Category: English

Two cars collided, and I, along with another pregnant woman, was rushed into the maternity ward. “This patient’s water has broken, she needs emergency care! Quick, get a family member to sign!” Just as I was about to be wheeled into the operating room, I quickly said, “My husband is busy, I can sign myself!” Before I could finish, the other pregnant woman’s husband rushed up, covered in blood and panic-stricken. “Save her first, she’s in worse condition; she has a heart condition!” Despite his blood-streaked face, I recognized him immediately. Dr. Samuel Hartley. My husband. “I’m Dr. Samuel Hartley from Midtown Medical Center. Trust my professional judgment,” he announced confidently. I reached out to him, only for him to push my hand away sharply. “But this patient’s water has already broken,” someone argued. Samuel cast a brief glance my way. “She won’t die. I’m her husband; I can sign the waiver.” The car accident had happened so suddenly, leaving the hospital staff overwhelmed and short-handed. The surgery slot, initially set for me, was quickly redirected because my husband, the highly regarded OB-GYN at Midtown Medical Center, had made the call. Trusting his judgment, they postponed my surgery. As my gurney was pushed aside, Samuel didn’t spare me even a glance. His focus was entirely on Lila Whitmore, his expression a mix of concern and devotion. “Don’t worry, I’ll personally handle your surgery once the paperwork clears,” he whispered to her, his voice laced with a tenderness that stung my heart. Lacking an available bed, I was left in the hallway, forced to watch as he lavished care on someone else. The other patients around me were surrounded by anxious loved ones, arms offering support. But my source of support had been granted permission to help someone else—his ‘goddess.’ He passed by me, pausing for a moment but never turning back. His words echoed coldly as he walked away: “You’re not going to die. Trust my professional judgment.” I didn’t know how long that surgery took. Exhaustion overcame me, and I drifted into a fitful sleep. When I was woken up, a flurry of medical staff surrounded me. “The patient is experiencing acute amniotic fluid embolism! Contact the blood bank immediately!” “Where’s Dr. Hartley? He’s the only one in the city who’s handled this before! We’re not equipped for this!” The rush of footsteps and urgent voices filled the corridor as male nurses wheeled my bed at a breakneck pace, offering reassurance. “Don’t worry. Your husband is the most renowned OB-GYN in the city. He’s handled amniotic fluid embolisms with a 99% success rate. You’re young and strong; you’ll make it.” Bright white lights flooded my vision as I was wheeled into the operating room. Amid the chaos, I heard data about my vitals being read aloud. “No! Her oxygen levels are dropping too fast; she won’t last much longer! Where is Dr. Hartley?” My attending physician’s hand was icy as he gripped mine. “Dr. Hartley finished Lila Whitmore’s surgery and left… said she wanted soup, and he was going to make it for her himself,” a nurse stammered. “Call him!” “No answer…” “The baby! There’s no heartbeat! The mother’s losing consciousness—she won’t hold on!” My attending doctor squeezed my hand with conviction. “As long as I’m responsible for you, I won’t give up. You need to fight, too. Notify Pediatrics—we’re saving both mother and child.” I blinked weakly. If someone in this world wanted me to live, I had to try. Trainee doctors scrambled to reach Samuel, while my attending physician led a team of specialists in a race against time. Bags of blood were brought in, used up, and replaced, as beads of sweat gathered on the doctors’ foreheads. The weight in my chest felt unbearable. Suddenly, one of the interns held up my phone triumphantly. “Dr. Hartley’s calling back!” The speaker was activated, and the whole room heard his voice, sharp and impatient. “Morgan! Where’s your delivery bag? You won’t need it anytime soon, so I’m taking it to Lila.”

I saw my attending doctor’s frown deepen as he handed his tools to the senior physician beside him. He approached the intern and took the sanitized phone. “Dr. Hartley, your wife is experiencing an acute amniotic fluid embolism. We need your expertise immediately to help save her,” he said firmly. The call disconnected with a cold series of beeps. “What’s wrong with him? Ignoring his wife to cater to someone else?” an angry voice burst out. “Some ‘expert’—he’s just a total jerk!” I couldn’t help but smile faintly at the truth in his words. Realizing the potential effect of his outburst, my attending doctor looked apologetic. Through the fog of anesthesia, I managed a silent glance that said it was okay. Because he was right. But that fleeting understanding gave way to a deep, gnawing despair that swallowed the last remnants of my resolve. “Patient’s oxygen is plummeting! Request more blood from the bank!” Riverside Community Hospital began urgently requesting blood from across the city, and news of the embolism spread quickly. Just then, a doctor from Midtown Medical Center entered the room, a familiar face who had handled such cases with Samuel. “Can you believe it? Dr. Hartley’s wife is giving birth here too. I happened to come by and rushed over to help.” Dr. Hartley’s wife? My attending physician instinctively looked at me. Samuel’s colleague, already experienced from assisting him before, took charge smoothly. The tension began to ease, and a light conversation ensued. “I saw Pediatrics bring the newborn back earlier—a chubby little boy,” he remarked. “Strange, though, no dad came to see him. Is she a single mom or something?” The attending doctor cleared his throat. The oblivious doctor continued. “Odd, considering Dr. Hartley’s wife is just down the hall. Why isn’t he here? You’d think he’d prioritize helping his own wife deliver.” Before anyone could respond, an intern snapped, “Dr. Lee, the woman in front of you is Dr. Hartley’s actual wife, Morgan Bennett.” Dr. Lee chuckled dismissively. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve worked with Samuel for years. His wife is Lila Whitmore—not this Morgan person.” “Great,” the attending doctor muttered as my previously stable vitals began to nosedive. “We’re not joking; this is Dr. Hartley’s wife. Your careless words just drained whatever willpower she had left.” Dr. Lee smacked his forehead. “I thought you were all kidding!” Just then, the faint cry of a baby echoed in the room. “Bring the baby to the mother,” my attending doctor directed Pediatrics. I strained to open my eyes and saw a tiny, purple-tinged baby. Despite everything, a smile tugged at my lips. He was so ugly, resembling Samuel in every way. But I couldn’t help loving him—a visceral, uncontrollable kind of maternal affection. After a grueling, day-long battle and over 500 units of blood, I survived. Once out of the ICU and transferred to a regular room, the postpartum nurse, Mrs. Evelyn Carter, arrived looking uncomfortable, holding a used diaper. “Ma’am, I’m sorry. Dr. Hartley insisted I help Ms. Whitmore first. I couldn’t refuse…”

I was about to respond to Mrs. Thompson when I heard Samuel Hartley’s voice from the hallway. “Mrs. Thompson, hurry up! The baby spit up again, and Lila’s too weak to hold him.” The door to my room swung open, and Samuel stood there, momentarily taken aback. Our eyes met, and he spoke with a nonchalant tone. “Our son is still in the incubator, so we don’t need Mrs. Thompson for now. I’m letting Lila use her. I assume you don’t mind.” “Oh, and I called your parents to come take care of you. I’m too exhausted from looking after Lila to take care of you too. I hope you understand.” As he finished speaking, a few of his colleagues arrived, their arms full of gifts. “What are you doing here? Lila needs you!” one of them said. “What’s wrong with Lila?” he asked instinctively, already moving toward her room. His colleagues followed, leaving Mrs. Thompson in the room with a confused look on her face. “You’re really Dr. Hartley’s wife, right? Isn’t Lila just a friend? Why does everyone call her ‘Mrs. Hartley’?” she asked, puzzled. I chuckled. “It’s probably just a misunderstanding.” Mrs. Thompson threw her cloth onto a chair in frustration. “He can’t correct them? He just lets people believe it? Seems to me Dr. Hartley wants everyone to think Lila is his wife.” Anyone unfamiliar with Samuel would see his intentions clearly. Lila Whitmore had been his unattainable college crush. He never dared to confess, but everyone knew he was infatuated. If it weren’t for that alumni gathering, I wouldn’t have realized that even someone as proud as Samuel could act so humbly. When faced with Lila, he would always look down, unable to meet her gaze. His old college friends would joke with the newly divorced Lila, saying, “If you’d accepted Sam’s confession back then, you’d be the wife of Midtown’s top OB-GYN now, not someone else.” And I, that “someone else,” would sit quietly at the table, cutting my steak. Samuel’s college friends never liked me. They saw me as the obstacle between him and Lila, the reason their “goddess” was alone. Samuel seemed to agree. After the reunion, he became distant, using work as an excuse. He would come home once a week at most and even stopped attending my prenatal appointments. But he appeared regularly in Lila’s Instagram Stories, painted as her “good friend.” Lila never denied the assumption that she and Samuel were together; she’d just smile and let it pass. Samuel was the same way. He seemed to enjoy people believing that the beautiful and charismatic Lila was his wife. We had argued about this once. He said, “The truth speaks for itself. I don’t need to prove anything. Respect my right to have friends.” Whenever Lila showed even a small hint of affection, he would leap forward eagerly, like an obedient dog. But with me, he assumed he was my best option. He believed that before the baby, I needed him, and now with the baby, I needed him even more. It made him increasingly audacious. What he failed to understand was that I wasn’t like him. I wasn’t going to be a loyal dog that would always come back for scraps. Lila’s room was right next to mine, and a steady stream of visitors, including Samuel’s colleagues and Dr. Mason Wright, who’d helped with my emergency, went in and out. “Samuel! What you’re doing is disgusting! Your wife isn’t Lila, and yet you don’t correct anyone. We’ve all been calling her ‘Mrs. Hartley’ for so long, and it was humiliating when I realized that we got it wrong while saving your actual wife,” Dr. Wright’s voice boomed through the thin walls. Samuel was silent for a while before replying, “I never told you to call her that. You chose to.”

“Can’t you just say she’s your classmate? Your wife just survived an amniotic embolism and barely made it, yet you’re here taking care of Lila Whitmore without even checking on her? Aren’t you afraid she’ll leave you?” Dr. Mason Wright’s voice was sharp as he tried to push Samuel Hartley toward my room. Samuel slammed the door shut, his face cold. “Afraid? I’d be relieved if she left. She chased me relentlessly for years, holding on like I was her last hope. Now that she’s finally married to me and has a kid, she won’t go anywhere,” he said with a mocking laugh. “She’s not like Lila. Lila has heart problems, she’s frail. Morgan’s an athlete; an amniotic embolism is serious for most, but to her, it’s nothing.” “Are you serious? You’re supposed to be an expert in obstetrics! Don’t you know how high the mortality rate for an amniotic embolism is?” “Remember the athlete who died last year during surgery? She was in perfect health. But she still died from an embolism in under half an hour. Morgan’s just lucky. Maybe fate took pity on her because she married someone like me,” Samuel sneered. Dr. Wright’s frustration was palpable. Samuel didn’t even step inside the room. Instead, he sent me a transfer of $20,000 with a curt message to take care of myself. I blocked him and deleted every way to contact him. Later that night, my attending physician visited to let me know that a local news station wanted to interview me. Surviving an amniotic embolism was rare, with a survival rate of only 1%. “Don’t worry, it’ll be a brief interview. Executives from Midtown Medical Center and other major hospitals will be present. It’ll be good for you.” “Okay.” I agreed readily. On the day of the interview, Samuel showed up, dressed in a tailored suit, mingling with the crowd as he recounted how challenging the surgery had been. Dr. Wright stood to the side, looking drained and silent, while several hospital executives looked at Samuel with admiration and dropped words of praise. “Operating on your own family is something no doctor should have to do. But Samuel here had to choose between his wife and unborn son. It takes a strong heart to face such pressure and achieve a perfect outcome,” one executive praised, glancing approvingly at Samuel. Samuel walked up to me. “You know this is a big chance for my promotion. It’s all set up because of this. Don’t mess it up. Just say I performed the surgery, and don’t mention anyone else,” he said, ruffling my hair like he used to. But he quickly wiped his hand, as if noticing for the first time that I hadn’t washed my hair since giving birth. The interview began, but my attending physician was blocked from entering by the hospital staff. A reporter handed me a microphone. “Ms. Bennett, surviving such a life-threatening condition must have been an incredible ordeal. What would you like to say about it?” I paused, holding the microphone firmly. “I want to thank the doctors who never gave up on me, even when I was ready to give up on myself.” The reporter’s eyes lit up, glancing between Samuel and me. “Which doctor would you say you’re most grateful to?” they asked. I saw Dr. Wright turning to leave and quickly pointed to the door. “My attending doctor and the team at Midtown Medical Center…” All the cameras turned to Samuel, who stood ready with a prepared speech. But I continued, looking elsewhere. “…and especially Dr. Mason Wright.” The room erupted in whispers. Samuel’s eyes widened as he looked at me, fumbling with his phone to text me, only for his face to darken when the message wouldn’t send. Dr. Wright looked stunned, almost on the verge of tears. “Anyone else?” the reporter pressed, looking uncertain. I smiled. “Yes. I also want to thank my husband.”

