Category: English

On the day the results for the National Physics Olympiad Selection were posted, the bulletin board at Oakwood Prep was packed. I, Logan, was at the very top. As always. Chloe was second. Also as always. The gap between our scores was always prepensely and precisely locked at exactly 0.5 points. She was the crown jewel of Oakwood Prep—the heiress to a billionaire estate, as arrogant as a peacock. I, on the other hand, was the scholarship kid from the wrong side of the tracks, cold and unbreakable as a block of ice. “Logan, is this the piece of trash you call study notes?” Chloe’s voice cut through the murmuring crowd. Between her manicured fingers, she was pinching the physics notebook I had stayed up all night organizing. Just yesterday, in the pouring rain, she had cornered me at the lab door with red rims around her eyes, begging to borrow it. At the time, she had sniffled, “Logan, I just want to see how the top scorer thinks. I don’t want to lose so embarrassingly next time.” But now, right in front of the school’s top academic elite, she tossed that heavily annotated notebook directly into the trash can outside the hallway as if it were a piece of used tissue. ####

With a dull thud, the notebook landed in the damp waste paper, its leather cover instantly stained with dirt. “Don’t flatter yourself.” She flipped her long, blonde hair, looking down at me with pure disdain. “I brought it home and skimmed through it. It was full of loopholes. Logan, I was just studying my opponent’s weaknesses. You didn’t actually think I needed your help, did you?” Whispers erupted around us. “The ice queen is still the ice queen, huh?” “The nerd finally tripped. I heard he never lends his notes to anyone, but he made an exception for Chloe.” I stood there, staring at her, my face completely expressionless. “Are you done?” I asked, my voice flat and devoid of any emotion. Chloe blinked, momentarily caught off guard. She probably expected me to blow up or look devastated. Clenching her jaw, she sneered, “Don’t bring this kind of garbage near me again. After all, our relationship begins and ends with being rivals.” With that, she turned on her heel like a victorious general, leading her clique of girls down the hallway. Under the watchful eyes of everyone, I walked over to the trash can, bent down, and picked up the dirty notebook. There was a deep crease on the cover. No one else knew that on the very last page of this notebook, there was a Polaroid picture of the two of us—our only photo together. It was taken at the national awards ceremony last year. The backstage area was a chaotic mess, and she had accidentally tripped and fallen right into my arms. A passing photographer caught the split-second moment. In the photo, she was clutching my collar in panic, and I was looking down at her, my eyes softer than they had ever been. At 10:00 PM, I was in the school library. I was staying late to prepare for the final round of the National Team Selection. Outside, thunder rumbled, and a sudden autumn storm slammed against the massive glass windows. My phone buzzed on the wooden table. It was an unknown number. I knew it was her because just this afternoon, Chloe had dramatically left the class Snapchat group and blocked my main account. I tapped the message, and my pupils dilated. *“The third method for that physics problem… you only wrote the beginning in your notebook. I… I can’t solve it.”* I frowned. This demanding, bratty tone could belong to absolutely no one else. But I didn’t reply. I locked my phone and went back to calculating the vector forces on my scratch paper. Ten minutes later, my phone started buzzing like crazy. *“Logan, are you dead? Would it kill you to text back?”* *“And why did you sketch my side profile in your notebook? It’s so ugly! My face is not that round!”* *“During the tournament, why did you slide your eraser to me? It totally threw me off! If it weren’t for your stupid eraser, I wouldn’t have messed up the last question. Did you want to beat me that badly?”* I watched the texts stream in, the tip of my pen digging heavily into the paper. A sketch of her profile? That was from that afternoon in the lab when she was hunched over her desk. I had drawn it unconsciously. I thought I had hidden it well enough, but she had found it. The messages kept coming, getting more ridiculous by the second. *“Logan, are you an idiot? I threw your notes in the trash! Why didn’t you yell at me? You could have at least cursed me out! You acting all calm makes me feel like I’m the only one losing my mind here!”* *“It’s pouring outside, and I don’t have an umbrella. I’m standing right outside the library. I know you’re in there.”* *“If you’re willing to explain the last problem to me, bring an umbrella and come out. If not… I’ll just stand here until sunrise. It’s just rain anyway. It won’t kill me.”* I turned my head to look out the window. Through the heavy sheets of rain, under the dim streetlamp, I could see a small, fragile figure. She was wearing her thin school uniform skirt, standing stubbornly in the storm like a drenched kitten. Another text popped up. *“Hubby…”* The moment those six letters hit my eyes, my heart skipped a beat. But within two seconds, the message was unsent. Immediately after, a long voice-to-text message appeared: *“I hate you so much. I hate how you’re always so calm. I hate how you make me feel like a complete fool! I hate how you clearly like me, but you’re too chicken to say a single word!”* ####

The last text felt like a final ultimatum: *“Counting down from three. If you don’t come out, I’m… I’m really never talking to you again. Three. Two. One…”* I slammed my textbook shut, grabbed my black umbrella, and bolted out of the reading room. By the time I pushed open the heavy double doors of the library, the spot under the streetlamp was empty. Only a pool of water remained, reflecting the cold white light. And in the middle of that puddle lay a small, pink rhinestone hair clip. I picked it up, my heart sinking to the pit of my stomach. It was Chloe’s favorite hair clip. No one was ever allowed to touch it. Now, it was abandoned in the mud. A dark SUV had just sped away from the curb, its tires splashing rainwater onto the sidewalk. A voice memo on my phone—which had automatically recorded her voice-to-text—captured a faint, deep male voice in the background: *“Miss Vanderbilt, it’s time to go. Your father has been waiting a long time.”* Then, Chloe’s tearful, desperate voice: *“I’m not going back! All he cares about is his business mergers! I told him I’m not going to that closed-off training camp!”* I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. It was her family’s security detail. But right after, a wave of cold anger washed over me. If she was going to let them take her, why did she have to text me and mess with my head first? I unlocked my phone and dialed the unknown number. It rang twice before someone picked up. The background was quiet, save for Chloe’s shaky, muffled breathing. “Chloe,” I said, my voice sharp and tense. “…Logan.” Her voice was quiet, thick with tears. “Why did you come out? The three seconds were already up.” “I have your hair clip,” I said, ignoring her question. “Where are you?” “In the car. My dad is sending me to the elite prep camp upstate tonight.” Her voice suddenly cracked, filled with bitter resentment. “Logan, do you think I’m pathetic? I humiliate you in public during the day, and then I cling to you like a desperate ghost at night. Honestly, I disgust myself too.” “What are you trying to say, Chloe?” “I’m saying… I took the photo from your notebook. And I tore out the sketch. You’re free now, Logan. No one’s going to fight you for the top spot anymore. And no one’s going to use ‘academic discussions’ as an excuse to stare at you.” The heavy click of automatic car door locks echoed through the line. “Goodbye, Logan.” The call went dead. I stood in the rain, my knuckles turning white around the pink hair clip. Everyone at Oakwood Prep said Logan was just a heartless, test-taking machine. But only I knew how many calculations I had to run to perfectly maintain that 0.5-point gap right behind her, just to keep her looking back at me. I walked back into the library and opened my notification history. Even though she had unsent the message quickly, the preview on my lock screen still clearly showed those six letters. *Hubby.* It was a stupid nickname from a game of Truth or Dare back in freshman year. She had lost the dare, blushed furiously, and promised that if we both got into Oakwood Prep, she would call me that forever. But once we got in, she put her armor back on, becoming the untouchable heiress once again, acting as if that promise had never existed. I sat back down at my desk and flipped to the damp last page of my notebook. Underneath where she had torn out the sketch, there was another hidden note I had written in tiny font: *“If the final equation of physics is love, I admit defeat. I am completely, utterly helpless.”* I picked up my phone and sent her my first text of the night. “I’m only explaining the third method for that physics problem once. If you don’t show up at the National Selection next week, I’ll drag you out of the Vanderbilt mansion myself.” Three seconds later, a one-word reply came back: *“Screw you.”* Right after, she sent a picture. It was a selfie taken in the backseat of the luxury SUV. Chloe was hiding in the shadows, wiping away tears, but her hand was clutching the Polaroid photo she had stolen from my notebook. Her caption read: *“Just you wait, Logan. I’m going to crush you next week.”* *** The exam room for the National Team Selection was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. I sat right in the middle of the front row. The desk to my left was empty. That was Chloe’s seat. The proctor checked his watch for the third time. Only five minutes left before the doors locked. “Um… son, please place your ID card flat on the table,” the proctor said, tapping my desk. I looked down and realized I was gripping my permit so hard my knuckles were white, the edges of the paper completely wrinkled. “Sir,” I said, my voice dry. “Is Chloe Vanderbilt not coming?” The proctor adjusted his glasses and sighed. “The administration office just got a call from the Vanderbilt family. They withdrew her from the competition. Something about… medical issues.” Medical issues? Bullshit. When she was yelling at me on the phone yesterday, she sounded like a wild cat. Just then, a commotion broke out at the entrance of the hall. A middle-aged woman in a neat maid uniform was arguing frantically with the security guard. When she saw me turn around, her eyes lit up. She broke past the guard and ran toward the window next to my row. It was Maria, the maid from Chloe’s house. Through the glass pane, her face was twisted with panic. She frantically gestured to me, mouth opening wide to silently scream two words: *HELP HER.* I stood up abruptly. “Mr. Logan! The exam is about to start. Where do you think you’re going?” the proctor barked. ####

I stood in the aisle, looking up at the clock on the wall. Two minutes until the exam started. Two hours until it ended. This selection was my only ticket to the International Olympiad, the only way a poor kid like me could secure a full-ride to MIT. It was also the “meet me at the top” promise Chloe and I had made. But now, the peak was still here, and she was gone. I sat back down and picked up my pen. “Sir, you can hand out the papers.” The proctor let out a sigh of relief. “Good choice, kid. Don’t let distractions ruin your future.” The moment the exam paper landed on my desk, I scanned the questions. They were brutal. Truly national-level difficulty. The final, high-weight question involved complex non-linear dynamics. If Chloe were here, she would probably be chewing on her pen, crying her eyes out. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and all I could see was her tear-stained face in that photo, saying *Logan, just you wait.* If I didn’t go, her life might actually be ruined by her father’s forced arrangements. If I did go and abandoned this exam, my life might be ruined too. This choice was harder than any physics problem I had ever solved. But I, Logan, don’t do single-choice questions. I put pen to paper, my hand moving at lightning speed. Because of my speed, the scratching of my pen against the paper was incredibly loud in the silent room. The students around me looked over in sheer terror. Forty-five minutes. It took me exactly forty-five minutes to finish a high-level exam designed for two hours. I wrote down the final derivation for the last question, then slammed my pen onto the table. “I’m turning in my paper, sir.” Amidst the dead silence of the room and the slack-jawed stare of the proctor, I grabbed my backpack, leaped right over the first-floor window sill, and landed in front of Maria. “Lead the way,” I said coldly. “Take me to the engagement venue.” The black sedan sped down the coastal highway. Maria was shivering in the passenger seat while I sat in the back, searching up Chloe’s supposed “fiancé” on my phone—Julian Vance. Julian Vance. The sole heir to the Vance tech empire. A prodigy who entered college at fourteen and won two international gold medals. He wasn’t just rich; he was an intellectual beast. No wonder Chloe’s dad looked down on me. To billionaires, a scholarship kid who got high scores through sheer hard work wasn’t even fit to shine Julian’s shoes. “Mr. Logan,” Maria said, her voice trembling. “The road ahead is blocked. Mr. Vanderbilt has private security guarding the estate. You can’t get in without an invitation. And… I heard Mr. Vance has a horrible temper. Last time a guy tried to talk to Miss Chloe, Julian had his legs broken.” I looked out the window. Indeed, five hundred yards ahead, a security checkpoint had been set up. Several burly men in black suits were patrolling with guard dogs. “Pull over,” I said suddenly. “What? Here?” the driver stammered. “The front entrance is suicide.” I pushed the door open, pointing toward a brick wall adjacent to the estate. “That’s the exhaust vent for the hotel’s kitchen. Based on the architectural blueprint of this estate, that vent has a structural weakness and is constantly under maintenance. There will be a gap.” Maria stared at me like I was an alien. “How… how could you possibly know that?” “Because the blueprint of this hotel was used as a structural stress analysis problem in one of our prep tests.” I ripped off my school tie and wrapped it around my knuckles. “You guys go back. I’ll take it from here.” Ten minutes later, covered in dust and soot, I dropped from the kitchen ventilation shaft onto the backstage area of the grand ballroom. The elegant sound of a violin quartet floated through the air. The master of ceremonies was speaking into a microphone with mock enthusiasm: “And now, please welcome our brilliant groom-to-be, Julian Vance!” The crowd erupted into applause. I hid behind the heavy red velvet curtains, peeking through a gap. Under the massive crystal chandelier stood Chloe. She was wearing a stunning white strapless gown, looking breathtakingly beautiful. But her face was a mask of despair, her eyes completely hollow as she stared at the floor. Beside her stood a guy in a sleek white tuxedo. He wore gold-rimmed glasses, looking like a textbook sociopath with a polished, smug grin. That was Julian Vance. “Chloe,” Julian said into his lapel mic, his voice so smooth it made my skin crawl. “I heard you had a very… passionate rival back at Oakwood Prep? On a big day like today, why didn’t you invite him to bear witness?” Chloe snapped her head up, glaring at him. “Julian, don’t push it. This is a business deal between our families. Leave innocent people out of this.” “Innocent?” Julian adjusted his glasses, his smile widening. “But I heard that just last night, in the middle of a storm, someone called him ‘hubby’ on Snapchat.” ####

The crowd gasped. Chloe’s father, Mr. Vanderbilt, looked absolutely livid. Suddenly, Julian turned his head, his eyes locking precisely onto the curtain where I was hiding. His gaze was filled with the arrogant superiority of a man who thought he owned the world. “Since you’re already here, why play the mouse, Logan? Come on out.” I had been spotted. I had to hand it to him; the gold medalist’s observation skills were indeed top-tier. Taking a deep breath, I ripped the curtain open. Amidst the gasps of the wealthy guests, I stepped onto the polished floor, wearing my dust-covered school uniform, and walked right into the spotlight. The moment Chloe saw me, tears streamed down her face. She frantically shook her head, mouthing: *Go! Get out of here!* I didn’t look at her. I kept my eyes locked on Julian. “Mr. Vance,” I said, brushing the soot off my sleeves. “You got your variables mixed up. Chloe didn’t call me that because she wanted to. It was a dumb Truth or Dare game. But for a guy with a gold medal, you seem pretty bad at distinguishing independent and dependent variables. Her emotions are controlled by me. What kind of constant do you think you are in her life?” The entire ballroom went dead silent. “What? Scared?” Julian looked down at me, casually spinning a multi-million-dollar diamond ring between his fingers. Chloe rushed forward, shielding me like a protective kitten. “Julian! You’re disgusting! Logan is just a high school senior, he hasn’t even taken college-level quantum mechanics! You’re just trying to humiliate him!” “Oh? You care about him that much?” Julian’s eyes went cold. He reached out to grab Chloe’s wrist. “Since your little boyfriend is a coward, why don’t you just put the ring on?” Before his hand could touch her, I intercepted him. My grip was iron-clad. Years of doing heavy labor at my parents’ farm had given me a level of raw strength that this spoiled rich kid couldn’t match. Julian’s face twisted in pain. “Who said I was a coward?” I shoved his hand away, pulling Chloe behind me. “Give me the test.” The guests began to murmur, and Mr. Vanderbilt looked ready to call security, but Julian raised a hand to stop them. A projector screen rolled down, and a incredibly complex quantum mechanics wave function equation appeared on the screen. “Solve the Schrödinger equation for a particle in a finite potential well under these boundary conditions,” Julian sneered. “I’ll give you ten minutes.” Chloe closed her eyes in despair. But looking at the screen, I actually smiled. How incredibly ironic. This exact advanced problem was something I had taught myself and derived in that very notebook Chloe had thrown into the trash—just to show off to her. My annotation next to that equation had been: *“I am like this particle, forever trapped in the potential well called Chloe. No matter how much my probability wave spreads, I can never escape you.”* She had thrown the notebook away, but had she read it? If she had, she would know I could solve this in my sleep. I grabbed the digital stylus and began writing on the smartboard. No hesitation. No pauses. One line. Two lines. Ten lines… As my derivation expanded, the smug smirk on Julian’s face gradually dissolved, replaced by a horrified stiffness. “This is impossible… this derivation isn’t even in the standard undergraduate syllabus…” he muttered to himself. Writing the final symbol, I tossed the stylus aside and turned to face the pale-faced billionaire heir. “Schrödinger’s cat is both dead and alive before you open the box,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “But when it comes to Chloe, there is only one wave-function collapse—she is mine.” The room erupted into chaos. Ignoring the shocked stares of the elite, I grabbed Chloe’s hand. Her fingers were ice-cold and trembling. “Let’s go,” I said. “Where… where are we going?” she asked blankly. “Back to school.” I pulled her toward the exit. As we passed Mr. Vanderbilt, I stopped. The older man was shaking with rage, pointing a finger at me. “Logan! If you dare walk out that door with her, I will have you expelled from Oakwood Prep by tonight! Your scholarship, your Ivy League recommendations—gone! I will make sure you have no future in this country!” Chloe flinched, trying to pull her hand back. “Logan, don’t… I’m not worth ruining your life over…” I tightened my grip, locking my fingers with hers. I turned to the man who held all the wealth and power, my gaze colder than the winter rain. “Mr. Vanderbilt, you have one thing wrong.” “Oakwood Prep didn’t give me a chance. Oakwood Prep needs me to keep their Ivy League admission rates up. As for my future…” I pulled out my crumpled exam permit from my pocket and flicked it in front of his face. “I finished the national selection exam in forty-five minutes. I am absolutely certain I got a perfect score. Once I make the national team and bring back a gold medal, MIT and Princeton will be begging me to join them. Do you think your influence is bigger than the academic prestige of the United States of America?” Without waiting for his response, I pulled Chloe with me and kicked open the heavy oak doors of the ballroom. Outside, the storm had cleared, and golden sunlight was piercing through the clouds. Chloe stumbled along beside me. One of her high heels had slipped off, so she simply kicked the other one off too, running barefoot on the wet asphalt. We ran until we were miles away, finally stopping under a bridge to catch our breath. She slid down against the concrete wall, burying her face in her knees, and began to sob uncontrollably. “Logan, are you an idiot?! *Sob*… You provoked the Vance family, you provoked my dad… What if you didn’t pass? What if you got that equation wrong?!”

