Category: English

After I was brought back to the Sterling family, the fake heiress, Serena, constantly set traps for me. She had a sharp tongue and master-level manipulation skills. I couldn’t out-argue her, and I was literally driven to an early grave by pure, unadulterated stress. After being reborn, I decided to play dumb. Literally. No matter what she said, I just responded with “Ah-bah-ah-bah.” I never expected that, from then on, she would become the target of everyone’s condemnation. Everyone thought she was malicious for bullying a mute. From then on, Serena was forced onto the moral low ground; whatever she did, she faced intense moral backlash. I honestly almost died laughing, ah-bah-ah-bah. 1 The fake heiress framed me, and I argued with her. She threw out lines like, “Everyone, please don’t blame Sister, she didn’t mean to push me,” and “Sister already has Mom and Dad’s love, I just wanted to be close to her.” With just a few words, she successfully pinned a baseless accusation on me. Before I could even get a word in, my mother, whose bias was already off the charts, shoved me, crying that she didn’t have such a malicious daughter. I was stunned by the shove, missed a step, and tumbled down the stairs. The back of my head hit the edge of a step, and I died on the spot. I was so pissed. I was already annoyed, and then I just instantly died. Right before I died, I tried to recall the last words my family said to me. It was my mom, holding the fake heiress, pointing at my nose and scolding: “Say something! Did you hurt Serena or not? Explain yourself! Are you mute?!” …Wait, mute! If I could live this life again, I would definitely choose to be a mute. 2 When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the eve of being recognized by the Sterling family. I was about to start my senior year of high school. To save up for next year’s college tuition, I was scrubbing dishes in the back kitchen of a diner. And Serena already knew of my existence. Just today, she purposely sent a few thugs to cause trouble at the diner and “greet” me along the way. So, inexplicably, I had water thrown all over me by a few blonde-haired punks who barged into the kitchen, and my head was shoved into a sink and held there for a good while. The me from my past life had nothing, just a belly full of fire. I finally broke free, grabbed two meat cleavers, and chased the thugs all the way into the front dining area. And bumped right into the Sterling parents, who had come to recognize me. So, their very first impression of me was a crazy woman with disheveled hair, messy clothes, running around with meat cleavers. At the time, I didn’t know they were my biological parents. Seeing them blocking my way, I yelled gruffly: “Move!” That single shout scared Mrs. Sterling so much she fainted on the spot. After returning to the Sterling family, she favored the soft-spoken, gentle, and polite fake daughter to an extreme degree. From then on, whenever Serena and I had a conflict, she assumed I was just going crazy for no reason. And her precious Serena was suffering all the injustice. This time, since I’ve been reborn, I must turn the tables. 3 Hearing the growing commotion from the front dining area, I quickly locked the door to the back kitchen. Then, I grabbed a large bottle of dish soap and poured three thick layers of it back and forth on the tiled floor near the door, and sprinkled some water on top. After that, I hid behind the door. Just in time, the sound of the thugs looking for trouble was getting closer. Their target was me, and they wanted to come in and mess with me, but found the kitchen door wouldn’t open. Furious, they kicked and cursed outside. The head chef, who had already shrunk under a table, gave me a thumbs up. However, before he could utter his words of praise, he saw me put my hand on the door lock and gently slide it open. The door opened. The three thugs outside had been kicking the door. One couldn’t stop his momentum and the three of them slid right in, crashing heavily onto the floor. I took the opportunity to grab a large aluminum washing basin nearby, slammed it over their heads, and started banging on it wildly with a large ladle. After a few deafening bangs, I lifted the basin. The three punks were already rolling their eyes and foaming at the mouth. I looked at the scene with deep satisfaction, turned around, and said to the head chef: “Ah, youth. So energetic, yet they fall asleep so fast.” 4 The head chef’s mouth twitched, clearly wanting to force a smile at me, but failed. The thugs who were acting as lookouts outside realized something was wrong. They rushed into the kitchen, saw the three on the floor, and immediately flared up. They grabbed their clubs and came at me to teach me a lesson. I guessed it was about time, so I suddenly picked up a basin of water nearby. The thugs thought I was going to throw it at them and all took a step back. I gritted my teeth and poured it all over myself. Then, I pulled at my hair and gave myself two hard slaps across the face. Red, swollen handprints instantly appeared on my pale cheeks. The thugs were bewildered by my actions. The next second, my face contorted, I dropped to the floor, and began a dark, rapid crawl. I rushed right up to the thug in the front, stuck out my finger, and aimed straight for his belly button. “Oh my god, help!” That thug completely broke down, threw his club, and ran out. The other thugs followed him, running away. I chased after them, tongue lolling out, on all fours. They were too busy running for their lives to notice that as soon as I reached the front dining area, I returned to normal. My hair was wet and plastered softly against my face. My small face was bruised, my eyes were red and teary, and I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering slightly. This was the image I presented when I bumped into the Sterling parents, who had come to recognize me. I jogged with my head down, soft whimpers escaping my throat. When the Sterlings stopped me, before they could even ask a single question, I rolled my eyes back and fainted directly. 5 When I woke up, I was in the hospital. As soon as I opened my eyes, I saw Mrs. Sterling sitting by my bed. She was holding my hand, her eyes still red, as if she had just been crying. She said, “Maya, you’ve suffered so much. From now on, you are our daughter, and you’ll never have to go to a dangerous place like that again.” I looked up, met her eager gaze, opened my mouth, and seemed to want to say something. But after a long while, all that came out were a few unintelligible “Ah”s. Mrs. Sterling’s eyes instantly filled with panic, and she hurriedly called the doctor to examine me. Of course, the doctor couldn’t find anything wrong, because I was faking it. In the end, he could only say that experiencing severe trauma might have caused a functional speech impairment. With a period of good rest, and avoiding further stimulation, I should recover. Hearing this, Mrs. Sterling was filled with heartache again. She hugged me and cried bitterly, filled with remorse: “If only I had found you sooner! It’s all our fault!” Mr. Sterling, standing beside her, also quietly wiped his eyes, his heartache clearly genuine. In a place they couldn’t see, I curled the corners of my lips. It turns out, sometimes, not speaking is truly more effective than speaking. You just need to play the role of a silent victim, and leave the rest to others’ imaginations. I was looking forward to seeing Serena again in this life. I wondered if she could still easily stir up resentment against me with just a few words, leaving me defenseless. 6 On the day I returned to the Sterling family, Serena had prepared everything at home early on. She wore a princess dress, and any random accessory on her cost more than my entire expenses over the past seventeen years. As soon as she saw me, she enthusiastically came up to me, opening her arms to give me a hug. But I stepped back two paces to avoid it. Serena’s hands paused mid-air, and her delicate little face instantly filled with sadness and hurt. But looking closely, there was deep surprise hidden in her eyes. Right, encountering an opponent like me who aggressively handed her experience points right off the bat, how could she not be happy? Especially when, after stepping back, I lowered my head and started playing with my phone. Serena’s “hurt” intensified. She looked up at the Sterling parents with red eyes, her voice already choked with emotion as she spoke. “Does Maya not like me? She won’t even talk to me. If she feels I’ve taken her place at home, I can leave you, Mom and Dad. It’s okay with me.” After she finished, she sniffled, turning her head away in a show of forced strength. But because of this, she didn’t see Mr. Sterling’s suddenly darkened face. Just then, the phone screen I handed to the Sterling parents showed a typed message: I haven’t recovered from my fever yet, I’m afraid of passing it to Serena. Besides, her clothes are so expensive, and she’s so pretty, I’m afraid I’ll get her dirty… That’s right, since my reunion with the Sterling parents until now, too much had happened. They were in such a hurry to bring me back for the official recognition that they hadn’t even had time to get me clean clothes. I was wearing a hospital gown underneath, and on top was still that dirty jacket covered in grease stains from my time washing dishes in the back kitchen. And right now, me, who had become mute because the Sterling parents arrived too late, was standing next to the glamorous Serena. Serena could feel hurt because she suspected I didn’t accept her, while I didn’t even dare to get close because I was afraid of getting someone else’s expensive clothes dirty. Mrs. Sterling couldn’t hold it in any longer, burying her face in her hands and sobbing out loud. 7 The Sterling parents’ guilt was triggered once again. My goal was achieved, and I turned around to grab Serena. Although Serena found Mrs. Sterling’s reaction today strange—why was she crying there instead of getting angry at me?—she didn’t have time to think much. I had already reached out to grab her. In my anxiousness, accidentally leaving a red mark on her wrist with my grip was totally reasonable, right? Serena let out a gasp and finally started crying: “Maya, I know you hate me, I know you hate me for taking your place. I’ll leave right now, don’t blame Mom and Dad…” She performed her own monologue, catching a glimpse of Mr. Sterling’s increasingly dark face in her peripheral vision. The excitement in her eyes was almost impossible to hide. “Enough!” Mr. Sterling finally couldn’t help but yell, walking briskly toward us. Based on my understanding of Serena, at this moment, she must be excitedly counting down the seconds, waiting for Mr. Sterling to scold me. However, the next second, Mr. Sterling reached out and pulled Serena away. He yelled at her with displeasure: “She can’t speak, she’s so anxious, and you’re just standing there misunderstanding her on purpose!” Serena was stunned. And I cooperatively made up some sign language gestures, hiding behind Mr. Sterling and going “ah-bah-ah-bah” at Serena. In a place only she could see, I flashed her a smug smile. What are you going to do now, Serena? The parents who raised you for seventeen years seem to no longer unconditionally take your side. 8 In this life, Serena’s first encounter with me ended in her utter defeat. That evening, when I was returning to my room, Serena suddenly twisted my arm. She whispered in my ear: “Maya, you’re just a country bumpkin from the slums, and a mute. What gives you the right to stay in the Sterling family? If I were you, I would have slunk away a long time ago.” I rolled my eyes at her, mimicking her tone: “Ah-bah-bah-ah-bah-ah-bah (If I were you, I would have slunk away a long time ago).” And so, Serena experienced the very first instance of being sarcastically mocked by a mute. She clenched and unclenched her fists by her side, but ultimately, considering the loss she suffered at my hands during the day, she did nothing. The next day, my brother, Lucas Sterling, who had been studying abroad, suddenly returned. He was the only person in the Sterling family who was close to me in my past life. Thinking of him, I couldn’t help but feel a little excited. The moment Lucas walked through the door, a black bear lunged at him. “Holy crap, what is that?!” Lucas was so scared he dropped his suitcase and started sprinting around the living room. I crawled on my hands and knees, chasing him fiercely. I didn’t stop until I pinned Lucas to the floor. He locked eyes with me and blurted out: “Holy shit! Maya Sterling!” In that instant, I was certain. Lucas had also been reborn. Lucas asked why I was mute. I dropped my smile, lowered my head, and thought about how to explain it to him. His fists immediately clenched tight, and he said, “Did that scheming bitch Serena do this? Just wait, I’m going to teach her a lesson!” Lucas had disliked Serena for a long time. Ever since they were kids, because Lucas was older, he was always told to accommodate his sister. When Serena wanted to play princess, Lucas had to be her prince. But Lucas only wanted to be a superhero. If he refused, Serena would cry, and Lucas would get beaten. The more Serena cried, the more stubborn Lucas got while being beaten. Eventually, Lucas hated even hearing Serena’s name. From that time on, he suspected Serena wasn’t a biological Sterling child. As he put it: “The Sterling family’s genes can’t produce someone with so many scheming tricks.” When I was framed by Serena in my past life, only Lucas stood up for me. However, the Sterling parents knew that Lucas had disliked Serena since childhood, so they didn’t care about his accusations and felt even more sorry for Serena’s position in the family. In my past life, both Lucas and I had a problem with expressing ourselves well, and together, we couldn’t out-manipulate a Serena. Luckily, the situation is different now. Neither I nor Lucas is the same person we used to be. Lucas told me that he had been putting himself through “argument training,” and now he’s Lucas version 2.0. 9 At dinner that night, Serena routinely tried to squeeze in next to Mrs. Sterling, bumping me out of the way, and shooting me a smug look. Before she could even say anything, Lucas slammed his chopsticks down: “Grabbing seats, grabbing positions, grabbing parents. Do you have any manners at all?” “Lucas, how can you talk to Serena like that? We’re having a nice family dinner, why are you losing your temper at your sister?” Mrs. Sterling was a little unhappy hearing this. Lucas pouted, pulled me from across the table, and pressed me against his chest: “My poor sister, you’ve already been harmed so much you can’t even speak, and now someone’s stealing your seat at dinner. I saw it all, you wanted to sit next to Mom so badly your eyes got red.” Serena also felt wronged: “But Brother, I’ve always sat next to Mom.” “Brother, brother, who’s your brother? I’m not playing ‘brother’ to some ill-mannered girl with no blood relation,” Lucas said, pinching my arm hard. I immediately buried my face in his chest and started wailing “Ah-woo-woo-woo-woo.” Mrs. Sterling hadn’t reacted at first, but seeing this, she quickly patted the empty seat on her other side and gently called me over to sit. I was just about to get up when Lucas yanked me back: “We’re not taking this disrespect, little sis. Listen to me, we’re not taking it. You’re already a lost little puppy in the rain, you’re option E, you’re the fifth row, the sixth person, you’re the spare button on a suit. We’re not going to be someone’s Plan B.” These words made Mrs. Sterling feel even more guilty, and Serena felt like she was sitting on pins and needles. Seeing the situation turning in our favor, Lucas wanted to press his advantage. Mr. Sterling slammed his hand on the table at the right moment: “Enough! Let’s just eat!” Although we were eating, Lucas and I were determined to make things uncomfortable for everyone. It was a very tense meal. Whenever Serena tried to suck up to Mr. or Mrs. Sterling by putting food on their plates, Lucas would shove food into my bowl. At the same time, he would sigh heavily: “My poor sister, you suffered so much for someone else before. Now that you’re finally home, eat something good.” Halfway through the meal, Serena’s face was green. Finally, she put down her bowl and chopsticks, looked timidly at Lucas, and asked: “Brother, are you targeting me because of Maya?” After saying that, she lowered her head, her emotions perfectly primed. The sound of sobbing had already begun. But it wasn’t her crying; it was me. Under everyone’s surprised gazes, I wiped my tears while typing: Every extra bite of food I ate in the past, my foster father would beat me. It turns out, having real family feels so good. “Oh, my god! My sister, a true heiress of the Sterling family, didn’t even get to eat good food in the past. You even got beaten up. Look, the daughter of the person who beat you is being raised plump and fair in our house, while you don’t even have an ounce of fat on you!” Lucas hugged me and started wailing again. Serena’s cries caught in her throat, unable to come out. But Mrs. Sterling’s tears started falling again. Seeing that the meal was about to be ruined, Mr. Sterling finally stepped in to smooth things over. The palms and the backs of his hands were both flesh, so he directed his ire at Lucas: “You’re talking too much today. How were you taught before? No talking while eating or sleeping.” “So what if I talk more?!” The reborn Lucas was no longer meek. He stiffened his neck and spoke up to Mr. Sterling, “Maya can’t speak anymore, are we supposed to let her continue suffering in silence? Is it a problem if I express her thoughts for her?” Mr. Sterling was stunned by his words, and only then did he belatedly observe my face. He didn’t seem quite used to the fact that I was mute, always assuming my silence meant default obedience. “Maya, these past few days at home, have your mother and I made you feel wronged?” For the first time, he asked such a question. In my past life, Lucas and I, with our two mouths, couldn’t compete with Serena crying and playing the victim. In this life, with me playing mute, they are actually willing to respect my opinions. I found the scene so absurd I couldn’t help but want to grin, but Lucas whacked me on the head with his chopsticks. I quickly went back to keeping my head down and crying “Woo-woo-woo.” After a long while, Mr. Sterling sighed. I knew he was wavering. 10 Mr. Sterling was different from Mrs. Sterling. In his heart, blood ties were always more important. In my past life, his attitude towards me was ultimately better than towards Serena. It’s just that Serena was, after all, raised and spoiled by him. He couldn’t make decisions easily on some matters, but now Serena’s existence made me—someone who was already owed a debt—feel wronged. In his heart, Mr. Sterling would reconsider whether Serena should stay or go. Serena naturally knew this too, and she couldn’t sit still anymore. Early the next morning, she knocked on my door carrying a pile of designer clothes and bags. She said to me: “Sister, I’m returning everything that took your place. Please don’t take away the love Mom and Dad have for me, okay?” Seeing I didn’t react, Serena got a bit anxious. She took a step closer, lowered her voice, and whispered in my ear: “Maya Sterling, don’t think that just because Lucas is helping you, you’re safe. I can still make it impossible for you to stay in this house.” After saying that, she looked me up and down with a sidelong glance: “Looking so slutty, I wonder if you were ever slept with by that foster father of yours… Ah!” That scream was because she realized my hand was violently digging into her belly button. I’m a mute now; I can’t argue with her verbally. I can only use psychotic behavior to stop her psychotic words. Serena couldn’t handle this kind of crazy. She raised her hand to slap me, but I caught her hand and danced a little circle dance with her. The next second, I grinned and gave her a “hehe” smile. Talk trash, and you’re going to suffer. I messed up my hair, rolled my eyes back, stepped back, jumped up, did a dark crawl on the floor, screamed, shrieked like a monkey, drank some crazy monkey juice, and pounced on her on all fours, violently pulling her hair. I used to fight with my foster father all the time, so I’m pretty muscular. With just a light tug at Serena’s bangs, I ripped out a chunk of hair, exposing a thumb-sized patch of scalp. Tears of pain instantly sprang from Serena’s eyes. She stared at me, still acting like a monkey, with sheer terror. She didn’t even care about framing me; she turned and ran out of the room. When she reached the top of the stairs, I made a flying leap onto her back. Hearing the commotion, Serena turned around and instinctively pushed me. I tumbled down the stairs. And was caught perfectly by Lucas, who was pulling our parents along. I took the opportunity to bury my face in his chest, whimpering a couple of times, and when I looked up, I was once again the picture of weakness, helplessness, and pitifulness. “Serena!” Lucas roared at her, shielding me in his arms. “You are too vicious! Maya has already let you have everything, why won’t you let her go!” Serena stood frozen in place. These were the lines she had originally prepared for herself, but now it was Lucas questioning her. “No… it’s not like that…” Serena stared blankly, trying to defend herself. When her eyes met mine, she became agitated. “It’s her, as soon as I went in, she went crazy on me. Maya is a psycho! She…” “Serena, apologize to your sister!” This time, it wasn’t just Lucas who was angry. Mr. Sterling’s furious roar brought Serena’s almost collapsed sanity back to reality. She really is something, calling someone else’s biological daughter a psycho in their own house. She’s so bold, doesn’t she value her life? Serena trembled violently, and after meeting the disappointed gazes of the Sterling parents, her face turned ashen. That day, Serena didn’t leave the house. She knelt at the top of the stairs all day. In my past life, the person kneeling there was me, who hadn’t been able to hold back from slapping her after being provoked. Late that night, after finishing my homework, I went to the kitchen to heat some milk. Passing by the Sterling parents’ bedroom, I heard them discussing inside. “Serena is not our biological child after all. We provided for her all these years, yet she harbors such hostility towards Maya. It’s really not fair to Maya if this continues.” That was Mr. Sterling’s voice. “Let’s wait a bit longer. She just can’t accept it right now. It’s not her fault she was switched at birth. We watched this child grow up, and my heart aches at the thought of sending her away.” Mrs. Sterling’s voice was a bit choked. I turned around, took my milk, and went straight back to my room. When passing Serena, who was already dozing off by the stairs, I couldn’t resist giving her a swift kick to wake her up. When Serena opened her sleepy eyes and started looking for who kicked her, I was already lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling exasperated, and began to roll my eyes. I rolled one, then another, then another… I rolled them all night long! 11 The next morning, my eyelids were twitching when I looked at anyone. Lucas saw this, his heart ached endlessly, and he grabbed me to start crying: “Oh god, my poor sister, you must have felt so wronged yesterday to cry all night long! Look, your eyelids are twitching from crying. Oh my lord! Who will help this helpless ‘all right’! It’s okay, Mom and Dad won’t avenge you, but your brother’s chest is always here for you.” The Sterling parents’ scalps went numb from his crying, and they quickly finished their breakfast and fled out the door. As soon as they left, Lucas let go. He scarfed down his breakfast in a few bites, scratched the back of my hand, gave me a look, and I understood, sneaking back into the room with him. Lucas asked me what my plans were for the future. I thought about it seriously and told him: “For my 80th birthday, I’m planning to go big, hire fifty male models to do a striptease.” “Who asked you about that far in the future… wait a minute, Maya Sterling, you can speak!” Lucas suddenly got excited. I just remembered I played mute during the day and forgot to tell Lucas. I didn’t expect Lucas to give me a thumbs up the next moment: “Good job, you’re smart now. You’ve grown a brain, even acting in front of your own brother.” After saying that, he placed both hands on my shoulders and said solemnly: “Listen, we have to get Serena out of here, otherwise you’ll be dead.” After that, he sighed deeply, “It’s not easy to get this chance, Maya, don’t get harmed by others again in this life…” In that moment, I saw tears faintly glisten in his eyes. When I took my last breath in my past life, Lucas was still studying abroad. He didn’t make it back in time to see me one last time. I don’t know what happened to him after that. I only know that regardless of the past life or this one, he is the only person in the Sterling family who accepts me without any conditions. I am willing to trust him unconditionally. Even if I go crazy, I’ll take him with me. 12 Lucas said he came back specifically for me this time. For this, he took a half-year leave of absence from his school abroad, determined to guard me at home. When Mr. Sterling found out, he almost beat him to death with the family disciplinary cane. I told Lucas to go back. I am capable of protecting myself now, and his future shouldn’t be delayed because of me. But Lucas said my ability to protect myself is one thing, and his duty as an older brother to protect his younger sister is another. He asked me: “Maya, do you believe in karma?” I was stunned by this question, and before I could answer, he had already changed the subject. “You definitely don’t know this,” Lucas said, rubbing my head vigorously, “The first time I saw you, I knew you were my real sister. I decided to protect you right then and there. The blood connection is just that magical.” At that moment, I had the urge to cry. I thought fate still favored me; despite the hardships, God gave me such a wonderful brother. With Lucas at home, it was really hard for Serena to act like a monster. She couldn’t out-cry Lucas, and she couldn’t play the victim better than me. If she wanted to frame me, Lucas installed twelve cameras outside my door, making it absolutely foolproof. So she could only wait, just like in my past life, for the opportunity that would push me completely into hell. 13 The day before my senior year of high school started, the Sterling parents held a recognition banquet for me. Almost all the wealthy families in South City were invited to the banquet. This meant that Serena’s wealthy second-generation friends would also be there. They grew up together and later attended the same high school. The Sterling parents’ original intention was to let me use this opportunity to familiarize myself with my new classmates. Once I officially transferred to South City No. 1 High School, I could be looked after by them. But these second-generation rich kids, under the guise of building a relationship with me, took me aside and mocked me. Later, I was pushed into the swimming pool by them. My white dress was soaked. When I went upstairs to change clothes, I was dragged into a room and recorded by the second-generation kids ambushing there under Serena’s leadership. Afterward, I reported it to the police, but it was suppressed by the power of these second-generation kids’ parents. The Sterling family’s business was affected by this, and the Sterling parents became increasingly displeased with me. This life’s recognition banquet went on as scheduled. When Serena brought her group of spoiled friends in, I still couldn’t help but hold my breath. Lucas walked over at that moment, put his arm around my shoulder, brought me in front of them, and introduced me. “Lucas, what brings you back?” The leading boy with blond hair greeted casually upon seeing Lucas. His name was Tyler, the sports committee member of Serena’s class. Tyler styled himself as an envoy of justice. Whenever Serena went to complain about me to him, he couldn’t wait to stand up for her. In my past life, he was the one who blackmailed me with the video. After I transferred to South City No. 1 High School, he bullied me time and time again. Verbal isolation, malicious pranks, punches, and kicks. The more fiercely I resisted, the worse they bullied me. It continued until the end, when I secretly brought a knife to school and held it against Tyler’s neck, intending to die with him. They finally stopped. But by that time, my academic record had already been almost completely ruined. Serena ultimately got into a top domestic university and became the pride of the Sterling family. While I could only repeat the year, despised by my parents and teachers. The most ridiculous part was that Tyler later achieved success in his career and actually wrote me an apology letter. He said he was young and ignorant, impulsive, and did things to hurt me, hoping for my forgiveness. I read that letter over and over again. I didn’t see the sincere repentance of an abuser towards a victim. I only felt the urgency of a successful person wanting to erase the only stain on his life. 14 Lucas brought us to the outdoor pool and left. As soon as he was gone, these second-generation kids completely let loose. Tyler stared at me intensely and whistled: “I heard you used to wash dishes for people in the Xin’an district. If us bros forget our wallets when we go out in the future, can we just leave you to wash dishes to pay off the debt?” As his words fell, the group of second-generation kids immediately burst into laughter. They wanted to say more, but under their gaze, I slowly walked up to Tyler. I took off my chunky heels in front of them, the excitement making me unable to hold back from rolling my eyes, my nostrils flaring. I counted down in my head: Three, two, one… Uh-ah… Let the crazy begin! The noise from the main venue isolated the screams from the pool area. By the time Lucas arrived, pulling Serena along, I was straddling Tyler, raising my shoe heel, and fiercely knocking on his head. The other rich second-generation kids were scattered, soaking in the pool. When they saw Lucas, it was like seeing a savior, immediately starting to cry for their parents, their eyes filled with tears of fright. “Serena!” Tyler roared, lying on the floor, “You didn’t say your sister was a monster!” Lucas made too much noise. Before the adults arrived, I threw away the shoe in my hand, whimpered a couple of times, and hid behind Lucas, sobbing. When the rich second-generation kids climbing out of the pool saw my pitiful, weak, and helpless appearance, they couldn’t help but twitch their mouths violently. “Lucas, what are you doing? Let go of your sister quickly!” Mrs. Sterling rushed over from the side, anxiously slapping Lucas’s hand holding Serena. “Let her go?” Lucas surveyed the crowd, speaking coldly, “You want me to let go of this imposter who stole the nest, so she can continue harming my sister?” Upon hearing this, Serena’s face suddenly went pale. Whispering voices erupted in the surrounding crowd. The Sterling family had always claimed to the outside world that Serena and I were twins, but I was accidentally lost when I was young. Serena probably never expected that her fake heiress identity would be exposed in such a way. “What are you talking about?” Mrs. Sterling was slightly taken aback upon hearing this, but still worried about Serena, asking Lucas to let go first. Amidst their pulling and tugging, Mr. Sterling walked straight towards Lucas from the crowd, raised his palm without a word. Seeing that this slap was about to fall on Lucas’s face. The next moment, I stood out from behind Lucas, opening my arms to block in front of him. “Maya, move aside.” Mr. Sterling ordered me in a low voice. “Listen to his explanation.” I mouthed to Mr. Sterling, confronting him silently. In the end, it was still Mr. Sterling who compromised. He took a step back, let someone guide the onlookers back to the main venue, before asking somewhat tiredly: “Tell me, what happened.”

