Category: English

Dan and I had been a DINK couple for ten years, but then he cheated. Now, his little fling, Cassie, stands there, belly out, saying, “If you don’t want to have kids, then give him up!” I was a little dazed, remembering why I chose the DINK life in the first place. Oh, right—it was when we had that premarital health screening, and Dan’s results came back: infertile, naturally. I hid the report to protect his pride and pretended I didn’t like kids, suggesting we just not have any. Dan looks at me, face full of guilt. “Laura, you’re the one I love, but my parents are getting older. I really want a child.” So, I divorced him calmly. Now I wonder—when should I finally send him that report I kept hidden? Cassie Lane, Dan’s little fling. I knew her too—a fresh-faced college grad who just started as the receptionist at his company. I was hardly surprised when I got her call. In the coffee shop, she sat down, belly proudly protruding. “You can see I’m pregnant—this baby is Dan’s,” she declared. “I heard you insisted on being a DINK. You’re so selfish! If you don’t want kids, don’t ruin Dan’s chances!” “If you don’t want kids, then make room for someone who does!” I felt dizzy, wondering again why I ever suggested we be a DINK couple. Ah, right—it was at the premarital screening. Dan’s results had shown he was naturally infertile, and I wanted to spare him the shame, so I hid the report and lied, pretending not to want kids. I looked at Cassie’s face, my expression complicated. Then I let my gaze rest on the coffee in front of her. “Since you’re pregnant, maybe switch to milk.” With that, I got up and left. Back home, I dug through the back of my closet until I found that old report. I spent $40 consulting a doctor online, asking if there was any way to treat Dan’s condition. The answer was no. Seeing my parents’ confused expressions, I laughed freely, feeling lighter than I had in years. Dan’s cheating didn’t surprise me—I’d known for a while. He hadn’t hidden it very well. First, there were the unexplained messages, then all his late nights at the office, and then the obvious: perfume that wasn’t mine on his clothes, movie tickets, and a lipstick under his car’s passenger seat. I’d thought about confronting him, making a scene, but ultimately I did nothing. After ten years, our once-fiery love had worn down, little by little, into nothing more than mundane routines, endless arguments about children with his parents, and Dan’s growing impatience with me. If anything was worth holding on to, it was that he’d once agreed to our DINK life. But after finding out about his affair, that felt meaningless. One evening after dinner, I finally spoke up. “Cassie came to see me a few days ago.” He looked over at me, not even flinching, and replied with a calm “Oh.” That dismissive “Oh” broke the last of my hesitation. “We should get a divorce,” I told him. And we started the process. I didn’t want the house; he gave me half its value in cash, plus some savings. Altogether, I walked away with about $300,000. I knew he’d drained all his little company’s funds to gather that money. On the day of the divorce, Dan said, “Laura, I love you, but my parents are old, and I really want a child.” Every word implied that even though he cheated, it somehow wasn’t really his fault. I nodded, acting like I understood completely. But inside, I was just waiting for the right time to let him know the truth. Outside the courthouse, Cassie waited, flaunting her belly again. She held a slip with a waiting number for the marriage license office. Dan noticed me eyeing it. “A marriage license makes things easier when the baby comes,” he explained. I smirked. “Don’t worry, it’s none of my business.” “Congratulations,” I told Cassie. Dan, smiling, added, “Thank you, Laura.” Cassie scoffed and yanked his arm. “Can’t you hear them calling our number? It’s our turn!” I watched them walk into the office, then took a cab straight to the airport. Newly single, financially comfortable—I deserved a good time! 2 I flew to Savannah, Georgia, a place I’d always dreamed of visiting. Strolling through the historic district along its old cobblestone alleyways, with the sea breeze blowing and good food in hand, everything about Dan faded into the background. I spent one night at a local tavern, sipping wine and chatting with a few men who struck up conversation, laughing until I was pleasantly tipsy. I was tempted to pursue a fling, but in the end, I chickened out. On my way back, a sound stopped me. In a quiet corner of an alley, a man sat on the steps, covering his face, clearly crying. Under the streetlight, his wedding band gleamed faintly. Maybe it was the wine, but I found myself blurting, “Your wife cheated on you? What’s there to cry about?” I patted his shoulder, telling him, “Look at me—my husband cheated, and I’m still happy as can be!” The man looked up, his face wet with tears, and glared at me. “My wife didn’t cheat on me.” “Oh.” I let out an awkward laugh. Half an hour later, I knew his name and his story, and I had a crazy thought. “How would you feel about marrying me?” The man, Elliot Shaw, was also from the States and, as it happened, from the same city as me. He and his late wife had both wanted kids, but her heart condition made pregnancy too dangerous, so they’d decided to adopt. Just when they were ready to start the process, she caught a bad cold, and her weakened heart couldn’t handle it. He’d come to Savannah alone, a trip they were supposed to take together. After I told him my story, he said, “You shouldn’t have lied to him. Maybe things would have turned out differently.” I was silent for a moment, then said, “Maybe. But I never wanted his guilt or gratitude. I just wanted pure love.” Now, I really wanted a child. That was actually another reason I’d come here. At a nearby clinic, they let single women use IVF. But eventually, I’d have to return to the States. Dan’s comment about marriage licenses reminded me that things like school registration and a birth certificate would be simpler with a husband’s name on them. When I bumped into Elliot tonight, I realized I’d found the perfect partner for this plan. I told him, “We could get married. Once all the paperwork for the baby is done, we could divorce. Plus, you wanted to adopt, didn’t you? Single people can’t adopt back home. You help me, and I’ll help you.” I extended my hand. “So? Partners?” After a minute of serious thought, he shook my hand. “Partners.” Elliot went back home, but I stayed in Savannah. After three months, I wasn’t returning alone. I was carrying a little life inside me. When I touched down, jet-lagged and barely settled, I faced my parents’ interrogation. “You’ve got some nerve, doing something this huge without telling us. Do you even think about us anymore?” 3 “Having a baby isn’t some small thing! Do you know what it takes to raise a child? How are you going to handle everything alone?” “Dan’s a jerk. Sure, divorce him. But why ruin your own life? Just because he has a kid, you need one too?” Maybe it was “baby brain” setting in early, but before I could stop myself, I muttered, “Dan’s kid isn’t even his.” The words stopped my mom mid-sentence. “What did you just say?” She leaned forward, and even my dad looked shocked. The secret was out, so I told them everything. “Dan’s infertile. His count is zero. I checked with a doctor—there’s no cure.” My mom’s jaw dropped, then she burst into laughter, tears streaming down her face. My dad joined in, saying, “Serves him right! Karma!” Once they’d finally stopped laughing, my mom asked, “So, that baby of Cassie’s is due any day now. When are you going to tell Dan?” I placed a hand over my stomach. “There’s no rush. The longer he believes it’s his, the more he’ll enjoy being a dad, right?” The deeper Dan’s attachment to that baby, the sweeter it’ll be when he learns the truth. Elliot and I registered our marriage. We signed prenups and a mountain of paperwork to ensure each other’s rights. My mom remarked that we seemed more like business partners than a married couple. She even hinted, “Elliot’s a decent guy. Now that you’re married, why not make it real?” I firmly shut that down. “Mom, I just wanted a baby and a marriage license to make things easier for them later. And to give him a dad on paper. It’s just a formality.” My dad was more understanding. “It’ll be great for the kids and their future, and we get to keep you here with us too.” “Smart thinking, Dad!” I also met the little girl Elliot and his late wife had hoped to adopt, a sweet five-year-old with a heart condition that led her biological parents to abandon her. “She’ll be fine after her surgery,” Elliot assured me. I didn’t try to comfort him. This was just a partnership. Best to set clear boundaries from the start. Three months into my pregnancy, I went to County General to establish care. As I walked out of the appointment, I saw Dan walking down the hall, phone pressed to his ear. “Last night, it happened. He’s here,” he said proudly. “Yeah, a boy—seven and a half pounds.” He smiled as he finished the call, then turned and saw me. “Laura?” “Congratulations,” I said, keeping my voice light. “Looks like you’re a dad.” He cleared his throat, nodding. “Thanks.” Then, after a pause, he asked, “Are you here for…?” I simply said, “For a checkup.” His eyes drifted to the “Assisted Reproduction” sign beside me, and he flashed a look that was half-sympathetic, half-smug. “Well, these days, medicine’s so advanced. Plenty of options for people wanting kids.” I almost laughed. “You’re right,” I said. Though, as he’ll eventually realize, some things even modern medicine can’t fix—like infertility and, apparently, self-delusion. 4

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I bought a house four years ago but never moved in or renovated it. Two years later, I suddenly started receiving utility bills. Confused, I returned to check on the house, only to find strangers living in it! One day, after work, I got a notification on my phone for an overdue utility bill. Staring at the unfamiliar house number on the screen, it took me a moment to realize—I did own a house with that address. It was the house my mom, Sharon Hawkins, had bought for me near my college, thinking I might not enjoy dorm life. But I made a last-minute decision to pursue studies abroad, so the house had been left empty right after renovation. The more I thought about it, the more confused I became. No one should be living in that house, so how on earth were there utility bills? With growing curiosity, I followed the familiar route to Maplewood Heights, the neighborhood where the house was located. … Standing at the front door, I noticed something immediately off. The front door, which I remembered being a dull brown, had been replaced with a brand-new, shiny black security door. I checked the house number again, “808”—yep, this was definitely the right place. Staring at the unfamiliar black door and catching a whiff of a horrible odor leaking from inside, I felt an overwhelming sense of unease. Without hesitation, I called a locksmith. Charlie McIntyre, the locksmith, arrived quickly, giving me a suspicious once-over. “This is your house?” he asked. I quickly pulled out my property deed and ID, handing them over. “Of course! Here are the documents. Check for yourself.” He examined the papers carefully before handing them back, still looking uncertain. “I really need to get inside. How about I pay you an extra hundred?” I offered anxiously. That did the trick. He handed the documents back, crouched down, and opened his toolbox while mumbling, “Strange. Wasn’t the last tenant here an old lady?” “What did you say?” I asked, surprised. Before I could probe further, a sharp voice interrupted behind us. “What do you think you’re doing?!” Before I could react, my shoulder was shoved hard, and a white-haired old woman—Gloria Pittman—charged forward, pointing a finger at the locksmith’s face. “How dare you?! Trying to rob me in broad daylight? In my own home?” Before we could even respond, her hand shot out, scratching Charlie across the face, leaving a deep red mark. He yelped in pain, clutching his nose and pointing at me, “I’m not a thief! He told me to unlock it!” Gloria turned to face me, her eyes scanning me before locking onto the Gold Lion Pendant hanging around my neck. Her expression shifted into one of greed, and she stomped toward me, cursing. “You little punk! Starting a life of crime already? You need a good lesson today!” She lunged at me, reaching out with her claws. I frowned and took a step back, causing her to miss. The old woman immediately changed tactics—collapsing to the ground, dramatically wailing. “Oh Lord, this young man is breaking into my house and now he’s attacking me too! Somebody help me!” Her voice was so loud that the neighbors began poking their heads out of their doors to see what was going on. I’d never seen anything like this in my life. My instinct was to back away, but seeing the crowd, Gloria started screaming even louder. She reached out, clutching at my pant leg, pinning me in place. “You can’t leave! You knocked me down, and now I can’t move! You’ll have to take responsibility!” What?! I hadn’t even touched her! “Ma’am, be careful with your accusations. I haven’t even laid a hand on you! The locksmith can testify!” I said, turning to Charlie for backup, but to my shock, he averted his eyes and remained silent. Gloria’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she dug her sharp nails into my leg. “You see? No decent person would back you up. So, how about you compensate me like a good boy?” Her gaze returned to the gold pendant around my neck, her intentions clear as day. With no help in sight, I took a deep breath, calming myself before letting out a small chuckle. “And how exactly do you want me to compensate you?” I asked coolly. Her eyes lit up. She pointed directly at my Gold Lion Pendant. “I can’t even get up without going to the hospital, and that’ll cost at least a couple thousand! But I’m a kind person. Your little gold pendant looks nice. Why don’t you give me that, and we’ll call it even?” I nodded. “Sure, but before I hand it over, could you answer two quick questions?” Blinded by greed, Gloria agreed immediately. “What do you want to know?” I gestured toward the black security door. “Is this your house?” “Of course it’s my house!” she snapped without hesitation. “Oh really? Then how did the house I bought become yours?” Her face froze, and she stammered, “W-what do you mean? I don’t understand!” “I mean, why are you living in my house?” Her eyes flickered with guilt, but she stubbornly pushed back. “This is my house! I’ve been living here for years! Where’s your proof that it’s yours?” “Oh, I’ve got proof.”

I reached into my bag and slowly pulled out the property deed, opening it to the first page and pointing at the owner’s name. There, in bold letters, it clearly said Darren Hawkins. The neighbors around us started murmuring louder. “Wait, so it’s not her house?” “She’s been lying about owning this place all along?” “I thought so. How could that old hag afford a house in this nice neighborhood when she collects trash all day?” Hearing the gossip, Gloria’s face flushed red with anger. She lunged at me, trying to snatch the deed from my hands. I swiftly raised my arm, holding the deed out of her reach with a smirk. “Aren’t you the one who couldn’t even stand up a minute ago? Looks like a miracle recovery to me.” Realizing her mistake, she scowled, pushing me roughly. “I’ve lived here for three years! This house is mine! Who knows where you crawled out from!” I nearly laughed out loud. “So by your logic, if someone lives in a house for three years, it automatically becomes theirs?” “That’s right! If I’m living here, it’s my house!” she shouted. The commotion had finally drawn the attention of Travis Pittman, the security guard. He arrived, looking completely uninterested in the truth. “What’s going on here? Why’s there so much yelling?” Gloria’s eyes lit up again as she pointed at me and wailed, “Thank God you’re here! This guy is trying to break into my house, saying it’s his! You’ve got to help me!” Without asking any questions, Travis shielded her and glared at me. “How’d you get in here? Do you even know where you are? You can’t just harass residents like this!” I’ve dealt with unreasonable people, but this was a new level. I shoved the deed in Travis’s face. “Check again. I am the owner of this house.” When Travis saw the property deed, his expression faltered. Realizing the other neighbors were watching, he tried to snatch the deed from me. But after Gloria’s attempt, I wasn’t about to let anyone grab it. I quickly stepped back. “What do you think you’re doing? I’ll hold it while you look,” I said. Angered, Travis barked, “How do I know if this deed is even real? You probably forged it, trying to steal the house! Get lost!” He moved to shove me, while Gloria used the distraction to unlock the door with her key. The door swung open, and an overpowering stench hit me so hard I nearly vomited. Through the crack in the door, I saw mountains of garbage piled high. A rat squealed as it darted out through the opening. “Ugh!” I recoiled. In the chaos, Gloria slipped inside and slammed the door shut. I started pounding on it, but Travis blocked me, tapping his nightstick threateningly. “Better leave now, or I’ll drag you out myself.” Feeling defeated and with no help from the locksmith, I left, my frustration boiling.