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“Mr. Carter, are you absolutely sure about this? Lily is only five years old—” I cut the lawyer off, sliding my pen across the paper to sign my name on the sole custody agreement. “I’m sure.” Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the rain was pouring over Chicago. I looked up at the skyscraper across the street. On the thirty-seventh floor of the Vance Group headquarters, Charlotte Vance, the CEO, was leading a board meeting. She wore a flawlessly tailored white pantsuit, her expression icy, carrying herself with the commanding aura of a business queen that everyone in the city feared and respected. Nobody knew that this woman was legally my wife. And nobody knew that we shared a five-year-old daughter. *** It had been three years. For the past three years, I had worked as her personal driver. Every day, I drove her back and forth, listening to her cold instructions from the backseat: “Leo, take a left,” or “Leo, park here.” She never spared me a second glance in public. To the world, we were nothing more than an employer and her hired help. Lily had learned to call me “Daddy” since she was two, but she never dared to call Charlotte “Mommy.” Because Charlotte had once looked down at her with a freezing gaze and said, “Don’t ever let me hear that word in public.” Lily was a good girl. She never said it again. But I knew that every single night, she would hug that cheap plush rabbit—the only thing Charlotte had ever bought her—and whisper to it, “Goodnight, Mommy. You looked so beautiful today. Will you look at me tomorrow, Mommy?” That plush rabbit was just a ten-dollar toy Charlotte had grabbed from a drugstore checkout line three years ago. But to Lily, it was her most precious treasure. She hadn’t let go of it for three whole years. “I’m working late tonight, Leo. You can go home first.” Charlotte walked out of the conference room. She didn’t even pause as she passed me, tossing the words over her shoulder as she headed straight for her private office. I stood up, about to speak, when her phone rang. She picked it up, and her voice instantly transformed—soft, warm, and filled with a rare tenderness. “Julian? You’ve landed? Great, I’m coming down to meet you now.” Julian. Julian Sterling. Charlotte’s college sweetheart. He had moved to London three years ago, and today, he was back. I watched her figure disappear into the executive elevator. With a bitter smile, I took out my phone and messaged Lily’s kindergarten teacher on Snapchat. “Hi Ms. Jenkins, I’ll be picking Lily up on time today.” The teacher replied almost instantly. “Sounds good, Leo! Lily drew a picture today. She said she can’t wait to give it to her mom.” Staring at the word “mom,” I felt a sharp, stabbing pain in my chest. Lily had no idea that Charlotte had never looked at a single one of her drawings. Once, Lily had saved up a month’s worth of her doodles and carefully placed them on Charlotte’s nightstand. The next morning, they were sitting neatly in the trash can. Not a single page was missing. Lily hadn’t cried. But she never picked up a crayon again after that day. I packed my things and went downstairs. The moment I stepped out of the lobby elevator, I saw three people standing in the center of the hall. Charlotte, Julian, and a four-year-old boy. The boy looked just like Julian. He was tugging at Charlotte’s blazer, saying in a sweet, childish voice, “Charlotte, can we get ice cream?” Julian smiled, rubbing the boy’s hair. “Teddy, don’t bother her.” Charlotte actually knelt down, her face softening into a gentle expression I hadn’t seen in years. “It’s fine. I’ll take you to get some.” When she stood back up, her eyes swept over me as if I were a complete stranger. I lowered my head and walked past them. As our shoulders brushed, I heard Julian ask, “Charlotte, it’s been so many years. Why are you still single?” Charlotte didn’t answer. But I could hear the sweet, silent smile in her breath. When I arrived at the kindergarten, Lily was standing by the gate, standing on her tiptoes to peer through the crowd. Seeing my car, her eyes lit up, and she waved her little hands. “Daddy!” I got out of the car and lifted her into my arms. She wrapped her tiny arms around my neck and whispered, “Daddy, is Charlotte coming home for dinner tonight?” My heart clenched. “She’s very busy with work today, sweetie. She might not make it.” “Oh.” Lily lowered her head, but then she looked up again, her eyes bright. “Then we can wait for her! I drew a picture. I want to show her!” Looking at her innocent, hopeful face, I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the truth. I could only nod. “Okay. We’ll wait for her.” By 9:00 PM, Lily was sitting on the living room rug, clutching her drawing, her eyes glued to the front door. 10:00 PM. 11:00 PM. Lily leaned against my chest, her eyelids growing heavier by the second, but she fought to stay awake. “Mommy… Charlotte will be home soon, right?” I gently patted her back. “Go to sleep, baby. Daddy’s here.” “But when she comes back, you have to wake me up, Daddy…” “I will.” Lily finally drifted off, her little fingers still tightly gripping the piece of paper. At 2:00 AM, the front lock clicked. Charlotte walked in, carrying the faint scent of wine. Seeing me holding Lily on the sofa, she paused, her eyebrows knitting together. “Why aren’t you guys in bed?” I looked at her, my voice dead calm. “Lily was waiting for you.” “Waiting for me for what?” “She drew a picture. She wanted to show you.” Charlotte glanced at the paper in Lily’s hand. It was a crayon drawing of three people holding hands under a giant yellow sun—a woman in a dress, a man with glasses, and a little girl with pigtails. Charlotte looked away. “I have an early meeting tomorrow. Go to bed.” She turned toward the master bedroom. But just before she reached the door, she stopped. “By the way, there’s a family event at her kindergarten tomorrow. You go.” “But—” “I have plans tomorrow.” She didn’t turn around. “Julian just got back and needs help settling in. I’m helping him run some errands.” I held Lily closer, watching the bedroom door shut. I couldn’t say a word. Lily stirred in my arms, murmuring a faint, sleepy whisper. “Mommy…” I looked down and saw a tear slipping from the corner of her closed eye. She hadn’t been asleep at all. ***

The next morning, Lily woke up early. She dressed herself, brushed her teeth, and ran to the kitchen door, whispering, “Daddy, is Charlotte awake?” I paused my cooking. “She already left.” “Oh.” Lily’s shoulders slumped, but then she looked up again. “Can she make it to the family craft day later?” I knelt down and looked into her eyes. “Lily, Daddy is going with you today, okay?” Lily bit her lip, staying silent. After a long moment, she nodded slowly. “Okay.” But her eyes were filled with a profound disappointment she couldn’t hide. The family craft day was themed “Parents and Kids DIY.” In the classroom, every other child had both their mom and dad sitting beside them. Only Lily sat with just me. While we were cutting paper, a little boy next to us asked his mother, “Mom, why does Lily only have her dad here?” His mother whispered back, “Shh, don’t ask. Probably a broken home.” Lily kept her head low, her hands crumpling the colored paper in her lap. I reached out and wrapped my arm around her. “Hey, Lily. Daddy’s going to make the coolest project with you, okay?” Lily looked up, her eyes red, but she forced a brave smile. “Okay.” Near the end of the event, the teacher announced it was time for a group family photo on stage. The other kids eagerly dragged their parents up, laughing and shouting. Only Lily sat frozen in her seat. “Lily, do you want to go up and take a photo?” I asked gently. Lily shook her head. “Daddy, can we just go home?” She took my hand and led me out of the classroom. But as we reached the exit, she couldn’t help but look back one last time. I knew what she was looking at. She was watching the other kids holding their mothers’ hands. On the drive back, Lily didn’t say a single word. As we reached our porch, she suddenly asked, “Daddy, does Charlotte hate me?” I froze. Lily looked up, tears finally spilling over. “Is it because I’m not good enough? I can be better, Daddy. I won’t ask for snacks anymore, and I won’t bother her. I just want her to like me…” I knelt down and pulled her into a tight embrace. “No, Lily. It’s not your fault. It is never your fault.” Lily cried into my shoulder, her little body trembling. “Then why… why doesn’t she want me?” I didn’t know how to answer. Because I wanted to ask the same thing. *Charlotte, why don’t you want us?* ***

That night, Charlotte actually came home early. Lily was playing with blocks in the living room. When she saw the door open, her eyes lit up, but she remained frozen, too scared to approach. Charlotte glanced at her briefly, said nothing, and walked straight to her bedroom. Lily lowered her head and went back to her blocks. Standing by the kitchen door, I felt an unbearable tightness in my chest. During dinner, Charlotte’s phone rang. “Julian? Sure, I’ll be right over.” She put down her fork and stood up to leave. Lily finally couldn’t help herself. She called out in a tiny voice, “Mo—” Charlotte stopped, turning around with a cold glare. “How many times have I told you not to call me that?” Lily’s face turned paper-white. Her lips trembled. “Charlotte… are you going out?” “Yes.” Charlotte turned and left. The moment the front door clicked shut, Lily’s tears fell. But she didn’t make a sound. She just wiped her face with the back of her hand. Seeing her like this, the string that had been pulled tight in my heart for three years finally snapped. I walked over and knelt before her. “Lily, Daddy wants to ask you something.” Lily looked up, her eyes red and puffy. “If Daddy takes you to a place far away, a place without Charlotte… would you want to go?” Lily stared at me. After a long pause, she whispered, “Will she come looking for us?” I stayed silent for a moment. “No.” Lily looked down, thinking for what felt like an eternity. Then, she looked up and wrapped her arms around my neck. “Wherever Daddy goes, I go.” At that moment, my mind was made up. Over the next few days, I began making quiet preparations. I resigned from my job as her driver, sold my car, and secured a small apartment and a school placement in a quiet coastal town in Maine. Every day when I picked Lily up, I would ask her, “Lily, are you sure you want to go with Daddy?” And every time, she would nod. “Yes.” But at night, before she slept, I still heard her hugging that plush rabbit, whispering, “Goodbye, Mommy.” On the fifth night, Charlotte called me. “Tomorrow is the weekend. Bring Lily to the mall. I want to buy her some clothes.” I was stunned. In three years, this was the first time she had ever offered to buy Lily anything. “Okay.” The next day, we met at the mall. Charlotte walked ahead, while Lily and I followed a few paces behind. Lily held my hand tightly, her eyes fixed on Charlotte’s back. At the kids’ clothing section, Charlotte stopped and grabbed a few dresses. “Try these on.” Lily was overwhelmed with joy. She took the clothes carefully and whispered, “Thank you, Charlotte.” Charlotte frowned slightly but said nothing. In the fitting room, Lily poked her head out. “Daddy, does this look pretty?” I smiled. “Beautiful, sweetheart.” Lily then looked at Charlotte. “Charlotte, do you like it?” Charlotte was staring at her phone, not even looking up. “Yeah.” The smile on Lily’s face dimmed, but she still tried to stay happy. At the register, the cashier smiled at Lily. “Your mom has great taste, sweetie.” Lily froze, lowering her head in silence. Charlotte paid with a blank expression. As soon as we stepped out of the mall, Charlotte’s phone rang again. “Julian? Okay, I’m on my way.” She hung up and turned to me. “Take an Uber back. I have things to do.” She walked away without looking back. Lily stood there, watching her mother’s figure disappear into the bustling crowd. After a long time, she looked up at me. “Daddy, did she leave us again?” I picked her up. “She didn’t leave us, baby. She just has her own life to live.” Lily buried her face in my shoulder. But I felt her warm tears soaking into my neck. *** 3 (Cont.) That night, I signed the final relocation documents. Our flight was scheduled for the day after tomorrow at 10:00 AM. The lease was terminated, and the suitcases were packed. Everything was ready. Before bed, I went into Lily’s room. She was asleep, hugging her plush rabbit, with dried tear tracks on her cheeks. I gently pulled the blanket over her and kissed her forehead. “Lily, Daddy is taking you away. We’re going to build our own life.” The next morning, Charlotte suddenly came home. She stood in the living room, looking at the packed suitcases, her brow furrowing. “Are you going somewhere?” “Yeah. Taking Lily on a short trip.” She didn’t ask further. She only said, “Julian and Teddy are staying here for a few days. It’s actually perfect that you two won’t be around. Less crowded.” I looked at her, suddenly finding the situation incredibly tragic. “Okay.” Charlotte turned to leave, but then remembered something. “Oh, tomorrow is Teddy’s birthday. I promised to take him to the amusement park. If Lily wants to join, she can. The kids can play together.” Before I could decline, Lily ran out of her room, her eyes shining. “Charlotte, can I really go?” Charlotte looked at her and nodded. “Sure.” Lily literally jumped with joy. But I knew she wasn’t excited about the amusement park. She was excited about being with her mother. Looking at her bright smile, my heart ached. We were leaving tomorrow anyway. *Let her have this one happy day,* I thought. ***

At the amusement park. Charlotte was on the carousel with Teddy, while Lily stood outside the railing with me. Teddy waved happily, screaming, “Charlotte, look at me!” Charlotte smiled, snapping photos of him with her phone. Lily watched them with envy, whispering, “Daddy, can I ride too?” I took her to join the queue. But by the time we got on, Charlotte had already taken Teddy to the next ride. Sitting on the wooden horse, Lily kept turning her head, searching for Charlotte’s figure in the crowd. Once we got off, she tugged my hand. “Daddy, let’s find them, please?” I nodded and led her forward. We found them at the bumper cars. Teddy was sitting next to Charlotte, laughing loudly. Lily stood against the railing, watching them, completely still. After a while, Teddy spotted us. He pointed at Lily and asked, “Charlotte, who is that girl?” Charlotte glanced at us, her voice indifferent. “Just a friend’s kid.” *Just a friend’s kid.* Hearing those words, Lily’s face crumbled as if something inside her had shattered. But she didn’t cry. She just lowered her head and gripped my hand with all her might. That afternoon, Lily didn’t smile again. On the ride home, she remained completely silent. That night, after checking our bags one last time, I went into her room. She was sitting on her bed, clutching her rabbit. “Daddy,” she looked up. “Are we leaving tomorrow?” “Yes.” “Will…” she hesitated. “Will she miss us?” I was silent for a long time. “Lily, some people simply don’t have room in their hearts for others.” Lily looked down, digesting my words. Then, she looked up and hugged me tight. “That’s okay. I only need Daddy.” My tears almost spilled over. The next morning, we were ready to leave. As I opened the door, Charlotte and Teddy were standing on the porch. She paused, her eyes sweeping over our luggage. “You’re leaving for your trip this early?” “Yeah.” Teddy ran out from behind her. Seeing the plush rabbit in Lily’s arms, he snatched it away. “What is this? It’s so ugly!” Lily gasped, instinctively trying to grab it back. Teddy threw the rabbit onto the muddy ground and stomped on it. “Trash!” Lily’s eyes welled with tears, but she held them back. Charlotte frowned slightly and told Teddy, “Don’t do that.” Then she looked at me. “Have a safe trip.” She led Teddy inside, brushing past us without sparing Lily a single glance. Lily knelt down, picked up her dirt-covered rabbit, and carefully patted the dust off its fur. “Let’s go, Daddy.” I nodded, took her hand, and walked away. At the gate of the neighborhood, I looked back at the building. Three years ago, I thought this was a home. Now I realized it was just a house we lived in. “To the airport, please,” I told the taxi driver. As the car merged onto the highway, Lily leaned against me and whispered, “Daddy, I’m not sad.” I wrapped my arm around her. “I know, baby.” “Because I have you.” Looking at the city skyline fading in the window, I thought to myself: *Goodbye, Charlotte.* *This time, it’s for real.*

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On the sixth year of our long-distance relationship, I secretly flew to New York City to give my girlfriend a surprise for her birthday. Inside the trendiest bakery downtown, my eyes caught the custom cake the guy next to me was picking up. The icing on it read: [Happy Birthday, Vivian, My Love]. My girlfriend’s name was also Vivian. Noticing my lingering gaze, the man struck up a conversation. “Ordering a cake? You’ve got great taste. I get my girl’s birthday cake here every single year.” His buddy smirked and nudged him. “Still calling her your girl? She’s basically your fiancée now!” A tender smile spread across the man’s face. “Shut up, man.” He pulled out his phone and showed me photos of the different custom cakes he’d ordered over the years. “Here, bro. These are some past designs. Just to give you some ideas.” In the photos, a girl was snuggled tightly in his arms. They were both beaming with pure happiness, holding a cake together. It wasn’t a coincidence. It wasn’t just someone with the same name. His fiancée was my Vivian.

Those photos didn’t just show birthday cakes. There were anniversaries, Valentine’s Days, and New Year’s Eves. The very last photo showed a cake with the words [999 Days] written on it. I stood there, frozen, for what felt like an eternity. Doing the math, Vivian had been with another man since the third year of our long-distance relationship. She used to tell me, *”Asher, baby, please understand. Work is so crazy right now, and flights are so expensive. Let’s save every penny we can so we can get married sooner.”* My heart had ached for her back then. I swallowed all my loneliness and promised to be patient. That was why we talked less and saw each other less. It turned out she was spending all that saved time in the arms of another man. I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms, desperately suppressing the bitter wave of betrayal and fury rising in my chest. The man didn’t notice my distress. He offered his hand. “By the way, I’m Julian.” “What a coincidence that you’re celebrating today too. I booked the best rooftop restaurant overlooking Manhattan tonight. If you don’t mind, why don’t you join us?” My mind was a chaotic mess. Acting on pure, desperate impulse, I nodded. Until I saw Vivian with my own eyes, I refused to let my heart die. We took the elevator up to the 49th floor. The restaurant had a breathtaking view, offering a stunning panoramic look at the NYC skyline. “Grab a seat, bro. I need to set up a little surprise for my baby. She went all out for me on New Year’s and Valentine’s, so I have to return the favor.” I managed a tight nod, my heart aching with a sharp, stabbing pain. Vivian had always told me she hated “senseless, commercial holidays.” So, in our ten years together, we only ever celebrated our actual birthdays. But for this man, she made exceptions. “Man, they are so disgustingly cute. Pure couple goals,” Julian’s friend said, looking on with envy. “You have no idea. When his fiancée made her first million from her startup, she spent almost the entire thing on a Patek Philippe watch for Julian. Over a hundred and fifty grand, just like that.” “Julian loves the ocean, so every year she rents a luxury yacht and sets off private fireworks over the harbor just to make him smile.” I stopped breathing. Vivian had lied to me. She told me her startup was struggling, that she was barely making ends meet. I had worked day and night at my job in Ohio, sending her money transfers under every excuse I could think of, terrified she was starving or stressed. On my birthday last year, Vivian said she was too busy to travel and only ordered a tiny, cheap grocery-store cake to be delivered to my apartment. I had eaten every single bite of that dry cake and sent her a video. *”Thank you, baby. The cake is great. It feels like we’re celebrating together anyway. My only wish is to finally end the distance and move in with you.”* She hadn’t replied until the next day: *”Great. You’re so understanding, Asher.”* Julian was busy pinning polaroid photos onto silk ribbons hanging from the ceiling. “Are you celebrating your birthday alone? Your girl didn’t come with you?” My eyes scanned the photos. Every single one of them was a sweet, intimate shot of him and Vivian. Them kissing with their eyes closed, him carrying her bridal-style, her laughing as she sat on his shoulders… Vivian smiled so brightly in those pictures. I couldn’t remember the last time she had smiled at me like that. “We’re long-distance. I wanted to surprise her,” I said, staring at Julian. “I was actually planning to move to her city, propose, and finally end the distance.” When we graduated, Vivian chose to stay in New York to build her business, while my father fell gravely ill, forcing me to go back to Ohio to care for my parents. She always told me to wait. To wait until her startup took off to get married, to wait until her company was stable so she could move to my town. I never once doubted Vivian’s love. So, the moment my parents’ health stabilized, I rushed here to be with her. I didn’t want her to exhaust herself traveling back and forth for me. But I never expected to walk into this. “Is that so? Sounds like you love her a lot,” Julian said, his smile unchanged. “But honestly, bro? If a man has nothing to his name, if he can’t even afford a decent life for himself, what kind of happiness can he really offer a woman? Better not drag her down.” Before I could reply, his friend gasped, looking at his phone. “Julian! Get ready! Boss Vivian is downstairs!”

