Category: English

1 From the moment Denis secretly gave my study abroad slot to Giselle, an invisible wall rose between us, one that could never be torn down. During the Aspen blizzard, when I went to assist the rescue team, I saw him walking past me with Giselle cradled in his arms. Just an hour before, he had texted me saying he was working late. I stared into his eyes with absolute calmness before turning back to save lives. The media reported on their reignited flame. I did not care, and I did not ask. But when I found out I was pregnant, I quietly walked into a clinic and got an abortion. When he later found the medical reports, his face lit up with the hope of a child. I looked at him and said, “Denis, I had an abortion.” He slammed on the brakes, his eyes turning instantly red. I had just learned that the hospital’s prestigious fellowship program in California had been handed to Giselle. She was a Stanford Medical graduate, so on paper, she held every advantage over me. At the Monday staff meeting, the Chief of Medicine announced the decision. Sitting across from me, Giselle locked eyes with mine, her lips curving into a faint, triumphant smile. I looked away, focus returning to my notepad. After the meeting, I gathered my files to deliver them to the chief’s office. The door was slightly ajar, and I could hear our department head asking a question. “Wasn’t the decision still pending? I really don’t think Vivian is any less qualified than Giselle.” “It is a pity,” the Chief sighed. “The residency is in California, and since Giselle is a Stanford alumnus, she has the cultural and language advantage. The host hospital preferred her.” The Chief paused, lowering his voice. “Besides, Apex Medical specifically requested her.” My heart sank. The department head stopped asking, and I understood. I turned around, clutching my files, and walked away. In the restroom, I overheard two nurses whispering. “This program is funded by Apex Medical Group. The hospital pretends we have a say, but the final word always belonged to their CEO, Denis.” “Well, Apex did just donate millions of dollars in new cardiac monitors to our department.” “Exactly. We owe that to Giselle. If it weren’t for her, we would still be using those ancient machines.” “Really? Why is that?” “Don’t you know? Dr. Giselle is Denis’s ex girlfriend. They were college sweethearts. My boyfriend was Denis’s college roommate, and he told me all about it. The board was actually leaning toward Vivian, but Apex dropped her name, so the hospital just went with the flow. It is a win win for everyone except Vivian.” The other nurse sighed. “Must be nice to have that kind of leverage. I wish I had a powerful backer. I would quit this job in a heartbeat.” I could have accepted losing to Giselle fairly. I knew she had a stellar resume. But I could not accept Denis pulling the strings behind my back. To qualify for this fellowship, I had slept less than six hours a night for six months. I had stayed up to polish research proposals, design presentations, and compile surgical logs. All of that effort was crushed by a casual word from my own husband. My chest tightened, a wave of bitter resentment washing over me. That evening, Denis’s tall figure appeared in the entryway. Driven by the raw hurt, I asked him directly before he could even take off his coat. “Denis, did you give my fellowship slot to Giselle?” He paused, his handsome face showing no emotion at all. “Yes,” he answered simply. The single word felt like a physical blow. “Can you tell me why?” I asked, my voice trembling. I thought of what the nurses had said, about her being his first love. “Is it because she is your ex?” He stared at me, his gaze deep and heavy. “She is better suited for the role.” He said it so calmly, so rationally. But my world was spinning. He had watched me pull all nighters to write those proposals. The choice had been his from the very beginning. My six months of grueling work had been nothing but a farce. In the hospital, I had never once used my status as Denis’s wife to seek favors. I did not expect him to pull strings for me. But I never imagined he would actively support his ex over me. Tears threatened to spill over. “Okay, I understand.” Denis looked down at me, his voice slow and even. “Vivian. In every professional metric, she is simply the stronger candidate.” I could not stand his cold, detached logic. “But she is your ex, and I am your wife!” I shouted, my voice cracking. “You had the power to choose, and you decided she was better from day one. You watched me ruin my health for this. Did you find it amusing? Was my effort just a joke to you?” Denis’s eyes turned icy. “Vivian. Don’t be a sore loser.” The words made me flinch. A sore loser. The tears finally spilled over, hot and bitter against my cheeks. Soon, everyone in the hospital knew who was backing Giselle. Administrators and colleagues alike began to fawn over her. Giselle remained gracefully aloof, neither accepting nor rejecting the special treatment, solidifying her image as a detached, perfect goddess. “Dr. Giselle is living a real life movie,” a nurse giggled in the breakroom. “She is gorgeous, Ivy League educated, and her ex is a billionaire. It is like a romance novel. Imagine being her child. Life would be on easy mode.” “When are she and Denis getting back together? I want to be reborn as their kid.” I forced a polite smile, swallowing the lump in my throat, and walked past them. I began to reevaluate my marriage. It was obvious that he did not love me, not the way he cared for Giselle. Once I accepted this truth, the desire to be near him vanished. One evening, I found Denis sitting at the dining table. A gold embossed invitation sat on the corner of the polished wood. He looked from the card to me. “My friend is getting married this weekend,” he said. “Spouses are invited. Do you want to go?” We had rarely mingled with each other’s social circles. This was the first time he had ever invited me to a public event as his wife. Before all this, I would have been thrilled. Now, I just felt a dull ache. “No, thank you,” I said. He looked slightly surprised, then nodded. “Okay.” I did not tell him that I also had a friend’s wedding that weekend. I saw no point in explaining. As fate would have it, we ended up at the exact same wedding, seated at the very same table. When I arrived, Giselle was already seated next to Denis. We all froze for a second. Giselle was a bridesmaid, and Denis was a groomsman. He wore a tailored black tuxedo, and she wore an elegant white silk gown. They looked perfect together. I wanted to change tables, but my friend, the