I headed straight to the Maplewood Police Station, hoping for help. But it turned out Gloria was already well known to them. The officer who greeted me looked exasperated. “Yeah, we know her. But there’s not much we can do. She’s old, stubborn, and causes trouble often,” he said, carefully choosing his words. I could read between the lines—Gloria was a nuisance, and the cops didn’t want to deal with her. The officer suggested, “This is more of a civil matter. You’ll have to take it to court if you want the house cleared. The court can enforce eviction.” Court? That could take forever. And meanwhile, my house would keep rotting under piles of garbage. I took a deep breath, an idea forming in my mind. Turning to the officer, I asked, “Officer, is it illegal for me to enter my own property to clean out the trash?” He hesitated but then cleared his throat. “If there’s no lease in place, it’s not illegal. Just don’t hurt anyone.” Perfect. With a newfound sense of determination, I marched out of the police station, ready to take matters into my own hands. As I left, I spotted Gloria peeking into a trash bin down the street, accompanied by Travis. I ducked behind a sign, listening in. “Mom, do you think that guy’s going to take the house back?” “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he never steps foot inside again,” Travis assured her. Well, well, no wonder Travis had been acting strange. They were in this scam together. The conversation continued. “What if he calls the cops? He’s got the property deed,” Gloria fretted. Travis slapped his chest confidently. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll find a way to steal the deed and destroy it. Uncle Mitch can make us a new one.” I clenched my jaw. These fools actually thought they could win by tearing up the property deed? As the video I’d been recording on my phone ended, I let out a cold laugh. I now knew exactly what I was dealing with. Time to make them pay.

Early the next morning, I timed it perfectly for when Gloria Pittman went out to collect trash, and I stormed into Maplewood Heights with a group of guys at my back. Her son, Randy Pittman, tried to block our way, but the moment he saw the crew of big, burly men behind me, his bravado fizzled out, and he meekly followed us to the door. When we reached the house, I directed my crew, “Break the door open!” As soon as the door swung open, the stench from the day before came rushing out, making us all recoil. What lay before us was an unbelievable sight—mountains of garbage piled high: empty cans, cardboard, foam boxes, and unwashed food containers. What I had seen the day before was just the tip of the iceberg. “Ugh…” I gagged, pinching my nose. “Clear all this out. Every last bit.” I paused for a second and added, “Careful though, stack it neatly by the dumpsters.” I had hired a professional crew, and they didn’t flinch in the face of the overwhelming stench. With gloves on, they got to work efficiently. Meanwhile, Travis Pittman, the security guard, was in the background, making a hushed phone call to alert Gloria. I pretended not to notice. By the time Gloria arrived, lugging her sack of trash, half of her beloved garbage fortress had already been cleared. “Put that down! You thieves! Put it all back!” The fragile, tearful Gloria from the day before was now leaping three feet in the air, screeching as she tried to attack the men moving her precious junk. But before she could land a blow, one of the guys easily grabbed her by the collar, lifted her off the ground, and calmly set her down in the corner of the room. The once brazen woman fell silent, eyes wide as she took in the sight of the strong man’s bulging biceps. Then she spotted me, and the rage returned. She screamed, “You again! I’ll claw your eyes out this time!” She lunged at me, her sharp nails reaching for my face, but once again, she was lifted by the collar and placed aside by my crew. I casually lit a cigarette and called out, “Keep going. Clean the house out. I want the locks changed.” Helpless, Gloria could only scream at her son, Randy, “Call your uncle! Get Mitchell here right now!” My interest was piqued. I decided to let them make the call. I was curious to finally meet the so-called property manager who handed over my house to them.

It wasn’t long before a short, pudgy middle-aged man wearing glasses rushed over. Trailing behind him, to my surprise, were the two police officers from the previous day, Officer Jerome Carter and Officer Lisa Morales. When Gloria saw the property manager, she ran toward him like he was her savior. But before she could say anything, he shoved her aside. Wiping the sweat off his forehead, Mitchell Pittman greeted the police with an obsequious smile, pointing toward me. “Officers, this man has broken into one of our resident’s homes and is removing their belongings without permission!” I had to give him credit. He was trying to flip the script and make me the villain. Officer Carter turned to me, ready for my explanation. “Sir, please explain your side of the situation.” I calmly reached into my bag, pulling out the property deed. “Officers, I didn’t break into their house. I broke into my house.” Before either officer could take the document, Travis, who had been lurking in the background, suddenly darted forward. He snatched the deed from my hand and, before anyone could react, ripped out the page with my name on it and shoved it into his mouth! “What are you doing?!” I shouted. Both officers immediately restrained him, trying to get him to spit out the evidence, but it was too late. He had swallowed the shredded paper. His brazen destruction of the deed was as good as a confession of guilt. Officer Morales glared at Travis, her expression stern. “Sir, you’re under arrest for the destruction of property. You’re coming with us to the station.” “Wait!” Mitchell suddenly interjected, glaring daggers at Travis before stepping forward with a forced smile. “One thing at a time, Officers. I’m the one who called you, so you need to help me first,” he said smoothly. The officers exchanged wary glances, and Mitchell continued, “The property deed was destroyed, and none of us saw what was written on it. There’s no proof this house belongs to this gentleman. We can’t just take his word for it, right?” He threw me a smug look, trying to sow doubt in the officers’ minds. Officer Carter responded coldly, “If the deed is damaged, he can request a new one from the housing authority. They can confirm ownership.” “I understand,” Mitchell said, rubbing his hands together nervously, “but that will take time. In the meantime, shouldn’t we stop him from doing anything else to the property?” The officers seemed unsure. While they didn’t completely buy Mitchell’s story, they were bound by procedure, and they looked at me apologetically. Mitchell’s smirk deepened. He knew that as long as he could stall, he could keep me from reclaiming the house for a bit longer. But I was one step ahead. I lazily waved my hand. “There’s no need to make this complicated.”