“Surprise!” The elevator doors slid open, and the crowd popped confetti cannons. In the middle of the falling colorful rain, Vivian looked at Julian with eyes full of tenderness. She didn’t notice me at all, standing there in the dark corner. She ran straight into Julian’s arms. Julian leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Happy birthday, baby!” Vivian affectionately brushed a piece of confetti off his shoulder and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. “Thank you, handsome.” Amidst the cheers and teasing from their friends, Julian brought out the cake, lit the candles, and gestured for her to make a wish. Vivian stood on her tip-toes and kissed him deeply on the lips. “I don’t need to make a wish. Heaven has already given me the best gift I could ever ask for right here.” I stared blankly at the flickering candle flames. Six years of long-distance. To see Vivian, I had saved stacks of cheap bus and train tickets. I never let her make the tiring trip to see me even once. On my birthday during our fourth year, she sat beside me, completely distracted, staring at her phone all night. For the last two years, she was virtually non-existent in my life. And now, she was calling Julian the best gift heaven had ever given her. My chest felt completely numb, a dull, agonizing ache. A single question echoed in my mind over and over again. *What about me? What was I to you?* Julian smiled, helping Vivian blow out the candles. “If you won’t make a wish, then I will.” Someone in the crowd yelled, “What did you wish for, Julian? Let me guess, does it involve Vivian?” “Duh! Everyone knows Julian is a total simp for her. His whole world revolves around Vivian.” Vivian blushed, playfully hitting Julian’s chest. He gave her a doting look, and in the next second, he dropped to one knee. The room erupted. Julian pulled out a red velvet box, his expression dead serious and full of devotion. “Vivian, it’s been four years. Will you marry me?” Vivian covered her mouth, her eyes instantly filling with tears. Everyone held their breath, waiting for her answer. But then, a cold laugh broke the silence of the room. “Four years? Vivian, what about my ten years? What did our ten years mean to you?” Everyone whipped their heads around to look at me. Vivian turned, her face freezing in absolute horror and shock. Their friends looked back and forth between us, whispering. “Who is this guy?” “No idea.” One of Julian’s friends walked up and threw a heavy punch straight at my face. “Are you out of your mind? Julian was nice enough to let you join the party, and you come in here to ruin his proposal?!” The blow left me dazed for a second. Julian looked back at Vivian, confused. “Babe, do you know him?” “No.” Vivian coldly pulled her gaze away from me without a single shred of hesitation. She forced a sigh. “Julian, you really shouldn’t just invite any random street rat to your parties. Just ignore him.” My eyes widened. This was the woman who once cried hysterically when I got a tiny paper cut. Now, she watched someone punch me and didn’t even blink. I loved Vivian for ten years, only to be called a “street rat.” With shaking hands, I threw a heavy punch right back at the guy who hit me. He fell straight to the floor, groaning. The next second, two heavy security guards pinned me down. At Julian’s nod, the guards didn’t hold back. In front of everyone, I was beaten until my face swelled and my ears rang. As the guards held me down, Julian walked up to me and kicked my knee hard. I let out a sharp cry and collapsed onto my knees before him. My dignity and my ten years of devotion shattered completely in that exact moment. Vivian stood to the side, motionless, though a tiny flicker of hesitation crossed her eyes. Julian’s lips curled into a mocking sneer. “I tried to be a nice guy and let you hang out. I didn’t expect you to be a psycho.” “Beating you up is wasting my energy. Throw him out like the trash he is!”

The security guards dragged me by my arms toward the exit. I was too dizzy and weak to fight back. Everyone in the room stared at me with pure disgust. “This loser clearly has nothing going for him. Just trying to cause drama.” “He’s probably just jealous! Trying to be a homewrecker because he’s broke. Trash like him deserves to get run over by a car.” The vicious insults rained down on me, but Vivian never looked back. Behind me, I heard her clearly say, *”Yes, I’ll marry you,”* followed by a deafening cheer of celebration. Outside, a cold drizzle was falling. The guards threw me onto the wet pavement and kicked me twice in the ribs for good measure. A kind passerby tried to step in, but one of the guards glared at him. “This creep tried to stalk Boss Vivian and ruin her engagement. You want to take his side?” The passerby’s expression instantly changed to disgust. “Get a life, man. Stop trying to ruin other people’s happiness.” “So pathetic. If he were my son, I’d die of embarrassment.” My entire body screamed in pain, and my vision began to fade to black. “I’m… I’m not…” But no one was listening. Everyone just walked past me coldly. The rain soaked through my clothes. As I lay in a puddle, right before I lost consciousness, I heard that familiar female voice. “Take him to my apartment near the office. And take his phone.” In my feverish, chaotic sleep, I dreamed of Vivian when she was twenty-two. Back then, we were just two broke college graduates trying to survive in New York, renting the cheapest, moldiest studio apartment. We believed that if we just worked hard, everything would be okay. But a year later, my dad got terribly sick, and we needed a massive amount of money. I emptied my savings and borrowed from everyone I knew. Without telling me, Vivian emptied her own bank account and took out personal loans to send the money to my family. *”This is my family’s mess! I didn’t want you to go into debt! I didn’t want to drag you down…”* The winter nights in NYC were freezing back then. We couldn’t afford heating, so we huddled under a single thin blanket on our squeaking wooden bed to keep each other warm. Hearing my sobbing complaints, Vivian held me tighter. *”Your dad is my dad, Asher. I couldn’t just stand by. I wanted to do this.”* *”It’s going to get better. I promise.”* New York was where the money was, so Vivian had to stay to build her career, while I had to go back to Ohio to care for my parents. The moment I finished my day job, I did food delivery until 3 AM, only to wake up at 7 AM. I pushed myself to the absolute limit, eating free crackers from the office pantry for lunch to save every dollar. We survived those brutal two years and paid off eighty thousand dollars in debt. Just when life seemed to be getting easier, Vivian told me, *”Asher, I want to start my own company.”* I didn’t hesitate for a second. *”Do it. I’ll support you.”* I gave her every single penny I had left. But the corporate world was brutal. Vivian drank herself to stomach bleeding trying to pitch to investors, but couldn’t get a single dime. I couldn’t bear to see her destroy herself. Without telling her, I reached out to a wealthy senior from my college, Seraphina. After making a deal with Seraphina, Vivian miraculously received her first major seed funding. Vivian told me, *”Asher, just wait for me a little longer.”* We had survived the hardest times. I never believed that distance could ever destroy our love. But I was dead wrong. I snapped my eyes open. The sweet face of twenty-two-year-old Vivian vanished, replaced by the cold, unfamiliar twenty-nine-year-old woman standing over me. She sighed. “Let me explain, Asher.”

Vivian held a glass of water to my lips, helping me drink. My body was burning with a fever, my head felt like it was splitting open, and my voice was completely hoarse. “My phone… give me my phone.” “Asher, don’t even think about calling the cops. It won’t work.” She was worried I would file a report against Julian. She cupped my face, her eyes filled with pity. “You have to believe me. With Julian… I had no choice. There’s a reason.” I pushed her hands away, struggling to stand up. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to know. Vivian, we’re done. It’s over.” I stumbled into the living room and froze. On the coffee table sat a framed photo of Vivian and Julian holding a golden retriever puppy. Next to the frame lay a few unused condom wrappers. A pair of black stockings lay crumpled on the couch, with a lace thong hanging off the edge. Beside the couch was a dog bed, lined with a worn-out piece of clothing. It was a designer shirt I had saved up for months to buy her for her birthday. It cost me $800. Inside the dog bed was a chewed-up, ruined plush black cat keychain—something she had begged me to hand-make for her years ago. We had promised that when we got married, we would get a black cat together. My heart began to spasm in agony again. I gasped for air, suffocating. “Vivian… you could have just broken up with me. Why did you lie? Why did you give the things I bought you to a dog? Why did you have to drag my love through the mud like this?!” “Don’t call him a dog! That was the puppy Julian and I raised for years. He was family, and he passed away in an accident. Do you have to be so hateful?” Vivian rubbed her temples, looking exhausted. “Asher, stop being so childish. My startup went through a massive financial crisis years ago. If Julian hadn’t begged his dad to bail me out, I wouldn’t have any of this today.” “You should be grateful to him.” How incredibly absurd. I stared at her blankly, realizing it was useless to speak to her. “Sure. Whatever you say.” I coldly began searching the living room for my belongings, wanting nothing more than to escape this disgusting woman forever. But Vivian rushed forward and hugged me tightly from behind. “Asher, stop throwing a tantrum. Aren’t you tired of being broke? I have money now. We don’t have to be long-distance anymore. In a few weeks, I’ll buy you that luxury penthouse overlooking Central Park you always wanted. We can go back to how we used to be…” I cut her off, my voice ice-cold. “Vivian, are you asking me to be your side piece, or are you making Julian one?”

Vivian fell silent for a long moment before whispering, “I have to marry Julian.” Suddenly, her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, and her face went pale. She grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the guest bedroom. “Julian is coming up. Hide in here. If you go down now, you’ll run right into him.” “No, let me go—” Losing her patience, Vivian slapped me hard across the face. “Stop acting up!” My head spun, and I realized my body felt incredibly weak and heavy. I suddenly remembered the glass of water she had just given me. “You drugged me? Vivian, I’m literally sick with a fever!” “Asher, I had no choice. I need to make sure you behave. Just cooperate, okay?” She dragged me into the bedroom, pulled out a set of restraint ropes she kept for her private games, and tried to tie me to a chair. The sedative wasn’t that strong. I could have fought her off. But then, Vivian softened her voice, speaking to me like a child. “We’ve been together for ten years, Asher. We can’t just end. And don’t forget… I lost your baby once. You owe me for the rest of your life. You can never pay me back for that.” The words hit me like a physical blow. I froze, letting her wrap the ropes around my body, coil by coil. The pregnancy had been an accident. Years ago, after I visited her in New York, she told me she was pregnant but lost the baby due to high stress and exhaustion at work. We had always used protection, but she claimed it was a freak accident. By the time I found out about the baby, it was already gone. I had fallen to my knees back then, promising her I would spend the rest of my life making it up to her. And now, the woman who had cried in my arms used my deepest, most agonizing guilt to blackmail me. She tied a tight knot behind my back. “Don’t hate me. You’re too emotional right now. Just be a good boy and stay here.” Vivian kissed my forehead, then tore a piece of heavy duct tape and slapped it over my mouth. Outside, the sound of the front door passcode lock beeped. Vivian locked the guest bedroom door from the outside. A moment later, Julian’s ecstatic voice echoed from the living room. “Babe! I saw the pregnancy test on the counter! Two pink lines! You’re pregnant! Why didn’t you tell me?! We need to move the wedding up right away.” “We lost our last baby to an accident… This time, I won’t let anything happen to our child…” My pupils dilated in sheer horror. The baby Vivian had lost back then… wasn’t mine. “I was going to tell you once the doctor said it was stable… Honey, I’m sorry about last time…” From outside the door, the unmistakable, muffled sounds of heavy breathing and moaning began to drift in. I bit my tongue so hard the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, my stomach turning in violent disgust. I don’t know how much time passed before they finally stopped. The sound of the front door closing left me in a state of sudden terror. *Vivian will come back to untie me, right? She knows I have a high fever!* I waited. And waited. The sun went down, and a new day broke. She never came back. I lost track of how long I had been without food or water. Eventually, the darkness swallowed me whole. When I finally opened my eyes, I was lying in a hospital bed, my body completely drained. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Asher. Boss Vivian got caught up in wedding prep and… forgot about you. She asked me to apologize on her behalf.” Vivian’s assistant placed a check on the bedside table. “This is compensation from Boss Vivian. She’ll come visit you in a few days.” I didn’t say a word. My phone buzzed with a trending notification: [The Royal Wedding of Tech Mogul Vivian and Julian, Heir to the Mercer Empire.] With a blank expression, I swiped the notification away and sent a text to Seraphina: *”I lost the bet. I keep my word.”* She replied almost instantly: *”I’m coming to pick you up right now.”* My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I sent one last text to Vivian: *”Vivian, we are done. For good.”* Ten years of devotion, and I never got to see the dawn. For the rest of our lives, may we never meet again.

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The basement was covered in mold. I lay there in the pitch-black darkness, waiting for death. Twenty years. Ever since that catastrophic chemistry lab fire twenty years ago, I had never seen the sunlight. The harsh screech of my AP Chemistry teacher, Brenda Vance, still echoed in my ears: “Summer Lin! You forgot to turn off the burner! You blew up the lab, disfigured your classmates, and burned down the entire science building!” To pay for my “crime,” my parents sold our house, begged on their knees, and died early from sheer exhaustion and stress. Branded as an “arsonist,” I spent two decades working under the table, washing dishes in greasy spoons, and sending every penny I made to the “victims” as blood money. The heavy metal door creaked open. Brenda and her daughter, Chloe—who used to be my best friend—stepped in. “Mrs. Vance…” I croaked, trying to squeeze out a shred of gratitude. Over the past twenty years, she was the only one who ever visited me. Chloe snatched the envelope containing my last hundred dollars from under my pillow. “Only a hundred? This won’t even buy me a lip gloss.” I froze. She leaned in close, a sickening smirk playing on her lips. “Summer, you didn’t actually think this money went to the victims, did you? Back then, I was the one playing with magnesium powder and caused the spark. My mom opened the gas valve, locked the door from the outside, and made you the perfect scapegoat.” *Boom—* My mind went entirely blank. Brenda looked down at me with cold, dead eyes. “Your parents were just cheap blue-collar workers. Taking the fall for Chloe was the only useful thing you could ever do.” The heavy door slammed shut. Darkness consumed me. Sheer hatred tore through my veins. If I could just do it all over again—! ***

“Summer! Are you even listening to me? What is wrong with you?” A piece of chalk struck my forehead with perfect accuracy. The sharp sting felt incredibly real. I gasped, my eyes flying open as I sucked in a huge breath of air. In front of me was a green chalkboard covered in complex chemical equations. The air smelled faintly of chalk dust and sulfur. Standing at the podium in a beige blazer and wire-rimmed glasses was the middle-aged woman frowning at me. Brenda Vance. I instinctively gripped the pen in my hand so hard the plastic casing nearly cracked. All around me were my classmates, wearing high school hoodies and varsity jackets. In the front row, Chloe turned around, made a face at me, and mouthed, *“Idiot.”* I was alive. I glanced at the wall clock: May 18, 2004, 4:30 PM. The exact day of the lab explosion! “Did you get any of the esterification reactions I just explained?” Brenda tapped the board sharply. “As my lab assistant, with the state science decathlon next week, how can you be this distracted? You’re staying after school to clean up the AP chemistry lab. Think about your attitude.” The exact same words. In my past life, this was how I was forced to stay behind, becoming the “last person to leave the lab.” The perfect scapegoat. I took a deep breath, forcing down the violent urge to kill her right then and there. I stood up, my voice eerily calm. “Understood, Mrs. Vance.” Brenda seemed satisfied with my obedience. She nodded. “Class dismissed.” The classroom erupted into cheers as everyone packed up to leave. Chloe walked over to my desk, tossing her designer backpack over her shoulder with a sweet smile. “Thanks for doing the heavy lifting, Summer. I have dance practice. Oh, by the way, I heard the department just got some expensive new reagents. Don’t be clumsy and break them.” Looking at her youthful, flawless face, all I could see was her twisted, ugly expression twenty years later. “Don’t worry,” I said, looking straight into her eyes with a faint smile. “I’ll take *excellent* care of everything.” ***

5:00 PM. The hallway was completely empty. I walked into the top-floor chemistry lab. In my past life, I had been in here diligently cleaning up just like Brenda told me to. Meanwhile, Chloe had snuck back in while I went down to empty the trash, stealing magnesium powder to play with, which started a small fire. Then she ran. When Brenda arrived, she didn’t put out the fire. Instead, she turned on the main gas valve, overturned a bottle of ethanol, and turned a minor accident into a massive explosion. This time, I wasn’t going to give them the chance. I pushed the door open. Sure enough, the lab was a total mess. It didn’t look like a class had just ended; it looked like someone had intentionally rummaged through it. I didn’t start cleaning right away. Instead, I pulled out a rare luxury for a high schooler in 2004—a Nokia 7610. My dad had saved up for three months just to buy it for me as a reward for my grades. The camera was only one megapixel, but it was enough to capture video. I turned on the camera and started recording from the entrance. I captured every corner, the position of every chemical bottle, and the status of every valve. Especially the corner where several open jars of magnesium powder sat, along with a few unextinguished cigarette butts on the floor—the trash left behind by Chloe and her popular slacker friends. Once I recorded everything, I quickly got to work. I put all the chemicals back in their locked cabinets, checked every single burner, and made sure they were completely extinguished. Most importantly, I checked the main gas valves. All tightly shut. By the time I finished, it was 5:20 PM. According to my memory, the explosion happened around 5:45 PM. I grabbed my backpack and walked out, locking the heavy door behind me. But I didn’t leave the campus. I walked straight to the security office on the ground floor. “Mr. Miller!” I tapped on the glass window. The school guard, Mr. Miller, looked up from his small TV. “Oh, hey, Summer. Leaving late today?” “Yes, sir. I had clean-up duty,” I smiled, handing him the logbook. “Here are the lab keys. Could you sign here to confirm I handed them in at 5:25 PM?” There was no strict rule about signing out, but because I was always a straight-A, detail-oriented student, Mr. Miller didn’t think twice. “Of course, kiddo. You’re always so responsible.” He checked his watch and wrote in the logbook: *5:25 PM. Summer Lin returned lab keys. Doors and windows locked.* Seeing his signature, half of the weight on my chest lifted. I had the video. I had the witness. This time, even if Chloe burned the school to the ground, she couldn’t pin it on me. I walked out of the school gates, but instead of going home, I walked into the Starbucks right across the street. I ordered a sweet drink and sat by the window. From here, I had a perfect view of the top-floor lab windows. In this life, I wasn’t just going to prove my innocence. I wanted to see just how evil my “beloved teacher” could truly be. The minutes ticked by. 5:40 PM. The school should have been completely deserted. But then, a familiar figure slipped through the school gates, looking around suspiciously. It wasn’t Chloe. It was Brenda Vance. Why wasn’t she at home? In my past life, she claimed she had been at home tutoring Chloe all evening, giving her a perfect alibi. But now, she was sneaking back into the school? I narrowed my eyes as I saw her pull out a key—the spare key! As the head of the science department, of course she had a master key. She scanned the empty courtyard, then slipped quickly into the building. My heart began to hammer against my ribs. In my past life, the logic was: Chloe messed up, and Brenda cleaned up by framing me. But in this life, Chloe never got the chance to sneak back in because I had locked up so fast. If Chloe wasn’t in there, why did Brenda go in? Unless… ***