bride, pushed me back into the seat. “Stay here,” Fiona whispered with a wink. “I put all the handsome guys at this table.” The guests at our table seemed to know Denis and Giselle, though not closely. They chatted easily, and soon someone joked, “Hey Denis, now that Marcus is married, when are you going to tie the knot with Giselle again?” Denis glanced at the guest, his expression neutral. “Don’t talk nonsense.” Shortly after, the groom called them away for photos. The ceremony was held in the outdoor gardens. The couple looked beautiful, and so did the bridal party. Standing side by side, Denis and Giselle looked like they belonged together. I had once dreamed of a wedding like this with Denis. But we never had one. We had simply signed the papers and had a quiet dinner with our parents. Watching them now, a hollow emptiness opened in my chest. After the ceremony, we returned to the reception hall. Seated at the table of strangers, I felt entirely out of place. Their shared memories only highlighted how little I belonged in Denis’s world. Fiona, the bride, had been a senior colleague of mine during residency. She did not know I was married to Denis. She walked over, raising her glass to me. “Vivian, I hand picked the bachelors at this table,” she whispered, loud enough for others to hear. “They are all successful, sweet guys. Let me know if any of them catch your eye.” My cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Denis looked at me, his dark eyes unreadable. He did not mention that we were married, and neither did I. Since we were bound to get a divorce eventually, there was no need to make our messy private life public. When the reception ended, I got up to leave. Fiona walked me to the exit, and Denis fell into step beside me. “Wait for me,” he murmured, leaning closer. “I’ll drive you home.” I took a step back, politely keeping my distance. Everyone here knew his history with Giselle. Some even thought they were still together. I did not want to cause a scene. “Vivian,” a gentle voice called out. A young man, looking like a recent graduate, approached us. “I’m Owen, Fiona’s cousin. Could I get your number? If that is okay with you.” I smiled back. “Of course.” We swapped contact info. Denis’s eyes darkened. Without warning, he reached out and locked his fingers with mine, his grip tight and commanding. It felt like holding a hot coal. I immediately yanked my hand back, brushing my arm to cover the gesture. “These summer bugs are awful, I must have gotten a bite.” “Vivian, do you need a ride?” Owen offered. “Fiona mentioned you had a drink. I’m sober, so I can drive.” I was about to accept, as cabs were hard to find in this district, when Denis stepped in, his cold aura instantly filling the space between us. “Vivian, are we heading home together?” he asked, his tone perfectly measured. Owen smiled, looking back and forth between us. “Oh, do you two know each other?” I answered quickly, before Denis could speak. “Yes, we work at the same hospital. Dr. Giselle is our colleague too.” Owen nodded. “Ah, that makes sense.” He turned to Denis. “By the way, Denis, I saw someone asking Giselle for her number earlier. You might want to move fast before someone else steals her away.” Denis let out a dry laugh. “An exchange of numbers doesn’t mean much.” He reached for my hand again, but I smoothly stepped behind Owen. “Owen, I would appreciate that ride.” Owen smiled. “Let’s go.” Denis’s face turned incredibly dark. When I got back to our apartment, Denis was already there. He stood in the living room, his brow arched. “Are you trying to hide our relationship?” he demanded. The bluntness of his question caught me off guard. “You are overthinking things,” I replied quietly. He stared at me, his eyes clouded with frustration. After that night, I actively kept my distance. I could no longer pretend everything was fine. Knowing he had sacrificed my hard work for Giselle’s career made me realize how foolish I had been. If our marriage was a sinking ship, I needed to make sure my own career survived. I threw myself into my work, leaving early and returning late. I spent almost all my time at the hospital, completely avoiding him. He texted me: Waiting for you in the parking garage. I replied: In surgery. Don’t wait. Though we lived under the same roof, we only saw each other three times that month. Winter arrived early in Chicago. A massive blizzard hit the neighboring town of Aspen, causing a severe mountain emergency with collapsed structures and multiple casualties. Our hospital assembled a disaster relief team, and I volunteered immediately. On our way to Aspen, the other doctors were calling their families. Denis had been texting me frequently lately, checking in. An hour before we lost signal, he sent a text: Working late tonight at the office. When we reached the valley, the rescue zone was a chaotic mess. The power was out, and searchlights swept over the snow. I was carrying my medical pack through the ruins of a resort when I saw a tall, familiar figure in the distance. He was carrying a woman wrapped in a thick wool coat. His face was pale with worry. As he got closer, our eyes met. We both froze. I stared at Denis. His breath caught, his grip on Giselle tightening. “Vivian, it is not what you think,” he rasped, his voice strained. I kept my face completely blank. “Move aside, please. I have patients to treat.” I bypassed him and ran toward the collapsed lobby. Our team worked straight through the night. By the time the last survivor was pulled from the wreckage, the sun was rising over the snowy peaks. We were exhausted, our hands raw from the cold. During our afternoon break, the staff sat around a small heater, whispering. “Dr. Giselle injured her leg. There was a lot of blood.” “Denis carried her out of the ruins himself. She was barely dressed.” The rumors were filled with suggestive comments about their late night reunion at the resort. Listening to them, I felt a strange sense of detachment. The anger and jealousy were gone, replaced by a cold, heavy finality. Seeing him carry Giselle through the snow had broken the last string holding us together. I wanted a divorce, and this time, nothing would change my mind. I walked out of the tent to get some fresh air. Denis was standing by the rescue vehicles, his tall figure silhouetted against the white snow. “Vivian,” he said, his voice raw. I nodded politely. “We can talk when we return to Chicago. I still have patients to monitor.” “Don’t misunderstand,” he repeated, his eyes pleading. I offered him a small, polite smile. “I don’t.” I knew exactly who he was, and who he cared about.

