorne, tomorrow is the anniversary of your wife’s daughter’s death. Will you be attending the memorial?”
Marcus’s gaze didn’t waver. “Yes. It was an accident, but I’m still the reason Seraphina’s daughter is dead. At least Isabelle is finally married to Julian.”
The assistant glanced at Isabelle, who was posing for a selfie. “Ms. Reed only has eyes for Julian Vance. She even had his child. Why are you making this sacrifice, sir? You’re raising your rival’s daughter.”
“If this ever gets out, it won’t just be you. The entire Thorne family will be ruined.”
Marcus finally looked away. “It won’t get out. Seraphina didn’t even recognize the swap five years ago. Now that she’s raised Mia herself? She’ll never suspect a thing.”
The assistant was quiet. “But… your wife, sir. She’s a good person. She loves you. It’s not fair to deceive her like this.”
Marcus laughed, a cold, sharp sound. “Love? Nothing’s fair in love. I never asked her to love me.”
“And if she does find out and makes a scene? I’ll just give her another kid.”
I felt the world drop out from under me.
Just then, Mia spotted me. She turned and waved, her voice bright. “Mommy! Come play with us!”
Everyone turned. I tried to duck back, lost my footing, and fell backward into the decorative fountain.
The water was deep enough to hide me. It was freezing, but I didn’t dare move.
Isabelle, her good mood ruined, threw her cotton candy on the ground. “What are you yelling for? Your real mom is right here.”
Mia looked terrified and burst into tears. “You’re a bad lady! You’re not my mom!”
Marcus, who always doted on Mia, suddenly looked stern. “Mia. Apologize to your mother. Now.”
Mia only cried harder. My heart ached; my first instinct was to run and grab her.
But his words echoed in my head.
That’s not my daughter.
My daughter is dead.
My baby was only a month old.
And this man, Marcus, had fed her to the wolves, all for Isabelle. His “heroic” rescue was just a show. A performance to cover the swap.
And I… I had called him my savior. I’d gratefully raised another woman’s child for him.
No wonder his assistant always looked at me with such pity.
I must be the biggest fool alive.
Mia was hysterical. Marcus couldn’t calm her down and finally just picked her up to leave. Only then did I pull myself out of the fountain, my clothes soaked.
The wind cut through me, but I couldn’t feel the cold.
When I stumbled back into the villa, Marcus saw me and rushed over, pulling me into a tight hug. He was yelling for the staff, trying to warm me with his own body.
“Seraphina, my god, what happened to you?”
“I went to the park,” I said, my voice numb. “I was looking for you and Mia. I fell in the fountain.”
His body went rigid. It took him a long moment to force the panic from his face. “I told you not to come. You’re with Mia all week. You deserve a day off.”
For five years, he had taken Mia “out” one day a week so I could “rest.” I’d thought it was so sweet, that he was bonding with her.
He was taking her to bond with Isabelle.
My entire five years. A lie.
2
“Seraphina,” he asked, his voice suddenly cautious. “Did you… see anything at the park?”
I looked down. “If I’d seen you, I wouldn’t have been so clumsy.”
He let out the breath he was holding. He wrapped a blanket around me and held a cup of hot tea to my lips. This careful, perfect devotion. The maids were all watching, their eyes filled with envy.
But I was freezing from the inside out.
He’s so good at this. Such a perfect performance.
He carried me upstairs. Mia ran out of her room, holding a wooden box. “Daddy! Is this the box of love letters you wrote for Mommy?”
I instinctively reached for it.
Marcus slapped my hand away—hard—and snatched the box, clutching it to his chest.
My hand instantly turned red. Mia, seeing it, burst into tears and started pounding on Marcus with her little fists.
“You hit Mommy! You’re a bad daddy!”
Marcus looked embarrassed. “This isn’t mine,” he stammered. “It’s… something I’m holding for a friend.”
Before I could reply, his phone rang.
A special ringtone.
Mia cried harder. “It’s the bad la—”
Marcus clapped his hand over her mouth, motioning for the nanny to drag her away. He turned to me, his face a mask of apology. “I have to take this. An emergency.”
He locked the wooden box in his office safe.
The password was pathetically easy. Even Mia knew it. “It’s the bad lady’s birthday.”
The box wasn’t full of letters. It was full of photos of Isabelle, from childhood to now.
They were childhood sweethearts.
The safe also held copies of several trust funds. The beneficiary, on all of them, was Isabelle Reed. The total was in the hundreds of millions. The date they were signed? The day before he “rescued” me.
At the very bottom was an envelope.
A photo of Isabelle, holding a newborn. On the back, in Marcus’s handwriting:
Today, I finally get to be a father!