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My husband, an A-list Hollywood actor, and I are a fake, affectionate contract couple. In front of the cameras, he loves me more than life itself, even throwing punches at other men on the red carpet to defend my honor. Behind closed doors, he hates me to the bone, keeping a beautiful young mistress tucked away in a penthouse. He slipped a diamond ring on her finger and called her his “good little wife.” His entourage of bros all respectfully called that girl “Sister-in-law.” I didn’t cry, and I didn’t make a scene. I just silently deleted the old text messages where he swore he would love me forever. We were each other’s first loves, our lives violently tangled together for years. Until I got sick, and piece by piece, began to forget everything about him. That was when he finally panicked. He exhausted his resources to create romantic surprises, trying every possible way to cure me. But all he could do was watch helplessly as I, in my final moments of clarity, fell in love with someone else. 1 In the seventh year of my toxic, love-hate relationship with Asher Montgomery, he met the woman he truly liked. Her name was Lily Thorne, a fresh-faced actress who had just graduated from drama school. She was innocent, adorable, and the way she smiled looked exactly like I did when I was younger. Friends in our circle whispered that Lily was just my stand-in. They said Asher’s obsession with her was just a fleeting novelty, just for fun. After all, Asher and I had a wildly public on-and-off history over the years. Everyone watched as a man that arrogant and proud laughed for me, cried for me, and broke his own unyielding spine for me. Everyone knew he loved me. They thought he couldn’t live without me. I suddenly remembered the night we got back together after a particularly brutal breakup. Asher had torn my designer gown to shreds, relentlessly claiming me in the dark. I melted into a puddle in his arms. In a daze, I heard his lips press against my ear as he coaxed me in a low voice: “My sweet girl, we are going to entangle and torture each other for the rest of our lives.” I genuinely believed Asher Montgomery would never love another woman the way he loved me. Until the third year of our marriage, when our relationship entirely shattered. And right on cue, Lily Thorne appeared. 2 At first, Asher acted like he hated Lily. They were co-stars in a blockbuster movie, playing romantic leads. Lily was a massive fan of Asher. Every time they held hands or hugged for a scene, her face would flush burning red. She couldn’t hide her crush at all. Back then, Asher and I were still on good terms. He would constantly complain to me, saying he hated how starstruck and pathetic Lily acted around him. When Lily wore graphic cartoon tees, Asher called her childish and ridiculous. When Lily wore hot denim shorts, Asher called her tacky and tasteless. Whatever Lily did, Asher found it annoying. But, perhaps even he didn’t realize it, every time he brought up Lily, he was smiling. During our nightly phone calls, his mind started to wander. Most of the time, it was because Lily was “too stupid” and was constantly bothering him with questions about the script. Asher would act disgusted, yet tirelessly stay up late explaining her scenes to her. Before hanging up one night, I asked him, “Tomorrow, can we please not talk about Lily Thorne anymore?” He flashed a wicked grin and asked me, “Is my wife getting jealous?” While teasing me, he pulled up his phone and blocked Lily’s number. Until a few days later, when Lily posted a photo on Instagram: “A passionate kissing scene, two hearts moved. I can’t sleep tonight. I want to talk all night with the person I like!” That night, Asher didn’t come back to our hotel. I called him, but the line was constantly busy. I realized then that this time, Asher was blurring the lines between acting and reality. He had given her his heart. 3 After that night, it was as if Asher suddenly stopped loving me. We entered a cold war. He offered no explanations and made no effort to coax me. For an entire month, we completely ignored each other. Until the day the movie wrapped, and the cast did a live press interview. A reporter asked him, “Now that filming is over, what do you want to do the most?” He unlocked his phone, showed the camera a photo of me wearing an apron and smiling at him, and said tenderly, “Right now, I just miss my wife. I want to eat her home-cooked food.” To some extent, Asher was my Hollywood safety net. If he didn’t love me anymore, I’d just hide my true feelings away, play the obedient wife, and rake in the PR money. That was fine too. That night, I cooked a table full of his favorite dishes. But Asher never came home. I didn’t wait up for him. I went to bed early. In the middle of the night, my phone rang. He sounded drunk, mumbling and whining into the receiver. “Be a good wife, my sweet wife, I miss you so much. Come pick me up and take me home.” He hadn’t called me “wife” in a long time. My eyes stung. I didn’t say a word. In the background, I heard his frat-boy friends cheering: “Who is the A-lister calling? Is it Lily?” They yelled into the phone: “Sister-in-law! Tonight Asher made a wish to be with you forever, till the end of time…” So, Asher had dialed my number by mistake. He meant to call Lily. He called her his good wife, and his brothers called her sister-in-law. He had already seamlessly integrated Lily into his private life. A sudden, splitting migraine hit me. I aggressively hung up the phone, buried myself under the covers, and wrapped them tightly around me. It didn’t matter. I could pretend I didn’t care. My acting had always been flawless. 4 The rumors of my fractured marriage with Asher spread quickly through the industry. Insiders whispered that he had fallen madly in love with Lily. He took her to candlelit dinners, bought her a penthouse in Beverly Hills and a sports car, and occasionally rented out the Santa Monica Pier just to ride the carousel with her. He liked her so much he wanted to give her every beautiful thing in the world. Even the ruby necklace I had been dying for but couldn’t secure at auction was recently bought by Asher. I assumed he was going to gift it to Lily. But one morning, I opened my eyes to see that very necklace resting quietly on my nightstand. Next to it was a note: “Happy Anniversary.” It was Asher’s handwriting. I stared at it in silence, then crumpled the note and threw it into the trash. I couldn’t figure out Asher’s mind anymore, and I didn’t want to try. 5 A few days later, at a private charity gala, I ran into Lily for the first time. The moment she saw me, she smiled. Staring at my necklace, she said in her soft, breathy voice, “Mr. Montgomery bought me a mountain of jewelry a few days ago. I thought this necklace looked a bit old-fashioned, so I told him to give it to you. I knew it! Scarlett, you have a much more mature look than I do, so it suits you perfectly. In the past, Mr. Montgomery said he spoiled me like a child, and I always argued back because I’m already twenty-two. But standing next to you, Scarlett, I suddenly realize I really am just too young.” I froze for a second, suddenly feeling incredibly pathetic. The anniversary gift I had cherished so much was just a hand-me-down that Lily didn’t want. Seeing my expression darken, Lily’s smile grew sweeter. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and continued to show off: “Scarlett, don’t feel embarrassed about taking the necklace. Wear it well. Mr. Montgomery buys me so much stuff I can’t even wear it all. If you see anything else you like, just let me know. You can take whatever you want.” I smiled along with her and asked softly, “As long as I like it, you’ll give it to me?” Lily nodded smugly. I reached out, touched the dazzling diamond earring on her ear, and yanked downward with brutal force. Lily let out a blood-curdling scream. She clutched her ear and bent over as bright red blood seeped through her fingers. I looked down at her with heavy, half-lidded eyes, maintaining my smile. “Thank you for the gift. You have another earring… can I have that one too?” 6 Lily’s pupils trembled violently. She looked terrified of me. Her blood splattered across the marble floor, causing a commotion among the guests. Asher arrived moments later. Seeing the blood on the floor, his expression turned instantly cold and ruthless. He yanked me into his arms, checking me over from head to toe. The concern and panic in his eyes looked so real. Lily lowered her hands, letting the blood drip down her ear and stain her white designer gown. She reached out to grab Asher, whimpering softly, “Mr. Montgomery… it hurts so much…” Asher lifted his arm, dodging her touch, and shot her a freezing, deadly glare. That single look froze Lily in place. She bit her lip, looking utterly humiliated. She didn’t understand. Asher came from a powerful, old-money family. Keeping a mistress for fun was one thing, but making a public spectacle of it at a high-society event was a massive loss of face. In public, Asher could only ever love me. His thumb smoothed over my furrowed brow as he coaxed me gently, “Who upset you?” I didn’t answer, and no one else dared to breathe. Two seconds later, Asher grabbed a crystal vase off the nearest table and smashed it against the floor. He roared, “Are you all fucking deaf?! Who upset my wife? Speak!” The atmosphere was suffocating. Lily clenched her fists and finally broke down, screaming, “It was me! It was me! Everything is my fault, are you happy now, Asher?!” She couldn’t hold it in anymore. Tears rolling down her face, she stared stubbornly at Asher and choked out, “It’s my fault for trying to be friendly with Scarlett and getting hated for it! It’s my fault for falling for someone I shouldn’t have, for risking everything to be with him even if they call me a homewrecker! It’s my fault for being delusional enough to think he actually liked me. It’s my fault for being a total idiot!” She lifted the glass of red wine in her hand and dumped it over her own head. The wine mixed with the blood, completely staining the front of her dress. Crying hysterically, she asked Asher, “Mr. Montgomery, is this enough? Is your beloved wife satisfied now?” Asher’s grip on my shoulders tightened, his fingers digging into my skin. He was probably heartbroken for her. He asked me, “Are you satisfied?” I found it so funny I actually laughed until tears pricked my eyes. I asked Asher, “Pretending to love me must be exhausting, right? Asher, I have a great idea. I can give you a perfectly legitimate reason to go love the woman you actually want. Give me money. I want a massive settlement. And then, we divorce.” Asher’s eyes grew colder and colder. He leaned down, his lips brushing my ear as he spat venomously, “Scarlett, I should have seen clearly long ago. You’re nothing but a gold-digging liar. You betray genuine love, and you’re going to die a miserable death.” I smiled, pushed him away despite the throbbing in my skull, and turned to leave. Asher, you really have a cursed mouth. I hadn’t told you yet. The doctors said there’s a tumor growing in my brain. It will hurt. I will lose my memory. And I might… actually die. 7 Asher was right about one thing. In the beginning, I only agreed to date him for his money. Before him, I had loved another boy with everything I had. Asher knew all of this, yet he still desperately tried to treat me well, forcing his way into my life, taking us from dating to marriage. I still remember the rainy day Asher proposed. We were curled up on the sofa watching a romance movie. He suddenly leaned into my ear and whispered, “Scarlett, just tell me you love me, and I’ll marry you right now. From then on, every cent I make is yours to control.” My heartbeat was deafening. The words “I love you” were right on the tip of my tongue, but I felt a little unsatisfied. Who proposes this casually? So I shook my head, deliberately trying to annoy him. Back then, Asher was shameless and thick-skinned. I have no idea where he pulled out a massive diamond ring from, but he grabbed my hand and shoved it onto my finger. I tried to run, but he grabbed the back of my neck and pinned me into the sofa cushions. He bit my ear and threatened fiercely, “Keep acting stubborn and I’ll strangle you.” That day, Asher’s kiss nearly melted me alive. I surrendered beneath him, repeating it over and over: “Asher, I love you.” Once upon a time, I truly did love you. But it seems you never actually believed me. 8 My illness worsened by the day. I swallowed handfuls of pills, but the headaches were so severe I couldn’t eat or sleep. Soon, I realized I was beginning to forget small details about Asher. My physical condition deteriorated rapidly, and the doctor prescribed even more medication. As I was leaving, he frowned and asked, “Why do you always come to these appointments alone? Where is your family? With an illness like yours, you need the care and support of your family.” But I didn’t have a family. What was I supposed to do? When I was six years old, my mother left me on a busy street corner in Chicago. She told me she was going to buy me cotton candy. She never came back. I thought I would never see my mother again for the rest of my life. Until I ran into Lily Thorne at the hospital. The ear I had ripped was heavily swollen, and she was there to get her bandages changed. The middle-aged woman accompanying her… I almost thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. That woman looked exactly like my mother. I ran toward her uncontrollably, terrifying Lily into stumbling backward. My mother shielded her, shoving me hard and pointing at my nose, screaming, “You little bitch! Are you trying to bully my daughter again?!” She suddenly grabbed my hair and yelled, “If you dare bully my daughter, I’ll beat you to death!” She slapped me across the face. I couldn’t dodge in time. Blood seeped from the corner of my mouth, and my tears fell instantly. My mother didn’t seem to recognize me at all. She had long forgotten me. She had another daughter now. Her daughter was Lily. 9 Actually, when I was thirteen, picking up plastic bottles on the street for recycling money, I had accidentally run into my mom. She was across the street, holding Lily’s hand, laughing and talking, looking incredibly gentle. I used every ounce of my strength to run toward her, screaming, “Mom! Your little honeybee is right here! Mom, don’t go!” She stopped in her tracks, turned around slowly, and looked at me in shock. Lily tugged at her shirt and insulted me: “Mom, it’s a homeless kid. So dirty.” We were both my mother’s children. But she was wearing a beautiful little dress and holding a cute plush teddy bear. And I was wearing ragged clothes and a pair of worn-out, dirty canvas shoes. I envied her so much. I argued in a small voice, “I’m not homeless… I’m your big sister…” I reached out my hand, forcing an ugly smile, and called her: “Little sister.” Lily suddenly burst into tears. She hid behind my mom and screamed, “Mom, chase her away! She’s trying to steal my bear!” My mother finally snapped out of her daze and shoved me violently to the ground. Back then, she acted exactly like she did today. Pointing at my nose and cursing, “Where did this feral stray come from?! You scared my baby! I’ll beat you to death!” No, no, Mom. I’m not a feral stray. I’m your little honeybee too. I’m just the honeybee you threw away. 10 This time, I didn’t cry and scream for my mom like I did when I was thirteen: “Mom, I’m your honeybee.” I shoved her back, just as hard as she had shoved me all those years ago. She took the opportunity to rip off my surgical mask, collapsing to the floor and screaming: “The big movie star is assaulting people! Scarlett Hayes is assaulting people!” Lily froze for two seconds, then suddenly pulled down her own mask, fell to her knees in front of me, and begged, “Scarlett, I know you’ve always hated me. You’re more famous than I am. When you hit me and insult me, I can endure it. But my mother is old. Please, I beg you, don’t make things difficult for her.” Crowds gathered, pulling out their phones to record. Lily was truly putting on the performance of a lifetime. I should have protected my reputation, covered my face, and left immediately. But I couldn’t control myself. I grabbed Lily by the hair. Staring into her eyes, I said coldly, “You really are a filial, wonderful child, little sister.” “Then I won’t hold back. Whatever your mother did to me, I’ll pay it back to you.” I swung my heavy designer bag and smashed it into Lily’s face. Over and over. My heart was in so much agony. If I couldn’t vent it, I probably would have found the roof of this hospital and jumped off. How could simply being alive be so excruciatingly painful? My mother lunged at me, clawing and tearing at me. Perhaps when she finally found out I was the honeybee she threw away, she would never forgive me for this. But that was fine. Mom, if you don’t want your honeybee, then your honeybee doesn’t want you either. 11 The video of me beating Lily quickly went viral online. Netizens flooded my Twitter mentions: “Are you just jealous that Lily is younger and prettier than you? Look at how viciously you hit her face!” “Someone needs to dig up Scarlett’s background. She acts like someone who grew up bullying people. Typical spoiled, malicious rich kid.” “Don’t cry, Lily. I know where Scarlett lives, I’ll go get revenge for you.” I was reading these comments in my apartment’s underground parking garage. I had just parked my car and was preparing to go upstairs. Suddenly, I heard a voice call out: “Excuse me, are you Scarlett Hayes?” I turned around to see a man holding a baseball bat. His eyes were murderous as he swung the bat down toward my head. Before I could react, I was suddenly yanked into a firm embrace. Asher held me tight, and the baseball bat slammed brutally into his back. He spun around, kicked the man to the ground, and roared viciously, “You touch my fucking wife and I’ll kill you!” Asher lost his mind, beating the man half to death without any regard for the consequences. For a fleeting second, I almost forgot we were in the middle of a messy divorce. I foolishly thought he still loved me very, very much. But I had already forgotten what Asher looked like when he actually loved me. 12 Asher hadn’t been home in a long time. He only came to find me because of Lily. The house was a disaster. I suffered from migraines every day and had absolutely no energy to clean. Asher rolled up his sleeves and started cleaning the apartment. He picked up my bra from the sofa, laughing as he scolded me: “Scarlett, you really aren’t cut out to be a wife. You really need to learn how Lily takes care of people. She’s so sweet. How could you bear to hit her? Go apologize to her. She cries every single day, and it breaks my heart to watch.” Right. Because Lily was sweet, her mother loved her. Because Lily was sweet, Asher loved her too. And what about me? Because I wasn’t sweet enough, I deserved to be abandoned by everyone, time and time again? I suddenly felt an intense surge of rage. I grabbed all the clothes Asher had neatly folded and threw them onto the floor. I tilted my head back and screamed at him: “I’d rather you stab me to death than apologize to her!” Asher leaned back against the sofa, yanked me into his lap, and locked his arms around my waist so I couldn’t escape. He laughed and insulted me: “I knew you wouldn’t listen. You were never any good.” He pulled out his phone, made a call, and told the film festival committee to strike my name from the Best Actress nominations for the end of the year. I had been in the industry for ten years. Nominated for Best Actress three times, walked away empty-handed three times. Finally, this year, I was a lock to win. For that award, I had tumbled down a rocky hillside, cracking my forehead open, yet I still refused a stunt double and finished the film. That golden trophy was bought with my blood. I slapped the phone out of Asher’s hand. A tear smashed against my arm as I cursed him: “Don’t be so fucking despicable, Asher!” He was completely unfazed. He rested his chin on my shoulder, smiled, and asked, “Are you going to apologize or not? Think carefully before you answer.” I finally broke down and cried. I screamed at him: “Asher, I’m sick! I can’t ever act again! I will never have another chance to win an award! You love Lily, you want to get revenge for her, so you crush my Achilles heel! But I refuse to let her win! I will never apologize! It’s just an award! I don’t want it!” My face was covered in tears, my heart bursting with a million grievances and nowhere to vent them. I grabbed Asher’s hand and bit down as hard as I could. He furrowed his brows and endured it in silence. When I was done crying and looked up, Asher’s eyes were red too. He cupped my face and said softly, “Scarlett, rather than saying I love Lily, it’s more accurate to say I hate you. I used to be madly in love with you, but you only ever loved my money. You scammed my money to fund another man. You’re really something. But if I’m blaming anyone, I blame myself for being pathetic. Even knowing you’re a master at playing the victim, I still fell for it. I still went soft. Stop crying. It’s just a trophy. I’ll give it to her.” He pulled me into his arms and kissed my ear. Like he was making a final farewell, he said slowly, “Scarlett, this is the last time I’m ever going to be good to you.” But this time, Asher lied to me.