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1 The garbage I asked Eason to take out three days ago was still sitting in the kitchen. It reeked. Flies buzzed over the rotting plastic in a frantic swarm. Right then, I knew. We needed a divorce. That night, I slid the drafted divorce papers across the dining table. He looked up from his glowing laptop screen. His eyes were dark and piercing, like he was trying to dissect my thoughts. “The day before yesterday, I was helping Molly fix her data models. She is a junior analyst, and her foundation is weak. I am the only one she could turn to.” “Yesterday, she thought someone was following her on her way home. She called me crying, begging me to give her a ride just this once.” “Today, her data had a massive error just three hours before the executive deadline. She is on my team, Stella. I could not just abandon her.” He paused, letting out a heavy sigh. “I know you have always had an issue with her. I can give you my phone. I can pull the office security footage to prove we are completely innocent. As for that bag of trash, I genuinely just forgot. I have explained everything. If you still want a divorce after this, fine. I will cooperate.” I looked at him, my heart perfectly still. In these past three days, he had done so much for Molly. A man who religiously guarded his sleep schedule had stayed up late three nights in a row for her. Yet, three mornings in a row, he completely forgot to take the trash out on his way out the door. I gave a slow nod. “Let us just get the divorce.” I waited at the lawyer’s office until the staff clocked out for the day. Eason never showed up. When he finally got home, it was almost eleven at night. He saw me sitting in the dark on the living room sofa, did not say a single word, and walked straight into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. “I called you thirteen times,” I broke the silence. “You did not answer.” He paused mid sip, pulled his phone out of his pocket, and glanced at it. His face was entirely blank. “I turned it off for a board meeting today and forgot to turn it back on. Was there an emergency?” His tone was incredibly casual. Like he was commenting on the weather. I knew it. He had forgotten our appointment again. He was always forgetful. In our seven years of marriage, this had happened more times than I could count. From small things like forgetting to bring the laundry in before a storm, or tossing the garbage on his way downstairs. To massive, life altering things. Like when I was three months pregnant. The ultrasound showed severe fatal complications, and the specialist advised terminating the pregnancy to save my life. We booked an appointment for the procedure together. But when the surgery was over and I woke up shivering in the cold recovery room, he still was not there. I found out later. That day was Molly’s first time leading a project presentation, and she was a nervous wreck. He had promised to stand by her side and be her anchor. That was the first time I realized my true weight in Eason’s heart. The realization felt like a dull plastic knife dragging across my chest. It hurt, but it would not kill me. I pulled myself out of the memory and kindly offered an explanation. “We had an appointment to sign the divorce papers today. Tomorrow is the weekend and they are fully booked, so I rescheduled for Monday morning.” Eason’s eyes stayed glued to his glowing phone screen. He did not even look at me. “Alright. See you there Monday.” I nodded. Monday arrived. We signed the papers. In thirty days, the mandatory state cooling off period would end, and we would get the final decree. After signing his name, Eason kept his head down, his thumbs flying across his screen as he rapidly replied to someone. From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of his chat. A cutesy pink anime profile picture had sent him a long string of crying emojis. As we stepped out of the building, Eason turned to me. “I have an emergency at the office. I cannot drop you…” I nodded and pointed to the Uber I had called in advance. “My ride is here. Go do what you need to do.” The Uber was parked right next to his sleek Audi. I pulled the door open and slid into the backseat. I never looked back at the man standing on the sidewalk. 2 I called my best friend Harper to tell her the news and asked her to help me look for a new apartment. My hometown was Seattle, thousands of miles away from Chicago. The house I grew up in had been sold years ago to pay for my dad’s medical bills. The luxury condo I lived in now was bought by Eason, strictly under his name. After the divorce, I had to move out. I had nowhere to go. Harper was fast. Within hours, she had lined up three potential rentals. Just as we were about to hop on a FaceTime call for a virtual tour, a text from Eason popped up on my screen. [Thai basil chicken bowl and a berry smoothie.] [Come early. I have a meeting at one thirty.] I stared at the two messages, then calmly swiped them away. Eason worked brutal corporate hours. He never ate on time, and his diet was absolute garbage. After he collapsed from severe gastritis and ended up in the emergency room, I took matters into my own hands. I started scouring the internet for gut healing recipes. Ever since that day, I prepared fresh warm meals and delivered them to his office every single afternoon. He ate whatever I made. He never complained. I kept this routine up for three years, and his stomach issues never flared up again. Half a year ago, he suddenly started requesting specific dishes. I thought he was just getting bored of the bland food, so I poured my energy into tweaking the recipes to make them tastier. Until that afternoon. I saw a text exchange between him and Molly on his iPad. [Eason! What delicious food is Stella making today?] [Ugh, steamed veggies again? I do not really like that stuff.] [Next time, tell Stella not to make steamed food. I want something fried!] [Stella is so domestic. I do not know how to cook at all. You are so lucky to have her!] Eason replied: [You and her are different. Do not put yourself down.] [You are conquering the corporate world, she cooks at home. There is no comparison.] [A person has to be good for something, and since she stays home, this is all she can do.] Seeing those words had broken something inside me. I confronted him about it. He was slightly surprised I had read his messages, but he was not angry. He just looked at me with this calm, unshakable entitlement. “Oh. Molly has a weak stomach, she cannot eat takeout all the time. The food you make happens to be perfect for her, and it is nutritious. Why not?” His light, breezy tone hit me like a sledgehammer, smashing my warm beating heart into bloody pieces. I spent hours sweating in the kitchen, studying culinary books in every spare moment. The meals I poured my soul into, all my dedication… It had all become nothing more than casual banter to comfort another woman. And it was not like I did not work. In my spare time, I took on heavy freelance translation gigs. The foreign language dictionaries I used every single day were sitting right there on the living room bookshelf. He just never cared enough to notice. After finalizing a lease on a new apartment, a heavy weight lifted off my shoulders. Harper declared that since I was moving back to Seattle, she was going to drain my wallet on a massive welcome back dinner. I gladly