The exclamation point was so full of joy.
The date on the photo? The day my daughter was kidnapped.
A sharp pain shot through my chest. I dug my nails into my arms until I drew blood, just to keep from screaming.
I stayed there until my legs were completely numb.
I picked up my phone and sent a text.
Tomorrow. The docks.
A thirty-million-dollar deal. I was sure Marcus would be willing to pay that to protect Isabelle.
And once I was in international waters, I would disappear.
Five years of my life, Marcus. I’ll use your own script to say goodbye.
3
Marcus didn’t come home until morning.
His first move wasn’t to check if I had a fever. It was to go to his office and check the safe.
I watched him go and let out a cold laugh. So much for not caring if I found out.
A few hours later, the police showed up.
They confirmed that the flagged international number that had called me was not a scam, and then they left.
Marcus was confused. “Seraphina, those are flagged numbers for a reason. They belong to criminals. Why are you talking to them?”
I was trying to think of a lie when he pulled me into a hug. “It’s okay. Whatever you need, you can just tell me. You don’t have to get involved with people like that. They’re animals.”
This bottomless, unconditional support. It made me sick.
He knew exactly what they were. For Isabelle, he’d sent them after my baby.
I forced myself to lean into him. “Marcus, you’re so good to me.”
He brought out some liniment and gently rubbed the bruise on my hand. “I drove out to the countryside to get this from an old herbalist.”
I looked at the label. “Made in L.A.”
I didn’t bother correcting him. Isabelle’s “I miss you” texts had been accidentally forwarded to my phone all night.
He finished with my hand and brought out a small pastry box. “From that hotel you love.”
It was strawberry cheesecake. My favorite.
That hotel only gives pastries to registered guests. So, they’d stayed in my long-standing suite.
The box was supposed to have four mini-cheesecakes. There were only two. Isabelle knew I’d notice.
She was telling me I only deserved her leftovers.
The cake. The man.
I pushed the box away. “I’m not hungry.”
Marcus immediately went into a panic, calling the family doctor to check me from head to toe. When the doctor confirmed I was fine, he finally relaxed.
“Seraphina, you rest. I’ll go make you some soup.”
The second he was gone, I threw the cake in the trash.
Moments later, I heard a commotion downstairs. I looked out the window.
Isabelle. Looking terrified, running up the walk. She threw herself into Marcus’s arms.
He froze, glancing up at my window, but his arms automatically wrapped around her.
I couldn’t hear what she said, but his face twisted in rage.
A minute later, my bedroom door slammed open.
Marcus slapped me.
“What were you thinking?” he roared. “Contacting an offshore hitman to kidnap Isabelle?”
“Just because Julian wouldn’t pay your ransom doesn’t mean it was her fault!”
“If I’d known you were this vindictive, I never would have married you!”
I stumbled backward, crashing into a vase. It shattered, and I fell into the shards.
Over his shoulder, I saw Isabelle in the doorway, a smirk of pure triumph on her face.
I remembered. Her brother was a cop. She must have seen the report about the international call.
She had Julian. Now she wanted Marcus back, too.
Marcus was still yelling, demanding I apologize.
All that fake love, now stripped bare.
I didn’t argue. I just stood up, pulled out my phone, and dialed the “flagged” number.
“Hey, cuz!” a cheerful voice answered. “What’s up? Need something?”
It was Marcus’s youngest cousin, who was studying in London.
Both their faces went white.
I hung up. “It’s just an overseas call. What are you two so afraid of?”
“Or… do those kidnappers also do murder-for-hire? You two seem to know a lot about their services.”
Marcus stammered. “I… I just heard… from the security team. When I rescued you.”
I touched my cheek. “Then I deserve an apology from Ms. Reed.”
Marcus immediately stepped in front of Isabelle. “Seraphina, she’s been through a lot. Don’t be unreasonable.”
“I’ll buy you a new purse tomorrow. Just drop it.”
I was bleeding. Glass was embedded in my back and arms. This was the man who used to panic if I got a paper cut. He wasn’t even looking at my injuries.
I was about to laugh when Isabelle burst into tears.
“Marcus! She hates me because I married Julian! This was all a setup!”
“It’s fine! If it makes her feel better, I’ll kneel! I’ll beg her forgiveness!”
She started to bend her knees, then grabbed her stomach and groaned. “Oh… no… the baby…”
Marcus scooped her up, shot me a look of pure hatred, and ran out.
I don’t know how long I stood there. Finally, the housekeeper, Maria, came in.
“Mrs. Thorne! My god, you’re bleeding everywhere!”
The pain finally registered.
Maria rushed to call Marcus. I stopped her.
“Don’t. He knows.”