A terrifying realization hit me. 5:50 PM. Brenda came running out of the building. She was running incredibly fast, her hair slightly messy, clutching something tight in her hand. She jumped into her red sedan parked by the curb and sped away. The second her car rounded the corner. *BOOM—!!!* A deafening blast shook the windows of the Starbucks. Flames erupted from the top floor of the school! Thick black smoke billowed into the sky, swallowing the evening sun. I squeezed my plastic cup so hard it cracked, spilling cold coffee all over my hand. Tears spilled over my cheeks. Not from fear, but from the sheer, icy horror of the truth. So that was it. In my past life, Chloe’s little fire was just an excuse. In this life, even though I locked the doors and left early, the explosion still happened! Which meant Brenda didn’t just “cover up” for her daughter. She wanted to blow up the lab on purpose! Why? Just to frame me? No, that didn’t make sense. Then why? Whatever the reason, this time, you lit the fire with your own hands. Brenda, in this life, I’m not just going to clear my name. I’m going to send you straight to hell. Sirens wailed as police cars and fire trucks rushed toward the school, cutting through the twilight. I blended into the growing crowd of onlookers, staring at the roaring flames with a cold, expressionless face. “Oh my God! The whole top floor is gone!” “I heard it’s the chemistry lab! Thank God school was over!” Twenty minutes later, the fire was brought under control. I saw Brenda rushing back to the scene. She had changed her clothes and redone her hair. Her face was a mask of panic and grief. Her acting was worthy of an Oscar. “My lab! How did this happen?!” she sobbed, grabbing a firefighter’s arm. “There was so much expensive equipment in there! How could it blow up?!” Soon, a few police officers walked over. Leading them was a stern-looking, middle-aged detective. “Who is in charge of this lab?” “I am. I’m Brenda Vance, Head of the Science Department,” Brenda cried, wiping her tears. “Officer, what happened?” “Preliminary investigation suggests a gas leak triggered by a spark, fueled by highly flammable chemicals,” the detective said, looking at his notepad. “The school guard said someone was in there cleaning up. Who was the last person to leave?” Brenda’s eyes flickered with a dangerous light. Then, she put on a look of utter shock and heartbreak. “It… it was one of my students, Summer Lin.” “She’s usually such a sweet girl… I asked her to tidy up. How could she be so reckless?” “Oh my God!” Brenda gasped suddenly, covering her mouth. “I remember now! She was so distracted during class today. I scolded her… Could she have done this out of spite? Or maybe she was just in such a rush to leave that she forgot to turn off the gas?” She was already shaping the narrative. The surrounding teachers and onlookers began to whisper. “Summer Lin? The quiet scholarship kid?” “She always seemed so nice. I can’t believe she could be so irresponsible.” “Leaving the gas on? She could have killed people!” “Where is Summer Lin? Get her over here!” the detective called out. “I’m right here.” I walked out of the crowd, my backpack over one shoulder, my expression completely calm. ***

In that instant, every eye in the crowd locked onto me. Some looked at me with disgust, some with anger, others with malicious excitement. When Brenda saw me, a flash of pure malice crossed her eyes before she threw herself at me, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me violently. “Summer! What did you do?! I trusted you to clean the lab! Did you leave the gas on?! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?! You destroyed school property! You ruined our reputation!” Her acrylic nails dug painfully into my skin. In my past life, this was the exact moment I broke down. I had sobbed, uselessly repeating “I didn’t do it,” which only made me look guilty. But now, I just stared at her performance with cold eyes. “Mrs. Vance, please let go of me,” I said, my voice quiet but incredibly clear. Brenda froze, shocked that the usually timid, quiet girl was actually standing up to her. “You’re talking back now? Do you realize you’re going to juvenile hall for this?!” “Juvenile hall?” I smiled slightly. “Everything requires evidence. Why are you so sure I left the gas on?” “Because you were the last one there! You had the keys!” Brenda shrieked. “And the guard confirmed you were the last one to lock up!” The detective stepped forward, looking down at me seriously. “Summer, were you the last one to leave the lab?” “Yes,” I nodded. “And did you make sure all gas valves and electrical appliances were turned off?” “Yes, I did.” “Liar!” Brenda cut in. “If you turned them off, how did it explode? You obviously rushed out without checking because you wanted to go home! Lying at your age… this is a serious character flaw!” “Detective!” Brenda turned to the officer, her voice dripping with fake concern. “Her family is low-income, and she’s always had a bit of a chip on her shoulder. I take responsibility for not supervising my student better, but I beg you to investigate this thoroughly. We cannot let this slide.” With just a few sentences, she had painted herself as a saint while giving me a perfect motive. Brilliant. Just then, my parents arrived, breathless and terrified. They were still in their grease-stained work uniforms, pushing through the crowd with pale faces. “Summer! Are you okay?” My mom looked like she was about to burst into tears. My dad immediately started bowing to the detective and Brenda. “We are so sorry, Mrs. Vance, officer. If our daughter made a mistake, we will work three jobs to pay for the damage…” Looking at my hardworking, humble parents, my heart ached. In my past life, they worked themselves to death in shame. In this life, I was going to make sure they stood tall. “Dad, Mom, stop.”

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On my daughter’s fifth birthday, my husband turned her party into a welcome-home bash for his precious ex. I stood there, clutching the birthday cake, and looked at Ethan Reed. He only frowned, his voice dripping with impatience. “We can celebrate Lily’s birthday another day, Chloe. Stop throwing a tantrum over nothing.” Just then, our five-year-old daughter, Lily, walked through the door. I opened my mouth to comfort her, but Hailey Miller beat me to it. She knelt down, grabbed Lily’s hands, and smiled sweetly. “Hey sweetie, I brought a special gift just for you. It’s in your room!” Innocent and confused, Lily followed her into the bedroom. The next second, a piercing, blood-curdling scream echoed through the house. I rushed inside. There, on Lily’s little bed, lay the cold, skeletal remains of a dog. Right next to it was its fully preserved, intact fur. It was Buddy. Lily’s beloved golden retriever. Lily’s face went dead white. Her chest heaved violently as her asthma triggered on the spot. “Ethan! Get her and her sick things out of my house right now!” I screamed, pulling my trembling daughter into my arms. But Ethan immediately stepped in front of Hailey, shielding her from me. “Hailey hates live dogs, Chloe. She did this so Buddy could stay with Lily forever. She was only trying to be nice!” I stared at him, my heart turning to ash. In that single moment, I realized this marriage was dead.

I held my wheezing daughter tightly, my voice shaking with rage. “That was Buddy! Lily’s favorite dog! What Hailey did will scar this child for life!” Ethan knitted his brows, ready to defend Hailey again. I didn’t give him the chance. With tear-filled eyes, I spat out the painful memories. “Buddy was Lily’s third birthday present. I brought him home when he was just a tiny puppy. She was so happy she couldn’t sleep all night!” “For two years, he ate with her, slept with her, and was her best friend! How could you let this psycho torture and kill him?!” Standing behind Ethan, Hailey sneered, looking completely unbothered. “It was just a cheap mutt, Chloe. Lily isn’t that fragile. She won’t be scarred.” She sighed dramatically. “I was just worried she’d be sad if we simply gave the dog away. That’s why I preserved its bones and fur. Honestly, she should be thanking me for my thoughtfulness.” Her shameless lies shattered the last of my self-control. I lost it. I grabbed the glass cup from the nightstand and hurled it straight at the disgusting pair. The glass slammed hard against Hailey’s arm. She let out a sharp cry of pain. Instantly, her eyes welled with tears, and she bit her lip pitifully. “If I knew Chloe hated me this much, I wouldn’t have come today. I was just trying to be nice, and now I’m accused of ruining Lily’s birthday…” Seeing her cry, Ethan rushed to support her, glaring at me with pure venom. “You are a literal madwoman, Chloe! Not only did you disrespect Hailey, but you also have zero respect for me!” I wanted to scream at him for being so blind, but Lily’s breathing suddenly grew incredibly shallow. Her tiny gasps felt like physical stabs to my chest. Her asthma attack was getting worse. Panicked, I tried to push past Ethan to get the emergency inhaler from the nightstand. But he grabbed my arm, blocking my path. His voice was cold and commanding. “You are not leaving this room until you apologize to Hailey.” I looked at my suffocating, trembling daughter. My heart was being shredded by a dull blade. For Lily, I had to swallow my pride and my tears. I lowered my head and whispered hoarsely to Hailey, “I’m sorry. I lost my temper.” But the moment the words left my mouth, Hailey reached out and shoved me hard. My lower back slammed violently against the sharp corner of the desk. The pain was so intense I couldn’t stand up. Hailey quickly took two steps back, gasping in mock shock. “Oh my god, Chloe, how could you be so clumsy? If you can’t even take care of yourself, how can anyone trust you with Lily?” Ethan instinctively reached down to help me. But Hailey grabbed his arm, her voice sweet and urgent. “Ethan, Lily is still struggling to breathe. We need to check on the baby first.” Ethan hesitated for a fraction of a second, then scooped Lily out of my arms and walked out of the room with Hailey. I slumped on the cold floor. Watching their retreating backs, a bitter ache swelled in my chest. My tears fell silently, mixing with the blood on my bruised hands. I forced myself up, leaning heavily against the desk, and dragged myself to the bathroom. I turned on the shower, letting the hot water wash away the suffocating smell of blood. After cleaning up, I forced my aching body out of the bedroom. The moment I stepped into the living room, a heart-wrenching cry echoed through the house.

I ran into the room. Lily was collapsed on the freezing hardwood floor. Hailey stood beside her, holding an inhaler, looking completely lost. Like a wild animal, I threw myself over my daughter, cradling her. My fingers brushed against her ice-cold cheek as I screamed at Hailey, “What did you do to her?!” Hailey quickly hid the medicine bottle behind her back, trying to look nervous. “I—I was just trying to give her the medicine. I didn’t know I grabbed the wrong one. It was an accident!” Lily’s face was turning blue, her breathing so faint it could stop at any second. I didn’t have time to fight. I ripped the emergency inhaler from Hailey’s hands and pressed it to Lily’s mouth. After a few deep puffs, Lily’s stiff body finally began to relax. Her breathing gradually slowed, and the heavy rock in my chest lifted slightly. With bloodshot eyes, I glared at Hailey. The rage inside me was begging to be let loose. “If you don’t know how to take care of a child, don’t touch her medicine! If anything happens to Lily today, I swear I will ruin you.” Frightened by the raw hatred in my eyes, Hailey shrank back. She immediately hid behind Ethan, her eyes red as she whimpered, “I’ve never taken care of kids before. It was just a mistake. I feel terrible about Lily too…” Ethan wrapped a protective arm around her and turned to me, his face filled with irritation. “If you hadn’t thrown a fit in the bedroom, Hailey wouldn’t have had to step in and watch Lily. This is entirely your fault.” I clenched my fists to shoot back, but the front door opened. Ethan’s parents walked in, carrying expensive gift boxes. The moment they saw Hailey, their faces lit up with joy. They rushed over, grabbing her hands, asking how she was doing, chatting warmly as if she were the daughter-in-law. I stood in the corner, holding my traumatized daughter. Lily and I were like ghosts, completely invisible to their warm family circle. Mrs. Reed spared me a brief, cold glance. Her voice was commanding. “What are you standing there for? I brought fresh seafood. Go to the kitchen and make dinner.” I didn’t want to fight in front of my daughter. I gently patted Lily’s back to soothe her, then walked into the kitchen alone. When dinner was served, Hailey was the star of the table, pouring wine for my in-laws. Then, she picked up a serving spoon, piled my bowl high with various crabs and shrimp, and smiled fake-sweetly. “Chloe works so hard taking care of Lily. You should eat more of this to recover.” I stared at the seafood in my bowl. Silently, I began to pick it out and push it to the side of my plate. Hailey immediately frowned, looking deeply hurt. “Your mother-in-law brought these fresh ingredients herself, Chloe. You won’t even take a bite? That’s so disrespectful.” Mrs. Reed’s face darkened instantly. She snorted in disgust. “What did you expect? She’s just a cursed orphan with no manners. No wonder her parents died early.” The cruel words stabbed deep into my chest. Years ago, it was my parents who helped the Reed family survive their financial crisis, which led to my arranged marriage with Ethan. But on my eighteenth birthday, my parents died in a horrific car crash. Since then, I was branded a “cursed child” who brought misfortune to her own family. Everyone avoided me like the plague. Only Ethan kept his promise, staying by my side and shielding me from the nasty rumors. I thought Ethan would defend me this time, just like he used to. Instead, he reached over, scooped the seafood I had set aside, and dumped it back into my bowl. His voice was firm. “My parents brought this. Hailey is just being a good guest. Eat it. Stop making a scene.” Looking at his cold profile, my memories rushed back. During our first anniversary dinner, the chef had accidentally added shellfish to my dish. I had broken out in hives and could barely breathe. Ethan had been so devastated and angry at himself that he slapped his own face, staying up all night by my hospital bed. But in just a few years, everything had changed. I swallowed the bitterness in my throat and whispered, “I’m allergic to seafood, Ethan. I can’t eat this.” Ethan paused, a flicker of hesitation crossing his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by cold indifference. “It’s just a minor allergy. You can handle a few bites. Don’t ruin everyone’s mood.” Looking at his heartless face, my love for him died a little more. I forced myself to take a few bites of the seafood. Within minutes, my neck and arms broke out in angry, itching red hives. The itching spread like wildfire across my skin, and my throat began to tighten. Seeing the severe reaction, Ethan finally panicked. Ignoring his parents and Hailey, he swept me up in his arms and rushed me to the hospital.

In the examination room, the doctor stared at my lab results with a deep frown. “Your allergy levels are off the charts. You have a severe seafood allergy! Why on earth did you eat so much of it?” “A little more, and your airway would have swollen shut. Do you not value your own life?” I kept my eyes down, my throat too tight to utter a single word. Ethan stood beside the bed, quietly apologizing and taking the blame upon himself. Once the doctor left, we were the only ones left in the room. He grabbed my wrist, his voice carrying a tired, defensive tone. “I didn’t mean to force you, Chloe. But today was a special occasion. You embarrassed my parents and Hailey. You were being childish.” He sighed, trying to reason with me. “Hailey isn’t a bad person. We’re going to be a family eventually, so you need to learn to tolerate her. Making a war out of this helps no one.” Hearing him protect Hailey even now, the last shred of my childhood affection for him shattered completely. After the IV drip finished, Ethan drove me back. The moment we stepped into the courtyard, my heart stopped. There, piled in a messy, dirty heap in the corner of the garden, were my parents’ belongings. The picture frames were covered in dirt, and their precious ornaments were scattered everywhere. Panic seized me. I rushed over and grabbed the housekeeper, demanding to know what was happening. Before the housekeeper could speak, Hailey strolled out of the living room. “I had them thrown out,” she said casually. “I’m going to be living here permanently now. Keeping a dead couple’s stuff around is bad luck. The Reed family already agreed to it.” Those were the only things I had left of my parents. With tears streaming down my face, I rushed forward to grab the photos. Seeing this, Hailey suddenly lost her balance and fell straight back into the artificial pond. Behind me, Ethan’s face went pale. He ran past me without a second thought, diving into the water to pull Hailey out. She was soaking wet, shivering pitifully in his arms. Ethan turned to glare at me, his eyes filled with absolute disgust and fury. “Just because of what happened at dinner, you decided to push her?!” “She threw away my parents’ things! I was just trying to stop her! She tripped on her own!” I cried out, my body shaking violently. Ethan let out a bitter, mocking laugh. “Hailey is gentle. Why would she throw herself into a pond? You’re still making excuses.” He turned to the gardeners. “Burn all of it. Now.” The fire roared to life. My parents’ smiling faces in the photos twisted and blackened in the flames. It felt like my own chest was being burned alive. Desperate, I lunged forward, trying to grab whatever photos were left. My fingers instantly blistered from the roaring heat, the agonizing pain shooting up my arms. But Ethan showed no mercy. He grabbed my shoulder and threw me away. I crashed onto the hard dirt, my palm tightly clutching a half-burnt photo of my mother. My tears mixed with the soot on the damaged paper. Hailey, wrapped in Ethan’s jacket, walked over to the fire. Noticing the half-burnt photo in my hand, she snatched it away and threw it back into the flames. She leaned down, her hand gently stroking her flat stomach. Her voice was quiet, but her words were poison. “I didn’t want to be this cruel, Chloe. But I’m pregnant with Ethan’s baby.” “I can’t let my unborn child be surrounded by the bad luck of dead people. Getting rid of this trash is for the good of our new family.”

I froze, my mind going completely blank. Ethan walked over and grabbed my arm. His voice was incredibly calm, as if he were discussing the weather. “It was an accident, Chloe. Hailey is too weak to get an abortion.” “Keeping the baby will give her some security. Don’t worry. You will always be the mistress of this house.” A flash of malice crossed Hailey’s eyes, but she quickly masked it with a fragile, apologetic look. She took a step toward me. “Chloe, I’m not trying to take anything from you. I won’t cause any trouble.” “I only cleared out the old things for my baby. You’re a mother too. You should understand.” Understand? My dog was killed, my daughter was hospitalized, I nearly choked to death from an allergy, and my parents’ memories were reduced to ashes. And now, she was pregnant with my husband’s child, forcing me into a corner. Why should I understand?! The bottled-up pain and humiliation of the entire night exploded. I raised my hand and slapped Hailey hard across the face. The sharp sound echoed in the garden. Hailey froze, her eyes instantly filling with tears. Ethan shoved me away, his eyes filled with profound disappointment. “I’ve given you all the respect and dignity you deserve, Chloe. But you are just too small-minded to tolerate anyone else.” That night, Ethan stripped me of all my authority in the house. He ordered the servants to put Hailey’s needs first. For the next few days, I was treated like a maid in my own home. I had to cook Hailey’s meals and prepare her herbal teas. If she wasn’t satisfied, she would dump the hot liquid onto my hands, forcing me to start over. She would purposely smash glass cups on the floor, and I had to clean up the sharp pieces bare-handed. For Lily’s sake, I endured it all. But Lily was a sensitive child. She saw the exhaustion and sadness in my eyes. She would often grab the hem of my shirt, using her soft, tiny hands to gently rub my blistered palms, whispering, “Don’t be sad, Mommy.” Looking at her pale, sweet face, the last of my patience broke. We had to leave this toxic house. I printed out the divorce papers. While waiting for Ethan to return, Lily ran through the front door, holding a stray puppy. The puppy looked almost exactly like Buddy. Lily held it tightly, her eyes shining with pure joy. Hailey happened to come downstairs. Seeing the dog, her face darkened. She marched over to kick the puppy out. Lily clung to the dog, refusing to let go. In a fit of anger, Hailey kicked Lily’s leg hard. My heart stopped. I rushed forward to shield my daughter, but Hailey grabbed my wrist, pinning me against the staircase railing. Seeing me trapped, Lily panicked. She lunged forward, scratching Hailey’s arm to pull her away. During the struggle, Hailey gave a violent shove. Lily lost her balance. Her tiny body rolled violently down the stairs. My eyes widened in horror. I threw myself forward to catch her, but I lost my footing too. The world spun. The last thing I heard was my daughter’s terrified scream, and then, darkness. “Chloe!” a voice screamed before I faded out.