agreed. When Eason finally called, I was dozing off on the sofa. “Stella, did you not see my texts?” I pinched the bridge of my nose, forcing myself awake. “I saw them. What is it?” The man on the other end of the line fell silent. A moment later, I heard him say, “I have not eaten yet.” “You can order something on UberEats.” “Do you not hate it when I eat takeout?” His tone was genuinely, utterly baffled. I let out a tired sigh, speaking from the absolute bottom of my heart. “Cooking for you was never an obligation. I did it because it broke my heart to see you in pain. I volunteered to do it.” “But Eason. We signed the divorce papers a week ago.” 3 After Eason hung up, I retreated to the guest bedroom and slept straight through until dusk. The moment I walked out of the room, the front door swung open. Molly was holding Eason up, helping him hobble inside. The fabric around his knee was torn. He must have taken a bad fall. Molly trailed right behind him, her eyes rimmed red, fussing over him with frantic, exaggerated worry. “Eason, slow down! Your leg is hurt!” The second she spotted me, she puffed out her cheeks, immediately playing the role of the innocent tattletale. “Stella, you need to talk some sense into him! We had a client dinner today, and the client insisted I take a tequila shot. Eason absolutely refused to let me drink it. When we were leaving, the client purposely bumped into him, and he fell down the stairs and cut his leg!” “It is just one drink, it is not like I cannot handle it. Why did he have to play the hero?” She was asking me to talk some sense into him, but the smug, triumphant curve of her lips was painfully obvious. Her fake concern was sickeningly transparent. So I did not say a single word. I gave a brief nod, turned around, and walked right back toward my room. I had lived in this house for five years. I had a lot of packing to do. Molly’s giggles drifted through the living room, punctuated by Eason’s low voice. A little while later, there was a knock on my door. I pulled it open. Eason was leaning heavily against the doorframe for balance. “Where is the first aid kit?” He pulled up his pant leg, revealing an ugly, bleeding scrape. I glanced at it, then looked back up at him, genuinely confused. “The first aid kit? Did you not give it to Molly?” Three months ago, Molly bought a Vespa, claiming it would make her commute easier. On her very first day riding it, she crashed. Eason got the hysterical phone call, abandoned me in the middle of my birthday dinner, and rushed to her side. Sometime later, I accidentally burned my hand on the stove. I could not find the medical box anywhere. I called Eason, but Molly answered his phone. “The first aid kit? Oh, Stella, I wiped out on my scooter, so Eason brought the kit over to my place! Can you bear the pain for a bit? I will have him bring it back tonight.” Now, standing in the doorway, a flicker of emotion finally cracked through Eason’s perpetually composed face. He clearly remembered. “I forgot.” I smiled, nodding in total agreement. “You really do have a terrible memory.” On that day, after Molly answered the phone, I had been furious. When Eason finally came home, I demanded to know why he was giving our household items away to another woman. He had not even looked at me. His eyes were glued to his laptop screen, his fingers typing away as he dismissed me. “It is just a first aid kit. It sits in the cabinet all year and nobody uses it. I gave it to her, so what?” But that medical box… every single month, I checked the expiration dates. I restocked the bandages, the burn ointments, the painkillers. Every single item in there was carefully curated by me, a physical manifestation of my devotion to keeping our home safe. And he handed it over to someone else without a second thought. Just like the meals I poured my heart into. With a wave of his hand, they became another woman’s lunch. I looked at his bleeding leg and offered a helpful reminder. “You can get first aid supplies delivered on DoorDash. If there is nothing else, I have packing to do.” With that, I shut the door, completely ignoring the man standing on the other side. Eason stared blankly at the closed wood. A sudden, hollow emptiness bloomed in his chest. 4 The days bled together. The boxes I packed were shipped off to Seattle, one by one. This luxury apartment gradually grew barren. The memories practically draining out of the walls. I thought the last few days would pass in quiet peace. But Eason suddenly changed. He became domestic. A workaholic who basically lived at the office, he suddenly started coming home right at five. A man who never once cared about my needs began buying me breakfast and bringing home late night snacks. Utterly baffled, I asked him what he was playing at. For the first time in his life, Eason seemed at a loss for words. It took him a long moment to reply. “My mom called. She wants to have a family dinner. Asked us to come over.” I hesitated, but eventually agreed. My own parents passed away when I was young. Marrying Eason was the first time I got to experience the warmth of parental love again. Since we were getting a divorce, it was only right to see them one last time. It was drizzling the day we went to the restaurant. His parents had already ordered, the table entirely covered in my favorite dishes. Eason’s mother used serving tongs to place a tender piece of roast duck onto my plate, chatting happily about the neighbor’s daughter having her second baby. Then, seamlessly, the topic shifted to me. “When are you two going to start thinking about having a baby? You should do it while your father and I still have the energy to help you babysit.” In the past, I would have smiled and graciously said we were not in a rush. But this time, I did not say a word. I kept my head down and ate the piece of meat sitting on top of my rice. A heavy, awkward silence descended over the table for ten agonizing seconds. His parents exchanged worried glances. Eason reached over and firmly grabbed my left hand. His voice was steady. “Soon.” His parents beamed. I quietly slipped my hand out of his grip. Eason was already staring at his phone, completely unbothered. After dinner, his mom pulled me aside to chat. Next to us, Eason’s phone rang three times in a row. He ignored it. The older woman gently kicked her son’s shin. “Turn that on silent! Stella cannot even hear me.” Eason glanced at me. “Emergency at work. I need to take this.” By the time the plates were cleared, Eason still had not come back. I called him. No answer. His parents called him. Still nothing. Looking out the window at the torrential rain pouring down outside, my mind drifted back to a day exactly like this. I had been walking past his office building when a sudden downpour hit. I could not get an Uber no matter how hard I tried. I waited until Eason clocked out and gave him a call. The second the line connected, I saw a familiar car pull up to the intersection right in front of me. Eason was behind the wheel. Molly was in the passenger seat. Over the phone, Eason asked what I needed. I told him it was pouring, and since I was not far, could he come pick me up? He replied, “Just wait a bit and call a cab. I am still at the office, pulling overtime.” The exact moment he said that, the girl in the passenger seat reached over, offering him a potato chip. He covered the phone’s mouthpiece, turned his head to decline, but