Category: English

1 After another cold war, I opened Channel’s chat box, intending to swallow my pride and make peace as usual. Then I saw her story post from thirty minutes ago, coaxing Landon, her junior at work. The caption read: Even my boyfriend isn’t this hard to smooth over… Landon had left a comment: [Liar. Didn’t you say you’ve never coaxed a boyfriend in your life?] Staring at his comment, it hit me that Channel really had never once tried to make things right with me. Every single time, she just waited for me to come crawling back. A mutual friend sent me a video clip. In the clip, someone asked Channel if she wasn’t afraid I’d actually walk away this time. Channel raised her eyebrows, her face full of disdain: “Please. Gabriel is such a pathetic fool. If I ignore him for more than two days, he panics worse than anyone.” “Last time we fought, he sent me a whole novel of an apology. My eyes practically crossed reading it. Half a month ago, he even bought rings, talking about how he wanted to marry me.” She let out a dry laugh. “If I don’t coax Landon, he’ll stay mad at me for a full two weeks. Gabriel is different. He’s so attached you couldn’t kick him out if you tried.” I watched the clip and let out a faint, bitter laugh. Fair enough. In that case, this clingy fool wasn’t going to coax her anymore. … At the end of the video, Channel smiled playfully. “If you don’t believe me, let’s make a bet. Gabriel will text me to make up by tonight at the latest.” Her tone was brimming with confidence. “When it comes to Gabriel, I never lose.” The video cut off there. I closed the video and returned to my chat with Channel. My eyes landed on the last two messages we exchanged. It was me asking her what was really going on between her and Landon. That was where our silent treatment had started. Channel hadn’t replied. She was always like that, ignoring any message she didn’t feel like answering. I knew her. I was used to it. Still, hearing her reduce me to a pathetic joke in front of her friends brought a dull, hollow ache to my chest. What I thought was taking the high road to fix us was, in her eyes, just the desperate flailing of someone who couldn’t leave. She had never coaxed me, yet she went out of her way for Landon. My phone buzzed. A voice note from Landon popped up. “Hey Gabe, did you forget something?” “Channel is still waiting for your long apology essay!” Before his voice faded, a round of snickers echoed in the background. Two more notifications flashed before I could respond. “Channel made a bet that you’d come crawling back tonight. You better hurry up and write it, or you’re gonna lose the clock for her~” “We’re all waiting for Channel to share it in the group chat again!” Landon broke into a smug laugh. Only then did I realize that all those heartfelt long messages I used to write to Channel were routinely forwarded into her group chat for her friends and Landon to mock. I replayed the voice note once more. In the background, I could hear Channel’s soft, amused chuckle. I didn’t even have the energy to type a reply. That night, Landon brought a drunk Channel back to our place. I happened to be downstairs grabbing a glass of water. Seeing me walk into the kitchen, Landon offered an innocent smile. “Hey Gabe, Channel and the group had a bit too much to drink, so I brought her home. Don’t overthink it, okay?” As if remembering something, he added with a smirk: “She only posted that story to make me feel better. Don’t take it to heart.” “She lost the bet tonight because she got drunk. She actually lost.” “Gabe, didn’t you get my message?” I ignored him, poured myself a glass of water, drank most of it, and then looked up. “I got it. So?” My tone was flat, laced with undeniable sarcasm. “What do you want me to reply?” Landon paused, his voice dropping slightly. “Gabe, I was just saying. I hope you don’t mind me bringing her home.” It wasn’t the first time he had brought her home. Nor was it the first time Channel gave me the cold shoulder because of him. “I don’t mind,” I said. My gaze drifted past him to Channel, who was slumped on the sofa, then back to his stunned face. “If it’s convenient, why don’t you carry her to the bedroom?” Channel lifted her head from the couch, frowning at me as if she couldn’t comprehend what I had just said. After all, every other time she came home drunk, I was the one who took care of her. Channel told Landon to leave. He agreed quickly. “Alright, I’ll leave you two alone. See you tomorrow, Channel.” Once he was gone, Channel looked at me, her tone taking my presence for granted. “Why didn’t you text me?” I looked at her calmly. “Why should I?” Channel froze, struck silent for a moment. Why should I? Because she was used to me playing the devoted fool, always offering her an easy way out during our cold wars. She was used to it. Now that I wasn’t falling into place, she felt off-balance. She looked at me, her tone softening slightly, a rare concession. “It was just a joke. Don’t take it so seriously.” Just a joke? Posting about Landon, betting with her friends, letting him mock me, sharing my private texts in her group chat… to her, all of that was just a joke? “Which joke are you referring to?” I asked. Channel frowned, a flicker of confusion in her eyes. Usually, if she gave me an inch, I would let out a breath of relief and sweep the original argument under the rug. When I didn’t react, I pressed on. “The story post? The bet? The group chat leaks? Or the part where you called me a pathetic fool who can’t be kicked out?” “Which one did you mean?” Her face darkened when I laid it all out so blatantly. Still, she forced down her impatience. “It was just trash talk at a party. Don’t make a huge drama out of it.” Right. Trash talk. To her, everything about us was just casual entertainment for her friends. If I cared, I was being unreasonable. “What about Landon then?” My voice remained level. “He kissed you. Was that a joke too?” I had seen it in her group chat before she deleted it. She had leaned against the couch, completely still, letting Landon kiss her. Realizing it was the wrong group, she had quickly revoked the image. Channel’s expression shifted. “We lost a party game. It was just a penalty.” Her tone softened into a defensive comfort. “Don’t overthink it. You know what Landon and I are like.” “He’s just real affectionate and casual. He didn’t mean anything by it.” “The photo was just taken for fun. I didn’t show you because I knew you’d overreact.” “Besides, he’s close to me. I couldn’t exactly make him kiss a stranger, could I?” She sounded so convincing, she almost believed her own excuse. “Why couldn’t you?” I asked. “Why did it have to be you?” “Is it because you knew that even if I found out, it wouldn’t matter?” Channel went dead silent. I had laid her exact thoughts bare. Perhaps sensing she had pushed it too far this time, Channel stepped closer. The scent of alcohol mixed with men’s cologne hit my nose, churning a wave of nausea in my stomach. Her voice was soft, offering a rare word of coaxing: “Babe, stop making a scene. That’s enough for tonight.” “I have to meet Landon tomorrow. We can talk about this another time.” Landon. She said his name so naturally, so affectionately. Except there wasn’t going to be another time. Before going to sleep, my phone screen lit up. It was a text from Landon. [Hey Gabe, my bad. I accidentally bit Channel’s lip during the game tonight. Make sure she puts some ointment on it~] I stared at the screen for a long time. Channel opened the bedroom door and walked in. Seeing me staring at my phone, she asked, “Why aren’t you asleep yet?” I didn’t say a word. I just turned the screen toward her. When she read the text, her expression flickered. After a moment of silence, she looked away. “Accidentally got bitten during the game.” As she spoke, she unconsciously bit her lower lip. The small cut wasn’t glaringly obvious, but under the bedroom light, I could see it clearly. How careless did someone have to be to bite a lip open during a simple game? I didn’t ask. I locked the phone. “Right. Just be more careful next time.” Hearing my calm reply, Channel glanced at me, her tone carrying a trace of lingering irritation. “Look, I told you it was an accident.” I gave a quiet “mm” and lay down, turning my back to her. When I woke up the next morning, Channel was already gone. She had left a sticky note on the nightstand. [Landon needs me. Won’t be back for dinner tonight. Don’t wait up.] I crumpled the note without expression and tossed it into the trash can. Opening my phone, I saw her group chat was already at 99+ notifications. They seemed to have completely forgotten I was still in the chat. Everyone was teasing Channel and Landon. I scrolled up with numb fingers and found a photo Landon had posted in the group. A selfie of him and Channel at an amusement park. [Channel is the absolute best. She brought me out to play right away!] So this was what she meant by “Landon needs me.” Whenever I asked her to go out, she always said she was too busy. I wanted to take a trip to relax, she said she had no time. I wanted to see a movie or get dinner, she said her schedule was packed, maybe next time. Her “next time” never came for me. But she had all the time in the world for Landon. The chat was flooded with comments: [Channel is so bold. Aren’t you scared your guy will find out?] [What’s there to be scared of? Even if he finds out, he’ll just sulk for two days and come crawling back to her like he always does. When has it ever been different?] [True. Gabriel has insane tolerance.] Message after message popped up. Channel posted a series of photos she took of Landon, followed by a voice message. “Nothing to be scared of. Landon and I aren’t doing anything shameful.” Then Landon chimed in with a laugh: [I told Gabe last night that Channel’s lip got bitten, and he didn’t even get mad.] I exited the chat and left the group. I looked down at the engagement ring on my finger. I had bought a matching pair, one for me, one for her. She rarely wore hers, claiming it was inconvenient for work, so it usually sat in her jewelry drawer. Now, there was no point in wearing mine either. I slipped it off and threw it into the drawer. Channel seemed to have finally noticed I left the group. She sent me a text: [You left the chat?] Just four words. No explanation, no apology. I didn’t reply. An hour later, her call came through. “Landon’s been under a lot of stress lately. He didn’t want you overthinking things, so he didn’t say we were going to the park.” I stayed silent, waiting for her to continue. “The group wasn’t paying attention to you being in there. They were just talking trash. Don’t be mad.” I gave a faint “mm”. “I’m not mad.” Hearing my answer, Channel let out a relieved sigh. “Good. I’ll swing by the apartment and pick you up for dinner.” Now that I knew, she didn’t feel the need to hide it anymore. She returned quickly. Landon was sitting in the passenger seat. As I stepped outside, Landon rolled down his window and offered an innocent smile. “Hey Gabe, I get severe motion sickness, so do you mind taking the back seat?” My eyes bypassed him and landed on Channel. She nodded. “Landon gets motion sickness easily. Just sit in the back. It’s all the same.” Channel forgot. I suffered from motion sickness too. I didn’t move. Channel’s brows furrowed. “Don’t start throwing a tantrum now. A seat is a seat.” Right. A seat is a seat. Except I wasn’t backing down anymore. I looked into Channel’s eyes, feeling an overwhelming fatigue. “I’m not going. You two go ahead.” “Gabriel, that’s enough,” Channel said, impatience leaking into her tone. “He gets sick in cars. If you’re going to be jealous, at least pick your moments.” Landon suddenly chimed in, “Channel, forget it. You and Gabe go. I don’t want to get between you guys.” Channel snapped without hesitation, “How can I forget it? You’ve been dying to eat at that restaurant for weeks. It took forever to get a reservation.” So the restaurant was his idea all along. Landon gave me an awkward look. “Then what about Gabe?” Channel glanced at me, restarting the engine. “If he doesn’t want to go, leave him be.” “Suit yourself.” The window rolled up slowly. Landon gave me a polite wave. “Gabe, I’ll go have dinner with Channel then!” I stood there until her car disappeared around the corner. I told myself: Forget it, Gabriel. Channel only treated me like this over and over because she knew I loved her unconditionally. Bit by bit, that love had been completely drained. The last tiny flicker of hope evaporated right there on the sidewalk. I went upstairs, grabbed the luggage I had already packed days ago, and walked toward the door. We had lived in this place for five years. Before this, we spent two years in a cramped, drafty rental. In the summer, we only had a tiny weak fan; in the winter, cold wind seeped through the window cracks, so we sealed them with duct tape. Back then, Channel always promised she’d work hard to give me a good life. She said once she made money, we’d get married. She did make money. She built her business, bought a spacious condo. Except we never got married. Even the proposal was something I had to initiate. She had forgotten everything she once said. There was no longer any room for me by her side. At the front door, I stopped. I turned around, letting my eyes sweep across the home one last time. Then I turned, pulled my suitcase, and walked away. She would never have to read those long, eye-straining essays ever again.

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1 When the national training camp roster was announced, my father took me straight to the nephrology ward. Skylar sat in a wheelchair, pale. Brenda, the woman I’d called Mom for over a decade, slid a medical report across the desk. “You and Skylar are an initial match. You’re an athlete, you’re strong. You can live fine with one kidney. Save your sister first.” Tyler stood by the door, holding my driver’s license. “There will be other competitions, Brooke. She can’t wait.” I stared at them and laughed bitterly. My ten years of training meant nothing to them but a box of spare parts for Skylar. Down the hall, my father sent voice notes to relatives: “Skylar has a chance! Brooke’s a match.” Tyler coaxed Skylar: “Don’t be scared. Brooke won’t leave you hanging.” My phone buzzed. The family group chat shared a GoFundMe: Please Help Save Our Beloved Daughter, Skylar. I quietly deleted the ethics committee appointment they’d scheduled for me, then replied to Coach Dawson. Since they wanted me to part with a piece of my body, I’d start by cutting myself out of this family. … Coach Dawson’s reply popped up almost instantly. Brooke, are you confirming your registration? If you don’t report within forty-eight hours, your spot goes to the alternate. I stared at the screen, my fingertips numb with cold. The official roster for the Women’s 400-Meter Hurdles National Training Camp. My name sat at number three. I had spent ten grueling years running for this exact spot. Ten years ago, when I won my very first regional championship, Tyler stood outside the finish line, holding up his jacket to block the cold wind for me. “Brooke, when you make the national team, I’ll carry your flag.” I believed him. So even when my knees throbbed so painfully in the middle of the night that I couldn’t sleep, even when my ankles were wrapped in layers of compression tape, I never once thought about stopping. Yet right now, he stood in a hospital corridor, holding my ID, refusing to give it back to me. The physician placed the chart back on the desk. “It’s only an initial match. We still need detailed secondary evaluations. A living organ donation must be entirely voluntary on the donor’s part, especially since she’s a professional athlete. The risks and recovery timeline require extreme caution.” Brenda nodded frantically. “She’s voluntary! Brooke has always been a good girl. She’s just overwhelmed right now.” I lifted my head. “I am not voluntary.” The hallway went dead silent. Tears welled in Skylar’s eyes first. “Brooke… I’m so sorry. If I weren’t dragging everyone down, you wouldn’t be put in such a hard spot.” The moment she spoke, Brenda dropped to her knees to pull her into a tight hug. “Skylar, baby, don’t think like that. Your sister is an athlete, she recovers fast.” My father’s face darkened instantly. “Brooke, we’re family. Don’t be so calculating.” I turned my eyes to Tyler. He knew better than anyone that I hadn’t even gone home for Christmas just to prepare for this camp. He knew that after donating a kidney, I might never be able to return to elite athletic performance. Yet he simply avoided my gaze. “Brooke, just give Skylar some hope for now. I’ll stay by your side through your entire rehabilitation.” He wasn’t ignorant of the consequences. He had simply made the decision to sacrifice me. Brenda reached over, trying to snatch my phone. “Stop looking at all those messages. The hospital scheduled your ethics evaluation for tomorrow morning. Just cooperate with the doctors.” I took a step backward. “I’m not going.” My father slammed his palm onto the back of a plastic chair. “Don’t you dare!” Skylar flinched dramatically, and Tyler immediately bent down to support her. “Don’t worry, I’m here.” When he looked up at me, his voice was heavy with reprimand. “Brooke, stop terrifying her.” I was the one being pushed onto an operating table. Yet he was scolding me for terrifying her. The physician reminded them once more, “Family members cannot make medical decisions on behalf of an adult donor.” Brenda offered a strained smile. “We know, Doctor. She’s just stubborn. We’ll talk some sense into her once we get home.” I lowered my eyes, flipping my phone screen downward. The red recording indicator on the screen was quietly blinking. I was seven years old when my father brought Brenda and Skylar into our house. That was the day I learned Skylar wasn’t just a stepsister. She was my father’s biological daughter, too, born to Brenda. My father had patted my head back then, saying, “Brooke, you’re a family now. You’re the older sister, and Skylar is frail. You need to look out for her.” For over ten years, I called Brenda “Mom.” And for over ten years, I yielded everything to Skylar. I gave up the bigger bedroom, gave up my birthdays, gave up my father’s affection. And now, they wanted my body, too. As we walked out of the clinic, my father was already tapping away in the family chat. Brooke’s initial match came back positive! Skylar is saved! A flood of praise instantly erupted in the group. Brooke is so mature! That’s how an older sister should act. She’s an athlete, losing one kidney won’t hurt her. Not a single person asked whether I consented. I reached out to take my ID back from Tyler. He slipped it into his coat pocket. “After you calm down.” Before major competitions, he used to hold onto my race bib and kinesiology tape just like this. I used to think it was thoughtfulness. Only now did I realize that the same hands could be used to lock me down. When we arrived home, the dining table was covered with dishes. Low-sodium meals, blanched vegetables, half a bowl of clear broth. Everything was tailored specifically for Skylar’s delicate condition. Brenda sat beside her, carefully blowing on a spoonful of soup to cool it down. “Skylar, drink more. The doctor said you can’t be malnourished right now.” Only when caring for Skylar did she resemble a true mother. Meanwhile, after calling her Mom for more than a decade, the only lesson I had learned was how to surrender. Tyler sat on Skylar’s other side, slicing an apple into tiny, uniform cubes for her. I stood in the entryway, my heavy gym bag still slung over my shoulder. I had been fasting since morning for blood draws, then dragged around all afternoon to discuss organ donation procedures. My stomach twitched with sharp, empty pangs. No one asked if I had eaten. I turned and walked into the kitchen. Inside the pot was only half a bowl of cold rice porridge. The moment my fingers touched the rim of the bowl, Brenda stepped into the kitchen behind me. “That’s for Skylar’s midnight snack,” she said coldly. “You’re an athlete, missing one meal won’t kill you.” I looked at her. In that singular moment, it became crystal clear to me: she wasn’t incapable of being a mother. She was simply only a mother to Skylar. My father pushed an old debit card across the kitchen counter toward me. “Transfer last month’s state team stipend to your mother.” I stared down at the card. It was my training allowance card, which had been linked to Brenda’s phone account for years. “That’s my emergency reserve for training camp,” I said softly. My father scowled. “Don’t you see what this family is going through right now? Skylar needs a private room, she needs dialysis, she needs to wait for surgery!” Brenda’s eyes reddened. “You’ll have plenty of prize money once you’re on the national team! Skylar can’t afford to wait right now!” I spoke up in a low voice. “Didn’t you already start a fundraiser?” The living room fell instantly quiet. Skylar immediately dropped her head. “Brooke, I’m sorry for making a scene and embarrassment out of our family. Maybe… maybe I shouldn’t seek treatment.” Brenda rushed out of the kitchen to wrap her arms around Skylar. “Don’t speak such nonsense!” Tyler handed a piece of apple to Skylar’s lips. “Eat this first. Don’t worry about any of this.” My phone chimed with a notification. It was a link sent privately by a relative. Brooke, you’re such a good girl. I shared the fundraising link for you! I clicked the link. At the very top of the GoFundMe page was a photo of Skylar lying frail in a hospital bed. The second photo was a back view of me crossing a finish line in my state team uniform. The caption read: Older sister Brooke is a state athlete and has agreed to selflessly donate her kidney to save her sister. A bond of true sisterhood. Please help this family in need. I stared at that photo, my fingers tightening around the edge of my phone. That was a photo from last year’s National Youth Championships. After crossing the finish line, I had collapsed onto the track, my knees raw and bleeding onto the asphalt. My parents hadn’t come. Only Tyler had shown up. He had said that moment of glory deserved to be preserved. I raised the screen right in front of Tyler’s face. “Did you give them this photo?” Tyler’s posture stiffened. “Your aunt said the fundraising platform required proof of the family’s situation. Brooke, it’s an emergency. We can delete the photo later.” Skylar chimed in with a soft, trembling voice. “Brooke, are you mad at me for using your picture? I was just afraid people wouldn’t help me…” Every sentence she spoke sounded like an apology, yet