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “436716”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On the night of my eighteenth birthday, I dragged myself home after a grueling closing shift at the local diner. My feet ached, my uniform smelled faintly of stale coffee and bleach, and the midnight air bit through my thin jacket. That was when I saw it. Sitting in the illuminated display case of the corner bakery was a single strawberry cake. A small, handwritten cardboard sign leaned against the glass: Clearance. 50% Off. I stopped. I stood on the sidewalk for a long time, the neon light washing over my reflection in the window. I thought about last month. It had been my older sister Penny’s birthday. My parents had rented out the entire back room of a high-end restaurant, inviting twenty of her college friends. They had bought a massive, three-tiered custom cake with gold leaf detailing. But today was my birthday, and my phone was a black, silent mirror. Not a single text. Not a single notification. I pushed open the bakery door, a little bell jingling overhead. I asked the woman behind the counter for the price. Even at half off, it was eight dollars. I pulled out my phone and checked my bank app. Available balance: six dollars and thirty cents. A heavy, familiar knot tightened in my throat. I shoved the phone back into my pocket, forced a polite smile, and turned toward the door. “Hold on, sweetheart,” the owner called out from behind the register. “Who’s the cake for?” I paused, looking back at her kind, tired eyes. “For me,” I said softly. “It’s my birthday.” She blinked, surprised, then reached into the case. She boxed up the strawberry cake, walked around the counter, and pressed the white cardboard box directly into my hands. “Just give me a dollar,” she said. “Happy birthday.” My fingers curled tight around the flimsy string handle. The sudden, sharp sting of tears rushed to the back of my nose. I ducked my head quickly, tapped my debit card against the reader to pay the dollar, and hurried out into the night. When I finally walked through the front door of my house, my mother was waiting in the kitchen. Her eyes immediately locked onto the bakery box. She snatched it right out of my hands, slamming it down onto the kitchen island. “You barely make minimum wage and you’re already learning how to blow it?” she snapped. “The owner only charged me a dollar,” I whispered, stepping back. She didn’t care. She grabbed my upper arm, her nails digging into my skin, and began pulling me toward the front door. “A dollar is still a dollar,” she hissed. “You’re taking it back. Get your money.” … I dropped my weight, planting my sneakers hard against the floorboards, fighting her grip. “It’s my birthday today! I just wanted a piece of cake. Is that really a crime?” My mother stopped dragging me. She turned around, her eyes narrowing into cold, hard slits. “If you wanted a cake, why didn’t you ask me? Why are you sneaking around wasting money?” My eyes burned. My voice shook so hard it barely sounded like my own. “If I asked you, would you have bought me one?” “No.” The answer came instantly. Brutal and clean. “Cake is nothing but sugar. It’s bad for you.” My fingernails bit into my palms. “You bought Penny a three-tier cake for her birthday!” She yanked my arm so hard my shoulder popped. “You and your sister are not the same!” she yelled. “She grew up with a certain lifestyle before her parents died! When we took her in, I had to keep things normal for her. If I treat her strictly, the rest of the family will gossip and say I’m an evil aunt!” She leaned in closer, her breath hot on my face. “But you are my biological daughter. I won’t let you develop those spoiled habits. I am raising you right.” She dragged me out the door and marched me down the block. By the time we reached the corner, the bakery’s security gate was pulled halfway down. A teenager in an apron was mopping the floor. My mother ducked under the metal grate, marched up to the counter, and slammed the cake box down. “Refund,” she demanded. The teenager froze. He looked at the box, then looked at me standing behind her. His brow furrowed. “Ma’am, that’s a clearance item. Discounted goods are final sale.” My mother’s voice hit a shrill, piercing pitch. “The box isn’t even opened! What do you mean, final sale?!” “We explain that to every customer before they buy it,” the clerk said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Once it leaves the store, we can’t take it back.” My mother let out a sharp, ugly laugh. “Oh, spare me! You just saw a kid and realized you could take advantage of her!” “Ma’am, please be reasonable.” The clerk was losing his patience. “We’re closing. If you return it, it just goes in the trash. And we only charged her a single dollar!” That was the exact wrong thing to say. My mother seized on it instantly. “Oh! So you admit you were going to throw it away! You sold my daughter actual garbage? You’re scamming a minor!” The shouting escalated. People walking down the street began to slow down. They clustered outside the window, peering into the bakery. They pointed. They whispered. I stood paralyzed under the harsh, bright fluorescent lights of the bakery. My face was burning, radiating a heat so intense I felt dizzy. The back door of the kitchen swung open, and the owner stepped out. She listened to her employee’s frustrated explanation, then she looked at me. I kept my head bowed, staring at the floorboards as tears finally spilled over, splashing silently onto the toes of my sneakers. Without a word, the owner turned to the register, popped the drawer, and pulled out a one-dollar bill. She slid it across the counter. My mother snatched it up like a starving animal. Then, the owner picked up the cake box by its string handle. She walked around my mother, came straight up to me, and gently pressed it back into my hands. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it,” she said softly, offering me a warm, heartbreaking smile. “Birthdays are supposed to be happy.” Before I could even open my mouth to thank her, my mother ripped the box out of my hands. “Thanks for the cake, then! Have a great night!” she said, entirely unashamed. She gripped my arm and marched us back home. The second we walked inside, my mother’s foul mood evaporated into a bubbly, frantic energy. She tore the box open. She cut the largest, most perfect slice of the strawberry cake and placed it on a porcelain plate. Then, she pulled a shopping bag from the hall closet. Inside was a sleek, brand-new Macbook box. I knew exactly what it was. I had looked it up online a few days ago—it cost over fifteen hundred dollars. For a brief, foolish moment earlier that week, I had dared to imagine it was a graduation gift for me. Or perhaps a surprise for my eighteenth birthday. With the cake in one hand and the laptop box tucked under her arm, my mother walked straight past me and knocked on Penny’s bedroom door. “Penny, honey! Look what Mom brought you! Come have a bite of cake!” “And look at this laptop! Didn’t you say your old one was getting slow? Do you like it?” From inside the room, Penny’s voice drifted out, laced with a sleepy, exaggerated whine. “Why are you bringing this to me now? I’m already in bed.” “I know, baby, I’m sorry. Your sister held me up. Just take one little bite, then you can go back to sleep.” I stood alone in the center of the dark living room. My mouth tasted like salt and ashes. For three months that summer, I lived in a blur of exhaustion. I made lattes and wiped down tables from sunrise to mid-afternoon. On my breaks, I handed out flyers for a local gym on the scorching pavement. At night, I washed dishes at a busy diner until the skin on my hands was raw and peeling. Three days before my freshman year of college was set to begin, I took every crumpled bill and bank envelope I had earned and spread them out on my bed. I counted it three times. Exactly six thousand dollars. State university tuition was eight thousand. I was two grand short, but it was enough to cover the bulk of it. I clutched the stack of bills to my chest and went to find my mother. She was lounging on the sofa, scrolling through her phone, the television blaring in the background. When I told her I was two thousand dollars short for tuition, she finally looked up. “How much did you make?” She held out her hand. “Let me see it.” I didn’t think twice. I handed her the thick stack of cash. She sat up straight, licked her thumb, and began counting. Bill by bill. “Six thousand exactly.” When she finished, she smiled, folded the money in half, and shoved it deep into her sweatpants pocket. Panic seized my chest. I lunged forward, grabbing her arm. “Mom! That’s my tuition!” Smack. She slapped my hand away. “Stop screaming. Are you crazy?” “That is my money!” I yelled, my voice cracking, bordering on hysterical. My mother sneered. “Your money? You live under my roof. You eat my food. Consider this your rent and grocery bill for the last few months.” “As for your tuition, don’t they have those federal student loans? FAFSA or whatever? Go figure it out yourself.” I stared at her, the room tilting slightly on its axis. “You want me to take out debt to go to school?” “Exactly. You kids today have it too easy. You need some pressure in your life.” She poked me hard in the center of my forehead with her index finger. “Otherwise, you’ll go off to college, completely out of my sight, and start blowing money like it grows on trees. If you have to pay back your own loans, you’ll actually learn the value of a dollar.” A deep, bone-chilling cold washed over me. The words to fight back lodged like glass in my throat. The door down the hall clicked open. Penny wandered out in silk pajamas, yawning delicately into her hand. “Mom, what’s going on? You guys are so loud, I can’t sleep.” My mother’s entire demeanor shifted instantly. She rushed over, her face softening into a doting smile, and smoothed Penny’s hair. “Oh, did we wake my precious girl?” Without missing a beat, my mother reached into her pocket, pulled out the six thousand dollars I had bled for all summer, and pressed it into Penny’s hands. “Here, honey. Some extra spending money for the semester.” “You’re leaving for the sorority house soon. I don’t want you struggling out there. Buy whatever you want, clothes, makeup. If you run out, you just call Mom and I’ll send more.” Penny held the wad of cash, feigning a modest retreat. “Oh, no, I couldn’t. This is way too much.” “Take it! A girl needs to be treated well so she doesn’t settle for less later. I won’t have those rich sorority girls looking down on you!” Penny giggled, a bright, chiming sound, and linked her arm through my mother’s. “Thanks, Mom. You’re the best.” My mother patted Penny’s hand gently. “Go back to sleep, sweetie.” We both waited in silence until Penny’s bedroom door clicked shut. The moment it did, my mother turned back to me, her face drooping into a scowl. She waved her hand at me as if swatting away a fly. “What are you still standing here for? Go to your room. I’m sick of looking at you.” “I have to take out loans for tuition,” I said, my teeth clenched so hard my jaw ached. “But what about my living expenses?” Her eyebrows shot up. “Living expenses?” “You’re going to college, not a spa. You have plenty of free time. Get a part-time job. Other kids work their way through school to feed themselves. What makes you so special?” She shoved me hard toward the hallway and slammed my bedroom door shut in my face. The lock clicked. I slid down the cheap wood of the door until I hit the carpet. I sat there in the dark, pulling my knees to my chest, as the heavy, jagged tears finally spilled over. I wiped the wetness from my phone screen and opened my messages. My hands were shaking so violently I kept hitting the wrong keys. I typed out everything that had happened to my father. I hit send. Then I stared at the dark screen. Ten minutes later, the phone buzzed in my hand. My dad was calling. I answered, a desperate, pathetic sob escaping my throat. “Dad… my tuition…” “Enough with the crying! It’s the middle of the night, give it a rest!” His voice was a booming roar through the receiver. “So your mother took a few grand. Is that really worth this endless complaining?” “Kids these days,” he muttered, the volume rising. “You’ve never suffered a day in your life. You are entirely too selfish!” My chest squeezed tight, a physical pressure making it hard to breathe. “I’m selfish? But Penny isn’t?” “Don’t you dare compare yourself to Penny!” he bellowed. “How many times do I have to tell you? She is not our biological child! We took her in. We have a duty to treat her well so people know we’re good people!” I bit down on the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood. Metallic and sharp. “Your mother is making you take out loans and work because she wants to build your character! Instead of being grateful, you’re sneaking around behind her back complaining to me. You are an ungrateful brat.” Click. The line went dead. I gripped the phone, my body rigid, and fell sideways onto my mattress. A moment later, the screen lit up again. Notifications from the extended family Facebook group. A flurry of audio messages. All from my mother. I tapped the first one. “Oh, my youngest is just so mature. She’s heading off to college soon, and she absolutely refused to let us pay! She insisted on taking out student loans.” “She won’t even let me send her grocery money. She says she wants to work part-time and be totally independent!” “I swear, this girl has always been so tough. Not spoiled at all.” The second audio message loaded. “As a mother, my heart aches, of course. But I have to support her independence.” The group was quiet for a few seconds, then the replies flooded in. Aunt Linda: “Wow, you are so blessed! What college kid these days doesn’t bleed their parents dry?” Uncle Dave: “Exactly! This just proves what a great parent you are. You raised such a sensible girl.” My mother sent a blushing smiley-face emoji. “Well, I was always very strict with her. It’s nice to see my hard work pay off. Kids need to learn to eat bitter. We parents can’t be too soft!” I lay awake staring at the ceiling until the sun came up, my eyes dry and burning. The next morning, the doorbell rang. I walked out to answer it. Uncle Mark strode into the entryway, a heavy black messenger bag slung over his shoulder. “Hey, Uncle Mark,” I managed to say, my voice raspy. He took one look at my swollen, red-rimmed eyes, and his jaw tightened. He unshouldered the bag and held it out to me. “Kiddo, you’re going to college. Your uncle isn’t a rich man, but I got you this laptop. You’re gonna need it for your papers.” My mother, who had walked into the room, immediately changed color. “Mark, what are you doing spending that kind of money?” she said, stepping between us. “She’s just starting out, she doesn’t need anything that nice.” She reached out, trying to take the bag from him. Uncle Mark swatted her hand away effortlessly. He shoved the bag firmly against my chest. “I didn’t buy it for you,” he snapped at her. “I bought it for my niece. It’s a graduation gift.” My mother’s face flushed an ugly, dark red. “Mark! You…” “Save it. I don’t want to hear it.” He turned his back to her. “Take it to your room, kid. Make sure it turns on.” My mother stamped her foot in pure frustration, but she didn’t dare physically stop him. Once we were in my bedroom, Uncle Mark shut the door and locked it behind him. He pulled out his phone, tapped the screen a few times, and put it away. A second later, my phone vibrated. I looked down. It was a Zelle notification. Fifteen thousand dollars. I stopped breathing. I looked up at him, bewildered. “Uncle Mark… what is this?” He lowered his voice, his expression a chaotic mix of deep anger and profound heartbreak. “Student loans? Working for your dinner? Bullshit,” he swore under his breath. “I saw her grandstanding in the family group chat last night. I know my sister. I knew immediately she was pulling some sick stunt.” “Your tuition, your housing, your food. I’ve got it covered.” I shook my head frantically, trying to hand him the phone back. “Uncle Mark, I can’t. I can’t take this. It’s too much.” He wrapped his large, calloused hands around mine, forcing me to hold the phone. “When I tell you to take it, you take it. Don’t argue with me.” He leaned in closer. “And listen to me. Do not tell your mother about this. Put it in a separate account. And keep an eye out for Penny… she’s got her own agenda. You protect yourself.” The dam broke. The tears I had held back all morning rushed out, hot and fast. Uncle Mark pulled me into a hug, patting the back of my head. “Why are you crying? You’re going to college. You eat well, you study hard. If you run out of money, you call me.” He sighed, a heavy, tired sound. “Your parents are out of their minds, but I see exactly what’s happening.” After he left, I spent the afternoon packing my clothes into two duffel bags. I walked out to the living room, my backpack strapped tight across my chest. “I’m heading to campus early to figure out the loan office and get settled,” I told my mother. She didn’t look up from her TikTok feed. “Go. Try not to be stupid. If you get scammed out there, don’t expect us to bail you out.” I opened the front door and walked out. I never looked back. Once I got to the university, I registered for my classes and paid my housing deposit. Then, I wired the rest of the money right back to Uncle Mark. He called me immediately, ready to blow a gasket, but I cut him off before he could yell. “Uncle Mark, you have your own mortgage and your own family to take care of. I can’t take your savings.” “Consider the laptop a loan. I’ll pay you back. But I’m going to earn my own way.” I hung up. I signed up for DoorDash that same afternoon. Between classes, I lived on my bicycle, navigating the city streets with a massive thermal bag on my back. Through freezing rain and blistering sun, from dawn until midnight. While my roommates were binge-watching Netflix or going to frat parties, I was sprinting up six flights of stairs in elevator-less apartment buildings to deliver cold tacos. It was an exhausting, lonely life, but it belonged to me. I had momentum. Until the night of the storm. The rain was coming down in blinding sheets. A black SUV blew through a red light and hit me dead on. I was thrown over the hood, launched into the air, and hit the asphalt. Everything went black.