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Ten years after the divorce, my scumbag dad showed up with his three kids, wanting to remarry my mom. He had the audacity to demand our house in the good school district, take over our restaurant, and even asked me to hand over my social media account with millions of followers to my stepsister… My mom, the queen of sass, rolled her eyes and said, “An old dog trying to learn new tricks? Dream on, you shriveled up prune.” It was past midnight when my scumbag dad found us. Mom and I had just finished a long shift at our restaurant. “What are you two doing out so late?” he scolded, his face twisted with disapproval. Mom and I rolled our eyes in perfect sync. Ten years ago, we agreed to never see each other again. Now he’s suddenly here acting like he has the right to question us? Who does he think he is? “Honey, do you know why Mr. Johnson lived to be a hundred?” Mom asked me loudly. I replied, “Because he minded his own business.” Mom nodded approvingly and took my hand, walking right past him. “Sophia, we need to talk,” Brian demanded, grabbing Mom’s arm. I instinctively pulled Mom behind me and glared at him. “Don’t you dare touch her, or I’ll knock your head sideways!” Ten years ago, I was too small to stop him from hitting Mom. Now, I’m a black belt in Muay Thai. One hook punch past his ear would make his head ring for days. Twisting his head sideways wasn’t just an empty threat. Brian flinched at the speed of my punch, then growled, “This is adult business. Don’t interfere! You have no manners!” I coldly replied, “My dad died young. Please excuse me.” “You little brat!” He raised his hand, but Mom caught his wrist in a vice-like grip. Years of alcohol and debauchery had made him weak. With two quick twists, he was howling in pain. Mom tossed his arm aside, her face expressionless. “If you don’t want a beating, get lost. Stop barking like a dog and disturbing the neighbors!” “You’re still so vulgar!” Brian looked at us with disgust, then gritted his teeth. “Fine, I won’t argue with you now.” “I’m free tomorrow. Let’s go to the registry office and remarry.” Mom looked at him in disbelief. “Have you lost your mind?” I handed him a business card. “Top psychiatrist. Mention my name for a 20% discount. You’re welcome.” Brian’s face turned from red to purple. Finally, he looked at Mom with disdain: “Back then, you were begging me not to divorce you. Now that I’m willing to come back, what more do you want?” Right, Mom used to be so love-blind. She married Brian without a dowry or even a wedding. Two months after the wedding, Brian left for a long-term construction project. For over a decade, he barely came home, leaving Mom to struggle alone with the family. When Mom was pregnant with twins, she had to borrow money from friends for the hospital bills. During her postpartum recovery, she couldn’t even afford a decent meal. Meanwhile, Brian made up excuses about not being able to come back, when in reality, he was starting a new family with his mistress. Mom looked him up and down, then burst out laughing: “Why would I want to remarry you? For your beer belly? Your receding hairline? Or maybe for those jowls that could render enough lard to fry a dozen donuts?” “Don’t you have a mirror at home? Or at least a toilet bowl? Take a good look at yourself when you pee, for God’s sake.” Brian had always thought highly of himself. Mom’s tirade left him fuming. Two buttons on his shirt popped open, revealing a mound of quivering flesh. Oh, being the considerate person I am, I handed him another business card: “How about a gym membership? Mention my name, and you’ll get three free trial sessions.” Before he could react, I pulled Mom into our building and slammed the door in his face. Brian started kicking the door furiously. “Open up!” I wasn’t going to let him get away with this. I called the security office right in front of him: “Yes, there’s a flasher at Building 7, Unit 3 entrance. Oh my, he’s banging on the door now. Please hurry!” After hanging up, seeing he still wouldn’t leave, I smiled sweetly and asked, “Uncle, do you think security isn’t enough? Should I call the police too?” “Zoey, I’m your father!” Brian roared, his face red with anger. “Sorry, uncle, you’ve got the wrong person. I’m Zoey Paul.” “Paul as in my mom’s surname, and Zoey as in ‘my dad died early’, hehe.” Late that night, I paid triple the usual rate to have someone investigate Brian’s recent situation. Soon after, Mom came to my room, hugging her turtle-shell pillow. On the surface, she might be the beautiful owner of a popular restaurant, but behind the scenes, she’s the second-in-command of a billion-dollar food empire. Yet, whenever something’s troubling her, she still likes to come to me for comfort. My heart sank. She couldn’t be love-blind again, could she? What was I thinking? How could that dried-up old prune steal her heart? “Mom, forget it. I’d rather you go abroad and marry Aunt Tanya, giving me another mom, than ever accept Brian as my dad!” I shouted preemptively, then buried my head under the covers. Out of sight, out of mind! “What nonsense are you talking about?” Mom pulled me out from under the covers and showed me her phone messages. Apparently, Brian had gotten hold of Mom’s number somehow and sent her a message. It was an ultrasound image. The message read: This is Tony’s child. Five months along, it’s a boy. Can you bear to let your grandson grow up without a grandmother? Seeing this message, I was stunned. I didn’t know what to say. Tony is my twin brother. Mom raised us both single-handedly. Our grandparents never approved of Mom and were always stingy. They treated me poorly, and even Tony, their grandson, wasn’t much better off. During the divorce, Grandma pushed me away, saying, “Tony is our grandson, he has to stay. Zoey, you can go with your mother. We don’t need a granddaughter.” Grandpa even warned Mom, “You didn’t bring much of value when you married into our family. If you dare to take anything from our Lee family besides Zoey, we’ll call the police.” Mom didn’t ask for anything, but to take Tony with her, she was willing to go to court. But on the day of the court’s decision, Tony chose to stay with Brian. Even when Mom was slapped twice by Brian in public, even when I was thrown out and fell at the feet of his mistress and her daughter. He remained indifferent, just coldly turning his face away. I don’t hate Brian and those other demons anymore, but I still hate Tony. He protected me as we grew up and said he would always protect me and Mom. But he broke his promise. I pouted and said sarcastically, “Well, well, a free grandson. Are you tempted?” “Get lost!” Mom smacked my forehead. Finally, she said thoughtfully, “I just feel like that old scumbag is up to something, using both the carrot and the stick.” “Back then, even when he was cyberbullied so badly, he insisted on staying with his mistress. Why is he suddenly coming back to remarry me?” “Could it be because Zack recently made our restaurant famous, and he’s eyeing our business?” Zack is Aunt Tanya’s only son. He’d been hovering around the D-list in the entertainment industry for years, but this year he suddenly became famous with a drama series. As a result, our restaurant became a hotspot for fans, business boomed, and we frequently trended on social media. Brian’s sudden appearance was indeed likely because of this. A few hours later, we had our answer. Because the money was well spent, not only did they thoroughly investigate Brian, but they also threw in two gigabytes of juicy details about the people around him. From the information, the reason Brian insisted on remarrying Mom was simple: he was broke. A few months ago, his business failed, leaving him deeply in debt. His mistress also divorced him. As a devoted sugar daddy, he transferred his remaining car and house to his mistress. This doesn’t look like a real separation, but rather a fake divorce to protect the mistress and her daughter. During this time, Brian and Tony, the newlyweds, were renting a place to live. Their living expenses depended entirely on Tony’s income. Even though they were struggling, he still insisted on giving monthly child support to his mistress and her daughter. He even borrowed several hundred thousand in high-interest loans under Tony’s name, but this money couldn’t satisfy that mother-daughter pair for long. To make a comeback, he hooked up with someone running an illegal factory. Now, all he wanted was to raise some investment capital to join in producing and selling counterfeit products. Seeing this, my eyes were already filled with anger: “His reason for seeking remarriage isn’t just for money. He probably wants to use us as scapegoats when things go south.” Mom angrily slammed the mouse, cursing, “This black-hearted, rotten bastard! I’d like to see if he can swindle money from me, or if I’ll send him to rot in jail!” Saying this, she pulled Brian’s contact out of various blacklists and posted a moment on social media to bait him. “[Heart][Kiss] My daughter is so thoughtful, this year’s birthday gift is a beautiful ice blue Maserati!!! In three days, she’s even throwing me a birthday party at the Starlight Century. Everyone, come join us!!!” The accompanying photo was of her girlish pink Maserati. However, this car was actually a Women’s Day gift from Aunt Tanya this year. Soon enough, we saw Brian quietly like the post. He even left a comment saying: Honey, I’ll bring the kids to celebrate your birthday. Wait for me! Mom snorted disdainfully: “He really dares to come. Well, I’ll have to teach him a lesson first!” Early in the morning, Brian called to exchange pleasantries. Mom put him on speakerphone, lazily responding to his chatter. Brian was talking enthusiastically on the other end: “Your birthday is a big deal. I’m planning to bring the kids to celebrate with you. At our age, what we value most is family gatherings. Without your son and daughter-in-law there, your birthday would feel incomplete, wouldn’t it?” “I’m touched that you still remember my birthday,” Mom said sarcastically. “Of course, after all, we were married for so many years. I still care about you very much.” I felt a surge of anger rising in my chest. The old scumbag clearly never cared about Mom. Mom’s birthday wasn’t in three days; it was actually the anniversary of her divorce. In previous years, we would have a small gathering with Aunt Tanya and her son on that day, celebrating Mom’s new lease on life. This year, we were planning a big celebration just to lure him into our trap. On the phone, Brian said ingratiatingly that he was at the mall choosing a gift for Mom, asking if she had any preferences. Mom waved her hand grandly and said, “You really want to give a gift? How about the new Hermès bag? Anything else would be embarrassing in front of my girlfriends.” “…Alright.” I could hear Brian’s sharp intake of breath through the phone. Heh, you can’t catch a wolf without using a lamb as bait. He brought this on himself. Three days later, Mom’s “birthday party” was held as scheduled. On the way, Brian called Mom on FaceTime. “Suisuisui,” Brian suddenly called out affectionately. Mom shuddered, almost dropping her phone. I tried to hold back my laughter. That voice was indeed sickeningly sweet, enough to make me want to throw up the lunch I had earlier. “Suisui, why aren’t you saying anything?” Mom coughed and replied coldly, “If you have something to say, say it. If not, I’m hanging up.” “I do, I do,” Brian said urgently. “Mia is such a thoughtful child. When she heard about your birthday, she prepared a song to sing and play for you…” He really had the nerve to bring that up. Wasn’t he deliberately trying to provoke us? Mia is his daughter with his mistress. Back then, outside the court, when I was thrown by Brian and fell at her feet. She wore delicate little leather shoes and rubbed my face with the sole of her shoe, saying with disgust, “Get away, you dirty thing. You almost dirtied my shoes.” “You think Dad really wanted Tony? He just couldn’t bear for my mom to have a second child. Hmph, Dad said that even if he’s a son, I’ll be the one to inherit everything in the future.” Mom was silent for a moment, then said to him, “Don’t bring your dirty, stinking things to me.” Brian was clearly unhappy. But he still said with a thick skin, “How could that be? Mia told me that if we remarry, you’ll be her only mom in the future. And she plays the piano so well…” “Good eye, she thinks I’m better than her mom, huh?” Mom chuckled. “Fine, bring her along then. It’s just an extra set of chopsticks.” Only then did he hang up, satisfied. We had just arrived at the hotel when Brian’s family of four followed closely behind. Brian was dressed in a suit with a red rose pinned to his chest, while Mia clung to his arm, wearing a off-shoulder cocktail dress, her makeup exquisite and alluring. Clearly, they came prepared. Behind them, as pale as her dress, was a woman carefully walking with both hands on her slightly swollen belly, like a fragile white flower. Tony walked beside the white flower, tenderly supporting her waist, his whole being radiating fatherly love. He probably didn’t know yet that the child in the white flower’s belly wasn’t his at all. He was purely a naive cuckold. I couldn’t help but glance a few more times at Tony’s head, but he was oblivious, seemingly focused entirely on his newlywed wife. “Suisui! I’ve prepared a surprise for you later, you’ll definitely love it,” Brian greeted enthusiastically. “Mom, happy birthday~” Mia called out with a sweet smile. Mom didn’t give her a friendly look, but she wasn’t bothered. She turned and gave me a sickeningly sweet hug: “Sister, long time no see~” I forced a smile: “Long time no see, you’re still the same as before.” Still thick-skinned as ever, truly her mother’s daughter. At this moment, Brian pulled Tony and his wife in front of Mom. “This is Tony’s wife, her name is Chloe.” The white flower took out a box from her handbag and handed it to Mom: “Mom, this is a key chain I embroidered for you by hand. I hope you like it…” She held out the box reverently, displaying her scarred and slightly bleeding fingertips for us to see. She looked at Mom with a timid gaze, as if Mom not accepting it would be a grave sin. It was… quite inauspicious. I accepted it on Mom’s behalf and handed it to the reception desk: “Note this down, Brian Lee, gift of one key chain.” The receptionist repeated loudly: “Thank you, Mr. Brian Lee, for your generous gift of one key chain!” The smile on Brian’s face instantly froze. Tony’s expression also became inscrutable. Only Mia immediately supported the swaying white flower, looking at me disapprovingly: “Sister, even if you despise sister-in-law’s humble gift, you shouldn’t humiliate her like this. She’s pregnant, carrying your little nephew!” “Alright, the thought counts. Let’s go in,” Mom interrupted impatiently, pulling me into the venue. Mia scurried after us, chirping away: “Mom, where’s the piano? Can I try it out first?” “Are there many important people here today? I must perform well~” I kindly pointed her towards the stage, and she fluttered through the crowd like a butterfly. Soon, the opening notes of “The Wedding Song” rang out from the stage, attracting the attention of all the guests. Accompanied by the music, Brian walked onto the stage, holding a microphone and reciting a heartfelt speech. He kept talking about how he never forgot Mom and wanted to rekindle their relationship. “Sophia, I still love you.” “Twenty years ago, I couldn’t give you a proper proposal. Today, I want to make it up to you.” With that, Brian knelt down on the stage, holding out a ring box towards Mom: “Will you marry me again?”

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I’ve been in a relationship with a younger guy for three years now. This morning, I woke up and, like always, tried to kiss him and say good morning. But he moved away instinctively, looking somewhat disgusted. He’s just turned 21, still in college, and already he’s pushing me away. He got up, grabbed his phone, and went straight to the bathroom. Moments later, I could hear sounds of him pleasuring himself. My heart shattered. I sat there on the bed, stunned, listening to him in the bathroom. Watching as Adam picked out his clothes, sprayed on some cologne, checked himself out in the mirror, and then hurried off to school. Not once did he look at me. I picked up Adam’s iPad from the nightstand and glanced through his chat history with a lingerie store salesperson. Salesperson: It’s been a while since you last shopped with us. We have some new items in stock. Adam: Not interested anymore. I’m not into her at all now. I’m just 21, and she’s already 35, nearly 36. Her wrinkles gross me out, I can’t get it up. Salesperson: … Salesperson: Really? You used to buy from us frequently. You said you loved your girlfriend. Adam: I felt something for her because she was easygoing and took care of me. She always made up first when we argued. Now, it’s just pointless. Being with her doesn’t feel like a relationship. When I find someone young and cute, I’ll shop with you again. I scratched my head and laughed at myself. I’d seen this chat last night, but I still tried to test him. He’s fallen out of love with me. He’s repulsed by my aging. His ideal girl is probably the one whose photos he looks at before heading to the bathroom. I fell back onto the bed, surprised that I didn’t shed a tear. For a woman my age, crying and breaking down just isn’t dignified.

I got up and started my morning routine. By noon, I began to receive birthday emails from various brand websites where I’m subscribed. That’s when I remembered—it’s my birthday today. I stared blankly at the withered roses on the coffee table, recalling how three years ago today, it was 18-year-old Adam who first confessed his love to me. Back then, Adam had just started college and was being bullied while working part-time at my company. I helped him out. He looked at me with idolizing eyes, following me everywhere. I found it annoying and ended up having him help me with work directly. The Adam of that time was innocent and sincere. He would steal glances at me, and when I looked back, he’d quickly turn away, his ears slowly turning red. When other boys in the part-time job tried to win me over, Adam would get anxious, sticking close to me like a wolf guarding its territory. Occasionally, when our bodies accidentally brushed, he’d blush shyly. On my 32nd birthday, he showed up with a huge bouquet of my favorite roses and a birthday cake. The bashful yet determined look in his eyes, he said he loved me. I told him we had a big age gap and needed to think about it. Adam was filled with unease for those few days. When I finally said yes, he shouted in excitement. He hugged me tightly, his deep voice in my ear, “Every birthday of yours from now on will be our anniversary, and I’ll always be there.” My phone kept buzzing with birthday wishes from family, friends, and even colleagues. But not a single message from Adam. I got up and threw the wilted flowers from the vase into the trash. Things that have gone bad shouldn’t be kept. That applies to both flowers and people.

I got ready and went to work. Everything changes, but the effort I put into my work and my bank balance remain constant. Late that night, my assistant handed me a box. “Serena, I almost forgot! Here’s that Apple phone you wanted me to get.” She checked her watch and smiled, “It’s still 11:55, so we made it. Happy birthday, Serena!” I smiled back and took the box, a bitter smile tugging at my lips. Still, no word from Adam. To him, today was just another day. This phone wasn’t meant as my birthday gift. It was supposed to be for our third anniversary. Before leaving work, I texted Adam. “Come home early after school tomorrow. I want to talk to you.” “Anything you want for dinner?” After a while, he replied, “Whatever.”

I sat in the car all night, staring at Adam’s “Whatever” text. Scrolling up, I saw just how many more messages I sent compared to him, including all the money I transferred to him. Most of my messages were about what he wanted to eat, where he wanted to go, or me sharing news about my day. Adam either responded with “Whatever” or not at all. Scrolling further up, I saw that for the past six months, almost every conversation was one-sided, with me talking and him barely responding. I sighed softly. His indifference to me was painfully clear. I watched as the night turned into sunrise. Once Adam left for school, I returned to our apartment near his campus, where we lived together after we started dating. Clothes were strewn carelessly on the sofa. I threw them into the washing machine and then started preparing dinner. Lost in thought, I accidentally cut my finger. Blood quickly pooled on the floor. When Adam came home, I was holding a tissue tightly around my finger. He didn’t look at me, only glanced at the table and frowned. He sat down without a second thought, picking through the food disdainfully. To him, maybe I was like the meal, becoming tiresome. “Adam…” Adam responded with a distracted “Yeah,” while still texting on his phone, a pleased smile on his face. “I need to go out,” I said, feeling a mixture of anger and sadness as I looked at my bleeding finger, tears beginning to well up. “Adam…” All I wanted was for him to look at me. But all I got was another careless “Yeah.” I sniffed, wiping my eyes before heading to the pharmacy downstairs. The young girl there looked alarmed. “The cut’s deep. Let me wrap it up, but you really should see a doctor.” I shook my head and left. Back at home, as I pushed open the door, a sickly sweet “Adam, you’re amazing” echoed in the living room. Adam quickly paused the voice message, awkwardly looking up. “Where’s my blue shirt? I want to wear it tomorrow.” He then continued eating as if nothing happened. In the mirror at the entrance, I saw my swollen eyes and pale face. Tears threatened to spill, a wave of sadness washing over me. Taking a deep breath, I composed myself and sat down across from Adam. “Yesterday was our three-year anniversary. Do you want a gift?” His phone kept buzzing with messages from “sweet pie,” probably the young girl he fancied. Adam flipped his phone face-down, irritation in his voice, “I don’t know. Nothing, I guess.” I took out the phone box. “I got you something. The latest Apple phone you’ve been wanting.” Adam’s eyes lit up, but just as he reached for it, my phone rang. In the silent room, my mom’s voice was loud and clear. “You’re almost 40. I’ve introduced you to some good prospects. If you don’t plan on marrying, what is it you want? You keep saying you have a boyfriend, but I’ve never even seen him!” Instinctively, I looked at Adam. He lowered his eyes, looking guilty. After a few curt responses, I hung up the call. Adam had pushed the phone box back to me, looking resigned. Taking the box, I smiled. “If you don’t want it, forget it. Are you full? This dinner was for our anniversary, and it’s also our last meal together.” Looking into his eyes, I said calmly, “Adam, let’s break up.”

Adam froze, then sighed in relief. “Okay.” His answer was firm, almost like he feared I’d change my mind. He looked me in the eyes, guilt mixed in his voice: “I’m not in love with you anymore. I never planned on marrying you.” “You can think I’m an asshole, but it’s the truth.” “Sorry.” I lowered my gaze, not wanting to look at him. When we first got together, I had asked Adam, “I’m 14 years older than you. I’ll get old quickly, and you won’t love me then.” Back then, Adam would smile and pull me into his arms, kissing my forehead. “They say loved women don’t age. I’ll tell you I love you a thousand times a day, and you’ll never get old.” That day on, Adam always said he loved me. Once he stopped saying it daily, I knew I’d grown old in his eyes. The same Adam who used to say “I love you” all the time now easily says he doesn’t love me, for the sake of a breakup. I found it almost funny. Calmly, I nodded, “It’s over.” Adam looked surprised at my calmness.