every sentence dragged me into the spotlight to be judged by everyone. I pulled the debit card back and shoved it into my bag. “I’m not transferring a single cent.” My father’s face turned livid. “Brooke, are you trying to force my hand?!” I didn’t bother arguing further. As I turned to head upstairs, a banking alert popped up on my phone. The remaining balance in that old stipend account had just been forcibly transferred out. Tyler pursued me to the foot of the stairs, lowering his voice to a gentle plea. “Brooke, I know you feel wronged. But Skylar really has no other way out.” I stopped on the steps. “Did the doctor say that to you directly?” He fell silent for a moment. “Your parents wouldn’t lie to you.” A faint, bitter smile touched my lips. He hadn’t even bothered to ask the doctor himself. He simply assumed that my sacrifice was the default option. The next day, the state team hosted a farewell ceremony for the athletes selected for the national squad. Coach Dawson had reserved three seats in the very front row for my family. Three chairs. My father, Brenda, and Tyler. She handed me the event program, smiling as she patted my shoulder. “Don’t look so tense today. This is a massive milestone.” I nodded silently. Yet when the ceremony began, those three seats remained completely empty. My teammates walked up to the stage one by one. Some received bouquets from their mothers; others had fathers holding up cameras to capture the moment. When my name was called, Coach Dawson was the only person standing in the audience, clapping warmly for me. She tucked a bright bouquet of sunflowers into my arms. “Brooke, keep running forward. No one can run your lane for you.” A sudden wave of heat prickled my nose, and tears nearly spilled over. After the group photos, my phone buzzed several times. Brenda had posted a photo in the family group chat. Skylar was sitting on a hospital bed, wrapped tightly in my official USA National Team jacket. Tyler was kneeling partially beside the bed, zipping the jacket up to her chin. My father stood on the side, holding a mug of warm water. Brenda’s caption read: Skylar wanted to wear her sister’s jacket for good luck. We will all get through this together. She and I shared half the same blood. Yet that tiny shared lineage wasn’t a bond of affection in their eyes, it was a license to strip me bare. Relatives flooded the chat with replies. Skylar looks so pretty in it! The sisters have such a deep bond. Skylar will definitely recover! I looked down at the standard team track jacket I was wearing. That official national team windbreaker had been issued just last night. It had my name printed clearly across the back: BROOKE. I had carefully ironed it and placed it at the very top of my suitcase. Now, it was draped over Skylar. A text from Tyler popped up. Skylar just wanted to try it on for encouragement. It’s just a jacket, don’t be so petty. I stared at the words don’t be so petty for a very long time. When I was younger, I owned a pair of track spikes that I wore during my very first state victory. Skylar had begged to try them on. She wore them while running through the gravel paths in the neighborhood garden, snapping the spikes and clogging the soles with mud. My father had brushed it off, saying children were naturally curious. Tyler had advised me that shoes could easily be replaced. Later, my first championship medal was taken by my father and placed under Skylar’s pillow in the hospital. He claimed looking at it gave Skylar courage. Every single time, it was met with don’t be so petty. It was as if the moment I stood up for myself, I became the villain. Coach Dawson walked over, saw the photo on my screen, and her expression darkened instantly. “Did your family take that without asking?” I locked the screen. “It’s fine.” She didn’t push further, simply handing me an envelope containing my reporting documents. “The team bus will take you to the airport tomorrow morning at six-thirty. Don’t forget your ID and medical clearance files.” My chest tightened sharply. My driver’s license was still in Tyler’s possession. And my registration letter… had been in my suitcase last night. I caught a cab straight back to the house. The living room lights were blazing. My father, Brenda, Tyler, and Skylar were all gathered there. My national team windbreaker was draped across Skylar’s lap, while the removable name tag from the back sat casually on the coffee table. I walked over and picked the jacket up. Skylar’s eyes filled with tears immediately. “Brooke, I didn’t mean to… I just wanted to feel a little bit of confidence.” Brenda pressed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Brooke, it’s just a piece of clothing. Skylar is going through so much, must you fight her over everything?” I pinned the name tag securely back onto the jacket. “This belongs to me.” Tyler frowned deeply. “Can’t you even grant her a tiny piece of hope right now?” I looked him dead in the eye. “Since when did my personal belongings become her source of hope?” He choked on his words, unable to answer. My father threw a printed document onto the glass table. “You’re not going to the airport tomorrow.” “The hospital scheduled your ethics committee review.” I turned my head toward Tyler. “Did you know about this, too?” He averted his eyes from mine. “It’s just an interview.” Brenda interjected, “It doesn’t mean surgery right away. We just need to give Skylar a ray of hope first.” I turned around, walked upstairs, and unzipped my suitcase. The clear document pouch was completely empty. My ID, my backup bank card, and my national team registration letter were all gone. Behind me, Brenda’s voice was soft and sickeningly gentle. “Mom is keeping those safe for you. I’ll give them back once the interview is finished.” I gripped the hard shell of the suitcase, my knuckles turning stark white. They didn’t just want me to yield. They were actively locking the door on my future. At four in the morning, muffled noises echoed from downstairs. My father was on the phone. “Yes, we are definitely bringing her over today. She’s just throwing a minor temper tantrum, it won’t affect the donor evaluation.” Brenda stood outside my bedroom door holding a glass of warm milk. “Brooke, drink this and get a little more sleep. We’ll head to the hospital when you wake up.” I stared at her hand gripping the glass tightly, making no move to take it. “Sleep until I miss my flight registration?” Her eyes instantly turned red. “I have no choice! Skylar suffers so much pain during dialysis every day, can’t you just feel a little sympathy for her once?” I asked in a low voice, “When my knees hurt so badly in the middle of the night that I couldn’t sleep, did you ever feel a single drop of sympathy for me?” She froze. It was as if the thought had never once crossed her mind. A moment later, my father stormed up the stairs. “Brooke, you are going to that hospital today whether you like it or not! Skylar is my daughter, she is your flesh and blood!” “You share the exact same blood, how can you be so heartless?!” I looked at him calmly. “She’s your daughter, but so am I. Yet from beginning to end, you’ve only ever treated me as the spare part built to save her.” Tyler stood right behind him, holding the ethics interview confirmation form. The edges of the paper were crumpled under his tight grip. “Brooke, just sign this first,” he urged, his voice desperate. “It’s not a surgery consent form, it’s just an evaluation agreement.” I stared at him. “Are you going to force my hand to sign it, too?” Bloodshot lines streaked the whites of his eyes. “I don’t want to force you! But I can’t just stand by and watch Skylar die!” I stepped closer to him. “What if I can never run again after donating?” His voice went hoarse. “I’ll handle your rehabilitation. If you can’t run anymore… I’ll support you for the rest of your life.” I looked at him, and suddenly, a quiet laugh escaped me. “Tyler, I want the track. I don’t want a bed provided by you to lay in for the rest of my life.” His face drained of color in an instant. My father lunged forward to grab my gym bag. “You still think you’re leaving?” “If you walk out that door today, I’ll pretend I never had a daughter like you!” I clamped my hands onto the straps of my bag. “From the moment you put my picture on that fundraising page, you stopped treating me like a daughter.” My father raised his hand to strike me. Tyler immediately stepped in, grabbing his wrist. “Sir, don’t hit her!” I stared at Tyler’s hand. He knew how to block a slap. But he wouldn’t block the blade aimed at my life. I turned back into my room and pulled a dusty metal box out from beneath the floorboards. Inside lay my very first regional championship gold medal. Beneath the medal was a printed copy of my temporary digital flight permit, a secondary bank card, a duplicate copy of my registration letter issued directly by Coach Dawson, and a medical risk assessment form handed to me by the team doctor. I had long stopped trusting them with my final way out. Brenda’s face turned ghastly white. “When did you prepare all of this?” I shoved my windbreaker firmly into my duffel bag. “The moment you all agreed to donate my organ without my consent.” Tyler took a step toward me. “Brooke, don’t go.” I unclasped the red braided string from my wrist. On my eighteenth birthday, he had tied it around my wrist outside the training facility, telling me he hoped I would stay safe and sound in every single race. I placed the red string into his open palm. “Tyler, you protect her. I’ll protect myself.” His fingers clenched violently around the string. I picked up my bag and walked downstairs. Brenda ran out behind me, weeping, while my father roared my name from the porch. Skylar stood at the top of the stairs wrapped in her robe, calling out “Brooke” in a frail, soft voice. I didn’t stop for a single second. The cold morning wind whipped against my face, cutting like a blade. Outside the residential gates, Coach Dawson was sitting in the passenger seat of the team van. Seeing me approach, she asked no questions and simply pushed the door open for me. When we reached the airport, the boarding call was already echoing through the terminal speakers. As I handed my digital boarding pass to the agent, my phone vibrated intensely. It was Coach Dawson calling from the terminal entrance. Her voice was unusually grave. “Brooke, don’t panic.” “The national team administration just received a signed document submitted directly by your family.” “They claimed you are currently undergoing organ donor evaluations, and the team medical board is requesting a temporary hold on your registration.” “It’s not a cancellation of your spot, but you must clear the medical audit and provide a formal statement within twenty-four hours.” Immediately after, a voice note from Tyler popped up on my screen. Brooke, I just wanted you to come back and talk to them once. Please come back first. We can figure out a way to resolve the registration issue later. The boarding gate scanner let out a sharp, crisp green beep. I gripped my phone, turned off the screen, and stepped straight into the jet bridge. I needed to reach the base, secure my spot, and only then would I have the strength to settle these debts one by one.

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Chapter 1 Three years into our marriage, Julian suddenly lost interest in me. Every time we fought, he would just push his childhood best friend, Mia, between us. “Mia is a woman too; she understands you better. Talk to her, and stop making a scene with me.” Desperate to force him to actually look at me, I maxed out three of his platinum cards in a single day. I took a pair of scissors to every custom-tailored dress shirt in his closet. On our anniversary, I posted on Facebook: [Julian Vance has a mistress. He hasn’t been home in three years.] When mutual friends screenshotted it and texted him, he just frowned at Mia. “Go ask her if she’s done acting crazy.” Hearing the sheer disgust in his voice, a pang of regret actually hit me. I was just about to swallow my pride and apologize when I heard Mia’s voice, dripping with overwhelming guilt: “Julian, please don’t blame Chloe. She just wants you to comfort her.” “If you hadn’t gone off the grid with me in Iceland for seven days to see the Northern Lights… maybe her parents wouldn’t have been pushed to the brink by those debt collectors…” “And then you forced her to get an abortion because you and I made a pact to remain child-free, and it left her infertile. I know you lied and told her those things were just accidents, but I’ve always felt so guilty…” “The doctor said her mental state might improve if she had a child. Just… let her have the baby I’m carrying.” A heavy silence followed. Finally, Julian spoke. “Focus on your pregnancy. Don’t let that crazy woman anywhere near you.” Suddenly… I didn’t want to make a scene anymore. That night, Mia came to my room holding two of Julian’s black cards, looking at me with eyes full of pity. “Julian said you can max these out too, if it makes you feel better. He knows your mental health is fragile right now, Chloe. He wants me to handle all communications between you two from now on.” I stared at her hand—the one she had intentionally, delicately placed over her lower stomach. I looked down, pulled a divorce agreement from my drawer, and placed it in her free hand. “In that case, you can handle the divorce negotiations, too.” … Mia looked down at the paperwork, a mask of deep conflict settling over her face. “Chloe… does Julian know about this?” “He doesn’t,” I said, meeting her gaze. “But you’re going to make sure he signs it.” Mia hesitated. “Chloe, please don’t misunderstand me. Julian really does care about you. It’s just that you’re always so hysterical, he’s afraid to get close…” “Mia.” I cut her off. “I want to see the signed agreement in three days. You’re so good at passing messages. Pass this one along.” She bit her lip, her voice turning even softer and sweeter. “Chloe, Julian’s been having terrible stomach issues lately. Please don’t pressure him…” “I’m not pressuring him,” I smiled faintly. “I’m pressuring you.” Her expression stiffened for a fraction of a second before melting back into absolute docility. She turned and brought over a small, steaming bowl of bird’s nest soup. “Let’s put this aside for now. Have some soup.” “Bird’s nest is the absolute best thing for pregnant women. Even though you aren’t pregnant, Chloe, it’s still very nourishing.” I looked at the bowl and let out a dry laugh. No wonder the housekeeper had been stewing this expensive soup every single day for the past month. It was for the pregnant woman. I was highly allergic to bird’s nest. Julian knew that. My mind drifted over the past three years. Every single time Julian and I fought, Mia was there, pouring tea, acting as the peacemaker. “Don’t be mad, Chloe. You know Julian just has a hard time expressing his feelings.” “Julian, Chloe just wants what’s best for you. Go talk to her.” I genuinely used to believe that our marriage was only surviving because she was playing the mediator. I used to feel guilty for being jealous of her. I thought I was being petty and insecure. But now, it was like a blindfold had been ripped off. Everything from the past three years suddenly made sickening sense. She was just the daughter of the Vance family’s chauffeur, yet she had unrestricted access to the family estate. She was the only one who knew the passcode to Julian’s private study. She was the “messenger” for our marriage, but every single thing she did made her look more like Mrs. Vance than I did. I pushed the bowl back across the table. “I’ll wait for your news.” As I stood up, I added one last thing. “Oh, and you don’t need to consult me about household matters anymore. You have full authority.” I hadn’t noticed the study door open. Julian had obviously heard my last sentence. He glared at me, his brow heavily furrowed. “What do you mean, ‘full authority’? Chloe, are you Mrs. Vance, or is she?” I turned to look at him. “Is there a difference? For the past three years, she attends family galas in my place. She relays your words to me. She knows better than I do which high-society events I should attend and who I should network with. Tell me, which duty of ‘Mrs. Vance’ has she not fulfilled?” “You—” Mia immediately stepped between us. “Julian, Chloe is just upset right now. Please don’t be mad at her.” She reached out, grabbing my arm in her perfect ‘peacemaker’ act. “Don’t touch me!” I instinctively pulled my arm back. With a dramatic gasp, Mia threw her entire body weight sideways, collapsing toward the floor. Julian’s face instantly turned white. He lunged forward and caught her before she hit the ground. “Chloe!” He snapped his head up to glare at me, his eyes burning with an uncontainable rage. “Are you out of your damn mind?! She spends every single day dealing with your psychotic drama, she’s completely exhausted, and now you’re getting physical?!” I stood frozen in place. In the past, whenever I pulled away from her, she would just take a half-step back, smile sweetly, and say, “Don’t be mad, Chloe.” But today, she dared to throw herself at the floor. She dared to huddle against his chest with red, teary eyes. She dared to let him see me “push” her. Because she had something in her belly now. She knew that if she fell, Julian’s heart would break. She knew it would just prove that I was “crazy.” Sure enough, Julian’s voice dropped to a dangerous octave. “Are we going to make this marriage work or not?” “No.” I heard myself laugh, a sharp, broken sound. “No, we’re not. Is that what you want to hear? You’re right, Julian. I am crazy.” Mia nestled in his arms, whispering softly, “Julian, let it go. I know Chloe didn’t mean it…” “Shut up.” I pointed a shaking finger at her. “You can drop the act, Mia. You’re the perfect messenger, right? Then I’ll tell you right now: make him sign the papers. Sign them, and I’m gone. I will never step foot in this house again.” Julian stared at me, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. “What kind of psychotic episode is this?” “Psychotic episode?” I smiled, taking a step back. “Right. I’m crazy. You want crazy? I’ll give you crazy.” I spun around, stormed into his study, grabbed a heavy porcelain vase, and hurled it directly at his prized, antique painting on the wall. The glass shattered. Black ink splattered across the hardwood floor. “Is that crazy enough?” I turned back to look at him. “Do you want more?” He stood in the doorway, shielding Mia behind his back. He looked at me like I was a terminal patient who had finally lost her mind. “Chloe,” he said coldly. “Calm down.” “I am perfectly calm.” I dusted off my hands and smiled faintly. “Julian, starting today, whoever you want to be Mrs. Vance can be Mrs. Vance. I don’t give a damn anymore.” Julian’s face darkened like a thundercloud. “You are the one who schemed and plotted your way into this marriage, and now you’re the one saying you don’t give a damn. Chloe, what do you think the Vance family is? A revolving door?” I smiled bitterly. He was right. I had exhausted every ounce of my energy to lock myself inside this gilded cage. I had swallowed the key and lied to myself, calling it love. “In the Vance family, marriages only end in widowhood, not divorce,” he enunciated every single word. “If you think you’re walking out of here alive, you’re dreaming.” He turned his head to the housekeeper standing nervously in the hall. “Take my wife to her room. She is not to leave without my explicit permission.” The housekeeper grabbed my arm and dragged me up the stairs. From below, I could still hear his low, gentle voice comforting Mia. “Don’t worry. She’s just running her mouth. She’ll be back to normal in a few days.” Back to normal in a few days? I closed my eyes and let out a derisive scoff. In the past, no matter how hysterical I got, no matter how much I screamed, it was all just a desperate plea for him to look at me. This was the very first time I had ever said the word “divorce.” He didn’t even realize that the moment those words left my lips, something had shattered for good. It couldn’t be glued back together. Julian… we’re past the point of no return. When I woke up the next morning, my door was finally unlocked. As I walked downstairs, Mia immediately stood up. “Chloe! You’re awake! Let me get you some congee.” I glanced at the bowl. Bird’s nest congee. Again. Julian knew perfectly well that bird’s nest gave me severe hives. It made my skin itch and burn for an entire day. But for the past month, he ordered the kitchen to stew it daily to nourish Mia and her pregnancy. If I drank it, I suffered. If I refused, I was being a spoiled, picky brat. To prove that I was being “good,” I had forced it down my throat every day for a month. He hadn’t even noticed. His entire perception of whether I was being “crazy” or “good” relied entirely on whatever came out of Mia’s mouth. So it didn’t matter how much I tried to change, or how much anger I swallowed. It was useless. He was deaf to my words. He only heard hers. “I’m not eating it.” I pushed the bowl away. Mia looked at Julian with wide, helpless eyes. “Julian… Chloe is being difficult again…” “If she doesn’t want it, let her starve,” he said without looking up from his Wall Street Journal. “Sit down and eat your breakfast, Mia.” Mia didn’t sit. She picked the bowl back up and placed it in front of me again. “Chloe, please just have a few bites. Julian specifically asked the chef to make this for you. He noticed you haven’t been eating much lately and you’ve lost weight.” She held the porcelain spoon out to me. “It’s your own body. If you don’t care about your health, Julian will be so worried.” “I said I’m not eating it,” I snapped, impatiently swatting her hand away. The bowl hit the marble floor and shattered. Mia let out a startled shriek, her eyes instantly filling with tears. “Chloe… I didn’t mean to make you mad…” Julian threw his paper down and strode over, inspecting her hand for cuts. A second later, he grabbed the remaining half-bowl of congee from the counter, gripped my jaw with one hand, and forcefully poured the scalding liquid down my throat. He only let go after I was forced to swallow the last drop, slamming the empty bowl onto the counter. “From now on, you eat whatever the kitchen makes. If you throw another tantrum, I have a dozen ways to make you stay quiet.” I slumped over the table, coughing violently. And as I coughed, I started to laugh. I laughed at my own stupidity. I actually thought there was still something in this house worth fighting for. He turned and grabbed his suit jacket. “I have business dinners tonight. I’ll be back late.” He