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“Don’t touch me.” He shook off my hand, his eyes cold as ice. “Just thinking about sharing a bed with a calculating woman like you for three whole years makes my skin crawl.” Three days ago, he drove through a torrential storm just to buy me my favorite lavender-lemon cake, and ended up in a horrific car crash. Now, his memory had rolled back to three years ago, right when we first got married and he absolutely despised me. Holding his first love close, he crushed the wooden hairpin I had personally carved for him under his heel. “Trash belongs in the trash can.” Today was my birthday. It was also our wedding anniversary. Outside the window, he was setting off a massive display of fireworks across the Manhattan skyline for that other woman. Over the phone, his cold, detached voice came through. “Vivian? She’s nothing but a cheap substitute.” I slid the simple wedding band off my ring finger and signed the divorce papers. Christian Blackwood, I am finally letting you go. Vivian’s POV The smell of disinfectant in the ICU was sharp and suffocating. I stood outside the glass wall, staring blankly at the man hooked up to the ventilator. Christian Blackwood. My husband. The ruthless CEO of Blackwood Enterprises. Three days ago, just to get me a cake from that boutique bakery downtown, his car collided with an out-of-control truck in the middle of a heavy storm. The doctor said he suffered a severe traumatic brain injury. Whether he would ever wake up was entirely up to fate. For three days and three nights, I hadn’t left his side. My tears had long run dry. The heart monitor suddenly spiked. The man on the bed slightly twitched his fingers. My heart leaped into my throat. I rushed into the room like a madwoman. “Christian! Are you awake? Christian!” I grabbed his trembling hand, my tears spilling over again, splashing onto his pale skin. Slowly, those deep, dark eyes opened. After a fleeting moment of confusion, his gaze locked onto my face. There was no warmth. No relief of surviving a near-death experience. Only bone-chilling coldness and pure, unfiltered disgust. He yanked his hand back as if he had touched something toxic. “Don’t touch me.” His voice was hoarse, but it cut through me like shards of glass. I froze, staring at him in disbelief. “Christian… what’s wrong? It’s me, Vivian…” “Vivian?” Christian let out a mocking laugh, his eyes dripping with contempt. “What kind of game are you playing now? My grandfather already forced me to marry you. What more do you want?” It felt like a lightning strike. My mind went completely blank. Grandpa forced him to marry me? That was three years ago! Three years ago, Arthur Blackwood used his failing health to force Christian to marry an ordinary, self-made UN simultaneous interpreter. Me. Back then, Christian’s heart belonged entirely to his high-school sweetheart, Tiffany Sterling. He hated me to the bone, believing I was a gold-digger who used his grandfather to climb into his bed. But over the last three years, I was the one who stood by him through the brutal board battles at Blackwood Enterprises. I spent three years chipping away at his icy heart. Just two weeks ago, he had pinned me against the floor-to-ceiling window of our penthouse, whispering against my ear, “Vivian, once this merger is done, I’m giving you the grandest wedding. I want the whole world to know you are my wife.” But now, he was looking at me like I was his worst enemy. The doctors rushed in to run tests. Afterward, the chief neurologist called me out into the hallway. “Mrs. Blackwood, your husband suffered retrograde amnesia from the impact. His memory has reset to three years ago, right around the time of your wedding.” The doctor’s words were a blunt knife sawing at my heart. “Will he… will he ever remember?” my voice shook. “It’s hard to say. He could remember tomorrow, or… he might never remember for the rest of his life.” I don’t even remember how I walked back into the room. By then, Christian’s mother, Eleanor, had arrived. She had always despised me. Now, she was holding Christian’s hand, wiping away tears. “Oh, Christian, you scared me to death! Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll make sure that leech pack her bags and get out of our lives immediately!” Christian leaned against the pillows. Even pale and in a hospital gown, he still possessed the intimidating aura of a billionaire mogul. He looked up, his cold eyes sweeping over me as I stood at the doorway. “Now that I’m awake, this joke of a marriage ends,” he said, his tone casual but incredibly cruel. “My lawyers will draw up the divorce papers. Vivian, take the cash settlement and get out of my sight. I’m going to find Tiffany.” I dug my nails deep into my palms, swallowing the metallic taste of blood in my throat. “Christian, these past three years, we…” “Shut up!” Christian snapped, his eyes flashing with irritation. “Don’t bring up these three years. Just thinking about the fact that I was forced to share a bed with a calculating woman like you for three whole years makes my skin crawl.” My heart shattered into a million pieces. I looked at the man I had loved with every fiber of my being, and he felt like a total stranger. The Christian who used to warm my cold feet under the covers, who would massage my shoulders after a grueling day of interpreting, who drove through a storm just because I casually mentioned a cake… that Christian was dead. He died in that car crash. I took a deep breath, forcing my tears back. “Fine,” my voice was quiet, but steady. “I agree to the divorce.”

Vivian’s POV I returned to our mansion in Greenwich. This place used to be my sanctuary. The cashmere rugs I picked out, the custom couple mugs we made at a pottery class, the framed photo of us chasing the Northern Lights in Iceland… Every corner was filled with proof of his love. The next afternoon, the front doors were thrown open. Christian walked in, looking sharp in a tailored black suit. Right next to him, holding his arm, was Tiffany Sterling, wearing a delicate white dress and looking like a fragile doll. I stood at the top of the stairs, watching their locked hands. My chest tightened so hard it was difficult to breathe. “Christian, the decor here is so depressing. I really don’t like it,” Tiffany whispered, looking around the living room with a pout. Christian looked down at her, his eyes filled with the exact tenderness I used to receive. “If you don’t like it, we’ll throw it all out.” He turned to the butler, his voice instantly turning frigid. “Throw away everything that belongs to Vivian. Re-decorate the entire place exactly how Tiffany wants it.” The butler froze, looking at me awkwardly. “Mr. Blackwood, but… you personally picked out these items with Mrs. Blackwood…” “I said, throw them out!” Christian roared, his glare piercing through me. “Are you deaf? Or does she run this house now?” The maids didn’t dare hesitate. They immediately started packing. I watched my favorite cashmere rug get rolled up. I watched our custom mugs get tossed into a trash bag with a sharp clink. That was the mug Christian had held my hand to mold. “Wait.” I hurried down the stairs, snatching a small wooden box from a maid’s hands. Inside was a wooden hairpin Christian had hand-carved for me on my twenty-fifth birthday. He had told me he would love me forever. “Drop it,” Christian’s icy voice sounded behind me. I clutched the box to my chest, my knuckles turning white. “Christian, this is mine.” “Is there a single thing on your body that wasn’t bought with my money?” Christian stepped closer, looking down at me with utter contempt. “Vivian, did you really think playing the role of Mrs. Blackwood for three years made you the owner of this estate?” He snatched the wooden box from my grip and threw it onto the hardwood floor. Crack. The box splintered, and the wooden hairpin inside snapped in half. Without an ounce of hesitation, Christian stepped forward, grinding the broken hairpin into the dust with his expensive leather shoe. “Trash belongs in the trash can.” My breath caught in my throat. I stared at the broken pieces on the floor. My eyes burned, but I refused to let a single tear drop. Tiffany stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Christian’s, saying softly, “Christian, let it go. Vivian has lived here for three years, after all. We should leave her with some dignity. Why don’t we let her stay in the basement guest room for now?” The basement room was damp, dark, and usually reserved for temporary cleaning staff. Christian spared me a cold glance. “Since you’re taking your sweet time signing the papers, you can stay in the basement. Tiffany is staying for dinner tonight. You’ll cook. Her stomach is sensitive, and she can’t stand restaurant food.” I snapped my head up to look at him. In the past, Christian never let me cook. He said my hands were meant for professional interpreting, not kitchen grease. If I ever made a meal, he would fuss over my hands for hours. Now, he wanted me to play maid for his first love. “What? You got a problem with that?” Christian stepped into my personal space, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Vivian, learn your place. Until the divorce is finalized, you better keep your head down and keep Tiffany happy.” I looked at his familiar face, suddenly feeling a bone-deep exhaustion. “Fine. I’ll do it.” I turned and walked into the kitchen without looking back. Behind me, the sound of their laughter echoed through the house. It felt like a physical blow, leaving me bruised and bleeding inside.

Vivian’s POV I was a top-tier simultaneous interpreter. For the past three years, to support Christian’s career, I had stepped back and only took on minor translation gigs. Now that Christian had frozen all my credit cards, I had to get back to work to prepare for my departure. I contacted my former mentor and secured a spot as the lead French interpreter for a massive multinational merger. On the day of the conference, I wore a sharp, professional blazer and arrived early at the venue. However, when the acquiring party’s delegation walked through the door, my blood froze. Walking at the head of the group was Christian, looking powerful and intimidating in his bespoke suit. And right next to him was a glammed-up Tiffany. Blackwood Enterprises was the buyer. The moment Christian saw me, his brow furrowed in deep annoyance. “What are you doing here?” his voice dripped with disgust, as if he had run into a cockroach. My mentor quickly stepped in to explain, “Mr. Blackwood, Vivian is our agency’s most elite French interpreter. She is running the translation for today’s session…” “Replace her,” Christian cut him off ruthlessly. “I don’t want a toxic, manipulative woman near my meetings.” My mentor looked cornered. “But Mr. Blackwood, it’s too late to find a replacement, and Vivian’s professional skills are unparalleled…” Tiffany gently pulled on Christian’s sleeve, offering a sweet, magnanimous smile. “Christian, it’s fine. Since Vivian needs the job, let’s just treat it as charity. Besides, I’m here as the cultural ambassador today. I might need her to explain some complex French terms to me.” Christian scoffed, his eyes scanning my face like a blade. “Since Tiffany is begging for you, you can stay. But you’re not interpreting for the room. You are Tiffany’s personal translator. You translate exactly what she says.” The meeting began. It was a highly technical negotiation filled with complex legal and financial jargon. Tiffany didn’t know a word of French, but she insisted on pretending she was fluent. She deliberately spoke at an insanely fast pace, throwing in American slang, then looking at me mockingly. I kept my face completely expressionless. Using my years of training, I took her incoherent ramblings and translated them into flawless, elegant, and highly professional business French. The French delegates nodded in high appreciation of Tiffany’s “brilliant insights.” During the coffee break, one of the French representatives walked over and spoke to Tiffany in French: “Miss Sterling, your business acumen is truly impressive, and your French expression is incredibly elegant.” Tiffany didn’t understand a word. She turned to me. I translated the compliment perfectly. Tiffany smiled triumphantly and clung to Christian’s arm. “Christian, look! Even the French are praising me.” Christian patted her hair lovingly. “My Tiffany is always the best.” Then, he cast a freezing glare at me, whispering in a voice only the three of us could hear, “See that? That’s real talent. While you, Vivian, even in a designer blazer, are nothing but a glorified shadow speaker, a human Google Translate. You will never compare to a single finger of Tiffany’s.” I stood there, keeping my spine perfectly straight. My years of hard work, my elite education, my pride. All crushed under his boot just to elevate another woman. I didn’t argue. I just lowered my gaze, hiding the dead silence in my eyes. “You are absolutely right, Mr. Blackwood,” I said, my voice completely devoid of emotion. “I am just a speaker. Miss Sterling, would you like me to proofread your speech for the second half of the meeting?” Christian sneered at my submissive attitude, grabbed Tiffany, and walked away.

Vivian’s POV The merger was a massive success, and Blackwood Enterprises won big. That night, Christian threw a massive celebration party at a five-star hotel in Manhattan. At the same time, he officially announced his engagement to Tiffany Sterling. The news shocked the city’s high society. Everyone knew Christian had a secret wife of three years. Now that Tiffany was back, the “substitute” was finally being discarded. The next day, my agency received a high-paying project. The CEO’s office of Blackwood Enterprises had sent an email requesting us to translate Christian and Tiffany’s engagement vows and destination wedding invitations into French. And Christian had personally demanded that I do it. My boss looked at my pale face with pity. “Vivian, we can reject this. I’ll make up an excuse.” “No need,” I took a deep breath and took the papers. “I’ll take it.” I went back to my desk and opened the document titled To My One and Only. With just one glance, my tears started falling onto the keyboard. “In this chaotic world, you are my anchor. Without you, I am just a ghost ship drifting in the dark. I would trade all my success just to keep you safe and happy forever…” These were the exact words Christian had written in his journal, with red eyes and a slight slur, on the night we got our marriage certificate three years ago. Back then, he had just reclaimed Blackwood Enterprises, and the company was in a terrible state. I had stayed up with him night after night. He had told me, “Vivian, once I have total control of the company, I am going to read these vows to you in front of the whole world.” Now, he was giving those exact vows to Tiffany. Trembling, I grabbed the papers, walked out of the agency, and took a cab straight to the Blackwood headquarters. The secretary didn’t dare stop me. I pushed open the door to Christian’s office. Christian was sitting at his desk. Seeing me burst in, his face darkened. “Who gave you permission to come in? Get out.” I slammed the document onto his mahogany desk, my voice cracking from the sheer pain. “Christian, do you even have a heart? Do you have any idea who these vows were originally written for?!” Christian glanced at the papers, his eyes turning even colder. “What? Jealous because you saw what I wrote for Tiffany?” He stood up, leaning over the desk, staring at me. “Vivian, are you delusional? I wrote these vows five years ago for Tiffany. I just never got the chance to read them to her. Did you actually think I wrote them for you?” I felt like I was plunging into a freezing abyss. Five years ago? No. He wrote them three years ago. He had even drawn a little lavender flower, my favorite, at the bottom right corner of the page. But he had forgotten everything. He had taken the most sacred memories of our love and handed them to another woman. “Christian, you really… don’t remember a single thing,” I whispered, tears finally escaping my eyes. “You took my soul, my love, and gave it all to her.” “Cut the act. It’s pathetic.” He walked around the desk, grabbing my chin in a grip so tight my bones ached. “A gold-digger who climbed into my bed for money doesn’t get to talk about love. Translate those vows perfectly. If you try to mess with the translation, I will make sure your agency disappears from New York overnight!” He threw me back. I stumbled, hitting my back against the cold wall. Looking at this merciless man, I suddenly started laughing. It was a laugh of pure despair. “Fine. I’ll translate it,” I wiped my tears, pulling myself together. “Don’t worry, Mr. Blackwood. I will make sure it is flawless. I wish you both… eternal happiness.”

Vivian’s POV I walked out of the Blackwood tower, feeling completely hollow. The sky was gray, and a cold rain was falling on my face, but I couldn’t feel the chill. “Vivian!” A warm, anxious voice called out from behind. I turned slowly to see Julian Mercer running toward me, holding a black umbrella. Julian was my colleague and a partner at the translation agency. For the past three years, he had watched me suffer in silence, knowing all the pain I had buried. “What did he do to you?” Julian placed the umbrella over my head. Seeing my ghostly pale face and bloodshot eyes, his heart broke. He quickly took off his trench coat and wrapped it around my shivering shoulders. “Julian…” my voice was barely a whisper, “He gave my vows to someone else.” Julian’s fists clenched. He didn’t say a word. He just gently pulled me into a hug, patting my back. “Let it out, Vivian. Cry. You need to leave him. The UN office in Geneva has a long-term interpreting project. I got you a spot. Come with me. Leave this place and live the life you deserve.” Leaning against Julian’s shoulder, all the pain and humiliation I had bottled up finally spilled out in quiet, shaking sobs. Suddenly, a violent grip grabbed my wrist, pulling me out of Julian’s arms. It was Christian. “Christian! What the hell are you doing?!” Julian snapped, stepping forward, but Christian’s bodyguards immediately blocked him. Christian gripped my wrist so hard it felt like it would snap. His eyes were dangerously dark. “Vivian, I’m impressed. The ink on our divorce papers isn’t even dry, and you’ve already lined up your next husband?” I winced in pain, trying to pull away. “Let go of me! Christian, you don’t have the right to control me!” “Right?” Christian sneered, pulling me flush against his chest. His warm breath hit my cold face. “As long as we aren’t officially divorced, you are still my wife. Parading around with another man in public… are you trying to humiliate me?” He glared at Julian, his voice dripping with malice. “Julian Mercer, right? It seems like your agency wants to go bankrupt.” Julian didn’t back down, locking eyes with him. “Christian, if you don’t love her, let her go. Torturing her like this… does it make you feel like a man?” “What’s mine stays mine, even if I don’t want it anymore,” Christian said coldly. He threw me into the back of his SUV and slammed the door shut. The tension inside the car was suffocating. Christian grabbed my chin again, forcing me to look at him. “You want to go to Geneva? You want to be with him?” A cruel smirk played on his lips. “In your dreams, Vivian. Until Tiffany’s wedding is over, you aren’t going anywhere. If you try to run, I promise you, Julian’s career will be over.” I looked at him, the very last spark of hope in my eyes completely dying out. “Christian, you are pathetic,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Are you keeping me here because you lost your memory, or because… you are too terrified to face who you really are?” Christian flinched as if struck. He angrily pushed me away. “Shut up! Your only purpose is to stay and watch Tiffany be happy.”

Vivian’s POV There were only three days left before Christian and Tiffany’s engagement party. Today, Christian’s assistant dragged me to the most exclusive bridal boutique in Manhattan. “Mr. Blackwood ordered that since Miss Sterling is trying on her wedding gown and the French designer only speaks French, you must be here to translate,” the assistant delivered the order coldly. I stood in the luxurious boutique, watching Christian and Tiffany sitting on a velvet sofa sipping tea. I nodded numbly. Soon, the French designer wheeled out a dress covered in a delicate garment bag. “Mr. Blackwood, this is ‘The Nebula,’ the gown you personally flew to Paris to commission six months ago for your bride. It is finally complete,” the designer introduced passionately in French. Hearing “six months ago” and “The Nebula,” the blood drained from my face. Six months ago, Christian had lied and said he was going to Paris for a business trip. When he came back, he had whispered secretly that he had prepared a massive surprise for our upcoming wedding ceremony. So, this was it. The bag was zipped open, revealing a gown covered in tens of thousands of tiny diamonds, the skirt sparkling like a starry night sky. Tiffany’s eyes lit up, and she gasped. “Oh my god, it’s gorgeous! Christian, did you really customize this for me?” Christian looked at the gown, his brows slightly furrowing. I knew he didn’t have the memory of making this dress, but he simply assumed he must have ordered it for Tiffany five years ago. “As long as you like it,” he said softly. With the help of the staff, Tiffany quickly put on the gown. But when she walked out, she looked ridiculous. The waist was suffocatingly tight, the chest was completely loose, and the hem was way too long. The designer frowned, speaking rapidly in French: “This is wrong. This gown was made strictly according to Miss Stone’s measurements. This lady has an entirely different body frame. Of course it doesn’t fit!” The designer recognized me. Because six months ago, Christian had brought my photos and exact measurements, staying in their Paris workshop for three days and nights to perfect it. I stood there, my fingernails biting into my palms, trying to stop myself from shaking. Tiffany didn’t understand French, but she could read the designer’s expression. She turned to Christian, pouting, “Christian, why does it fit so poorly?” Christian looked at me coldly. “What did he say? Translate.” I took a deep breath, looked straight into Christian’s eyes, and translated in a flat voice: “The designer said this gown was custom-made to my exact measurements.” The air in the room instantly turned to ice. Tiffany’s face twisted in ugly jealousy. Christian’s expression darkened. He looked at the ill-fitting gown on Tiffany, then at my slender frame. A wave of irritation crossed his face. “If the size is wrong, alter it,” Christian said coldly. The designer shook his head repeatedly. “Mr. Blackwood, the design of this dress is seamless. If we forcefully cut and alter it, we will destroy its soul. It is a complete waste of art.” “Translate,” Christian commanded. I translated the designer’s words word-for-word. Christian walked over to Tiffany, wrapping his arm around her waist. He looked down at the designer and me with sheer arrogance. “I paid for it. I can cut it however I want. Since it was made for Vivian, that means this dress is already dirty. Cut it. Alter it to Tiffany’s size. If you won’t do it, your shop will be closed by tomorrow.” My heart, at this very second, died completely. I watched the designer reluctantly pick up the shears. I watched the sharp blades cut through the sparkling fabric of “The Nebula.” Every snip felt like it was cutting through my heart. I watched the man who used to love me rip our memories to shreds and grind them into the dirt.