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After my husband’s first love returned, I saw his answer to a question on Reddit: “What is it like to marry someone you don’t love?” He wrote that he didn’t love his wife. Even though she gave him her whole heart and took perfect care of their home, his mind was still constantly on his ex-girlfriend. He knew it wasn’t right, but he couldn’t help it. Someone in the comments asked: “You didn’t even use a throwaway account. Aren’t you afraid your wife will see this and divorce you?” He replied: “No, she can’t live without me.” What he didn’t expect was that the very next day, I left the divorce papers on his nightstand and quietly walked out of his life. 1 After Sarah Davis came back, I discovered Liam’s answer on Reddit. What is it like to marry someone you don’t love? He didn’t use a throwaway account, and his profile picture was still a photo of Sarah’s back. “I guess it feels like life is just a pool of stagnant water.” “I don’t love my wife. After my first love and I broke up, my family pressured me to get married quickly. I was heartbroken then, and I felt like as long as it wasn’t her, marrying anyone else would be exactly the same.” “It just so happened that my wife had always liked me. We’d known each other for a long time, we knew each other’s backgrounds well, so I proposed to her.” “I still remember how she cried tears of joy that day, constantly asking me if she was dreaming. Honestly, I felt pretty guilty. All these years, she’s been completely devoted to me, taking perfect care of everything at home, big or small.” My fingers trembled slightly as I continued to scroll down. He wrote: “But I don’t love her. All these years, I’ve always had my first love in my heart.” “I know it makes me a jerk, and I’ve tried to love her, but I really just can’t.” Someone commented below: “You didn’t even use a throwaway. Aren’t you afraid your wife will see this and divorce you?” His tone was as confident as ever: “She won’t. She can’t live without me.” It felt like a thorn that had been buried in my heart for years. Its sharp edges had been worn smooth by my own flesh and blood, so it didn’t pierce me with that sharp, stabbing pain like it used to. But there was still a constant, dull ache that I couldn’t ignore. I let out a bitter laugh. Look how well he knows me. Even at this point, he knew I couldn’t live without him. 2 That night, Liam acted exactly the same as always. We were like a couple strictly adhering to the formalities of marriage. He praised the dinner I made with the enthusiasm of completing a routine task, then got into bed, turned his back to me, and started looking at his phone. A king-size bed isn’t that big, but with our backs to each other, it felt like there was a vast, uncrossable chasm between us. I suddenly remembered the day he proposed to me. He thought I was crying tears of joy, but he didn’t know that at that moment, my heart was filled with nothing but sorrow. He and Sarah Davis were together for a full seven years, from seventeen to twenty-four. They shared the best years of their lives, watching each other grow from awkward teenagers into adults. After graduating from college, Sarah wanted to pursue a master’s degree abroad and got an offer from her dream university in London. But Liam’s father was severely ill at the time, and he was required to take over the family business and stay in the US. Long-distance relationships rarely have good endings. They tried to make it work at first, but the distance and time difference bred countless problems, leaving them with less and less time to communicate. Coupled with the fact that Liam had just taken over the company and was working himself to the bone every day, Sarah, alone in a foreign country, realized that whenever she needed him, he was never there. The arguments grew more frequent. Finally, during a fight a year later, the conflict completely exploded, and Sarah impulsively broke up with him. Things could have been salvaged then. But both of them were used to being the best in their circles, proud and stubborn, and neither was willing to bow their head. Liam’s father had just passed away, and he was consumed by grief, unable to deal with the breakup properly. In the end, they drifted further and further apart. But I knew he never let go of Sarah in his heart. Actually, when he proposed to me, I knew he didn’t love me. He was just overwhelmed and confused, wanting to find someone to get the whole marriage thing over with. I happened to be the best candidate on paper, so he carelessly chose me. I understood all of this. But the saddest part was that even knowing all this, when he casually presented a ring his secretary had bought to propose, I still couldn’t resist saying yes. I cried so much that day I couldn’t even wipe the tears away fast enough. He thought I was crying from happiness, but in reality, I was just heartbroken. Heartbroken because I knew he didn’t love me. But I could only love him. 3 I don’t know if it was intentional or a coincidence, but right after Sarah returned, the class president organized a college reunion. After three years, Sarah was even more beautiful than before. Wearing a Morandi-colored long dress, her long hair cascading down like seaweed, she looked effortless and elegant. But from the moment he walked through the door, Liam didn’t spare her a single glance. Instead, he attentively sat next to me and served me food. At home, he had never peeled a shrimp for me, but now he thoughtfully placed a peeled shrimp in my bowl, smiling gently: “Eat some more.” Across the table, Sarah paused, the smile slowly fading from her face. I suddenly found it all a bit ridiculous. In this play that seemed to feature three people, they were the lead actors pouring their hearts into the performance, while I was just the ugly clown, unqualified to even be on stage, watching coldly from the sidelines. After a few rounds of drinks, a balding male classmate who had had a bit too much laughed drunkenly at Sarah: “Sarah, how come you’re even prettier than before? Do you have a boyfriend now? If not, would you consider me?” In my peripheral vision, I saw Liam stiffen. Sarah smiled: “I don’t, but I don’t think we’re a good match.” “Why aren’t we a good match?” The balding guy, feeling humiliated by the rejection, started spouting nonsense. “Are you still thinking about Liam, planning to save yourself for him?” “He’s already married! Let me tell you, it’s not easy for a woman to find a guy after twenty-five. Do you still think you’re some fairy princess?” Sarah’s smile faltered: “You’ve had too much to drink.” Another female classmate, who clearly loved drama, pulled out her phone: “Who knows, maybe the feeling is mutual. When I was scrolling through Reddit the other day, I saw Liam answered a question about what it’s like to marry someone you don’t love.” “Sarah, the photo he used is of you and Liam, right? You still have that photo on your Instagram!” Hearing there was drama, all the classmates pulled out their phones. “Where is it?” Even Sarah, when she saw the answer, looked at Liam with a complex expression, her eyes welling up slightly. Liam stared back at her. My whole body went cold, and I started trembling almost uncontrollably. Under the watchful eyes of everyone, they all knew that the woman my husband loved was actually someone else. In that instant, I felt as if I had been stripped naked and paraded through the streets. I desperately wanted to stand up and run away! After a long time, Liam finally spoke. His voice sounded normal, but if you listened closely, you could detect a slight tremor: “I was just writing nonsense. My wife and I are doing great. Let’s eat.” The classmates nodded and put their phones away, but for the rest of the meal, I could feel countless eyes resting on me. The only things directed at me were pity and mockery. That was probably the most difficult meal I’ve ever eaten in my life. As the gathering was winding down, Liam threw out a quick “I’m going to the restroom” and stood up to leave. Not long after, Sarah also went out. Quite a few people looked at me, intentionally or not. I didn’t know what I was feeling anymore. I could only pretend nothing had happened and mechanically continue to eat with my head down. After the dinner, all the classmates left. I waited for a long time, but Liam didn’t return, so I got up to leave. But as I walked through the hallway, I suddenly heard Sarah’s tearful voice. I looked over from the shadows. I saw Sarah hugging Liam from behind, crying: “But you clearly still have me in your heart!” Liam frowned: “You’re overthinking it. I’m already married.” Sarah, in tears, said: “Then why don’t you dare look back at me?” “What did your answer say? Liam, you clearly don’t love her!” She sobbed softly: “I know it’s not right, but we were together first.” “If it weren’t for her, maybe we would have made up a long time ago… Liam, I came back just for you. I was immature before, let’s start over, okay?” Liam’s body was rigid, his expression obscured by the shadows. After a long time, he turned around inch by inch and pulled Sarah into a tight embrace. The two of them kissed almost frantically in the deserted hallway, as if trying to release all the suppressed emotions of the past few years! And I just watched silently from the side, letting the blade tear my heart to shreds. I don’t know why, but even though they were the ones being intimate, I was the one who fled in a panic. When I finally ran under a dim streetlamp and touched my face, I realized that at some point, my face had become covered in a damp, icy wetness. 4 That night, Liam came home very late. He seemed to want to explain something to me. He opened his mouth, then closed it, not knowing what to say. I smiled like I usually did: “Get some rest first, we can talk later.” He relaxed his furrowed brow, as if relieved of a heavy burden. When I grabbed a blanket and headed to the guest bedroom, he only paused for a moment and didn’t try to stop me. Late at night, I opened Reddit. There were a lot more comments under Liam’s answer, probably all from the classmates who were at the dinner tonight. And his reply remained that same sentence: “She won’t. She can’t live without me.” The night sky outside the window cast shifting shadows through the fog, and the sheer curtains billowed in the wind. I sat up and pulled a divorce agreement from the drawer. Over the years, even though Liam didn’t love me, he could still be considered a good husband. He handed over all his salary and dividends to me. Actually, over the past year, he had started to change slowly. He would kiss me before leaving the house, and he would nuzzle against me during intimate moments before bed, softly calling my nickname. When I couldn’t sleep because of cramps, he would rub his hands together to warm them and then massage my stomach. There were several times I woke up in the middle of the night and found him nodding off from exhaustion, but his hands never stopped moving. At those times, I thought he was going to fall in love with me. But when Sarah came back, I realized that it was all just an illusion. I divided the money I had saved over the years into two equal halves, signed the divorce agreement, quietly placed it on the coffee table, and then, dragging my suitcase, I gently closed the door and left. Then, I left a reply under Liam’s answer: “No, she will leave too.” 5 Liam didn’t call me until the afternoon of the next day. He had probably been busy tangled up with Sarah and only just saw the divorce agreement I left behind. “What is the meaning of this?” Liam demanded, suppressing his anger. “Mia, are you asking me for a divorce?” I stayed silent for a moment, then said softly, “Yes. Sign the agreement, and let me know when you have time so we can go finalize the paperwork.” “Don’t worry, I didn’t take any more than what’s mine. The house and the car are yours, but—” I didn’t get to finish before Liam angrily cut me off: “That’s enough! Is it really necessary to go this far just because of what happened last night?” His voice carried a hint of mockery: “Aren’t you just mad that I wrote that answer? Yes, I wrote it, and it was wrong of me, but haven’t I told you that I hate being threatened? If you think this will—” “I know,” I interrupted him, not waiting for him to finish. “That’s why I’m serious.” “Liam,” I fought back the stinging sensation in my nose, “I saw you two in the hallway last night.” Liam choked, completely speechless. He grew anxious and tried to explain: “No, it’s not like that, listen to me—” My voice broke: “Liam, what exactly was going through your mind when you wrote that answer? When you were trampling on my feelings, were you standing on the sidelines watching me like a joke, thinking I was an absolute idiot?” “Is loving you really that worthless in your eyes?” For once, Liam actually panicked. He stammered out a few sentences: “I didn’t mean it like that. I was just drunk that day and wrote some nonsense. Mia, please don’t overthink this!” Overthink? I pulled a bitter smile. He had already spelled it out so clearly, what room was there left for me to “overthink”? I tilted my head up to stop the tears from falling. “Liam, let’s get a divorce!” … During that phone call, Liam stubbornly refused to divorce me. He just told me to think about it some more. I didn’t care. If it came down to it, I would just file a lawsuit. The worst-case scenario was living apart for the required time before the court would grant it. It just meant enduring a bit longer. I could tolerate him not loving me, but I couldn’t tolerate him trampling on my feelings so callously. Perhaps it was a case of “when it rains, it pours.” A few days later, while I was leaving work, a sudden torrential downpour started. Visibility was terrible, the car in front of me suddenly braked, and the Uber I was in rear-ended it hard. My lower abdomen slammed violently into the metal corner of the laptop I was holding, and my forehead hit the window. The pain was so intense my vision went black, and my ears instantly started ringing! After being rushed to the hospital and examined, the doctor frowned slightly: “Why weren’t you more careful when you’re pregnant? You already had signs of a threatened miscarriage, and you almost lost the baby!” I was stunned. A baby? Seeing my reaction, the doctor looked puzzled: “Don’t tell me you didn’t know you were pregnant?” I nodded, dazedly touching my lower abdomen. It was flat, with no sign of movement. I couldn’t imagine that a tiny life, connected to me by blood, was already growing in there. My mind was a tangled mess, and I bit my lip. What a… twisted fate. In all the years I was with Liam, I had wanted a child so badly. Back then, I always felt a child could tie his heart to me. Because I pestered him about it constantly, he even scolded me: “Do you have no shame at all?!” Even so, I never managed to get pregnant. I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. Now that we were getting a divorce, it had shown up at the most inopportune time. The wound on my head was throbbing, and I felt a bit nauseous. The doctor checked again and said, “We can’t rule out a concussion. You need to be admitted for observation. By the way, in your condition, you still need someone to look after you. Have your family member go pay the bill when they arrive.” I pursed my lips. After some thought, I sent a text to Liam. When he didn’t reply, I called him. It was pretty embarrassing. I had just boldly declared I wanted a divorce, and now I was calling him right away. But I had moved far away to marry him. I didn’t have any relatives or close friends in this city. He was the only one I could call. The phone rang for a long time before it connected. I could hear faint music and voices in the background. I fought through the headache and said hoarsely: “Liam, can you come be with me? I’m at the hospital. I was in a car accident.” Liam mocked me coldly: “Mia, can’t you make up a decent excuse?” “I didn’t—” He cut me off: “Weren’t you acting all tough yesterday, screaming about getting a divorce? What, regretting it already?” I heard Sarah’s voice from his end: “Liam, come here!” Before hanging up, Liam left me with a sneer: “Mia, I really look down on you.” Then came the cold, electronic dial tone. I stared blankly at my phone, feeling like my heart had stopped beating. The headache and stomach pain slowly faded away. The only thing I could feel was the delayed, dull ache in my heart. The doctor continued: “You’ll need a progesterone shot soon. The pregnancy wasn’t very stable to begin with, and if this continues, it’ll be hard to keep the baby. You—” I looked up and said numbly, “There’s no need. This baby… I don’t want it.” “You want to abort it?” After a moment’s pause, I nodded. The tip of my tongue felt bitter and numb, but I still managed to force the words out: “Yes, I want to abort this baby.” 6 Because my condition wasn’t good on the first day, the doctor scheduled the procedure for the next day. Before the surgery, I opened my phone and saw a post Sarah had made on Instagram. In the revolving restaurant at the top of the TV tower, she was making a wish in front of a cake. Liam was looking at her tenderly from the side, his face full of smiles. The caption read: “May you be by my side every year from now on.” A sharp cramp shot through my lower abdomen, and the pain quickly spread through my entire body. I couldn’t help but curl up slightly, gripping the railing of the hospital bed. No wonder he refused to come see me. It turned out he was busy celebrating Sarah’s birthday. The birthday of the woman he loved was, of course, far more important than his unloved wife. The doctor walked over: “You still need to sign the consent form. Is your family member not here yet?” My eyes felt dry. They stung terribly, but I couldn’t shed a single tear. I suppose I had already cried all my tears. I opened my mouth: “I don’t have any family.” “Doctor, I’ll sign it myself.” … An abortion isn’t considered major surgery. Under anesthesia, I didn’t feel a thing. Even after getting off the operating table, I didn’t feel much discomfort. I just felt incredibly empty, as if a part of my body had vanished. Between the car accident and the miscarriage, I took half a month off work to recover at home. Once I was feeling a bit better, I went downstairs to buy some food I liked and cooked for myself at home to pass the time. I had to find things to do, otherwise the emptiness would swallow me whole. I went to a supermarket I used to frequent, but while I was picking out beef, I heard a grating voice from behind me: “Isn’t that Mia? You’re actually grocery shopping?” I turned around. Sarah was holding onto Liam’s arm, smirking and asking a question she already knew the answer to. “Why are you alone?” I didn’t want to say a single word to her. I turned and prepared to leave. But my wrist was grabbed tightly. Liam looked at the bandage on my leg, his brow furrowed deeply: “You’re injured?” I mocked him: “It’s only been a few days and you already forgot? Mr. Sterling, you’re quite young to be suffering from dementia, aren’t you?” “That day—” Liam seemed momentarily stunned, “I thought you were lying to me.” I laughed: “Mr. Sterling was too busy celebrating someone else’s birthday, of course you didn’t have time to come over. But since we’re getting a divorce anyway, you’re free to be with whoever you want. It’s none of my business.” Liam’s brow tightened, and he looked at me in astonishment. I had never spoken to him like this before. However, perhaps feeling guilty, he patiently tried to explain: “No, that day—” I watched him grab my hand, and violently shook him off! “Get lost!” I said coldly. “Liam, just hearing you speak makes me sick!” I didn’t want to look at his face anymore, which only caused me pain, and I turned to leave. Liam stared at me in shock from behind, the words he was about to say ultimately left unspoken. When I got home that evening, I received a WeChat message from Liam. He hadn’t messaged me in a very long time. Scrolling up, the chat history was almost entirely messages I had sent. “Are you coming home for dinner tonight? I made your favorite sweet and sour pork~” “I saw a really pretty stray cat on the street today, its eyes look a bit like yours, hahahaha [Image].” … The very last message was the one I sent from the hospital that day: “I was in a car accident, can you come be with me?” He never replied. Leaving me alone, foolishly performing a one-woman show. Today, he had broken his usual pattern and messaged me. Liam explained: “Sarah said she didn’t have anyone to celebrate her birthday with since she just got back to the country, so she asked me to go. There’s nothing going on between us, don’t misunderstand.” I don’t know what got into him, but for the first time, he actually yielded to me. “It was my fault I didn’t go to the hospital to be with you that day. It won’t happen again.” I suddenly found it utterly laughable. Being with Liam, it seemed everything I did was wrong. I wasn’t the right person, the timing was wrong, everything was wrong. When I desperately wanted a baby, I couldn’t get pregnant. But when we were about to divorce, it arrived, and the only option was to abort it. I waited so long for his explanation, and when it never came, I no longer needed it. Yet now, he was throwing himself at me. How absurd. It seems we were never meant to be. Before, I forced it, and now I was finally tasting the bitter fruit of my own stubbornness.

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On the day of our third anniversary, my husband Liam was obsessed with a young college student. Their love was intense and public. I continued to play the role of the gentle, understanding wife of a wealthy man, even thoughtfully covering for him in front of both our families. Until he went to an exclusive club to find his rebellious little “canary,” and saw me sitting on a male model’s lap, holding him and kissing him wildly. The usually composed, aloof man saw red, his eyes bloodshot, and smashed the club to pieces. 1 The little canary Liam kept on the side had been getting a bit restless lately. She actually went behind Liam’s back, sneaking to his family’s estate, demanding that his grandfather acknowledge her status. His grandfather was furious. I played along with Liam to defuse the situation, successfully getting her out of there in one piece. The young girl followed behind us, her eyes red. The moment we stepped outside the estate’s carved iron gates, she immediately reached out and grabbed Liam’s sleeve: “Liam, I’m not with you for the money!” She looked up at Liam, tears streaming down her face instantly. She looked so fragile and pitiable; it was no wonder Liam was completely infatuated with her. Obviously, the attitude of his grandfather and parents made her realize how massive the gap was between her and the Thorne family. That’s why she was so desperate to explain herself the second she got out. Liam frowned slightly, but ultimately couldn’t bring himself to scold her. He reached out and ruffled her hair, his tone a mix of helplessness and indulgence: “Alright, stop crying. I know.” With that, he looked at me, standing off to the side, looking a bit awkward: “She’s probably scared from what just happened. I’ll take her home first. You…” I had come here in his car, so if he was taking his new flame home, I naturally couldn’t go with them. But if I asked the estate driver to take me, his grandfather would definitely find out. I gave him a slight smile and proactively offered, “I’ll just call an Uber.” Liam was clearly very satisfied with my understanding nature. He nodded, wrapped an arm around the girl, and walked away without looking back. He didn’t even remember that the area around the main estate was some of the most expensive real estate in the city, exclusively residential. You couldn’t even get an Uber around here. 2 Liam didn’t come home until the following evening. He still had a few faded hickeys on his neck. They were intentionally placed right where his collar couldn’t hide them, like a bold declaration of ownership. Such childish little tricks; only a naive girl without an ounce of subtlety would do something like that. I lowered my eyes, pretending not to notice, and smiled as I took the coat he had just taken off, playing the role of the virtuous, perfect wife to the hilt. I even magnanimously showed concern for his mistress: “How is she?” He tugged at his collar, his tone light: “Just throwing a childish tantrum. A little coaxing and she was fine.” Seems like she was coaxed back to her senses. I hesitated for a moment, but finally decided to tell him what I had been considering for a long time: “Have you ever thought about giving her a proper title?” Liam’s tall frame froze in place. It took him a few seconds to process what I said. He asked, confused, “What do you mean?” “What I mean is, Liam, let’s get a divorce.” I was tired of playing the good wife. I didn’t want to do it anymore. 3 Clearly, Liam had never expected me to bring up divorce. He pinched the bridge of his nose, that handsome face I had swooned over for years now filled with irritation: “Chloe, you should know very well that divorce isn’t that simple for us.” I could hear that he was trying to suppress his frustration, keeping his voice as level as possible. In the past, this attitude meant he didn’t want to continue the conversation, and I should drop it. But this time, I was dead set on getting a divorce. My marriage to Liam was a corporate alliance. A divorce wasn’t just about the two of us; it involved both of our families. Getting a divorce really wouldn’t be easy. I bit my lower lip and continued, “It might be a little complicated, but…” “Enough!” He violently cut me off, reaching out and pulling me into his arms: “I know I’ve neglected you lately, and I’ll make it up to you, but don’t ever mention divorce again.” “Chloe, it feels like it’s been a long time since we…” With that, he lowered his head, his slightly parted lips moving closer to mine. I quickly slapped my hand over his mouth, making up an excuse: “It’s my time of the month! It’s not a good time!” Screw that! Who wants your sloppy seconds! Disgusting! 4 Since the divorce talk fell apart, I quickly packed my bags and moved out of the house. Liam, thinking I was just throwing a jealous fit, called me constantly. When I didn’t answer, he bombarded me with texts. Honestly, I was just worried he’d try to sleep with me again. As for jealousy… I’ll admit, when we first got married, any rumor about him made me physically ill. But as time went on, I slowly got used to it. My deep love for him was worn away by his constant betrayals. Still, I didn’t mind letting him misunderstand. I could use this opportunity to max out his credit cards, considering it my compensation for his infidelity. 5 A week after running away from home. My best friend, Sarah, and I walked into the most exclusive, high-end private club in the city. Naturally, Liam was footing the bill. As soon as we walked in, we ran into the little canary, wearing a server’s uniform and carrying a fruit platter: “You…” Never mind, I couldn’t even remember her name. I cleared my throat and asked, “What are you doing here?” The little canary pressed her lips together tightly, glaring at me with those pretty, big eyes, looking absolutely furious. Sarah hooked her arm through mine, looking her up and down: “Is this the little toy Liam keeps on the side?” “What, is Liam not giving her an allowance? Why is she working here?” The tray in the little canary’s hands trembled slightly. She looked like a cat with its back arched: “Liam and I are together because we love each other! It’s not for his money!” She directed her anger at me, continuing her outburst: “Liam says he only loves me! He’s only with you for the family business!” I waved my hand dismissively. “Got it, got it. Well, I wish you both happiness.” 6 I ignored her and led Sarah into our private room. Sarah laughed until she was breathless: “Where did Liam find this precious gem? Actually talking about ‘love’ with a married man in Liam’s social class.” “Does she actually think she can successfully replace you like that? She’d be better off taking whatever money she can get while she’s still young.” I smirked. “That’s why she’s young.” In old-money families like ours, legacy is more important than wealth. That’s why marriage is taken so seriously. If a marriage partner needs to have exceptional qualifications and a very high social standing, then it has to be a corporate alliance. Liam wasn’t stupid enough to give up everything he had for her, which is why he wouldn’t agree to the divorce. Sarah continued, “I heard that girl has been throwing tantrums with Liam the last couple of days.” “Apparently, because you moved out, you took up a lot of Liam’s attention, and the little girl wasn’t happy about it.” Our social circle is small; if someone wants to find something out, they will. I rolled my eyes at her. “You’re such a gossip.” 7 I have to say, spending my cheating husband’s money to hire male models is incredibly satisfying. Especially when the models are gorgeous, sweet-talking, and have amazing bodies. It would have been even better if my husband hadn’t caught me. When Liam kicked the door open, I was straddling a male model I had been seeing for the last couple of days, my arms wrapped around his neck, passionately kissing his face. I had on heavy, glamorous makeup, big, sexy waves, and a tight outfit that showed off my figure. Hearing the noise, I instinctively looked toward the door. Before the sultry look in my eyes could fade, I saw Liam’s face, dark as a thundercloud. I gave the male model one last peck on the lips before slowly climbing off him. Liam’s face was black as pitch, and he glared at the male model with a murderous intensity, looking like he wanted to hack him to pieces. I smoothed my hair, breaking the silence first: “Why are you here?” He ground his teeth, speaking in a low, slow drawl: “Chloe, how dare you?” “Why wouldn’t I dare? You play your games, I play mine.” The more I spoke, the guiltier I felt. “Let’s be fair, you have a mistress, and I never threw a fit about it.” I wasn’t guilty about being caught with a male model; I was just guilty because I was cheating on him using his money. 8 “Mr. Thorne, why are you over here? I was looking for you in the VIP lounge.” “I brought Mia here for you. I’m so sorry, I had no idea she was your girl.” I leaned sideways to look out the door. A chubby man was walking over, leading the little canary. Oh, so her name is Mia. Liam stood rooted to the spot, not even glancing in their direction. Mia, on the other hand, threw herself into his arms like a baby bird returning to the nest, crying: “Hubby, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have thrown a tantrum, and I definitely shouldn’t have snuck out to work without telling you.” Me: “…” After her dramatic entrance, she followed Liam’s gaze and saw me. She pouted, shrinking back into Liam’s embrace, and acted like a spoiled child, whispering again, “Hubby.” A mistress calling my husband “hubby” right in front of me, the legal wife. That’s basically an open declaration of war, right? I didn’t really care. It was just a little nauseating. But I felt bad for the chubby man who had just walked up. Even though I didn’t know him, he seemed to recognize me. He looked at me, then at the clearly ravished male model next to me, then at the furious Liam and the little mistress in his arms. In just one minute, his facial expressions went through a dozen different changes. In families with corporate alliances, it’s normal for spouses to have their own side pieces. As long as they aren’t too blatant about it, they’ll usually turn a blind eye to maintain the facade for the sake of the business. A direct, face-to-face confrontation like ours was extremely rare. 9 Liam patted Mia’s back, suppressing his temper to coax her: “Be good, let the driver take you home first. I have some business to handle here.” Mia softly replied with an “Oh,” and slowly pulled away from Liam’s embrace. She looked me up and down, then casually remarked, “Are you talking about Miss Bennett’s business?” “When I first started working here a few days ago, I ran into Miss Bennett and her friend. I heard they hired the five most expensive guys.” “I was afraid you guys would fight, so I didn’t dare tell you.” I clicked my tongue. The little girl wasn’t as innocent as she looked. Liam’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. He shifted his gaze to Mia, his eyes filled with the impatient fury he was trying to suppress: “I told you to go home. Did you not understand me?” Probably never having been spoken to like that by him before, Mia pouted and glared at him, tears welling in her eyes, acting like she was upset and waiting for him to coax her. However, Liam wasn’t in the mood to play her childish little games right now. For the first time, he lost his temper with his precious canary: “Get lost!” 10 Mia ran away crying. Liam stormed over to the couch I had just been sitting on with the male model and threw himself onto it: “Manager Chen, please bring… all the guys my wife ordered.” He ground his teeth, ultimately unable to say the words ‘male models’. The man addressed as Manager Chen wiped the sweat from his brow, bowing and nodding in agreement. As soon as he left, Liam smashed a crystal glass on the table: “Chloe, you’ve really outdone yourself!” He took off his suit jacket and threw it at me, the large garment covering my head. I could faintly smell the perfume Mia had left on it. I pulled it down, intending to throw it back at him. But he frowned, scanning me up and down before his gaze settled on my long, bare legs exposed by my miniskirt: “Put it on!” “And don’t you ever leave the house dressed like this again!” 11 He sure is bossy! I never noticed he was this possessive before. I calmly folded the jacket and looked him straight in the eye: “Liam, let’s just get a divorce. I’m truly sick of this.” Liam, who had been holding back this whole time, completely exploded after I said that. His eyes bloodshot, he kicked the table in front of him: “Haven’t I told you never to mention that word again?” I sighed, trying to communicate with him calmly: “You don’t even love me, why are you forcing this? This way, all three of us are miserable.” Liam froze for a moment, pointing at the male model who had been standing quietly to the side, his voice hoarse as if it had been scrubbed with sandpaper: “Miserable? You seem pretty happy messing around with this cheap trash!” The male model raised an eyebrow and shot back, “You tell me if she was happy. Just think about how happy you are when you’re messing around with your own cheap trash.” I silently gave him a thumbs-up. What a hero. 12 By the time Manager Chen brought in a line of male models, Liam had already smashed the private room to pieces. The flesh on the fat man’s face jiggled as he cautiously glanced at the hero standing in the ruins: “Mr. Thorne, what is…” Liam threw his cigarette on the floor, crushed it with his foot, and said flatly, “Calculate the damages and send the bill to our finance department.” With that, a cold sneer played on his lips as he surveyed the dozen or so handsome male models: “I didn’t realize you had such a big appetite.” “My fault, I guess I didn’t satisfy you!” I glared at him angrily: “Liam, are you sick? You’re humiliating them!” As soon as I yelled that, the sound of loud, sharp slaps echoed behind me. Liam’s sneer deepened: “Looks like they’re perfectly happy being humiliated by me.” I turned around stiffly. The guys Manager Chen brought in were slapping each other, but the hero who had talked back to Liam was still standing to the side, looking defiant. Truly the one I was most satisfied with so far. 13 Liam had no interest in watching them perform. He grabbed my arm, trying to drag me away, but was stopped by the hero who had been watching the spectacle. Liam narrowed his eyes: “Know your place. You’re just a cheap toy for people’s amusement. Get out of my way!” I frowned, annoyed: “Liam, do you have to be so nasty?” Liam, surprised that I was defending someone else, tightened his grip: “You’d better shut up and come home with me right now.” “Otherwise, I can’t guarantee what I might do!” The hero’s handsome face also darkened, looking like a storm was brewing. I was afraid they were going to start a fight, so I quickly shook my head at him. After all, I was still Liam’s legal wife, and given Liam’s social standing, dealing with a simple male model would be child’s play. I didn’t want to cause him any trouble. 14 Outside the club, Liam hailed a cab, shoved me into the backseat, and got in right behind me. The ride was silent. When we got home, he immediately locked the bedroom door, then pulled out his phone and made a call to someone: “Bring some guys and smash ‘The Oasis’ for me.” “And there’s a guy in there named…” He looked at me, and I quickly shook my head. It wasn’t that I wouldn’t tell him, I genuinely didn’t know his name. I was just there to spend money, why would I care what his name was? “Go find Manager Chen, he knows who it is. After you smash the place, find that kid and break his hands.” 15 Liam has a bad temper; I knew that. But he usually has incredible self-control, so I rarely saw him enraged. I certainly never expected him to be so ruthless. “He’s innocent, Liam, you can’t do this!” He leaned forward, pinning me down, his beautiful eyes filled with jagged, bloodshot veins: “He dared to set his sights on you, so he’s not innocent.” “Chloe, be good. Don’t let me hear you beg for him again.” “Otherwise, it might not just be his hands next time.” In the end, I had implicated an innocent person. 16 I pushed against him with my hands, but he grabbed them and pinned them above my head. “Did they touch you?” he asked in a low voice right next to my ear. I tried to kick him, but he pinned my legs with his own. Completely immobilized, I ground my teeth and snapped back, “No! They don’t offer that service!” Being able to kiss and touch but not go all the way—it was very frustrating. He clearly knew that too. He burst out laughing, his expression softening considerably: “You look pretty cute when you’re angry.” He held both my wrists with one hand and used his free hand to pinch my cheek: “Let’s just say you were playing around these past two days. We’ll forget about it and go back to normal, okay?” It seems he’s gotten a lot of practice coaxing his little girl; he can switch on this doting tone effortlessly. “Sure, once you end things with your college student, I’ll go back to normal with you.” Liam went silent for a few seconds, let go of me, and sat up straight. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration: “You know she’s no threat to your position as Mrs. Thorne.” “If you really don’t like her, I’ll make sure she never appears in front of you again.” To put it bluntly, he just didn’t want to end it. I nodded, signaling that I understood. Thank goodness. Thank goodness I stopped loving him a long time ago, otherwise, my heart would be breaking right now.