glanced back at me one last time, his jaw clenched. “Don’t act crazy again.” The front door clicked shut. Mia looked at me, shaking her head in mock pity. “Chloe, why do you do this to yourself? Bird’s nest is a luxury. If it weren’t for my… special condition, I wouldn’t even get to eat it.” I steadied myself on the edge of the table and stood up, looking at her with disdain. “So, when are you going to get him to sign the agreement?” She smiled sweetly. “What’s the rush, Chloe?” “The Vance and Sinclair families are hosting a joint gala the day after tomorrow. As Mrs. Vance, it would look very bad if you didn’t attend.” I let out a scoff. “I’m not even allowed at private family dinners. You think I have a seat at a high-society gala?” “Mia, drop the act. I’m exhausted just watching you perform.” Knowing about her ‘special condition,’ she clearly felt she didn’t need to maintain the innocent facade anymore. She sank comfortably into the plush sofa. “Alright, Chloe. Since we’re putting our cards on the table, I’ll be blunt. Did you really think playing the ‘I want a divorce’ card as a reverse-psychology trick would actually win him back?” “Everyone from the top to the bottom of the Vance estate calls me before they even think about calling you. What exactly do you have to fight me with?” I couldn’t help but laugh. “If you’re so powerful, and you can’t even get a simple divorce paper signed, you have no business plotting a coup.” Her expression faltered. She clearly hadn’t expected me to call her bluff so aggressively. “If I don’t have that signed agreement in my hands by tomorrow,” I warned her, “I will ensure that neither you nor your bastard child ever get official recognition in this family.” “I will be a ‘crazy wife’ for the rest of my life. I will haunt him until the day I die.” “I might be a fallen heiress, but I am still the legal wife. You’ve been scheming for three years, and he has never once brought up divorcing me. Haven’t you figured it out yet?” I knew exactly where to strike. Her face instantly darkened. “And let’s take a step back. What if I agree to let Julian adopt a child to save my mental health… but I absolutely refuse to let it be yours?” “Julian has always felt insanely guilty about my infertility. Do you want to bet on whether or not he’d agree to my terms?” She didn’t say a word. For weeks, she had been dropping aggressive hints, practically begging me to discover her pregnancy so I would throw a massive, relationship-ending tantrum. A scandal like that would either end in divorce or leave my reputation completely shredded. But I knew the truth, and I hadn’t reacted at all. “Chloe,” she smiled, dropping the ‘sisterly’ honorific for the first time. “What exactly do you want?” “I already told you what I want.” I took a step back. “The choice is yours.” I turned and walked up the stairs. Half of what I said was a bluff to scare her. The other half was the absolute truth. If I couldn’t escape this hellhole, then I was going to make sure no one else found peace either. I was already labeled a “crazy woman.” I had no problem acting the part. By noon the next day, Mia placed the signed divorce agreement on the table in front of me. “Julian said that ending a toxic, draining marriage is for the best.” Looking at his bold, elegant signature on the dotted line, my chest tightened painfully. Once, we had loved each other so fiercely. I never thought our marriage would end via a proxy messenger. “Thank you.” I had just tucked the agreement into my purse when a familiar voice called out from the entryway. “Chloe!” My body went rigid. I turned my head. My teenage brother, Liam, was striding toward me in his high school uniform. “Liam? What are you doing here?” “Julian had Mia pick me up.” He shook a bottle of juice in his hand. “He said you missed me, and told me to stay over for a couple of days.” My throat closed up. Three years ago, my family’s company went bankrupt. The loan sharks were ruthless, and they hadn’t stopped hunting us since. I had kept Liam completely hidden for three years. I didn’t even put my name down as his emergency contact at school, terrified that the debt collectors would track him down. Julian promised me—swore to me—that he would never mention Liam to anyone. How did this happen… “Mia!” I couldn’t stop my voice from rising. “What the hell are you playing at?” Mia blinked, looking the picture of innocence. “Chloe, why are you yelling at me? Julian knows you hate large crowds, so he asked me to pick Liam up to attend the Vance-Sinclair gala in your place. I was just following orders.” “Absolutely not!” I forced my temper down. “You can go by yourself.” I grabbed Liam’s arm, ready to drag him out the door. Just then, the front door clicked open. Julian was home. His gaze swept over me and my brother, finally landing on Mia’s slightly reddened eyes. “What’s going on?” Mia shook her head sadly. “Chloe can’t attend the gala, but she won’t let Liam go either. I just don’t know how to explain her absence to the elders now.” Julian looked at me. “Sending Liam is for your own good. Since you won’t be there, having your brother represent you will remind people who Mrs. Vance actually is.” “Julian, are you out of your mind?! You know exactly what exposing him to the public means—” I bit my tongue, forcing the rest of the sentence back down. Liam was only seventeen. He thought his sister married a wonderful, protective man. He thought going to a gala was just a fun night out. No matter how miserable my reality was, I refused to let him see it. “Julian. We need to talk. Alone.” I kept my voice low. He didn’t even break his stride, heading straight for his study. “Talk to Mia.” “Julian!” I took a step after him. Mia instantly stepped in front of me, reciting the line I was so sickeningly tired of hearing. “Chloe, to avoid any unnecessary conflict, please just relay your message through me.” Again. He refused to speak a single word to me, even when I wasn’t being “crazy.” “Fine. I’ll tell you,” I said, glaring at Mia. “Liam is not going anywhere. If you so much as lay a finger on him, I will call the police.” Swallowing the bitter lump in my throat, I grabbed Liam’s hand and pulled him out the door. In the car, I gave him strict instructions. “Liam, I’m transferring you to a different school as soon as possible. If Mia ever tries to pick you up again, do not get in her car.” He looked confused, but nodded. “Okay. I’ll listen to you, Chloe.” He looked at me, seeming to sense the unspoken tension. “Chloe… please take care of yourself. Just wait until I grow up. Once I make it big, I’ll protect you.” My nose stung. “I know you will.” I watched him safely walk through the school gates before turning my car around and driving out to the suburbs. The cemetery was incredibly quiet at night. My parents’ headstones stood side-by-side. I placed the flowers I bought on the ground and sat in the damp grass. “Mom. Dad.” I traced the engraved letters with my fingertips. “I think… I married the wrong man.” I fell asleep leaning against their headstones that night. The next day, I went back to the villa, packed my bags, and tried calling Liam. It went straight to voicemail. Panicking, I called his homeroom teacher. The teacher sounded confused. “Someone from your family picked him up yesterday afternoon. He took a leave of absence, saying he had to attend a formal family gala.” The teacher wouldn’t say anything else, but my blood ran cold. I instantly knew what had happened. I frantically dialed Julian’s number. Mia answered. “Chloe? Julian is busy right now. Is there a message you need me to relay?” “Where is Liam?!” “Him?” Mia laughed softly. “I went to pick him up yesterday evening, and he absolutely refused to come with me. So I told him, ‘If you don’t go, your sister is going to be a laughingstock in the Vance family.’ He got in the car like a good boy after that. I dropped him back at his dorm right after the gala ended. Why?” “The school said he never came back!” The line went silent for a split second, then Julian’s voice came through. “What’s going on?” I broke down crying. “Julian! Liam never made it back to school! You need to send your men to find him right now—” “Chloe.” He cut me off, his tone laced with cold annoyance. “Are you throwing another tantrum? Mia watched him walk through the school gates with her own eyes. How could he be missing? Are you really making up a kidnapping just because I didn’t let you go to a party?” “Julian, I swear to God I’m not making this up—” “Enough. You are seriously becoming a massive disappointment.” He hung up. When I tried calling back, his phone was turned off. At 7:00 PM, when they finally returned to the villa, I charged at them, ready to demand answers. But the police arrived at the door first. “We found Liam’s body in the river on the outskirts of town. He was kidnapped. The kidnappers demanded a ransom, but no one answered their calls, so they executed him.” “The remains were… incomplete. He was dismembered.” I stood there, listening to the officers deliver the news word by word. And then, I laughed. I laughed so hard I doubled over. I laughed until my face was entirely soaked with tears. Julian, his face ashen, muttered something to the officers, and they quietly left. Then he walked over and crouched down in front of me. “Chloe. Please don’t be like this.” “Julian.” I slowly raised my head to look at him. “This was you protecting my family? What exactly did you protect?” He froze. He couldn’t utter a single syllable. I stood up, walked into the kitchen, and grabbed the sharpest butcher knife from the block.

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1 After I slapped Genevieve’s boytoy, she had my entire family committed to a psychiatric hospital. I never dared cross her again. I cooked porridge for Landon’s stomach aches, waited on Genevieve hand and foot after she gave birth. When their child turned one month old, I finally begged her to release my family. Genevieve let out a mocking laugh. “Patrick, do you know how I met Landon?” My breath hitched. “Your sister and mother handed him to my bed. Patrick, he’s your maternal half-brother.” She slid her unlocked phone across the table. “They were never in an asylum. For three years, they’ve been right by Landon’s side.” On the screen, my mother and sister surrounded Landon and the newborn, radiant with joy I’d never seen before. My eyes burned crimson. My heart felt shredded by a rusty blade. Genevieve’s voice was cool. “You’ve been obedient these three years. Tell me what compensation you want.” She smirked. “Though you probably wouldn’t want it.” I wiped my tears, forced a smile. “Then compensate me with a hundred million dollars.” A wife like this, and relatives like them, I didn’t want any of them anymore. … Genevieve’s face froze in momentary shock. “What did you say?” I looked straight into her eyes, my voice trembling slightly. “Since you want to make it up to me, give me cash. I want a hundred million dollars. Not a single penny less.” The warmth in Genevieve’s eyes vanished, replaced by an icy glare. She suddenly scoffed, speaking directly toward the phone on the table. “Landon, looks like neither of us guessed right.” I hadn’t noticed that the screen had already been switched to a live video call. Landon appeared on camera with a smirk, looking at me with pure disdain. “Patrick, we made a bet on what kind of compensation you’d demand after finding out the truth.” “I bet you’d refuse the money and smash up the office in a violent rage. Genevieve bet you’d use this to threaten her into never divorcing you.” “As for Mom and Ann, one guessed you’d demand Genevieve ship me off to another country, while the other guessed you’d cut yourself to force her into submission.” He turned the camera to the side. My mother was cradling Genevieve’s baby, her face beaming with joy. But the moment her eyes met mine through the screen, every trace of warmth vanished from her features. “Patrick, I truly never expected you to open your mouth and demand money from Genevieve!” “Has the Sinclair family ever starved you or left you without clothes over the years? How did you become so vulgar and money-grubbing? You’re no different from those cheap male escorts selling themselves on the street!” My sister, Ann, gently stroked Landon’s hair, her eyes filled with fond affection. Yet when she turned toward the camera, her expression turned entirely cold. “Patrick, I know you’re upset.” “If you’re strapped for cash, I can transfer some to you. But you shouldn’t demand it from Genevieve.” “Landon and Genevieve are genuinely in love. They don’t owe you anything.” “Is that so?” I interrupted her, my eyes burning red. “Stealing my wife, taking away my mother and sister, destroying my marriage and my family. Toying with me for three years, tricking me into acting as their domestic servant… and you claim you don’t owe me anything?” Ann frowned in distaste. “Patrick, watch your mouth.” “We didn’t mean to trick you. You’ve always been stubborn and hot-tempered. If we hadn’t done this, how could you have ever accepted Landon?” “Genevieve has been in low spirits since giving birth. We were worried about postpartum depression, so we came up with this little game to cheer her up. Don’t take it to heart.” I pulled at the corners of my mouth, letting out a hollow laugh. “In that case, just give me the money. Mom gives me fifty million, you give me thirty million. I can keep acting for you guys and stay on as Landon’s nanny. How does that sound?” Ann’s face turned ash-grey. “Patrick, how much longer are you going to throw this embarrassing tantrum?” I sneered coldly. “It’s just a little pocket change. Surely the wealthy Guilford and Sinclair families can afford a tiny sum like that?” “Enough.” Genevieve swept a cold glance over me and pulled a set of documents from her desk drawer. “Landon has officially returned to the family fold. My child cannot be a bastard. Sign these divorce papers, and a hundred million dollars will be wired to your account immediately.” I looked at those few thin sheets of paper. Without a second of hesitation, I grabbed a pen and slashed my signature across the bottom. The way Genevieve looked at me instantly grew complex. “Do you really care about money that much? You never used to be like this…” Suppressing the excruciating, blade-like agony in my chest, I forced a careless, unbothered smile. “If I don’t take the money, what else could you possibly give me?” She stared at me intensely, her dark pupils unreadable. “Maybe you could beg me not to go through with the divorce.” “Patrick, if you just open your mouth and beg me, I’ll rip this agreement to pieces right now.” Beg her? I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper, memories of the months right after I discovered her affair with Landon rushing back. I had begged her countless times. I had even slit my wrists to force her to come home. Yet as my blood pooled across the floor, all I got in return was a single, disgusted line from her: Don’t do that next time. Landon faints at the sight of blood. “And then what?” I looked at her calmly, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “And then you’ll tell me this was just another one of your little bets, designed specifically to turn me into a laughingstock?” I let out a miserable laugh, my throat aching. “Genevieve, stop playing games with me.” “Haven’t you made enough of a fool out of me over the last three years?” A cold drop slid down my cheek. The tears I had fought so hard to hold back finally broke free. Genevieve instinctively reached out to wipe them away. For a fleeting second, a flash of genuine guilt flickered in the depths of her eyes. She let out a heavy sigh. “He’s still young and a bit willful. As his older brother, you should yield to him a little.” “Don’t worry. The position of Mrs. Guilford will always be saved for you. Marrying Landon is just a temporary measure so the baby can have a proper legal name.” She paused, adding with a touch of unease, “I’ll still give you the hundred million. Take the money, go travel for a while, and once I clean up this mess, we’ll remarry.” “That should satisfy you, shouldn’t it?” I lifted my face, forced a soft smile, and gave a faint nod. “Then book me a flight to Switzerland. We promised we’d visit the Alpine lakes together, didn’t we?” She visibly relaxed, pulling me into a tight embrace. “Alright. You go ahead first. Once everything is handled, I’ll fly over to join you.” “Patrick, wait for me.” I rested my head against her shoulder and didn’t utter another word. Deep down, I knew with absolute certainty that I would never wait for her again. Seeing that I had surrendered, Genevieve finally spoke again. “Hand over the keys to the main estate and move out for a while.” “Landon wants to move in. You know how sensitive he is. Pack your things thoroughly and leave nothing behind so it doesn’t ruin his mood.” “Besides, that house is old anyway after all these years. Don’t hold a grudge against him.” She cleared her throat, pulling a set of keys and a deed from her drawer. “I bought a new villa for you on the south side of town. Move your belongings over there first.” I remained silent, but my mind drifted back to the day we bought the main estate. We had designed the layout together, selected the curtain fabrics, picked out the artwork for the foyer, and agreed to keep two nursery rooms, one pink and one blue. She called it our love nest, hand-carving a wooden plaque to hang above the front gate that read Pine Crest Villa. Yet later on, she spent her nights intertwined with Landon in her office until dawn, leaving me alone in that hollow, echoing mansion. I pulled a faint smile and placed my set of keys into her palm. “It’s fine. New things are better anyway.” From now on, everything I owned would be brand new. Not just the house. After leaving the Guilford Building, I drove to the psychiatric facility alone. Over the past three years, I had pushed open those hospital doors dozens of times, watching my mother and sister play-act as mental patients on their beds while I sobbed until I nearly passed out. What they never knew was that I had met someone else in this place. I pushed open the door to a private room. Sunlight streamed through the window frames, illuminating a young girl sitting on the sill, staring into the distance. Her facial features were sharp and striking, exuding an air of cold, rebellious detachment. Strands of hair hung over her forehead, gilded in a soft golden glow by the afternoon light. If a local reporter were here, they might have recognized her as the youngest daughter of the Kingsley Shipping Empire, committed to the asylum years ago. I spoke softly. “I have the money now. I’m taking you out.” Genevieve had no idea that my true destination wasn’t Switzerland. It was Los Angeles. When I returned to the main estate to pack my bags, the house staff looked at me with strange, hesitant expressions. I stepped into the living room and immediately understood why. My personal belongings had been ripped out of the closets and dumped onto the floor in a chaotic pile. Landon was stepping down the grand staircase, dressed in a pristine, snow-white custom wedding tuxedo. I bit my lip, staring dead at him. He gathered the hem of his jacket and offered a smirk. “Brother, this is the custom wedding tux Genevieve designed for you years ago, right?” “Well, Genevieve gave it to me.” “She said your figure has completely gone to waste anyway and you can’t fit into it anymore. Letting me wear it is the best stroke of luck this suit could ever have.” He did a slow pirouette in the center of the room. “Look at me, brother. Does your suit fit me well? Do I look handsome?” The pure white fabric shimmered under the crystal chandelier like a dream. Landon’s face was flushed with triumph, arrogant and dripping with smug satisfaction. Years ago, Genevieve had pulled several all-nighters just to finish the design sketches for that suit. When I tried it on for the first time, she had wrapped her arms around me and whispered: Patrick, this is a one-of-a-kind piece, crafted for the one-of-a-kind man in my life. The words still echoed in my ears, but the person who spoke them had long since rotted. Landon didn’t realize that since I had thrown away Genevieve herself, I couldn’t care less about a meaningless piece of clothing. I let out a calm smile, slowly relaxing my clenched fists. “Landon, did nobody ever teach you that taking other people’s property requires payment?” “That tailored suit cost thirty million dollars. I expect the funds transferred to my bank account shortly.” Landon’s expression turned nasty in an instant. “You absolute parasite! You hogged Genevieve and stole my family for years, how dare you open your mouth to demand money!” Screaming, he raised his palm and lunged forward to strike me. I simply sidestepped half a pace. Landon tripped over his own long trousers and crashed heavily onto the marble floor. My mother and sister came hurtling down the stairs. “Landon! What happened?” Ann glared at me with fierce hatred. “Patrick! Did you lay a hand on Landon again?!” Before I could speak, a heavy, stinging slap cracked across my face. A burning, sharp pain spread across my left cheek. I looked at my mother in utter disbelief. Her face was flushed red with rage as she barked coldly, “I knew you were bitter and never truly accepted Landon, but how could you physically attack him?!” Landon whimpered, putting on a pitiful, tear-streaked face. “Mom, don’t be mad at Patrick. It’s not his fault. He said this suit costs thirty million, and if I don’t pay him, I have no right to wear it. But I don’t have that kind of money… He didn’t mean to push me…” He lifted his face with heartbreaking vulnerability. “It’s all my fault for being poor. Mom, Ann, if we give him the money, will he stop being angry with me?” My mother let out a furious snort, her rage boiling over. “Landon, you’re far too kind! Give this leech money? In his dreams! I should have known long ago that he’s just like his father, a greedy, shameless bastard who only cares about cash!” A sharp, searing pain shot through my chest. I cupped my burning cheek and stared at her. Her face was contorted with venomous hostility as she spat insult after insult. The loving mother facade she had maintained for decades shattered into dust right before my eyes. Ann stepped in, catching her by the arm. “Mom, don’t.” A faint, pathetic ember of hope flickered in the depths of my heart. Yet a second later, Ann spoke in a tone of absolute coldness. “If you push him too far, he might turn up to ruin Landon’s wedding.” “Since he craves money so badly, just throw it at him. Consider it a donation to a homeless beggar.” She pulled a metallic black card from her