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We had been married for five years, and my husband, Carter, had never once forgotten any of my preferences or allergies. Everyone envied me. They said I had hit the jackpot with him. Until I found a hidden, passcode-protected file on his laptop. It was titled: [Her Instruction Manual]. I clicked it open. There were 256 entries in total. “Entry No. 3: On the first day of her period, her lower back aches. Put a heating pad on her bedside table and leave some Advil. Don’t ask if she’s in pain—just do it.” “Entry No. 47: When you get into an argument, don’t try to reason with her right away. Wait exactly 20 minutes, then text her a cute cat meme. She’ll use that as an excuse to break the silence.” “Entry No. 189: Never buy her designer bags for her birthday. Write her a handwritten letter instead. She’s a sucker for that sentimental stuff.” Every single bullet point was terrifyingly accurate. I scrolled all the way back to the very first page. Created: Seven years ago. We hadn’t even met yet back then. With trembling fingers, I clicked on the file properties to see the author’s name. Author: [Maya Song]. His ex-wife. Just as I shut the laptop, Carter walked into the bedroom, carrying a mug of hot tea and a freshly microwaved heating pad. “It’s the first day of your cycle, right? You look a bit pale.” His smile was incredibly gentle, warm, and attentive. But looking at his face, for the very first time, I felt like a machine operating strictly according to a piece of software. “No. 47 says exactly how to handle me when we fight.” I looked at him, my voice barely a whisper. “But does any entry in there tell you what to do when I find out about this list?”

The hand holding the mug didn’t even shake. That was the most sickening part of his reaction. Carter calmly set the mug and the heating pad on the nightstand. His movements were identical to those on the first day of my period for the past five years—placed gently, with the mug handle facing to the right, making it easy for me to grab with my right hand. “Which entry?” he asked quietly. I turned my phone screen toward him. The screen was stuck on that very page: 256 entries. Author: [Maya Song]. He stared at it for three seconds. “That’s something from a very long time ago.” “Seven years ago,” I said. “We’ve only known each other for six.” “I know the timeline.” He sat on the edge of the bed, keeping an arm’s length of distance between us. “Maya… she was very observant. She used to write down random notes. When we got divorced, she wiped her shared notes, but I forgot to delete this specific folder from my local drive.” He had used it for five years, yet claimed he “forgot to delete it.” What a pathetic excuse. “So, for the past five years, you’ve been living with me by following a cheat sheet she wrote?” “It’s not a cheat sheet.” He frowned slightly. “I observe what you like on my own, too.” “No. 189,” I challenged. He didn’t reply. “On my birthday last year, you wrote me a handwritten letter,” I said, my voice cracking. “I cried for half an hour because of how touched I was.” “I wrote that letter myself.” “But the “idea” to write it wasn’t yours.” I pushed the mug two inches away from me. He stared at those two inches of distance. His lips parted slightly, but he didn’t say a word. Suddenly, I wanted to know what the very last entry was. I scrolled down to the bottom. “Entry No. 256: If she stays silent for more than five minutes, do not press her. Give her space. But afterward, you must initiate the apology, even if you feel you did nothing wrong.” Looking at those words, I silently started a timer in my head. One minute. Three minutes. Carter didn’t leave, nor did he speak. Right at the four-minute mark, he stood up. “You should get some rest. I’ll be in the study.” “Entry No. 256, right?” I called out to his retreating back. He stopped at the doorway, his back to me, his shoulders tensed in a rigid, straight line. “Vivian.” He rarely called me by my full name. “What do you want me to say?” I didn’t know. But I knew I didn’t want to hear another pre-programmed response pulled straight out of someone else’s manual. He walked out. He left the study door open. I unlocked my phone, took screenshots of the entire document, and emailed them to myself. Then I opened my contacts list and scrolled to the “Emergency Contact” section. Carter’s name was still at the very top. My thumb hovered over it for three seconds. I didn’t change it. But when I closed the app, I opened Safari instead and typed in a search: [How to file for an uncontested divorce.]

The next morning, he got up at 6:30 AM. I knew because I had barely slept all night. Faint sounds drifted from the kitchen—the sizzle of butter in a pan, the low hum of the espresso machine. At exactly 7:00 AM, he knocked on the bedroom door. “Breakfast is ready.” I sat down at the dining table, and he slid a plate in front of me. A sunny-side-up egg. The yolk was perfectly runny, the edges crispy and golden. “Entry No. 11: She only eats sunny-side-up eggs with runny yolks. Never serve them hard-boiled or over-easy; she hates dry yolks.” I poked the yolk with my fork, watching the golden liquid run across the white. “I have to head into the office today,” he said, holding his coffee mug as he sat across from me. “I might be home late tonight.” “Okay.” “There’s beef stew in the fridge. You just need to microwave it for lunch.” “Sounds good.” As he walked to the entryway to put on his shoes, I spoke up. “Carter.” He turned around. “Yeah?” “Where is Maya now?” His movement paused for a fraction of a second as he tied his shoelaces. “I don’t know. We haven’t spoken since the divorce.” I nodded and didn’t press further. Once he left, I went into the study and opened his desktop computer. I knew the passcode; it was our wedding anniversary. I searched “Maya Song” in his file manager. No results. Then I searched just “Maya.” A folder popped up. It was titled: [Old Archives – Sorted]. I opened it. It wasn’t documents inside. It was screenshots of text messages. The dates ranged from eight years ago to six years ago. It was his chat history with Maya. I scrolled through a dozen images and stopped at one. In that screenshot, Maya had sent a message: [If you meet someone else in the future, when you do something nice for her, don’t constantly ask yourself why. Just trust your gut. If you have to look up a guide to remember what she likes, it means you don’t actually care about her enough.] The next message was Carter’s reply: [I used a guide for you, too.] Maya replied: [And that’s exactly why we got divorced.] I stared at those words for a long time. So, I wasn’t the first one. Before closing the folder, I noticed a calendar reminder flashing in the bottom right corner of the screen. I clicked on it. “October 17th: Vivian’s birthday. Is the letter ready?” Today was October 5th. He was already preparing for it. For lunch, I didn’t heat up the beef stew. I went out and grabbed pasta at a diner down the street. At 3:00 PM, I booked a consultation with a family law firm. “What legal services do you require?” the receptionist asked. “Divorce.” “Understood. Could you give us a brief overview of your situation?” I opened my mouth, but no words came out. What was I supposed to say? “My husband treats me beautifully—so beautifully that he acts like a computer running code written by his ex-wife?” “I just want to know… if one party files for divorce and the other party refuses to sign, what is the legal process?” After hanging up, my phone screen lit up with a text from Carter. [Did you heat up the stew? It’s chilly today, make sure to wear a jacket if you go out.] I stared at the message. Without those 256 entries, I would have found this sweet and caring. But now, I just wondered: “Which entry number is this?”

He returned at 8:00 PM. He was holding a bag from the bakery down the street—the one I frequented. “I was passing by and grabbed this,” he said, placing the bag on the table. “Hazelnut mousse cake. You said you wanted it last week.” “Entry No. 82: She always talks about dieting, but when she’s stressed, she craves sweets. Don’t tell her to restrain herself. Just buy it for her.” I didn’t touch the bag. He changed into his loungewear and came back out. Seeing the cake still sitting untouched on the table, he didn’t say anything. He sat on the opposite end of the sofa and turned on the TV. Two throw pillows sat between us, marking the distance. In the past, I would have naturally curled up next to him, resting my feet on his lap. Today, those two pillows felt like a concrete wall. “Carter.” “Yeah?” “Do you think you actually know me?” He set the remote down and turned to face me. “What do you mean by that?” “Literally. Aside from that folder on your computer, do you actually know me?” He was silent for a few seconds. “I think I do.” “Tell me one thing. One thing that isn’t written in that document.” He looked at me, his brow furrowing slightly. “You… you always flip your pillow over before you sleep because you like the cool side.” “Entry No. 19.” I knew it was No. 19 because I had read through every single one of them until 4:00 AM the night before. But I didn’t call him out. “You always taste the soup before you add salt when you’re cooking,” he added. “Entry No. 44.” “You hate answering phone calls in an Uber because you find it too noisy.” “Entry No. 103.” Every single one was correct. Every single one was written by Maya. I let out a soft, hollow laugh. “What else?” He seemed to sense that something was deeply wrong. His voice softened. “Vivian, I know that file makes you uncomfortable. But it was just a reference. A lot of things…” “A reference,” I repeated, cutting him off. He stopped. “The first time you wrote me a handwritten letter, you got ink on your hand and left a smudge on the corner of the paper.” “I kept that letter in my nightstand drawer.” “I thought it was proof of how adorable and clumsy you were when you tried hard for me.” His lips pressed into a tight line. “But now, I don’t know if you wrote that letter because you actually wanted to, or because you opened your notes, saw No. 189, and decided it was time to check it off your list.” “Vivian.” “Is there a difference?” he asked. “Yes,” I said. I stood up and picked up the hazelnut mousse from the table. I couldn’t stand seeing it there anymore, looking like a completed task on his daily checklist. I walked into the kitchen and put it in the fridge. As I shut the fridge door, I noticed a sticky note on the side. “10/6: Vivian’s annual physical results are ready. Remind her to pick them up.” Tomorrow. I stared at the note. Then I peeled it off, folded it twice, and tossed it into the trash can. The next morning, I went to the clinic and picked up my results myself. Everything was normal. But I didn’t tell him. At 2:00 PM, I called the law firm back. “I’d like to schedule an in-person consultation to draft the separation agreement.” While the receptionist was confirming the time, a text popped up from an unknown number. [Hi Vivian, this is Maya Song. I think we need to talk.]

We met at a quiet coffee shop. On a weekday afternoon, the place was mostly empty. Maya arrived wearing a beige trench coat, her hair tied back in a loose, effortless knot. She looked sharp, elegant, and much calmer than I had anticipated. She sat down and spoke first. “I’m sorry for texting you from an unknown number. He doesn’t know I’m here.” I nodded. She slid her phone across the table. On the screen was a text message Carter had sent her three days ago. [Maya, she found the manual. Can you please help me explain it to her?] I stared at the screen. He didn’t even try to explain it to me himself. He went to “her” for help. Maya took her phone back. “I didn’t reply to him. I came here on my own accord.” “That folder,” she said, looking straight at me. “I did write it back then.” I waited for her to continue. “When I was with Carter, I always felt like he was emotionally tone-deaf. He cared, but he had no idea how to show it. So I got into the habit of writing down my preferences for him.” “But later, I realized…” She paused, taking a sip of her coffee. “The fact that he needed a manual to remember how to love me meant he was never actually using his heart to feel me.” “So, I filed for divorce.” “But he kept the folder,” I said. “Yes.” “And then he used it on me.” She didn’t dodge my gaze. “I didn’t come here today to make excuses for him. I came to tell you something else.” “Out of those 256 entries, some of them weren’t written by me.” My fingers tightened around my coffee cup. “What do you mean?” “No. 189, the handwritten letter,” she said. “My original note was about buying books, not letters. He changed that one himself.” I froze. “No. 47 as well,” she continued. “I originally wrote that he should wait half an hour and send an apology text. Not a cat meme. He changed that.” “And No. 3. Back then, I wrote about buying heat patches for my back. Not a heating pad and pain meds.” She looked at me gently. “I only wrote about a hundred entries. Now there are 256. The extra ones are things he added later.” “They are about you.” I looked down at my coffee. The foam had dissolved, leaving behind irregular white patches. So, he hadn’t followed her script entirely. He had edited it. He changed the parameters and added new rules. But somehow, that made me feel even worse. Because it proved he was fully aware of the folder’s existence. He had opened it, compared me to it, and adjusted it. He calibrated it line by line to make it fit me perfectly. Like upgrading a piece of software. He hadn’t “forgotten to delete it.” He was actively using it. Seeing me sink into silence, Maya stood up. “I’ve said what I came to say. What you do next is entirely up to you.” She stopped at the door and looked back one last time. “He cares about you, but the way he goes about it is deeply flawed.” “A person who needs an instruction manual to love… well, the thicker the manual gets, the bigger the underlying issue is.” I didn’t reply. I sat in that coffee shop until the sun went down. At 6:30 PM, Carter called. “Are you home yet? What do you want for dinner?” I stared at the caller ID. His contact name was still saved as [Husband]. I hit decline. Then I opened my contacts and changed my emergency contact from Carter to my mom. I opened my Notes app and created a new note. Title: [My Instruction Manual]. For the first entry, I typed five words: “No one else writes this.” I saved it and closed the app. Then I opened the email my lawyer had sent me three days ago: [Draft Separation Agreement Template]. I filled out the first page. My phone buzzed again with a text from Carter. [Why did you decline? Bad reception? I’ll call you again.] I didn’t reply. I took the handwritten letter he had given me for my birthday last year and placed it inside a plain manila envelope. Using a pencil, I wrote one word on the seal: [Return]. He didn’t know yet. He probably thought I was just throwing a tantrum. He probably thought that in a couple of days, if he sent a cat meme and bought me another slice of cake, everything would go right back to the pre-programmed track of Entry No. 47. But I was no longer a character in his manual.

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Ethan had a custom-built car. It was heavily modified with a highly complex dashboard, completely different from a regular car. I had no idea how to drive it. He treated this car like his ultimate treasure. In our six years together, he was willing to give me anything—except this car. He wouldn’t even let me touch it. I wasn’t even supposed to stare at it for too long. Once, unable to resist my curiosity, I secretly took the car keys. That was the first time he ever raised his voice at me. Afterward, he spent hours alone in the garage. That night, he didn’t hold me to sleep, which was completely unlike him. Today, he called me to pick him up from a bar. He was slurring his words, completely wasted, yet he kept muttering under his breath, “Don’t touch my car…” I rushed to the bar and helped him out. He was too drunk to even stand straight. Helpless, I had to order a private driver through a designated-driver app. Before long, a woman ran up to us, panting. “Hi, did you request a private driver?” I nodded. She slid into the driver’s seat. Familiarly, she started Ethan’s custom car without a moment of hesitation. “You seem very familiar with this car,” I remarked. “Yeah,” she replied, nodding. “My ex-husband had the exact same one.” I remained silent. Ethan, who had been fast asleep with his head on my shoulder, suddenly opened his eyes.

In the rearview mirror, Ethan was staring at her. My heart sank. “Really?” “What a coincidence.” Ethan’s breathing turned heavy. After a moment, he closed his eyes again. He silently shifted his head off my shoulder and rested it against the car seat. It was dead silent for the rest of the ride. But I knew he wasn’t asleep. Taking advantage of the dim light as we drove through a tunnel, he glanced at the woman twice. His gaze was complicated and unreadable. “Were you married?” I suddenly asked. I was asking the woman, but Ethan spoke up first. “No.” “They didn’t make it to the altar,” Ethan said, his voice cold. “She ran away.” “In the end, she didn’t get the life she wanted anyway.” “I bet she regrets it now. Too bad for her, I’m engaged.” These words didn’t sound like they were meant for me. The next second, the car suddenly lost control. It spun twice and slammed hard into a streetlamp. My head whipped forward and crashed against the front seat. A sharp pain flared up, and my vision went blurry. “Ethan… it hurts…” No response. When I finally regained some consciousness, I heard Ethan shouting at the woman outside the car. “How can you still be so reckless?!” She was terrified, sobbing uncontrollably. “The car… I’ll pay you back…” “Can you even afford it?!” Ethan roared. The woman flinched. “We… we built this car together… I bought the parts. I know exactly how to rebuild it…” “Chloe!” Ethan cut her off, his voice cracking. “Would it kill you to just show me some weakness for once?!” “You deserve to end up like this!” Through the cracked window, I watched Ethan. He was holding Chloe’s shoulders, frantically checking her for injuries. In an instant, I felt cold from head to toe. I tried to speak, but my throat felt blocked by something heavy. I couldn’t swallow, and I couldn’t breathe. The rest of the ride home was a blur of numbness. The car jolted over bumps. I forced myself to sit up straight, flinching away when Ethan tried to put his arm around me. Finally, we reached the garage. The smart camera scanned Chloe’s face as she stepped out, and the garage door unlocked automatically. “Welcome home, Master,” a mechanical female voice chirped. Chloe froze. I froze, too. My mind went completely blank. I turned to look at Ethan, but he quickly avoided my eyes. Chloe pulled up her PayPal QR code. I took a deep breath, trying my best to maintain my dignity. Beep. Her Snapchat profile popped up as a linked contact. It was the exact same account Ethan always stared at in a daze. It was the account he didn’t have added, yet had forced his assistant to memorize, searching for her on hiring apps. “Ethan, did you invest in this designated-driver app?” I asked. Ethan blinked in surprise, then nodded. “Just a small investment for fun. Why?” I ignored him, sent the payment, and walked straight upstairs. Over the years, he had invested in so many platforms. Trendy apps, startups, all kinds of industries. But there was one constant. They all had an employee. Named Chloe Bennet. “Valerie, can you make me a cup of almond milk?” Seeing that I was ignoring him, Ethan shamelessly followed me. “You didn’t have dinner because you came to pick me up, right? How about I make you some pasta?” For a few seconds, I stayed silent. The words hovered on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them down. I wanted to say, Let’s call off the engagement. Let’s act as if these six years never happened. Let’s pretend my feelings were just wasted. But when I thought of the hard times we had shared, of the everyday life we built together, I felt like suffocating. I could only hide in the kitchen under the excuse of making almond milk. The pot of water began to steam. My eyes grew wet and blurry. Ethan leaned against the doorframe, crossing his long legs, casually playing with our engagement ring in his hand. “Where do you want to go for our honeymoon?” he asked. Next month was supposed to be our wedding. “Ethan, I don’t want to marry you anymore.” The kitchen fell dead silent. The smile faded from his face. He raised an eyebrow, looking at me as if he hadn’t understood. I repeated myself. “We are not getting married.” “The engagement is off.”