Our breakup was oddly peaceful. Adam awkwardly grabbed a suitcase, planning to pack his things, but soon walked out empty-handed. From the couch, where I sat, I almost laughed. Most of the stuff here was bought by me for him. What did he have to pack? He shot me a quick glance, murmured, “I’m leaving,” and bolted out of the apartment like he was finally free. The room was filled with traces of Adam, from the gaming computer to the socks in the drawer. There were debate scripts I helped him write when he participated in school competitions, and PowerPoint slides I stayed up all night to make for his student council. Even the clothes I bought for him. I remembered the time he forgot his USB drive at home, and I rushed over to his school to deliver it. He snapped at me, “Why did you come here?” He grabbed the USB and walked off, while his friends chuckled and one waved, saying, “Bye, Nanny!” Annoyed, I grabbed some trash bags and tossed all the junk inside. After cleaning, the apartment felt empty. Exhausted, I collapsed on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. The ticking of the clock was deafening in the silence. I picked up my phone. Adam’s Instagram had a new update. “I am finally free. Ending the wrong to find the right.” And just moments ago, at 2 AM, he had another post: “Can’t sleep.” He must be struggling with dorm life. When he complained about noisy roommates and the hard dorm bed, I got him this apartment. Lost in thought, my phone vibrated with notifications from Adam’s secondary credit card. I froze his card immediately. With that done, fatigue washed over me. Rolling over, I fell into a deep sleep.

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I’ve always been known as the prettiest and most popular teacher at our school. Everyone admired me. But then, one of my students, a boy I tried really hard to help, tricked me. He drugged me, and while I was out of it, calling him “sweetie,” he put his hand under my shirt. Afterwards, he bragged about it and shared videos everywhere. “What’s so great about her? I slept with her, and she’s not special at all,” he said. My world crashed. No one looked up to me anymore. My husband left me, my family was ostracized, and I got fired from the school. The online bullying was too much, so I jumped from the school’s roof. But then a miracle happened. I woke up again on the exact day that boy was supposed to transfer into my class. Once again, I stood in front of my senior-year class, wearing my familiar Bohemian dress and white sandals, looking as graceful as ever. I was still that young, beautiful English teacher. A new student had just joined our class, and today was his first day. As he walked in, everyone looked at him curiously and started whispering. “Whoa, he’s so ugly! My expectations have just been crushed.” “I’m not being mean, but he makes me feel sick. Sorry, not sorry.” He walked in with a limp, his face covered in acne scars, and a big mole under his nose. “Hi everyone, I’m Rolf Wagner. ” At that moment, he shyly greeted the class, his gaze fixed on me. I stopped breathing for a second. Rolf Wagner — no matter how many times I die, I’ll never forget that name. Hatred surged within me. In my previous life, I pitied him for his poor background, stood up to bullies for him, bought him new clothes, and taught him life lessons. But on a stormy night, Rolf Wagner followed me home. I let him in to avoid the rain, but he secretly drugged my drink. While I rested on the couch, calling my husband’s name in a daze, he trembled as he unbuttoned my shirt. I passed out completely, helpless. The next day, I woke up covered in bruises and marks. Panicking, I immediately called the police, but he was nowhere to be found. During the days he disappeared, I was constantly on edge. Then, I saw the explicit video that was spreading like wildfire in every group chat, captioned: “What’s the big deal about her? I’ve had her, and she’s nothing special.” The woman in the video being humiliated was me, sobbing helplessly, begging for mercy. The internet exploded with rumors, because once, my candid photos had gone viral, and I had been dubbed by netizens as the “Dream Girl” and “First Love Face.” #DreamGirlTeacherFakesDrunkennessToSeduceStudent# He didn’t come forward to admit what he did. Instead, he hid in the shadows and sent me a creepy anonymous text: “Mrs. Gregory, now you and I are both in the mud. Be with me, I’ll treat you well.” Ultimately, unable to withstand the online bullying, I jumped off the school’s rooftop in despair. At that time, I was already three months pregnant. From being praised by everyone as their ideal to falling from grace, I found myself in a hopeless abyss. But now, as I once again stand in front of the classroom, looking down at the students below. The gears of fate start turning. This is my chance to redeem myself.

He gave me a shy smile, and when our eyes met, a shiver ran down my spine. I tried to stay calm. After all, I had a second chance, and he had no idea about it. I could still stop everything from happening. “We have a new student today. Who wants to sit next to him?” I announced. Since he started school late, he was older than the rest of us, already twenty, and he wasn’t what you’d call good-looking. The classroom fell silent—nobody wanted to pair up with him. Just then, the top student in our class raised her hand. “Mrs. Gregory, I’ll sit next to him.” Her kind face reminded me so much of my past life. I replied coldly, “I’ve heard that Wagner is struggling academically. I wouldn’t want him to hold you back. Let’s have him sit by himself in the last row.” There were plenty of empty seats where he could sit with someone, but I chose the harshest way possible. He seemed puzzled, as if he couldn’t believe my indifferent attitude and how I was deliberately making things hard for him. Rolf Wagner muttered to himself, “Why she treated me like this…” Every word he said sent chills down my spine. After class, I bolted back to my office, my back soaked with cold sweat. I gulped down some hot coffee but didn’t even feel the heat. My mind was racing. Should I quit and leave now? I had worked so hard to get this job. Why should I give it all up because of him? I sat there, dazed, until it was time to go home. My husband, Albert Gregory, was waiting in the car at the school gate for half an hour. When he saw me coming down, he hurriedly got out and pulled me into his arms. “You seem really upset. What happened?” he asked. Smelling his warm, familiar scent, I couldn’t hold back my tears any longer. Albert and I had a great relationship. In my previous life, he divorced me to protect me from online bullying, moving with me to another city under new identities. When he saw how much I was suffering, he even took a knife to confront Rolf Wagner, but Rolf turned the tables on him, leaving him dead in a pool of blood. Looking at Albert’s handsome face, I wiped away my tears and forced a smile. “It’s nothing, just feeling a bit unwell. Let’s go home.” Albert was still worried, insisting on taking me to the hospital for a check-up. An hour later, the blood test results were in. I was pregnant. Albert, over the moon, lifted me and spun me around. “Honey, this is amazing! We’re going to have a baby!” “If it’s a girl, she’ll be as beautiful and cute as you,” he said. I laughed through my tears, silently vowing to protect this hard-earned happiness. The next day, I went to class as usual, using a microphone because my voice was hoarse. The loudspeaker drowned out all my chaotic thoughts. I didn’t look towards that corner of the room, focusing solely on teaching. A few days passed peacefully, until Thursday afternoon. After my last class, I was heading back to the office when several female students blocked my way. They were supporting Rolf Wagner, who smelled like the bathroom and was covered in injuries. His limp was worse than ever. I knew his pitiful demeanor was just a facade. He was strong enough to fight back but never did, silently enduring the bullying from a few troublemakers. His nails were long and dirty, and his left hand was bloody, with a chunk of skin missing. “Mrs. Gregory! Rolf got bullied, and his finger’s skin was ripped off. What should we do?” one of the girls asked, standing up for him. Rolf looked at me pitifully, his nose scrunched in pain, making his face even more disgusting. “Please help me, Mrs. Gregory…” I didn’t want to deal with it and told them to take him to the nurse’s office, turning to leave. “But, Mrs. Gregory, you have a first aid kit in your office. The nurse’s office is too far. Can’t you bandage him up here?” A student called out. I hesitated, seeing Rolf’s pleading eyes and his bleeding hand. Just then, the bell rang. I suddenly nodded. “Alright, follow me. Everyone else, go back to class.” Rolf flashed a barely noticeable sly smile. He followed me to the office, which was empty because it was class time. I opened the first aid kit and pulled out some alcohol, tweezers, and gauze. “Sit down, I’ll dress your wound,” I said. The breeze fluttered the curtains, lightly ringing the seashell wind chime near the window. I gently and meticulously cleaned his wound. As I worked, he suddenly blushed. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Mrs. Gregory, you… you’re really beautiful,” Rolf said, staring blankly at me. Taking advantage of his distraction, I smiled and dunked his entire finger into the bottle of alcohol. His wound, already down to the raw flesh, was now submerged in disinfectant. “Be a good boy and let me disinfect it, okay?” I said. He screamed in pain, trying to pull away, his face contorted in agony. “It hurts, teacher! It hurts so much!” But I kept smiling, gripping his wrist tightly, forcing his finger into the narrow bottle neck, soaking it in alcohol until it turned red. He bit his lip, drawing blood, his eyes bulging in shock. For the first time, I saw clear hatred in his eyes.

He could see clearly that I was kind and gentle to everyone—everyone except him, the monster I knew he was. Because of his serious injuries, the school nurse sent him to the hospital. After a few days, Rolf Wagner came back to school with his hand wrapped in bandages. He worked hard in my classes, raising his hand to answer questions, but I always ignored him. Even when he won first place in the school computer competition, I gave him no praise. His enthusiasm gradually dimmed. One day, he approached me and asked, “Mrs. Gregory, why can’t I earn your approval no matter how hard I try?” I slightly swiveled in my office chair, not even looking at him. If showing mercy and compassion results in betrayal, then I didn’t mind being the villain. As long as I can protect myself. “Because you’re unworthy. Some things can’t be changed with effort. Your disgusting heart is far uglier than your face,” I said, feeling justified. Just days ago, on my way home, I caught him torturing a stray cat. By the time I saw it, the poor kitten had been scalded to death with boiling water. He had smiled and said, “That little cat-so naughty! It scratched me.” And back to the moment, Rolf Wagner glared at me, his hand clenching slightly under his sleeve. I didn’t care and continued to treat him coldly. Even the headmaster noticed and frowned while reminding me, “Mrs. Gregory, treat all students equally. Don’t be harsh on him; he needs extra care.” But I didn’t hide my disdain. Right in front of Rolf, I said, “What’s so special about him? He is no different from the other kids. If I treated him differently, would that be fair to the other students?” As a result, he began to hate me, spreading rumors about an improper relationship between me and the principal. However, whenever he saw me, he still put on a smile and greeted me. As fall turned to winter, he started wearing shabby jackets and torn jeans, sticking out in our well-dressed student body. I heard he lost his parents young and was raised by his grandmother, who spoiled him rotten. On my twenty-fifth birthday, I was awarded the title of Outstanding Teacher at the city level—a double celebration. I had a great relationship with my students, making this job something I loved deeply. A few students pooled their money to buy me a beautiful, grand bouquet, which I accepted with a smile. Just as I was laughing and chatting with the students, I saw an unexpected guest in the crowd. Rolf came up to give me a flower as well. He handed me a single white rose, its petals crushed and oozing sap—a hideous sight. “Mrs. Gregory, I saved up my allowance for a week to buy this for you. Please like it,” he said, full of hope. But I, with my smile gone, took a tissue, picked up the flower with it, and tossed it to the ground in front of all the teachers and students. I wrinkled my nose in disdain. “Gross.” Rolf’s mouth quivered, but he still bent down to pick up the flower and walked away silently. His brooding gaze sent chills down my spine, but I didn’t turn back. I wasn’t afraid of his hatred. He always directed his anger toward those weaker than him, while he feared the strong.

My husband, Albert Gregory, had earned a black belt in Taekwondo in his spare time. I had even picked up some basic moves for self-defense. When I got home, Albert was waiting with a big bouquet of roses, his voice soft and loving. “Happy birthday to my amazing wife!” Despite his efforts, I couldn’t shake off my worries. During our candlelight dinner, he mentioned his upcoming overseas research trip. “This trip is really important, honey. I’ll be away for two months and I won’t be around to take care of you,” he sighed. I surprised him by firmly saying no. Knowing he wouldn’t believe in superstitions, I explained, “Albert, I had a dream a few nights ago. After you left, a guy broke into our house, tortured me, and you got killed while trying to protect me.” “Our whole family was ruined, while the bad guy got away,” I said, trembling. Albert squeezed my hand, worried. “How could that happen? We live in a safe neighborhood. Are you feeling okay?” After a lot of pleading, Albert decided to stay and give up his scholarship opportunity. I felt bad for holding him back, but I couldn’t ignore the grim date approaching—that stormy night when Rolf Wagner had broken into our home before. Fate seemed cruel. I remembered it was a Friday. After school, Rolf had once followed me in the rain, begging to come inside. That night, Albert was delayed by a storm. I grew anxious after I couldn’t reach him. He finally texted me, “Honey, the rain’s causing accidents on the highway. Traffic’s crazy, and I can’t make it back. Rest up, okay?” By 10:30 PM, there was no knock at the door. The rain pounded harder, drowning out my scattered thoughts. I began to relax a bit and got sleepy. My body was sticky with cold sweat, so I decided to take a shower before bed. The hot water felt comforting against my skin. In the bathroom mirror, I saw my reflection—cherry-like lips, a dainty nose, and big almond eyes with long lashes. I looked beautiful. I touched my still-flat belly. Albert always said I was beautiful, and he wasn’t bad-looking either. Our baby would be adorable. Lost in thought, I grabbed a towel. But then I saw a shadowy face in the foggy mirror moving towards me. It was Rolf Wagner! Panic surged through me. This wasn’t a hallucination. He had somehow cracked our door lock. A cold, muddy hand reached in. I screamed, but he quickly grabbed my waist, his other hand moving up my body. “Mrs. Gregory, it’s raining outside, and I’m so cold. Can you… hold me?”