designer bag and tossed it casually at my feet, her voice laced with deep disgust. “There’s over thirty million in that account. Is that enough for you?” “Take the money and get out. Don’t ever show your face in front of Landon again.” I stared down at the black card belonging to the Sinclair family. The very last shred of attachment in my heart burned to ash. I slowly bent down, picked up the card, and let out a careless, unbothered smile. Looking at the ruined pile of my belongings scattered across the living room floor, I didn’t bother packing anymore. “Since Miss Sinclair is offering such a generous price, I’ll sell the whole lot to you.” I looked at her with venomous sarcasm. “Now that Miss Sinclair has formally claimed a new brother and a new stepmother, I certainly won’t stay around to eyesore you.” “From this day forward, I have zero relation to the Sinclair family!” I dug through the pile, pulled out my passport and legal IDs, and turned to walk toward the entrance. “Wait a minute!” Landon called out, his voice sharp and demanding. I paused, glancing back. “What now?” He sneered coldly. “Since you claims everything here is sold to me for thirty million, shouldn’t you leave one specific item behind?” I frowned, genuinely confused. He let out a nasty laugh. “You’re divorced from Genevieve now, aren’t you? Is it really appropriate for you to still be wearing that wedding band?” I looked down at the simple gold band wrapped around my ring finger, sudden realization hitting me. This ring was a gift Genevieve had given me when we first started dating. She had forged the matching pair herself, etching our names into the interior band. She used to say that gold was the most stable element in the physical world. Just like our love. Yet we both forgot that gold was also the softest metal. Given a little external pressure, it distorts beyond recognition. After ten years of entanglement with Genevieve, the ring had practically grown into my flesh, refusing to slide off. I tugged at it twice, but my knuckle was swollen. Reaching over to the console table, I grabbed a heavy pair of craft scissors and jammed the blade right under the gold band. Just as the metal snapped with a sharp click, a furious shout echoed from the front door. “Patrick! What the hell are you doing?!” The heavy scissors were ripped from my grip. Genevieve pulled me fiercely into her arms. “Are you trying to hurt yourself again?!” Her gaze dropped to the severed gold ring in my palm, and her voice cut off instantly. Her eyes filled with sheer disbelief. “You… you actually cut this ring? Why?!” “Genevieve, I’m the one who wanted that ring,” Landon cut in from the side. Genevieve finally registered Landon standing nearby. Landon’s face was sour, his fingers clutching his jacket hem tight. “Patrick sold everything to me for thirty million anyway. Genevieve, you made that ring with your own hands. I want to take it back. You don’t mind, do you?” Genevieve quickly released me, offering Landon a gentle, doting smile. “Landon, that style is outdated. If you like gold, I’ll forge a brand new pair for you.” Tears welled up in Landon’s eyes. “No, I want you to melt this specific ring down and craft a new one for me.” “You promised me that once our baby was born, you’d give me anything I asked for.” Genevieve fell silent for a few long seconds before nodding helplessly. “Alright.” A sarcastic smirk tugged at my lips. I pulled the broken gold band off my finger, tossed it onto the floor, and turned to leave. Landon called out yet again. “Patrick, you said you’re severing all ties with the Sinclair family. In that case, there’s one more thing you need to surrender.” He turned his tear-filled eyes toward the three women. “Mom, Ann, Genevieve… I’m a son of the Sinclair family now. I want to legally change my name and reclaim my place.” My mother nodded repeatedly. “Yes, returning to the family is a joyous occasion! I’ll consult a name master immediately to pick the luckiest name for you…” Landon cut her off. “Mom, I’ve already decided on my future name.” A cruel smile stretched across his lips. “I want to be named Patrick.” “So, brother, do me a favor and change your name to something else.” “Genevieve, this is my final request. You’ll make it happen for me, won’t you?” Patrick… was the name my late father gave me. It meant fair warrior. Genevieve knew the story behind my name. Yet after a brief moment of internal struggle, she opened her mouth anyway. “Patrick… just change your name to something else. I’ll pay you extra compensation for the trouble.” I pulled at the corner of my mouth and gave a calm nod. “Sure. As long as the cash hits my account.” Genevieve let out a massive sigh of relief. “I’ll have my assistant wire you another fifty million right away.” An hour later, Genevieve’s legal team escorted me to the city registry office to execute the legal name change. Standing outside on the sidewalk, I held my brand-new identification card up to the sky, letting out a soft smile. My name, my old identity, my past love… I had thrown all of it away. From this moment on, I belonged only to true freedom. At the airport terminal, Genevieve called my phone. “Patrick… once you finish with the registry, head over to the south-side villa first. I’ve had the movers drop off some new furniture.” “Landon was just throwing a childish tantrum. Once things settle down, I’ll make him change his name back. Don’t hold it against him.” I gave a faint, agreeable hum and hung up the phone. A text from a real estate agent popped up on my screen: Mr. Holloway, the south-side villa has been sold according to your instructions. The buyer was thrilled with the below-market price and wired the full cash amount immediately. Please verify the receipt. I replied with a quick confirmation, checked the astronomical balance in my bank account, popped out the SIM card, and dropped it into a terminal trash bin. Turning around, I smiled gently at the young girl beside me. “Let me know when you’re ready. Our flight is boarding.”

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1 When my little sister Amanda got slapped by a classmate, Dad rushed to school, Mom tore up the parent chat, and Brother Tyler brought friends to trap the boy at the gates. But Amanda pouted that everyone now made fun of her. Mom baked forty-five cupcakes for distribution, while Dad and Brother sent five hundred dollars in apology. Amanda finally stopped crying. The next day, a cupcake appeared on my desk. I gathered courage. “Mom… someone is bullying me…” Mom simmered soup, brushing me off. “Kids make a big deal out of nothing. Maybe they’re just joking.” I turned to Tyler. “They took my allowance and tore my test papers.” Glued to his phone leveling Amanda’s gaming account, he didn’t answer. Dad called from the living room, “If you don’t provoke them, why would they bully you? Reflect on your own behavior.” I reflected all night but couldn’t figure out what I’d done wrong. Soon, bullies trapped me in a dark alley. They stripped me, took photos, and beat me until I coughed up blood. I dialed my family dozens of times from my shattered phone. No answer. As they left, one mentioned the last person they beat this way died of internal bleeding. Bruised and bleeding, I dragged myself home. Mom, Dad, and Tyler were gathered around Amanda, helping her try on a new princess dress. They’d forgotten it was my birthday. I said nothing. Using my last spare change, I took a bus to the local crematorium. Standing before the old security guard, I whispered, “Sir, I think I’m dying soon. Can you help me prepare a grave?” … The old security guard, Ben, took me inside his booth. He washed the dirt off my hands and gently sanitized my cuts with iodine. He pulled out his phone, dialing my family while trying to comfort me. “You had a fight with your parents and ran away, didn’t you? Your mom and dad must be worried sick right now.” “I’ll call them to pick you up and take you home, okay?” Worried sick. I caught that phrase in my head. Listening to the dial tone echoing from Ben’s speakerphone, my heart pounded wildly. A few months ago, Mom refused to buy Amanda a toy she wanted. Amanda threw a tantrum and ran away from home. The entire family went out of their minds. Dad called the police three times in less than twenty-four hours. Tyler and his friends searched almost every street and alley in the city. When Amanda was finally found, Mom held her in her arms, sobbing hysterically and agreeing to every single request Amanda had. Dad and Tyler both had bloodshot eyes from crying. Would they be worried sick for me, too? A faint spark of hope flickered in my chest, and my eyes brightened up for a second. Ben’s heart softened seeing my expression, and he gently patted my head. The call finally went through. Ben quickly explained the situation, but Tyler’s impatient voice came blasting through the speaker. “Why is she running around late at night anyway? Amanda is trying to sleep.” “Just let her stay outside for the night. She’s old enough to take care of herself.” I froze in place. Over the phone, Amanda’s spoiled voice echoed in the background. “Mom has to bathe me, Tyler has to brush my teeth, and Dad has to read me a bedtime story! None of you can leave!” Ben tried to say something more, but the call was promptly disconnected. I lowered my eyes. I should have known it would end like this, shouldn’t I? Ever since I was little, I was the most sensible, obedient child in the house. Everyone assumed I could take care of myself and didn’t need an ounce of concern. They naturally poured all their love onto Amanda. It didn’t matter… it really didn’t matter… A violent surge rose in my chest. I couldn’t hold it back and vomited another mouthful of blood onto the floor. “Oh my goodness! What’s wrong with you!” Ben gasped in terror. “Hold on, let me grab my coat and take you to the hospital!” Panicking, I quickly pulled out a napkin to wipe the blood off the tile. While Ben turned his back to grab more paper towels, I ran out of the guardhouse into the dark night. Going to the hospital meant spending money, time, and energy. The last time I had a high fever and went to the hospital, Mom, Dad, and Tyler had a massive argument over who had to stay behind to take care of me. I couldn’t be a burden to them again. Near the crematorium was a public cemetery on a quiet hillside. I picked a small, grassy spot for myself and lay down silently. My body was aching everywhere. The bullies said that coughing up blood meant internal organs were ruptured. Without immediate medical care, a person would die. But if I died, my family would have one less trouble to deal with. The cemetery was dead silent, save for the rustling of leaves in the night wind. Scared of the pitch-black darkness, I used the last one percent of my phone battery to call Mom. After a long wait, Mom finally answered. She let out an exasperated sigh. “You chose to run away yourself, Nora. You can’t blame anyone else. Just stay outside tonight and take the bus back tomorrow morning.” Before I could say anything, the call went dead. Mom misunderstood me. I didn’t want her to pick me up. I just wanted to hear her voice one last time. Today was the day I was going to die. It was also my birthday. “Happy birthday to me… happy birthday to me…” Staring up at the dark, starless sky, I sang the birthday song to myself in a whisper, quietly waiting for death to claim me. The next morning, I opened my eyes. A ray of golden sunlight hit my face. I realized I hadn’t died yet. My body, however, hurt ten times worse than the night before. “She’s over here!” Ben rushed over, accompanied by two police officers. I sat quietly on the stone bench, waiting for the officers to contact my family. Ben stood to the side, sighing heavily. “What kind of parents are they? Their kid goes missing all night, and they don’t even care!” Nearly three hours later, Mom, Dad, and Tyler finally showed up. Dad offered an apologetic smile to the officers. “Our youngest daughter insisted on getting her hair redone this morning, and we had to drop her off at school first. That’s why we’re late.” “Sorry for the trouble.” Mom was busy admiring photos of Amanda on her phone. Tyler was on a call, telling his friends at school to make sure Amanda was well looked after. Not a single one of them paid any attention to me. One of the officers felt sorry for me and slipped a piece of candy into my hand. Ben had to head back to work, but before leaving, he reminded my parents sternly: “This girl was throwing up blood last night. You must take her to the hospital immediately.” Another heavy silence fell over my family. Mom frowned in annoyance. “But I still have to pack a heart-shaped bento for Amanda! She told her classmates she’d show it off today!” Tyler sounded completely indifferent. “She’s so young, what serious illness could she possibly have? No need for a hospital. Just let her rest at home.” Suddenly, Dad’s phone rang. It was Amanda’s homeroom teacher. The moment Dad answered, his expression flipped completely. “Amanda fell down at school and scraped her knee!” Mom and Tyler immediately stood up, rushing toward the car. I was tossed into the backseat like a piece of unwanted luggage and dropped off at home on their way to Amanda’s school. My body was covered in deep scrapes and bruises. It hurt so much. Tyler unlocked the front door and prepared to leave to join Mom and Dad at school. I grabbed his sleeve desperately. Just as I opened my mouth to speak, another mouthful of blood spilled from my lips. “Tyler… it hurts so much…” He merely cast a brief, annoyed glance at the puddle of blood on the floor. “If it hurts, take some painkillers. It’s just a minor ailment, just bear with it.” Amanda was taken to the hospital to have her knee bandaged and brought home in a wheelchair. Mom, Dad, and Tyler took turns waiting on her hand and foot. No one even bothered to check if I was still in my room. The next morning, I had to go to school as usual. Keeping my head down, I walked into the classroom. My desk was a complete disaster once again. My notebooks were shredded, my pencil case was gone, and chalk dust had been dumped into my water bottle. I quietly cleaned up the mess and sat down in the corner. A few girls in the front row leaned together, whispering and shooting mocking glances at me with grins on their faces. Amanda’s seat was right in the middle of the front row. She wore a floral dress Mom had bought her, surrounded by a crowd of eager classmates. The wrappers from Mom’s mini cupcakes were spread across her desk, and several boys were hovering around her. “Your brother bought us milk tea yesterday,” one boy said. “The snacks at your house are awesome!” Amanda smiled sweetly. Amanda never admitted at school that we were related. Tyler also made a point to protect only her, never uttering my name to anyone. Everyone assumed I had no one behind me, that I was weak and timid, making me the easiest target in school. The homeroom teacher, Mrs. Gable, walked into the classroom as the bell rang, holding the monthly exam results. “The results for the monthly exams are in,” Mrs. Gable announced. “The top score in our class goes to Nora again. A perfect score.” I stood up and walked down the aisle to the front. I took the test paper, my fingertips turning pale. A perfect score. Just like last time. Just like every single time before. Yet no matter how many top scores I brought home, no one in my family cared. Whenever I brought a test paper home, Dad would give a faint groan, Mom would toss it onto the coffee table, and Tyler wouldn’t even look at it. Eventually, I stopped bringing them out. Why humiliate myself over something they didn’t care about? When Amanda scored dead last in her class, Mom would hug her and say Amanda was still young, and she’d do better next time. Tyler would buy her toys, and Dad would take her out for ice cream. Mrs. Gable looked at me with concern. “Nora, what’s wrong? You look terribly pale.” I opened my mouth to reply, but a metallic, coppery taste suddenly burst in my throat. I couldn’t hold it back, leaning over and vomiting a large puddle of blood onto the floor. This time was different. The blood was dark, almost black. The classroom fell dead silent. Mrs. Gable was terrified. She rushed over to support my shoulders. “Don’t move! I’m calling your parents right now!” She pulled out her phone and dialed quickly, her voice panicked. “Is this Nora’s parent? Your daughter just vomited black blood at school! It looks extremely serious! Please come…” I couldn’t hear what the person on the other end said, but Mrs. Gable’s eyebrows knitted tightly together. “She looks very sick, it’s best if you come to the school… Really? No need? Fine, I’ll let her walk home herself then.” Hanging up the phone, she looked at me with a complicated expression, hesitating before saying: “Your parents said you should walk home and rest by yourself.” I nodded, folded my test paper neatly into my pocket, and packed my backpack. The girls in the front row resumed whispering, while Amanda kept her head down, digging through her desk for snacks. I put on my backpack and walked toward the exit. Just as I pulled open the classroom door, I saw three familiar figures walking down the hallway. Mom was carrying Amanda’s tiny backpack, Dad held a camera, and Tyler carried a bag of treats. They paused for a split second when they saw me. Mom gave me a brief smile. “Nora, go home first. We’re taking Amanda to the amusement park to celebrate her birthday early today.” Swiping past my shoulder, she walked into the classroom, calling out joyfully: “Amanda! Dad and Mom came to give you a surprise!” The entire class let out envious gasps. I looked at Amanda helplessly as she threw herself into Mom’s arms. Walking down to the ground floor of the school building, I gently tugged at Mom’s sleeve. “Mom… I want to go to the amusement park too…” I was dying soon, and I had never been to an amusement park in my entire life. Mom frowned in annoyance. “Nora, you’re looking like this and you still want to go to an amusement park? What if the cold wind makes you worse?” “Exactly,” Tyler interrupted impatiently, looking up from his phone. “Amanda rarely gets a chance to go out and play. If you go and vomit all over the place, how bad is that going to look? How unlucky!” I opened my mouth, wanting to tell them that I would hold it in, that I wouldn’t cause any trouble, that I just wanted to see what it looked like once. Dad had already bypassed me, squatting down to tie Amanda’s shoelaces without looking up. “Nora, go home and rest by yourself. Take your medicine and sleep. In a few days, when it’s Amanda’s actual birthday, we’ll get you a make-up gift.” “I don’t want a gift…” “Alright, that’s enough,” Mom was already urging Amanda toward the gates, waving her hand back at me. “Be good and head home quickly. Don’t dawdle.” She took Dad’s arm and walked away. Amanda was riding on Tyler’s back. She turned her head, her bright eyes fixed on me as she stuck her tongue out playfully. I didn’t start walking until their car drove out of the school gates. Suffocating waves of pain surged in my chest. Every step I took felt like my bones were breaking. The walk from school to home usually took twenty minutes. I lasted only ten minutes before collapsing against a tree by the curb, gasping for air as my vision turned black. In the end, a street cleaner found me and called an ambulance. When I woke up, I was in a hospital room. A white ceiling, the sharp smell of disinfectant, and the steady beep-beep of an EKG monitor filled my senses. A nurse was adjusting my IV line. Seeing me open my eyes, she let out a sigh of relief. “You’re awake? You passed out by the roadside. You have severe internal bleeding, your condition is very critical. You need emergency surgery immediately.” She paused, looking at me with pity. “We couldn’t reach your family. We tried calling the numbers for your mom, dad, and brother stored in your phone, but no one picked up.” I reached under my pillow for my phone. The moment I unlocked the screen, a new social media update popped up. It was posted by Mom. A nine-photo grid: Amanda smiling on a carousel, Tyler holding cotton candy for her, and Dad making a funny face in front of the camera. The caption read: [Our little birthday girl is celebrating her birthday early today! Happiness is all that matters!] There were over twenty likes from relatives and Mom’s friends. I stared at that post for a very long time. Nurse Julie leaned over to take a look, froze for a moment, and quickly took the phone away, forcing a smile. “Your parents must be busy right now and didn’t hear the ring. Don’t worry, I’ll call them again. I’m sure they’ll pick up this time.” I smiled weakly and nodded. “Yeah. They must be busy.” Nurse Julie looked back at me, something glistening in her eyes. She quickly turned around and walked out, saying she would fetch me a glass of warm water. I leaned back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling light. The warm yellow glow bathed the entire ward in a soft light. Suddenly, I felt so tired. My eyelids felt impossibly heavy. The phone beside my hand lit up again. It was a post from Tyler. A photo of Amanda riding on Dad’s shoulders, holding an ice cream cone high in the air. The caption read: [This little princess insisted on having a second one. Guess we have to spoil her.] I let out a faint smile, flipping the phone over onto the pillow. A gentle breeze blew in from the window, making the curtains flutter like a hand waving goodbye. I remembered lying in the cemetery yesterday; the wind had felt just like this. Nurse Julie hadn’t come back yet. It probably takes a long time to get warm water. That was okay. I slowly closed my eyes, the faint smile still lingering on my lips. It didn’t hurt anymore. Early the next morning, Nurse Julie finally got through to my family. When they arrived at the hospital, Mom was still complaining to Dad. “Honestly, I don’t know what Nora is thinking, running to the hospital first thing in the morning.” Tyler looked down at his phone, asking the nurse casually: “What illness does she have anyway? Is it really worth being hospitalized?” Nurse Julie didn’t say a word. She turned around and led them deep into the hallway. Pushing open the heavy door to the morgue, a blast of freezing air hit them. Mom’s complaining stopped abruptly. Dad froze dead in his tracks. Tyler stared at the small, still outline beneath the white sheet, his lips trembling slightly. Nurse Julie spoke softly into the silence: “Before she passed away, she held my hand and asked to be buried somewhere far away so you wouldn’t have to bother visiting her.” “She said… one flower on her grave would be enough.”