Ethan didn’t say anything to that. That night, I slept on the very edge of the bed, my back turned to him. Suddenly, a large hand wrapped around my waist, pulling me tightly into his chest. His grip was suffocating. “Stop being mad. Just go to sleep.” I stared blankly at the photo on the nightstand. It was taken during our poorest year. Ethan had borrowed an old camera just to take it. The gear was outdated, the background was a dingy, cheap room, but the cubic zirconia ring on my ring finger sparkled brightly. It was the record of his first proposal to me. Memories and photos had been yellowed by time. The cheap ring band had scratched through countless memories, but he didn’t seem to care anymore. He used to be the quickest to notice my mood changes. Now, he couldn’t even tell if I was genuinely heartbroken or just throwing a tantrum. “Why didn’t you tell me?” My voice was barely a whisper. “Why didn’t you just confess that the person you stalk every day is the ex you almost married?” “What am I to you, Ethan?” Ethan’s breathing hitched. He grabbed his phone and tossed it into my lap. “It’s been over between her and me for a long time. There is no way we are getting back together.” “If you don’t believe me, check it yourself. There’s no need to keep clinging to this.” I took a deep breath. My nose stung, and I barely forced back the tears. “Never mind.” Ethan sat up. When he was drunk, he talked too much. He became stubborn and unfiltered. “I don’t get it. What is there to cry about?” “Did I deprive you of money? Or love? Valerie, I swear on my life, I have never wronged you. You’re just overthinking things.” He paused, his alcohol-scented breath brushing against my face. “Can’t we both just take a step back?” “I really don’t have the time to constantly guess what’s on your mind. Just be good, okay?” I pulled the blanket over my head and closed my eyes. “Stop talking.” He paused for a second. Then he started again. “Valerie, I think you—” “I said stop talking!” The bedroom fell so quiet that only the sound of our breathing remained. His, and mine. “Shut up,” I whispered through clenched teeth. “Can you not hear me? Shut your mouth.” We ended the night on a terrible note. Our cold war lasted for nearly two weeks. During that time, he sent me a few text messages, trying to throw me a bone so I would drop it. I didn’t reply. When we finally met again, it was Ethan’s birthday party. He had drunk so much that his chronic stomach ulcer flared up. His friend called me to pick him up. “Don’t touch me!” “Let go!” A crowd of people couldn’t hold Ethan down. He usually didn’t turn red when he drank, but right now, a dull flush spread from his neck to his ears. Empty liquor bottles littered the floor around his feet. He was completely, utterly wasted. “Look who’s here! Stop acting like a damn fool!” Carter said, pushing Ethan toward me. Looking at the drunk man, I frowned. A surge of annoyance rose from the bottom of my heart. I raised my hand and slapped him across the face. “We’re going home.” The man who was acting wild a second ago instantly quieted down. Ethan gently squeezed my hand. “Babe, you go back first.” “I’m fine.” His stomach issue was a remnant from his early days of heavy business drinking. When it got bad, the pain would keep him in bed for days. I used to have to hold him and massage his stomach for hours just to make him feel better. “You know your own body!” I tugged at him. “Let’s go home!” He didn’t budge. “Then I’ll wait for you,” I said. “It’s late,” Ethan glanced at his watch. “Your period is coming up in a couple of days, right? Don’t stay up late. You’ll get cramps.” “Go home and take some painkillers first just in case.” “Go on. I’ll have the driver take you home.” It felt like he really didn’t want me to enter his social circle. Carter pulled me out of the VIP room. “Chloe was here earlier. He’s in a bad mood.” “Between you guys…” Before he could finish, I heard a faint crying sound. Walking down the hallway, I saw Chloe standing by the restroom. Her face was covered in tears. She instinctively turned her head away, quickly wiping her eyes. “Miss Moore,” she said, her voice muffled. “If you hadn’t interfered, Ethan wouldn’t hate me this much, would he?” Only then did I notice she was clutching a crumpled piece of paper in her hand. On it, the words 【I Owe You One Favor】 were written. “He wrote this for me himself,” Chloe smiled bitterly. “But he won’t honor it now.” “If I had made up my mind sooner back then, if I hadn’t run away right before the wedding in March, maybe things would be different.” “If you knew that I once had a child with Ethan, would you still marry him?”

The color drained from my face. My heart pounded like a heavy drum, each beat sending a jolt of pain through my nerves. “Too bad the baby didn’t survive,” Chloe whispered, tracing the paper. “He hates me. He even hates the memory of that baby. He didn’t even show up to the funeral.” She looked up at me. “Are you twenty-six this year?” I pressed my lips together. “No wonder Ethan was so desperate to marry you this year.” Chloe pulled a photo out of her bag. It was a wedding photo. On the back, there was a date. This was me at twenty-six. She shoved the photo into my hand. “Miss Moore, has anyone ever told you that you look exactly like I did when I was younger?” “Want to see?” In that split second, I felt nothing but pain. An overwhelming, suffocating pain. It took all my strength just to raise the photo. I saw the radiant woman in the picture, and on her ring finger was the exact same engagement ring I wore. Tears poured out of my eyes, splashing loudly onto the floor. I felt a string snap in my head. Without another thought, I began to tear the photo to pieces. I held it under the running tap, ripping it over and over until it became a mushy pile of white pulp. I locked myself inside a toilet stall. My engagement ring slipped down the drain with the rushing water. Outside the door, Ethan’s voice echoed. “Money! I have so much money now!” He was drunk, sounding like he was laughing and crying at the same time. “Why couldn’t I have had it sooner…” “If I had been successful back then, would things have been different? Chloe, I don’t blame you… You just made the best choice you could at the time… It’s just that it hurts. My heart hurts so much…” “We can’t go back.” “Chloe, please come to my wedding.” “…” I walked out of the stall. I saw Ethan leaning heavily on Chloe, his body almost completely draped over hers. “Ethan.” Maybe he didn’t hear me. Or maybe, he just didn’t want to look back. He simply walked away, holding onto Chloe, disappearing from my sight. A sharp, sudden cramp flared up in my lower abdomen. I looked down. Red was blooming on my white pants. At that moment, I thought, Ethan guessed right. My period really did come early. Only this time, it hurt more than ever before. Eventually, the cleaning lady found me. She was too terrified to speak clearly, stuttering into her phone as she called 911: “Blood! There’s so much blood!” The streetlights flashed outside the ambulance window. My consciousness drifted in and out. In the haze, a voice seemed to ask, Was it worth it? The two years we spent running from debt collectors, moving from place to place with no real home—was it worth it? Starving and freezing with him, working multiple part-time jobs until my health was ruined—was it worth it? Helping him find clients, getting tricked at a business dinner and almost getting assaulted—was it worth it? Pain flooded every single pore of my body. My blood was hot. My tears were hot. Even the April breeze was warm. Yet my teeth chattered, and my body shook. It felt as if I had been stripped naked and thrown into the dead of winter, my flesh turning blue, my mind going numb. “It’s so cold…” “Ethan, warm me up…” I mumbled instinctively. My mind drifted back to that cold winter night when we huddled together in a drafty, tiny rented room, shivering. Ethan would always pull my freezing feet and press them against his warm stomach. “Sss—it’s freezing! Stop moving.” “Keep squirming and see if I don’t throw you out into the snow!” I would just laugh, spoiled by his affection, and slide my cold hands down the back of his neck. “I want to freeze you!” “Ethan, you have to keep me warm for the rest of my life!” “Of course I will,” he had grumbled, making a face. But where was he now? I believed him for six years. Ethan, you liar.

“You need to keep your emotions in check. Many early-stage pregnancies are lost due to severe emotional stress,” the doctor advised. “We’ve stabilized things for now. Stay in the hospital for two days for observation. If everything is fine, you can be discharged.” I stared blankly at the ceiling. I remembered a long time ago, a doctor told me I would probably never get pregnant. My body was too broken. My menstrual cramps were so severe they could cause me to faint. All of it was from staying up late and drinking heavily with clients back in the day to help Ethan’s business. After that, Ethan never took me near baby stores again, and he never brought up the topic of children. We both thought we would never have one. Yet, it chose to appear at a time like this. “Do we need to notify your family?” the doctor asked. I gently shook my head. Beside me, my phone buzzed constantly. It was Ethan calling. Annoyed, I turned it off completely. I spent the next two days in peaceful, quiet solitude. When it was time to sign the discharge papers, I finally turned my phone back on. A flood of messages and missed calls popped up. Where are you? Call me back. Or at least text me. The restaurant staff said you were taken to the hospital? Is it serious? Which hospital are you in? I’ll come see you as soon as I get back from my business trip. With his current position in the company, he didn’t need to go on business trips anymore. I casually checked his IP address on social media. He was in Boston. And Chloe’s Twitter account had just posted a new update. 【First time driving interstate. 30 hours round trip to Boston. So nervous.】 I guess he just couldn’t let her go, so he secretly followed her. “No need,” I replied to his text. “I’m going back to pack my things. I’ll be moving out soon.” The next morning, I loaded my suitcases into the trunk and sat in the Porsche Ethan had gifted me. He bought it for me when his first major project got funded. I had treasured it so much that I barely drove it over the years. I never expected that starting it up again would be for the purpose of leaving him. Vroom— The movement pulled at my lower abdomen, and I instinctively let go of the gas pedal. I decided to hire a private driver. To my surprise, ten minutes later, it was Chloe who opened the driver’s door. “Please fasten your seatbelt.” My first instinct was to cancel the ride. But it was early morning, and getting another driver would take too long. I simply turned my head away, closed my eyes, and rested against the seat, pretending to sleep. “Don’t want to live the life of a rich wife anymore?” Chloe laughed. “How ungrateful. If you were in my shoes, driving long distances without sleep and having to take another job right after, do you think you could survive?” She talked to herself the entire way. I didn’t utter a single word. “Ethan bought me a villa, and he gave me a black card. He said he wanted to make sure I’d be taken care of for the rest of my life…” The car speed slowly began to drop. “But he told me to never contact him again.” “Why? I lost my baby, I lost my home, and now I don’t even have a single shred of hope left…” I turned to look at her, but before I could react, the car suddenly accelerated and crashed straight into the guardrail. BANG— I don’t know how much time passed. I opened my eyes in a daze, seeing the gray sky and Ethan’s panicked face hovering over me. The Porsche was sturdier than Chloe had anticipated. “She grabbed the steering wheel, and the car hit the guardrail,” Chloe sobbed, sitting on the ground. “I was so scared, Ethan… I almost died…” I wanted to laugh. Her acting was so terrible, her excuse so ridiculous. If this were a novel, readers would scream at how cliché it was. But Ethan believed her. He couldn’t bear to see Chloe cry. A single tear from her was enough to make him lose his mind. It made him completely ignore my condition just to shake my arm, accusing and pointing fingers at me. “I already agreed to send her away! Valerie, how can you be so vicious? Do you really have to drive her to suicide?” “Are you insane?!” I remained silent for a long time. Then, I looked up, smiled, and swallowed the metallic taste of blood in my throat. “Yeah.” “I left my hometown to follow you, endured endless hardships, believed you over and over, and wasted six years of my youth on you.” “If I weren’t insane, how could I have done all those things?” I didn’t want anything anymore. Just let me leave. Give me my freedom.

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I was the biological daughter they finally brought home, but I suffered from a severe, life-threatening peanut allergy. On my very first day back, my father set a brutal house rule: everything we wanted—from clothes to food—had to be decided by drawing cards. Only drawing the Ace of Hearts would get you what you asked for. For two years, I never drew it once. Meanwhile, Olivia, the adopted daughter, got the Ace of Hearts every single time. On the night of my worst allergic attack, my throat swelled shut. I knelt on the floor, begging them for my EpiPen. My father merely tossed the deck of cards at my face. “You know the rules. Draw the Ace of Hearts, and you get the medicine.” To survive, I hid an extra Ace of Hearts in my sleeve. But my brothers caught me. They crushed my fingers under their boots, kicked my EpiPen away, and locked me in the sub-zero basement freezer. They had no idea that was the last time I would ever beg them for help. My throat felt like it was clogged with burning, crushed glass. My airway was swelling and closing up at a terrifying speed. Clutching my neck in agony, I fell to my knees on the polished marble floor, gasping desperately for air. But nothing came. The lack of oxygen turned my face a dark, suffocating purple, the veins on my forehead bulging violently. “Medicine… please… give me…” With the last of my strength, I reached out and grabbed the hem of my father, Arthur’s, expensive suit pants. Today was my twentieth birthday. It was also Olivia’s. Just ten minutes ago, Olivia had hand-fed me a piece of her “specialty” birthday cake. I have a severe, lethal allergy to peanuts. Even a single crumb of peanut dust could trigger anaphylactic shock. And my entire family knew this. Arthur looked down at me from his towering height. There was no pity in his eyes, only deep, cold disgust. He slowly pulled a gold-rimmed deck of cards from his pocket and fanned them out across the coffee table with a sharp slide. “You know the rules of this house, Tori.” “If you want something, you rely on your luck.” “Draw the Ace of Hearts, and the EpiPen is yours. If not, you’ll just have to tough it out.” I was the biological daughter of the Sterling family, lost and raised in the slums for eighteen years. When they finally brought me back two years ago, I thought I finally had a family. But on my very first day, Arthur established this ridiculous rule. He said the Sterling family didn’t raise useless leeches. He said luck was a form of strength. My clothes, my allowance, even my three daily meals—everything had to be decided by drawing a card. I accepted it, weeping silently, hoping to please them. But for two whole years, no matter how I drew, that Ace of Hearts seemed to actively evade me. I never held it once. Meanwhile, Olivia—the girl who had stolen my life for eighteen years—somehow drew the Ace of Hearts with perfect, suspicious precision every single time. She won the master bedroom that belonged to me. She won my parents’ affection. She even won the right to go to the hospital when I was sick, leaving me to suffer in my room. “Come on, Tori. Draw your card.” Olivia, wearing a custom-made designer gown, clung affectionately to our eldest brother, Julian’s, arm. She blinked her innocent, doe-like eyes, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “If you don’t draw it, you’ll have to lie on the floor all night again, just like last time.” The air in my lungs was almost completely gone. My vision began to blur, and the only sound in my ears was my own violent, wheezing gasp. I knew that if I didn’t get that epinephrine shot right now, I would die on this floor. And this time, I wanted to live. My hand trembling violently, I reached toward the cards on the table. The moment my fingertips brushed the back of the deck, I used every ounce of my remaining strength to slide a card from my sleeve into my palm. It was a discarded card I had picked up by the road a few days ago. The Ace of Hearts. I flipped it over. The bright red heart, the sharp letter A. “It’s… the Ace of Hearts…” I gasped out the words, my eyes clinging to the emergency medicine box on the table. All I had to do was grab that pen, stab it into my thigh, and I would live. I reached out, my fingers inches away from the box. Smack! A large, heavy hand slammed down, grabbing my wrist so hard I heard my bones creak.

It was Julian. He let out a cold sneer and, with his other hand, flipped a card from the deck on the table. It was another Ace of Hearts. “Tori! You dare cheat in this house?!” Julian roared, throwing my hand back violently. I crashed hard onto the floor, the back of my head slamming against the sharp edge of the coffee table. A dizzying pain exploded in my skull. “You would resort to such disgusting, cheap tricks just to get your way?” Julian looked down at me, his gaze filled with utter revulsion, as if looking at a piece of trash. “Olivia said you were rotten to the core, and I didn’t believe her.” “Now I see. Growing up in the slums only taught you how to steal and cheat!” My second brother, Ethan, pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses and let out a scoff. He was the youngest chief of surgery in the city’s top hospital. Yet, as he looked at my suffocating, purple face, he showed absolutely no medical compassion. There was only mockery in his eyes. “Alright, cut the act.” “Clinically speaking, severe peanut allergies can trigger shock, but your face is clearly purple because you’re holding your breath.” “To get attention, you’re actually faking an allergic reaction? How pathetic.” I looked at Ethan in absolute despair. I wasn’t faking. My windpipe was almost completely swollen shut. Every attempt to breathe felt like swallowing razor blades. I shook my head frantically, tears streaming down my face. “Save… save me…” I crawled toward Ethan, trying to grasp the tip of his leather shoe. My third brother, Jax, stepped forward and brutally kicked my hand away. He was a professional race car driver, known for his explosive, violent temper. “Get your filthy hands off Ethan!” Jax snarled, his face twisted in disgust. “Since you have dirty hands and love to cheat, you need to be taught a lesson.” Without warning, he lifted his heavy combat boot and stomped directly onto my right hand. Crack. The sickening sound of bones snapping echoed clearly in the quiet living room. “Ahhh—!” I opened my mouth to scream, but my swollen throat could only produce a pathetic, airless hiss. The pain of crushed fingers shot straight to my heart. My entire body convulsed, cold sweat instantly soaking through my thin shirt. “Can’t even take a little pain? And you call yourself a Sterling?” Jax ground his boot down harder, laughing coldly. Then, he turned to the coffee table, picked up the box containing my EpiPen, and tossed it into the trash can. To make sure I had no hope left, he grabbed a cup of hot black coffee from the table and poured it directly into the trash, soaking the medicine. My last hope of survival was completely destroyed by my own brothers. Olivia shrank back into our mother, Eleanor’s, arms, covering her mouth in mock terror. “Jax, stop. Tori looked like she was really hurting…” “Oh, Olivia. You are far too sweet and naive.” Eleanor patted Olivia’s back comfortingly. When she looked at me, her eyes turned ice-cold. “Today is your and Olivia’s birthday. You just had to ruin it and cause a scene, didn’t you? You always want to make everyone miserable.” “Arthur, lock her in the basement freezer. Let her cool her head and think about what she did!” Arthur nodded coldly. “An ungrateful brat needs to learn her lesson. Lock her up for the night. Let’s see if she dares to play tricks again.” Laughing and chatting, they escorted Olivia toward the dining room. There was a six-tier designer cake waiting for her, surrounded by a mountain of luxury gifts. Meanwhile, I was dragged away like a dead dog by the family bodyguards. And thrown into the dark, sub-zero basement freezer.