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I died from bullying in my previous life. Now, I’ve been reborn to the day I transferred schools in my senior year. This time, I’m the one who dumped trash on “Little Bunny’s” desk and poured iced coffee over her head. Little Bunny is Chloe. She certainly didn’t expect that the person actively bullying her would be me, nor did she expect to end up in such a miserable state. As the sticky iced coffee dripped down her face and into her collar, Chloe’s eyes widened in visible shock. After all, in my previous life, those bullies who tormented her only dumped relatively clean trash on her desk. And I was the carp that jumped into the net because I couldn’t stand injustice. Now, in others’ eyes, I’ve clearly become the new bully. Well, they’re not wrong. I am bullying her. No one stood up to help her. Even those who were originally prepared to bully her didn’t know what to do for a moment. “You…” Chloe was shocked and angry for a moment, but quickly put on a pitiful act, her eyes brimming with tears. “I bought that iced coffee for you…” I know, of course I know. In my previous life, because of this “welcome” iced coffee that had been tampered with, I got diarrhea and was locked in the bathroom. I couldn’t get out for half a day, which led to the teacher thinking I was a bad student who skipped class on my first day after transferring. The people around us gave me strange looks, mostly filled with blame and contempt. I pulled out a tissue from a nearby desk and wiped my hands. “Keep it for yourself. It’s disgusting, and I find it revolting.” After throwing the crumpled tissue at her face, I turned and went back to my seat, casually starting to read a book. Chloe ran to the bathroom crying and hadn’t returned when class started. My classmates began to avoid me. Even my original desk mate silently packed up their books and moved to another seat. Someone reported this incident to the teacher, but the teacher couldn’t do anything about me. After all, I had transferred here because the principal had taken notice of my good grades. The school wouldn’t expel me over this “small matter.” Yes, it’s all just small matters. That’s what many people told me in my previous life. When Chloe came back, she had changed her clothes. Her hair was washed and still a bit wet, and those rabbit-like eyes were also moist, making her look completely harmless. I silently counted to three, and sure enough, she walked up to me. Her voice was low and soft, sounding extremely sincere. “Aria, did you misunderstand something about me?” I let out a light snort, looking at her coldly. “We don’t even know each other. How could there be any misunderstanding?” “I just find you disgusting. I simply hate you.” Chloe’s face turned ugly for a moment, but it passed quickly. Instead, she bit her lip and put on a thoughtful, understanding expression. “You’re a new student. You probably don’t have many friends here yet, right? Let’s be friends. As we get to know each other, you’ll see that you must have misunderstood me somehow.” Saying this, she smiled gently at me, her eyes curving. “It must be lonely being all by yourself.” Just like in my previous life, she moved her things over and became my desk mate. I heard the voices of those around me criticizing me, but I remained unmoved. Chloe took out some chocolate from her bag. “Here, have this. It’ll make you feel better.” “Chloe,” I called out to her, my expression slightly cold. “Aren’t you pathetic?” Throughout the day, I used every insult and sarcastic remark I could think of against her. I even deliberately tore up her books or threw them on the ground and stepped on them. Some people did stand up and say I was going too far, telling Chloe to stay away from me. I didn’t want to explain anything to them. Compared to what I had experienced before, I was still being too kind to Chloe. As I expected, she kept up her act, playing the role of someone being bullied but not holding it against me. She even invited me to eat together. I cursed at her, “Stop being so pathetic.” Little Bunny’s expression once again became tearful. After the evening study session, those same people who had dumped trash on her desk in my previous life dragged me to the bathroom. I wasn’t particularly surprised. It was just that this time, Chloe wasn’t there to be bullied alongside me. Having been reborn, I didn’t plan on dropping out of school, so I couldn’t escape this bullying. Yes, this was a trap, set up by Chloe. Whether or not I had tried to help her in my previous life, those people would have turned their bullying onto me. She approached me, pretended to be bullied alongside me to create a false sense of camaraderie, but every time I was bullied, the mastermind behind it was Chloe, the leader of those bullies. Unfortunately, I was too stupid in my previous life. So stupid that I only learned the truth right before I died in that alley from bullying. It was the day after I received my college acceptance letter. I had just checked my email and hadn’t even had time to feel happy when I received a distress message from Chloe. I rushed to the dark alley where she was supposedly being bullied. This time, I called the police and made preparations in advance. But as soon as I arrived, I received a call from my mother. Before I saw anyone, I leaned against the corner of the wall to answer it. “Aria, sweetie, I’m home. Quick, tell me, how did it go?” “Mom, I got the acceptance letter.” “My daughter is so amazing! I knew you could do it. Come home quickly, Mom will make you your favorite steak…” My mother was crying tears of joy on the other end, chattering about buying me some new clothes and going to church tomorrow to pray for my bright future. But I never got to hear everything she said. My phone was knocked out of my hand onto the ground. I was stunned for a moment. Seeing Chloe appear from behind me, I didn’t react immediately and asked, “What are you doing?” She crossed her arms and smirked at me. When I saw the people behind her, I suddenly realized what was happening. I frowned and quickly picked up my phone, briefly saying to the other end, “Mom, I’ll talk to you when I get back.” I hung up the phone and heard Chloe’s mocking voice, “Get back? I’m afraid you won’t be going back.” As soon as she finished speaking, she raised her foot and kicked me hard in the stomach, knocking me to the ground. I heard the person who bullied me every day speaking to her respectfully. Along with the pain in my stomach, my mind went blank for a moment. “You look so skinny, but that kick was no weaker than mine.” The piercing laughter stabbed at my eardrums. Something exploded in my brain, and I couldn’t help but shout, “Chloe, why are you doing this?!” “Why?” She laughed, looking no different from her usual harmless self, but now it seemed particularly frightening. “Because of Jack, of course. He’s my man.” After she finished speaking, before I could react, several people pressed down on me and beat me half to death. They knew that every time I was beaten, I would fight back with all my might, so they learned to restrain my hands and feet first, leaving me unable to move before they started their violence. This time, I had no chance to resist at all. Later on, they even picked up large bricks and smashed them onto my body, one after another. And the one who was smashing my head to death was the person I had been protecting all along. Little Bunny’s face now looked like a demon who had lost control, terrifyingly extreme. My head hurt so much, so dizzy. Blood flowed from my forehead into my eyes, blurring my vision. I don’t know how long they beat me, until I was covered in blood, barely breathing, lying on the ground. “Aria, in your next life, don’t mess with people you shouldn’t,” Chloe said, throwing the bloodied brick to one of her minions. She was slightly out of breath as she looked down at me haughtily. “I’ll be straightforward. You won’t survive today.” “Can you… tell me… why…” “I told you, because of Jack. I like him, but he likes you, so when I found out you were transferring here, I prepared this trap for you.” “Protecting your bullied desk mate, then becoming the new target of bullying.” She crouched down, flashing a smile at me. “Who told you to be such a do-gooder?” Memories of the dark, hopeless life of the past few months flooded my mind. My eyes showed deep resentment. Oh, Chloe. I once thought that protecting you was a meaningful thing to do. I comforted myself that it was okay to be beaten a few times. I thought we truly had a friendship born from shared hardships. Before this, I had never regretted helping you that day. But why? You were the real demon all along. You really played me for a fool. “Bang! Bang! Bang!” The brick smashed into my head again. Mom, I might not be able to eat the braised pork you make… Before losing consciousness, I heard the sound of police sirens. I don’t know if Chloe was caught by the police afterward. When I opened my eyes again, I had already returned to the morning of the day I transferred schools. My mother was on the phone, reminding me, “Do your best in the interview, okay?” I choked up for a while before saying, “Mom, if I get into my dream university, remember to make me a steak.” “Okay, okay, okay. Mom will definitely make it for you.” … I’m grateful that heaven gave me a chance to live again, to take control of my own fate this time. Although there are some things I can’t change, the ending this time will be in my hands. Chloe, you won’t have a good ending. At this moment, there were six girls standing in front of me. The leader was called Megan, a somewhat fat and sturdy girl, a head taller than me. She always hit the hardest, as if doing so would earn her more credit. “Transfer student, feeling pretty tough, huh? First day here and already bullying people? Want to be the big boss? Huh?” she said, reciting her opening lines while reaching out to grab my hair. Still playing her part dutifully even when no one else was around. I skillfully covered my head with my arms, frowning as I let her pull. “Not so tough now, are you? What are you pretending for, you bitch?” A slap landed on my face. Megan cursed with vulgar words, hitting me with her hands and feet, one blow after another. I remained silent, curling up to protect my head as if I was used to it, completely like a punching bag that could be kneaded at will. Megan laughed, “Is that all? I thought you were something special.” She waved her hand, pushed me to the ground, and said “Your turn” to the others before stepping aside and casually lighting a cigarette. Then the others rushed forward, their fists, palms, and nails not sparing any part of me, hitting me all over. In my previous life, I had quite a temper and always fought back with all my might. I would stand in front of Chloe, trying my best to protect her, relying on my martial arts skills. But the more I resisted, the harder they beat me in the end. They even got angry and pushed my head into a pit, forcing me to drink the dirty water from the toilet. At that time, I didn’t think about why Chloe was just crouching in the corner, not being treated like this, and why she had no injuries when we went back. She would cry and say she had implicated me, then tenderly apply medicine to my wounds, her mouth repeating “I’m sorry.” Who could have imagined that the person I thought I was protecting was thinking “Beat her to death” and “Well done” while watching the show? As my thoughts returned to the present, I curled up on the ground, clearly seeing every face through the gaps. Each one was once my nightmare. Go ahead and beat me. After this, you’ll all pay the price. Not one of you will escape. After they left, I sat on the ground for a moment, patted off the water stains on my body, and washed my face before leaving the bathroom. My mother called, asking about my first day in the new environment. I rubbed my wrist that had been stepped on and was still aching, trying to make my voice sound normal, “It’s fine. I just left school.” In the distance, I saw Megan and the others laughing and chatting ahead. Their laughter could reach my ears even from afar. The hand holding the phone tightened. Why is it that these bullies can live so carefree after hurting others? … The next day, when I arrived at the classroom, I saw Megan and her group surrounding Chloe, deliberately scratching her notebook, pushing her head not too gently, and saying insulting things with smiles on their faces. I knew it. They still wanted to pull off the same act as in my previous life. Chloe really loves playing the innocent rabbit. It’s as if she can’t live without that mask. I slowly walked over and asked from behind them, “Megan, with your style of doing things, shouldn’t you be doing this in the bathroom?” My words confused them a bit. Megan quickly reacted, “Are you trying to teach me how to do things?” I smiled calmly, “You hate me, and you hate her too. Why don’t I help you do this? It’ll save you the effort.” Chloe frowned uncontrollably and called out softly, “Aria… you…” I approached, smiling innocently like her, “How about it?” Someone pushed me, “Who do you think you are?” I stumbled a few steps, my eyes fixed on Chloe. I saw her secretly give Megan a look, and the next second, Megan laughed mockingly at me, “You got beaten up last night and now you want to take it out on someone else, right? Fine, let’s see what you can do.” As soon as she finished speaking, I tilted my head slightly, gesturing to Chloe with a “kind” smile in my eyes. She dared to do this because she had researched what kind of person I was. She really thought I was finding an excuse to help her, so she followed me to the bathroom with that unable-to-speak-up, pitiful look. “Aria, I knew you—” Before she could finish, I kicked her into the third stall that was closed. The bucket of water prepared for me spilled all over her. It was dirty water, black and emitting a foul odor. Chloe screamed. As she turned around, I quickly closed the door before her and used a wooden stick nearby to jam the door handle.

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Aunt May Harper is our housekeeper. She’s usually quiet, looks like an honest, simple woman, and is 22 years older than my husband, Henry. I never thought twice about her. But lately, I’ve noticed something odd—our dog Lucky has been missing more often… 0“Aunt May, why are you washing my husband’s underwear again?” Aunt May Harper is the housekeeper we hired; she’s 48 and isn’t much of a talker, except when she’s doing chores. She comes across as very honest and down-to-earth. She wears clothes her daughter-in-law didn’t want anymore, and every month she sends her paycheck back home to support her two-year-old grandson. Even if she’s washing Henry’s underwear, I don’t suspect a thing. Her age alone could make her Henry’s mom. Usually, I just tell her once or twice not to do it again, and that’s the end of it. Aunt May looked a little stunned, put down what she was doing, and said, a little awkwardly, “I was tidying up earlier and saw them dirty on the bed, so I grabbed them to wash. I’ll remember not to next time.” Aunt May’s apology was sincere, and I didn’t want to be harsh with her. The woman had a rough life—her husband was paralyzed, her two sons never amounted to much, and she lost her only daughter. With everyone relying on her, she’s had enough hardship for a lifetime. “Alright.” I nodded. Ever since I got pregnant, I had Henry hand-wash both his and my clothes. I don’t like anyone else handling my personal laundry. I’m six months along now, and in a few more months, I’ll be a mom. “Aunt May, I’m hungry; make something to eat,” I said, keeping it simple. “Shouldn’t we wait for Henry?” she asked. Henry comes home every night around 7; it was only 4, and I’m used to dinner being made around 6. I think I’m pretty considerate of Aunt May. She only cooks three meals daily, not the eight other housekeepers are sometimes expected to prepare. And when I get hungry in the middle of the night, I have Henry go make food for me—I try not to bother her. But here she was asking if we should wait. Just because Henry wasn’t home, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t eat! “No, make it now. I’m hungry,” I replied, a little irritated. What was going on in Aunt May’s head? I hired her to look after me, not Henry. I ask for food, she makes it—what’s all the fuss? Maybe I was overly sensitive, thanks to being pregnant, but Aunt May’s comment didn’t sit right. She nodded reluctantly, saying, “Alright… I’ll make it now.” She headed for the kitchen, and I made my way to the living room. Aunt May made my favorites: savory mushroom stir-fry, tofu with preserved egg, green bean pork stew, and a pot of hearty gourd soup. Aunt May cooked well—her food was always delicious and her kitchen skills swift, and I did like that about her. After eating, I sprawled out on the couch with my phone. Suddenly, the smell of pork hock soup filled the air, and I froze. Why was Aunt May cooking pork hock? I was already done with dinner. “Aunt May, you making pork hock soup?” I asked, unable to resist. “Yup! Got it in the pressure cooker,” she called from the kitchen. That smell was so rich, my stomach growled again. My mom had bought those pork hocks herself from a farm—she said they came from pigs fed on grain and freshly butchered. Mom assured me that soup from those hocks would taste better than anything store-bought. A few hours passed, and Henry finally got home. As soon as he stepped through the door, I perked up, smiling. “Hey, honey.” He had strawberries in hand—my absolute favorite. “You’re back! Change your shoes; dinner’s ready.” I’d just slipped into my house slippers and was about to greet him when Aunt May beat me to the door. She took his coat and hung it up, even bending down to set out his slippers. She then casually returned to the kitchen like nothing unusual happened. My clueless husband walked over with a grin, saying, “Look, honey—strawberries!” He must have sensed I was a little annoyed but would never guess the reason. What was wrong with me? Was I seriously jealous of a 48-year-old woman? Did she have a thing for Henry, or was I just overly sensitive? 0