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After my daughter caused a hit-and-run accident, she knelt in front of me, sobbing. “Mom, I just got accepted into Yale University. I have such a bright future ahead of me. If I go to prison, my life will be over. Please, I’m begging you—save me…” I agreed. Two years in prison, and neither my husband nor my daughter visited me even once. When I was finally released, I learned the bitter truth: it had all been a plot between my husband and daughter. They had transferred all my assets into their names long ago. The daughter who once wept and begged me to take the blame now spat at me, calling me a worthless, ugly ex-convict, and kicked me in the chest. I died on the spot, despite efforts to save me. But when I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day Charlotte received her college acceptance letter. “Mom, Dad! My scores are out! I got into Yale University!” Charlotte Carter, my adoptive daughter, exclaimed excitedly. “Well, of course, you did! After all, you’re Jack Carter’s daughter! Yale is one of the top universities. You’ve made your parents so proud. Honey, didn’t your year-end bonus just come through? Give it all to Charlotte and buy her that BMW,” my husband Jack declared proudly. It was a conversation I knew all too well, and I immediately realized—I had been reborn. “Dad, I’m still young. A car would be too flashy. Besides, Mom works so hard to earn that money. I’d feel bad spending it,” Charlotte said sweetly. In my past life, I had always thought she was a kind, dutiful, and considerate girl. But after going to prison, I learned she was nothing more than a snake hiding behind a sweet smile. “But your dad promised you—if you got into Yale, you’d get a BMW,” Jack said, glancing at me expectantly. Jack was a stay-at-home husband, and all our household expenses were covered by me. In my previous life, I had even felt guilty for not giving him a child of his own. “Why are you looking at me? You made the promise, not me,” I said coldly. Both Jack and Charlotte stared at me, wide-eyed. In my past life, they were always perfectly in sync—Charlotte playing the innocent angel, and Jack playing the doting father—all to squeeze money out of me. And I, foolishly, had fallen for it time and time again, thinking Charlotte was a loving daughter and Jack a generous man who treated her like his own. But now, watching them put on the same act, I felt nothing but disgust. “Did you lose your mind today? Charlotte got into Yale! That’s something to celebrate! You can’t even buy her a car? Do you even deserve to be her mother? Or is it that you’ve never truly seen her as your daughter?” Jack lashed out at me. “Dad, don’t say that. $50,000 isn’t a small amount, and Mom’s business needs the cash to keep things running smoothly. It’s fine if we don’t buy the car,” Charlotte said, still playing the part of the understanding daughter. “Fine, then we’ll get her a cheaper one—how about a $30,000 car?” Jack shouted, turning his anger toward me. “Have you been living under a rock? Since when is a $30,000 car considered cheap? If you want to buy her a car so badly, why don’t you use your own money?” I mocked. Jack stared at me, unable to believe I had just said that. Charlotte had the same shocked expression, as though the world had flipped upside down. In my past life, their tricks had always worked on me, and I would have done anything for them. I got swindled time and time again, and still believed they were good people. “Mom, I don’t need a car. Please don’t fight. This is all my fault,” Charlotte whimpered, tears spilling from her eyes. In my previous life, I would have hugged her, wiping away her tears, and promised her anything she wanted. But this time, I knew better—Charlotte was a manipulative viper. Watching her fake tears made my blood boil. SLAP! I slapped her across the face, hard. Father and daughter stood frozen in shock. Charlotte looked at me, terror and confusion in her eyes. “A mosquito bit your face. I swatted it too hard,” I said, feigning concern, as I reached out to touch her reddened cheek.

The next day, I went to my office and immediately changed all my bank account passwords, including the payment ones on my phone. This time around, I wouldn’t let Jack get a hold of my assets. Later, I asked the school for Charlotte’s SAT registration number and looked up her actual scores. I was stunned—she only scored 230. Even with an extra 400 points, she couldn’t have made it into Yale. In my previous life, Charlotte had shown me several of her mock exam scores—always over 650. I had believed her then, but now I realized those score reports must have been forged. That afternoon, I went to a private investigator and hired them to look into Jack and Charlotte. I suspected they were actually father and daughter. Twelve years ago, Jack had taken me to an orphanage, and out of all the children there, he had chosen Charlotte. At the time, I had thought they were simply drawn to each other by fate. But looking back, the way they had conspired against me, there was no other explanation. They had been planning this for twelve years—slowly but surely draining me of everything I had. A week later. I received a text from the bank saying that my supplementary credit card had been charged $30,000. In my haste, I had forgotten to cancel the supplementary card. I had given Jack the card for convenience—so he could buy groceries and cover household expenses. But I didn’t need to guess—I knew the $30,000 had gone toward buying a car. I quickly called the bank and had the card canceled.

That evening, as I arrived home, I saw a brand-new BMW X2 without license plates parked outside. When I stepped inside, Charlotte was there, smiling sweetly as she handed me my slippers. “Welcome home, Mom. You must be tired from work.” Looking at her fake smile, I wanted nothing more than to slap her again, but I had to restrain myself until I had all the facts. “Did your dad buy you the car?” I asked coolly. “Mom, I didn’t want it, but Dad insisted. There wasn’t anything I could do,” she said, putting on her most innocent expression. “I’ve canceled your supplementary card. From now on, I’ll give you $1,000 a month for household expenses. If you need to buy anything big, just let me know and I’ll get it for you.” “What’s that supposed to mean? Our daughter got into Yale, doesn’t she deserve a reward?” Jack stormed over, his face red with anger. I nearly exposed them right then and there. 230 points. That pathetic score wouldn’t get her into Yale in a million years. But I held back. “I’m only thinking of her. She’s still young and just got her driver’s license. What if she gets into an accident? Then what? Am I supposed to bury my own daughter?” I asked, pretending to be concerned. Jack slammed his fist on the table and leaped up. “How dare you curse my daughter?” In that moment, I was absolutely certain—Charlotte was Jack’s biological daughter. “I’m not cursing her. I’m just worried for her safety.” “Hmph. You’re just too cheap to spend money,” Jack sneered. “Mom, did you get upset because Dad used your money to buy me a car?” Charlotte immediately went into victim mode, her eyes welling up with tears. I gently patted her head and said, “How could I be upset about spending money on you? I’m just worried about your driving skills. If something happened to you, how could I go on living?” If they could play their games, so could I. “Mom, I got into Yale, one of the best universities in the country! Any other mother would have thrown a massive party and showered me with gifts, but you haven’t done anything. Do you not love me anymore?” she cried, her acting flawless. Her performance was nothing short of brilliant. I continued patting her head and replied, “Well, these days, the country promotes frugality. Throwing a party would be wasteful. Besides, it’s important to stay humble. Being too flashy will only make others jealous. As for gifts, isn’t that BMW a gift?” “Mom, you don’t love me anymore! You don’t understand! The car isn’t for showing off or making my life easier. It’s because I want to fulfill a dream—I want to take you on a road trip, across the country, to thank you for everything you’ve done for me.” “Charlotte, I appreciate your sentiment, but doesn’t something feel off?” “What’s off?” she asked, looking genuinely confused. “Shouldn’t you be the one earning the money to buy the car and take me on a road trip? It’s like saying you’re going to treat me to a meal, but then I end up paying for it. Doesn’t that seem odd?” She froze, clearly unable to come up with a rebuttal. “Emma Richardson, how can you call yourself a mother? How could you crush your daughter’s loving intentions like this?” Jack said, sending Charlotte a quick wink. “Mom, you’re being so cruel. You don’t love me anymore…” Charlotte wailed as she stormed out of the house. “Charlotte, wait!” Jack followed after her. Suddenly, I remembered the notice at the entrance of our building: Last night, the surveillance cameras were damaged. Repairs are underway. Please secure your belongings and lock your doors. Were they trying to set me up? With the cameras down and no witnesses, they could easily frame me for something. The thought sent a chill down my spine. I immediately called my assistant, Claire, who lived just a mile away. Then I phoned five of my employees and told them there was an emergency meeting at my place and that they should come as quickly as possible. I’d cover their cab fare. By 9 p.m., I heard the door open and stepped out of the study. “Have you been here the whole time?” Jack asked. “Yes.” “I don’t believe you. You didn’t go out looking for Charlotte?” “She’s not a child anymore. She can take care of herself.” “What kind of mother are you? How can you be so heartless?” “We can’t protect her forever. She has to walk her own path,” I said coolly. After another ten minutes of bickering, Charlotte burst back into the house, looking frantic. She immediately dropped to her knees in front of me. “Mom, I was in a hit-and-run accident! Please, you have to take the blame for me. Save me! I just got into Yale. My life is just beginning—I can’t go to prison!” Hearing those familiar words made my blood boil. I wanted to strangle her on the spot. In my previous life, I had been such a fool to take the blame for her. “Charlotte, don’t be afraid. Don’t worry,” I said, faking concern as I pulled her into my arms, comforting her. “Mom, will you help me?” she asked, her voice trembling, her eyes wide with fear. “Of course I’ll help you. You’re my precious daughter.” “I knew it! I knew you wouldn’t abandon me! I swear, when you get out of prison, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll be the best daughter.” “Prison? What prison?” I pushed her away, feigning surprise. “Mom, didn’t you say you’d help me? Didn’t you say you’d take the blame?” she asked, her voice full of confusion. “When I said I’d help, I meant I’d hire you the best lawyer. We’ll fight for leniency,” I said, smiling sweetly. Charlotte’s jaw dropped. “Emma, this is all your fault! If you hadn’t upset Charlotte, she wouldn’t have run off, and none of this would have happened. You should take responsibility and go to prison for her,” Jack said, his voice full of righteous indignation. “And why don’t you take the blame for your daughter, Jack? Listen, Charlotte, your father is just a stay-at-home dad. A few years in prison won’t be a big deal for him. But your mom? I run a company. I’m the one making the money. If I go to prison, who’s going to pay for your education?” Jack’s face turned beet red, and he had nothing to say. “Mom, Dad can’t take the blame for me. After I hit that woman, I got out of the car to check on her, but she grabbed my ankle. I screamed—she didn’t see me, but she definitely heard my voice.” I sighed and placed both hands on her shoulders. “Charlotte, you need to stop running from this. Take responsibility for what you did. Go turn yourself in. You’re still young, a few years in prison won’t ruin your life. And don’t worry, you’ll always have me. When you get out, you can work at my company.” Her mouth hung open in shock. How could the woman who once loved her more than anything suddenly seem so… indifferent?

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“Honey, let’s kill Mia.” Just as I was getting engrossed in my late-night novel, my mom, sleeping beside me, suddenly uttered these chilling words. And I am Mia. Since Dad works the night shift, I usually share a bed with Mom. We were sleeping back to back when I felt an icy chill run down my spine. I carefully turned my head to look at Mom’s side, which was shrouded in darkness. By the faint light of my phone, I could see her body rising and falling rhythmically, clearly sound asleep. Before I could make sense of what had happened, a wave of drowsiness washed over me. Leaving my phone screen on, I drifted off to sleep.

When I woke up, it was already late afternoon. “Sweetie, lunch is in the pot. Your dad and I had to go out for something.” Signed: Your loving Mom. Everything seemed normal, just like any other day. This made me think back to last night’s incident. Maybe I had imagined it? I had been staying up late reading novels, so perhaps it was just a hallucination? Thinking hard, I vaguely remembered it was around 2 AM. I was engrossed in a romance novel, moved to tears by the beautiful love story between the main characters, when I suddenly heard my mom’s voice. It wasn’t her normal speaking voice, but a deliberately hushed whisper, the kind used for secrets: “Honey, why don’t we kill Mia?” And I am Mia.

As I lifted the pot lid, a delicious aroma wafted out. Corn chowder, my favorite soup. But as soon as I tasted it, I noticed something odd. There was a strange bitter taste, along with a hint of rust. Looking closer at the soup, I saw tiny gray particles floating on the surface. It looked like some kind of soil.

Suddenly, I remembered an urban legend. On Halloween, if you cook a dead person’s ashes with a living person’s blood, make the blood donor drink it, and light a candle, the dead person’s spirit can possess the living person’s body.

Halloween had just passed a few days ago, and I was on my period. It’s gross to say, but it would have been easy to get my blood. The more I looked at the soup, the more unsettling it seemed.

Should I take a picture and ask some experts online? I took out my phone, about to snap a photo. “Click—” An unusual sound came from outside the door. “Click click click—” The door seemed to be stuck and wouldn’t open. The person outside appeared very impatient, repeatedly pushing and pulling the door. The force was so great that the entire door was shaking. I stared at the door in terror, my mind flashing with scenes of murderers breaking in from countless horror movies. “Bang—”

“Mia, why are you sitting there like an idiot?” Mom pushed open the door and came in. “Why aren’t you eating your lunch?” She looked at me suspiciously. “Hurry up and eat, I need to wash the dishes.” I don’t know if it was my imagination, but she seemed particularly anxious, constantly urging me to drink the soup.

I blurted out, “I think this soup has gone bad.” “Gone bad?” A dark look flashed across Mom’s eyes. “Let me see.” “Does it?” “It’s a bit sour. Did you accidentally use vinegar instead of water when making the soup?” Of course, I didn’t dare voice my real suspicions, so I made up an excuse.

he leaned in close to the bowl, taking a perfunctory sniff before setting it down. “No, your dad and I just ate some, it’s fine.” “Hurry up and eat.” She pushed the soup back towards me. I shook my head firmly. “What if it’s spoiled?” “You guys shouldn’t eat questionable food either.” “You’re so picky.” “If you don’t believe me, try it yourself. It really is sour.” “Forget it,” Mom ignored me, looking displeased. “If you don’t want to eat it, I’ll just throw it out.”

Normally, my mom wouldn’t even throw away a half-rotten apple. Even if food was visibly spoiled, she’d insist on tasting it first. Why was she so quick to discard this soup? I felt an inexplicable sense of unease. It was just a pot of soup, after all. I shook my head, trying to dismiss these ridiculous thoughts.