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1 At our graduation dinner, Aaron and his debate partner Judith traded insults through me, one chair apart. Judith was moving to Atlanta. Aaron sneered she wouldn’t last three months. She told him to mind his own business. He smirked, dropping a peeled shrimp in my bowl. “As if she’s ever won once.” As dinner ended, Aaron slid a manila envelope to me. “Give this to Judith tomorrow.” Inside was a complete Atlanta relocation guide I’d compiled for him: rental checklists, red-flag warnings, hospital addresses, transit routes. He frowned defensively. “Don’t overthink it. She’s idiotically naive. If she gets scammed, she’ll just cry to me.” Last month, when I told him I’d accepted a job in New York, he’d casually said I should take care of myself. Pinching my cheek, he’d said, “You’re different. Wherever you go, I never have to worry about you.” I used to think that was trust. Only later did I realize he never worried about me leaving because he never planned on following me. Meanwhile, for the girl he mocked as useless, he’d mapped out an entire city before she even boarded the plane. … Dinner wasn’t even over when Judith sent a text to our group chat: Tell a certain someone to take his trash guide back. I don’t need it. Aaron glanced at his phone, then pushed another freshly peeled shrimp toward me. “Tell her she can take it or leave it. But if some sketchy landlord rips her off, she better not call me crying in the middle of the night.” I didn’t pick up my fork. That guide was something he had asked me to make two weeks ago. He had dumped seven or eight apartment listings into my inbox, saying Judith was moving to Atlanta alone and lacked the brains to figure it out, so I should look into them for her. I spent hours checking subway lines, hospital proximity, building management reviews, and commute times. I even called the landlords to confirm which way the windows faced. Aaron had replied with a single kissing emoji. My Nora is the most reliable. A second later, another text followed: She has a terrible morning temper. Is a forty-minute commute too long for her? That night, my own defense thesis was still waiting to be revised. Now that Judith refused to take it, he wanted me to hand-deliver it to her. Aaron tapped his knuckles against the table. “What are you daydreaming about?” “Do you remember what time my train leaves the day after tomorrow?” I asked. He blinked, caught off guard. “The afternoon?” “Seven-forty in the morning.” “That early?” He frowned, his tone laced with subtle blame, as if I had failed to inform him. Yet a month ago, I had sent him a screenshot of my ticket. Three days ago, I asked him if he could walk me to the station. He had merely replied: We’ll see. Judith is leaving that day too. Just make sure your times don’t clash. He remembered Judith’s train to Atlanta was at ten-twenty, but he couldn’t remember that mine was more than two hours earlier. Across the table, Judith swirled her glass of wine. “Nora, tell him not to think a stupid spreadsheet is going to touch my heart. The first thing I’m doing when I hit Atlanta is blocking every single one of his contacts.” Aaron scoffed. “Tell her to hide her office address well, too. Otherwise, when she gets fired, she’ll still need me to ship her luggage back.” And just like that, they were off again. Back in our sophomore year before the state debate tournament, I was doubled over with crippling stomach pain, yet I still ran back and forth four times to manage their logistics. When they won, Aaron hung the gold medal around my neck, pulling me into a tight hug. “Our Nora is the real MVP. Without you, the two of us would have fallen apart ages ago.” I used to think being “important” meant being cherished. Looking back now, I was more like a wooden shim wedged under a wobbly table leg. Unnoticed when things were stable, but the moment I was pulled away, the whole table would collapse. Aaron peeled another shrimp and held it to my lips. “Still pouting?” I turned my face away. He didn’t get angry. Instead, he draped his arm casually over the back of my chair, leaning in close with a dropped voice. “Alright, my bad. How long do you want me to coax you today? Is half an hour enough? If not, I’ll extend the timer.” The others at the table chuckled, teasing that Aaron always knew how to handle me. His thumb brushed lightly over my earlobe. “It’s just New York. Once you get settled, I’ll come visit you.” For a fraction of a second, I almost let myself be swayed again. The next moment, he pushed the thick envelope back into my arms. “Give this to Judith before you leave. Just don’t let her know I was the one who forced it on her.” I placed the envelope firmly back in front of him. “Give it to her yourself.” He raised an eyebrow. “Jealous again?” “No.” “Then what’s with the attitude? She and I have known each other for four years. Busting each other’s strategist balls is just how we talk. If I actually had feelings for her, would you even be sitting here?” He spoke with such breezy confidence, making it seem as though I were the one with the filthy mind. I didn’t bother arguing. “Aaron, let’s break up.” The smile on his face froze for a fraction of a second before he leaned back into his chair with a lazy smirk. “Using a breakup to scare me on graduation night? You really know how to pick your timing.” “I’m not trying to scare you.” “Right, sure you’re not.” He picked up my water glass, took a sip, and set it down. “I’ll give you three days to cool off. Three days later, I’ll come to New York to pick you up. Just don’t end up crying that I didn’t come running.” Judith let out a dramatic gag from across the table. “Could you two flex your romance somewhere else?” Aaron casually crumpled a napkin and tossed it at her. When I stood up, he merely raised his eyes, covering the untouched shrimp in my bowl and sliding it aside. He looked completely certain that after taking a walk to cool my head, I would come crawling right back. I grabbed my bag and walked out of the restaurant. Behind me, the laughter didn’t miss a single beat. The following afternoon, the debate team assembled at the main auditorium for their final graduation yearbook photo shoot. The advisor had called me, reminding me that since I had organized every piece of debate material over the last three years, the final page of the book couldn’t be complete without me. When I arrived, Aaron and Judith were on stage recording a video segment titled “Partners Ten Years Later.” The host asked if they would ever stand on the same debate stage again after graduation. Judith rolled her eyes. “Only if the organizer pays me double my appearance fee.” Aaron leaned against the podium, chuckling. “If she doesn’t get fired after moving to Atlanta, I might generously grant her one chance.” Not a single kind word left his mouth, yet the commemorative album in his hands was crammed with dense handwriting. Atlanta. New York. Miami. Seattle. He had marked years next to five different cities, declaring they would meet once a year to see who had turned out more successful. Judith snatched the notebook away, complaining about his ugly handwriting, and added a line at the bottom: Whoever flakes first is a coward. The crowd cheered, calling them the ultimate power duo, destined to bicker for another decade even after college. Aaron turned, spotted me in the aisle, and gestured with his chin. “You came just in time. Take a picture for us.” Through the camera viewfinder, Judith held the trophy while Aaron stood close beside her. They pretended to look disgusted with each other, yet both instinctively leaned an inch closer toward one another. After the shot, he walked over and handed me the album. My message section was completely blank. “You didn’t write anything?” I asked softly. “We’re not breaking up, so why write a goodbye?” He adjusted my graduation cap, his smile warm and close. “You’re not like her. She’s the type to vanish into thin air. If I don’t keep her on a leash, she’ll pretend she doesn’t know me by next year. But you’re my girlfriend. We have all the time in the world.” “Do you remember what day my job orientation starts?” I asked. Aaron’s hand froze on my shoulder. “Next week?” “The day after tomorrow.” A flicker of awkwardness crossed his eyes, but he quickly smoothed it over with a light laugh. “What’s the difference between two days earlier or later? Just send me your address when you arrive, and I’ll ship your things to you.” “I’m leaving tomorrow.” “I know.” He glanced back toward Judith. “Her train is at ten-twenty. Once I see her off, I’ll head straight over to find you.” I didn’t bother reminding him that my train was at seven-forty. Three years ago, he had also told me that we had all the time in the world. So my birthday could always be celebrated another day. Our couple photos could be taken next time. The things I wanted to say could wait until he finished his work. Only Judith’s matches, Judith’s arguments, and Judith’s departures required his immediate, undivided attention. The photographer called out, urging everyone to line up. Just as I stepped in front of the backdrop, Judith shouted from the stage, “Aaron, we need to re-record the last line. You said New York instead of Atlanta just now.” The photographer checked his watch. “If we don’t shoot now, the hall lights are going off.” “Just five minutes!” Aaron called back. He squeezed my hand gently. “Wait for me.” He hurried back onto the stage. Judith complained that his voice sounded like he was reading a eulogy. He retorted that her pronunciation sounded like she was still learning English. They argued over lines, then over stage placement. By the time they finished recording, half the ceiling lights in the hall had already been turned off. The photographer packed up his camera, giving me an apologetic look. “Looks like the couple shots will have to wait for another day.” Only then did Aaron walk over. “We can just shoot at the train station tomorrow.” I looked at him. “Aren’t you seeing Judith off?” “Then the three of us will take it together,” he said, taking it for granted. It turned out that even our graduation photos needed to reserve a spot for her. Aaron reached out to wrap an arm around my waist, but I stepped back, dodging his touch. The smile faded from his face. “Still not over it?” “We broke up.” “Nora.” His voice dropped into a warning register. “I’m giving you an exit ramp, so take it. Don’t actually throw away three years of a relationship over a temper tantrums.” I gave no answer. I simply handed the camera back to the advisor. In the very last photo stored on the memory card, Aaron and Judith stood together beside the album filled with plans for the future. I was completely outside the frame. On the night before departure, the debate team hosted a farewell livestream. The advisor mentioned it was our final official activity and asked if I could manage the control desk one last time. I agreed, wanting to put a clean, proper end to my four years here. Less than ten minutes into the stream, Judith abruptly changed her core argument mid-debate. Sitting on stage, Aaron countered with a smirk, but under the table, his fingers tapped twice against the wood. That was his old signal for me to patch through to his earpiece and soften his harsh words before they hit the live audience. This time, I didn’t switch on the mic. He tapped three times, his gaze darting toward the control desk. Judith looked in my direction as well, mouthing the words, “What is he saying?” I pulled off one side of my headphones, keeping my eyes glued to the broadcast timer. Without me smoothing over their sharp edges, the two of them were forced to confront each other directly in front of the camera. “Why did you change the script without telling me?” “Because your third point is completely flawed.” “Then why didn’t you mention it earlier?” “I sent it to you three times last night. You were too busy texting goodnight to whoever you were talking to.” Suppressed laughter broke out from the crew in the studio. Aaron’s face stiffened, but he had no choice but to push through. They bickered back and forth for two full minutes, yet somehow, they managed to carry the debate to its finish. It turned out they were perfectly capable of communicating directly. They had simply gotten used to having someone else do the heavy lifting for them. The final segment was titled “A Note to Your Partner Five Years From Now.” Aaron received his card. He muttered that there was nothing special to write, yet his pen moved rapidly across the paper. When you get to Atlanta, try to argue less with people. Take medicine when your stomach hurts, and don’t take unlicensed cabs after ten at night. If you can’t make it, tell me in advance so I can set aside time to laugh at you. Judith rolled her eyes, but the rims of her eyes turned red. Her note to Aaron contained a single sentence: Don’t turn into a slick, arrogant corporate jerk in five years, or I’ll call you out every single time I see you. The host chuckled, calling it the unique romance of a champion debate duo. When it came to partner messages, the microphone was passed to me. “Nora, why don’t you leave a note for Aaron too?” Aaron sat under the bright studio lights, looking at me with an amused arch of his brow. He probably expected me to say what I always said, that I would forever stand right behind him. I stayed silent for a moment. “Happy graduation.” The studio fell dead silent for a second. Aaron quickly laughed it off, smoothing over the awkwardness. “She’s shy. She’ll tell me the rest when we get home.” After the stream ended, team members exchanged parting gifts. Aaron pulled out a refurbished fountain pen and tossed it to Judith. “The one you broke during the finals. Take it, so you don’t look like you’re borrowing a pen every time you sign a document at your new job.” Judith caught it, her mouth as stubborn as ever. “As if I care.” I recognized that pen. To find the rare replacement nib for that discontinued model, Aaron had scoured the old city district for days, skipping dinner with me for a week straight. His gift to me was a travel neck pillow bought from the train station convenience store. The price tag was still hanging from the side. “New York is far. Use it to sleep on the way.” He clipped the neck pillow around my neck, leaning down to gently smooth my hair. “Don’t go saying I don’t care about you.” His eyes were incredibly gentle. I recalled the very first time I gave a presentation on stage. He had sat in the very last row, silently mouthing the words Look at me to steady my nerves. Those moments of genuine warmth were real, which was why I had found it so hard to walk away, time after time. A second later, he pressed a blister pack of stomach medicine into my palm. “Give this to Judith on your way out. She definitely forgot to pack any.” I unclipped the neck pillow, placing it back into his hands along with the medication. “She’s right outside the door. Hand it to her yourself.” Aaron frowned. “Nora, if you’re jealous, I can comfort you. But don’t throw a fit over practical matters.” “I’m not throwing a fit.” “Then what exactly do you want lately?” “A breakup.” He stared at me, the last trace of warmth vanishing from his eyes. “Do you really have to ruin everyone’s mood right when we’re graduating?” Judith’s voice called out from the hallway, urging him to hurry. Aaron closed his eyes briefly, shoving the neck pillow back into my arms. “Go back home first. Tomorrow morning, after I see her off, I’ll come straight to your place.” His tone softened into a placating plea. “You can punish me however you want then, alright?” I didn’t tell him that my train was leaving two hours earlier than Judith’s. The next morning at dawn, I wheeled my suitcase into the train station. With twenty minutes left before boarding, I spotted Aaron kneeling on the floor, helping Judith repack a suitcase jammed full of books. “Carrying this much scrap paper to Atlanta? Planning to wallpaper your apartment?” Judith nudged him with her shoe. “What do you know?” He looked up and saw me, immediately waving me over. “You came just in time. Tell her to ship these books instead.” Neither of them asked why I was pulling a suitcase of my own. The station intercom chimed, announcing that boarding had begun for the train to New York. I walked straight past them toward the gate. Aaron reached out and grabbed the handle of my luggage rod. “You’re leaving today?” “I told you multiple times.” He glanced up at the departure board, his forehead finally creasing. A moment later, he let out a short sigh. “Fine, go ahead first. Send me your address when you arrive, and tonight we’ll settle this breakup nonsense properly.” I pried his fingers off my luggage rod, taking out the keys to our rented apartment and placing them on top of the printed Atlanta guide. “The lease expires today. Go pick up your remaining things this afternoon.” Behind him, Judith called out, “Aaron! The zipper is stuck again!” He turned his head to shout back an insult, then looked at me. “Go through the gate first. Once I handle this, I’ll call you.” Believing I had finally stopped making a scene, he turned back to press down on Judith’s suitcase lid. As the automatic turnstile snapped shut behind me, the last thing I saw was the bend of his back as he leaned over her luggage. Half an hour later, Judith flipped through the guide pages and asked, “Where did Nora go?” The overhead station broadcast chimed at that exact moment. The train bound for New York had officially departed the station. Aaron stared up at the giant LED screen, the remaining composure on his face draining away inch by inch. He finally remembered that the screenshot of my ticket had been sitting in our chat history all along. The apartment keys resting on the guide slipped off and hit the floor with a sharp metallic clink. He bent down to pick them up as Judith asked him another question. Aaron didn’t hear a single word.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “618633”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Maria’s childhood friend Derek was a popular relationship guru. She believed love wasn’t about instinct, but his strict methodology. Derek said men were like stray cats: starve them to make them cling. So when I pulled an all-nighter, she locked me out in the hallway until sunrise. He claimed security bred complacency, so she vanished on our engagement day to test if I’d break down. Each time I sobbed, she sighed. “Derek said this is low-value emotional manipulation. I’m doing this for our future.” Then Dad had a massive stroke and landed in the ICU. I borrowed from everyone, still three thousand dollars short. Maria refused to send a dime, forwarding my desperate voice notes to Derek instead. That night, I went viral: Her boyfriend begged for money using his dying father. Romance scam? Dad’s blurred critical notice fueled the mockery. Comments hailed Maria as clear-headed, calling me a shameless leech. Bloodshot, I begged her to delete it. She gave a faint, mocking laugh. “Everyone’s helping me cut my losses. Reflect on why you sound like a con artist.” The urge to explain myself died. I didn’t want to argue anymore. I just wanted to drag myself out of this toxic relationship, clean and whole. … The hospital billing counter was closing in ten minutes. I swiped my debit card three times, but the machine kept displaying the same available balance: two thousand and forty dollars. The nurse pushed the receipt back toward me. “You’re still short three thousand dollars for the deposit,” she said coldly. “If it’s not paid by midnight, it will impact his ongoing medication.” I grabbed the slip and sprinted out of the lobby. Rain poured from the night sky. Across the street sat a small pawn shop. “The diamond is tiny, and the band has visible wear,” the jeweler said, squinting through his magnifying glass. “Best I can do is two thousand five hundred.” Maria had spent ten thousand dollars on this ring. The day we picked it out, she held my hand and spent the entire afternoon browsing. I had fallen in love with an eighteen-thousand-dollar band. She squeezed my fingers tightly. “Wait until our tenth anniversary. I’ll buy you a much bigger one.” On the way home, Derek sent her over a dozen voice messages. “Never feed a man until he’s full on the first try,” Derek’s voice had rattled through her phone speaker. “If you satisfy him right away, his demands will only grow bigger next time.” So Maria turned the car around, went back to the mall, and bought the cheaper option. Derek even bragged about her on his livestream later that night. “As long as you make the man choose himself, his sunk-cost fallacy will force him to rationalize your decision for you.” Back then, I really did rationalize it for her. I pushed the ring across the glass counter. “I’ll take it.” My phone buzzed. Maria was finally calling. “Where are you?” she asked. “The pawn shop across from the hospital.” There was a brief pause on the line. “Did you just sell the ring?” “My dad needs the money for his treatment.” “Jesse, why do you always have to take things to such extremes?” I gripped the receipt tightly. “Maria, my father is lying in the ICU!” “I know,” she sighed. “And didn’t I come over already?” She was standing across