“Nothing’s wrong,” I muttered. “Let’s eat.” Aunt May served the dishes: Kung Pao chicken, the pork hock soup, stir-fried mushrooms, and sweet and sour fish. “Wow, it all looks amazing! I’ll just go wash my hands,” Henry said, giving me a quick peck on the cheek before heading to the bathroom. He had no idea I’d already eaten. I sat at the table, looking at the fresh dishes and feeling annoyed again. “Aunt May, why did you make new dishes? Where are my leftovers?” She chuckled nervously. “Oh, I… I ate them.” Just then, Henry emerged from the bathroom. “Aunt May, you don’t have to eat leftovers,” he said. “From now on, just join us.” “Oh, no, that wouldn’t be right.” Aunt May glanced at me and then back at Henry. “There’s nothing wrong with it; join us.” Henry smiled, oblivious to my annoyance. I put down my chopsticks and, in a low voice, asked, “Henry Graham, what do you mean by that?” Aunt May quickly ducked back into the kitchen, saying, “I’ll just go wash the dishes.” She shut the kitchen door behind her, avoiding eye contact. Henry looked at me, bewildered, then picked up a piece of fish and put it on my plate. “Honey, what’s got you mad? Whatever it is, I’ll fix it.” That’s my husband for you—always clueless as to why I’m upset and incapable of reflecting on his own. I’m usually straightforward, so I said, “When did I ever tell Aunt May to eat leftovers?” When Aunt May cooks, she takes a small portion out for herself and eats at a little table in the kitchen. That’s her space, so why would she suddenly be eating the food I’d set aside for Henry? The plan was for her to heat it up for him when he got home. “My mistake, totally my mistake,” Henry said, tapping his lips with his hand. “Honey, you’re pregnant; don’t get upset.” Staring at the spread on the table, I’d lost my appetite entirely. “And why did you invite Aunt May to eat with us? What were you thinking?” I asked, keeping my voice low. In my opinion, it’s best to maintain some boundaries; getting too close just makes things awkward. My cousin learned that the hard way when she got overly friendly with her housekeeper, only to have the woman refuse to leave when she was let go. She even accused my cousin of being ungrateful for not remembering all the care she’d given her during her postpartum recovery, forgetting that she’d been hired for that very job. Henry put down his chopsticks and raised his voice, clearly agitated. “What was I thinking? Aunt May is busy taking care of you; why can’t she eat with us?” “Henry Graham, you’re a jerk!” I shoved his shoulder, stormed off to our bedroom, and locked the door. He knocked, pleading, “Honey, come on. Open the door; I’m sorry, alright?” I sighed. When I’d married him, my parents disapproved, said he wasn’t stable enough, and didn’t trust him since he was from out of state. But I’d insisted. Though they’d come around, Henry always carried a chip on his shoulder, thinking my family looked down on him. In his eyes, me not wanting Aunt May at the table was a sign I was looking down on her, the same way he thought my parents looked down on him. By 10 p.m., he was back at the door, apologizing again, “Honey, open up. I really am sorry.” I grabbed his pillow and blanket, opened the door, and handed them to him. “You’re sleeping on the couch tonight,” I said flatly. My mood was so sour; I just wanted to be alone. He took the pillow and blanket, nodding. “Alright, but make sure you close the window tonight, so you don’t catch a chill.” I nodded, shutting the door behind him. As I lay in bed, my mind wandered. If I’d been born into the same circumstances as Henry, would I have ended up sensitive and insecure like him? His mother left him when he was six, his dad was always working, and his grandma was the one who raised him. But he’d pulled himself up, put himself through college, and within three years of graduation, he’d made supervisor at a major tech firm. It’s no good letting him sleep on the couch. He has to work tomorrow. I glanced at the clock: 1 a.m. I got out of bed, opened the door, and turned on the living room light—only to see Aunt May sleeping on the couch, wrapped up in Henry’s blanket. My hands clenched into fists. “Henry Graham, where are you?” 0

Aunt May jolted awake, visibly startled, and looked up at me. She rubbed her eyes, coming over to whisper, “Sam, don’t yell. Henry’s in my room, sleeping. He’s got work tomorrow.” She had given Henry the guest room, taking the couch for herself. Aunt May sure was going above and beyond for him. Just then, Henry emerged from the guest room, rubbing his eyes, wearing only his underwear. He looked exhausted. “What’s going on, honey?” he asked, yawning. “Who told you to sleep in Aunt May’s room? And put some clothes on!” I snapped, tossing a pillow at him. He grinned sheepishly, saying, “I just forgot in my hurry.” He looked at me questioningly. “So… can I come back to our room now?” He gathered up his blanket and pillow and went back into our bedroom, closing the door behind him as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Aunt May, too, seemed unfazed, as if she found my reaction overblown. But I could barely contain my frustration. Should I tell her to keep her distance from my husband? To stop being so attentive? Finally, I muttered, “Aunt May, just go to bed. You don’t need to help with my husband.” “Yes, of course. I’ll remember that,” she replied, nodding. I went back into the bedroom, slamming the door. Henry was lying in bed, smiling at me, “Come to bed, honey.” I climbed in, grabbing a pillow and whacking him with it. “Who told you to sleep in Aunt May’s room? What’s going on between you two?” He looked at me, clearly baffled, and sighed, resting a hand on my belly. “Honey, I know your hormones are all over the place. But Aunt May’s old enough to be my mom, and honestly, she’s not even attractive. I’d have to be blind.” “Then why are you sleeping in her room, letting her use your blanket and pillow? If you’re not into her, how do you know she’s not into you?” I whispered, glaring. Henry snorted, laughing. “That couch is way too small. She just offered me her room for the night. If you want Aunt May gone, just fire her and hire someone new.” That suggestion felt right to me. “Alright, then let’s fire Aunt May.” 0

The next day, I didn’t get up until noon. Aunt May had already set the table with food, her eyes slightly red as though she’d been crying. As soon as I sat down, she spoke up, “Sam, why do you suddenly want to fire me? Did I do something wrong? Just tell me, and I’ll fix it.” Her voice was shaky and fearful, and she clung to my arm like her life depended on it. “Sam, please, let me stay. I’ll take such good care of you,” she pleaded, looking genuinely distressed. I gave her a reasonable excuse. “Aunt May, my mom’s coming to take care of me. You know I’m not working, and Henry’s paycheck alone isn’t that much. We need to cut down on costs.” Aunt May looked crushed and quickly replied, “I’ll take a pay cut! Don’t make me leave, okay?” A pay cut? For someone like Aunt May, who could easily find work elsewhere, this was unnecessary. Could she really have feelings for my husband? She gave a tight, awkward smile when I didn’t answer right away. “Sam, it’s already the 23rd. Could I just work until the end of the month? Just one more week to find a new job?” I considered her request, but something about letting her stay for another week made me uneasy. I was six months pregnant, and I couldn’t risk anything happening with just the two of us home. Trying to stay calm, I said, “Aunt May, you’re reliable and hardworking. I’m sure you’ll find work in no time. You’ve taken great care of me, so just think of these seven days as paid leave. I’ll give you a full month’s salary.” Of course, my mom had no idea I planned to let Aunt May go. With Henry and my parents not getting along, I hadn’t asked them to stay with me. Not only did I want to avoid family drama, but I didn’t want my mom overextending herself at her age. Aunt May’s expression turned dark, but she managed to rein it in, “Fine, I won’t overstay my welcome. I’ll start packing.” She returned to the guest room, taking half an hour to gather her things. When she came out, she had a black bag slung over her shoulder and two shopping totes in hand. “Sam, could you pay me today?” she asked. Since her pay typically came on the 10th, I agreed and transferred her final month’s pay through the app. She glanced at her phone, sneered, and in an instant, her demeanor changed completely. “Sam Taylor, you’re really something. So high and mighty, just because you’re pregnant? Henry’s patience with your moods is a blessing. In my hometown, a wife like you would have been thrown out ages ago!” She spat out the words, and for a moment, I was speechless. Who would have thought such vile words could come from Aunt May, of all people? I regretted giving her the extra week’s pay, especially since she hadn’t been hired through an agency, which meant I couldn’t even file a complaint. “Couldn’t even let me eat at the table with you,” she added, her tone scathing. With someone like her, you never knew when she might seek revenge. “Get out of my house,” I said coldly. She looked at my stomach, smirked, and said, “You’ll never have a son. Just a spoiled little girl.” “May Harper, if you don’t leave right now, I’ll call the police.” I couldn’t take it any longer and threatened her.

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In the maternity ward, Lawrence held our daughter, grinning wide. “Claire, you’re awake. Look, here’s our daughter.” Looking down at the baby wrapped in blankets, I clenched my fists, trembling all over. I knew that one day, my daughter would grow up and kill me. This was my third time coming back. In my last two lives, I died at my daughter’s hands. She was born with a cold heart, ungrateful—a daughter who would betray her own mother. I raised my hand high. “Claire, what are you doing?” Lawrence looked at me in shock. “Smack.” My hand connected with his cheek. A father, yet he left her entire upbringing to me. In those past lives, I kept searching for where I went wrong in raising her. This time, I’d figured it out: raising a child was not just my responsibility. Even if I ended up dying at her hands again, this time, Lawrence would go down with me. …… Content I believe there are people born bad, but my daughter wasn’t one of them. When I nursed her, she always seemed so hungry, her little mouth eagerly latching on. Even without teeth, her tiny mouth was strong enough that sometimes it brought tears to my eyes. Once, I couldn’t stand the pain and softly told her, “Honey, go gentle. It hurts Mommy.” Tiny as she was, she lay there softly, as if understanding me, and slowed her feeding. After that, she was always gentle, never hurting me again. When Ainsley was two, we didn’t have much, but now and then, I’d buy her a small cake. Each time, she’d waddle over with that little cake, giggling, holding it out to me to take the first bite. Most times, I couldn’t bring myself to eat it, but once, I took a big bite, and Ainsley didn’t mind at all. She just grinned, then devoured the rest, happy as could be. I used to think I had an angelic child. But somewhere along the way, her personality became erratic. When I wouldn’t let her have ice cream, she would run straight to Lawrence and Mrs. Mayfield to say I was pinching and hitting her and refusing to let her eat. At the time, I figured she was just a little too wrapped up in her imagination. But after that, whenever I was the least bit strict, she’d tell everyone I was an abusive mother. In preschool, she fought Emma Blake for a toy, and after a gentle scolding from her teacher, she spread rumors that her teacher had “touched her inappropriately.” I had no idea where she’d learned that term. Fortunately, all the preschool teachers were women, or it would have been impossible to explain. When I called her out for lying, she sobbed, insisting she wanted to beat up Emma and the teacher. Then she saw a friend playing the piano and decided she wanted one too. I told her a piano was too expensive, but she kept crying and pleading until I gave in and bought it. After a few lessons, she refused to play. No amount of coaxing helped. Then one day, I came home from work to find the piano smashed to pieces. The entire living room was in chaos. I assumed it had to be a break-in and called the police. Their investigation found nothing: no one had entered our home. It was all an act by Ainsley, orchestrated just to get out of practicing. Seeing the mess, I wanted to punish her, but I couldn’t bring myself to. After a few scoldings, she staged a hunger strike. My heart softened, and I coaxed her into eating again. Since then, she’s done as she pleased. In middle school, she frequently skipped class, and I’d only find out when teachers called. She was addicted to video games, barely speaking to anyone around her. When I scolded her, she’d shout right back, with no trace of respect. Lawrence and Mrs. Mayfield insisted I had spoiled her rotten, and honestly, I knew they were right. I’d allowed her too much leeway from the start. But at this point, it was too late. She wouldn’t listen to any of my attempts at discipline. Whenever I raised my voice, she’d hold a knife to her throat, claiming she was depressed and would kill herself. I was terrified, always rushing to comfort her. To prevent her from hurting herself, I let her do whatever she wanted. Lawrence suggested sending her to a specialized school for troubled kids, but I clung to him, sobbing, saying it wasn’t an option. If Ainsley really was depressed, sending her there would make things worse, and we’d regret it forever. But Ainsley found out about it anyway and stole money from us before running away from home.

After Ainsley left, I was heartbroken, crying myself to sleep every night. When I finally saw her again, she was pregnant, standing beside some punk with bleached hair. Lawrence was so furious he slammed his fist into the table, while I just sat there crying. I tried dragging her to get an abortion, but she shrugged me off. “You don’t love me, do you? So why can’t I have a baby who will love me back?” After all the heartache I’d endured for her, how could she think I didn’t love her? She pulled a kitchen knife on me. “Try to force me, and I’ll kill you both.” She walked out with $2,000 from our savings without looking back. Lawrence was smoking on the balcony. “How did you raise her to turn out like this?” he asked, disgusted. And I was asking myself the same thing. Where had my sweet, obedient little girl gone? I ran after her, catching her and the punk at the bus stop. I grabbed her, insisting she come back home. But she was strong now, too strong. I used all my strength, but she shoved me, sending me sprawling on the sidewalk. The pain flared in my back, where I’d suffered an old factory injury. Grimacing, I looked up at her, and she sneered. “Quit faking it,” she scoffed, eyes as cold as a stranger’s. “Ainsley, come home with me. Listen to me. This child will ruin your life.” “My life was already ruined. You just figured that out now?” Tears streaming down, I pleaded, “I’m so sorry, Ainsley. I missed you so much. Just come back home with me.” She slapped a hand over my mouth. “Shut up. Don’t cry; it’s just another way to manipulate me.” “Why would I go home with you just so you can kill my baby?” Before I could reply, I felt the sharp pain of a knife plunging into my chest. I looked down at the blood soaking through my shirt, saw the kitchen knife in her hand. “I won’t let you kill my child,” she said coldly. “I’ll never treat my own child the way you treated me.” Those were her last words before everything went black. When I opened my eyes, I was in a hospital bed again, back to the day I’d just given birth to Ainsley. Lawrence was smiling, showing me our swaddled newborn. The memory of that blade’s cold sting was fresh in my mind. My own daughter had driven it into my chest. I felt chilled to the bone, as cold as the knife that had ended me. How could it be? Even if you raised a dog for eighteen years, wouldn’t it be loyal? Why was Ainsley always so indifferent, like a stone that couldn’t be warmed? Her words echoed in my mind: “I’ll never treat my own child the way you treated me.” Hadn’t I done enough for her? We had so little, but I made sure she always had the best. She wanted strawberries? I’d go out in the dead of winter, even with only a few dollars left in my wallet, to buy the best ones for her. When she was small and terrified of “monsters,” I’d sleep beside her, no matter how sleepless it left me. From toys and snacks to a piano and trips to Cedar Falls Family Park or a family vacation, if she wanted something, I’d give it to her. Wasn’t that enough? Maybe I’d spoiled her too much, let her think she was the center of the universe, that my love was hers to exploit. This time, things would be different. This time, I’d be strict.