After going out for a run and taking a shower, I was comfortably lying in bed. I took out my phone, planning to play a game. Suddenly, I felt something cold on my nose. I figured my allergies were acting up again. I sniffled hard, and the next second, I tasted a strange salty, metallic flavor in my throat. That’s not right, mucus doesn’t taste like this. Confused, I instinctively touched my nose—ice-cold, bright red liquid stained my fingers.

My first thought was that I had a nosebleed from overexertion. I tilted my head back, trying to stem the flow. But the next moment, plop plop plop, blood drops fell on my face like rain. One drop even landed right in my eye, making it impossible to open.

It was then that I noticed a colorful flying squirrel hanging from the ceiling. Its belly had been sliced open by the decorative wire of the ceiling lamp, its body dangling and swaying in the air. Blood was steadily dripping from where its body met the wire, with half its intestines hanging down, nearly touching the floor. A few disgusting green flies buzzed around, and the stench of decay filled my nostrils.

“Spotty!” I cried out in shock. This was my pet flying squirrel of three years. How did it end up there? Flying squirrels are intelligent animals, very cautious of unfamiliar places. How could it have gotten caught and died on the ceiling lamp wire?

Spotty had been by my side ever since I graduated college and moved back home. But now, its once soft body was split open by the wire, its internal organs blackened and rotting, its death horrifically gruesome and bizarre. What was going on?

“What are you doing? Why are you shouting?” “Why is your face covered in blood?” Mom pushed open the door. Without a word, she grabbed a towel and started roughly wiping my face. “Spotty…” I mumbled. “That old rat? Good riddance, it was creepy anyway,” she said coldly.

“How did it get up there?” “How should I know? Doesn’t it fly? Maybe it crashed into something and died,” Mom dismissed carelessly. “Look at it yourself, it was hanged by the wire. Besides, no matter how well it could fly, it wouldn’t end up like this.”

Mom shoved me aside, revealing a cold and fierce expression. “Fine, I get it! How annoying! It’s already dead, what can you do about it?” “It’s just a rat, why are you making such a big fuss?” “If I kill a cockroach tomorrow, are you going to hire a funeral procession for it?”

My heart slowly turned cold. It must have been Mom who did this! She had always disliked having pets in the house and had threatened to get rid of Spotty several times.

I could almost imagine her grabbing Spotty from its cage, grinning maliciously as she wrapped the wire around its belly layer by layer until it was split open and bleeding. The scene was horrifyingly gruesome. Suddenly, I had a chilling realization. Was what I overheard a few nights ago real? If my parents really wanted to kill me, it would make sense for them to practice on Spotty first.

I turned off the lights and lay in bed. Suddenly, I heard a faint rustling sound from the doorknob—the very soft sound of a key turning. I have a habit of locking my door at night. My parents have always kept a spare key to my room, but they’ve almost never used it.

“Click—” The door lock was opened. Then I heard very slow, eerie footsteps. Someone had come in! The old wooden floorboards creaked under their steps. They seemed to be moving very carefully, trying not to make any noise. But I could clearly feel them slowly approaching.

The air seemed to stand still. I held my breath nervously. My heart was pounding in my chest. I kept my eyes tightly shut, not daring to move a muscle. The person came closer and closer until I could almost hear their breathing.

Suddenly, I sensed a flash of light pass in front of my eyes. A long, cold light. A sense of dread washed over me. I opened my eyes just a tiny crack.

An eerily gleaming knife blade was pointed right at me, less than four inches from my face. If it moved down even slightly, I would be decapitated.

Without time to think, I screamed and ducked under the covers. “What’s wrong, Mia? You were sleeping so soundly, did you have a nightmare?” “Dad?” “What are you doing here?” I quickly rolled to the side, wrapping myself tightly in the blanket and eyeing him warily.

“I told you she was pretending to sleep,” Dad turned and smiled at Mom, who was now leaning against the doorway. But for some reason, his voice sounded sinister and creepy. “Your mom and I had a bet about whether you were asleep. I said you definitely weren’t.”

“Want to get up and have some watermelon? We just bought some.” Only then did I notice Dad was holding a fruit knife. I relaxed slightly: “No thanks, you guys go ahead. I need to sleep, I have work tomorrow.” They looked at me for a moment, then left without saying anything. Lying in bed, I was wide awake. Thinking back on recent events, everything started with that overheard sleep-talking. Could what I heard that night be true? I tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep until the middle of the night. I got up to get a glass of water from the kitchen. But something felt off. It was like I had forgotten something important. Standing alone in the living room for a long while, I suddenly realized— There was no watermelon in the kitchen at all! I even checked the fridge again, but there weren’t even any leftover watermelon rinds!

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My boyfriend’s uni mate got into trouble with loan sharks. I tried to stop him from getting involved, but I never imagined that she’d be pushed to the brink and take a bottle of sleeping pills to end her life. My boyfriend carried on as if nothing had happened, and we were preparing for our wedding. Until one night, when he was drunk, he caressed her photo tenderly and forced me to swallow an entire bottle of sleeping pills. He told me that it was my cold-heartedness, my selfishness, that had driven her to take her own life. If I had the chance to live again, I would never interfere in their mess. “Darling, how much money do you have left? Sophie’s family is in trouble again. You know we’ve always been close, and those people said if she doesn’t pay up today, they’re going to take her away and sell her off.” I blinked, still caught in a daze, the lump in my throat not yet gone when a large hand tugged at my sleeve. I had come back to life, back to the very day Tom Shaw was running around, borrowing money for Sophie White. Sophie was his uni mate—sweet and delicate, just like her name suggests. She was soft-spoken, with perfectly drawn features. But she had a father who gambled away everything. Word was he’d racked up an impossible debt over the years and ended up killing himself when he couldn’t repay it, leaving behind a beautiful daughter constantly hounded by loan sharks. To be fair, Tom had always been good to me. Everyone knew he loved me more than life itself. So, in my previous life, when Tom was scrounging for money for Sophie, saying she was like a sister to him and he couldn’t stand to see her in such a mess, I didn’t suspect a thing. But Sophie’s father owed over eight million pounds. That kind of money isn’t easy to come by, especially since those loan sharks were criminals. If Tom got too involved, he might lose more than just money—he could lose his life. Of course, I didn’t want my soon-to-be husband getting mixed up in that, so I gave him my savings, but on one condition: he had to stop helping Sophie and focus on our wedding. But I never expected Sophie to take sleeping pills and end her life. When I heard the news, I felt genuinely sorry for her. A young girl, barely out of her teens, with such a tragic fate. Tom only showed a brief moment of sadness. He didn’t say much to me about it. But what I could never have imagined was that he’d kill me for Sophie. Now, looking at Tom, who stood anxiously in front of me, all I could hear in my mind were his words before I died. “I told you, Sophie and I weren’t what you thought we were. Why, why couldn’t you just help her!” “Your family is well-off, aren’t they? You people with money would never understand this kind of desperation. Lucy Thompson, you’re such a cold-hearted, selfish person!” “You could stand there and watch her die, and you still expect me to marry a woman with a heart of stone like yours? People with money—none of you are any good!” I couldn’t help but laugh. My family, with its multimillion-pound income, had only one child—me. My parents never approved of Tom, who came from a modest background. They wanted me to marry someone who was our equal, but I was hopelessly in love with Tom. They cut off my finances, hoping I’d eventually give in. But Tom had grown so bitter towards me for not asking my parents to save his dear Sophie. Eight million pounds. Was I really expected to sell everything and sacrifice myself for him and his precious Sophie?

Seeing me silent, Tom cupped my face with an intensity I once loved. Now, that same touch made my skin crawl. “Darling, you know me. I just want to help her because I feel sorry for her. You know Sophie is sweet. She even said she likes you.” I brushed his hand away, my voice cold. “My parents cut me off ages ago to be with you. Where exactly am I supposed to get this money you need?” Tom didn’t seem to notice the sarcasm in my voice. “Darling, you’re an only child. Just explain the situation to your parents. They’ll help you, won’t they?” I asked him flat out, “Do you like Sophie?” There was a flicker of guilt in his eyes, quickly replaced by composure. “Of course not, darling. Everyone knows you’re the only one I love. Sophie’s just a close friend. I only want to help her because she’s in a difficult spot. Don’t overthink it.” I stood up and didn’t even look back at him. “She’s your friend, not mine. I have no obligation to fix her family’s problems.” Tom’s brow furrowed. “Lucy, you’ve always been so kind. Why are you suddenly so heartless? You’ve got money. Your parents are still alive and well. But Sophie—her mum died when she was little, and her father left her with all this mess. How can you be so indifferent?” As he spoke, he pulled out his bank card, didn’t say another word to me, and walked straight out the door towards Sophie’s house. I couldn’t believe the nerve of him, using guilt and moral blackmail to make me feel responsible for Sophie’s troubles, as if I were the villain in this story. I calmly packed my bags and sent him a text: We’re over. Then I blocked him from everything. Let’s see how long he lasts without my support this time around. Right now, Tom’s company was at a critical stage of development. In my past life, I begged my parents for help, drank so much at business dinners that I ended up with a stomach ulcer—all for him. And what did I get in return? Did he even really love me? On all those nights when we were so close, was he thinking of me, or his poor Sophie?

I returned home with my suitcase. My parents were visibly shocked to see me. My dad crossed his arms and scowled. “If you’re back because of him, don’t even bother coming in. Your mum and I are sick of it.” Seeing my parents, both healthy and still in their prime, made my eyes well up with tears. In my previous life, after Tom killed me, what kind of despair must they have felt when they saw my body? Overcome with emotion, I broke down at the door. My mum nudged my dad and frowned. “This is your fault, speaking so harshly. Look at her, she’s in pieces.” I buried myself in my mum’s arms and cried until I couldn’t anymore. The regret, the anger—everything came pouring out. “There, there, our darling girl. What happened? Did that Tom Shaw hurt you?” I nodded. “I broke up with him. I don’t love him anymore. I just want to come home.” The look on my parents’ faces was a mix of disbelief and joy. It was almost comical. As if afraid I might change my mind, my dad asked cautiously, “You mean for good, right? No getting back together?” I laughed through my tears and nodded. Then I told them everything. My parents were furious. “I told you that Tom wasn’t a good guy,” my dad said. “What kind of man runs a business and needs his fiancée to handle all the social events? You did all that for him, didn’t even come home, and he had the nerve to blame you?” I couldn’t help but feel guilty under their gaze. How on earth did I lose myself so completely over a man in my last life? “Well, you’re home now, and that’s all that matters.” Mum gently patted my back, comforting me just like when I was a child. After the whirlwind of events that day, I was exhausted and quickly fell into a deep sleep. When I woke up the next day, it was already noon. I opened my phone to find twenty missed calls from Tom, and a new post from Sophie on her Facebook. In the picture, she was sitting in Tom’s car, her eyes red from crying as he tenderly wiped away her tears. The caption read: No matter what happens, you’ll always be by my side. Even though I had prepared myself for this, seeing it still made my heart ache. Tom and I had been together for six years. People joked that if we didn’t get married, they’d stop believing in love. But feelings change, don’t they? My phone buzzed with a message from Sophie. Lucy, I’m so sorry for posting that on Facebook. You know how complicated things are with my family right now. Tom was just looking out for me last night. I heard you broke up with him, but please don’t let it be because of me. I’d feel terrible if that were the case. I didn’t reply. This kind of passive-aggressive guilt trip didn’t deserve my time. She posts something like that and then sends me this message—what does she want me to do? Am I supposed to beg Tom to stay with me, or storm over to her house and slap her? Sophie White and Tom Shaw—two of the most despicable people I’d ever known.

I once saw a conversation between Tom and Sophie. You’re so good, Tom. Lucy’s so lucky to have you. Lucy’s so fortunate. A perfect family, a boyfriend who adores her. I wish I could have what she has. And Tom? He ate it up. He insisted she was like a little sister, always delivering her lunch or coffee. When my best friend Chloe heard that I’d broken up with Tom, she insisted on dragging me out to celebrate. Watching her burst with energy, I found myself in a surprisingly good mood. “You’ve no idea how much I hated Tom,” she said, laughing. “Since you got together with him, it’s like you forgot all about me. You’re the poster child for ‘love makes you blind’!” I wrapped an arm around her shoulders, smiling. “I know, I know. I was wrong. I was blind. Satisfied?” Chloe nodded, then pulled me through all the luxury stores. It struck me how much I’d changed since being with Tom. I’d lost touch with who I used to be, a woman who lived life on her own terms. But because his business was just getting off the ground and money was tight, I hadn’t gone shopping at any of my favourite stores in years. “Wait, isn’t that Tom?” Chloe exclaimed suddenly. I followed her gaze. There he was, walking with Sophie, dragging a suitcase behind him, acting suspicious. I didn’t want to get involved, but Chloe’s curiosity got the best of her, and she dragged me over to see what they were up to. They walked into a second-hand luxury store. A sneaking suspicion began to form in my mind. “Isn’t that the bag I got you for your birthday two years ago?” Chloe pointed to a high-end, limited-edition handbag in the shop. I frowned. When I left Tom’s place, I hadn’t packed everything. I’d planned to have a moving company pick up the rest. But here he was, selling my belongings for cash to help Sophie. I stormed into the shop. Tom saw me and immediately looked guilty, then quickly switched to relief. “Lucy! What are you doing here? Why haven’t you been answering my calls? I was going to explain everything—” Smack! I slapped him across the face. Tom’s eyes filled with shock. Sophie rushed over to check on him. “Lucy! How could you hit Tom? You—” Smack! I slapped her too. “Hitting you was just an afterthought.” Chloe stood by, grinning as if she were watching the best show ever. Everyone in the shop gathered around to see what was going on.