the street, holding a thermal bag from the porridge shop near the back entrance of the hospital. I ran over to her through the rain. She reached out and gently wiped the water from my forehead. “Why are you wearing so little in this weather?” Inside the bag was a warm container of black sesame porridge. Low sugar, no crushed peanuts, just the way I liked it. Looking at that familiar packaging, my eyes burned. Maria unscrewed the lid and handed me a spoon. “Eat a few bites first.” Just as I reached out, her phone chimed loudly. Derek’s voice filled the air through the speakerphone. “His emotions are running high right now. Don’t rush to comfort him.” “Make him record a clarification video first.” “Otherwise, he’ll think that the louder he throws a tantrum, the more he gets from you.” Maria’s hand froze mid-air. She glanced at me, then slowly put the lid back on the container. “I didn’t lie,” I said, my voice cracking. “You saw the notice with your own eyes.” Maria knitted her brows. “A stroke doesn’t mean he’s going to die instantly. Derek researched it, plenty of patients wake up the very next day.” “You came at me crying for money right off the bat. Anyone would be suspicious.” She held her phone up in front of my face. On the screen was a pre-written statement. [Due to extreme anxiety, I exaggerated my father’s medical condition. Miss Maria never refused to help me. I am deeply grateful to Mr. Derek for his timely reminder.] “Read it out loud,” Maria commanded softly. “Once you do, Derek deletes the post, and I transfer you the money.” I didn’t reach for the phone. Maria’s voice turned cold. “I am willing to give you the money. But you cannot use your family’s illness to cross my boundaries.” In the seven years we had been together, “boundaries” was her favorite word. I wasn’t allowed to check her phone. I wasn’t allowed to ask where she went with Derek. I wasn’t allowed to care when they had late-night heart-to-heart chats. Yet Derek was allowed to read all our private texts. He was allowed to reply to my messages on her behalf. He was allowed to decide when she should hold me, and when she should give me the cold shoulder. A bank notification popped up on my phone: the pawn shop funds had cleared. I turned around without a word and walked back to the billing window. Maria stood in the rain, her face growing pale and stern. “If you don’t record it right now, don’t ever say I didn’t give you a chance!” By the time I finished paying the deposit and made it back to the ICU doors, it was already one in the morning. My phone kept pushing notifications of Derek’s ongoing livestream highlights. He sat in front of a ring light, a sleek new watch gleaming on his wrist. “Special thanks to an anonymous old friend,” he smiled at the camera. “Knowing I just hit ten million followers, she insisted on sending me this surprise.” The camera panned briefly over the luxury box on his desk. The price tag read three thousand dollars. The time of purchase was seventeen minutes after I had begged Maria for help. It wasn’t that Maria didn’t have three thousand dollars. She just didn’t think my father’s life was worth it. The next morning, my boss called me into his office and suspended me indefinitely. “We received hundreds of complaint emails last night,” he sighed. “Upper management doesn’t want clients seeing your face right now.” Shortly after I left the building, the medical crowdfunding platform sent me a notification. My dad’s campaign page had been frozen due to mass reports. The twenty-five hundred dollars already raised was locked and could not be withdrawn. Then the hospital called. Strangers had been posing as relatives, calling the front desk to ask if my dad was a hired actor. Some demanded a livestream to verify his condition. After being harassed for half an hour, the nurses were forced to unplug the landline. When I hurried back to the ward, a funeral wreath was resting against the hallway wall. A bright red message was written across the white ribbon: [May the scammer father and son reunite in hell soon.] I grabbed the wooden frame to throw it away. A splinter pierced deep into my palm, and blood dripped down my fingers. Maria happened to step out of the elevator at that exact moment. Seeing the blood on my hand, she pulled a Band-Aid out of her purse. “Why are you still so clumsy?” she muttered softly. “Give me your hand.” I didn’t move. She reached out, grabbed my wrist, and skillfully wrapped the bandage around the cut. She knew I hated onions. She knew I was terrified of thunder. Yet when my father was lying in the ICU, she had to ask Derek first if my dad was worth three thousand dollars. Her phone vibrated in her palm. It was a text from Derek. [Now that you’ve comforted him enough, pull away. Don’t let him feel that throwing a fit earns him more attention.] The moment Maria finished applying the Band-Aid, she let go of my wrist like I was radioactive. I peeled the bandage off and tossed it straight into the trash can alongside the wreath. “Do you even need his permission to feel sorry for me?” I asked. Her face darkened. “Stop being so cynical. Derek is spending his valuable time analyzing your personality just to help us.” I looked into her eyes. “The wedding is off.” “From now on, he can guide your love life however he wants.” Maria froze for two seconds, then suddenly let out a bitter laugh. “Threatening to break up with me to force a concession again?” she sneered. “Derek called it last night. He said once you realized crying didn’t work, your next step would be bringing up a breakup.” “Jesse, every single reaction of yours is completely within his predictions.” She handed me a duffel bag filled with clothes and chargers. “You’ll be pulling all-nighters here for the next few days.” I pushed the bag back toward her. “I need to go back to the apartment to get my ID and documents.” Maria stepped in front of me. “I’ll have my assistant bring them over.” I looked up at her. “Or what? Do I need Derek’s permission to go back to my own home now?” She didn’t answer. Half an hour later, I used my spare key to open the door to our apartment. My house slippers were still sitting neatly by the entrance. Right next to them was a pair of men’s leather shoes. Derek was sitting casually on the living room sofa, wearing the handmade wool slippers my dad had crafted for me last winter. I stared at his feet. “Take those off.” Derek looked down casually. “They’re just slippers, Jesse. A truly independent man doesn’t project his baggage onto everyday objects.” I bent down to pull them off him. Right then, the study door was pushed open. Maria hurried out and grabbed my arm firmly. “That’s enough!” she snapped. “Derek is just wearing them for a little bit.” Looking at the woman standing in front of me, I suddenly remembered the day we moved in four years ago. She had placed the keys gently in my palm with a radiant smile. “This is our home from now on,” she had whispered. “You can come back whenever you want.” I yanked my arm out of her grip. My lower back slammed against the desk behind me, knocking one of the drawers open a crack. Inside lay a signed equity purchase agreement. Maria had purchased a fifteen percent stake in Derek’s new coaching company for forty thousand dollars. The date of the signature was the exact day my father was admitted to the ICU. Three years ago, Maria’s studio suffered a massive cash flow crisis. My father sold his only property in the old neighborhood and lent her all forty thousand dollars from the sale. The IOU stated the loan would be repaid within two years. But she kept delaying it. Every time my dad gently asked about it, she would hold his hands and smile. “Dad, give me just a little more time,” she would say. “Once Jesse and I get married, my money is your money anyway.” My father waited until a stroke nearly took his life, and she wouldn’t even give him three thousand dollars. Yet that forty thousand dollars had gone straight into Derek’s company without a second thought. “Why is my dad’s money here?” I demanded, picking up the document. Maria snatched it away and shut the drawer. “What do you mean, your dad’s money? That loan was injected into my business, making it a company asset. My company has the right to decide how to invest its capital.” I stared at her, stunned. “Giving it to Derek is an investment? But giving three thousand dollars to save my dad is what?” Derek leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “It’s pouring money into a bottomless pit, Jesse.” “Three thousand today, rehab fees tomorrow, eldercare after that,” Derek continued smoothly. “If Maria doesn’t set hard boundaries now, your family will bleed her dry for the rest of her life.” I pulled the drawer back open. On the memo line of the contract, a single code was written: [Initial payment for Project LG-01.] Maria yanked the contract out of my hands. “These are internal corporate documents. You have no right to look at them!” “You took my dad’s money to fund a project named after him?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. Her throat tightened slightly. “LG is just a project code.” Derek stepped up beside her. His new three-thousand-dollar watch caught the sunlight, flashing painfully in my eyes. Suddenly, this apartment I had lived in for four years felt terrifyingly alien. My clothes were hanging in the closet. My mug sat on the counter. My photos were on the wall. Yet standing here, I felt like a complete stranger. My father finally woke up on the afternoon of the third day. The doctor informed me that he had developed temporary aphasia, and the entire right side of his body was paralyzed. When I entered the room, he was struggling desperately with his left hand to grab his phone off the nightstand. The screen was inundated with vile text messages from strangers. [Just die already. Your death will prove your son is a scammer.] [Raising a scumbag son like that, you can’t be a good person either.] I snatched the phone away and shut it off. My father’s lips trembled uncontrollably. The nurse quickly brought over a notepad and a pen. He gripped the pen tightly with his clumsy left hand. Every single stroke was jagged and shaky. After a long struggle, three barely legible words appeared on the paper: [Is money enough?] I squatted down beside his bed. “It’s enough,” I lied softly, forcing a smile. “My company paid my salary early.” He stared into my eyes, clearly not believing me. “It really is enough, Dad.” Tears trickled down his weathered cheeks. Unable to move his right arm, he used his awkward left hand to gently stroke my hair. Just then, the ward door swung open. Maria walked in carrying a boutique bakery bag. “Uncle Hugh is awake?” she asked, her voice bright. She expertly raised the head of the bed and placed a box of chestnut cake on the bedside table. The moment my dad saw her, his eyes lit up. Maria knew he loved chestnuts, but didn’t like things too sweet. Four years ago, when my father was hospitalized for high blood pressure for the first time, I was stuck out of town on a business trip. Maria stayed by his bedside for two straight nights. When I rushed back the next morning, she was fast asleep, leaning against the edge of his mattress. From that day on, my father always said, “Maria is a thoughtful girl, Jesse. You can count on her.” She sat on the edge of the bed and took my father’s left hand into hers. “Uncle Hugh, I’m so sorry you had to go through this,” she said softly. “The people online don’t know the truth. Please don’t take their harsh words to heart.” My father looked at me anxiously. Maria followed his gaze, looking over at me before turning back to him. “Don’t worry,” she reassured him warmly. “I won’t leave Jesse over a little misunderstanding like this.” My father’s tense shoulders visibly relaxed. In that brief second, I felt a terrible pang of hesitation. It was as if she were still the same Maria who had cared for him four years ago. The very next second, however, she pulled an official document out of her briefcase. “The public backlash is too intense right now,” she explained gently to my father. “If you could just help clarify a small detail, Derek can get the trending topics taken down immediately.” Printed on the paper was a single statement: [I, Hugh, hereby confirm that I voluntarily gifted forty thousand dollars to Miss Maria. There is no loan agreement between us.] [My son, Jesse, recently lost emotional control and exaggerated my medical condition to demand funds.] I grabbed the paper and ripped it in half. “You’re shoving this garbage in front of a man who just woke up from a stroke?” I shouted. Maria frowned. “It’s just clarifying the facts!” “There is an IOU for that money!” “That IOU can be voided!” she hissed, lowering her voice. “We are getting married soon! Why are you drawing such a harsh line between your dad’s money and mine?” “Why didn’t you talk about being family when you took his money?” I spat back. “Now that it’s time to pay it back, you’re blaming me for keeping score?” Maria’s expression turned ugly. “Can you stop treating our relationship like a financial ledger?” “My dad was dying, and you still had to consult Derek to see if he was worth three thousand dollars!” Hearing the word married, my father frantically grabbed Maria’s sleeve. He pointed at the torn paper, then pointed at me, his eyes wide with worry. Maria patted his hand gently. “If you sign it, Uncle Hugh, I’ll have Derek take down the posts tonight.” “The wedding will go on as planned.” “I won’t abandon him.” My father stared at me intensely. I stepped in front of the bed, blocking her view. “Get out.” Maria’s face went cold. “Jesse, don’t be ungrateful. Your father knows what’s best for you.” “He just woke up! He can’t even speak!” I yelled, tears brimming in my eyes. “He’s just terrified that you’ll leave me!” My father panicked, trying to push himself up with his left arm. The heart monitor suddenly let out a shrill, piercing alarm. Nurses rushed into the room, shoving all of us out into the hallway. The doctor called me over to sign consent forms for additional emergency tests. When I returned to the floor, Maria was no longer in the corridor. The ward was dead silent. A red stamp pad sat open on the bedside table. The statement I had torn up had been reprinted and laid flat on the mattress. On the bottom right corner was a smudged, crooked red thumbprint. When my father saw me enter, he raised his left hand in a panic. On the notepad beside him were fresh, shaky words he had just managed to write: [She said… if I sign… she marries you.] I stood by the bed, completely frozen. At eight o’clock that evening, Derek posted a teaser for an upcoming emergency livestream. The thumbnail was a close-up photo of the thumbprinted statement. The caption read: [After seven years of being bled dry, she finally received a signed confession from the boyfriend’s father.] In the teaser video, Maria wore a crisp white blouse, offering the camera a tired, long-suffering smile. “I truly cared for them as my own family,” she said softly. “But some people’s greed can never be satisfied.” My father’s phone vibrated on the nightstand. I rushed to silence it, but he had already seen the notification. He stared at me, his left hand still stained with red ink. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. He could only shake his head over and over again. The full stream was scheduled for seven o’clock the following evening. Derek released preview clips throughout the day. Footage played of Maria walking through a local market with my dad, carrying his groceries. Another clip showed my dad sitting outside her studio, wrapping homemade dumplings for her staff. There was even a quiet video of his back as he handed his house keys to the real estate agent the day he sold his home. These were videos taken from my personal family archives. Now, they had been edited together into a viral package titled: [The Complete Record of Raising a Leech Father and Son.] I dialed Maria’s number. She picked up almost instantly. “Have you come to your senses?” “Cancel the stream,” I said, my voice shaking. “It’s too late for that.” “My dad just woke up,” I begged. “He can’t handle this.” Maria glanced over at Derek, who was sitting next to her. Derek shook his head firmly. Her tone instantly hardened. “You’re using your dad to guilt-trip me again, Jesse. The stream is just a simple clarification.” “That money was a loan,” I said. “You tricked him into pressing his thumbprint!” “If you have a problem with it, take it to court,” she said coldly. The call went dead. At seven o’clock sharp, the livestream went live. I muted my father’s phone and hid it deep at the bottom of the bedside drawer, begging the nurses not to play any viral videos in the ward. But someone posing as a family member snuck into the floor and dropped the stream link into the patient group chat. While I was at the nurse’s station picking up his prescription, my father pulled open the bottom drawer with his good arm. He sent Maria a single voice message first. Then, he tapped the link. When I rushed back into the room, Maria’s voice was echoing through the phone speaker. “Uncle Hugh used to tell me that as long as I married Jesse, all his money would belong to me anyway,” she was saying to the camera. “I was young back then. I really believed he loved me like a daughter.” The screen displayed the statement bearing my dad’s red thumbprint. Derek sat beside her, leaning in. “So when Mr. Maher demanded three thousand dollars using his father’s medical emergency as an excuse, how did that make you feel?” Maria lowered her eyes sorrowfully. “Disappointed. It wasn’t about the three thousand dollars. It’s just that enabling someone without boundaries only feeds their entitlement.” Comments flooded the screen at lightspeed. My father sat upright in his hospital bed, his face deathly pale. I sprinted across the room and yanked the charging cable out, blacking out the screen. My father grabbed my forearm with incredible strength. Broken, desperate sounds spilled from his throat. “Lo… Loan…” He wanted to tell the world that the forty thousand dollars was a loan. On the screen before it died, Maria had pulled out the original IOU. A massive red ‘X’ had been drawn across the document. “Uncle Hugh personally explained that the IOU was just created for tax bookkeeping purposes,” Maria announced smoothly. “So I won’t be pressing charges for their past actions.” “However, effective today, I will be cutting off all financial support.” My father stared intently at the dark screen. His chest heaved violently. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! The heart monitor suddenly screamed a continuous, deadly tone. Doctors and nurses burst through the door. “Possible secondary brain hemorrhage!” the doctor yelled. “Get him to the operating room now!” The bed was unlocked and wheeled out at breakneck speed. I tried to run alongside it, but my knees gave out, and I slammed hard into the hallway wall. Maria’s livestream was still going strong on my phone. Derek was excitedly announcing that sales for his relationship masterclass had just crossed one hundred thousand units. Applaud roared through his studio. I picked up my phone with trembling hands and dialed her number. Once. Twice. I called seventeen times in a row. She never picked up. The red light above the operating room burned for three agonizing hours. When the chief surgeon finally walked out, he looked at me and slowly shook his head. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “We did everything we could.” When my father was wheeled out, a white sheet covered his face. His left hand, still faint with red ink, hung limply over the side of the gurney. I knelt beside him, gently lifting his cold hand and placing it back beneath the sheet. My phone vibrated relentlessly in my pocket. Derek’s stream had officially hit the number one spot on the entire platform. On screen, Maria was answering the host’s final question. “If Jesse apologizes to you right now, will you still marry him?” She lowered her head, neatly adjusting her cuffs. The dark gray skirt suit she was wearing was the exact outfit I had bought her for our planned courthouse wedding. “That depends on whether he can truly recognize his mistakes,” she said calmly. “Marriage is not a charity program.” “I will not compromise my principles just because he cries pathetically.” Thunderous applause broke out in the studio. The stream transitioned to the celebration segment. An assistant holding a tablet hurried onto the stage. “Miss Maria, your personal phone has been ringing non-stop.” Maria glanced down. The screen was covered with seventeen missed calls from my number. Before she could process it, an incoming call from an unknown number flashed across the display. Derek reached out, placing his hand over hers. “The stream isn’t over yet.” The ringtone dragged on relentlessly. In the end, Maria pressed answer. “Hello?” The nurse’s voice echoed clearly through her lapel microphone, broadcasted live to hundreds of thousands of viewers. “Is this Miss Maria?” “This is the Central Hospital ICU.” “You are listed as the emergency secondary contact for Mr. Hugh Maher.” “Mr. Maher suffered a massive relapse. Despite emergency resuscitation, he passed away at ten twenty-seven tonight.”