eventually gave in and took a bite. He lied so flawlessly, so naturally, I actually thought I had identified the wrong car. I spent weeks torturing myself over that memory. But eventually, I figured it out. He did not love me, so he did not care. Just like he hated eating junk food, but he would never reject a chip offered by her fingers. Just like he hated eating cold food, but if my handmade noodles got soggy, he would not even touch them. The rain stopped. I hailed a cab and escorted his elderly parents back to their house. In the dead of night, I heard Eason come home. He was on the phone, his voice loud enough to echo. Through the thin drywall, I heard him let out an exasperated, affectionate sigh. “Molly.” When I woke up the next morning, I had a dozen missed calls from Molly. My notifications were flooded with her texts. [Stella, Eason and I have not crossed any boundaries! Please tell him not to transfer me to another department!] [He said you misunderstood and that you are divorcing him over it. I swear it was not on purpose! I will keep my distance from now on, just please do not make him kick me out!] I stared at the messages in utter bewilderment. I did not reply. I just placed my phone face down on the desk. I was packing the last few items of clothing left in the guest bedroom when Eason kicked the door open. He sounded frantic. “Stella, what did you say to Molly?” “She texted me saying she needed to explain everything to you, and now she is missing! I cannot reach her anywhere! What the hell did you say to her?!” His chest was heaving, his eyes burning into mine. Eason was a stoic, emotionally stunted man. He rarely ever lost his temper like this. But here he was, completely unraveled. Over another woman. I picked up my phone, opened Molly’s chat, and shoved the screen into his face. “I have no idea what kind of drama you two cooked up last night to drag me into this.” “When she sent those messages, I was asleep. And quite frankly, I do not feel obligated to reply to her anyway.” Eason opened his mouth to argue, but his phone started ringing. The moment he saw the caller ID, his furious expression melted into sheer panic, then relief. “Just come back first. We can talk about everything else later.” “The guys your parents are trying to set you up with are garbage. Come back to Chicago!” “Then stay with us!” “It is a huge apartment. It is just me and Stella.” He shot me a pointed look as he said that, then hit the speakerphone button and held it out between us. Molly’s loud, tear choked voice filled the room. “Stella, I am so sorry, I hate to be a burden.” “I already broke my lease to move back to my hometown, but Eason insists I come back. I cannot find an apartment on such short notice… can I crash with you guys for a little while?” “I swear I will move out the second I find a place. Please.” I met Eason’s deeply demanding stare. My fingertips felt ice cold, but a dark, hysterical urge to laugh bubbled up in my throat. “Sure. You are more than welcome.” Over the speaker, Molly let out a joyful cheer. Eason immediately shifted back into his gentle, protective tone. “Wait for me at the airport. I am on my way.” He hung up and looked at me. “I am going to pick Molly up. Could you clean up the guest room for her?” I gave him a look. “Eason, can Molly take an Uber? There is somewhere the two of us need to be.” He frowned deeply. “I already promised her. I am not going to back out now.” “It is only a three hour round trip. Whatever you need to do, it can wait until I get back.” “Okay.” “I am leaving.” He walked out in a hurry. Completely oblivious to the small duffel bag sitting right next to my feet. I waited for him for three hours. He never came back. I opened my phone and scrolled through my feed. A post from Molly, uploaded ten minutes ago. [I was so sad today, but Eason insisted on taking me to the amusement park! What girl can say no to a Ferris wheel? I know I cannot~] I hit the like button. I stood up. Picked up the duffel bag containing the very last of my belongings. And walked out of the house I had called home for five years. As I stepped out of City Hall, I snapped a photo of the finalized divorce decree, texted it to Eason, and hailed a cab to the airport. Seven hours later, I landed in Seattle. I slid into the passenger seat of Harper’s car. As she excitedly babbled about all the new restaurants that had opened up downtown, I powered my phone back on. Notifications flooded the screen like an avalanche.

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1 On the third day of our graduation trip, my childhood friend finally pointed her camera at me. But after just a few minutes of shooting, she frowned in frustration and let out a sharp sigh. “None of these are even usable.” A classmate standing nearby looked puzzled. “Really? When you take photos of Tristan, even your random candid shots look like magazine covers.” My throat tightened, swallowing down a wave of bitterness. Sylvia lowered her camera, her tone dismissive. “Forget it. Let’s stop. You’re just not very photogenic, Ryan. No matter the angle, it always turns out the same.” With that, she reached out and grabbed a girl passing by who was carrying a professional DSLR. “Hey, could you take a few shots of him? I’ll pay you for your time.” Without waiting for an answer, Sylvia clutched her camera and ran off toward Tristan. The moment her lens focused on him, her frown vanished, replaced by a radiant smile. “Turn around and look down slightly. Yes, just like that. Perfect…” I stared at them, watching their effortless synergy. A memory flickered in my mind, a time long ago when I had asked her, “How do you always make me look so good in your photos?” She had laughed, gently fixing my hair. “Because there’s love behind the lens. When you love what you’re looking at, every shot is beautiful.” So. She didn’t love me anymore. I pulled out my phone. Accessing the college application portal, I changed my final choice. I bypassed Northpoint, the college we had agreed to attend together, and selected Southport University instead, a campus a thousand miles away. It took less than three minutes to rewrite my future. When I looked up, I realized the freelance photographer Sylvia had practically coerced into helping was still standing there. I opened my mouth to apologize and tell her we could skip it, but she raised her camera first, her smile bright and open. “Hey, do me a favor? I’m actually a beginner, and you fit this scenery perfectly. Let me use you as a model for some portfolio practice. No charge. If I don’t get a masterpiece, I’ll pay you a hundred bucks.” I blinked, caught off guard by her humor. After a brief hesitation, I nodded. After all, I had actually dressed up today. And after all, I loved taking photos. But we were already on day three of this trip, and Sylvia’s camera was filled with rolling waves, glowing sunsets, and endless pictures of Tristan’s carefree laughter. There was nothing of me. I didn’t even have a single decent photo to post on Instagram. Once we started, the girl took her work incredibly seriously. She guided my poses and expressions with gentle patience, never once showing the kind of annoyance Sylvia had. Before long, she wrapped up the shoot and turned the camera screen around to show me. To my surprise, almost every single photo was stunning. I studied the images and said earnestly, “Let me pay you. These are incredible.” There was