In my last life, Ainsley didn’t like eating, so the whole family would chase her around with a spoon, trying to feed her. But this time? If she didn’t want to eat, that was her choice. Right in front of her, I dumped the food straight into the trash. “Eat it or leave it,” I said. “Go hungry if you don’t want it.” She burst into tears, running to Mrs. Mayfield. “Grandma, Mommy won’t feed me, and she hit me!” Lies. Again. I leaned down, speaking low. “Ainsley, tell me, how did Mommy hit you just now?” She put her little hand up to her cheek, indicating a slap. “Oh, really?” I raised my hand and gave her a quick, light smack on the cheek. Her face flushed red. “This,” I told her sternly, “this is called a slap.” She cried louder. “Was that what I did before?” I shouted. “Tell Grandma, did I just do that?” Still crying, Ainsley shook her head. “No.” “Then why did you say I hit you? Why are you lying?” She whimpered, silent. Mrs. Mayfield rushed forward to intervene. “What are you doing? She’s just a child!” “I know she’s a child, so I’m teaching her the difference between the truth and a lie,” I replied, my tone sharp. Mrs. Mayfield crouched, wiping Ainsley’s tears with the back of her hand. “Mommy’s bad, yes, Mommy’s wrong. There, don’t cry, sweetie.” Hearing this, I felt my anger flare up. It was the same as in my last life. My mother-in-law constantly put it in her ear that “Mommy’s wrong” and “Mommy’s no good.” Every time I tried to discipline Ainsley, they would call me too harsh. But when Ainsley truly went off the rails, they turned around and blamed me for spoiling her. I gritted my teeth. “Mom, from now on, stay out of it when I discipline her. If she goes down the wrong path, it’s on you.” Mrs. Mayfield looked at me, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “Acting like you’ve swallowed gunpowder. Sweet Ainsley would never go bad.” “You’re so harsh,” she muttered. “Aren’t you worried she’ll pull your oxygen tube out one day?” I laughed bitterly. She wouldn’t wait for that long to kill me. After that incident, I sent Mrs. Mayfield back to her own home. Left unchecked, she’d just spoil Ainsley all over again. I quit my job and dedicated myself to educating Ainsley. I bought a ruler, and every time I caught her lying, I’d slap her palms with it. After a few rounds, she improved. She began looking at me with fear in her eyes. Every time I wanted to go soft, I’d remember the feeling of that blade piercing my chest in my last life. But back then, I hadn’t realized that she was only scared of me; she hadn’t actually changed. When her teacher scolded her at Little Pines Preschool, she went right back to spreading rumors that the teacher had “touched her.” I marched her back to the school, made her stand before all her teachers, and demanded that she point out exactly who had supposedly done this. She burst into tears, admitting it was a lie. When she smashed the piano again, I swallowed my pride and bought another. Every day, I’d stand behind her with a cane, making her practice for two hours straight. Since she’d begged for the lessons, she’d stick with them whether she liked it or not. Ainsley wasn’t the brightest, so I started taking her to extra classes, monitoring her homework. With my strict guidance, her grades improved far beyond what she achieved in my last life. I finally got her into a decent high school, but then she started claiming she was “depressed” again, saying she’d drop out and holding a knife to her throat. In my last life, I would have fallen to my knees, begging her to put down the knife. But this time? Not a chance. “Go on, do it far from me. I don’t want your blood on my hands,” I said coldly. Ainsley was stunned, lowering the knife. She hadn’t expected that reaction. She didn’t want to die; it was all an act. “Don’t want to go to school? Fine. I’ll withdraw you myself tomorrow, and you can get a job and take care of yourself.” She ran away. Two months later, she returned, luggage in hand, complaining that work was too hard. She wanted to go back to school. At last, her attitude toward studying improved. Even though she still didn’t perform that well on her SATs and only got into a lesser-known college, I was satisfied. It was better than her middle school level from my last life. At least I’d made some progress. But once she started college, she returned to her old ways. Out of her fifteen classes, she failed nine in her first year. I called her, but she ignored me. One month went by, then two, then three. Furious, I cut her off financially. The next time I saw her, she was back home with a swollen belly, standing before Lawrence and me.

The memories from my last lives crashed over me. There she stood, next to some punk with green hair and a cigarette in his mouth. Ainsley looked at me, tears streaming. “Mom, I don’t want to go to school. I want to get married and be with him…” Anger boiled up inside me. “If you don’t want school, then what’s your plan to support a child? Don’t expect a cent from me.” Ainsley pouted. “I want to keep the baby. I can just take a break from school. Mason’s a good person; he’ll take care of me.” Lawrence, who had been silent, turned to me, livid. “What kind of mother are you? Look at what she’s become. What have you been teaching her?” That was the final straw. I had poured everything into raising her, and yet here she was. In my last life, she’d killed me for trying to force her into an abortion. The memory of it made me laugh bitterly. “Fine, Ainsley,” I said, my voice hollow. “You’re an adult now. Do whatever you want, but don’t expect any help from me.” A year passed. One evening, after work, I found her sitting on my couch, bruised and holding a baby. She looked up, pulling the same pitiful face. “Mom, how could you be so heartless? Why did you change the locks?” I took a deep breath. “You’re no daughter of mine anymore. You’re not welcome here.” Her voice trembled as she continued, “Mason’s no good to me. He hits me and won’t give me any money.” “I can’t afford to raise a kid. You take her.” Her tone was so entitled it made my blood boil. I opened the door, gathering her things and tossing them outside. “What are you doing? You’re my mother! Isn’t it your duty to take care of me and my child?” she shouted. “Let me tell you something, Ainsley,” I said. “I’ve done all I can. This child is your responsibility, not mine.” She opened the window, clutching her baby in her arms. “If you don’t help, I’ll jump, taking your granddaughter with me.” She thought I’d soften. But I wouldn’t, not this time. I walked to the window, looking her in the eye. “Go ahead. I told you, do whatever you want. I’m done.” She sobbed, “Why? You gave birth to me, yet you never loved me.” A pang of sorrow hit me. “I’ve done everything for you, Ainsley. Can you honestly say I haven’t?” Her tears dried, and suddenly, her face hardened. “If that’s the case, then let’s die together.” Before I could react, she lunged at me with the baby, pushing me towards the window. The railing was low, and I lost my balance, reaching for something to hold onto but finding only air. I fell, but Ainsley didn’t. She never intended to die. She just wanted me gone, so my money would be hers. She stood there with the baby in her arms, watching me fall, a cold smile spreading across her face like that of a demon. I’d thought Ainsley wasn’t born evil, that I’d somehow failed in raising her. I believed I’d made things better this time around. But the truth was, she hadn’t changed at all. She’d only gotten better at pretending. Once again, I died at the hands of my own child. Whether I’d spoiled her or been strict, she still hated me. Was this the fate I was destined to live through again and again? 5

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Nina Harlow doesn’t seem very good at math. When we split a buy-one-get-one-free milk tea, she said the “free” one was hers, and I had to pay for mine. When she got sudden food poisoning in the middle of the night, I took her to Crestview Medical Center, but she insisted, “I didn’t want to come here. I just needed some basic stomach relief pills for three dollars. You’re the one who insisted on the hospital, so you can cover the rideshare. I’ll pitch in a dollar fifty for the meds.” Since her family’s in bad shape, we all tried to be understanding. Then, she started dating a guy as obsessed with splitting every bill as she was. One day she asked him how many pieces she could eat from a box of Swiss Rolls. His reply? “Baby, you can have as many as you’re willing to pay for.” I advised her to look carefully at who she was dating, but she accused me of jealousy and shoved me down the dorm stairs to my death. The other two roommates, who each got a grad school recommendation, kept quiet. Now that I’m back for another round, I’ll make sure they stay roped in, so they can see how hard it is to split costs without me acting as their “walking wallet.” Content

When I saw the online menu for Ivy’s Brew House, it hit me: I really had been reborn. Last time, Nina jumped at the buy-one-get-one-free deal and asked to split milk tea with me. She looked so eager I agreed. But when she came back with the drinks, she said, “Mine was free, so yours is $5.” I couldn’t believe my ears, but she doubled down. “Oh, right—you also owe me two bucks for grabbing it for you.” I wanted to say something, but Maya and Katie both shot me a look that said, “She’s broke; just pay her.” So, I forked over the money. That night, though, she ended up vomiting and cramping. I took her to Crestview, only for her to turn it back on me, saying I was overreacting. She handed back just a dollar fifty out of the twenty I’d covered, saying, “I only needed cheap stomach pills; I wouldn’t have gotten sick if you hadn’t ordered the tea. Here’s a dollar fifty, so I’m not taking advantage.” That was a slap in the face, but I let it slide—until she handed me a medical evaluation for depression and demanded, “Your attitudes made me depressed. My treatment and prescriptions should be covered by you all.” I’d never met someone this twisted. I lost it, and we ended up fighting. She yanked my hair, dragged me, and finally shoved me down the stairs. My roommates didn’t call 911; they just coordinated their stories to say I fell. After a few days of playing the system, they each scored a graduate scholarship. One said, “Nina’s in a rough spot, so chipping in a bit more is the right thing. Sloane was just being petty; no wonder she got what was coming to her.” But every time Nina needed money, they’d bury their heads in the sand and let me deal with it. This time, I’m done being their ATM. Let’s see how righteous they sound when they’re forced to shell out without me around.

I forced down my anger and smiled at Nina. “Oh, I already ordered from Ivy’s. Such a shame, though—maybe try asking Maya or Katie?” Everyone was still friendly early in the semester, so it was easy for her to ask them to split an order. Soon enough, Nina and Maya placed one together. When the food arrived, Nina brought in both bags and declared, “Oh, that was exhausting. Five bucks each for the delivery, please!” She pulled out her payment code and held it right up to me. I crossed my arms and just stared. Maya’s face turned sour too. Nina was testing me, trying to figure out my limits. The going rate on campus for getting deliveries or packages was about two dollars. Nina took my order without telling me and now expected me to cover a hiked-up fee. I took a deep breath. “Nina, I didn’t ask you to pick it up, nor did you tell me you were going to. And anyway, the rate’s only two dollars per delivery—five’s too much.” She shot up, face dark, and sneered, “Oh, so now I’m wrong for bringing your stuff up? Don’t act like you don’t know I’m on financial aid. Your family’s got money; a little ‘friend discount’ won’t hurt you, right?” “Friend discount,” huh? That was a new one. I didn’t want a fight this soon, but I wasn’t backing down. I transferred two dollars and not a penny more. “We’re just roommates, not friends. I’ll stick to the going rate. And if you take my order again without asking, you won’t get anything next time.”

The moment the money hit her phone, Nina played the wounded act, looking all teary-eyed. Maya and Katie rushed to her like bloodhounds on the scent, comforting her and throwing digs my way. “She’s struggling, and you’re acting all stingy. Got money but still so uptight!” “No worries, Nina. Here’s ten bucks for doing double duty.” Remembering last time, I knew Nina’s real agenda. She’d squeeze every cent out of us if she could. We’d see if they could keep up the sympathy act later. Their unity didn’t last the night. By midnight, Nina and Maya were both throwing up, with Katie frozen in shock. Once again, history repeated itself, but this time I wasn’t her “blood donor.” Let them split costs on their own. Lying in bed, I heard the chaos outside. But Nina wasn’t letting me off easy. She pulled my curtain open and said, “Sloane, can you take us to the hospital? We ate something bad.” I frowned. “And that’s my concern why? Pulling back someone’s bed curtain is plain rude.” She instantly turned on the waterworks. “We’re roommates! How can you be so heartless? Aren’t you supposed to lend a hand when things go south?” Maybe, before. But now I knew this was just the beginning. I’d let my “kind-hearted” roommates handle it.

Under my firm stance, the three of them went to Crestview Medical Center on their own. Katie gave me a strange look as they left, but I just stared back until she glanced away. The next morning, instead of them, I got a very annoyed Mr. Fletcher. “Sloane, your roommates were sick, and you just left them to it? You’re new to college, and your values aren’t fully formed yet, but you need to learn compassion.” The jabs took me by surprise. Last time, Nina had managed to push me down the stairs with their help—and Mr. Fletcher’s, who I later discovered was her relative. He had even manipulated her way into a financial aid spot. I wasn’t about to fall for it again. I faked a guilty look and stammered, “I… didn’t think much of it. I was just really tired and wanted to sleep.” He seemed satisfied with my humility and nodded. “Glad you realize. Let’s go to the hospital so you can apologize to Nina. And remember, with your privilege, you should help struggling friends.” He might as well have held his hand out for cash. I kept a smile on my face, double-checking my recording app was on. At Crestview, I found Nina and Maya getting IV drips, while Katie sat nearby on her phone. Nina rolled her eyes when she saw me. “I thought you said this wasn’t your problem. Why’d you show up?” she sneered, handing me a bill. “Doc says I got food poisoning, probably from your milk tea. You need to pay for some of this.” She pretended to be fair. “Don’t worry—I’ll go halfsies. Normally I’d just take a cheap stomach med, so I’ll cover three bucks. I’m not asking for charity.” I raised a brow. “So, you took my milk tea without asking, got sick, and now I should pay for your treatment?” Nina looked unapologetic. “Yep. It was your drink. You’re responsible.” I looked at the $200 bill, then asked Maya, “You good with three-dollar meds too?” Without even looking up, she replied, “Yep.” Mr. Fletcher, right on cue, said, “Sloane, apologize and pay. It’s just a few bucks, right?” Katie chimed in, “And don’t forget the rideshare fees.” They were really leaning into the whole “don’t take advantage” thing while charging me for every penny. Even vampires has their own limits.

I grinned and called over a passing nurse. “Could you remove their IVs, please?” Nina screamed, “Sloane, what the hell? How dare you?” I crumpled the bill and shoved it in her face. “I dare because I’m paying your medical bills.” Maya rushed to help Nina, but I shoved her back into her chair. I turned to the nurse. “Thank you. Please, pull out their IVs.” I still had a polite smile, but the nurse seemed unnerved, quickly pulling their IVs and scurrying off. Mr. Fletcher, a big guy, took a few steps back. Katie was practically shaking. Mr. Fletcher scolded, “Sloane, it’s just a payment. Was all this necessary? Can’t you see the bigger picture?” I pushed him toward the payment window. “Oh, sure! Since you care so much, you can pay for them.” “Oh, and don’t forget their rideshare. After all, I’m just a broke college kid here; couldn’t afford food if I tried.” Cornered by his own words, his face turned red as he grudgingly paid. I watched him fuming. “Happy now? Apologize to your roommates.” Still smiling, I pulled two bottles of nausea pills from my pocket and handed one to Nina. “Now, here’s the real math: these pills are sixteen bucks, so you each owe me eight.” “Eight minus your three-dollar meds, so each of you can Venmo me five. Add the rideshare and the milk tea you swiped…” I took out my phone. “Looks like you owe me twenty bucks.” Nina looked stunned, too flustered to speak. I held out the payment code, smiling at her angry face. “Well? Let’s see if my ‘good roommates’ mind paying their dues.”

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My husband excels at giving me the cold shoulder. Whenever he’s slightly unhappy, he slams the door and disappears for days or weeks. I’ve grown accustomed to putting on a brave face and caring for our son with a smile. Until I saw my son’s wish while helping him with homework. “I hope Mom disappears. She looks so scary when she goes crazy at Dad.” In that moment, I finally woke up. Sunday evenings are always the hardest. My procrastinating son cries as he rushes to finish homework due tomorrow, while my emotionally distant husband wears headphones, engrossed in his video game. Neither of them wants anything to do with me. My son glares at me resentfully after I scolded him to tears. My husband finds me annoying and pretends not to see me. I stand by the dining table clearing away leftovers, silently convincing myself this is all my own doing. But my heart aches unbearably. As night falls, Kevin retreats to the study to rest. Tommy falls asleep with tears still clinging to his lashes. I stand in the bathroom staring at my own bitter face. This marks the third month of Kevin’s cold shoulder treatment. A full three months – so long I’ve nearly forgotten the reason for our cold war. Under the same roof, he hasn’t spoken a word to me. I’ve stubbornly waged war against him too. He’s in the wrong, so I won’t apologize. But I can’t sleep. I walk to Tommy’s room to pack his schoolbag. I look down and notice the new notebook I bought him. In the “Rewards” column, childish handwriting reads: “I hope Mom disappears.”