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The three-minute window between life and brain death was bleeding out on the concrete, right outside the elementary school gates. My stepson, Toby, had collapsed. His small body convulsed, gasping for air that wouldn’t come, a sudden and violent asthma attack taking him under. I scrambled out of the car, my fingers white-knuckling the emergency inhaler and epi-pen. But before my feet could fully hit the pavement, a hand twisted into my hair, yanking me backward with enough force to snap my neck. It was Penny. My best friend. “Help! Somebody help!” she shrieked, her voice echoing over the chaotic swarm of parents and children. “She’s a kidnapper! She’s got drugs in her bag! Hold her down!” The crowd’s panic instantly weaponized. A mob of overzealous bystanders swarmed me. A heavy boot slammed into my back, driving me face-first into the damp asphalt. “Take the medicine!” I screamed, my vocal cords tearing. I blindly shoved the small plastic case forward through the forest of legs. “He’s suffocating! Let me go!” But Penny’s designer heel came down hard on my wrist, pinning my hand to the ground. Her eyes were red, welling with perfectly timed tears as she looked up at the horrified crowd. “It’s a crime,” she choked out, her voice breaking. “I can’t… I can’t just stand by and watch her ruin her life. She’s trying to kill him.” A school resource officer was already pushing through the crowd, unholstering his taser. Ten yards away, Toby’s face was turning a horrifying, bruised shade of purple. 1 Black spots danced in my vision from the sheer, suffocating rage. But the dizziness only lasted a second before a blinding pain in my knee snapped me back to reality. An older woman was kneeling entirely on my calf, pinning me. I thrashed violently, my manicured nails scraping against the wet pavement until they broke. “Let me go! He is going to die!” Penny ground her heel deeper into my wrist. Fat, tragic tears spilled over her lashes. “Gemma, stop pretending. That’s not medicine in your bag!” She reached into my spilled purse and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, holding it high like a trophy. “Look!” she yelled to the crowd. “This is a dark-web receipt for cyanide! She told me herself—if she gets rid of her stepson, she gets the entire family trust!” The collective gasp from the parents felt like a physical blow. “What a monster! To do that to a little boy?” “Hold her down! Don’t let her move!” Through the dirt and hair obscuring my eyes, I stared at the paper in Penny’s trembling hand. “That’s not a receipt for poison! It’s a pharmacy invoice!” I spat, tasting copper. “Penny! He calls you Auntie! How can you be this evil?!” Penny sobbed louder, her shoulders shaking. “Gemma, how can you twist this on me? I’m trying to save him!” She spun toward the officer. “Cuff her! Keep her away from the boy!” The officer dropped his knee into my spine, wrapping a thick arm around my throat. My oxygen cut off, but my eyes remained locked on Toby, ten yards out of reach. He was still on the ground. The purple of his skin was fading into an ashen, lifeless gray. His tiny hands, which usually gripped my fingers so tightly, were weakly clawing at the empty air. “Toby…” My voice was a broken rasp. Tears mixed with the grit and rain on my face, sliding into my mouth. “Please,” I begged the boots surrounding me. “Let me give him the medicine. You can lock me up for the rest of my life after, just let me save him!” A man kicked me squarely in the jaw. “Still trying to poison him? Sick bitch.” I spat out a mouthful of blood, the ticking clock in my head screaming at me. There were only two minutes left in the survival window. I crawled forward, dragging the officer’s weight with me like a wounded animal. Penny crouched down, bringing her face inches from mine. Under the guise of checking on me, she whispered, her voice a deadly, calm hiss only I could hear. “Gemma, why do you think your fingerprints are all over that receipt?” A cold shockwave ripped through my chest. I stared at her, the betrayal paralyzing me. “You asked me to hand you that paper from your desk this morning.” A slow, vicious smile spread across Penny’s glossed lips. “Exactly. And I swapped his rescue meds for the real thing. Toby is dead, Gemma. No one can save him now.” Something inside me snapped. The civilized, rational woman I was vanished. I yanked my arm free with a burst of adrenaline and sank my teeth directly into Penny’s calf. She let out a blood-curdling scream, collapsing onto the pavement. “She’s killing me! She’s crazy!” The crowd surged again, fists and feet raining down on my back and ribs. I curled into a ball, shielding the medicine case against my chest, my eyes never leaving Toby. Hold on, baby. Wait for Mommy. Just then, the screech of tires cut through the chaos. A sleek black Maybach slammed to a halt right at the curb. The door flew open, and my husband, Timothy, sprinted out, his eyes wild and bloodshot. 2 “Timothy! Save Toby!” He was my last lifeline. I screamed his name with everything I had left. Timothy shoved through the crowd, his broad shoulders clearing a path instantly. I thought he would drop to his knees for his son, or at least snatch the medicine from my bleeding hands. He didn’t. He walked straight up to me, and his heavy leather shoe caught me brutally in the shoulder. The force sent me rolling through the mud and puddles. “Gemma! What the hell did you do to my son?!” I was stunned. I ignored the excruciating burn in my rotator cuff, scrambling to my knees to hold up the plastic case. “Timothy, give him the shot! His asthma—” Penny threw herself at Timothy, wrapping her arms around his legs, weeping hysterically. “Timothy, don’t listen to her! That’s not his medicine, it’s poison! She tried to kill him, and when I caught her, she tried to kill me!” Timothy looked down at the bloody bite mark on Penny’s leg. The muscles in his jaw locked. His face turned a shade of pale I had never seen before. He reached down, ripped the medicine case from my hand, and hurled it onto the pavement. He stomped on it. The vials shattered, the life-saving liquid mingling with the dirty rainwater. My heart flatlined. “Timothy! Are you insane?! That was his lifeline!” He grabbed me by the lapels of my coat, hauling me off the ground until my toes barely grazed the asphalt. “His lifeline? Penny showed me the proof!” He snatched the crumpled paper from Penny’s hand and smacked it against my cheek. “It’s right here! You bought a lethal dose of cyanide off the dark web yesterday!” “Timothy, I was blind,” he snarled, his spit hitting my face. “I can’t believe I let a venomous snake like you into my home.” I shook my head frantically, the tears blinding me. “No! It wasn’t me! It was Penny! She made me touch the paper this morning to frame me! Timothy, we’ve been married for three years. You know who I am. I’m the one who sits up with Toby every night he can’t breathe. Why would I hurt him?!” Timothy sneered, his eyes filled with a disgust so profound it made my stomach drop. “You take care of him? You only play the doting mother to impress my father.” “Now that the old man is on his deathbed, you got terrified Toby would get the lion’s share of the trust. You couldn’t wait to eliminate him.” I trembled, a sickening chill seeping into my bones. “You actually believe that? You would rather believe a friend than your own wife?” Penny whimpered beside us. “Timothy, it’s my fault. I should have seen through her sooner. If we lose Toby… I don’t want to live.” Timothy’s grip on me loosened, and he reached out to gently help Penny up. “This isn’t your fault, Penny. You saved him.” The piercing wail of an ambulance finally shattered the noise. Paramedics rushed out, loading Toby’s limp body onto a stretcher. “The child is in profound shock! Start pushing epi, now!” the paramedic barked, the panic in his voice slicing through my eardrums. I fought to stumble toward the ambulance. “Toby! Let me ride with him!” Timothy shoved me back so hard I hit the side of a parked car. “Don’t you ever come within a hundred feet of my son again.” The wail of police sirens joined the ambulance. Cruisers boxed us in. Officers stepped out, hands on their belts. “Who called it in?” Penny pointed a manicured, trembling finger directly at me. “Officers, it’s her. She poisoned the boy.” An officer stepped forward, yanking my arms behind my back. The cold steel of handcuffs bit into my bruised wrists. “Gemma, you are under arrest for attempted murder. You have the right to remain silent.” I watched the ambulance doors slam shut and speed away. The flashing red lights blurred into streaks. I closed my eyes, letting the darkness take me. 3 The fluorescent lights in the precinct interrogation room buzzed with a maddening, relentless hum. They felt like needles in my eyes. “We have the evidence, Gemma. Why make this harder on yourself?” The detective slammed the crumpled receipt onto the metal table. I stared at the piece of paper, my jaw wired shut with tension. “I am innocent. That receipt is a forgery. It says cyanide, but did you even bother looking into the IP address? Or the logistics?” “Penny didn’t buy cyanide. She bought a neurotoxin.” The detective frowned, pausing his pen. “And how would you know she bought a neurotoxin?” I took a slow, jagged breath, forcing my racing heart to steady. I needed to be the smartest person in the room right now. “Because Toby’s symptoms were wrong. If it was a standard severe asthma attack, he wouldn’t have exhibited immediate cyanosis and convulsions at that speed. Penny poisoned him before I ever picked him up from school.” The detective looked at me with flat, unimpressed eyes. “That’s quite the theory. But the lab results from the shattered vials we scraped off the pavement? They tested positive for a lethal chemical agent. And this receipt? It only has your fingerprints on it.” I had no defense. The trap felt suffocating, perfectly engineered. Penny had worn gloves when she swapped the vials, and she had tricked me into handling the printed receipt. All the physical evidence pointed to me. The heavy metal door clicked open, and Timothy walked in. He looked like he had aged five years. His designer suit was wrinkled, his jaw rough with stubble, and his eyes were red-rimmed. The detective gave him a nod and stepped out, leaving us alone. I stood up. The chain of my handcuffs scraped loudly against the table. “Timothy. Is Toby okay?” Timothy walked right up to me. Without a word, he raised his hand and slapped me across the face. My head snapped to the side. The metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth. “You have the audacity to ask about him?” Timothy’s voice was a ragged whisper. “The doctors said the cerebral hypoxia went on for too long. Combined with whatever you put in his system…” He choked on a sob. “He might never wake up.” The room spun. White noise roared in my ears. Never wake up? “No. That’s impossible. If they just give him the right counteragent, he’ll wake up.” I lunged forward, grabbing his forearm with both cuffed hands. “Timothy, please, just listen to me this once. Look into Penny’s finances! Look at her bank statements! Someone paid her to do this, or she has her own agenda!” Timothy ripped his arm away, his eyes glacial. “You are still trying to drag Penny down with you. She got five stitches in her leg because of you.” “She loves him so much she’s willing to donate her bone marrow to save him.” I froze. The breath hitched in my throat. “Bone marrow? Why does Toby need a transplant?” Timothy glared at me, pure hatred radiating from him. “They ran his bloodwork in the ER. Acute leukemia. And you—you sick, twisted woman—you decided to poison him when he was already dying.” I stood there, paralyzed. Acute leukemia. Suddenly, the puzzle pieces snapped together in a horrifying picture. That was why Penny chose today. She knew about his diagnosis. She knew the clock was ticking, and if Toby died now, Timothy would be emotionally destroyed, leaving her to step in as his savior and inherit everything. I looked at the man I had loved fiercely for three years. He felt like a total stranger. “Timothy… did you ever stop to think why Penny, a woman completely unrelated to us, just happens to be a perfect bone marrow match for your son?” “What exactly is your relationship with her?” Timothy’s eyes darted away for a fraction of a second—a subtle tell—before his face contorted in rage. “Shut your mouth! She was just a girl I knew in college!” He unzipped his leather briefcase, pulled out a thick stack of legal documents, and threw them onto the metal table. “Sign them.” I looked down. Petition for Dissolution of Marriage. And right there, in bold font, was the clause: Full Waiver of Alimony and Asset Distribution. A zero-payout, ironclad exit. 4 I stared at the divorce papers, and a laugh bubbled up from my throat. A dark, hollow sound that brought tears to my eyes. “Toby is on life support, fighting for his life, and you took the time to have your lawyers draft an expedited divorce?” “What’s the rush, Timothy? Need to clear the bed for Penny?” Timothy grabbed me by the throat, slamming my back against the metal table. “Being in the same room as you makes my skin crawl. Sign the papers, and I’ll tell the DA to go easy on you for the sake of our history. If you don’t, I will personally ensure you rot in federal prison for the rest of your life.” I wheezed, staring dead into his furious eyes. “I’m not signing a damn thing.” “I didn’t do this. I’d rather die than confess to something I didn’t do. You want to make room for Penny? You’re going to have to do it over my dead body.” Timothy shook with rage. He released me, backing away as if I were infectious. “Fine. Let’s see how long you can play tough in here.” He turned on his heel and stormed out. Not ten minutes later, the door opened again. This time, it was Penny. She was dressed in a pristine Chanel tweed suit, her heels clicking softly on the linoleum. She stood over me, looking down with a sickeningly sweet smile. I glanced up. The red light on the security camera in the corner was blinking steadily. Penny noticed my gaze. She dragged a chair to the far corner of the room—the blind spot—and sat down. She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. “Do the cuffs chafe, Gemma?” I stared at her, my expression dead. “You’re going to burn for this, Penny.” She covered her mouth, giggling softly. “Burn? Sweetie, the winner writes the history. Do you want to know the best part?” “The toxin in Toby’s blood? I had it imported from a private lab overseas.” My body trembled with a primal urge to kill her. “You are out of your mind. He is three years old.” Her eyes went dead, flat, and shark-like. “So what? He was in my way. Timothy has been tired of playing house with you for a long time. It’s always been me.” “Once the brat is gone, I’ll be the only woman in the estate.” I shot up from my chair, ready to throw myself at her and wrap my chained hands around her neck. But before I even took a step, Penny threw herself backward. She crashed to the floor, taking the metal chair down with her in a loud clatter. She let out a blood-curdling scream. “Help! Help! Gemma, please, don’t hit me!” The door flew open so hard it dented the drywall. Timothy rushed in, dropping to his knees and pulling Penny into his chest. “Gemma! You are dead!” He kicked out, his heavy shoe catching me squarely in the stomach. The wind was knocked out of me. I collapsed onto the freezing floor, curling into a fetal position as a cold sweat broke out over my forehead. Penny buried her face in Timothy’s jacket, crying perfectly calibrated tears. “Timothy… she said she won’t sign the papers. She said she’s going to kill me…” Timothy’s eyes were bloodshot as he pointed a shaking finger at me. “You want to play games, Gemma? I will destroy you.” 5 The agony in my abdomen made the room tilt. Curled on the icy floor, I watched through half-open eyes as Timothy tenderly helped Penny to her feet, brushing the dust off her skirt. “Timothy,” I gasped, grinding my teeth against the pain. “She’s playing you.” “She literally just confessed it to me!” Timothy looked down at me like I was a rabid dog that needed to be put down. “Your lies are getting pathetic, Gemma. The police already raided the IP address on the receipt. The dark web vendor scrubbed their servers, but the transaction logs are still there. It’s over.” I froze. The vendor scrubbed their servers? But the logs remained? I lifted my head and looked at Penny. She was hiding behind Timothy’s broad shoulder, but she tilted her head just enough for me to see. The corner of her mouth twitched into a smug, victorious smirk. She mouthed the words: You can’t beat me. I closed my eyes. The fight drained out of my muscles, leaving behind a cold, terrifying clarity. “Take her and get out, Timothy.” “I’m not signing the papers. Let the judge decide.” Timothy scoffed, adjusting his cuffs. “Fine. Get used to the food in here.” He guided Penny out of the room, the heavy door slamming shut behind them. For the next two days, I sat in a holding cell. The detectives pulled me in for questioning every few hours, cycling through the same psychological pressure tactics. I didn’t break. I refused to confess. On the third day, the tide finally turned.