no way this was the work of a beginner. She just laughed and waved it off. “Honestly, I’m not a hire-by-the-hour photographer. Just call it a serendipitous meeting. Have a great trip!” After transferring the files to my phone, she turned and walked away along the shoreline. Not far off, Sylvia and Tristan were still posing. Her shutter clicked rapidly as they shared a warm, private laugh across the distance. I walked over, intending to tell the group I was heading back. But Tristan saw me first and spoke up. “We’re taking a boat to the island to shoot some more. You coming with us, Ryan?” I shook my head. “I’m a bit tired. I think I’ll head back to the hotel.” Only then did Sylvia look over, studying me for a moment. “Are you pouting? Did that amateur photographer fail to get a good shot of you? Well, it’s to be expected. You’ve always been difficult to shoot. Most people don’t have the patience I do to find your angles.” Looking at this girl whom I had doted on for as long as I could remember, a sharp ache bloomed in my chest. I didn’t understand. I couldn’t comprehend why she had become so bitter and biting since Tristan entered our lives. The Sylvia who used to lift me up and praise me felt like she had died the exact moment Tristan transferred to our school. “Actually, no,” I said, shaking my head. “I love the photos she took. They’re my favorite set of photos I’ve ever had taken.” Sylvia’s face hardened instantly, irritation flashing in her eyes. After a tense silence, she let out a dismissive scoff. “You’re just throwing a tantrum because I didn’t spend the day shooting you. Is it really necessary to say something so ridiculous just to spite me? What could a cheap street photographer possibly produce? Let’s go, Tristan.” She turned toward the dock. But Tristan caught her hand, looking back at me with a disapproving frown. “Ryan, Sylvia has taken so many beautiful photos of you over the years. Saying that is just hurtful. You should show a little gratitude.” Gratitude? For her shifting affections, or for the constant, quiet ways she degraded me? Hearing Tristan speak up for her, Sylvia’s anger softened slightly. “Don’t worry about it. Not everyone is as thoughtful and mature as you.” She took Tristan’s hand and led him away. I stood there, watching their receding figures. A stray wave crashed against the rocks, spraying salty ocean water onto my lips. It tasted bitter, sharp, and cold. That evening, I posted the photos from earlier on Instagram. Before long, a comment popped up from a classmate, one I hadn’t seen in ages. Wow, Sylvia took so many gorgeous pictures of you again! You’re so lucky, Ryan! I stared at the screen, momentarily dazed. It had been so long since anyone wrote that. In the past, even when we weren’t traveling, Sylvia would constantly capture candid moments of my daily life around our neighborhood and school. I used to post those photos every few days, and everyone knew she was the eyes behind the lens. But everything changed when Tristan transferred in during our senior year. I scrolled through my past posts. I hadn’t updated my profile in over six months. I typed out a quick reply to the classmate: They weren’t taken by Sylvia. A random passerby took them, and she’s incredibly talented. A few minutes later, Sylvia posted a grid of nine photos. Every single one was of Tristan. Our posts sat right next to each other on the feed, featuring almost the exact same ocean backdrop, as if locked in some silent competition. Her caption read: Shoutout to our resident golden boy for modeling today. Had so much fun shooting! Tristan quickly commented: It’s all thanks to your skills, Sylvia. I had a blast too! I stared at the screen for a long time, a quiet wave of nausea rising in my throat. Right before my phone went to sleep, I double-tapped to like her post. Let it be. From now on, I would no longer be a character in her frame. The next morning, I ran into Sylvia near the hotel stairs. She was looking down at her phone, but as soon as she saw me, her brow furrowed. “Do you have any idea how badly sunburned you got yesterday?” Before I could respond, she hurried past me out of the lobby. Ten minutes later, she returned carrying a small bag from the pharmacy, pulled out a tube of aloe vera gel, and shoved it into my hands. Her voice carried a mocking edge. “I thought you said that photographer was so great. Why did she keep you out under the blistering sun until your neck started peeling?” I looked into her eyes. Despite her sharp words, the underlying worry reflected in them was exactly the same as it had always been. I sighed inwardly and stayed silent, unwilling to start an argument. A second later, Tristan walked over. “Man, what happened to you? Good thing Sylvia meticulously put sunscreen all over me yesterday. I didn’t get burned at all.” My hand froze as I was squeezing the aloe vera tube. Seeing my hesitation, Sylvia quickly added, “Tristan couldn’t reach some spots on his back, so I just helped him out.” I remained silent for a few seconds. I pulled out my phone and opened Venmo. “How much was the aloe? I’ll transfer you the money.” Sylvia’s face fell. “Ryan, what is your problem?” I didn’t answer. Growing up together, we had never kept track of minor expenses; buying things for each other was second nature. But things were different now. I handed the tube back to her. “If you won’t let me pay you, I can’t accept it.” Tristan adopted a guilty look. “Ryan, look, I’m sorry. Are you mad because of what I said? I really couldn’t reach my own back, that’s why I asked Sylvia.” Sylvia looked at me, her eyes filled with disappointment. “Why have you been throwing these random fits the past couple of days? We’re adults now. Can you please keep your emotions in check?” I tossed the aloe gel onto the lobby coffee table and let out a cold laugh. “That’s easy. Let’s just stop hanging out altogether.” Sylvia’s eyes widened. “Ryan! You don’t just throw things like that around!” “And you don’t just rub sunscreen all over another guy’s back either, do you?” I shot back. Leaving her speechless, I grabbed my bag and walked out. I spent the rest of the day by myself, wandering through Marine Park. When I returned to the hotel, I noticed a notification in our class group chat. Our homeroom teacher had posted a video along with a smiley face: Here is the graduation commemorative video Sylvia made for us. I’ve been so busy lately that I forgot to upload it. Make sure to download and save it as a keepsake, everyone! After a brief hesitation, I clicked play. In the entire eight-minute video, my face appeared on screen for exactly one second during the roll call. Tristan, however, was everywhere. Tristan eating lunch, Tristan studying, Tristan running on the track… By the time the video ended, I tossed my phone aside, lay back, and closed my eyes. The professional camera stabilizer Sylvia had used to shoot those clips was a birthday gift from me. I had worked two straight summers washing cars just to afford it. We had used it to record countless tiny daily moments together. Yet, in the final product, I was reduced to a mere extra. Some classmates had already started teasing her in the chat: Sylvia, do you have a crush on Tristan or something? Why is he in literally every frame? Seriously, the rest of the class combined didn’t get as much screen time as him. Sylvia didn’t respond. But I already knew the answer. She was undoubtedly in love