I rubbed my eyes, my first reaction being that I must have misread. I pick up the notebook and walk to the living room. I read that line again. “I hope Mom disappears. She looks so scary when she goes crazy at Dad. She drove Dad away.” I collapse onto the sofa, experiencing for the first time a pain so intense it numbs me. The study light comes on. Kevin emerges, beaming. The moment he sees me, his face instantly reverts to its usual coldness. He says nothing, picking up the car keys from the coffee table. As he passes by me, I catch a whiff of his cologne. It’s the scent of gardenia. This cologne – I chose it for him when we were dating in college. Back then, he was just a nerdy engineering student who wore black-rimmed glasses and plain t-shirts with shorts, clueless about fashion. I gradually updated his style and picked out my favorite cologne for him. “Wearing cologne when meeting girls will make a good impression,” I told him. He said he’d cherish everything I chose for him. He’s used it ever since. The familiar scent begins to soften my heart, memories of happier times flooding back. I think of our ridiculous war, of our beloved son. The pain Tommy has caused makes me desperately seek a lifeline. Once again, I swallow my pride and try to make peace with Kevin. I can’t help but stand up from the sofa, grabbing his arm tightly. “Kevin, let’s talk.” I cry silently behind him. He shakes off my hand. I notice his phone shows an ongoing call. Who has he been talking to so late at night, and why did he put on cologne to meet them? “Kevin, have you left yet? I’m waiting downstairs. I’ve been craving BBQ for ages~” A girl’s coquettish voice comes through the phone. The soft, delicate voice suddenly reminds me why he’s been giving me the cold shoulder this time. I quickly turn away. But Kevin grabs my arm. He raises an eyebrow, smirking: “If you beg me, I’ll stay and keep you and Tommy company.” Kevin has always enjoyed seeing me tamed, begging for his mercy. Especially now, when another young girl is vying for his attention. His offer to stay feels like a condescending act of charity.

I can’t help but laugh bitterly: “Beg you? Was Tommy naturally conceived by me alone? Aren’t you his father too? “Is caring for our child solely my responsibility? Don’t you have any? “Do you have any idea how psychologically damaged our son has become?” Kevin frowns again, pressing his lips together. He grabs his coat and storms out, slamming the door, as if I’m some crazy shrew. The notebook where Tommy wrote about wanting me to disappear still lies on the sofa. Kevin left the study light on too. It’s always like this. Whenever there’s a problem to solve, he either says one careless word to set me off, watching me lose it. Or he simply turns his back and walks away, slamming the door. Tommy is woken by the slamming door. He walks out barefoot, standing in the doorway staring in the direction his dad left. He comes to my side, picks up the notebook I tossed on the sofa. He shows no concern that I might have seen what he wrote. He just frowns and accuses me: “Mom, why did you make Dad angry again?” I ignore him. The sound of a car starting comes from downstairs. After a few revs, a black sedan speeds away. Looks like I’ll have to bike Tommy to school again tomorrow. I look at the notebook clutched in his hand. And those eyes that look just like his father’s. For the first time, I deeply realize how trapped I’ve been by him all this time.

I force myself to walk to the bedroom and lie down. When I close my eyes, the words “Mom disappear” appear before me in big letters. To be fair, I’ve never had a hysterical meltdown in front of Tommy. To avoid conflict, I’ve even gone to great lengths to please Kevin, sacrificing my dignity. I beg Kevin to come home, beg him to hug our child. I can’t fall asleep. My phone on the nightstand lights up. It’s a message from my neighbor Sarah. “I heard your husband slam the door and leave. Did you two fight again? Are you okay?” Sarah is a friend I made when selling handmade crafts on eBay. Back then Kevin was giving me the cold shoulder. To force me to give in, he cut off my living expenses. I really had no income, so I tried my best to do odd jobs here and there to earn money. We discovered we were neighbors after chatting a bit. She even bought some of my stuff to support my business and showed concern for me. I hear Tommy closing his door. I reply: “Thanks Sarah, I’m fine.” The next morning when I get up, I feel weak all over. My eyes are swollen. Kevin is back, the gardenia scent overpowered by the smell of alcohol. He notices me, his eyes lingering on my face for just a moment before quickly looking away. This time it’s not the cold shoulder. He frowns as he walks into the bathroom, making a snide remark. “Looking like that, who are you trying to scare?” I know he’s waiting for me to fight back, to watch me have a meltdown before coldly leaving again. But I’m tired. I say nothing. He looks at me with surprise, a strange emotion flashing in his eyes. He walks into Tommy’s room affectionately. “Come on, sweetie. Daddy will take you to school today.” Two completely different attitudes, one after the other, as if he’s two different people. Father and son hold hands intimately, exchanging loving words. No one spares me a single word of concern. It’s like two knives stabbing into my chest.

When I open the door to take out the trash, I happen to run into Sarah. She sees me and insistently leads me into her apartment. She gently rolls an egg over my swollen eyes, her own eyes brimming with tears as she asks with furrowed brows: “Does it hurt?” Her concern reminds me of Kevin when we first got married. Back then, Kevin and I had no money. A-City is an expensive place, so we could only afford to rent a basement apartment in a remote area. We squeezed onto a small bed, sharing a bathroom and kitchen with others. The kitchen was quite far from our room. One time I cooked a meal in the kitchen and was carrying it back to our room when I collided head-on with someone rushing by. I instinctively turned the hot dish towards myself, burning a large patch of skin off my hand. When Kevin got home from work, I didn’t want him to worry so I deliberately wore gloves. But he still noticed. I quickly smiled and pulled my hand away saying it didn’t hurt at all. Kevin looked at my hand, frantically applying medicine. He cried just like Sarah is now. Tears falling endlessly, it seemed. I even teased him about how a grown man could cry so much. He rubbed his eyes through his tears: “Haley, I promise I’ll give you the best life in the world someday!” That night, he held me and talked all night long. “Haley, I’ll never let you get hurt again.” To this day, I still believe he truly loved me then. But when did he change? Now he and I are like two ticking time bombs tied together. Ready to explode at the slightest friction. Of course, Kevin is a dud – silent. He just spreads terrifying smoke, seeping into every corner of the air. Making me afraid, making me scream myself hoarse. When I get home, they’ve already left. The kitchen is cold, wet clothes Tommy changed out of are strewn on the bathroom floor. There are several dirty shoe prints in the living room. I sit on the sofa and open my laptop. I start drafting a divorce agreement. My educational background is no worse than Kevin’s. Before becoming a stay-at-home mom, I also graduated from a top university, passed the bar exam, got my license, and worked as a practicing lawyer for two years. I once earned a high salary, won many cases for clients, and had a brilliant career. Until I got pregnant. Kevin convinced me to quit my job and stay home with the baby. At first he said: “After your postpartum recovery period, when the baby’s a bit older, we’ll hire a full-time nanny. You can go back to work then.” Later he changed his tune: “The baby’s used to you now. My career is taking off too. If you go back to work, we’d have to hire a nanny. A nanny’s salary would be much higher than yours – it doesn’t make sense for our family. Let’s wait till our son is a bit older.” Tommy clung to me, babbling “Mama.” I softened. It’s my fault for not insisting. Looking back, Kevin’s emotional neglect started appearing bit by bit from that time.

By the time I finish drafting the agreement, it’s nearly evening. Kevin still hasn’t brought Tommy home. I habitually start to worry about Tommy’s homework, then raise my hand and slap myself hard. “Mom, you have to be cruel, just like his dad.” I get a call from Kevin. The female voice from that night is on the other end. “Sister-in-law, it’s me. Kevin’s too drunk to get home on his own. Could you come pick him up?” “Why don’t you take him? Aren’t you two close?” I glance at the divorce agreement on the table and change my mind. “Never mind, I’ll come get him.” I hang up and rush to the private room as fast as I can. The room is filled with men and women of all sorts. Besides the girl who called me, whom I’ve seen before, the rest are unfamiliar faces. But they all look at me with accusing eyes, as if I’ve failed as a housewife. Kevin sits in the main seat, face flushed red, still raising an empty glass to drink. Tommy sits beside him. His backpack is thrown on the floor. A scantily-clad woman holds him in her arms, talking to him. So this is how he takes care of our son. No wonder my years of hard work raising Tommy at home can’t compare to his occasional outings. Before I even enter, Tommy screams. “Dad, I don’t want to go home with Mom! Mom’s going to make me do homework again.” Tommy scrambles around trying to escape as if he’s seen a ghost. Kevin finally pretends to open his eyes. “Son, don’t be afraid. Daddy’s here.” Then others in the room try to reason with me: “Sister-in-law, don’t be mad at Kevin anymore. He’s been hiding out at my place for almost two months because of you.” “Same here, Kevin crashed at my place for nearly a month. My wife was getting upset.” The girl standing guard by Kevin speaks up too: “Sister-in-law, Kevin often mentions you and Tommy when we chat. He really cares about you both.” I finally realize this call wasn’t about picking up Kevin at all. They want me to cry and beg on my knees for Kevin to come home. I laugh coldly: “You keep talking about how hard it is for him. Can’t he come home on his own? Doesn’t he have legs? “I’m not suffering while taking care of our son at home, but he slams the door and leaves at the slightest disagreement and suddenly he’s the one suffering. “If being out having fun is suffering, why don’t we switch places? Kevin, stop pretending to be drunk. “Do you want me to discuss what you’ve done in private or right here in front of everyone?” The girl snuggling up to him suddenly changes expression. “Sister-in-law, it’s all just a misunderstanding.” Misunderstanding? He nearly had drunk sex with someone else and I caught him. When I asked a few questions he couldn’t answer, so he gave me the cold shoulder. Kevin is silent again, his face dark. He glances at Tommy, who dejectedly walks towards me. As he comes over, he keeps looking back longingly at Kevin, hoping his dad will call him back. That way he can keep playing and never have to study again. This is also an indirect way of asking me to leave. Let me take the kid and go, so he can stay here and keep partying. Why does it always have to be this way? I’ve had enough too. I stand my ground and take out the divorce agreement.

“Kevin, let’s get divorced.” The noisy room suddenly falls silent. Kevin finally looks up at me. His eyes show predictable clarity. In seven years of marriage, no matter how badly we fought, I had never mentioned divorce. Kevin knows my personality – once I’ve made up my mind about something, I won’t back down. He anxiously stands up from the leather sofa in the room. He walks a few steps to stand in front of me. “Are you serious?” He’s finally willing to look me in the eye and speak to me normally. He looks down at Tommy and smirks: “Haley, if you want a divorce, you’re not getting custody of our son. He’d rather stay with me anyway. Don’t be ridiculous.” Kevin is certain I’ll fight for custody. He’s not blind – he knows how much I’ve endured and suffered for our child over the years. Tommy clings tightly to his dad, glaring at me resentfully as if terrified I’ll snatch him away. “Mom I don’t want you, I want Dad.” That girl walks over too, smiling mockingly as she advises me: “Sis, at your age with no house or job, you really can’t get custody of the child. Why don’t you take the kid home? Couples shouldn’t hold grudges overnight.” I clench my teeth, gripping the agreement tightly. I knew what I’d face coming here, but seeing everyone’s disgust and disapproval of me in person still makes me falter. But I can’t. I pinch myself hard. Reminding myself: Woman, be cruel. Don’t cry. Tears are magic to those who love you, but only a joke to those who don’t. “Kevin, don’t worry. I don’t want the kid or the house in the divorce.”

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My wife was holding our daughter, threatening to jump off the building. She listed evidence of my alleged affair, demanding I leave with nothing. In reality, I hadn’t cheated – this was all part of my plan… On the rooftop, my wife Lily was holding our three-year-old daughter Emma, standing on the edge. She was threatening to jump. Down below, my in-laws were cursing me as a beast, telling the neighbors that I had a mistress and was unfaithful to their daughter. My brother-in-law Jack was hurling abuse at me. He even grabbed a kitchen knife and tried to attack me, but luckily several security guards held him back. I was the target of everyone’s anger. “Don’t you just want a divorce?” Lily shouted. “Fine, I’ll give you one!” I gritted my teeth, looking at our crying daughter. Lily’s face contorted with rage. She said I not only had to leave with nothing, but also give her all the shares of the company I had secretly started. I pretended to be panicked, but inside I was breathing a sigh of relief. She had finally taken the bait. The whole affair about me having a mistress was actually her scheme. She had hired a woman to seduce me. And I had played along with her plan. This whole drama started three months ago…

I discovered that my wife Lily was cheating on me. She didn’t know that the things she bought showed up in my Amazon recommendations. It was a pair of Stephen & Co. leather shoes worth over $500. At the time, I thought she had bought them for me and felt touched. I thanked heaven for giving me such a caring wife who loved me so much. I also had a little secret I hadn’t told her yet, originally planning to surprise her. When I got home, I pretended not to know anything. But no matter how long I waited, Lily never gave me the shoes. Instead, she started talking about how her brother Jack needed money to get married. The wedding would cost $200,000, and she wanted me to pay for it. I scraped together $100,000 with great difficulty. When I handed her the money, I thought she would be grateful and give me the shoes. But she didn’t even smile, just took the money and hurried off. That’s when I realized, no matter how good I was to her, she would never give me those shoes. She had given them to someone else. Not her brother Jack. Although my wife treated Jack better than me, Jack was young and didn’t like leather shoes. He always wore sneakers. There was a 100% chance Lily was cheating on me! I pretended everything was normal, but my heart was pierced with thorns. These thorns made me bleed. Behind my wife’s back, I secretly checked her bank statements. Sure enough, I found a problem. She had booked a hotel room! A $380 couples hotel, including a pack of Marlboro cigarettes. The evidence was right in front of me. I was so angry I could hear my teeth grinding. We had been married for five years. I had given Lily my heart and soul, just wanting to live a good life with her. My parents even sold their house for tens of thousands of dollars to pay for our wedding. But she was using my money to book hotel rooms with another man. I couldn’t take it anymore! When a man is betrayed by the woman he loves, the potential that erupts is infinite. My mind had never been so sharp and meticulous. Those expensive shoes, being an imported style that had been out of stock for half a year, only came in sizes up to 7.5. This was one characteristic of the adulterer. He also liked to smoke, and preferred Marlboro. I thought carefully about who fit these conditions, and there were a few possibilities. One was the delivery guy who often came to our neighborhood. I waited for him at the package pickup point every day. When he arrived on his electric tricycle, the first thing I looked at was his feet. Although he wasn’t tall, the delivery guy had big feet, definitely not size 7.5. It wasn’t him… Another suspect was the manager at my wife’s company. But when I asked around, I found out my wife’s boss had gone abroad on a business trip a month ago. It wasn’t him either… I was completely baffled. When I got back to the neighborhood, several security guards were laughing and talking loudly about how Old Smith had only worn his new leather shoes for one day before stopping. I was particularly sensitive to anything related to shoes now, and immediately took notice. Afraid of alerting anyone, I waited a couple days before finding Old Huang, one of the security guards. I gave him a few cigarettes to get friendly and chat. I deliberately steered the conversation to shoes, and Old Huang immediately said someone had given Old Smith a pair of shoes. He said they were some brand called Stephen, worth four or five thousand dollars, really fancy. My heart exploded! “Stephen & Co. deerskin? I wanted to buy them too, but they’ve been out of stock for a long time, only size 7.5 left.” I threw out one last question. Old Huang laughed and said Old Smith’s feet were exactly size 7.5. I clenched my fists tightly, my heart erupting like a volcano. Old Huang didn’t notice anything unusual about me and started telling me more about Old Smith. Apparently Old Smith used to be rich, but lost everything due to his gambling addiction. Old Smith was actually very clever and smart, most people couldn’t outsmart him. Old Huang admired him, saying he was a tiger fallen on hard times. I didn’t act rashly. I couldn’t wrongly accuse an innocent person. I found Old Smith to chat and offered him a Marlboro, then said this cigarette wasn’t good and gave him a more expensive brand. Old Smith smiled and waved it off, saying he preferred Marlboro. I understood everything. It was him! I loved Lily so much, how could I possibly be inferior to Old Smith? How could she choose a poor, ugly, old security guard? If Lily had found someone handsome, or a rich and powerful man, I could have accepted it a little more and just gotten divorced. But… In Lily’s heart, I wasn’t even as good as a short, poor, ugly security guard? My heart was in knots, with only two words pounding in my mind. Revenge! I would make Lily and Old Smith pay the most painful price! They would live the rest of their lives in nightmares!