“Lucy Thompson, you witch! Why are you hitting Sophie? What has she done to deserve this? Why are you targeting her?” Tom pulled Sophie behind him, shielding her like a mother hen protecting her chick. I pointed at the bags on the counter. “You sold my bags without asking, didn’t you?” Tom’s face flushed. “I… I was only borrowing them. It’s not like I wasn’t going to give them back.” “Borrowing my bags? Funny, I don’t recall giving you permission. We’re not together anymore. This is theft.” “Lucy, you’re so shallow. They’re just handbags. You can buy more. But a life? You can’t replace that. Are you really going to stand by and watch someone die just because of a few designer bags? Does that make you happy?” Tom grew more and more worked up, acting like I was the villain here and not him. I marveled at how shameless he could be. “Are you really trying to guilt-trip me?” “Too bad—I don’t have a conscience.” People around us started whispering, and a few even took out their phones to film the scene. “First off, we’re over. Secondly, these are my bags. Lastly, if you want to help your precious Sophie, go right ahead. But what’s it got to do with me? Do you expect me to raise your future kids too?” Tom was speechless. He knew he was in the wrong. Seeing the crowd gathering, he must have realised this wouldn’t end well for him. Reluctantly, he muttered, “This one, this one, and that one—those are the bags I bought you. I have the right to sell them.” Chloe and I exchanged looks, our jaws practically on the floor. Since when do men reclaim gifts after a breakup? “Fine. Whatever.” I didn’t want to waste any more energy on him. I turned to the shop owner and said, “The rest are mine. Can you give me an estimate on how much they’re worth and wire the money to my account?” Tom’s company was struggling for funds. There was no way he could scrape together the money to help Sophie, so here he was, resorting to this pitiful scheme. “Lucy, are you really breaking up with me? Think about it. You’re already 28. Don’t you know how old you are? If you break up with me now, who else would want you? You should be asking your parents for five hundred grand to pay off Sophie’s debts, and then we can move forward with our lives.” He was so serious, as if breaking up with him would leave me penniless and hopeless. “Tom, you’ve lost it. Lucy is way out of your league.” Chloe chimed in, “Besides, my brother is 32, single, six-foot-two, and looks like a young George Clooney. Lucy without you? She’s going to do just fine. You can run along with your scheming little Sophie now.” With that, Chloe grabbed my arm, and we strode out without a backward glance.

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After entering college, I ignored the school rules. Gradually, I found that no one in the dormitory remembered me anymore. I screamed loudly in front of them, but they couldn’t hear me; I danced wildly in front of them, but they couldn’t see me. I hurriedly flipped through the group photos we had taken together in our dorm, wanting to prove my existence to them, But I accidentally discovered that there were two people I didn’t recognize standing next to me in the photos… My name is Rachel Lane, and I’m a sophomore in college. With my poor grades, I got into this low-ranking university. After arriving, I felt bored every day. At first, I could obediently follow the school rules and attend classes seriously. Later, I found it meaningless, so I skipped classes every day to sleep and play games in the dorm. That’s how I made it to sophomore year. One day, I got down from my bed to go to the cafeteria for food and found my roommates were all downstairs. I asked if they had eaten, but strangely, no one answered me. I walked away awkwardly. When I came back, I realized I had forgotten my key. So I knocked on the door, hoping my roommate would open it for me. After a while, the door opened. It was Samantha, the head of our dorm. I thanked her. But she seemed not to see me and said to the other two in the dorm, “How strange, someone knocked but there’s no one here.” I thought they were playing a game with me, so I went along with it and said, “Yeah, because I’m a ghost!” Still, no one responded to me. I felt weird and said, “Have you had enough? I admit your acting is very good. Hey!” I raised my voice and shouted at them. Next, I made faces and jumped around in front of them, but they still ignored me. “I suddenly realized that I haven’t seen Rachel all day,” one of them said. “Maybe she’s sleeping up there again. She played games all night last night!” “But she can’t skip meals. I’ll go call her!” Samantha called out to my bed. I climbed up to my bed, thinking that if they couldn’t see me when I actively moved around in front of them, maybe they could see me if they actively came to find me. Samantha pulled open my bed curtain and saw me looking expectant. She couldn’t help but smile. “Get up, it’s time to eat!” Thank God, they could finally see me. I couldn’t help but hug Samantha, forgiving them for their earlier game. But gradually, I found that no one in the dormitory remembered me anymore. I screamed loudly in front of them, but they couldn’t hear me; I danced wildly in front of them, but they couldn’t see me. I confirmed that they weren’t acting, but really couldn’t see me. Only when they actively wanted to find me could they see me. But slowly, even when they wanted to find me, they could barely remember my name… I hurriedly flipped through the group photos we had taken together in our dorm, wanting to prove my existence to them. But I accidentally discovered that there were two people I didn’t recognize standing next to me in the photos…

I was startled. Who were they? Why were they in the group photo with us? I saw a note next to the photo: “303, a family of six!” So, our dorm originally had 6 people! I broke out in a cold sweat. Perhaps two people, like my recent situation, had gradually been forgotten by others, as if their existence had been erased. I walked out of the dorm room and found that my name on the nameplate at the door had faded, as if it was about to disappear. There was a blank space under the words on the nameplate, as if two other names had once been written there. I also noticed places I had never paid attention to before. Throughout the dormitory building, there were 6-person, 5-person, 4-person rooms, and even 1-person rooms. Some dorms seemed to have disappeared, such as rooms 203, 502, and 409, which couldn’t be found. But no one found this strange, including my previous self, as if it was all normal. It seems this phenomenon wasn’t just happening in one dorm, but was widespread! But why was I being forgotten? Why did my other two roommates and some dorms in the building disappear? Suddenly, I looked up and saw a large warning sign in the dorm corridor. It listed the school rules: 1. Always remember your student identity and obey school rules; 2. Each person enters school with 50 initial credits, violating one rule deducts 2 points, severe consequences when all points are lost; 3. After lights out in the dorm, please lie down immediately, close your eyes, and no matter what happens, don’t open them; 4. Wake up at 7 am every day to listen to the principal’s speech in the auditorium, no sleeping or talking during this time; 5. No being late or leaving early for class, no sleeping or talking in class; 6. You can earn 2 credits by doing volunteer cleaning activities for the school; 7. No asking for leave or leaving school, good students persist in attending class even when sick~ 8. If you have any problems, find the counselor, although he may not help you; 9. The higher the grade, the greater the challenges, please be prepared. I recalled the scene of the first day I entered this school when many students saw these 9 rules. But everyone ignored these rules. We’re all college students now, how can we be managed so strictly? Is there any justice? Later, some students did violate these rules, but everyone saw that they didn’t seem to suffer any serious consequences, so gradually everyone became careless, and I was one of them. These school rules posted in plain sight every day were gradually ignored by everyone, but now they seemed very eye-catching on the wall. Combined with my recent experiences and discoveries, perhaps the severe consequences written in the rules were gradually being forgotten, then having one’s existence erased. Previously, people didn’t see any consequences for those who violated the rules, purely because everyone forgot about these people, until they themselves were erased from existence. I opened the school’s official website, which showed that my current credit score was 10 points. So the lower the credits, the closer one is to being forgotten by everyone and finally being erased from existence? I took a photo of these rules, planning to study them carefully back in the dorm.

For the next two days, I studied the school rules while constantly verifying them. Sure enough, as long as I violated the rules, my credits would automatically decrease, as if there was 24-hour monitoring on you. But as long as I followed the rules well, credits wouldn’t be deducted, but they wouldn’t increase either. As my score decreased, besides finding that I was being forgotten by people, many things that could prove my existence gradually disappeared, including photos, nameplates, and even my chat records in other people’s phones. Not only that, but I always heard someone knocking on the dorm door and windows when I slept at night. Then it felt like something was touching my feet, and there was a child’s wail in the distance. I was shaking with fear, but I didn’t dare open my eyes or call out to wake my roommates. Because I knew they could no longer hear my voice. Even if I called for help in any way, they couldn’t see or hear me, and couldn’t save me. I could only remember the rules and keep my eyes tightly closed. I tried to call for help, but I couldn’t remember my parents’ phone numbers or even what they looked like. I called the police, but couldn’t get through. I sent a message to the counselor saying I wanted to ask for leave to leave school, but he wouldn’t approve it no matter what. I was nearly breaking down, but I told myself I had to stay calm. Since I couldn’t get out, I had to ensure I wouldn’t disappear first. Currently, I only had 8 credits left. From now on, I must obey all the rules to ensure I don’t lose any more points, and I must also increase my credits! I went to find the counselor, thankfully he could still see me. I applied for a campus cleaning volunteer activity. He smiled, his mouth corners stretching to his ears, showing all his teeth. I saw some red liquid on his teeth and couldn’t help but shudder. He said unclearly, “Rachel, it’s you again. Not bad, not bad. For so many years, only you have been doing this consistently…” He rambled on about many things I couldn’t understand, and finally let me take the cleaning tools to find Old Joe the gardener. I didn’t have time to think deeply about the strangeness in his words. I grabbed the cleaning tools and ran towards the large lawn at the back of the school. The grass was overgrown here, with only Old Joe cutting it with a sickle. I told him who I was, but he didn’t say a word, just handed me a note that read: Volunteer content: Clear all the weeds and clean up everything that shouldn’t be here. During the volunteer work, no matter what happens, you cannot run away, or points will be deducted! Also, volunteer activities add 2 credits per hour, no more. Looking at my precarious credit score, I had no choice but to brace myself and start working. The activity wasn’t complicated, just very tiring. I kept clearing weeds and picking up trash non-stop. Suddenly I felt like I stepped on something. I looked down and saw it was an arm. My scalp tingled. The further I went, the more human limbs and body parts I found. By now it was dark. To earn more credits, I had been working for 3 hours since class ended. Hungry and exhausted, I started retching at the sight before me. At this moment, Old Joe walked over. His eyes were hollow, looking like a corpse in the moonlight. Then he said to me, “These things that shouldn’t be here need to be cleaned up too. Do it quickly, lights out in your dorm soon.” I stared with wide eyes, trembling as I said, “Joe, what’s going on here? Why not call the police?” Joe replied strangely, “Haven’t you cleaned this before? Don’t ask too much!” Forget it, nothing in this school surprises me anymore. After all, if they can erase people from existence, which is so unscientific, what else wouldn’t they dare to do? I just want to survive well first, then figure out what to do after ensuring I won’t disappear. I held my breath, forcing down the nausea as I cleaned up those things that shouldn’t be there. Before lights out in the dorm, I closed my eyes, but couldn’t sleep. Accompanied by those usual sounds and sensations tempting me to open my eyes, I kept replaying all the bizarre things that happened today. Why did the counselor and Old Joe seem to know me from before, when I had never sought them out before?

For the next few days, even though I was exhausted physically and mentally, I forced myself to wake up on time, obey school rules, and do volunteer work after class. I did 4 hours of volunteer work every day. Finally, after 5 days, I successfully added 40 credits, currently at 48 credits. Just 2 more credits and I’d be back to the initial credit score. Since I only needed to do 1 hour of volunteer work today, I came a bit later. On the 6th day coming to this lawn, it was still the same – cleared the day before, restored to its original state today. I couldn’t help but wonder about the meaning of this cleaning activity. But it didn’t matter, as long as I could add credits. In the evening, I returned to the dorm at 9 pm. My credits were now back to the initial 50 points. I was ecstatic because Samantha could now see me normally and hear me speak. Everything of mine was restored to its original state. My name on the nameplate at the dorm door was also restored. Samantha’s name and mine were on the left and right of the nameplate. Suddenly I thought of something and asked Samantha confusedly, “Samantha, is our dorm a two-person room?” “Hasn’t it always been? We’re almost done with sophomore year and you’re still asking?” she replied. My head hurt for a moment, then I nodded in affirmation. Yes, it’s always been two people. I don’t know why I just asked that. Oh right, there’s something more important! I took out my phone and called the police, reporting the school’s address. But they said there was no such school and warned me not to interfere with their work. What!? Why can’t the school be found outside? I tried to secretly climb over the school wall to escape, but it was useless. The school wall seemed ten stories high, impossible to climb over. I walked to the school gate and through the gaps in the iron bars, I saw that the outside was a blur. The security guards at the gate were tall and strong. Some held chainsaws, some held axes, staring at me with a pair of bloodshot, protruding eyes. I didn’t dare to act rashly. I wanted to ask other students for help, but I found their eyes were all very hollow, completely ignoring me. At this point, I thought of my roommate and quickly ran back to the dorm. On the way back to the dorm, I frowned, thinking, I live alone, where did the roommate come from? I still returned to the dorm. There was only one bunk bed with a desk underneath. I was more certain that only I lived in the dorm.

I still obediently followed the school rules, maintaining my 50 initial points. Since I couldn’t escape, and people outside couldn’t save me, I might as well follow the school rules well and be able to leave when the holiday comes, right? But I remember I haven’t been out for a long, long time. The school seems to have never had a holiday. I just became a sophomore. I went to ask the counselor when we could have a holiday. He still stared at me with that weird look, but there was no choice, the rules said we could only seek help from the counselor. He said unclearly, “No holidays, you’ll degenerate at home, won’t be good students anymore…” I asked again, “Sir, can we only leave after graduation?” He laughed loudly, the sound almost piercing my eardrums. After laughing, he said, “No one can persist until graduation… you degenerates!” I didn’t understand. Does it mean no one can leave? In the end, can everyone only be gradually erased from existence in this school? I must investigate this school well and find a way out. At 7 am, I woke up on time and went to the auditorium as usual to attend the principal’s speech. The content of the principal’s speech was the same every day: “Students, obey the school rules! Students, be good students! Students, listen to classes carefully! Students, …” The principal kept repeating these words, waving his hands as he spoke with great emotion, but his eyes were very small, so small they seemed to have disappeared, and only a mouth was speaking on his entire face. When I noticed this, I instantly broke out in a cold sweat. But every student around me didn’t find it strange. They stared blankly at the principal with hollow eyes. At the end of the speech, the principal suddenly announced that the students present had been promoted to junior year. After that day, I often felt more and more like a walking corpse. Numbly obeying school rules, my mind was in a fog, always feeling like I had forgotten something. I suddenly realized that the longer I stayed in this school, the easier it was to lose consciousness, become numb, and finally forget who I was. This perfectly proved the last rule of the school: the higher the grade, the greater the challenges indeed became as we stayed in school longer, but this challenge seemed to let no one win. The school made those who didn’t obey the rules be forgotten by others, and made those who obeyed the rules forget themselves. It seems that obeying the rules can’t guarantee that I can leave either. Is it destined that coming to this school means we can’t leave and will eventually disappear?