The heavy metal door slammed shut with a resounding thud, cutting off all light and sound from the outside world. The temperature inside was negative ten degrees. The biting, freezing air instantly pierced through my thin clothes, making me shiver violently. But the cold wasn’t the real killer. It was the lack of oxygen. My allergic reaction was reaching its final, fatal stage. My vision went completely pitch-black. My brain spun from the lack of oxygen. I curled up on the freezing floor, gasping like a fish out of water, my mouth wide open, unable to pull in a single breath. Why? I asked myself a thousand times in the dark. I was their biological daughter. I was the one who had been kidnapped and suffered for eighteen years in poverty. Why did they give all their love to an adopted impostor? Was it because I didn’t know how to act cute? Was it because I lacked Olivia’s elegant, high-society manners? For two years in this house, I had lived worse than a dog. Whenever Olivia casually said she “liked my bedroom,” I was kicked out and sent to the drafty attic. Whenever Olivia claimed my poor grades “embarrassed the family,” I was forced to drop out of college and do chores around the house. Even this cursed card-drawing game was suggested by Olivia “by accident.” And every time, she drew the Ace of Hearts. I used to think I just had bad luck. I thought I didn’t deserve happiness. But tonight, as death gripped my throat, the truth finally flashed through my fading mind. There was no such thing as luck. How could anyone draw the Ace of Hearts perfectly, every single day, for two straight years from a full deck? It was a setup. A blatant, slow-motion murder disguised as a game. My consciousness was slipping. My heartbeat grew faint, and my limbs lost all sensation. Just when I thought I was going to die in this cold, dark tomb, a warm, kindly face flashed in my mind. My grandfather, James Vance. “Chloe, if those Sterlings ever make you unhappy, come to New York. My home will always be your shield.” James Vance was the head of the Vance Group, one of the most powerful conglomerates in New York. Two years ago, when I was found, James had tried to take me in. But Arthur, obsessed with his public image, refused to let me go. Back then, I naively believed my biological parents would eventually love me. I was wrong. Dead wrong. I couldn’t die here. I refused to die in this filthy, dark corner! I hadn’t exposed Olivia’s lies yet. I hadn’t made these blind monsters pay for what they did to me! A sudden, fierce will to live erupted from the depths of my soul. I bit my tongue hard. The sharp pain brought a brief moment of clarity. Groping around in the dark with my unbroken left hand, I grabbed a heavy, frozen leg of ham from the shelf. Using every ounce of strength left in my body, I smashed it against the small glass ventilation window in the corner.

Bang! Bang! Shatter! The sound of breaking glass sliced through the dark. Fresh, freezing night air rushed into the room through the broken window. I dragged myself over and pressed my face against the jagged frame, inhaling greedy, desperate gulps of air. The cold air stung my swollen lungs like needles, but I could breathe. I was alive. Using my elbows, I squeezed my bruised body through the small window frame and crawled out. Outside was the dark backyard of the estate. The night was silent, save for the wind rustling the leaves. Dragging my broken right hand, I limped out of the Sterling estate. The night wind was freezing, but the fire of hatred in my chest burned hot. I didn’t go to the hospital. I knew that the moment I checked into a local clinic, the Sterlings would find me. They would drag me back and find slower, crueler ways to torture me. I had to run. I had to escape this hell completely. Ignoring the agonizing pain in my hand and my weakened body, I walked all the way to the city’s grand suspension bridge. The water below was deep, dark, and wild. I took off my worn-out canvas sneakers and placed them neatly by the guardrail. Then, I tore a piece of fabric from my shirt and pressed it hard against the open wound of my broken hand. The dark red blood dripped onto the concrete, staining the floor and the metal railing. Finally, I snagged the bloody piece of cloth on the wire mesh of the barrier. Without looking back, I walked away into the dark. From this day on, Victoria Sterling was dead. She died on the cold night of her twentieth birthday. I walked to a public payphone on a deserted street corner and dialed a number I had memorized but never dared to call. “Hello? Who is this?” James Vance’s voice came through the receiver—old, but commanding and powerful. Hearing his voice, my mask of strength crumbled, and tears flooded my eyes. “Grandpa James…” “It’s me… Tori…” “Save me…” The line went silent for a second, followed by a sharp, furious gasp from James. “Tori?! Where are you?! Don’t be scared, sweetheart. I’m sending my men right now!” Thirty minutes later, three black Mercedes-Maybachs pulled silently into the dim alleyway where I was hiding. A dozen suited bodyguards immediately surrounded me. When the head butler saw me covered in blood, pale and shivering, his eyes turned red with anger. “Miss Victoria, look what they did to you…” “Mr. Vance is waiting at our private medical facility. Let’s get you home.” Sitting in the spacious, heated leather seat of the car, I watched the city lights fade away. A cold, dark smile crept onto my lips. The Sterlings. Olivia. Everything you owe me, I will collect. With interest.

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On our tenth anniversary, I received a notification that David had died in a plane crash. The Jonathan family blamed me for his death, calling me a curse. That very night, they kicked me out of the house. To survive, I dragged my pregnant body through the wind and rain, working odd jobs and selling crafts at flea markets just to make ends meet. There were countless times I wanted to give up on life, until my best friend, Chloe, sent me a message. “Is this your husband?” I tapped on the photo. David’s face was slightly blurry. My mind went completely blank, and I frantically hit the FaceTime button. “Angle the camera closer! Please!” The moment the screen cleared, I froze, unable to utter a single word. David was wearing a tailored suit, down on one knee, holding a diamond ring that sparkled painfully bright. The woman in front of him had a flushed face, too shy to speak. The crowd around them was cheering. “Marry him! Marry him!” “Vivian, you have no idea how long David has been waiting for this day!” The woman was Vivian, David’s first love who was supposed to be living across the ocean. The attic in our house—a place his family never allowed me to enter—was filled with her photos. I glanced at my Snapchat chat history with David. Over the past two weeks, I had sent him more than 1,800 messages. All my breakdowns, my helplessness, my longing. None of them had ever received a reply. It turned out the man I had been mourning day and night was busy building a perfect family for another woman in a different city. Since that was the case, I would let him go.

Boom— Thunder rumbled, and a torrential downpour began outside. “Hey, Alice, are you still there?” Chloe’s voice came through the phone. I asked for the address, my hands shaking as I hung up. The Uber sped through the rain, and cold water dripped down my collar as I got out. On the way there, I had prayed a thousand times that this was just a sick joke. But then I arrived at the private restaurant and looked through the glass. Inside, Vivian accepted the proposal, and an ecstatic David pulled her into a tight embrace. The crowd erupted in cheers as confetti rained down on the happy couple. “You gotta kiss her!” someone shouted. “Stop teasing me,” Vivian blushed, burying her face in David’s chest. David smiled gently, protectively shielding her behind his back. “Vivian is shy. If you guys scare her off, I won’t let you off easy.” A few friends nearby continued to joke. “David, this move was brilliant. You got rid of that old hag and brought home the beauty!” “Aren’t you afraid that crazy wife of yours will find out and make a scene?” “Let her. David has been nice enough to her. Flying back and forth between countries all the time was exhausting anyway!” An old hag? I reached up and touched my pale, hollow cheeks. For the past ten years, I had given up my career to dedicate myself entirely to taking care of David. At only twenty-eight, I looked like I was forty. Meanwhile, the woman in David’s arms had flawless, glowing skin. She looked like an eighteen-year-old girl. It seemed she had been well-protected all these years. David casually pinched Vivian’s earlobe and spoke in a dismissive tone. “She’ll find out sooner or later. I only did this to avoid unnecessary drama.” “If she wants to make a scene, let her. If she wants to quietly remain Mrs. Jonathan, she has to accept Vivian.” The restaurant’s heater was blasting warm air, blowing over my drenched body. But I couldn’t stop shivering. My chest felt as if it were being violently crushed. The pain was so intense that I collapsed onto the cold ground. When the proposal ended, David dismissed the guests and led Vivian toward the penthouse suite. Numbly, I followed them up. Before they even reached the room, David seemed unable to control himself any longer. He pressed Vivian against the wall, kissing her passionately. His voice was deep and breathless. “You look so beautiful tonight.” “I’ve been holding back the urge to kiss you for so long.” The sound of their heavy breathing filled the hallway. Vivian’s jacket slipped to the floor. She giggled softly. “You made too much noise last night. Danny asked me this morning if we were fighting.” Clatter— My phone slipped from my hand and hit the floor. The motion-sensor lights in the hallway immediately flared to life. Only then did they realize someone was standing at the end of the corridor. “Oh my gosh… Let’s go inside, this is so embarrassing!” Vivian whined, pushing David toward the door. David gave me a cold, detached look and dialed a number on his phone. “Come up and clear out this intruder. Vivian is getting uncomfortable.” Then, he leaned back down to kiss Vivian’s lips, smiling playfully. “Since when are you so shy? You weren’t like this last night.” “Your face is as red as an apple.” The keycard beeped, the door clicked open, and the moment it shut, the hallway fell back into silence. A few burly security guards dragged me out like trash and threw me onto the wet pavement outside. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I curled into a ball and sobbed hysterically. Ten years. I had loved David with every fiber of my being for ten whole years. I still remembered our wedding night. David had drunk a lot of alcohol, his eyes incredibly red. He had knelt before me, holding my hands tightly, and sworn an oath. “Alice, now that I’ve married you, you’re the only one for me for the rest of my life.” He had held me and talked for hours. I had been so tired back then, and because I missed responding to a few of his words, he had actually pouted. “Do you not love me anymore?” I had laughed all night because of that one childish question. That night, we held each other and talked until dawn. It was so beautiful it felt like a dream. But in our fifth year of marriage, David received a letter from abroad. He began going on irregular business trips, sometimes disappearing for months. It was during one of those trips that I miscarried our first child. The doctor said the miscarriage had severely damaged my body, making it hard for me to conceive again. I cried hysterically on the phone, questioning David. But he, far away in another country, remained silent for a long time before saying coldly, “I’m busy with work. We don’t need to rush the baby thing.” I told him I would wait. Finally, another five years passed. When I unexpectedly got pregnant again, I was so excited. I wanted to wait until he returned from his trip on our anniversary to give him a surprise. Instead, I received news of his plane crash. Thinking back to Vivian’s words now, I cried until I choked. His busy work was all a lie. He just didn’t want to have a child with me. My lower abdomen began to throb painfully, and my heart felt as if it were being torn open. I completely blacked out.

When I woke up again, I was in a hospital. The pungent smell of disinfectant filled my nose. My messy hair was splayed across my face. The ward was crowded, with four beds crammed together. Every other patient had family members accompanying them. I was the only one left alone, looking like a beggar. I never could have imagined that I, a graduate from an Ivy League university, would end up this pathetic. For David, I had rejected prestigious job offers arranged by my mentor. I had thrown everything away just to run to him. Even when I heard he had died in a crash, my first instinct had been to follow him to the grave. Because I loved him. Looking at my pale reflection in the small mirror on the wall, tears streamed down my face. A kind nurse, pitied my state, brought me a cup of warm water. “Ma’am, your fetal heart rate is highly unstable. You are in serious danger of miscarrying. Should I call your family for you?” Family? Other than David, whose name was on our marriage certificate, I had no one else. Suddenly, my phone screen lit up. The video of David and Vivian’s engagement was going viral on YouTube. The news headlines were everywhere: “Heir to the Jonathan Group Survived the Crash, Returning to Marry His True Love.” In the video, David had his arm around Vivian, smiling as he accepted congratulations from the media. I gripped the bedsheets so hard my knuckles turned white. The nurse took my phone, intending to call my pinned contact. In a panic, I snatched it back, my voice trembling. “No… no need. I want to be discharged.” I fled the hospital, dragging my frail, broken body out into the street. I was terrified of anyone seeing how pathetic I had become. I ran aimlessly until I bumped into a solid chest. A familiar, cold scent of expensive cologne filled my senses. I snapped my head up. David was holding a little boy with his left hand and Vivian with his right. My ears began to ring. He patted Vivian’s head and murmured something to her. The woman gave me a disdainful glare before leading the child over to a nearby bench. Like a marionette, I was dragged by David into an empty hallway. “I assume you know everything by now. I won’t beat around the bush.” He looked at my sickly, pale face, a flash of something dark and unreadable crossing his eyes. “I have already announced to the public that Vivian is my wife,” he said, suddenly pulling me into his arms with what looked like genuine pain. “Just stay quietly by my side. Whatever you want, I will give it to you.” His hand was gently stroking my back, and the tenderness in his eyes didn’t look fake. But the words coming out of his mouth were ice-cold. In that instant, an overwhelming exhaustion washed over me. I looked up to meet his gaze and laughed. “So that was your excuse? Faking your death on a business trip?” “David, what have I been to you for the past ten years?” “Just a clown you could discard and play with whenever you wanted?” I tried to choke back my sobs, but the tears spilled over anyway. My cold tears fell onto David’s palm, making him freeze for a second. “No,” he said, suddenly gripping the back of my neck, showering my face with frantic, desperate kisses. “I just couldn’t let Vivian go. I lied to you because I didn’t want to hurt you.” Feeling my body trembling, he frowned and grabbed my cold hands. “Why are you so cold? Are you sick?” “I’ll take you to see a doctor.” He tried to pull me along. Just then, Vivian’s whimpering voice echoed from behind us. “David! Danny’s fever is getting worse! Why are you still over there?” David’s footsteps halted abruptly. A look of guilt crossed his face as he called his secretary over. “I’m sorry, Alice. I’ll have John take you.” I watched his retreating back, suddenly realizing that I didn’t even know when it had started—but David left me with the view of his back far more often than his face. I thought of every lonely midnight, of the nights I couldn’t sleep because of severe morning sickness. At this moment, all my sanity crumbled. I covered my ears, crouched down, and screamed at the top of my lungs. “David! What am I to you?! A substitute for Vivian? Your plaything?!” “Do I look like an idiot to you?!” My tears flowed freely, but no matter how hard I cried, David did not stop. He merely turned around, pinching the bridge of his nose with an impatient sigh. “Stop throwing a tantrum, Alice. You know I prefer you when you’re quiet and obedient.” “I’ll come see you after I’m done.” His hurried footsteps faded away. The secretary gave me a sympathetic look, trying to help me up to go to a ward. I brushed her hand away and walked out of the hospital on my own. Along the way, people pointed at me and whispered. “That’s the mistress. She tried to seduce Mr. Jonathan. Poor Mrs. Jonathan was crying so hard earlier…” “How shameless.” I felt like a criminal paraded through the streets. Accusations and slander rained down on me, triggering dark memories I had buried long ago.

Years ago, my mother had been driven to jump from a building because of my father’s infidelity. No one wanted to adopt me. It was David who had appeared like an angel, pulling me out of the darkness. He told me he would protect me forever, and I believed him. When his family forced him to break up with Vivian, I stayed by his side year after year. I had always believed we were each other’s salvation. Eventually, David fell in love with me. I thought he was my savior, but now, he was the one dragging me back into the dark. I ran back to the Jonathan estate like a madwoman. Ignoring everyone who tried to stop me, I tore up our marriage certificate and smashed our bedroom to pieces. Shards of glass cut into the soles of my feet, but I just kept crying like a lunatic who couldn’t find an answer. I didn’t understand. How could someone who loved me so much change so completely? Walking barefoot and numb along the sidewalk, I looked up at a giant digital billboard broadcasting a live interview. David and Vivian were holding hands, their son running circles around them happily. The host handed the microphone to Vivian. “Mrs. Jonathan, we heard that you two were each other’s first loves.” “After going through so much, you’ve finally ended up together. Mr. Jonathan must love you very much.” Vivian blushed, looking at David. David gave her a doting smile, gently took the microphone, and spoke. “My wife is a bit shy, so let me answer that.” He looked deeply into Vivian’s eyes and said clearly, “My wife is precious to me. I love her with all my heart.” The crowd below cheered. But my eyes were fixed on the mermaid-shaped necklace around Vivian’s neck. I remembered the years when I was plagued by nightmares of my past. David had stayed awake with me night after night. Later, because he hated seeing me suffer, he spent a fortune bidding at an auction for three days and nights just to win that mermaid necklace for me. Back then, he had held me close and whispered gently, “I want you to be like a mermaid—free and unbound.” “Don’t let the past lock you in. Just be yourself.” But that necklace had gone missing a year ago, and no matter how hard I looked, I couldn’t find it. It turned out he had given it to Vivian. I closed my eyes, letting the tears fall. Wiping them away, I listened to the wind howling in my ears as I dialed David’s number. “David, congratulations on your wedding.” “We are already divorced. I’m keeping the house and the car.” “Plus, half of your assets.” When the Jonathan family kicked me out, they had already finalized the paperwork under the pre-signed draft David’s mother had forced upon me. David probably didn’t even know yet. The interview had just ended, and the background was noisy. David didn’t hear me clearly. “What did you say?” “I’m busy right now. We’ll talk when I get back.” The corners of my mouth curled up into a soft, firm smile. “No need. It’s nothing important.” Without waiting for his reply, I hung up and called my lawyer to draft the asset division agreement. Before I could lock my phone, a notification popped up—a Snapchat video from Vivian’s public story. A child’s innocent voice could be heard in the background. “Daddy, it’s your turn to read me a bedtime story tonight.” “Alright, but tomorrow night you have to give Mommy back to me. You can’t keep hogging her.” “I need my wife, too.” The happy laughter of the three of them echoed from the speaker. I laughed until tears came out, then sent David a message. [This is the asset division agreement. If you have no objections, sign it.] Ten minutes later, David called me back. He sounded like he was driving. “What is this nonsense? We aren’t divorced, why are we dividing assets?” “Are you still throwing a tantrum?” “I promise you, I’ll come home early tonight to be with you.” I let out a soft laugh. “David, go back and be with them.” “I stopped begging for your company a long time ago.” I hung up and booked a one-way flight for that afternoon.

On the way to the airport, the Uber collided with a large truck. The vehicles were smoking, and the scene was absolute chaos. I lay on the cold asphalt, feeling the warm blood slowly pooling beneath me. Through my fading vision, the wail of sirens echoed in the distance. I was lifted onto a stretcher, and the ambulance sped away. The paramedic put an oxygen mask over my face. “The patient is pregnant and showing signs of a severe miscarriage! Call her emergency contact immediately!” They grabbed my phone and found the contact labeled “Husband.” But no matter how many times they dialed, only the cold, automated voicemail answered. The paramedic was sweating profusely. After countless attempts, the call was finally picked up. “Hello? Alice?” It was Vivian’s voice. The paramedic hadn’t expected a woman to answer. Quickly, he explained my life-threatening condition. A soft chuckle came from the other end. “I’m sorry, but my husband is in the shower right now. He doesn’t have time for strangers.” In the background, the sound of running water stopped. “If you go to her tonight, don’t bother coming back,” Vivian’s voice was playful but firm. Then, David’s voice came through, stabbing directly into my heart. “She’s not important compared to you.” “My wife is angry, why would I care about anyone else?” The call went dead. The paramedic looked at me with a complicated, sorrowful expression. I closed my eyes, and the last shred of lingering attachment in my heart vanished. “Do the surgery,” I whispered. “Save me. Terminate the pregnancy. I’ll sign the papers myself.” The surgery was completed quickly. I booked another flight for the next day. That night, David sent me several apology texts. [I had work last night. I’ll make time to be with you today.] [I rented out your favorite amusement park to make it up to you.] I didn’t reply to a single one. The next day, right before boarding, David sent me a video. In the video, he was standing inside the empty amusement park we used to visit. “I’ll have the driver pick you up soon. Wait for me.” “I set up a surprise for you here. You’re going to love it.” I watched the video expressionlessly, then blocked his number. I threw my SIM card into a trash can and boarded the plane.

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