The reason I endured this silently and secretly investigated the adulterer was because I also had a secret. A few years ago, my childhood friend Mike wanted to start a business in Shenzhen and borrowed $50,000 from me. His luck wasn’t good, and after struggling for several years he still hadn’t succeeded. Lily scolded me for being blind. She kept urging me to get the money back so her brother could use it for business. Sometimes, getting rich happens in an instant, unpredictably. In the past two or three months, Bitcoin had been wildly hyped, and countless mining farms had sprung up. Graphics cards were being frantically bought up. Mike had stockpiled a large batch of old graphics cards that no one wanted before, but now he had struck it rich. He called me with the good news, saying I owned half the shares in his company. And he had transferred half the company shares to my name through a lawyer. Mike said graphics cards would keep going up, and we could earn even more if we waited. When I heard that astronomical figure, I wasn’t too excited. I was happier that Mike remembered my kindness and still thought of me. But for Lily to go find another man at this critical moment, if I had a big fight and divorced her, wouldn’t she take advantage and get a huge chunk of my assets? I couldn’t let this woman who betrayed me walk away with a large sum of money. The plan for revenge slowly took shape in my mind. I knew my opponent wasn’t stupid. Old Smith was an extremely clever guy. Otherwise Old Huang wouldn’t have said he was an old tiger…

Old Smith was clever, but he also had a fatal weakness. He was too greedy and loved to gamble. Otherwise he wouldn’t have fallen from being a rich man to a neighborhood security guard. And now, he was in desperate need of money. Money to make a comeback. I installed cameras and listening devices in our home to collect evidence of Old Smith’s improper relationship with my wife. Then I went to find Old Huang the security guard to chat. For a man his age with no woman and no money, I casually told him some hearsay stories about the entertainment industry, which quickly got Old Huang all fired up. He hesitantly asked if I knew any websites. I gave him one, and said you could make money by uploading videos and photos to this site. He was stunned and asked if that was really true. I just smiled without saying anything. Old Huang and that damned Old Smith were good friends. When they chatted, Old Huang would definitely pass this information on to Old Smith. The penniless Old Smith would naturally find a way to take videos and photos to exchange for a good amount of cash. Sure enough, within three days, I saw a video on the website. It was my wife… Although she covered her face, the small red birthmark by her navel gave her away. My hand instantly started trembling. I felt like I had fallen into an ice pit. Lily, the woman I had cherished in the palm of my hand… Yet she was so degraded in front of another man, filming this kind of video! I felt very cold. My heart was also ice cold. Taking a deep breath, I closed the video. This video had a very provocative title. A beautiful young wife’s passionate night… The title attracted many viewers. Lots of people were liking and requesting the next episode, and asking for the female lead to show her face. Old Smith was very happy, constantly replying in the comments, asking viewers to like and tip more. He promised to film a video of Lily showing her face. He wanted to earn more money. Let him make a little money first. Later, he would regret it immensely. His crime would be very serious!

Old Smith’s cleverness wasn’t just reflected in his ability to create catchy titles and attract eyeballs. Before I could fully launch my plan, he made the first move. That night, I was working overtime and came home late. A heavy rain started falling. I was standing at the bus stop holding an umbrella when a woman with a great figure and very sexy appearance suddenly ducked under my umbrella. “I’m so sorry, sir…” she said apologetically, raising her pretty face to me. I was startled, feeling like she looked very familiar. A face from my buried memories slowly became clear, and I unconsciously said, “Is it you?” The woman didn’t recognize me anymore, after all it had been almost 20 years of changes. “You are…” She looked at me for a long time before suddenly remembering who I was. Her name was Lisa. She was my childhood neighbor. Back then when we played house, she always wanted to play the role of my wife, following me around all day. From 3-4 years old until 13-14, we were always together. Feelings of puppy love also sprouted at that time. If it wasn’t for me moving away when she was 14, I might have stayed with her. I was afraid of hurting her, so I didn’t even tell her I was moving. Later I heard from other kids that the day after I moved, it was also raining heavily like this. She stood in the pouring rain, her face indistinguishable between tears and raindrops. I never imagined I would see her again on a rainy night like this. Just like that night when I left without saying goodbye. Tears suddenly welled up in Lisa’s eyes. As if afraid I would notice, she ran out into the pouring rain, heedless of getting drenched. I chased after her and grabbed her hand. The heavy rain soaked us both. I no longer cared about anything else. She cried and threw herself into my arms, telling me how heartless I had been back then. I smiled bitterly. I thought it was just puppy love, but I didn’t realize she had taken it so seriously.

As Lisa told her story, I learned everything. Her later experiences were very unfortunate. Her parents died in a car accident, leaving her alone in the world. Later, she didn’t meet any good men. She struggled to raise her 5-year-old daughter alone, and the young child was chronically ill. The burdens of life almost crushed this poor woman. I walked her home, and she said she wanted to take a shower first. When the water started falling, her graceful figure appeared on the translucent glass. I quickly averted my eyes. She suddenly called me, saying she was out of body wash. I brought it to her, but she pulled me inside. She pressed against me, writhing like a snake. She said when she was little, she had wanted to be my wife, and cursed fate for being cruel. I strongly resisted the fire churning in my heart. I backed out of the bathroom. I said I would take her to see her sick daughter tomorrow. I didn’t have much ability now, but I would give her some money to ease her burden. I had already let her down once before, I didn’t want to let her down again. Hearing these words, she stared at me blankly, then suddenly burst into tears. “I’m so sorry…” “Someone asked me to get close to you…”

Yesterday, a woman had found her and offered her $100,000. The price for getting the $100,000 was to use her body as bait, seduce me, and let me fall for it. Take videos and photos of me being intimate with her, and the task would be complete. She desperately needed money for her daughter’s treatment. But she never imagined the man she was supposed to seduce would turn out to be me. Me, her childhood sweetheart… Lisa finally couldn’t get past her conscience and told me everything. I felt a chill run through me. The coldness in my body was not even a fraction of the chill in my heart. That woman was naturally my wife, Lily! Lily’s purpose was too obvious. She wanted to manufacture evidence of me being with other women, to put me at a disadvantage in the divorce battle. She knew I had two weaknesses. One was my reputation, the other was my daughter. If I wronged her, the court would definitely give her custody of our daughter. Then she could use our daughter to force me to give in, to bow my head. But… From what I knew of Lily, she was an extremely simple-minded woman. She wasn’t this clever. She couldn’t have come up with this scheme. Everything must have been taught to her by Old Smith. That vicious and cunning old fox. Old Smith. Too sly, too crafty. An opponent like this wasn’t an ordinary person to be trifled with. I needed to be on full alert. Sitting by the window as the heavy rain fell, I kept thinking. Wait, something wasn’t right! Since Old Smith had Lisa come seduce me to manufacture evidence of my infidelity. Why would he let me discover his affair with my wife Lily? Someone as meticulous and cunning as him, how could he leave such a big loophole? Thinking back… A trap! This was a trap he had deliberately set! If it wasn’t for that intimate video posted online, all my evidence couldn’t directly prove Old Smith’s affair with my wife. He deliberately let me discover clues, then when the divorce battle came I would angrily throw out the evidence… Like those size 7.5 expensive leather shoes… Did that definitely mean Old Smith wore them? Lily would refute each piece of evidence one by one, making all my proof fall apart. She would come out looking pure as a white lotus, untainted. She would make everyone believe I was the one who wronged her. I felt my scalp tingling. I didn’t think my deductions were wrong. Old Smith’s intentions were so vicious! But I couldn’t mention the video on the website. That was the final card to make them despair and regret. I started recalling my previous conversations with Old Smith, not overlooking any detail. What did I have that was worth him putting in so much effort? I was just an ordinary person, earning a few thousand dollars a month from my job, with only a car and a house to my name. My only wife had also become his plaything. What else was he unsatisfied with, what else did he want to get? Suddenly, I remembered the good news I had been keeping from my wife. Half a year ago, when I was on the phone with Mike talking about those old graphics cards that could make us rich, Old Smith seemed to be not far from me. He had overheard! What he really wanted to obtain… Was my increasingly valuable graphics cards! Old Smith didn’t hesitate to go into debt for $100,000 to hire Lisa. He had her seduce me, then make me leave with nothing in the divorce. The shares in the company I started with Mike would naturally be seized too. Then, graphics cards worth over $5 million would be enough for Old Smith to make a comeback! So that was it…

Lisa looked at me, silently crying. I was very grateful to her. She had a complex expression and said goodbye to me, turning to close the door. But the next moment, I grabbed her cold hand. She didn’t understand. I looked at her somewhat seriously, and somewhat pleadingly: “Help me…”

I repeatedly mulled over the plan in my mind, striving to make it foolproof. In fact, I had even prepared two plans. Old Smith was too difficult to deal with. To outsmart him, I had to consider everything thoroughly. There was no way I would leave with nothing. On the contrary, I would make Old Smith pay an unimaginable price! I needed her help. A counterattack from a desperate position! I went to a hotel with Lisa and left our ID information. We also left some evidence. I imagined Old Smith and Lily would be overjoyed and impatient. I… Was waiting for them!

That evening, Lily carried our daughter to me with an icy expression. “Have you been unfaithful to me?” she demanded bluntly. My face changed and I firmly denied it: “Honey, what’s wrong? I would never be unfaithful to you.” Lily glared at me and cursed: “You went to a hotel with another woman, are you still trying to lie to me?” Like any man caught cheating, I refused to admit it no matter what. She slapped the evidence on the table – a stack of photos of me hugging Lisa and entering a hotel. The evidence was irrefutable. I could only lower my head. “Honey, I’m sorry, I… I was confused, I was momentarily bewitched.” I pretended to be terrified and begged pitifully, which was exactly what Lily wanted. She burst into loud sobs, carrying our 3-year-old daughter and running up to the roof. Below was a drop of several dozen meters. With tears streaming down her face, she accused me of betraying this family. The neighbors were all alarmed and came to watch. Lily’s parents and her good-for-nothing brother happened to appear at this exact moment. The timing was so perfect, not a second off. They seemed to suddenly understand everything. Her parents grabbed the neighbors and told them how heartless I was, how I had wronged Lily, that I was a ungrateful scumbag who forgot his wife as soon as he saw another woman. Her brother Jack was even more enraged. He grabbed a kitchen knife and tried to rush at me. I was the target of everyone’s anger, my reputation ruined. Reputation, I didn’t care about. All I cared about was my daughter… And the assets I had worked so hard to accumulate. I couldn’t let them go to outsiders!

A cheating man can’t just keep begging for forgiveness, he also needs to counterattack to some extent. It takes two to tango. I also had to say bad things about her, point out her faults. Only then could this divorce drama seem like it was really happening. In front of everyone, I angrily took out the evidence of her betraying me. “You have the nerve to accuse me?” “You bought someone else $500 shoes, you also went to hotels with someone else, he even bought a pack of cigarettes!” “We’re both playing around, neither of us wronged the other.” I shouted loudly. All the neighbors were shocked. More and more people came to watch the drama unfold. Old Smith was hidden in the crowd, a contemptuous smile on his face. I knew all this evidence was arranged by him. He was just waiting for me to throw out the evidence. My counterattack was exactly as he had predicted. He was very pleased with himself for seeing through me. “You heartless bastard!” Lily cried, holding our daughter. She said those leather shoes were bought at her father’s request, as a gift for someone else. Her father immediately chimed in to corroborate Lily’s story. Then she said that hotel visit was because her brother Jack had asked for her help with something, and the cigarettes were bought by him too. Jack also loudly said that was indeed the case, and we could check the hotel’s security cameras if we didn’t believe him. I pretended to be ashamed and speechless, just trembling slightly. Everyone looked at me with disgust. Old Smith and Lily stared at me coldly.

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[If you’re reading this, do whatever it takes to wake yourself up immediately—because it’s watching you.] Content A blaring alarm jolted me awake. Maybe it was because I stayed up too late last night finishing assignments, but waking up today felt particularly hard. Reluctantly, I got up and smacked the alarm clock. April 11th. 6:00 AM. Time for school. The curtains were drawn tightly, leaving the room dim. Mom and Dad had probably already left. I shouted a few times, but the house was empty. It looked like they didn’t have time to make breakfast today. I sighed at the bare dining table. Guess I’d have to eat at school. A gloomy, overcast sky greeted me through the faint light at the edges of the curtains. Unusual for a town like ours—Will it rain? I reached into the side pocket of my backpack and found the crimson umbrella. Thankfully, Mom always prepared for things like this. Breakfast at Meadowfield High was the usual: a carton of milk and a packet of peanut butter cookies. Everyone seemed to love it. The classroom was eerily silent as my classmates ate, completely absorbed in their meals. By the time I finished, the bell for morning study rang. Today’s reading was for English Lit: Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address. I don’t know why, but my mind kept wandering. I normally loved Lit class, but today I just couldn’t focus. While my classmates recited in perfect unison, I glanced around, restless. That’s when I noticed someone slip quietly into the back row, taking a seat. It was Daphne Collins. She usually kept to herself, and as far as I knew, she was a model student. Why was she late today? The teacher didn’t seem to notice. When Daphne glanced at me, confusion flickered in her eyes before she quickly looked away. Everyone was reading aloud in perfect synchrony—so much so that it felt unnerving. Maybe it was the pressure of upcoming finals? After morning study, Mr. Eric Stone, our homeroom teacher, called me to his office. The English teacher had called out sick, so English class would be a self-study session. As the class rep for English, I went to pick up the worksheets and brought them back to the room. Avery Carter, the class president, kindly helped me hand them out. Lunch at the cafeteria was stew. It was my favorite, so I grabbed an extra serving. In the first period after lunch—Math class—I noticed Daphne was absent. For PE, I had an excuse ready. I stayed in the nurse’s office due to cramps, though Dr. Rachel Monroe wasn’t there. Then, during evening study, something bizarre happened. Daphne’s parents showed up. They said she wasn’t feeling well and needed to take her home. Midway through the session, Mr. Stone came into the classroom with Daphne’s parents and Mr. Thomas Griggs, the security guard. The room fell silent as everyone kept their heads down, scribbling on their papers. When Daphne saw them, she suddenly began screaming and tried to run, but Mr. Griggs grabbed her. Her parents covered her mouth and dragged her out of the classroom, kicking and struggling. Yes, dragged her out. Something felt off. When I turned to look, the rest of the class was acting as if nothing had happened, heads down, furiously writing. My seatmate, Mia Porter, turned to me, smiling. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her lips curled into a grin, though her eyes remained strangely still. A shiver ran down my spine. I shook my head and returned to my work. From outside the window came a faint, scraping sound—difficult to describe. I pretended not to hear it. Finally, school let out. I practically bolted for the door, but as I passed by the back exit, a crumpled piece of paper lying in the corner caught my eye. Something told me it was Daphne’s. Making sure no one was around, I quickly pocketed it. The rain started on my way home. Just my luck—I’d forgotten the umbrella. Soaked, I made it home. Mom and Dad still weren’t back. The living room was pitch black. The ceiling light was broken and wouldn’t turn on no matter what I tried. I gave up and went to my room. Remembering the note, I pulled it out of my bag. Under the dim light of my desk lamp, I saw words hastily scrawled in red pen: “Wake up now!” I didn’t understand what it meant. The next moment, everything went dark. A blaring alarm jolted me awake. I felt drained, like I hadn’t slept at all. Was it because of last night’s homework? I glanced at the clock on my desk— April 11th. 6:00 AM.