He knew Isabelle was lying. And he chose her anyway.
Just like five years ago.
Fine. Marcus, I’ll give you exactly what you want. I’ll disappear.
4
The doctor came, but halfway through picking the glass out of my back, Marcus called him.
“Mr. Thorne, I’m not an obstetrician…” the doctor pleaded.
I could hear Marcus roaring through the phone.
I told the doctor to go. I’d finish it myself. Maria helped me pull the last of the shards out.
By the time I was bandaged, all the household security was gone. They’d taken Mia with them, but left me behind.
My personal driver, a young guy named Leo, was the last to leave. “Ma’am, the security system is active. Please, don’t go outside.”
I watched two dozen armed guards leave for the hospital. Then I opened my encrypted texts.
“We’re in position. Same dock?”
“Come to the house.” I replied, then deleted the thread.
Marcus had hired them, then tried to have them all “cleaned up” to hide the evidence. During the firefight, my daughter was killed.
The new leader of the Kraken Syndicate was the old leader’s illegitimate son. He was very, very motivated.
Isabelle texted me a picture from the hospital. Marcus was feeding her soup. The hallway outside her door was lined with guards.
[How’s it feel to be abandoned again? I told Marcus I didn’t feel safe if you were around. He said he’d use you as bait to draw them out. Enjoy.]
I ignored it. I called Marcus. He declined the call.
A minute later, a text. [Be good. Stay home. I’ll be back when this is over.]
Not a word about pulling the security.
A few minutes later, the Kraken team breached the perimeter. The alarms blared.
I knew the system sent alerts to his phone. Still, silence.
I smiled, dropped a lit match into the gasoline I’d poured, and walked out the back.
“Let’s go.”
The new leader stopped me. “What about the girl?”
I handed him the DNA report. “Mail this to Marcus. He’ll pay you thirty million in hush money.”
“This is also why he had your father’s team ambushed. Use it well.”
“Oh, and Isabelle also put out a hit on me. Send her a body. She’ll pay, too. That’s… what? Forty million?”
They put me on the boat.
Only when I was on the open ocean did Marcus finally text back.
[Seraphina, stop playing games. Turn off the alarm. I’m coming home.]
Hilarious. He hadn’t even checked the alert. He just assumed I was throwing a tantrum.
It didn’t matter. The villa was now an inferno.
And the blackmail demand was on its way.
I threw my phone into the sea.
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My sugar daddy got into a car crash and lost his memory. He forgot I was his girl.
I took the opportunity to get pregnant and run.
To give my baby the best of everything, I decided to sell off all the gifts he’d ever given me. My online marketplace listings went up one by one:
[Christian Louboutins, worn once for an ex. FOR SALE.]
[Diamond-encrusted Montblanc pen, favorite of a flashy finance bro. FOR SALE.]
[24k gold anklet, used for… roleplay with a first love. FOR SALE.]
[Hermès Birkin from my late husband. FOR SALE.]
The weird thing was, every single item was snatched up instantly by the same buyer. No matter how much I jacked up the price, they bought it without hesitation.
Until one day, after I’d sold everything, a new message from the mystery buyer popped up:
[Is your profile picture for sale? Name your price.]
I stared at the selfie on my screen and had a long, hard think.
1
When I got to Julian Croft’s hospital room, I could hear his voice, laced with disdain.
“Me? Amnesia? Have you guys been watching too many soap operas?”
His mother, Mrs. Croft, grabbed his hand. “Do you remember who we are, then?”
Silence. “…No.”
Mrs. Croft’s eyes welled up. She clutched his hand, her voice thick with emotion. “Your name is Julian Croft. You’re the heir to the Crestlight Corporation, and I’m your mother.”
She wiped a tear from her eye, then turned and gestured to the girl standing behind her, nudging her forward.
“And this is your fiancée, Amelia.”
Through the crack in the door, I saw a bright-eyed, beautiful girl step forward. She was wearing a chic camel-colored trench coat. She gave a playful wink and took Julian’s hand, her smile sickeningly sweet.
“Julian, how could you forget me?” she cooed. “It’s okay. I’ll stay with you until you remember everything.”
2
Amelia. I remembered that name.
One of Julian’s buddies had brought her up at a party once.
“That Amelia Hayes has been obsessed with you since you were kids, man. Following you around, telling everyone she was going to marry you.”
“She’s been waiting for you forever. Aren’t you going to give the poor girl an answer?”
Julian had just swirled the ice in his glass and chuckled. “Plenty of women chase me. Am I supposed to marry all of them? If you ask me, anyone who gets married is an idiot.”