with him. The wounds I had tried to ignore, buried under her excuses and my own blind trust, began to throb with pain. Back during our senior year photography competition, Sylvia and I had prepared meticulously, brainstorming ideas and scouting locations together. Despite the biting early winter chill, I had stood in summer clothes for two straight days just to fit her vision, coming down with a raging fever afterward. I had stayed up late every night after school editing those photos until my eyes were bloodshot. Yet, when she finally submitted her entry, it was a photo of Tristan, the transfer student, taken without my knowledge. When I confronted her with the school newspaper showing the two of them pictured side-by-side, she had simply laughed it off. “We already participated in the competition during our freshman and sophomore years, Ryan. Tristan just transferred here, and this is his only chance. Let him have this one. Don’t be so petty.” That phrase, don’t be so petty, effectively silenced all my grievances. By the second semester, she had moved her desk right next to Tristan’s, spending every spare minute tutoring him. She had explained it to me with absolute nonchalance: “Tristan is an amazing model, and we might work together in the future. His grades aren’t high enough to get into a college near Northpoint, so I’m just helping him study. Don’t cling to me so much lately. If you have questions, ask the tutor.” There were countless other little slights, too many to list. It wasn’t just her lens drifting away from me; it was her affection. I stood up, walked over to my suitcase, and threw the confession gift I had painstakingly prepared for her straight into the trash. Then, I rebooked my flight home. I didn’t want to spend another second on this trip. The next morning, while we were having breakfast in the hotel dining room, I announced I was leaving early. Hearing this, Sylvia froze, a piece of toast still hovering halfway to Tristan’s plate. Tristan spoke up. “Ryan, are you feeling sick, or are you just not having a good time?” I offered a small smile. “I had fun, but I suddenly feel like exploring a different path. This is where our journey together ends. Also, we aren’t close, Tristan. Please don’t address me so familiarly. I don’t appreciate it.” A wave of pure embarrassment washed over Tristan’s face. Sylvia immediately came to his defense, snapping at me. “Ryan, why are you being so rude? He was just checking on you, and you snapped at him for no reason. Is this about what our classmates said in the group chat last night? It’s fine if you’re jealous, but don’t take your frustration out on Tristan just because he’s nice.” I caught the fleeting spark of smug satisfaction in her eyes when she said the word jealous. Even now, her first instinct was to shield Tristan, using my obvious pain as validation of her own power over me. I took a deep breath, meeting her gaze calmly. “This has nothing to do with those jokes. I honestly don’t care who you’re interested in; that’s between the two of you. I’m simply telling Tristan that I value boundaries. I finished eating, so I’ll head to the airport now. Have a nice trip.” Sylvia grabbed my wrist. “Stop! If you aren’t jealous, why are you suddenly running away? Fine, I’ll go clear things up in the group chat right now, alright? Just sit down.” I pulled my hand out of her grip. “I suggest you start respecting personal boundaries, too.” Behind me, Sylvia’s voice shook with suppressed fury. “Ryan, if you walk out today, you are going to regret this!” A sudden emptiness hollowed out my chest, but after a fleeting moment of sorrow, a profound sense of relief washed over me. If I left, would I miss out on something? Let it be missed, then. We had already missed countless opportunities because of Tristan anyway. When I got back home, my mom gave me a knowing look. “Well? How did it go?” I asked her what she meant. She clicked her tongue. “Sylvia’s mom told me she had been saving up for ages to plan a grand confession with fireworks for you on the trip. Are you two officially together now?” I looked down. So, the thing I missed was a confession. My fingers aimlessly unlocked my phone, and I opened my social feed. Tristan had just posted a new update: Thanks to our favorite girl for the amazing fireworks display. Feeling incredibly lucky! The attached photo showed a spectacular burst of colors illuminating the night sky, capturing the silhouettes of two figures standing close together. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. How cheap and easily transferable her love was. Missing out on it was the best stroke of luck I’d ever had. “Mom, I don’t have feelings for Sylvia anymore,” I said softly. “And I changed my college choice to Southport University. Please don’t tell her parents.” My mom stared at me in shock. “…Did you two have a fight?” I shook my head, keeping details to myself. “There’s no future for Sylvia and me. I’m going to spend the summer at Grandma’s. I’ll be back when it’s time for school.” In the past, whenever we had a cold war, I was always the one to reach out first. Now, I had finally let go. For nearly two months, we maintained absolute silence. Right before the semester started, Sylvia’s mother asked my mom if they should book us on the same flight. My mother politely declined, stating that I would handle my own travel. On move-in day, during the five-hour flight, I kept my eyes shut to rest. The moment the plane touched down in Southport, I pulled out my phone. As soon as I unlocked the screen, a flood of missed calls and unread messages filled my notifications. Every single one of them was from Sylvia.

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1 I had been back with the Smiths for six years when my parents and fiancé finally decided I had grown up. In the family group chat, Mom sent a voice message: “Diana, about the house we bought for your wedding—Samantha really loved it, so we’re giving it to her.” “When you get back, Dad and I will pick out another one for you.” Dad was quick to chime in: “Samantha is just recovering from her depression. She can’t handle any stress right now. Don’t fight her on this.” I replied instantly: “Okay, Mom and Dad. Samantha’s health is the most important thing. I can live anywhere.” Then, a notification popped up. A cash gift from Oliver. “Good girl, Diana. The day after tomorrow is your birthday. I’m picking you up from the airport, and I’m going to throw you the grandest birthday and engagement party ever!” What they didn’t know was… I had died three years ago. The obedient, understanding daughter and gentle, considerate fiancée replying to their messages… Was just an AI I had trained before I died. The day I was diagnosed with terminal bone cancer, I was less than twenty-four hours away from my eighteenth birthday. The doctor held up my X-rays, his eyes filled with a pity that made my stomach churn. “A month, at most.” I sat in the sterile exam room, staring down at my lower leg. For the past six months, the pain had grown sharper, more frequent. I thought they were just growing pains. I didn’t know my bones were dying. The doctor kept talking—transferring hospitals, chemotherapy options, forms my family needed to sign. I tuned it all out. I carefully folded the diagnosis report, slipped it into the pocket of my school uniform, and walked out of the hospital, step by step. It was a forty-minute walk from the