Breakfast was the same today: milk and peanut butter cookies. But I wasn’t hungry, so I only took a couple of bites. Something felt off, like I was forgetting something. I couldn’t focus during morning study, either. The English teacher was still out sick, so we had another self-study session. Avery helped me pass out the worksheets. But when we finished, there was an extra copy left. Shouldn’t there be 46 sheets? Was I mistaken? Did I count wrong? Wait—how many students were in our class? 46 or 45? My head spun with confusion. Lunch was stew again. I wasn’t in the mood, so I barely touched it. In Math class, Mr. Stone’s lesson kept everyone fully attentive. But something kept nagging at me. I glanced at the back row, where an empty seat stood out. Someone used to sit there, right? Daphne wasn’t here. My mind felt like it was trying to remind me of something, but the thought slipped away before I could catch it. Wait… who is Daphne? “Wake up now!” Those words suddenly flashed in my mind. Daphne Collins! She was my classmate, and she’s missing! Our class has 46 students. I didn’t count wrong! Today is April 11th. Yesterday was too! A chilling realization hit me, and my body broke out in a cold sweat. Something is wrong. Very wrong. I turned to Mia and whispered, “Where’s Daphne? Why isn’t she here today?” Her face was expressionless as she replied, “Who’s Daphne?” My heart sank. Daphne was gone. The atmosphere was suffocating. I sat frozen in my seat, barely daring to breathe. When class ended, everyone headed to PE. I feigned cramps again and snuck back to the classroom. Daphne’s desk was shoved into the corner, covered in dust. It looked like no one had touched it in ages. Was this a dream? Or was my memory the dream? What day was it yesterday? Was there ever a Daphne Collins in our class? A tangle of questions clawed at my mind, each one tightening like a noose. My trembling hands reached for her desk. It was empty inside, except for a layer of dust. As I pulled my hand back, it brushed against something taped to the underside of the desk. A black leather journal, worn and frayed. I ran to the girls’ restroom and locked myself in a stall, flipping through its pages. The first few had been torn out, leaving jagged edges behind. The most recent entry read: “Today is April 11th. Again. This is my 87th April 11th. I know it’s watching me, but no matter what I do, I can’t find it…” The entry ended abruptly. A chill crept down my spine. My fingers trembled as I flipped to the back cover and found a piece of paper tucked inside. Scrawled across it, in dense, chaotic handwriting, were a series of rules: 1. If you’re reading this, do whatever it takes to wake yourself up immediately—because it’s watching you.

“My name is Daphne Collins. If you’re reading this guide, please—please—make sure to follow these rules to the letter!” … [2] Do not eat the school’s food. If you’re hungry, go to the snack bar in the cafeteria on the first floor. But whatever you do, don’t buy the milk or peanut butter cookies. [3] Do exactly as the teachers say. Don’t stand out or behave differently. Blend in. Don’t let it notice you. [4] Make sure to get home before it gets dark. Home is safe. If it traps you, the science lab might be a secure fallback. [5] If you’re alone in a classroom, the nurse’s office, the lab, or any space, double-check that the door is locked. If the door suddenly opens, something has come in. [6] When passing the 7th-floor staircase in Founders Hall, don’t look at the mirrors on the wall. [7] The faucet in the sinks will always drip. Do not try to turn it off. If the dripping stops, lock the stall door, close your eyes, and count to 100. No matter what touches you, don’t make a sound—and do not open your eyes. [8] Some students and teachers have been replaced by “those things.” Find a way to identify them as soon as possible. [9] Don’t trust anyone. [10] And most importantly, find whatever extra presence is among us—and kill it. If you don’t, it will kill you. … The writing grew increasingly frantic as it went on. I strained to make out every word, but my anxiety and panic only grew stronger with each line. If this was real, it meant I was trapped in some kind of unknown loop. And at any moment, I could end up like Daphne Collins… My eyes lingered on Rule #10. Did Daphne disappear because “that thing” killed her? That’s when I noticed something—something I had been vaguely aware of but hadn’t fully realized until now. The dripping from the faucet had stopped. My mind went blank, like an explosion had gone off in my head. “Lock the bathroom door.” The rule from the journal flashed vividly in my mind.

“23… 24… 25… 26…” I squeezed my eyes shut, holding my breath as I counted silently. The air around me seemed to grow colder with every passing second. My heart pounded uncontrollably. Something was here. My legs felt weak, and my entire body froze. A sickening, putrid stench hit me like a freight train, sharp and overwhelming. Then came the sound. Something was dragging itself across the tiled floor. A wet, sticky, squelching noise that made my stomach churn and bile rise in my throat. My mind conjured up the image of decaying flesh. “48…” The sound stopped suddenly, just outside my stall door. Then—THUD. It pressed itself against the door. It was listening. My breathing hitched, and I clamped my hands over my mouth to keep from screaming. “63… 64…” Each second dragged on for an eternity. The silence stretched so long that I started to believe it was gone. Then, a cold droplet hit the top of my head. Followed by another. Drip… drip… The sound was rhythmic. Was it just the faucet again? Or… Or was it the thing—right above me? “…89… 90…” I could feel it.

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After getting my cartilage pierced, I went to wash my hair at Haven Hair Studio. I specifically told the stylist to avoid my ear. But not only did she smudge half the foundation off my forehead, she deliberately aimed the sprayer directly at my ear. The pain brought me to tears. When I stopped her, she sneered, “If you can’t even handle this pain, how do you have the guts to go after someone else’s man?” I was dumbfounded. Then she accused me of being “a fake, acting all innocent like a two-faced dove.” I’d had enough. I grabbed the blow dryer from her hand and shoved it into my brother Ashton’s arms. “You’re the boss—your turn!” Content 1 After getting my ear pierced, I remembered there was a family dinner tomorrow. Too lazy to wash my hair at home, I decided to head over to my brother Ashton’s salon, Haven Hair Studio. He wasn’t there, but he thoughtfully arranged for a stylist who, he said, had a gentle touch. The stylist walked over with an irritated scowl and muttered under her breath, “So now I’m washing some side chick’s hair? What a filthy man.” I raised an eyebrow at her and simply reminded her, “Please don’t get any water on my ear.” The skin around the fresh piercing was still sensitive, and getting it wet could lead to an infection. “Got it. But let me make one thing clear—I hate being interrupted while I work. So zip it!” she snapped, her tone brimming with hostility. Her sudden outburst left me stunned. Was she mad at me? “What’s with your attitude?” Before she could respond, a sharp pain shot through my ear. She had deliberately sprayed water directly onto the freshly pierced cartilage. “Ahh!” I clutched my ear, tears streaming down as the pain throbbed relentlessly. “I told you not to get my ear wet. You even said you heard me—so what’s your deal?” “Oh, my bad,” she replied with mock indifference. “Didn’t mean to. But seriously, you’re so fragile. It’s just water; you won’t die from it. Stop being so dramatic.” I was speechless. “I’m paying for a service. You’re treating me like this, and I’m not allowed to complain?” “Oh, please. You’re probably spending someone else’s money anyway. Girls like you who chase other people’s men? You deserve it. If you’re going to be a homewrecker, at least toughen up. What would you do if the wife came looking for a fight? Let her kill you?” She sneered at me, clearly imagining me as some desperate mistress. “What nonsense are you spouting? Who’s a mistress?” Her words lit a fire in me. Anyone would be furious if they were wrongly accused like that. “Oh, so you’re not a mistress? Then you must want to be one. No respectable woman gets her cartilage pierced. Stop pretending. What, you think I can’t see through your act, you two-faced little dove?” Her ridiculous logic made me laugh. “If you don’t want to wash my hair, get someone else to do it.” I didn’t want to waste another word on her. Her worldview was obviously warped. But she yanked my hair back and started lathering shampoo aggressively. I tried to sit up, but her grip was too strong. The sound of blow dryers filled the salon, drowning out my attempts to call for help. Helpless, I clutched my ear protectively and grimaced through the entire ordeal. When I finally sat in front of the mirror, I noticed something horrifying—half my foundation near my hairline was completely gone. Can someone explain where the makeup on my forehead went? 2 I glanced at the nametag on her chest. “Tiffany Carraway.” “Miss Carraway,” I said, pointing at my forehead. “Care to explain why half my foundation vanished while you were washing my hair?” She blinked, her expression unapologetic. “Oh, you were caking. I did you a favor and washed it off. No need to thank me—it was nothing.” Then, as if to top off her masterpiece, she yanked a towel around my hair, pulling out several strands in the process. I winced in pain, watching as she picked up the blow dryer. “You don’t need to dry my hair—” She pretended not to hear me. The dryer roared to life, and she aimed it at my scalp, holding it so close that the heat scorched my skin. I quickly grabbed the blow dryer from her hand and turned it on her face. “Oh, you like blowing? Here, let me help you!” Just then, Ashton walked in. “What’s going on here?” Tiffany quickly launched into her sob story, looking pitiful. “This customer seems unhappy with my service. Maybe I’m just not skilled enough.” Ashton nodded, ever the straightforward one. “Riley’s picky. You’re still new; it’s normal that she’s not satisfied. Go take a break.” Tiffany looked like she’d been slapped. She clearly expected some sympathy, but Ashton’s bluntness left her on the verge of tears. I tossed the blow dryer into Ashton’s arms and smiled sweetly. “Big bro, her skills are awful. Why don’t you take over?” Tiffany’s eyes widened in disbelief. Ashton, personally drying my hair? And I’d even called him “big bro” so affectionately—something she’d never done. From the mirror, I caught her hateful glare. It was immensely satisfying. When it was time to pay, I pulled out my phone to scan the code, but Ashton stopped me. “Why are you paying? This is my salon—just head home.” I smirked at Tiffany. “But your stylist seems to disagree?” Tiffany forced a smile. “I just didn’t want the books to get messy…” Ashton frowned. “Put it on my tab, then.” Her face turned even paler. Humming a tune, I left in high spirits, only to be stopped by Tiffany just outside the door. “You little tramp! Stay away from Ashton!” Ashton—my brother. I turned to her with an amused smile. Her overly delicate makeup and colorful highlights clashed with her faux-innocent vibe. She looked exactly like a TikTok E-girl trying too hard. “And what authority do you have to warn me? You’re out of your depth.” “He’s my man! You’ll never have him. He’d never choose someone like you!” “Really?” I rolled my eyes. “Keep dreaming.” As I turned to leave, she stepped in front of me and slapped me hard across the face. Caught off guard, I stumbled, scraping my palm on the concrete. “Ah!” I stared at the blood trickling from my hand. My ear throbbed from the impact of her slap. Furious, I stood up and returned the slap, hard. I’d wanted to do this ever since she sprayed water on my ear. “You’re insane!” I snapped and walked off without looking back. Behind me, she yelled, “Try going after Ashton again, and you’ll regret it!” 3 The next morning, I dragged myself out of bed early and went to Bayside Medical Center. My ear was inflamed from all the torture it had endured and hurt so badly I couldn’t sleep. After picking up my prescription, I ran into Harper Winslow, an old high school friend who was there for a prenatal checkup. With the family dinner set for later that afternoon and nothing urgent to do, I decided to keep her company. The clinic was bustling with people. Early pregnancy could be risky in such a crowded place. While waiting outside for Harper, I suddenly heard a shrill voice: “It’s you!” I looked up. Of course, it was Tiffany Carraway, the crazy stylist from yesterday. I rolled my eyes and turned away, not in the mood to engage. But Tiffany, true to form, wouldn’t let it go. “What are you doing at Gynecologist? Oh my God, are you pregnant? Whose kid is it? You’re out here having a baby and still chasing Ashton? Have you no shame?” How could someone jump to such insane conclusions? “You’re nuts! Whatever I’m doing has nothing to do with you!” I shot back, annoyed. Her eyes darted around before she turned and began shouting for attention. “Everyone, look over here! This woman was flirting with my boyfriend yesterday, then hit me when I called her out. And now she’s here, probably carrying some random loser’s baby. Maybe she’s even selling herself!” As she ranted, she jabbed her finger at my shoulder and gave me a hard shove, making me stumble back. People began gathering, eager to witness the commotion. “She looks so pretty, but she’s doing this? The world is going downhill,” someone muttered. “Pregnant and still causing drama? Some women just love attention,” another sneered. I was shaking with anger. This wasn’t just slander; it was public humiliation. “What the hell are you even talking about?” Harper’s voice cut through the noise as she walked out of the exam room. “You’re committing defamation. Do you realize that?” “Oh, so now you’ve got backup?” Tiffany sneered. “You know your behavior disgusts everyone, so you brought a friend to defend you? Where’s the baby daddy? Or are you two part of some organization? Gross! Stay away from me; I don’t want to catch anything from you!” “Tiffany, enough! Don’t think I won’t call the police!” I pulled out my phone and dialed 91