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My husband’s ex-girlfriend secretly donated a kidney to me. After the surgery, her health declined rapidly, and my husband took care of her with overwhelming attentiveness. Then, standing on his moral high ground, he scolded me, “Nina, she ended up like this because of who? Can’t you be a little more understanding?” Endless arguments followed, and I eventually wasted away from the emotional exhaustion. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the moment right before my kidney transplant surgery. I immediately pulled out my oxygen tube, “I’m not going through with the surgery. I’m giving up on treatment.” I never imagined that after my death, my husband would go insane. 1 The overhead fluorescent light flickered, making me dizzy. The sound of the doctor’s voice announcing the countdown to the kidney transplant echoed in my ears. I suddenly realized I had been reborn. Without hesitation, I pulled the oxygen tube out. Struggling, I sat up on the operating table, “Dr. Lucas, I’m not going through with the surgery. I’m giving up treatment.” Dr. Lucas was shocked, repeatedly emphasizing that my body couldn’t afford to wait any longer and that if I missed this chance, I might not find another matching donor in time. I thanked him, but I remained firm. Dr. Lucas sighed in resignation and notified everyone to cancel the surgery. After signing the organ donation consent form, I returned to the Downtown Loft I shared with Ryan. I started packing my bags. I had been diagnosed with kidney failure in the second year of our marriage while we were trying to conceive. At that time, Ryan and I were constantly at odds because of Claire Young. I thought having a baby might bring us closer, but instead, I received the terrible news about my health. Strictly speaking, Claire wasn’t really Ryan’s ex-girlfriend. She appeared in his life while I was abroad pursuing my ballet career, and they never officially became a couple. Back then, I was ambitious and determined not to give up my career for love. And I succeeded, becoming the principal dancer of the Joffrey Ballet in just two years. When I returned, I found out Ryan had been waiting for me all those years. His devotion moved me beyond words, and memories of our time together as students filled me with warmth. I accepted his proposal. It was only after we married that I learned about Claire Young. I discovered they had nearly become a couple, but my return to the U.S. had torn them apart. Because of my upbringing, I’ve always been sensitive and insecure in relationships. Ever since learning about Claire, I couldn’t sleep at night, and the arguments between Ryan and me grew more intense. I questioned him, asking why he claimed to love me but still had feelings for someone else. He accused me of being unreasonable and making things up. As the fights escalated, Ryan started working late just to avoid coming home. It wasn’t until I sought help from a therapist that I realized I still loved Ryan, this man who had been such a huge part of my youth. So I called him and asked him to come home. That night, he rushed back, embracing me as if he never wanted to let go. He promised he would transfer Claire to another city and focus on our marriage from then on. It was around that time I went for a check-up, planning to start preparing for a baby. Later, the doctor told me they had found a matching kidney donor. The donor wished to remain anonymous and didn’t want to reveal their identity. I understood. But I never imagined that person would be Claire. The day after my surgery, Ryan sat by my bedside with red eyes and told me we owed Claire a huge debt. From that point on, he showered her with care and attention. I couldn’t show any dissatisfaction. If I did, I’d be seen as ungrateful—a heartless woman. I could only watch as Claire slowly took Ryan away from me. I was powerless to stop it. In the end, I wasted away from the stress. When I died, Ryan stayed by Claire’s side, refusing to leave her for a moment. This time, I’ve chosen to let them be. To free myself. 2 I had lived in the Downtown Loft for two years, and packing took three suitcases. I sat on the couch, waiting. By 11 PM, Ryan still hadn’t come home. I called him. He answered almost immediately. But on the other end, it was Claire’s voice, “Mrs. Carter, is there something you need from Mr. Carter? He’s exhausted from back-to-back meetings and fell asleep at the office.” Claire had just undergone the kidney transplant surgery in Chicago—I knew that. But I didn’t expect her to head straight to Ryan’s office after getting off the operating table. She really did love him. I spoke calmly, “It’s nothing important. Just let him know when he wakes up.” “I’ve left the divorce papers on the dining table. Tell him to sign them when he has the time.” Claire gasped in shock on the other end of the line, her excitement barely concealed. Before she could say anything else, I hung up. I moved back to my Gold Coast Apartment, the one I’d bought before we were married. I thought Ryan would come looking for me, or at the very least call to discuss the divorce. But, as it turned out, I was overthinking it. There was no word from him. His phone had even been turned off. With no other choice, I went to his office. To my surprise, the receptionist informed me that Ryan had been in a car accident three days ago. His phone had been smashed, and he hadn’t had a chance to replace it. He had just undergone surgery and was now out of danger. My first reaction wasn’t worry, but amusement. I had been diagnosed with kidney failure and hadn’t told him. He got into a car accident, and I didn’t know. This marriage had clearly run its course. I drove to Northwestern Memorial Hospital, and sure enough, I ran into Claire outside the Private Suite. She was dressed casually, with perfectly applied makeup, radiating friendliness. I glanced toward the hospital room, “Is Ryan not here?” “Mr. Carter’s getting some tests done. He should be back in about an hour.” Claire’s expression turned cold as she closed the door to the suite. “Why don’t you head home?” Her disdain for me was clear. I smirked. “Claire, you can play the part of Mrs. Carter all you want after the divorce. But right now, you’re still not qualified.” Claire frowned, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “Is that all you’ve got?” She paused for a moment, then smirked, bragging, “Did you know, when Ryan was unconscious and being rushed to the hospital, he was calling out my name the entire time? That’s why the hospital called me and not you, Mrs. Carter.” She bit hard on the words “Mrs. Carter,” her tone heavy with ridicule. In the past, hearing this would have sent me into a rage. But after all the arguments and silent treatments, I no longer cared. I was dying anyway—what did it matter what she said? I remained calm, pulled out the divorce papers from my bag, and handed them to her, “In that case, could you give this to your Mr. Carter? Have him sign and return them when he gets the chance.” As I spoke, I watched Claire’s face change. She grabbed my wrist, trying to make me slap her with the papers. The divorce papers scattered everywhere, and Claire turned her head to the side, dramatically covering her face with her hand, feigning pain. I winced from the sharp pain in my wrist, sucking in a breath. Before I could react, Ryan’s cold, angry voice came from behind, “Apologize.” 3 Ryan stormed over and immediately pulled Claire behind him, shielding her. Claire shot me a triumphant smile. She was claiming her territory. I could feel my blood boiling. I didn’t care who Ryan wanted to protect, but if Claire thought she could openly frame me, she was mistaken! I coldly bent down to pick up the divorce papers, walked right up to Claire, and slapped them against her face again. Ryan moved to stop me, but it was too late. I glared at Claire fiercely: “See it clearly? Next time you try to frame me, at least make it convincing!” Claire’s face flushed red on one side. Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked pitifully at Ryan. “Ryan, I didn’t…” Ryan’s brow furrowed deeply, and he pulled Claire even further behind him. His eyes pierced through me: “Can you leave her out of this? Why are you acting like a lunatic?” “I’ve heard this a thousand times before,” I replied calmly, unfazed. “If you don’t want your assistant to be hurt again, just sign the divorce papers.” Ryan’s face was tense with anger, but after a moment, he turned to Claire with a professional tone: “Sorry, my wife didn’t mean it. Consider this a workplace injury. Keep your receipts, and the company will reimburse you.” “You’ve worked hard these past few days. You can head home now.” “Thank you, Mr. Carter.” Claire gave a soft, grateful reply before gathering her things and leaving the room. Once she was gone, I followed Ryan into the suite. The moment we stepped inside, he pulled me into his arms, burying his face in my neck: “Nina, don’t you have any compassion? That night, I woke up to see you had been calling me repeatedly, saying you wanted a divorce. I panicked, speeding home, and ended up in the car accident.” “And now you don’t even visit me in the hospital. You still want to go through with the divorce.” His voice broke as he clung to me like a lost puppy: “Nina, please, have mercy on me.” 4 I should feel pity for him, right? But who pities me? And fine, if he wants to blame me for the car accident, I’ll accept it. But what did he mean by saying I didn’t come to the hospital because I was being difficult? My blood started to boil. Ryan, however, ignored my growing frustration and leaned in, trying to kiss me. Suddenly, an image of Claire in his arms from my previous life flashed through my mind. Disgust churned inside me, and I pushed him away violently. I ran to the bathroom and vomited, my body shaking with revulsion. When I came back out, Ryan’s face had turned icy cold. “Nina, do I disgust you that much? You can’t even pretend for a moment!” “If you need someone, go find your precious Claire,” I shot back, my voice as cold as his. “She’s sweet and considerate—everything I’m not, right?” I cut him off before he could respond, thrusting the divorce papers at him again. “Just sign the papers. The sooner, the better.” Ryan was at a loss for words, his anger barely contained. After a tense silence, he forced himself to explain, his voice tight with frustration: “I’ve told you a thousand times, Claire is just an employee. There’s nothing between us, Nina. Why can’t you believe me?” I looked up at him, eyes blazing, and his tone softened in response. “Nina, I’m recovering from an accident here,” he pleaded, reaching out for my hand. I instinctively pulled away. He took a deep breath, his frustration visible, but he still knelt in front of me, trying to calm me down. His eyes were full of sincerity. I stared at him, a bitter feeling rising in my chest. In my past life, he had apologized countless times for Claire, explaining himself and asking for forgiveness. And every single time, I had forgiven him. But what did I get in return? Every time Claire and I clashed, he took her side, standing against me. As a woman, I saw through Claire’s games clearly. I knew exactly what she was doing. But Ryan always thought I was the one being unreasonable, that I was the one stirring up trouble. This wouldn’t change, no matter how many lives I lived. I was exhausted. “Ryan, let’s just stop this.” “Three days from now, I’ll be waiting at the Cook County Clerk’s Office. If you don’t show up, I’ll have no choice but to take legal action.” I didn’t want to die being labeled as “Ryan Carter’s tragic widow.” Without another word, I turned and walked out. Behind me, I heard his voice crack, filled with frustration and vulnerability: “Nina, why are you always so rash? Do you know how unfair you’re being to me?” I had never heard him sound so fragile before. 5 Three days passed, and I stood outside the Cook County Clerk’s Office, but Ryan never showed. I called my lawyer immediately and initiated divorce proceedings. My health was deteriorating fast, and I couldn’t afford to wait any longer. That afternoon, after returning from the hospital, I found Ryan standing angrily outside my Gold Coast Apartment. His lips were pressed into a tight line, his entire posture radiating tension. Claire was standing behind him, her eyes red and swollen, the clear imprint of five fingers on her pale cheek. When she saw me, she instinctively shrank back, as if afraid I might hit her again. I raised my eyebrows, annoyed. “Really? Trying this trick again? Didn’t get enough the last time, huh?” “Nina, enough!” Ryan exploded, shouting at me with a mix of fury and disappointment. “You’ve crossed the line—vandalizing my car, hiring people to harass me, hitting Claire? Do you realize you’re breaking the law?” He started listing my supposed offenses, as if I were some criminal mastermind. Honestly, if he and Claire hadn’t shown up at my door, I wouldn’t even have known I’d committed so many “crimes.” I opened my mouth to throw back a snarky remark, but Claire beat me to it, interrupting in tears: “Mrs. Carter, Ryan and I are only work colleagues.” “I come from a difficult family background. I worked hard, studied hard, and finally managed to make something of myself. I don’t want to go back home.” “I’ll resign if it helps. Please, just let me go.” As she spoke, she started to kneel down in front of me, but Ryan pulled her up quickly, his face burning with anger as he turned to me. “Look at what you’ve reduced her to. Is this what you wanted?” He stood there, looking at me with the same disappointed, angry eyes I’d seen countless times before. It was as if I was back in my previous life, being endlessly blamed for things that weren’t my fault. And once again, Claire played the victim perfectly. I had seen this too many times. Claire’s innocent act was something Ryan never seemed to see through. My body was already wracked with pain, and now, my anger added to the suffering, tightening my chest. I glared at both of them, my voice sharp. “You two come here, invade my space, then ask me if I’m satisfied? Ryan, are you out of your mind?” “If you really believe I did all this, call the cops. Let the law deal with me.” “But stop pretending you’re on some moral high ground, looking down on me. It’s disgusting!” I gasped for breath as the pain wracked my body, but I managed to give them a final ultimatum: “Now, get out of my home before I call the police myself.” Ryan looked like he had more to say, but Claire gently tugged on his sleeve, urging him to let it go. With fury in his eyes, he turned to me, spitting out his final words: “Nina, don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. You’re just trying to push me into a corner so I’ll divorce you!” “Fine, divorce it is. I’ll do it. Let’s just say I loved the wrong person all these years.” He turned and stormed off. Claire followed, but not before casting me a smug, triumphant glance, like she had finally won. Tears welled up in my eyes, and my chest ached with frustration. How dare Ryan say that? The truth was, I was the one who had loved the wrong person all along. 6 That very night, Claire moved into the Downtown Loft that Ryan and I had shared. She even recorded a video and sent it to me. Every word she spoke in the video dripped with pride and smugness. Without a flicker of emotion, I took screenshots of her messages, packaged them neatly, and sent them to Ryan’s email. I scheduled them to go out two days later. Ryan and I had agreed to meet the next day to finalize our divorce. I planned to sever all ties with him before showing him Claire’s true colors. I wanted him to regret it, to suffer. He owed me that much.

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