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I was the eldest child in my family, but the third born. The first two were girls. Because they were the “wrong” gender, my parents got rid of them before they were even born. The shady clinic doctor swore up and down that I was a boy. Unfortunately for them, when I came crying into the world, I was still a girl. 1 I was a girl. My parents were bitterly disappointed. But they didn’t give up. Hiding like fugitives from the authorities, when I was five years old, my mother finally gave birth to my little brother. Because they had exceeded the legal child limit, my father lost his job. The authorities came and emptied our house of anything valuable to pay the fines. My mother lay on a makeshift bed of two wooden doors pushed together, looking at my baby brother in his swaddling clothes and laughing. “At least I don’t have to get pregnant ever again.” My grandmother held my brother, beaming from ear to ear. “Another son! Now when our little Precious grows up, he’ll have brothers to back him up.” “Precious” was the name they picked out while I was still in the womb. Now, they finally got to use it. Overjoyed at finally having a grandson, my grandmother carried him all around the village to show him off. After showing him off, she dumped him back with my mother. She had bullied my parents into having a son, but she refused to help raise him. With my father out of work, money was incredibly tight. During my mother’s postpartum recovery, my father snuck into my grandmother’s chicken coop to steal two eggs for her to eat. My grandmother chased him around the yard, screaming at him all day. “You think she’s some delicate princess?! When I had you, I was back in the fields working three days later! I lived on watery porridge every day, and I turned out just fine…” My father sheepishly put the eggs back. My mother cried as she nursed my brother. I walked over to wipe her tears, but she just stared at me blankly and muttered, “If only you had been a boy. I wouldn’t have had to suffer through this.” The next day, I went to the barber shop at the edge of the village and had my long hair shaved into a buzz cut. I ran home happily and told my mother, “Look, I’m a boy now.” My mother and grandmother took turns screaming at me. “Your hair was so long! I could have sold it for twenty bucks! Are you stupid?!” “Even if you shave your head bald, you’ll never be a boy.” After cursing me out, my grandmother stormed off to the barber shop to demand the hair I had cut off. After a loud argument with the barber, half the village knew what happened. The kids my age mocked me: “Not a boy, not a girl. Maya Miller is a little freak.” After the New Year, my brother turned six months old. My parents decided to move to California for work, leaving me behind with my grandmother. Right before they left, my mother held my hand, looking guilty. “I can’t let your dad go out there alone, I’d worry. And your brother is too young; I don’t trust your grandmother to take care of him.” “You be a good girl at home. When I come back, I’ll buy you candy.” 2 I cried and begged her to let me come, promising I would never eat candy again if she just didn’t leave me alone with my cruel, vicious grandmother. She grew impatient, frowning deeply as she shook off my hand. “Why are you being so disobedient!” “There’s no time, I have to go.” I ran after the old, beat-up Greyhound bus for as long as I could. In the thick cloud of dust kicked up by the tires, I lost sight of my parents. There were a lot of “left-behind” kids in our village whose parents worked out of state. But I was probably the most miserable one. I took over all the household chores. Cooking, washing clothes, feeding the pigs and chickens, cutting grass for fodder… I even had to wash my grandmother’s underwear. I walked on eggshells, terrified of provoking her. But if she lost at bingo with the neighbor ladies, she’d still take it out on me. She poured scalding hot water from the kettle over my head. She stripped me naked, shoved me out into the yard, and beat me viciously with a bamboo broom. On freezing winter days, she made me wash her feet with ice-cold water scooped straight from the outdoor rain barrel. … After she finished torturing me, she’d go back out to play bingo. I slept alone in that massive, drafty brick house. The night wind howled through the trees on the hill behind us, sounding like a low moan. I wrapped myself tightly in two heavy quilts. Curled up into a tiny ball. Fighting against the pain, the loneliness, and the fear. At first, my mother would call the neighbor’s landline every Saturday night around 7:00 PM. I would finish my dinner by 5:00 and go wait at Mrs. Davis’s house. I could never get out more than a few words before I started crying, asking when she was coming back. She always said, “Be sweet and work hard. Don’t make your grandmother angry.” Maybe she found me annoying. Gradually, the calls went from once a week to once every two weeks. When the weather turned cold, it became once a month. But she still promised that she’d come back for Christmas and buy me new clothes. She also promised to bring me the best candy from California. I counted the days and nights until Christmas Eve arrived. My mother finally called. My heart was bursting with hope. “Uncle Tommy and Uncle Dave already came back! When are you coming home, Mom?” “Maya, tickets were too expensive and sold out too fast. We couldn’t get any. We’ll come see you after the holidays.” The freezing winter wind outside seemed to travel through the phone line, drilling straight into my ear and freezing my heart. I couldn’t control myself anymore. I yelled, “You promised! You said you would…” My mother offered some half-hearted comfort. In the background, my brother started crying and fussing, slurring, “Milk, want milk…” I heard my mother’s voice instantly soften. “Be a good boy, sweetie, don’t cry. Mommy will buy it for you in a second.” I called out, “Mom…” She was already impatient. “If we can’t get tickets, we can’t go back! Your dad and I have no choice! Do you think we want to spend Christmas away from home? “Can’t you just grow up and be a little understanding! “Alright, your brother is hungry. I have to hang up.” Mom, I actually wanted to say: It’s okay if you don’t buy candy or clothes. You and Dad work so hard. But. You didn’t care at all. After Christmas, when tickets were easy to get, they still didn’t come back. Since the holidays were over, coming back probably seemed pointless to them. I wasn’t a priority they kept in their hearts. My grandmother lost money at bingo every day during the holidays and cursed me for being a jinx. She hit me hard over the head with an iron spatula. The lump on my head took over ten days to go down. The swallows returned in the spring and built a nest under my window. While cutting grass for the pigs, I found an abandoned black puppy. I fed him scraps and leftovers, and he slept faithfully by my bed every night. In the mornings, he would wag his tail and walk me to the school bus stop. After school, he’d be waiting for me exactly on time at the edge of the village. My life was full of sadness and misery, but there were also these small, fragmented moments of warmth and discovery. But. I no longer looked forward to sharing them with my mother. Two more years passed. They finally managed to get tickets home. Everyone in the village asked me. “Your mom, dad, and little brother are coming back! You must be so happy, right?” 3 No. Perhaps my hopes and joy had been ground down to dust a long time ago. A few days before Christmas, my parents arrived lugging huge bags and suitcases. She bought me a bag of candy. I had just opened it and taken one piece when my brother ran over and tried to snatch the bag. I gripped it tightly and refused to let go. My mother said, “You’re the older sister. Let your brother have it.” “He won’t even eat yours; he’s sick of candy anyway.” Sure enough, after he snatched it, he ate one piece and threw the rest on the floor. The reward I had waited years for was just garbage to my brother; something he wouldn’t even look twice at. I also saw a photo album in my mother’s suitcase. I thought it was a book she had bought for me. When I opened the cover, inside was a photo of my parents and my brother, smiling happily and leaning against each other. Oh. It was a family portrait. A family portrait without me. My mother bought me a red winter coat and couldn’t wait for me to try it on. It was huge. The hem went down to my ankles, and the sleeves hung past my hands like a costume. My mother looked a little embarrassed. “Mary’s daughter is eight too, and it fits her perfectly. Why haven’t you grown at all?” My grandmother happily tried on her own new clothes and shot me a dirty look. “It’s good to buy kids’ clothes big. They can wear them for a few more years.” On New Year’s Eve, wearing my new coat with the sleeves rolled all the way up my arms, I tripped over the raised threshold. I busted my lip open, bleeding everywhere. My grandmother immediately started screaming: “Are you blind?! Tripping and bleeding on New Year’s Eve is terrible luck! Are you hoping I die early?!” My brother jumped up and down, laughing hysterically. “You’re so stupid…” He stepped over the threshold, squatted in front of me, pointed at the blood on my face, and kept laughing. “Stupid, stupid…” My mother looked at him affectionately. “No one even taught you that. Where did you learn to curse at people?” My dog, Shadow, had been sleeping quietly in the corner. Suddenly, he charged out, baring his teeth and barking furiously at my brother. My brother was terrified. He jerked backward, hitting the back of his head hard on the wooden threshold. He started bawling, snot and tears running down his face. My parents panicked, rushing over to comfort him, calling him their precious baby. My brother pointed at Shadow, crying hysterically. “Kill it! Kill it!” Terrified, I quickly locked Shadow in the woodshed. He didn’t understand what he had done wrong and kept barking confusedly. A few days later, several uncles and cousins came over to drink with my dad. Shadow smelled strangers and started barking again. My brother got scared and hid in my mother’s arms, crying. My dad pointed at the woodshed and laughed. “That dog is too annoying. Let’s catch it and make dog stew today!” 4 The men laughed and started walking toward the woodshed. The blood rushed straight to my head. Where the cowardly me found the courage, I don’t know, but I flew out of the house and pressed my back tightly against the woodshed door. “Dad, please don’t kill Shadow.” “Please don’t kill him!” Shadow sensed my panic and barked louder: “Woof! Woof! Woof!” My dad got impatient. “Move out of the way. Stop being annoying.” “Dog stew is the best thing to eat in the winter. I’ll save you a leg later!” He reached out to shove me aside. Tears streamed down my face uncontrollably as I screamed at my dad: “For the last few years, you bought my brother milk, candy, and clothes, and took him to take family portraits. “But you left me alone at home. Shadow is the only one who kept me company.” I grabbed an axe resting nearby and shoved it into my dad’s hands. “You might as well kill me too! You and Mom don’t want me anyway!” The uncles looked awkward. “Forget it, forget it…” My dad’s face turned beet red. He raised his hand and slapped me hard across the face. “What kind of nonsense are you talking about? Who doesn’t want you?” “If it weren’t for you and your brother, do you think your mother and I would willingly go so far away to work?!” Hearing the commotion, my mother came over to break it up. My grandmother spat out sunflower seed shells. “This daughter of yours has a terrible temper. If I hadn’t beaten it out of her normally, she’d think she owns the place…” She rambled on and on. My dad looked at me with pure disgust. My mother also muttered, “It’s just a dog. It scares your brother every day. Why are you defending it so hard…” The winter wind cut to the bone. No one supported me. No one cared about me. I pressed my back tightly against the woodshed door. I felt a furry paw reaching through the crack in the wood, pawing at my palm. It was Shadow. Through the old wooden door, he let out a low whimper. I held his paw, feeling like I was holding the only warmth left in the world. Shadow survived for the time being. But in my parents’ eyes, I became the disobedient child. My mother scolded me. “Is a dog’s life really more important than your brother’s? How can you be so cold-blooded?” My dad was disgusted. “No one to discipline you every day, you’ve gone wild.” … But why did I have no one to discipline me? I thought Shadow was safe. But a month later, on the day of the Lantern Festival, I went to the village square to watch the parade. When I came back, I saw the local dog catcher dragging Shadow away on a three-wheeled cart. His legs and paws were bound, and he howled in despair. I chased the cart for as long as I could. But eventually, his cries were drowned out by the deafening sound of drums and firecrackers. I went home crying, screaming, and demanding answers. My dad said lightly, “It’s just a dog. Next time we’ll get you a more obedient one!” My grandmother rolled her eyes. “Should have killed it a long time ago. It was so annoying. Good thing we still got twenty bucks for it. At least we didn’t lose money.” It was in that exact moment. I finally woke up. They didn’t love me. No matter how docile and obedient I was, no matter how well I did. They would never love me the way they loved my brother. So… Why was I still hoping? Why was I still trying to please them? The next day, my parents took my brother back to California. They wanted him to attend an expensive private preschool there. Before they left, my mother gave me money for school fees and living expenses. She counted out fifty dollars, thought for a second, then pulled a ten-dollar bill back and handed me the rest. “Your dad and I work hard for this money. You need to be careful how you spend it…” As soon as they left, my grandmother showed her true colors. Over the slightest disagreement, she grabbed the fire tongs to hit me. 5 This time, I didn’t just stand there and take it. I fought back, wrestling her to the ground. I grabbed the fire tongs and, imitating what I’d seen on TV, pressed them hard against her neck. I glared at her fiercely: “I will never let you bully me again. “I’m going to keep growing, and you’re only going to get older. “If you hit me once, I’ll hit you three times. If you strip my clothes off, I’ll tear yours off too! “When you’re old and bedridden, I’ll feed you shit and piss!” … The old hag was terrified. She let out a wail and started crying. She went around the entire village broadcasting my evil deeds. The older women and grandmothers lectured me from their high horses: “She’s your grandmother. Being this disrespectful will bring down the wrath of God.” I remained expressionless. “Well, I haven’t been struck by lightning yet. Doesn’t that mean God thinks I’m right?” They were speechless. That summer, there was a huge celebration in the village. Mr. Smith’s daughter, Dawn, got into a very prestigious university. She had a younger brother, and her father favored him, refusing to pay for her education. She had fought tooth and nail just to be allowed to go to high school. The day her acceptance letter arrived, Mr. Smith paraded around the village showing it off. Us kids went to see the commotion too. I touched the gold-foiled envelope. The university buildings printed on it looked ancient and grand, making my heart yearn for it. I asked foolishly, “If you go to college, does that mean you’ll make lots and lots of money?” Dawn patted my head. “Not necessarily, but if you go to college, you won’t have to be like a lot of girls in the village, getting married and having kids super early.” She crouched down and looked gently into my eyes. “Maya, you’re only in fourth grade. If you start working hard now, it’s not too late.” She planted a seed of hope in my heart. I stopped zoning out in class and started listening attentively. After school, I stopped running around playing and started reading properly. The old hag laughed at me. “With your pig brain, you think reading is gonna make you bloom into a flower? Once you finish middle school, hurry up and go find a job in a factory. “Getting married early and collecting a dowry is the only proper path. A girl reading too many books is just a waste of money for her future in-laws!” … I snapped back at her. “The more books I read and words I know, the better I’ll be able to personally carve your name onto your tombstone when you die.” The old hag almost had a heart attack. Back then, for kids in the village, studying mostly relied on natural talent. Not many worked as hard on their own initiative as I did. Most just drifted along, graduating in a daze. When I took the middle school entrance exam, I ranked first in my class. By that time, the population was already migrating toward bigger cities. The middle school in our township had been merged with the one in the larger town. Because it was far, boarding was mandatory. While other kids cried about it, I couldn’t have been happier. The old hag cursed and swore, saying I shouldn’t go at all, that I should just go work and earn money now. 6 She got chewed out by the town mayor. “The state requires nine years of compulsory education. If you stop her from going to school, you could go to jail. Do you want to go to jail?” The old hag instantly caved. My parents didn’t care about my grades; they barely ever asked. But they specifically paid to get my brother into a good elementary school in California. They had to pull strings and pay bribes to get him in. “Precious is so smart, we have to nurture his potential!” I entered middle school with excellent grades, thinking I could really show what I was capable of. But the midterm exams in seventh grade dealt me a heavy blow. I only ranked fifteenth in my class, and over a hundredth in the grade. It was from that moment on. I realized that studying really did involve a degree of natural talent. My desk-mate slept through class every day and played basketball after school. But no matter what math problem he looked at, he only needed to see it once to grasp the underlying concept. I needed to recite an ancient poem fifty or a hundred times to memorize it, while he could basically repeat it after reading it three times. For a kid with no money, focusing on studying was exceptionally difficult. My mother gave me very little for living expenses. She was even more unwilling to spend money on study guides or prep books. I could only save money by cutting back on my meals. I bought fifty-cent packets of pickled vegetables and three one-dollar steamed buns from the cafeteria. A dollar fifty was enough to survive a whole day. Sometimes at night, I was so hungry I just guzzled tap water. Water was free. I bought a pair of fake designer shoes at the flea market for ten dollars and wore them every single day. When the soles cracked, I bought superglue to stick them back together. I glued them repeatedly until one day, during gym class, the entire sole completely fell off. My toes and the holes in my socks were exposed to the air. I finally had to throw those shoes away. I was already going through puberty. But my mother refused to buy me a bra. “Little girls wearing grown-up clothes, looking like sluts.” So I could only sew and re-sew cheap, two-for-five-dollar camisoles, making them tight enough to bind my chest so nothing would bounce when I moved. Compared to the embarrassment in my daily life, the struggle with my studies made me even more desperate. Maybe I just wasn’t born to be a scholar. I just couldn’t grasp concepts quickly like other people. I couldn’t memorize a text after reading it seven or eight times. Even though I never slacked off for a second, my grades were stagnant. I frequently dreamed I was in an exam hall. Unable to solve the problems. And then I would wake up, drenched in sweat. By the time I reached eighth grade, some classmates were already coming back to the village pregnant. The outside world was too big, and the temptations too many. They had never been deeply loved by their parents, so when they suddenly stepped out into society, they were easily seduced by a few sweet words from boys. They had kids and got married in a haze. Living out their lives in a daze. I was so terrified. So afraid that I would turn out like that too. I went to my homeroom teacher, Mr. Harrison. I shamefully admitted my struggles, unable to lift my head. But he didn’t scold me. He just asked, “Do you have any extra money for living expenses?” I waved my hands frantically. “I still have twenty dollars. It’s enough for next month.” Mr. Harrison’s hand paused, his gaze turning serious. “You only spent twenty dollars last month? Less than a dollar a day?” “So you’ve never eaten meat? Never been full? Never had a snack? Never bought any clothes or shoes?” “It… it doesn’t matter. I’ve lived like this for three years.” “Of course it matters!” Mr. Harrison’s voice rose. “You’re growing. Studying burns a massive amount of calories. If you don’t have enough nutrition, your brain can’t keep up. “Saving this tiny bit of money now is destroying your future. “Starting next month, you must have meat for at least one meal a day. You have to eat an egg and drink a glass of milk every day. “And you need to buy the clothes you need to buy.” He gently patted my back, lowering his voice: “Like bras. If you don’t take care of it now, you won’t be able to fix it later in life. “Don’t feel guilty about spending money now. Because this is an investment in your future. “You deserve it, and you should spend it.” After winter break, I went back to school. I went to buy milk. After comparing prices, I ended up buying powdered milk. It was cheaper than cartons. Every morning, I ate a meat bun and a hard-boiled egg. Sometimes I had soy milk. For lunch and dinner, I had one meat dish and one vegetable dish. Before bed, I drank a glass of milk. Every weekend, I went to the bakery to buy the leftover crusts—they were very cheap—so I could fill my stomach if I got hungry between meals. My body was no longer in a constant state of starvation like before. About half a month later, I felt my mental energy was much better. I was originally one of the shortest kids in the class. Barely five feet tall. But during that time, I felt like bamboo, shooting up section by section. My pants were visibly getting shorter. Perhaps because my nutrition was keeping up, my mind was also clearer than before. Wearing clothes that fit properly, I no longer had to hunch over and slouch like I used to. I gathered my courage and started asking teachers and classmates how to solve problems. I tried my hardest to find patterns between different types of questions. I stopped sacrificing sleep to study. I told myself not to be anxious. You can’t become a genius overnight. By the final exams of my sophomore year, I ranked six hundredth in the grade. There were over eight hundred students in our grade. Even though it was still a below-average score, at least it wasn’t at the very bottom. I was pretty happy. But when my brother found out, he scoffed. “Six hundredth? That’s garbage! “Is your brain full of shit?” My parents also frowned. “You’re really not cut out for studying. Maybe you should just quit.”