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Reborn. I willingly gave up my coveted spot to accompany my diplomat-in-training wife on her overseas fellowship to Geneva. I packed my entire life into a single duffel bag and headed back to my rust-belt hometown, putting as much distance between us as humanly possible. Because in my previous life, she spent a drunken, blurry night with her junior colleague, and the coward refused to take responsibility. I stepped out of the crowd, took the blame, and married her to save her reputation. She put my ring on her finger, but she froze me out for the rest of my miserable life. I spent agonizing nights bleeding over foreign language textbooks just to keep up with her world, only for her to rip the pages right out of my hands. “You could study for a century and never have Preston’s natural talent.” Our mandated once-a-month time in bed was a masterclass in numb endurance. “Read a book for once. Preston would never be a slave to base biological urges.” Even when she was arranging her final affairs, she explicitly forbade me from sharing her cemetery plot. I stood in the freezing rain and looked at her headstone. It read: “Beloved Wife of Preston.” That was the moment the gut-punch landed. I finally realized I was nothing but a pathetic, disposable prop in her grand love story. Given a second chance at life, I opened my eyes on the exact morning after she and Preston shared their little night of passion. This time, I did not step up to be her knight in shining armor. I rode the wave of chaos and dumped her on the spot. 1 “Victoria, isn’t Jason your boyfriend? What the hell are you doing tangled up with Preston!” “Getting caught in the act like this is a damn disgrace. Get out of bed and march down to city hall before you ruin the company’s image!” A crowd of coworkers clustered outside the company housing units, their whispers buzzing like a hive of angry hornets. Victoria clutched a cheap polyester sheet to her chest. Her face was entirely flushed, her vocal cords paralyzed by sheer humiliation. Preston, on the other hand, looked like he wanted to scrub his own skin off just to avoid being linked to her. He frantically yanked up his slacks, shooting her a look of pure, unadulterated panic. “Victoria, you know I signed a five-year morality and non-compete clause with the firm! If corporate HR escalates this, my career is dead in the water!” In my past life, I had walked into this exact scene while bringing Victoria her morning coffee. My heart had shattered into a million jagged pieces. Like a fool, I had rushed into the room, covered up her dirty laundry, and offered her a wedding ring to kill the rumors. If getting blindly drunk was just an accident, then how could anyone explain the sickeningly sweet, flushed look Victoria was giving Preston as she silently begged him to claim her? I had braved the hurricane of office gossip to make her my wife, only to be rewarded with half a lifetime of glacial indifference. This time around, my feet stayed firmly planted in the hallway. I crossed my arms and watched the fire burn. The whispers grew into loud jeers. The crowd of spectators thickened by the second. Preston was pacing like a caged rat. The second his panicked eyes locked onto me in the doorway, he jutted a trembling finger in my direction. “I have perfect self-control! Someone must have slipped something in my drink!” “Yesterday, Jason brought Victoria a bottle of water. Right after we drank it, we completely lost our minds.” “Jason, you sick bastard! You wanted to trap Victoria into a shotgun wedding, but you ended up destroying both of our reputations instead!” In a heartbeat, the crowd’s judging, disgusted glares pivoted away from the bed and zeroed in on me. Victoria, fueled by shame and a desperate need for a scapegoat, unleashed her venom in my direction. “Why are you just standing there humiliating yourself!” “Get your ass to the director’s office right now and confess to what you did!” “Are you trying to get me and Preston fired because of your toxic jealousy?!” She knew damn well what really happened last night. But over the years, tossing Preston’s messes onto my shoulders had become her favorite reflex. When Preston lost classified client files on a bender, she filed an anonymous tip claiming I was the office thief. When Preston trashed an expensive piece of lab equipment, she screamed at me until my ears rang, forcing me to take the write-up. The endless river of false accusations had eroded my soul. But playing the sacrificial lamb for Preston was a script I was ripping to shreds today. I calmly pulled my stamped timecard from my jacket pocket and held it up to the light. “I was pulling an overnight shift at the manufacturing plant until six this morning. Tell me exactly when I managed to sneak in here and hand you a water bottle.” “The truth is, you two locked yourselves in a room together in the dead of night. Whatever happened is on you.” My words flipped the script. The crowd’s murmurs instantly changed their tune. “What kind of decent woman spends the whole night in a bachelor’s apartment? And this isn’t even Victoria’s first time!” “Honestly, Jason is the real victim here. These two have been playing him for an absolute fool.” Seeing the jury of public opinion swing my way, Preston immediately turned on the waterworks. “Jason, man, it is so messed up that you orchestrated this whole crowd just to frame my relationship with Victoria!” “Forget about my reputation, but Victoria is your girl! Don’t you even care about dragging your own lady through the mud?” What a toxic, silver-tongued snake. I had been standing there for less than three minutes, yet he was already painting me as the mastermind who rallied a mob to sabotage his golden career. They were caught sweating in the same bed, and he still had the audacity to say I was framing them. It was genuinely laughable. Victoria cared about his corporate ladder more than her own pulse. Terrified that this scandal would cost him his job, she went into full panic mode. She reached out, gripping his hand tightly to soothe him. “Preston! None of this is your fault. Don’t worry, the person truly responsible will face the consequences!” Then, her eyes turned to dead winter as she glared at me. She bared her teeth. “Are you happy now?! Get out of my sight and start scraping together a dowry to marry me!” “If this little stunt of yours leaves a single scratch on Preston’s career, you can kiss any chance of being my husband goodbye!” Just as I suspected. To her, I was nothing more than a pathetic backup plan. A safety net made of garbage. I let out a low, mocking laugh. “Preston won’t even touch you in the daylight. What makes you think I want his leftovers?” “We are done, Victoria. Have a nice life.” 2 The scandalous details of Victoria and Preston’s wild night spread through the corporate campus like wildfire. The executive directors dragged them both into a closed-door meeting. Word on the floor was that upper management gave them an ultimatum. One of them had to pack their desk and leave. I headed straight to the HR department, handed in my resignation, and walked back to my apartment. Victoria was already waiting in my living room. She shot me a venomous glare, her voice dripping with entitlement. “Preston is getting fired. I hope you are proud of yourself.” “If you had just been a man and admitted you spiked the drinks, none of this nightmare would be happening!” In the past, I had always shrunk myself down to make her feel huge. She was entirely used to looking down on me from her imaginary pedestal. The old Jason would have been on his knees begging for forgiveness by now. But today, the only thought echoing in my skull was, “Why the hell should I?” “I didn’t drug anyone, so why would I confess to a felony?” “Preston is getting fired because he lacks basic professional morals. That is not my problem. Besides, we are officially broken up. Get the hell out of my apartment.” Victoria froze. A flicker of genuine shock shattered her cold facade. But the moment her eyes caught the stamped resignation papers on my coffee table, her arrogant smirk returned. “Oh, I see. You quit your job to give your position to Preston just to win me back. You can drop the tough guy act now, it is getting pathetic.” Assuming Preston’s career was saved, her mood shifted. Her tone lost a fraction of its icy edge. “Fine. I will forgive you for publicly disrespecting me yesterday.” “Have five thousand dollars ready in cash, plus some decent jewelry, and I will let you marry me.” I let out a harsh laugh, picking up the paperwork and shoving it directly in her face. “Read the fine print, Victoria. I am quitting. I am not transferring my role to Preston.” “And I would rather drink glass than marry you.” She snatched the papers from my hand, her eyes going wide as she scanned the official stamps. She slammed the documents down on the table. “Jason! You are taking this way too far!” “Preston was right about you! You saw me hit a rough patch, and now you are abandoning the woman who stood by you to go chase some cheap thrill!” “Yesterday was just an accident! People make mistakes! What kind of blood sacrifice do you want from me before you let this go!” There it was again. Preston said this. Preston said that. In my previous life, I merely said a polite hello to a new female intern. Preston immediately whispered in Victoria’s ear, claiming I was flirting and sleeping around behind her back. She didn’t even give me a chance to speak. She swallowed his poison instantly. She stormed into the regional manager’s office, screaming that I was a serial cheater. She even filed a formal complaint with the ethics board. I was almost dragged out by security and blacklisted from the entire industry. I was supposed to be her partner, but my words held less weight than dirt. Now, she had literally hopped into bed with another man, and she expected me to brush it off as a minor clerical error. Whatever Preston spat out was the absolute gospel. Whatever I said was just white noise. “Save your breath. I already told you. We are done.” Victoria’s chest heaved violently. She let out a chilling sneer. “Okay, fine! We are done! But you are going to give back every single gift I have ever bought you over the years!” Watching her try to play the extortion game, I just scoffed. I walked over to a cardboard box in the corner, dug around, and tossed two pairs of plain cotton socks and a single, mismatched winter glove onto the table. She looked at the pathetic pile in absolute disbelief. “Where is the rest of it?! Don’t try to hide my things from me!” “That is all of it. You threw these two pairs of socks at me because they came free when you bought Preston’s winter coat. And this glove is the one Preston decided he didn’t like.” My eyes locked onto hers, filled with razor-sharp irony. “Six years, Victoria. Six years, and this is the grand total of your generosity.” Her face burned scarlet. The undeniable proof of her selfishness sat right there on the wood, stripping away her pride. Having absolutely zero evidence to fight back with, she puffed up her chest, trying to mask her burning guilt with sheer volume. “You are lying! I know there is more!” “What about that vintage heirloom bracelet your mother promised me! She said it was mine, which means I keep it even if we break up!” “That antique is worth a fortune. I am going to pawn it so I can fund Preston’s fellowship application for Geneva!” So that was it. The real reason she graced my apartment with her presence today was to squeeze me dry to save Preston’s overseas dreams. The talk about marriage, the dowry, the gifts. It was all a cheap manipulation tactic. A heavy, suffocating disappointment settled in my chest. I pointed a rigid finger at the front door and roared. “You are never touching my mother’s bracelet! Get the hell out of my house, right now!” “You will regret this, Jason. Just wait!” 3 The factory director told me that as soon as I returned the five thousand dollars in corporate petty cash, my resignation would be finalized. It was leftover money from a mechanical parts order, and I had kept it locked securely in my apartment for safekeeping. But when I pried open the floorboard and unlocked the heavy wooden lockbox… It was empty. The thick stack of hundred-dollar bills, and the velvet box holding my mother’s heirloom bracelet. My entire life savings. Vanished. There were only two people on earth who knew where that key was hidden. I felt the blood roaring in my ears. I tore out of the apartment and went hunting for Victoria. After asking around the neighborhood, I found out she had rented out a private lounge to celebrate Preston’s birthday. I kicked the double doors open. Preston was standing in the center of the room, dripping in luxury. A tailored designer suit, a ridiculously expensive imported watch on his wrist, and leather shoes polished to a mirror shine. He smirked as I walked in. “Jason, buddy! Glad you could make it. Victoria is throwing me a little bash.” “Thanks for sponsoring the event, by the way.” Victoria had bought him a mountain of high-end garments. Fabrics that cost a month’s salary per yard. A massive, multi-tiered gourmet cake dominated the center of a table groaning under the weight of expensive champagne and imported steaks. Victoria’s pathetic entry-level salary couldn’t even cover the appetizer menu in a place like this. She had bled my lockbox dry to fund this circus. My vision swam with red. I marched up to the table and screamed at the top of my lungs. “Did you break into my box, steal the company cash, and pawn my mother’s bracelet?!” Victoria didn’t even flinch. She sipped her champagne, completely unfazed by my boiling rage. “Preston lost his job because of your little temper tantrum. He has been so depressed he hasn’t eaten for days.” “I took some initiative and used your funds to compensate him. You shouldn’t have a problem with that.” Six years together. I had never once tasted a birthday cake. I hadn’t bought a new suit in a decade. She stole my money to play sugar mama to Preston, and she said it with the casual arrogance of someone ordering a coffee. The volcano inside my chest finally erupted. I grabbed the edge of the heavy banquet table and violently flipped it over. Shattered glass, ruined cake, and expensive champagne exploded across the polished hardwood. “Victoria! That was corporate petty cash! If I don’t hand that money back to the director by tomorrow, I am going to federal prison!” “Whatever is left, you are giving it back to me right now!” The table crashed to the floor. Preston let out a high-pitched shriek and threw himself dramatically in the direction the table was falling. “Jason! I was just about to put in a good word for you! Why would you intentionally smash my hand!” “I need these fingers to type up summit reports at the Geneva headquarters! If my nerves are damaged, my career is over!” It was a blatant, pathetic lie. His hand had barely grazed the edge of the wood, leaving a faint pink mark at best. But Victoria’s face twisted into a mask of demonic fury. She lunged forward, grabbed two fistfuls of my jacket collar, and violently slammed my forehead into the jagged edge of a nearby counter. She smashed my head down over and over. By the time she let go, warm blood was pouring down into my eyes. “Get on your knees and apologize to Preston!” Agony radiated through my skull, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the burning hatred in my chest. I clutched my bleeding forehead and glared at her. “Why the hell should I?! I didn’t touch him! He threw himself at the table!” Caught in his terrible acting, Preston started wailing louder. “Victoria, he is lying! How was I supposed to know he was going to turn into a violent psycho?” “My special day is ruined, my job is gone, I can’t take this anymore!” Victoria rushed over and wrapped her arms around him, cooing soft words into his ear. When she turned her gaze back to me, her eyes were bottomless pits of ice. “I am giving you three seconds to get on your knees and beg for his forgiveness.” “If you don’t, I will personally draft an email to the executive board right now. I will tell them you embezzled the five thousand dollars to fund a gambling habit. Have fun rotting in a concrete cell!” My pupils dilated in sheer terror. My fists clenched so hard my knuckles popped. She had spent the money, yes. But my name was on the ledger. I was the one responsible for that cash. If corporate pressed charges for high-level embezzlement, I would be looking at fifteen years behind bars. My entire life would be turned to ash. Hot, bitter tears of utter defeat burned my eyes. The adrenaline drained from my legs, and my knees hit the hardwood floor with a heavy thud. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have lost my temper.” “Please… just give me the money back!” Victoria let out a victorious sneer. She reached into her designer purse, pulled out a single copper penny, and threw it directly at my bleeding face. “There. That is all that is left. Every other cent went into securing Preston’s VIP spot for the Geneva fellowship.” “To me, you are not even worth the dirt on my shoes.” My hands shook violently as I picked up the cold penny from the floor. My throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper. “Five thousand dollars… plus a vintage heirloom bracelet. And you are telling me this is all you have left?” “Exactly. That is all there is.” Preston looked down at me with a sickening, triumphant grin. Then, he intentionally let his tongue slip. “Oh, wait, Victoria. Don’t you still have about eight grand sitting in your savings account? Why don’t you float him a loan so he doesn’t go to jail?” “Ah, my mistake! I forgot, you told me yesterday that money is strictly reserved for our luxury shopping trips in Europe. Untouchable!” Blood dripped from my chin onto my shirt. I stared at the two of them with dead, hollow eyes. “So this is how it ends? You really are going to leave me to take the fall?” Victoria’s emotionless silence gave me all the answers I needed. The very next morning, the corporate bulletin board proudly displayed the approved names for the Geneva Summit: Victoria and Preston. Preston was walking through the lobby shaking hands, soaking up the praise, and rolling his designer luggage toward the airport shuttle. I kicked the glass doors of the lobby open, holding my ID badge high in the air, and screamed. “Victoria and Preston are guilty of grand larceny and corporate embezzlement exceeding five thousand dollars! Their ethical violations completely disqualify them from any overseas company representation!” “The local authorities are on their way right now! I am officially whistleblowing on their fraudulent fellowship applications! I demand that HR revoke their travel clearances immediately!”