He said all this while casually feeding me a spoonful of gelato. I was perched on his lap, playing the part of the perfect, well-behaved sugar baby, pretending I hadn’t heard a thing.
I always knew Julian was allergic to commitment. He hated being tied down, hated complications. He was a creature of impulse. He’d wake me up at 2 AM to take his private jet to Aspen, just to ski. He’d complain that he’d never seen me in a bikini while tracing the curve of my waist, and the next thing I knew, we were on a flight to the Maldives.
We kissed on snow-covered slopes and held each other in crystal-clear water, acting like a couple deeply in love. But we never once said the words.
Now, on the other side of the door, Julian was frowning, studying Amelia with a blank expression.
When he didn’t say anything, Mrs. Croft prompted nervously, “You two were so close… but we can’t keep Amelia waiting forever. Julian, what do you think about having the engagement party next month?”
Julian closed his eyes and leaned back against the pillows. “She doesn’t really seem like my type,” he said lazily. “Are you guys messing with me?”
Mrs. Croft and Amelia both stiffened.
Then, the handsome man on the bed spoke again. “But if it was already decided, then I guess next month is fine.”
Hearing that, I finally let out the breath I was holding. I looked down and placed a hand on my stomach, a smile spreading across my face instead of tears.
3
Julian didn’t know I was pregnant.
We were always so careful. I have no idea what went wrong. When I saw the two pink lines on the pregnancy test, my mind went blank. But my very first thought was—I want to keep it.
Julian and I had different views on marriage. I didn’t care about getting married, but I’ve always wanted a child of my own. And if I was going to have one, the father should have good genes: handsome, tall, smart… Julian checked all the boxes.
At the same time, I knew I could never tell him. He thought marriage was a trap; how would he react to a baby appearing out of nowhere? He’d probably think it was a scheme to lock him down. He would, without a doubt, make me get rid of it.
I had been racking my brain for an excuse to end our arrangement. And then, at this perfect moment, Julian got amnesia. He had no idea who I was.
Could there be a better time to disappear?
My decision was made. I was leaving tonight.
4
While Julian was still in the hospital, I rushed back to his penthouse. I was halfway through packing when the housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, walked in, looking concerned.
“Miss Winters, are you… running away?” she asked, wringing her hands. “If Mr. Croft comes back and you’re gone, what am I supposed to tell him?”
If I just vanished, she’d be a loose end. So, I told her the truth.
“Mrs. Croft has arranged his engagement. My contract with Julian is over,” I explained. “He has amnesia now; he doesn’t remember me. If you want to keep your job here, you’ll forget about me too.”
Mrs. Gable nodded vigorously, getting the message immediately.
Just in case, I took out my phone and sent her a generous “severance package” via Zelle.
“Please, keep this a secret, Mrs. Gable.”
The second the words were out of my mouth, my phone buzzed with an incoming call.
I answered. A cool, unfamiliar-yet-familiar voice came through the speaker.
“Who is this?”
5
The accident was bad. Julian had smashed his phone along with his head. He never saved contacts with names, just numbers. He was probably going through his new phone, trying to figure out who was who.
Crap. I almost forgot about that.
Thinking fast, I pitched my voice a little higher, a little rougher. “Mr. Croft, this is Maria. I was your housekeeper. You fired me last week because my cooking was terrible.”
It wasn’t a total lie. I had tried to be the domestic type once, pulling up recipes online to cook for him. It was a disaster. The first meal I made gave him food poisoning so bad he spent three days in the hospital on an IV drip. After that, I was banned from the kitchen.
There was a pause on the other end. “Was I really that bored?” he mused. “Saving the housekeeper’s number.” He paused again. “Is that you in your profile picture? You look… familiar.”
My heart leaped into my throat. I forced myself to sound calm. “No, it’s just a picture I found online.”
“Hm,” he said, and hung up.
A second later, a notification popped up. Julian Croft is no longer in your contacts.
What a jerk, I thought, rolling my eyes.
6
The picture was one Julian had taken.
He’d gone through a phase where he bought a fancy new camera, claiming he wanted to get into bird photography. I was his first test subject. In the photo, I had fallen asleep against a trellis in the garden. The backlighting made my face a little blurry, but with the pruning shears and a trowel at my feet, I did kind of look like a gardener.
I stared at it for a second, then, without hesitation, I changed it.
After triple-checking that I had erased every trace of myself from his life, I walked out of Julian Croft’s penthouse with my suitcase. The city lights blurred past the car window as we drove away. Watching the building shrink in the distance, the weight of the pregnancy I’d been carrying on my shoulders finally lifted.
I couldn’t help but grin.
“Baby,” I whispered to my stomach, “we finally ditched your deadbeat dad. Let’s go home.”
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