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When my biological parents finally tracked me down, I had already joined the neighborhood aunties’ line-dancing squad at the local community center. They stared at me—dressed in a bedazzled, loud floral knit set—with expressions of pure, unadulterated disgust. 01 “Are you… Maya? This outfit…” The well-dressed woman before me hesitated, her gaze raking over my “Blooming Florals” knit tracksuit. Ignoring the flicker of disdain in her eyes, I dropped the heavy bag of rice and the gallon of cooking oil I was lugging on my shoulder. I pulled a scratched thermos from my shopping bag. I took a slow sip of tea before looking at the group. “So, you’re the biological parents?” Mr. Sterling frowned but eventually nodded. “We are.” “And who’s she?” I looked at the fragile-looking girl standing behind them. Her eyes welled up instantly. The two men flanking her—one older, one younger—immediately stepped in front of her like human shields. “Don’t you dare bully Serena,” the younger one snapped, his impulsiveness getting the better of him. I looked at her face. We shared about sixty percent of the same features. Then I looked at the way the Sterling family reacted to his outburst. This family was going to be interesting. I leaned back against my dilapidated sofa and watched them like a spectator at a play. Perhaps realizing his tone was inappropriate, the older brother explained, “We know you’ve suffered these past years, but none of this was Serena’s fault. She’s innocent…” Before he could finish, the door to my cramped apartment was shoved open. A mob of neighborhood aunties, all wearing the same bedazzled floral tracksuits as me, swarmed my biological parents. They started shouting over one another, airing my grievances: “So you’re Maya’s real parents?” “What took you so long? Do you have any idea what this girl has been through?” “Let me tell you, that foster mother of hers was a monster! You see those heavy wooden laundry rollers? That woman would beat her with them for no reason!” “Exactly! Half the time she wasn’t even allowed to eat. In the dead of winter, that woman purposely shredded Maya’s school jacket and made her go to class in a torn T-shirt! During her SATs, she locked her in a room so she couldn’t take the test!” “We always knew no real mother could be that cruel. Turns out she wasn’t the real one!” “You better have that woman arrested. And that fake daughter of yours? You better check her, too. I bet she knew her mother swapped the babies on purpose…” “Wait, who’s crying?” Auntie Sarah, the leader of the squad, froze. The group of women looked around for the source of the sobbing, finally landing on the girl in white. “I’m… I’m so sorry,” the girl sobbed, her shoulders shaking. “I didn’t mean to steal your life. I…” “And who might this be?” Auntie Sarah narrowed her eyes, making a ‘shushing’ gesture to the group. I nodded. “That’s Martha’s biological daughter. Serena Sterling.” 02 “Maya, Martha is Martha. What she did has nothing to do with Serena.” My “big brother,” Marcus Sterling, spoke up. The rest of the family nodded in agreement. But these were the South Side Line-Dancing Aunties. They had seen every trick in the book. A few looks exchanged between them, and they had the whole situation pegged. Before the Sterlings could say another word, Auntie Bev—who hadn’t even pampered her own son this much—cut them off. “Oh, please. Give me a break.” “Whether she’s ‘innocent’ is one thing, but her crying like this? What is Maya supposed to do? Comfort the girl who’s been living her life?” Bev reached out and yanked up my sleeve, exposing the jagged scars on the back of my hand. “Look at this. Her ‘mother’ did this with a red-hot set of fireplace tongs.” “Then look at this girl. Dressed in designer labels, skin as soft as silk.” “And you want Maya to apologize to her? To comfort her? Does that sound right to you?” Bev turned her glare toward Serena. “Listen, kid. Maybe you can’t be blamed for what your mother did, but Maya lived through hell for eighteen years because of it! Have some decency. Stop the crocodile tears. You’re just stabbing Maya in the heart.” With that, Bev wiped a stray tear with her sleeve and pulled me into a hug. “My poor, silly girl. You always keep everything inside. No one loved you before, but now that your real parents are here, surely they won’t be biased against you, right? These are your parents. If you’ve been wronged, you speak up!” “Mr. and Mrs. Sterling, am I right?” The squad’s eyes were all locked on the Sterling parents. They smiled awkwardly. “Yes. Of course. Maya, tell us if anything is bothering you.” Serena, choked into silence by Bev’s bluntness, could only stare at the family with wide, red eyes, biting her lip. 03 Before I got into the Sterlings’ car, Bev shoved a shopping bag into my arms. She said it was the new “team uniform.” Inside was a high-end, trendy athletic set. I knew the aunties were worried I’d have nothing “classy” to wear at the Sterling estate, so they had pooled their money to buy it for me. I whispered a thank you and handed over the discounted eggs I’d fought for at the supermarket earlier. I locked up my new oil and rice. Marcus reminded me I didn’t need to lock them up—I wasn’t coming back. I tilted my head, glanced at the parents and the younger brother who were currently whispering comforts to Serena, and smiled at Marcus without saying a word. Marcus looked back, unable to help himself. “Maya, Serena didn’t do it on purpose. She feels truly guilty. She’s cried about this multiple times at home…” “Sure, sure. Whatever you say.” I brushed him off, clutched my new clothes and my backpack, and slid into the car. During the drive, I looked at my phone. The family looked at me. Auntie Sarah sent $500 to the group chat: [A little something from the squad. Don’t you dare refuse it!] Bev messaged me privately: [Maya, if it’s not comfortable over there, just come home.] The others echoed her. We lived in a rough neighborhood. Most of these women were retired on tiny pensions. Bev and Mrs. Higgins still worked stalls at the flea market to make ends meet. Every cent they had spent on me over the years was money they had saved by skipping meals. They were sending me this money now because they saw my “real” parents were biased. They were terrified I’d be mistreated in that mansion. “Maya, that outfit…” Eleanor Sterling, my mother, looked at my bedazzled tracksuit with a furrowed brow. She finally couldn’t help herself. “From now on, you are a Sterling. Your clothes and behavior must be appropriate.” “And at your age, you should be making friends your own age. Expand your horizons, socialize. Don’t spend all your time with… those community center ladies.” “Serena can help you with that. It’ll be a good way for you two to bond.” Eleanor spoke with such “sincerity” that Serena immediately played along. She reached for my hand, her intimacy making my skin crawl. “Mom’s right. I’ll teach you everything, Maya.” “Sister, when we get home, I’ll pick out some things from my closet for you. As for what you’re wearing… we’ll just have the maid throw it out.” “Exactly,” said Leo, the younger brother. “I don’t even know what that trashy set is. It’s hideous. If you keep dressing like that, don’t tell people you’re a Sterling. It’s embarrassing.” I paused my typing—I was in the middle of thanking my dear aunties—and looked at them with a bright smile. “Do you know why I always wear these ‘auntie’ clothes?” 04 “Because her mother—Martha—shredded every piece of clothing I owned to keep me from going to school. Not just that, but when the neighbors felt bad and gave me hand-me-downs, she burned them or cut them up.” “Eventually, those ‘trashy’ ladies you look down on found a way. They recruited me to help with their dance squad. They told Martha that the clothes I wore were team property—the squad’s assets. They told her if she destroyed them, she’d have to pay the community center back. That was the only way I was allowed to leave the house looking like a human being.” “By the way, Serena, do you know why your mother didn’t want me going to school?” I stared directly into Serena’s eyes. “It was because of that regional academic competition in eighth grade. She realized we were assigned to the same testing center. She realized that if I kept going, someone might eventually see us together and notice the resemblance.” “Oh, and one more thing. The aunties were too polite to say it earlier. Do you know what Martha did on the day of the SATs? She locked me in my room.” “She let a local creep into the house. She told me she’d sold me to him for three hundred dollars so he could ‘make me his wife’…” “Stop! Stop talking!” Eleanor went pale, clutching her chest as if she couldn’t breathe. The rest of the Sterling men looked sick, unable to meet my eyes. “Heh.” I let out a sharp laugh, ignoring their discomfort. “So, you should actually be thanking those aunties. If they hadn’t broken down the door, dragged me out, and personally driven me to the exam site, I’d either be dead or I’d be the mother of three kids in some shack in the woods by now.” The car went deathly silent. I curled my lips into a smirk, leaned back against the leather seat, and closed my eyes to rest. Maybe my little story was too much for them. As soon as we reached the Sterling estate, the parents made excuses about work and fled the scene. Serena and Leo also couldn’t handle my gaze and scurried upstairs. Only Marcus remained to lead me to my room—a converted guest bedroom on the first floor. I watched Serena and Leo run up to the second floor, then looked at Marcus and smiled. Marcus looked awkward. “This is just temporary. I’ll have the contractors renovate the spare room on the second floor. You can move up there once it’s done.” I just kept smiling. His face darkened. “Maya, we know you’ve been through a lot, but that’s in the past. Mom, Dad, and I are going to make it up to you. There’s no need to cling to the past and make everyone uncomfortable.” “Is it uncomfortable?” I asked, walking around the room. “Didn’t you see Mom and Dad’s faces?” His tone was accusatory. “And Serena. How do you think she feels, hearing those things while trying to live in this house…” I saw a heavy, long decorative brass statue on the nightstand. My eyes lit up. I grabbed it and swung it with everything I had, slamming it into Marcus’s shoulder. Marcus grunted in pain, clutching his arm and glaring at me. “Are you insane?!” I weighed the statue in my hand and grinned. “Does it hurt?” “What do you think?!” He looked at me like I was a maniac. “Maya, apologize to me right now!” “But that hit happened in the past,” I said, mimicking his tone perfectly. “And compared to what I’ve endured over the years, that little tap was nothing. Why are you clinging to what just happened? Why are you trying to make me feel uncomfortable, Brother?” Marcus choked on his words. I just waved him away and slammed the door. “Bye-bye, Brother.” 05 At dinner, perhaps out of a sense of guilt, my mother specifically asked what I liked and had the cook prepare a feast. When she saw me eating without a fuss, the tension on her face eased slightly. “Maya, you’re a Sterling now. Tomorrow, I’ll have my lawyer take you to change your legal name,” my father said. I looked around the table, my gaze lingering for a second on Serena’s puffy eyelids. “And what about her? Is she changing her name back to Miller?” The parents froze. Serena’s expression faltered. She bit her lip. “If Maya really dislikes me that much, I can move out.” She looked at my parents with eyes full of tears. “Maya, don’t be a bitch!” Leo shouted, jumping to his feet. “I just asked if she was changing her name to her biological mother’s name,” I said, glancing at Leo with indifference. Hearing that I didn’t explicitly demand she move out, the parents visibly relaxed. I couldn’t help but laugh at their reaction. “But since she brought it up.” “Let’s go with her plan. Have her move out. She’s right—I really don’t like her.” “Maya!” Leo glared at me. “How can you be so vicious? Serena even offered to give you her bedroom! She’s doing everything to accommodate you, and you just keep attacking her!” “It’s okay, Leo. I know she hates me. I should give everything back to her anyway,” Serena sobbed quietly. “Maya…” Eleanor looked at me, torn. I didn’t say a word. I simply pulled a photo from my pocket—one I’d prepared long ago—and tossed it onto the table. The family stared at the face in the photo, then instinctively looked at Serena. Serena looked exactly like her biological mother, Martha. “Now do you understand why I don’t like her?” I rolled up my sleeves, resting my chin on my hands, exposing the criss-crossing scars on my forearms for the whole table to see. My parents had seen the scars on my hands, but they hadn’t seen the rest. I turned my arm over, showing them the words Martha had carved into my skin with a knife: BITCH DOG. The Sterlings finally went silent. 06 I happily helped myself to two large pieces of steak. Serena, stuck in limbo, looked at the Sterlings for help. Marcus finally let out a sigh, attempting to “reason” with me. “Maya, we know it’s been hard. But Serena grew up with us. She’s family. We aren’t going to just throw her out. We hope you won’t take your anger toward… that woman out on her. You need to learn to get along.” I put my fork down. I didn’t address Marcus. I looked at Serena with a mocking smile. “What about you? Do you want to get along with me?” Serena blinked, immediately putting on her tragic, misunderstood mask. “Sister, even though I know you hate me, I’ve wanted to be your friend from the very beginning.” “So, you never actually intended to leave the Sterlings, did you?” I said. “In that case, why do you keep offering to move out? Just to make me look like the villain?” Panic flashed in Serena’s eyes. “I didn’t… that’s not…” I didn’t stay for the rest of her performance. I stood up and said, “I’m done,” and started walking toward the stairs. Leo realized what I was doing and blocked me. “Where do you think you’re going?” “Serena offered me her room, didn’t she? I’m accepting the offer.” I narrowed my eyes, giving them a pleasant, terrifying smile. “That wasn’t a lie, was it? You weren’t just saying that to mock me because I was put in the guest room, were you?” Serena stammered, “No… no, I really wanted to give it to you, it’s just…” “Good.” I looked at the housekeeper. “Mrs. Gable, please move Serena’s things to the guest room immediately. If I have to do it myself and things go missing, I won’t be held responsible.” Mrs. Gable looked at my parents, unsure. “What? Serena agreed to it. Does anyone have an objection? Or do you think I don’t deserve it?” I asked. “No, Maya. Don’t overthink it,” my father told Mrs. Gable. “Do as she says.” “Dad…” Serena looked at him, her world crumbling. My father guiltily looked away. He told Marcus to speed up the renovations on the other upstairs room. They hadn’t been in a rush to renovate a room for me before I got back. Now that Serena was displaced, they were frantic. How poetic. But even more poetic was the flash of pure venom in Serena’s eyes. She was finally losing her cool. Good. That looked much more like the girl who had “accidentally” dialed the wrong number and vented to a “stranger” (Martha), subtly hinting that Martha needed to keep me away from my real family. 07 I first found out about the swap on the day Martha’s nephew got into a decent college. Martha had gotten blackout drunk. She spent the whole night laughing and bragging. She talked about how her parents had always favored her brother. To pay for his house, they had sold her to an old cripple for thirty thousand dollars. After the cripple died, they stole her insurance payout to give to their grandson. “But look at me now. Their precious grandson worked himself to death and only got into a state school. My daughter? She’s a princess. She’ll always be a princess.” “As long as this jinx is out of the way! Yes, as long as you’re gone.” She had tried to find a stick to beat me with, but she was too drunk to stand. Usually, Martha was a quiet drunk. But that night, she kept rambling about how her “princess” was living the high life with my parents, and how her princess was cleverly guiding her to keep me far away from the Sterlings. The aunties from the community center heard everything. They took me to the police station immediately. Afraid of what Martha might do next, they pooled their money to buy me a burner phone. But by the time we got back from the station, Martha had vanished. … Serena’s things were moved out. I had to admit, she had a lot of stuff. Her clothes and jewelry alone filled two guest rooms. Compared to her, my single backpack and shopping bag looked pathetic. Eleanor Sterling stood in the middle of the empty, massive master suite, watching me hang my two outfits in a walk-in closet the size of a bedroom. The annoyance she’d felt over me “stealing” Serena’s room turned into sharp guilt. “Maya…” she began. I ignored her, putting on my cheap Bluetooth headphones and FaceTimeing the aunties to check in on their line-dancing progress. She stood there, hovering, before turning to leave. I turned my head. “Mom.” She looked at me, eyes instantly filling with tears. It was the first time I’d called her that. “Maya.” She rushed over and grabbed my hand. “Maya, I’m so sorry. I’ll make everything up to you. I promise you’ll never be hurt again.” For a second, my heart actually twinged. “If I told you Serena and Martha have been in contact this whole time, would you believe me?” I asked. The silence was deafening. The tears stayed in her eyes, but the emotion vanished. Just as I thought. From the first moment I saw how they looked at Serena, I knew. “Even if you don’t believe me, will you investigate it?” “Maya… that’s… that’s impossible,” she stammered. I smiled—the same flat, indifferent smile I always wore. “Fine. I get it.” I pushed her gently toward the door. “I need to rest, Mrs. Sterling.” I shut the door. And I shut the door to my heart, too. I pulled out my phone and messaged a contact: [Let’s do it.] If the Sterlings wouldn’t give me justice, I’d take it myself.

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Toby stared into his bourbon glass, his voice thick with a reverence I had rarely heard. “She’s worth it. Daphne is worth it.” His friend pressed him. “And what about Caitlin?” Silence hung in the air for a long, agonizing moment before Toby’s voice returned, noticeably colder. “Caitlin already has the world at her feet. But Daphne… Daphne only has me.” I was standing just outside the door when I heard it. There was a time, years ago, when I swore to myself that if the girl who had silently orchestrated my high school hell ever stepped foot into Hollywood, I would crush her. I would make sure she never booked a single commercial, let alone a film. But reality has a funny way of making a mockery of our vows. Somehow, she always managed to snatch roles right out from under me. They weren’t blockbuster leads, but they were the kind of prestige indie darlings that let her shine. The kind that built a reputation. It wasn’t until much later that I realized who was playing god behind the curtain. It was Toby. My husband was the one building Daphne’s pedestal, brick by agonizingly painful brick. … The after-party for the Academy Awards had barely wrapped up. Toby poured me a glass of Cabernet. “Congratulations, my love. Best Actress.” I slipped my silk shawl off my shoulders, tossing it carelessly over the back of an armchair. I raised my glass, letting the crystal clink sharply against his in the flickering candlelight. “And congratulations to you,” I said, my voice smooth as glass. “For using the scraps from my table to buy your untouchable muse a Best Newcomer award.” Toby froze. The proud smile on his face cracked, stiffening into something ugly. A heavy silence stretched between us until he finally let out a long, exhausted exhale. “So, you know.” “It’s not what you think,” he started, the practiced lie rolling off his tongue. “We were all high school classmates. She’s been having a rough time in the industry lately, and I just pulled a few strings. A minor favor. Don’t overthink it.” I stared at the face I had known for nearly twenty years. In the dim light, he looked like a stranger. “A minor favor that lands her a golden statuette? You must be quite the Hollywood heavyweight now, darling.” He rubbed his temples, a gesture of profound fatigue. His patience for my sarcasm was visibly wearing thin. “Caitlin, please. Can we not do this tonight? Can we not fight? I am so incredibly tired.” Of course he was tired. He had just rushed from the ceremony where he personally escorted Daphne—showering her with orchids and borrowed diamonds, playing the white knight to make her smile. After playing his part in her victory lap, he had raced back to my agency’s event, putting on a spectacular show as the devoted, doting husband for the paparazzi. And now, he was playing chef. Candlelight. Red wine. Filet mignon. The steak on my plate was practically bleeding. The candles cast dancing shadows across the sharp, handsome angles of his jaw. A year ago, I would have thrown my arms around his neck. I would have spun around the kitchen, giddy with the intoxicating high of winning the biggest award of my life. Tonight, all I felt was a rising tide of nausea. He was a fraud. I hadn’t actually planned on bringing this up tonight. It was my night, my victory, and I didn’t want the stench of his infidelity ruining it. But he had served himself up on a silver platter, and to bite my tongue now would just make me look like a fool. “Toby, let’s just end it. Let’s walk away before it gets uglier.” I reached into my clutch and pulled out the divorce papers I had meticulously prepared weeks ago. I slid them across the marble island. “Sign them.” Toby stared at the thick stack of legal documents. The exhaustion on his face finally fractured into genuine shock. “What is this? What kind of tantrum are you throwing now?” I actually laughed. A dry, hollow sound. The thought of leaving him had been a parasite in my brain for years, slowly eating away at my sanity until I finally took the leap. And he thought this was a tantrum. He forced his features into a mask of patronizing calm. “Caitlin, stop it. Like I said, I’m exhausted.” “And whose fault is that? Did I ask you to run yourself ragged?” He flinched. A flicker of unease crossed his eyes. He genuinely thought his little disappearing act to pick up Daphne had gone unnoticed by the press. He had no idea that high-res photos of them looking intimately intertwined in the back of his Maybach had been sitting in my inbox for hours. Price tag: a cool million. Clearly wanting to drop the subject, he picked up his fork and knife. “Just eat your dinner.” Always this. Always the avoidance. Always retreating into cold silence when I was standing on the precipice of a breakdown. I grabbed the edge of the table and shoved. Plates shattered. The Cabernet splashed violently across his crisp white shirt, blooming like a bloodstain. Toby sprang up, his face livid. He lost his iron grip on his temper and roared, “Are you out of your mind?!” “Yes! Yes, I am crazy!” I screamed, the years of suppressed rage finally clawing its way out of my throat. “I lost my mind a long time ago, comparing myself to her, playing this twisted game! So let’s get a divorce. Do us both a favor. I’ll give you to her, and you give me my life back.” I was hysterical. My chest heaved. This was supposed to be the best day of my life. After years of bleeding for this industry, I had finally won the only award that truly mattered. My team had ordered a cake taller than I was. I had been drinking champagne straight from the bottle with my best friends, surrounded by directors and producers who finally saw me as a titan. And it all came crashing down the second Toby walked through the door. Toby scowled, his lip curling in disgust. He grabbed his ruined jacket and headed for the stairs. “You’re hysterical. I’m not talking to you when you’re like this. We’ll deal with your little meltdown tomorrow.” I slumped back, staring at his retreating figure. I stepped over the ruined steak, my heels crunching on broken glass, and picked up the divorce papers. Why was leaving the man who destroyed you always the hardest part? I collapsed onto the living room sofa. This massive, multi-million dollar mansion was as silent as a tomb. The graveyard of our marriage. I pulled out my phone and wired the million dollars to the account the paparazzi had provided. I had a reputation to protect. I couldn’t bear the thought of the internet dissecting my humiliation, mocking the oblivious A-lister whose husband was funding his high school crush. But this was the last time. The absolute last time I was cleaning up his messes. Every cent I had spent keeping their dirty secret out of the tabloids, I was going to bleed out of them. I tossed my phone aside. Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Standing on my porch was Daphne. She wore no makeup, and God, she didn’t need it. The barefaced vulnerability only made her look more ethereally beautiful, her pale skin glowing in the moonlight, looking desperately fragile yet defiant. She was shivering in a thin, white silk slip dress. She tilted her chin up, looking down her nose at me like a proud swan. “Where is Toby?” I leaned against the doorframe and jerked my thumb toward the second floor. “Taking a shower.” “Can I help you?” Daphne’s face twisted in disgust. “Are you two animals? Is sex all you think about?” She scoffed. “Oh, right. You won an award today. What, is letting him use your body his way of rewarding you? You’re exactly the same as you were in high school, Caitlin. Pathetic. You can’t survive without a man validating you.” Looking at the raw, venomous jealousy burning in her eyes, I couldn’t help it. I smiled. “What’s the matter, Daphne? Jealous? Jealous that I have a thriving, record-breaking career and a husband waiting in my bed?” I tilted my head. “That doesn’t make sense. Does he only sleep with me and not you?” “Shut your mouth, you psycho! Don’t you dare ruin my reputation!” Daphne hissed, her face draining of color. “He and I are strictly professional. I didn’t want him back then, and I don’t want him now. Only a woman like you would treat a charity case from the gutter like he’s a prize.” I couldn’t argue with that. Back in high school, Daphne had made her disdain for Toby abundantly clear. “Get to the point. Why are you here?” Daphne practically threw a cell phone at my chest. I caught it clumsily. “He left his phone at my place. It’s been ringing off the hook, it’s driving me insane,” she snapped. “I couldn’t put it on silent, so I was forced to bring it here.” Of course she couldn’t put it on silent. It was a custom-made phone. Toby had a tech guy disable the silent switch entirely—just so he would never, ever miss a call from Daphne. I had asked him once why he needed a phone that couldn’t be muted. I was a notoriously light sleeper, and the late-night buzzing often triggered my insomnia. His excuse? He said he was terrified of me not being able to reach him in an emergency. It wasn’t until a year later that I learned the truth. Daphne had been tricked by a sleazy producer into going to a “private audition” that was actually a predatory hotel room setup. She had called Toby in a panic, but he hadn’t answered. Because that night was our wedding anniversary. For once, Toby had put his phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’ to focus on me. The next morning, Daphne had called him and screamed at him for abandoning her. The sheer terror of almost losing her had completely rewired him. He had the custom phone made the very next week. He even set her ringtone as a blaring emergency alert. I closed the door, gripping the phone and the divorce papers, and walked upstairs. Toby was just stepping out of the bathroom, dressed in fresh sweatpants. I walked right up to him and slammed the divorce papers against his chest. “Sign.” “Are you still doing this?” He was vigorously towel-drying his hair, clearly treating me like a toddler throwing a tantrum. I slammed the papers against the bathroom mirror. I hit it with so much force that a spiderweb of cracks splintered outward from beneath my palm. “I am not stopping until you sign.” Toby narrowed his eyes, truly looking at me for the first time all night. He was calculating, trying to read if I was bluffing. “Caitlin, is this really all over an award?” “Yes. It’s over an award.” He chuckled, a condescending sound of relief. “You’re jealous.” He said it with absolute certainty. I laughed back, matching his tone. “You really think you’re something special, don’t you? Jealous of you? You’re not worth the energy.” I stepped closer, dropping my voice to a lethal whisper. “You are going to sign this right now, and we are going to walk away clean. Because if you don’t, I cannot promise what I’ll do. But I will tell you this: I am the biggest actress in this town right now. Crushing a D-list nobody who survives on my leftovers would be as easy as stepping on an ant. Do we understand each other?” At the mention of Daphne, the arrogant smirk melted off his face. “Don’t you dare touch her. She has nothing to do with this.” “Then sign the damn papers.” “Caitlin.” He ground out my name, his eyes dark with warning. I casually raised my hand, dangling the custom phone in front of his face. “Oh, by the way. Daphne dropped by. She said you left this at her place.” I gave him a mock-sympathetic pout. “You really are a busy man, Toby.” Panic—raw and unadulterated—seized him. He bolted for the stairs. “Where is she?!” “Gone.” I said it lightly, but he reacted like a bomb had gone off. He frantically grabbed the phone, dialing her number over and over. Straight to voicemail. His breathing turned ragged. He grabbed my shoulders, shaking me violently. “How long ago did she leave? Was she alone? How the hell could you let her walk away in the middle of the night? It’s pitch black outside!” He shoved past me, frantically pulling a sweater over his head. I casually dragged a vanity chair over and sat right in the