Seeing this, Tiffany lunged for my phone. “You’ve already thrown your dignity out the window by being a homewrecker. What’s the point of pretending now?” “Stop!” During the scuffle, Tiffany pushed Harper, who was holding her stomach. Harper fell to the ground with a cry of pain. “My stomach… it hurts…” Harper’s face turned pale as blood pooled beneath her. “Harper! Someone, get a doctor!” I shouted, rushing to help her. The crowd backed away, not wanting to get involved. Thankfully, we were already at the hospital, and a nurse quickly wheeled Harper into the emergency room. I turned to Tiffany, furious. “I already called the cops. If anything happens to Harper’s baby, you’re done.” Tiffany collected herself and scoffed, “That’s her problem! Not like she’s some saint. The kid would’ve been a bastard anyway.” When the police arrived, Ethan Garrison, Harper’s husband, came with them. The first thing he asked was, “How’s the baby?” When the doctor explained the situation, Ethan turned to Harper with a scowl. “Useless woman!” he snapped. Meanwhile, Tiffany stood before the police with her usual arrogance. “She fell on her own. Don’t even try to pin this on me.” Ethan stormed toward her, but when he saw her face, he froze, staring dumbly. 4 I watched Ethan’s reaction, frowning. The officers, seeing Harper’s husband had arrived, suggested resolving the matter privately. Noticing Ethan’s fixation on her, Tiffany’s expression shifted from disdain to faux innocence. With teary eyes and a trembling voice, she looked up at him like a fragile dove caught in the wind. “I didn’t mean to push your wife. Please forgive me,” she pleaded. Ethan’s expression softened immediately. “Okay… okay…” “What?! Harper could lose her baby, and you’re forgiving her?” I demanded. Ethan waved me off impatiently. “If the baby’s gone, that’s Harper’s fault. I’m her husband, so I get to decide. You don’t have any right to interfere.” “You—!” I started, but Tiffany cut me off. She grasped Ethan’s hand and murmured, “Thank you.” Ethan’s face flushed as he squeezed her hand, his thumb grazing her skin. “No problem,” he said, leering. I was speechless. Harper married this guy? It made sense, though. What kind of husband lets his pregnant wife come to the clinic alone? The police, clearly uncomfortable, prepared to leave. “Her public defamation of me—surely you can press charges for that?” I asked. One officer hesitated. “Do you have any recordings or videos? Without evidence, it’s hard to proceed.” I sighed, wishing I’d slapped Tiffany harder earlier. Tiffany, smirking triumphantly, threw Ethan a flirtatious glance before strutting off. Ethan remained, staring after her, completely unaware that Harper had already been wheeled out of the operating room. Realizing Ethan had no intention of helping Harper recover, I arranged for a reliable caregiver to assist her during her recovery. Later, I recounted everything to Harper, urging her to consider whether Ethan was worth staying with. The Harper I remembered from high school was bold, strong, and decisive—the kind of woman other girls aspired to be. Ethan wasn’t her match, and she definitely wasn’t the type to settle for someone like him. I trusted she’d figure it out. That evening, during the family dinner, I shared all of Tiffany’s antics with Ashton. Ashton listened, stunned by the sheer drama and venom Tiffany brought into his salon. “I mean, seriously. Her attitude’s awful…” As I finished recounting the story, I reached for my glass of water, but before I could drink it— SPLASH! Cold water drenched me, and I looked up to see Tiffany standing there, trembling with rage. “You b*tch! I told you to stay away from Ashton! How dare you get close to him again?” Everyone at the table froze in shock. “Who is this woman? Ashton, get her out of here!” a family member finally said. Ashton, just as stunned, stood and grabbed Tiffany’s arm to drag her out. But Tiffany wasn’t done. “I’m Ashton’s girlfriend! You must be his family, right? Is this some setup to marry him off? Let me tell you, Ashton already has me! And this woman you brought here? She’s nothing but a tramp. I saw her at Gynecologist earlier, probably pregnant with someone else’s kid, hoping Ashton will play stepdad!”

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The Fourth of July coincided with the fifth anniversary of my marriage to Serena Sinclair. We had planned a trip to Napa Valley for the holiday, but on the morning of our departure, Serena hastily packed her suitcase and said, “There’s a last-minute work trip I need to attend to for the company.” I believed her—until later that night when I scrolled through Instagram Stories and saw a post from her first love, Lucas Stone. In the photo, the two of them were close, fingers intertwined, their matching silver bracelets glaringly prominent. I let out a bitter laugh. Serena had made it to Napa Valley, just not with me. I didn’t call to confront her. Instead, I calmly gave the post a like. A minute later, Serena called me, her voice frantic. “This is just a misunderstanding. We just happened to run into each other while on business. I promise I’ll make it up to you next Fourth of July.” I chuckled disdainfully. “No worries. Have fun.” She paused, confused. “Why aren’t you jealous this time?” … When Serena returned a week later, dragging her oversized suitcase through the door, I stayed seated on the couch, my eyes on the TV. In the past, I would have rushed to help her, taken her bag, and even swapped her shoes. Not this time. Serena leaned against the door, frowning at me. “Elias, where are my slippers?” I nodded toward the shoe rack. “In the cabinet. Help yourself.” Her brows furrowed tighter, but after a brief hesitation, she relaxed and fetched the slippers herself. Walking over to me, she glanced at the empty dining table and pouted. “I’m starving. Can you make me some chicken soup?” Normally, I would’ve jumped up at any time, even at 3 a.m., to make her something. Today, I simply replied, “No time. Order takeout.” Serena’s face flickered with annoyance, but she sighed and softened her tone. “Honey, I know the sudden trip upset you. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I even brought you a gift. Can you forgive me?” I didn’t look at her. “You’re overthinking it. I’m not mad.” She froze, clearly surprised, before knitting her brows again. From her suitcase, she pulled out a plain-wrapped gift. Inside was a navy-and-emerald tie. She smiled expectantly. “Do you like it? I picked it out just for you.” Three days earlier, Lucas had posted about a Fourth of July mall promotion: spend over $10,000 and get a complimentary tie. That exact tie was now Serena’s “thoughtful” gift. I kept my composure, took the tie, and thanked her flatly. “Appreciate it. You’re so thoughtful.” Serena blinked, stunned. “That’s all you’re going to say?” “Mm-hmm. What else would you like to hear?” Her frown deepened as she clutched my arm, trying to explain. “You’re still mad, aren’t you? I already told you, Lucas and I just ran into each other at the airport and had a meal. That’s it.” I nodded. “I know. I’m not mad.” She stared at me, shocked. “Why aren’t you jealous this time?” “Because I’ve stopped caring.” I grabbed my coat and headed for the door. Serena stepped in front of me, blocking my path. “Where are you going? And what about my anniversary gift?” A month earlier, I had won a sapphire charm bracelet at an auction, and Serena had seen the news about it. Instead of explaining, I took out my phone and transferred $5,000 to her account. “Forgot to prepare one. Buy yourself whatever you like.” She stood in stunned silence. In five years of marriage, I had never once failed to prepare a thoughtful gift for any occasion. After a few seconds, she grew angry, grabbing my hand. “Where’s the bracelet?!” I let out a cold laugh and pointed at her wrist. “What bracelet? Isn’t that matching bracelet with Lucas enough?” Serena flushed with embarrassment. “It’s… just something he gave me as a friend. Don’t overthink it. I’ll take it off now.” After living together for five years, I knew her micro-expressions well. The way her fingers fidgeted with her shirt revealed her unease. Having lost faith in her, I had no desire to argue. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I turned and left.

For five years of marriage, I put Serena first, which meant I hadn’t seen my old friends in forever. I booked a flight to Charleston and called up my closest buddy, Adrian Starr. Adrian immediately arranged a gathering. Three rounds of drinks in, the guys eyed me curiously. “We thought you abandoned us after you got married. Does Serena know you’re here?” I took a sip and smiled. “From now on, call me anytime. No permission needed.” My phone buzzed incessantly with calls from Serena. Ever since Lucas returned to the States, there had been countless nights when Serena didn’t come home, leaving me anxiously dialing her number. When I confronted her about not answering, she once snapped, “Did the sky fall? Every time I see a bunch of missed calls from you, I feel sick.” Now, she was the one endlessly calling. We stayed out until late, nearly midnight, when Serena suddenly burst into the bar, looking disheveled. She pulled out a chair and sat beside me as if nothing had happened, taking my glass and scolding, “You shouldn’t drink so much when you’ve got stomach issues. Do you even care about your health?” Her sudden concern felt jarring, almost foreign. I glanced at her, my tone icy. “What are you doing here?” The guys greeted her politely, and she smiled before gripping my hand tightly. “You didn’t answer my calls. I had no choice but to come find you.” I shook her off, my voice cold. “Serena, I’ve already told you. We have nothing to do with each other anymore. Don’t overstep.” She froze, staring at me in disbelief. I ignored her and left with Adrian, brushing past her. Serena followed us outside, shouting after me. “Elias, I’ve come all this way to make amends. What else do you want me to do?” “Grow up. We’re almost thirty. Do we really need to play these disappearing games after an argument?” She climbed into the car with me and Adrian, determined to follow us. In the car, she clutched my arm, begging to talk. I refused, and she grew flustered. “Enough is enough. You’ve had your fun, drowned your sorrows, and now it’s time to come home.” “You’re jealous, aren’t you? But I swear, Lucas and I are completely innocent. Why are you hurting yourself over this?” I smirked. “You’ve misunderstood. I drank tonight because I was happy to see my friends. Nothing more.” I pushed past her, heading into Adrian’s home, ignoring her frantic knocking at the door. That night, I slept like a baby.

The next morning, Adrian knocked on my door. “Serena’s here.” Dressed and ready, I went downstairs to find her sitting at the table, face clouded with anger. In the past, even the smallest frown would have me rushing to cheer her up. This time, I walked past her without a word, flagged down a cab, and headed to the airport. At the gate, I ran into Serena again. She marched up, her tone sharp. “Elias, we’re married. There’s no need to avoid me over something so trivial.” Without looking up, I typed on my laptop and replied, “You’re overthinking it. I’m not avoiding you.” Before I could finish, her phone rang, the ringtone indicating her priority contact. From where I sat, I heard Lucas’s voice. “Where are you? Don’t forget tonight’s event. Whether or not we close this deal depends on it.” Lucas had been back in the States for three years, and Serena had quietly leveraged my name to help him numerous times. I had tolerated it, choosing to look the other way. But the tender smile on her lips and the sweet tone in her voice were things she had never given me. Whenever I asked for more warmth in our conversations, her response was always the same: “Work already drains me enough. Can’t you stop being so demanding?” I sent a message to my assistant, instructing him to inform our partners that Serena and I were beginning divorce proceedings. After ending her call, Serena turned to me, her earlier smile gone in an instant. “There’s still work to do, and flights are fully booked. Give me your ticket. You can take the next one.” I stayed put. Serena repeated herself, her tone more insistent. “I didn’t buy a ticket back to Charleston,” I replied flatly. Her face twisted in frustration. “So this is all a show, huh? You’re just trying to make me jealous?” “You’re being ridiculous!” she snapped before storming off. I watched her retreating figure, a pang of bitterness rising in my chest. No matter where she was or what she was doing, Lucas always came first. As Lucas had once posted: true devotion is when someone’s priority is always you.

I didn’t buy a ticket back to Charleston because my destination was Seattle. After taking over Ford Enterprises, my primary goal was to expand into retail chains, and the land in Westfield District seemed like the perfect location. Adrian Starr had recommended a mentor to me, someone who was a close friend of his father. He assured me that one dinner with this man could teach me a great deal. From the moment we met, we hit it off. Over dinner, Professor Nathaniel Huxley helped clarify many of the challenges I was facing. He liked me and suggested that I join his company for six months. He assured me that, during this time, I’d not only learn the ropes but also secure a foothold in the retail business and carve out my own path. With such an opportunity handed to me, I couldn’t refuse. After dinner, as I was about to drop him off at his residence, my phone started ringing incessantly. Serena was calling. I dismissed the calls repeatedly until Professor Huxley, noticing the affectionate name I had saved her under, asked, “Shouldn’t you inform your spouse that you’re in Seattle?” I shook my head, correcting him. “She’s no longer my spouse. I’ve already decided to divorce her.” After dropping off Professor Huxley, I finally called Serena back. As soon as the call connected, she launched into accusations: “Elias, what’s going on? Why did the corporate partners tell me they’ll only discuss matters with you directly?” “What’s happening? Haven’t I been managing all the company’s operations for years? Don’t you realize how important tonight’s deal is for me?” Her commanding tone was the same as ever, and I couldn’t help but laugh. “And?” Before she could respond, I heard Lucas’s voice in the background: “Serena, you have to help me with this. You’re my only hope.” Serena’s tone immediately softened as she reassured him, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.” Hearing this, I clenched the steering wheel tightly, my knuckles turning white. Serena had repeatedly claimed that her relationship with Lucas was strictly professional, yet here she was, offering him a level of warmth and care she’d never shown me. The pretense was sickening. I coldly declined further conversation and hung up, turning off my phone.

I spent two days in Seattle. Between sipping tea with Professor Huxley and completing onboarding paperwork, I also scouted a place to live near the company. I had my assistant notify several business partners about my plans to move abroad and took the opportunity to thank them for their support over the years. The house showed no signs of Serena’s presence, and everything seemed as usual. I changed the door lock code. After a day of rest, my business partners started calling, insisting on a farewell dinner. Unable to refuse, I agreed. When I arrived, the door to the private room was slightly ajar, and I could hear Lucas and the partners chatting. I hesitated, puzzled as to why a simple farewell dinner included Serena and Lucas. After a brief pause, I walked in. Lucas sat close to Serena in the seat of honor. When she saw me, she glanced up and said, “Everyone here is a friend, so just sit wherever you like.” “There were some misunderstandings during the last event. Now that everyone’s here, let’s clear the air.” All eyes were on me. I didn’t speak, and the room fell silent. Lucas’s smug expression radiated as he smirked at me. I avoided sitting near them, pulling out a random chair and taking my seat. Throughout dinner, Lucas raised his glass frequently, enthusiastically toasting the partners while boasting about the bright future of their newly signed deals. He was clearly enjoying himself. Meanwhile, my phone kept buzzing with messages from Serena. “I need to make an announcement later. Just play along. Whatever concerns you have, we’ll talk about them at home.” “You’ll see tonight that there’s nothing improper between Lucas and me. There’s nothing to hide.” I read through her messages until the latest one popped up: “Lucas will probably drink too much tonight. I might need to take him home afterward.” Raising an eyebrow, I responded with a curt, “Do as you like.” After a few rounds of drinks, Serena decided the time was right. She stood with Lucas, clinking glasses as she addressed the room. “Starting today, Lucas Stone will be the new project manager for our company. He’ll be your primary point of contact moving forward. Please take care of him.” A business partner sitting closest to me raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Point of contact? For what? Ford Enterprises has already decided to pull out of Charleston, and we’ve made plans to withdraw as well. Who’s he supposed to work with?” “What? Pull out of Charleston? Elias, you…” Serena’s face turned pale as she whipped her head toward me. I nodded calmly. “That’s right. I’m planning to move Ford Enterprises overseas.” Serena’s eyes widened in shock, her expression frozen. “You’re moving Ford Enterprises abroad? What about me?”

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