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1 Born in the slums, I accidentally unlocked the strange ability to understand cockroaches. When I was little, my alcoholic foster father tried to sell me to an old man to settle his gambling debts. The roaches whispered in my ear, warning me to hide in the crawlspace beforehand. When I grew older and shady drunks lurked near my doorstep, the roaches scurried over to tell me to deadbolt the doors and call the police. Relying on this bizarre gift, I studied like crazy and got accepted into Grand Capital University. Around the same time, my biological parents, the ultra-wealthy Brendons, finally tracked me down and welcomed me back into high society. Yet on the very first night of freshman year, I kidnapped the campus heartthrob and dragged him to the dorm roof, preparing to jump. Why? Because my roach friends informed me that Emily, the fake heiress assigned to my dorm, was setting a trap to frame me for arson. “The old roach living under your bunk sent me to pass the message,” a little beetle-like buddy had squeaked to me earlier. “That fake heiress is hell-bent on framing you and putting you behind bars!” I had fallen into deep thought upon hearing that. Emily didn’t just want me in prison; she wanted to alienate me from my biological parents forever. I needed an absolute, unbreakable alibi. So, I did the only logical thing. I snatched the passing campus heartthrob, Nate, dragged him up to the roof, and started a live stream. “Hey everyone, call the cops!” I yelled at my phone screen. “I just kidnapped Nate!” … The roof wind blew violently, stinging my skin. I kept an iron grip on Nate, dragging him all the way to the very edge of the concrete ledge. “Why are you so insanely strong?!” Nate struggled against my grip, his eyes wide. “Let go of me!” No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t break free. I grew up in the slums doing heavy manual labor, building up brute strength that no privileged college boy could match. He forced down his panic, trying to reason with me politely. “Willow, are you going through something terrible? Tell me, I can help you solve it. We don’t need to take such extreme measures.” I tilted my head, letting out an unhinged smile. “Sorry, Nate, but my problem can only be solved by live-streaming a rooftop jump!” Once my innocence was proven, I would apologize to Nate and accept whatever punishment he saw fit. Just then, the squeaky chatter of several roaches reached my ears again. “Boss! Emily is making her move! She conspirated with your other two roommates!” “Yeah, she even managed to lift your fingerprints and installed a hidden camera beforehand! She’s setting up an airtight frame-job!” “I heard they hired a hacker to forge footage of you lighting the fire in the dorm!” My heart sank, a wave of coldness spreading down my spine. I should have guessed it. Ever since the Brendons brought me back, Emily had been suspiciously sweet to me. She showered me with warm concern and insisted on rooming with me in the university dorms. That fake kindness was merely a tactic to lower my guard. After all, she was just an impostor occupying a spot that wasn’t hers. She was terrified I would reclaim everything that belonged to me. So she decided to strike first, using an arson setup to destroy me completely. Emily understood human nature all too well. I was an unrefined kid from the slums. Most members of the Brendon family already assumed I possessed terrible moral character. Once the dorm caught fire, a girl like me would be unable to defend herself, disgraced, and thrown out of the family forever. I exhaled a heavy breath. With the help of my roach friends, I had managed to pull myself out of the gutter and survive against all odds. I was not about to go down without a fight. I looked at my phone screen. The live stream’s local viewer count was exploding. The chat box flooded with furious comments. Holy crap! Is she actually holding him hostage? Is this chick crazy? If she can’t have the golden boy, she wants to destroy him?! I know her! Her name is Willow! Word is she grew up in the urban slums! No wonder she’s so unhinged and extreme! Nate, don’t be scared! We called the cops! They’re on their way! Is she trying to get famous? Streaming a fake kidnapping to gain followers is beyond disgusting! If you want to jump, jump by yourself! Don’t drag an innocent guy down with you and waste public resources! I feel so bad for Nate! He’s still trying to talk her down! A tsunami of insults slammed into me through the screen, but I felt no hurt whatsoever. In fact, I felt immensely relieved. The harsher they cursed, the higher the stream metrics climbed, and the more witnesses I gained. I was constructing the most rock-solid alibi imaginable. My smile grew wilder as I yelled into the phone camera, “That’s right! My name is Willow, student ID zero-two-one-four-six-two! I’m completely nuts!” “Everyone listen carefully! The time is currently nine-seventeen PM!” 2 “I have been on this rooftop the whole time, holding Nate hostage and preparing to jump!” At my brazen declaration, the chat box went eerily still for a second. The viewers were genuinely spooked by my mental state. Nate’s dark eyes narrowed, staring intensely at my face. “Willow… do you have a hidden motive for doing this?” He was sharp. Extremely sharp. I leaned closer, my warm breath brushing against his ear. “Nate, just be a good boy and play along with me tonight.” Before he could reply, the heavy iron roof door burst open. Nate’s die-hard fan girls rushed onto the roof. “Willow, are you insane?! Let go of Nate right now!” The leader of the group, Hannah, screamed in terror, her entire body shaking. The other girls joined in, shouting curses at the top of their lungs. “You shameless bitch! Are you doing this just to get Nate’s attention?! You don’t deserve him!” “I knew trash like her shouldn’t have been admitted to Grand Capital University! slum-born garbage will always be trash at heart!” “Nate, don’t be afraid! We called the police! This lunatic isn’t getting away tonight!” Their insults grew nastier by the second. Seeing me completely unbothered, Hannah gritted her teeth and took a step forward. “Willow, I’m warning you one last time…” I didn’t even bother replying. I simply dragged Nate back half a step toward the ledge. Nate instinctively glanced down at the dizzying drop behind him, his fingers tightening in panic. I glanced sideways at him. Ah, the campus golden boy is afraid of heights. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, forcing his voice to stay steady. “Everyone… stay back! She’s emotional right now, don’t provoke her!” Unfortunately, Hannah was too riled up to listen. Tears of rage spilled down her cheeks. “Willow, are you satisfied now?! Look at how terrified you’re making him!” The other girls grew hysterical, pointing fingers at my face. “She was just brought back by the Brendon family, but she’s still a low-class street rat using cheap tricks to clout-chase!” “Ahhh, go die! If you want to die, jump alone! Don’t drag Nate down with you!” Some of them even pulled rotten eggs out of their bags and threw them at me. I didn’t even blink. Growing up, I had beer bottles smashed over my head, cigarette butts snuffed on my skin, and leftover food thrown in my face. A few rotten eggs were nothing to me. “Take another step forward, and I’ll take Nate over the edge right now,” I warned coldly. I pulled Nate back another half step. This time, half of his feet hung in midair above the drop. Everyone froze in absolute horror. She’s insane! She’s an actual psychopath! You can’t reason with her! Where are the cops?! Nate is so unfortunate! Getting wrapped up with a crazy woman for no reason! Please, lady, stop provoking her! What if she actually jumps?! During the standoff, police officers and firefighters finally arrived at the scene. They quickly dispersed the crowd, shoving Hannah and the fan girls back behind the roof door to avoid triggering me further. The lead negotiator, a friendly senior officer, put on a gentle smile and spoke in a soothing tone, “Young lady, standing up here in the freezing cold night wind, what are you trying to accomplish?” “Getting into Grand Capital University isn’t easy. Millions of kids envy your position. Your parents worked hard to raise you. If something happens to you in a moment of impulse, think of how heartbroken they’ll be.” “Be a good girl. Release the young man first, and we can sit down and talk things through.” As he spoke, he took a subtle, barely noticeable step forward. Noticing his movement, I immediately made a gesture to lean back with Nate. The officer froze instantly, a layer of cold sweat breaking out across his forehead. 3 “Don’t, don’t, don’t! Don’t step back! I’m staying right here!” He wiped his forehead nervously. “Look at you, kid, why are you so stubborn?!” “Fine, fine, I won’t move! You don’t move either! Let’s just talk from right here, okay?” Down below, the fire department had already inflated a massive air cushion. The officer exhaled in relief, then said with deep concern, “Young lady, did someone mistreat you at school? Is someone bullying you? Tell me, and I’ll make sure justice is served!” I tilted my head, flashing him a wide, mischievous grin. “Nobody bullied me! I just wanted to catch some fresh air, and brought Nate along for the ride.” The officer choked on his words, completely speechless. A younger cop behind him lost his temper, shouting sternly, “Willow! Stop being ungrateful! Your actions right now constitute a serious crime! Release the hostage immediately, or face the consequences!” The senior officer turned around and glared at the younger cop. “How are you speaking to a student?!” He turned back to me with another soft smile. “Young lady, how about this? Let the young man step over first, okay? I’ll stay here and talk with you for as long as you want.” Behind the iron door, the fan girls caused another commotion. “Officers, can you hurry up?! Nate clearly can’t hold on much longer!” “Just tackle her! Why are you afraid of a crazy woman?!” Nate was indeed in terrible shape. He was terrified of heights to begin with, and standing on the absolute edge for so long made his legs tremble uncontrollably. Yet he clamped his jaw shut, refusing to make a sound. “Boss! Your biological parents just got a call from the police and are rushing over!” My roach informants crept back to give me an update. “You have to hold out! Emily is ready! She’s about to light the fire to frame you!” I lowered my eyes, calculating the situation in my mind. The live stream heat had completely exploded. With so many witnesses on site and online, I no longer needed Nate as a hostage to maintain the spotlight. The wind was getting stronger, and if Nate had a genuine panic attack or slipped, the collateral damage wouldn’t be worth it. I released my grip on Nate, pushing him gently toward the safe zone near the officers. “Sure thing, officer! Let’s chat!” I smiled warmly at the senior negotiator, agreeing to his proposal. Nate regained his footing on solid ground, but he didn’t run away. He stood there, staring intently at my face. I tilted my head and winked at him. “What? Miss me already?” Nate remained silent, hastily averting his gaze. I didn’t bother with him anymore, turning around and hopping onto the concrete guardrail, letting my legs dangle freely over the edge. The crowd watching below let out a collective gasp of horror. The senior officer broke into a cold sweat again. “Willow, why are you sitting up there?! That’s dangerous, get down right now!” I closed my eyes, the cold wind whipping through my hair. The officer had asked if anyone had bullied me. When I was little, countless people bullied me. Luckily, my roach buddies had my back, constantly tipping me off. Otherwise, I would never have survived to adulthood. Later, I was brought back to the wealthy Brendon family. I thought I would no longer need roaches to protect myself. Yet the moment my high-society relatives saw me, their eyes were filled with unhidden disgust. “Is this the wild girl who grew up in the urban slums? She doesn’t look like a high-society heiress at all!” “I heard her foster father was a drunkard, and her foster mother ran off with another man!” “A child raised in that trash environment must be vulgar and unethical at heart!” “Emily is so much better, polite and elegant, truly a child raised by the Brendon family!” 4 Whenever those insults flew, Emily would gently wrap her arm around mine and say sweetly, “Willow just got back, she needs time to adapt. I believe she’ll make you all proud eventually.” Back then, I actually thought she was a sweet, kind sister. Little did I know, Emily was a snake under her sheep’s skin. Once again, my roach brothers had saved my life. Suddenly, another wave of commotion sounded near the roof door. “Willow! What on earth do you think you’re doing?!” I turned my head toward the voice. My biological mother, Elizabeth Brendon, stepped onto the roof in high heels and immaculate makeup, her face flushed with fury. “Willow, get down here this instant! Turn off that stream! Otherwise… I will disown you as my daughter!” Beside her stood my biological father, Addison Brendon, dressed in a sharp suit, his face dark as thunder. Oh my god, so Willow really is a Brendon heiress! Are the rumors true?! The Brendons are so unlucky! Such a prestigious family ruined by one bad apple! Don’t say that, what if she has a genuine reason? After all… Get out of here with that bleeding-heart nonsense! Who defends a kidnapper?! I sat on the guardrail, looking at them with a relaxed grin. “Oh, you guys finally made it?” “What kind of attitude is that?!” Elizabeth’s voice shook with rage, her chest heaving violently. “Look at yourself! What do you look like right now?!” “Sitting up there playing the victim, running a live stream for the whole city to see!” “Do you know what people online are saying right now?! They’re saying the daughter brought back by the Brendon family is a lunatic!” “Where am I supposed to hide my face?!” Hearing her tirade, I nodded thoughtfully. “They’re completely right. So why don’t you just pretend you never gave birth to me?” “Do you think I don’t want to?!” Elizabeth hissed under her breath, glaring at me. “I should have never brought you back! Emily is a thousand times better than you!” “If I knew you were this unhinged, I would have preferred to leave you in the gutter…” Listening to her cruel words, my heart felt strangely numb. Not a single ripple of sadness touched me. I suppose I was used to it. When I first returned to the Brendons, I tried really hard. I memorized complex etiquette rules and practiced how to smile politely. Yet when Elizabeth saw me practicing, she remarked with disgust, “You don’t need to fake it. Class is in your blood, and you can’t fake what you don’t have.” That was when I realized the Brendons didn’t just dislike my unrefined habits; they hated my very existence. They couldn’t accept that a child carrying Brendon blood had lived a dirty, wretched life in the slums. Addison looked up at me, his voice cold as ice. “Willow, I’ll give you three minutes to get down yourself. Otherwise, bear the consequences.” I burst out laughing, tilting my head at him. “What consequences? Throwing me out of the family?” “That would be fantastic. I’m begging you to do it.” Suddenly, an urgent roach squeak exploded in my ear. “Boss! It’s done! Emily set the fire! The dorm room is ablaze!” “The fire is spreading fast! The whole room is catching!” I exhaled softly. The curtain was finally rising. I slowly raised my eyes, looking at my furious biological parents, the anxious police officers, and finally… at Nate, who was still standing nearby. I offered Nate a gentle smile. Then, under everyone’s horrified gaze, I opened my arms and let my body fall backward off the ledge. “Willow… NO!” The wind roared in my ears like a deafening storm. As I plunged into the night air, I saw Nate and the firefighters rushing toward the guardrail. Nobody caught me. My body crashed heavily onto the inflated air cushion below, my mind going completely blank from the impact. Instantly, paramedics swarmed around me, lifting me onto a stretcher. “Vital signs are stable! Transport her to the hospital immediately!” “Girl, why do this to yourself?! What could be so terrible?!” The noisy voices faded into the distance. When I woke up again, I was lying in a hospital bed. Before I could process anything, two police officers walked into the room. “Willow, you are suspected of malicious arson in dorm room six-one-four at Grand Capital University. We are taking you into custody for investigation.”

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Alex walked in as I finished my diary entry: He wants pork chops. Remember to buy some tomorrow. At the door, he knelt to place slippers at his lab assistant Vivian’s feet. They nodded at me, passing by to discuss data I couldn’t follow. Feeling like a stranger in my own home, I retreated to the kitchen, slicing fruit. When I returned, Vivian was flipping through my journal. “Isla, I had no idea you were such a devoted housewife. You actually kept a daily journal just for Alex.” Mock pity dripped from her tone as she ripped it in half. “Let me help you find your independence.” Panic seized me. I lunged, but Alex shoved between us, batting my hands away. “What is wrong with you? It is just a stupid notebook!” He scoffed. “Vivian is right. Why waste time on useless garbage?” Vivian giggled. “It says here you actually sobbed and begged a doctor when she got sick.” Alex’s face flushed crimson. “Why record every private detail? Scribbling nonsense all day, no wonder you haven’t found a job!” Terrified she’d dig up more, he snatched the remaining half, tore it to shreds, and tossed it in the trash. I watched him usher her out, tears streaming. He had no idea. Without that journal, by tomorrow, I would completely forget who he was. 1 I do not know when the illness began. At first, it was just a random morning. I woke up, looked at Alex heating up a mug of milk, and asked in confusion, “Alex, aren’t we going to that popular brunch spot we booked weeks ago? Why are you making breakfast?” Alex paused and glanced at me, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Isla, are you still half-asleep? We went to that bistro yesterday. You complained that the eggs were overcooked and swore you would never go back.” It was only when he saw the sheer blankness in my eyes that panic set in. He wrapped a coat around my shoulders and dragged me straight to the emergency room. When the doctor asked questions and realized my entire memory of the previous day was completely gone, Alex lost his mind. Terrified that I was dying of some incurable disease, he grabbed the doctor’s hand, tears spilling over. “Please, doctor, you have to save her. I will give my own life if I have to!” But after a battery of scans and blood tests, the hospital found absolutely nothing. They eventually chalked it up to stress, calling it a case of temporary, psychogenic amnesia. Alex was terrified. For a week, he refused to leave my side, taking a leave of absence from his university lab just to monitor me. It was only after seven incident-free days that I finally managed to coax him back to his research. But the peace didn’t last. Shortly after he returned to school, the strange fog rolled back into my brain. This time, a whole week of my life was completely erased. I could not bring myself to tell him. Instead, I went back to the clinic alone. Again, the tests came up clear. Dr. Bennett was baffled, only able to prescribe some mild sedatives and advise regular checkups. Back at the apartment, I stared at the front door, paralyzed. I knew Alex. If he found out I was getting worse, he would drop his thesis and spend every waking hour hovering over me. But I could not let my broken mind derail his dreams. I could not let my fading memories ruin his future. To protect him and save myself, I started keeping a journal. Starting from the day we met, I meticulously transcribed every detail of our life together, anchoring my soul to those pages. But my condition only accelerated. At first, the gaps were small and random. Then, the blackouts became more frequent, swallowing larger chunks of my past. Eventually, I woke up one morning to find my mind frozen at eighteen, before I had ever met Alex. It was only through that battered journal that I was able to piece myself back together. Job hunting became impossible. I claimed I was freelancing, hiding in the safety of our apartment, caught in an endless loop of forgetting and relearning my own life. I tried to reason with myself. Our fight was just a misunderstanding. Alex didn’t know about my disease, so he thought I was just acting crazy. Once I told him the truth, he would understand why the journal mattered, and we would make up. I ran out of the bedroom, catching him at the front door. He was holding their coats, murmuring gentle reassurances to Vivian. Seeing them about to leave, I called out, “Wait! Alex, please, I need to tell you something. I kept that journal because… because I am sick.” 2 Hearing my words, Alex froze. When he turned back to look at me, his eyes were instantly flooded with worry. “Isla, when did you get sick? Why didn’t you tell me? Is it serious? What did the doctor say?” Seeing his panic, a small weight lifted from my chest. I knew it. He had only snapped because his pride was wounded in front of his junior colleague. But before I could speak, Vivian rolled her eyes, her sigh dripping with irritation. “Isla, please don’t tell me you are going to claim you have depression. I stopped using that excuse back in high school. True clinical depression is agonizing. People fight for their lives every day against their own minds. They don’t just use it as a convenient excuse whenever things don’t go their way.” Hearing her words, Alex’s expression hardened again. He scanned me from head to toe, his brow furrowing. “Isla, if you are actually sick, show me your medical records. I will go to the clinic with you.” But there were no medical records. The doctors couldn’t find a cause, so they had never given me an official diagnosis. Seeing me freeze, Alex assumed Vivian had caught me in a lie. Anger flared in his eyes. “Isla, you are seriously fabricating an illness just to make me feel guilty? You sit at home all day doing absolutely nothing, how could you possibly be depressed? I only told you to get a job so you would stop wasting your life, and this is how you manipulate me?” “No, Alex, listen to me…” I reached out, desperate to explain. But his mind was made up. He saw me as a liar playing the victim. Casting one last disappointed look at me, he opened the door and walked out with Vivian. I stood there staring at the closed door, my legs trembling. Finally, I dragged myself back to the bedroom and fell to my knees by the trash can, picking out the shredded scraps of my journal. I smoothed them out, trying to piece the puzzle of my life back together, but many fragments were torn too finely to salvage. Clutching the salvaged pages, I sat on the living room sofa to wait. I knew he would come home. No matter how vicious our arguments had been over the years, he never stayed out overnight because he knew I would worry. Once he returned and we were alone, he would listen to me. It was past midnight when the key finally turned in the lock. Alex walked in, exhaustion written across his face. He didn’t even glance at me sitting on the sofa, walking straight toward the guest bedroom. I sprang up and grabbed his wrist. “Alex, please. I wasn’t lying. I am really sick.” He paused, but when he realized I was still clinging to the same excuse instead of apologizing, his frustration boiled over. He whipped around to glare at me. “Fine, Isla. You want to play this game? Tomorrow we are going to the hospital, and we will let the doctors run every test until we find out exactly what is wrong with you!” He violently shook off my grip. “I am exhausted. I am going to bed.” Panic surged through me as I watched him walk away. Tomorrow would be too late. But Alex had already shut the door of the guest room, and a sharp click told me he had locked it from the inside to keep me out. I knew I should let him rest. He was tired, and arguing would solve nothing. But I had no time. The remaining scraps of my journal weren’t enough. Without them, I wouldn’t be able to piece together the twenty-four-year-old woman who loved Alex. The realization that I might wake up tomorrow with no memory of him brought a sharp, physical pain to my chest. Clutching my heart, I slumped against the locked door, tears blurring my vision. “Alex, please, just talk to me. I know you are angry, but I swear I am not lying to you.” Silence greeted me from the other side. No shouts, no complaints, just a heavy, suffocating quietness that seemed to press down on my shoulders. I sobbed silently, the tears choking my throat. Finally, the door swung open. But Alex’s face held no warmth, only a cold irritation that made him look like a total stranger. “Isla, when is this going to end? I have told you a thousand times that I am tired. I have to be in the lab early tomorrow. Can’t you show a single shred of consideration for my work? Whatever it is, it can wait until tomorrow!” He practically roared the last sentence in my face. I stared at the man standing before me, my heart aching. This wasn’t the Alex from my journal. The man I knew would never treat me with such hostility. Recalling how he had shielded Vivian earlier, the question slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it. “Alex, do you still love me?” 3 Alex’s brow furrowed so deeply a vein began to throb at his temple. “If I didn’t love you, would I still be standing here listening to this nonsense? Would I tolerate you humiliating me in front of my colleague? I don’t get you, Isla. When did you become so exhausting?” His cold, critical gaze forced me back a step. Exhausting? He blamed me for changing, but what about him? “Alex, you once promised that you would always believe me, no matter what. Was that a lie? Did you forget the vow you made three years ago when we almost broke up? You swore we would always sit down, listen to each other, and never let misunderstandings tear us apart.” He had even recorded those words on his phone, calling it the foundation of our relationship. I clung to those memories from my journal, but Alex merely scoffed. “Isla, you kept me awake just to bring up some ancient history? I have been working seventy hours a week at the lab. I deleted those useless files ages ago.” I looked up, meeting his impatient eyes, and a shudder ran through my body. Useless. Our promises were useless to him now. What was the point of me clinging to these memories, reviewing them night after night like a desperate student? “Then what actually matters to you, Alex? If our promises don’t matter, does Vivian?” Alex answered without a second thought. “Vivian is brilliant, hard-working, and ambitious. Look at yourself, Isla. You sit around all day doing nothing. How can you even compare yourself to her?” The moment the words left his mouth, a flash of regret crossed his eyes. Seeing me stand there in silence, he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Isla, I didn’t mean to snap. I am just under a lot of pressure at the lab. If you are done, go to bed.” Without waiting for a response, he quietly closed the door. His muffled voice came through the thick wood. “Goodnight, Isla. We will talk tomorrow.” I turned away, my vision blurring. Alex, there is no tomorrow for us. Clutching the half-assembled journal, a bitter doubt took root in my mind. Was this diary just a collection of lies I told myself? Was his love for me merely a delusion I had fabricated? Why did the real Alex feel so entirely different from the man in these pages? On my way to the bedroom, I noticed a sticky note affixed to the refrigerator door. Vivian often skips breakfast and gets dizzy. Remember to bring her some food. I stared at it. My journal used to contain notes just like that, written in his precise handwriting, but every single one of them had been addressed to Isla. Alex had deleted our voice recordings, discarded our history, and now, even his sweet gestures belonged to someone else. I no longer had a place in his life. Maybe it was time to stop lying to myself with this journal. I took the reconstructed journal back to my desk, ripped it into tiny shreds, and tossed them back into the wastebasket. If Alex no longer loved me, then I had no reason to force myself to become the twenty-four-year-old woman who adored him. I lay down on the bed and closed my eyes, letting sleep pull me under. I stood back and let the memories drift away, watching the image of Alex fade until he vanished entirely from my life. When the morning sun filtered through my eyelids, I stirred awake. My hand instinctively reached toward the nightstand, feeling as if something important should be there, but finding only empty wood. Shaking off the brief moment of confusion, I stretched, threw open my bedroom door, and called out, “Mom! Dad! What is for breakfast?” But there was only a strange man sitting on the living room sofa. At the sound of my voice, his expression darkened. “Isla, are you seriously acting like a child? We had a small fight, and now you are calling your parents?” Terror seized me. I took several steps back toward my bedroom, screaming at the top of my lungs. “Who are you? What are you doing in my apartment?”

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