doorway, blocking his exit. “Caitlin, move!” “Sign.” He looked at me like I was a monster. “Are you insane? Do you have any idea what time it is? We live in the hills! The roads are completely unlit. What if something happens to her?!” “I don’t care. Let her get eaten by coyotes for all I care.” I examined my manicure. “Oh, and you’ll be thrilled to know she was wearing a very sheer, very white slip dress. Looked absolutely tragic and breathtaking. I can see why you’ve spent ten years obsessed with her. Did you buy it for her?” Toby’s fists clenched at his sides. The edges of his eyes rimmed with angry red. “You know what, Caitlin? This right here,” he spat, pointing a shaking finger at me. “This cold-blooded, heartless bitch routine. It’s what I hate most about you.” I smiled, though it felt like swallowing glass. If I were truly cold-blooded, I never would have saved him. Toby grew up next door to me. He was the golden boy—wealthy family, stunningly handsome, straight A’s. The textbook definition of perfection. Our families were casual acquaintances, mostly business rivals. We hated each other. From elementary school through junior high, we existed in a state of cold war, ignoring each other even when we were assigned seats at the same desk. Everything shattered the summer we were fourteen. His parents were driving him up the coast. A drunk driver crossed the median. His father died on impact. His mother, shielding Toby with her own body, bled out before the ambulance arrived. Toby walked away with broken ribs and a shattered collarbone, but he lived. After the funeral, the vultures descended. Aunts, uncles, cousins he had never met swarmed the estate, circling the massive inheritance. They dragged a traumatized, grieving fourteen-year-old into back rooms, screaming over trusts and assets. It was my father who finally had his security team throw them all out. I remember walking into his empty, echoing living room. I asked him, “Do you want to come home with me?” Toby just looked at me with hollow, dead eyes. And then, he nodded. My parents were deeply against it at first. Taking in a rival’s teenage son was complicated, legally and socially. But I went on a hunger strike. I refused to eat until I collapsed and was hospitalized with an IV in my arm. My parents finally caved. Toby moved into the guest wing. He became my shadow. I pitied him. I fiercely protected him from anyone who dared whisper about him at school. But boys grow up fast. Somewhere along the line, his shoulders broadened. He shot up past six feet. He didn’t need me to fight his battles anymore. Instead of me walking him to school, he started driving me in his restored vintage Mustang. A subtle, electric shift started happening between us. And then, one day, he packed his bags and moved back into his empty mansion. No warning. No explanation. Whenever he looked at me after that, there was a new guard in his eyes. A profound wariness. I wasn’t heartbroken then. I just assumed the universe was righting itself. We were back to being strangers. Back in the present, Toby’s face was flushed dark crimson with rage. He snatched a pen off my vanity, viciously scrawled his name on the divorce papers, and threw them directly at my face. I didn’t flinch. I just let out a long, shuddering breath, stood up, and moved out of the doorway. The next morning, the sun barely up, I had the locks changed. I hired a premium moving company to come in and strip the house of everything that had his touch. Every piece of furniture we picked out together, every rug, every painting. Thrown out. By noon, the massive house was a cavernous, echoing shell. The only thing left was the cat. We had adopted Bandit together. He was a temperamental, standoffish rescue who adored Toby but hissed and swatted at me if I even breathed too loudly near him. When Toby finally came back, Bandit sensed him before I did. The cat trotted to the front door, meowing frantically. Outside, the electronic keypad beeped loudly. Passcode denied. Fingerprint unrecognized. The beeping turned into aggressive, violent pounding on the heavy oak door. Bandit, terrified by the noise, scattered. When I finally swung the door open, Toby practically fell inside. He stumbled past me, ready to yell, and then froze. “Where is everything?” His voice dropped to a stunned whisper. “Where is our stuff?” His expression morphed from blank shock to boiling fury. I leaned against the wall, crossing my arms. “Dumped.” “Dumped? What the hell gives you the right to throw my things away?” “Because I paid for every single piece of it. That’s what gives me the right.” Toby choked on his words, running his hands frantically through his hair. “What is wrong with you?! What are you trying to prove?!” Before I could answer, a slender figure slipped through the open door, shivering in an oversized men’s blazer. Daphne. She immediately crouched down, her face lighting up. “Oh my god, kitty!” I fully expected Bandit to bolt—he hated strangers. But to my absolute shock, the cat practically purred, rubbing his head aggressively against Daphne’s calves before rolling onto his back, exposing his belly like a desperate sycophant. Daphne looked up at Toby, a rare, genuine smile softening her features. “You actually kept him? Why didn’t you tell me? I was worried sick about him back then.” The sheer aggression in Toby’s posture melted instantly. He looked down at Daphne, his eyes impossibly soft. He opened his mouth to reply, then caught me staring. He shut his mouth, suddenly looking incredibly trapped. “Go ahead,” I prodded, my voice dripping with venom. “Tell her. Tell her how you literally begged me on your knees to adopt this stray.” I turned my gaze to Daphne. “So, this is a little piece of your shared history, huh? God, I am so incredibly stupid. No wonder this feral little beast never let me touch him. He was already spoken for.” Toby’s face drained of color. A month before our wedding, Toby had taken me back to our old high school campus for a nostalgic walk. In a quiet corner by the old bleachers, a scrawny stray kitten had darted out of the bushes. Toby had scooped it up, his eyes entirely too frantic. He begged me to let us keep it. I was severely allergic to cats. I was terrified of them. I tried to say no, but looking at his desperate face, my heart broke. I gave in. I suffered for it. I broke out in agonizing hives. The rashes were so severe I spent weeks scratching until I bled, suffering through countless sleepless nights. He used to stand in the doorway of our bedroom, holding the kitten, looking at me with such profound, tortured guilt. Eventually, my body built up a tolerance, aided by heavy antihistamines and a small army of housekeepers who vacuumed twice a day so not a single hair was left on the rugs. I thought our marriage was solid. I thought we were building a life. And then, Daphne made her grand debut in Hollywood. She had this icy, untouchable aura that instantly set her apart from the cookie-cutter starlets. To seem more “relatable” to her new fans, she went on a late-night talk show and told a touching story about feeding a scrawny stray kitten behind the bleachers in high school. She described the cat perfectly. The torn left ear. The white patch over the eye. It was the exact feral beast that was currently shedding all over my Prada sofa. In that moment watching the broadcast, the world completely tilted on its axis. The memory of Toby finding the cat replayed in my mind like a horror movie. His desperation wasn’t about saving an animal. It was about rescuing the last living piece of Daphne he could find. I was the punchline to a sick joke. I had spent years of my life, compromising my own health, carefully preserving the shrine to his first love. Pathetic. Tragic. Disgusting. Toby lurched forward, instinctively reaching for my arm. “Caitlin, what are you talking about—”

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On the day the college acceptance letters arrived, my mom made three phone calls in a row. The first was to my grandmother: “Did the Carter family tombstone explode yet? …Ah, it didn’t? Then it must be emitting holy light! Go check it out right now!” The second was to my dad: “My daughter got into Columbia University! Near perfect SATs! Did your son even graduate? Oh, I almost forgot, your son couldn’t even get into a decent high school, he’s graduating from some trade school this year, right? Found a job yet? Ahahahaha.” The third was to the town mayor, asking him to hang 100 banners across Main Street and broadcast the news over the town’s radio system for three days and three nights. She also told him we were coming back to our hometown in a few days to throw a massive block party for everyone. Right now, I’m watching the town dogs feast on the leftovers from the party. I take a photo, post it on Facebook, and tag my half-brother. “Who says girls are worse than boys?” 1 My dad and mom came from the same small, rural town in the Midwest. They didn’t have much education. First, they worked on an assembly line in a factory for two years—he was screwing in bolts, she was welding parts. Later, they started working on construction sites, installing aluminum windows. They had to find their own clients. Whether it was the scorching heat of July or the freezing cold of January, my mom and dad were always out on construction sites. It was exhausting. But those were the years they loved each other the most. They had goals. They had a shared future. They agreed that once they opened their own shop, they would start a family. A few years later, they saved up some money, opened a shop in a booming commercial district, and finally owned something of their own. My mom didn’t care about skincare. She thought carrying an umbrella was a hassle, and she was too frugal to buy sunscreen. You know how it is. UV rays severely damage the skin. When other people look 19 at 24, my mom looked 30 at 24. When her skin looked 31 at the age of 24, she had me. The whole family was thrilled. My grandpa and grandma even came up with over 100 names for my parents to choose from. Unfortunately, they were all boys’ names. My dad’s favorite name was Hunter. Hunter Carter. He said he didn’t have an education, so he wanted a son who would be an educated man. Nine months later, my mom gave birth to me. My grandpa and grandma’s faces fell lower than a mule’s. They stayed at the hospital for less than half a day before leaving. Before they left, they even took the roast chicken they had brought as a gift. My dad sighed heavily and stood on the hospital balcony, chain-smoking. When my mom told me this part of the story, she choked up several times. She said she suggested giving me the name Hunter anyway, that a girl could use that name too. My dad refused. 2 When did my mom realize my dad had a problem? Maybe it was when he started coming home very late, or not coming home at all. Maybe it was when he brought his buddies over, and every single one of them brought a mistress, but none of them brought their wives. Maybe it was when the wives of other construction bosses hinted, “That group of guys, not a single one is decent.” In my memory, from a very young age, my mom was always depressed. She was a shrewd businesswoman, knowing exactly what to say to different people, always keeping clients happy. But when it came to her marriage, she was insecure yet fierce. The only times she and my dad could have a normal conversation were when they were doing the books and making money. At all other times, they couldn’t stand the sight of each other. My dad complained that my mom wasn’t feminine enough, her voice was too loud, she wasn’t gentle, she liked making her own decisions, and she had an “old” face. My mom called my dad a cheating bastard who messed around outside and would eventually get what was coming to him. The conflict finally erupted when I was 5. One night, I suddenly ran a high fever, burning up until I started convulsing. My dad wasn’t home, and he had taken the car. My mom called him, wanting him to come back and take me to the hospital, but he didn’t pick up. Back then, Uber didn’t exist. To get around at night, you had to rely on cabs. But the area we lived in was an undeveloped suburb; it was desolate at night, and you couldn’t flag down a cab to save your life. Eventually, my mom had to call her friend. The friend and her husband drove over and took me to the ER. My mom didn’t give up. She stayed by my hospital bed, calling my dad off and on all night. It was as if my dad was dead. Every call disappeared into the void. The next morning, my mom finally gave up. She put her phone down, grabbed her purse, and went to buy breakfast. Coincidentally, as soon as she left, her phone rang. The caller ID showed my dad. I answered the phone. Before I could even say “Dad,” a female voice on the other end unleashed a torrent of rage: “Over a hundred calls in one night!” “Mary, will you die without a man?! What the hell are you calling for?” “Your husband didn’t even answer your calls, don’t you get the message? Let go already, honey. Forcing it won’t make you happy!” I frowned, considering my words: “Ma’am, I’m sick.” The other side froze for a second, then continued the barrage: “Oh, it’s the money-losing mistake! Where’s your mom? Did she jump off a building because your dad didn’t answer her calls?” “Let me tell you something! Your dad stopped loving your mom a long time ago, and he doesn’t love you either!” “Right now, he only loves me and your little brother. All the money, the houses, the cars in your family—they all belong to me and your brother now.” I was young, I didn’t fully understand, and I spoke with the unfiltered innocence of a child. “So, Ma’am, are you a robber?” “Only robbers steal other people’s things, and robbers get beaten up by superheroes!” She sneered: “Where in the world are there superheroes?” I cried: “But there are police officers! You’re a bad lady, the police will lock you up!” … Later, my mom came back. Seeing me sulking, and noticing the call log showing my dad’s number had called back, she asked me several times what happened. I burst out crying. “There’s a bad lady who said Daddy doesn’t love us anymore!” “She said Daddy only loves her and my little brother, and she said everything in our family belongs to her!” I cried so hard I couldn’t catch my breath. My mom hugged me, patting my back, and stayed silent for a long time. “Mommy is going to divorce Daddy. Sweetie, will you stay with Mommy?” “Yes.” 3 During the few days I was in the hospital, my dad didn’t come to see me once. My mom called him often. Although she deliberately avoided me, when she couldn’t suppress her temper, phrases like “bastard,” “I’m taking two-thirds of the assets or I’ll drag this out until you die,” and “you’re worse than a dog, go to hell” still reached my ears. I secretly cried. How could a child my age understand a mother’s pain? I was terrified of not having a father anymore. This was the first time I experienced loss, but I didn’t tell my mom, and I certainly didn’t cry in front of her. I vaguely knew what divorce meant, knew that between my dad and mom, I could only choose one, and knew that my mom loved me more. I don’t know what my mom and dad discussed, but she was always fuming. Seven days later. My mom discharged me from the hospital. She marched out proudly, like a warrior… but we could never return to our old home. My grandma was standing on the balcony. Seeing us walking up to the building, she threw open the window. “Sarah, come here quick!” My mom froze and looked up. A few seconds later, a familiar woman appeared in our line of sight. It was my mom’s cousin! She smirked triumphantly at my mom, then joined my grandma to haul two unzipped duffel bags and throw them down. Toothbrushes, slippers, clothes, bras, sanitary pads… Clattering and fluttering down, scattering everywhere. I saw my mom’s jaw clench tight, her face flushed with embarrassment. A moment later— Her anger overpowered her embarrassment. She put her hands on her hips and screamed up at the balcony: “Sarah, are you even human? Are all the men in the world dead? You actually stole your own cousin’s husband!” “Robert and I haven’t even signed the divorce papers yet! And you just couldn’t wait! Shameless! Spit!” “When I go back, I’m telling your mother! I’m telling the whole town! You homewrecker!”… Sarah and my grandma tag-teamed their response: “Ugly bitch, look at your face! Robert says he wants to puke just looking at you!” “You useless cow who can’t even produce a son! Get the hell out! If it weren’t for Sarah, our Carter family bloodline would have ended with a jinx like you!” “Someone like you still has the nerve to talk about going back to the town?! Go back and ask around, if you can’t have a son, shouldn’t you be dumped?!”… Amidst the screaming match, a little boy about my age ran out of the living room. Holding a toy submachine gun, he stood on a small stool and fired a barrage of pellets right at us. Back then, the bullets in toy guns weren’t water beads; they were hard plastic BBs that hurt like hell when they hit you. My arms and neck were hit several times. My mom shielded me and we ducked under a low tree. “Where are they? Where did they go?” “Over there!” “I see them! Old hag! Money-losing mistake! I’m gonna shoot you dead!”… With the leaves buffering the impact, the bullets didn’t hurt as much. The leaves rustled and fell. My mom ground her teeth in rage. “You little bastard, if you’ve got the guts, get a real gun and shoot us!” The toy gun could only hold so many bullets. When the magazine was empty, it had to be reloaded. My mom took advantage of the reloading time upstairs, grabbed a rock from the ground, and charged upstairs like a hurricane. I copied her, picking up a rock and following right on her heels. 4 The front door was a heavy security door. Made of steel. That bastard of a dad had actually changed the locks. My mom couldn’t open the door with her key. She dropped the rock, hitched up her skirt, and delivered a vicious kick right at the lock. The steel door let out a deafening “CLANG.” Then came the second kick, the third… The clanging echoed endlessly, feeling like an earthquake. My grandma and Sarah were cursing from inside; my mom was kicking from outside. Neighbors upstairs and downstairs kept opening their doors, asking loudly, “What’s going on? What’s going on? Are you going to let people live in peace?” “Nobody’s living in peace today! The older cousin stole the younger cousin’s husband and brought him right into the house! They even changed the locks! Have they no shame?” “That is shameless,” someone upstairs agreed. Eventually, the local police arrived. My mom tearfully complained to the officers. After calming her down and ensuring she was stable, the police knocked on the door. My mom was fierce. The moment the door cracked open, she bolted inside, grabbed a stool, and smashed it right at Sarah. “BANG!” The plastic stool shattered, and a jagged gash appeared on Sarah’s arm. Blood dripped down onto the floor. Everyone froze. A second later, Sarah bent down, snatched up a heavy glass ashtray, and charged at my mom, screaming “Go to hell!” My mom swung the stool again. The police officers quickly split up—half restraining my mom, half holding back Sarah. I took advantage of the chaos, grabbed the rock I had picked up, and charged at the little boy. That little brat had just shot me, and it still hurt! I was covered in welts! Desperate to protect her grandson, my grandma shoved the boy aside, snatched his toy gun, grabbed me with one hand, and swung the heavy plastic gun down hard on my arm with the other. “Smack! Smack! Smack!” The violent impact on my arm knocked the magazine loose, sending BBs scattering all over the floor. My arm felt like it was broken. My grandma struck me three times in the exact same spot. It hurt so much I could only inhale, forgetting how to exhale. My face spasmed, and it took a long time before I could finally cry out. I don’t know where my mom found the strength, but she broke free from the cops, shoved my grandma aside, rushed over, grabbed me, and carefully checked my arm. “Sweetie, are you okay? Can you move it? How about this? How about this?” “It hurts…” I burst out crying, “Mommy, it hurts so much!” The police told my mom to stop moving my arm. Without professional training, she might make the injury worse. Getting to the hospital immediately was the priority. My mom’s eyes were like daggers, violently glaring at my grandma. “Martha! She’s your own granddaughter! If there’s any permanent damage, I’ll kill you!” My grandma had never seen my mom like this. She involuntarily shivered, then stiffened her neck: “She deserved it! She started it! She was trying to hit my precious baby!” “A grandson is a precious baby, and a daughter is just weeds?! Martha, you’re a woman yourself, why don’t you go jump off a bridge?! You better pray she’s okay, otherwise…” Before my mom could finish her threat, the police urged, “Enough talking. Get to the hospital first. We’ll give you a ride!” 5 In just one day, I had left the hospital only to return to it. My bone wasn’t completely broken, but it was fractured. The doctor put a cast on my arm and told me to rest. My dad still hadn’t shown up. My mom was furious, crying and cursing over the phone. I kept hearing the word “animal.” My mom couldn’t understand how a man could be so ruthless. His own biological daughter had suffered such a severe injury, and he completely ignored it, refusing to even come take a look. “Mommy, our clothes and shoes are still downstairs at the apartment. Should we go get them?” “Yes,” my mom said. “If we don’t, people will scavenge them or throw them away as trash.” As she spoke, her eyes reddened. A mix of stubbornness and grievance wove into suppressed anger. “We’re poor now. We don’t have extra money to buy everything new. You stay here in the hospital and be good. I’ll get our things and come right back.” I nodded, telling her not to worry. My mom was gone for a long time that day. Or maybe it just felt like a long time because I was alone in the hospital. I was terrified… Terrified she would go looking for my grandma for revenge, terrified she couldn’t fight them all off alone, terrified she’d be at a disadvantage, terrified she’d get hurt. I was also terrified she didn’t want me anymore… If I hadn’t tried to hit that little boy, my arm wouldn’t have been fractured, we wouldn’t have had to spend money. I was afraid she’d think I was a burden and just leave me in the hospital alone. The massive anxiety made my whole body tense up. Like a frightened quail, my eyes stayed glued to the hospital room door. If only I were a boy. Then my grandparents wouldn’t despise me, my dad wouldn’t find another woman to have kids with, my mom wouldn’t be abandoned… We’d be like the happy families on TV. Thankfully, my mom finally returned, carrying two large duffel bags. The bags were filthy, and the things inside were dirty too. My mom said we lost some things, but it didn’t matter. Being able to salvage most of it was lucky enough. I noticed my mom’s eyes were much redder than when she left. I guessed she had cried outside. “Mommy, I’ll be good.” I said it out of nowhere, but my mom understood. She walked over to the bed and hugged me. “Things will get better.” “We won’t live like stray dogs forever!” From that day on, my mom changed. She stopped calling my dad, stopped screaming hysterically. She took a pen and paper and calmly calculated all of our family’s assets. She started smoking. In the dark, I often saw her standing on the hospital balcony, her hair blowing in the night breeze, the ember of her cigarette glowing and fading between her fingers. Her loneliness was just like the cigarette in her hand. 6 In those days, in the eyes of rural country folk, divorce was a disgraceful thing. “Don’t wash your dirty linen in public.” If someone had to divorce, the best option was to do it quietly. The couple would quietly sign the papers, and no one besides their parents would know. My mom insisted on suing for a contested divorce. She demanded that the husband leave with nothing, and she gets full custody of the daughter. My dad completely lost his mind. Previously, he wouldn’t call for weeks; now, he called several times a day. He played the good cop, talking about the bond they shared over the years, telling my mom not to go too far, that everything was negotiable. He even said he wanted to come see us and asked where my mom was staying. My grandma played the bad cop. She called my mom a shameless bitch, saying she couldn’t give birth to a son, couldn’t keep her man, and was useless! She asked if my mom was trying to take my dad’s money to find another man. She said all the money in the family was earned by my dad, implying my mom would do anything for cash… My mom unleashed her fury: “Son, son, all you care about is a son! Are you running a royal dynasty?” “Your ancestors worked the dirt for generations, your family is dirt poor, and you still want multiple wives and a male heir! Let me tell you, the 1800s are over!” “The government has been saying for decades that boys and girls are equal. Are you deaf? Monogamy is written into the law! Are you trying to break the law?” “Every cent Robert Carter owns is marital property! Every cent he spent on Sarah is also marital property!” “Robert is the at-fault party in this marriage, and he deserves to be punished! The money, the house, they’re all mine! If you dare harass me again, don’t blame me for going after every single dime he spent on Sarah!” My mom used to act very submissive in the Carter family. Though she had stood up for herself once, it always seemed forced. This time was different. With the law backing her up, my mom spoke on the phone with incredible confidence. I was young and barely understood, but I thought my mom was shining brightly. My grandma was probably terrified by my mom. She stopped calling and instead reached out to my great-uncle and great-aunt. Sarah’s parents. They kept emphasizing that we were all relatives, telling my mom not to be so ruthless! They said my maternal grandparents still lived in the same town, and everyone saw everyone else eventually, their words carrying a veiled threat. My mom sat on a folding stool on the balcony, took a drag from her cigarette, and slowly exhaled the smoke: “Sure. Have Sarah write a 10,000-word apology detailing exactly how she seduced her cousin’s husband, how she got pregnant with a married man’s child, and how she used her status as a mistress to kick the legal wife out of her own home…” “When she’s done, show it to me. If I’m satisfied, have her go to the town’s radio station and read it ten times a day for a whole month. If she does that, I won’t go after the money Robert spent on her!” My great-uncle and his wife had no idea that “reclaiming marital assets” was a legal possibility. On the other end of the line, they screamed in panic: “What?!” “You want the money Robert already spent? You love money so much, why don’t you just go rob a bank?” “Sarah is the hero who gave the Carter family an heir! All the Carter family’s money belongs to her! We earn our living with honest work, why should we do whatever you say?” “You can’t even keep your own man, and you have the nerve to fight for the assets? How did our family produce such a disgrace like you?” My mom laughed coldly: “Exactly. How did our family produce disgraces like you? You act like thieves and homewreckers, and you’re proud of it!” “Let me tell you, I won’t give up a single cent that belongs to me! Your daughter and grandson can prepare to sleep under a bridge!” 7 To win this lawsuit, my mom hired a lawyer and prepared meticulously. This included recording their phone calls over the past few weeks, gathering evidence of my dad’s long-term infidelity, and documenting my grandma assaulting me and kicking us out of the house… On my dad’s side, whether it was overconfidence or just no lawyer wanting to take their case, they represented themselves the entire time. Their core argument was singular: Everyone in the country town does this. Assets should go to the son. Continuing the family line is more important than anything else. They caused a huge scene in the courtroom. One minute they were calling my mom a jinx, saying she didn’t dress up or look pretty, ruining my dad’s luck, so she deserved to be thrown out. The next minute, they called me a money-losing mistake, demanding to know why I should get any of the money my dad earned. My dad was legally the at-fault party to begin with, their arguments were completely absurd, and on top of that, the judge that day was female, and the court clerk was also female. The outcome of the lawsuit was obvious. Whether it was the business, the real estate, or the savings, it was all awarded to my mom. My grandma refused to accept it. She threw herself onto the floor, kicked her legs out, and rolled around like a dying bug. “This is an outrage! The judge was bribed! Where can an old woman like me find justice?” “My son worked hard his whole life, and now he doesn’t get a single penny. Aren’t you trying to kill us?” “Waaah, if you don’t change the verdict, I’ll never get up! I’m going to stay right here!”… The judge stopped, gave her a long look, and walked right out. A few moments later, the bailiffs “escorted” my grandma out. She howled the whole way, vowing to protest outside the courthouse every single day. My mom and her lawyer were talking nearby, looking at my grandma like she was an absolute idiot. “You jinx! Don’t think just because you won the lawsuit that the house is yours! If you want that house, you’ll have to step over my dead body!” My mom smiled and said she wouldn’t dare. My grandma felt triumphant again and threw another tantrum right outside the courthouse doors. After the bailiffs gave her another stern lecture on the law, she stopped causing a scene, dragged my dad over, puffed out her cheeks, and sat right in the middle of the main entrance in silent protest. “What do you plan to do?” the lawyer asked my mom. “Help her out, of course,” my mom said, still smiling, her eyes filled with an emotion I couldn’t read. “The old lady has it tough.”

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