hospital to the Smith estate. Three bus stops. I chose to walk. I needed the time. I wanted to cry out all my tears on the way and figure out exactly what to say. “Mom. Dad. I’m sick.” Just that one sentence. I spent fifteen years in the orphanage. I had never called anyone “Mom” or “Dad” before. And in the three years since I returned to the Smiths, I never learned how to act spoiled or ask for affection. But this time, I wanted to try. Maybe they would hug me. The way they hugged Samantha. My fingers curled around the crumpled paper in my pocket, and I walked faster, practically jogging the last few blocks. The moment I pushed open the front door, the rich scent of vanilla buttercream washed over me. A huge banner hung across the living room: “CONGRATULATIONS TO SAMANTHA SMITH ON WINNING GOLD AT THE NATIONAL YOUTH TECH AWARDS!” Samantha was sitting between Mom and Dad, clutching a gleaming trophy, her eyes crinkling into half-moons as she laughed. I froze in the doorway. The title of the winning project engraved on that trophy… I knew it. I knew it all too well. For the past three months, I had barely slept. From the initial concept to the final debugging—thirty thousand lines of code. I wrote every single one of them. When the pain in my leg became unbearable, I would bite down on a towel until it passed. Just get through it, I had told myself. It was the same thing I told myself back in the orphanage, when I burned with a 104-degree fever in the dead of winter and no one noticed. I used to fantasize about the day I won that award. I thought my parents would finally be proud of me. But now, the name engraved beneath my project was Samantha’s. Dad saw me first. His smile faltered for a second, and he cleared his throat. “Diana, you’re back? Come here, your sister won a huge award. We’re celebrating tonight.” I didn’t move. “That’s mine.” The living room fell dead silent. Samantha’s eyes instantly welled up with tears. She lowered the trophy, her bottom lip quivering in that perfect, pitiful way she always mastered. She didn’t have to say a word. Her tears did all the talking. Mom let out a heavy sigh, walking over to me and lowering her voice. “Diana, Samantha just found out she’s adopted. Her depression is flaring up, and she’s been crying every day.” “She feels so insecure in this house, and her grades aren’t great. She needs this college recommendation.” “You’re different. You’re so smart. You’ll get into a top school anyway.” I could hear my teeth grinding together. It wasn’t out of anger. It was the agonizing, gnawing pain in my bones flaring up again, so sharp I had to clench my jaw just to stay standing. I turned my gaze to Oliver. He was standing next to Samantha, a glass of juice in his hand. His brows pulled together in a slight frown. “Diana, you already have everything.” “You’re their biological daughter, you have your parents’ love, and you have me.” “Samantha has nothing. Just… have some pity on her.” He paused, then added: “Grow up.” 2 I stared at his face. Three years ago, in this exact same living room… He had knelt down to tie my shoelaces, looking up at me with a warm smile. “Diana, as long as I’m here, no one will ever bully you.” That was the first time in my life I had ever tasted what it felt like to be protected. I guess his definition of “no one” didn’t include himself. A metallic taste rose in the back of my throat. I swallowed it down. “Okay.” Mom exhaled, visibly relieved. Oliver’s frown smoothed out. Dad wiped away Samantha’s tears, cooing at her until she smiled again. The diagnosis report lay quietly in my pocket. No one asked where I had been all day. No one noticed I was limping. I stood by the door for a moment longer, then quietly went upstairs. I booted up my laptop, created a new folder, and named it: “AI_Diana_Behavior_Training_Data.” I sat there for a long time before typing the first line. “She never cries.” “She always says ‘okay,’ ‘it doesn’t matter,’ ‘whatever you decide is fine.’” “She never fights for anything. She never argues. She never makes them uncomfortable.” “She loves them. She understands them. She thinks they are always right.” Laughter drifted up from the living room. I heard Samantha thanking Mom and Dad. Her voice was soft, sweet, dripping with the confidence of someone who knows they are loved. I kept typing. The pain in my leg surged in waves. Whenever it hit, I would stop, wait for it to pass, and keep going. One month. That was enough. Enough to train the perfect daughter. The perfect fiancée. The Diana they had always wanted. My birthday was exactly the same day as Samantha’s. But to make up for taking my award, my parents promised to celebrate mine separately. I wore my first-ever princess dress. It was pale pink, the skirt shimmering with sequins like crushed stars. Mom picked it out herself. She had told me: “Diana, everything we owe you for the past eighteen years, Mom remembers.” They rented out an entire amusement park just for me. The entrance archway was suffocated with balloons, and a huge cutout of my face stood at the gate. Across the top, it read: “HAPPY BIRTHDAY DIANA.” I smiled. I smiled so hard I almost cried. Oliver stepped up behind me and covered my eyes with his hands. “No peeking. There’s another surprise.” His hands were so warm. Maybe they do love me, I thought. They just don’t know how to divide it. When they wheeled the cake out, my knees nearly buckled. Six tiers. Each tier represented a stage of my life. The bottom layer said “0-3 Years.” The top layer said “18.” Mom said: “Every birthday you missed in that orphanage, Mom is giving back to you today.” Eighteen candles flickered to life. The golden light danced across the smiling faces of my parents and Oliver. I clasped my hands together, closed my eyes, and made a wish. I wish this moment would never end. The very next second— A piercing scream echoed from the carousel. Samantha was sprawled on the ground, blood oozing from a scrape on her knee. She was trembling, sobbing uncontrollably. “It hurts…” The candles were still burning. But no one was looking at me anymore. Dad bolted toward her first, bumping into the cake table in his panic. The towering six-tier cake tipped over, half of it collapsing into a ruined mess of frosting. Oliver sprinted to Samantha’s side, shucking off his jacket and wrapping it around her shoulders. I reached out and grabbed Mom’s sleeve. She was the only one still standing near me. “Mom.” I heard my own voice trembling. “Today is my eighteenth birthday.” “It’s my last one.” “Could you… could you just stay while I blow out the candles?” Mom didn’t even hear me. Her eyes were locked on Samantha. Dad hurried back to grab the car keys. He caught the end of my sentence, and his face darkened. “Your sister is hurt, and all you care about is a birthday party?” “Do you have zero empathy?” 3 He shoved me aside. I hit the ground hard. My left leg slammed against the edge of the stone steps. It felt like someone was driving a rusted nail straight into the marrow and prying it open. God, it hurt. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. They were already carrying Samantha to the car. The amusement park was massive. With it completely rented out, I was the only person left. I dragged myself over to a giant stuffed bear, curling into its plush arms, and pulled out my phone. I booted up the AI testing program. A message popped up in the family group chat. Sent by “me.” “Mom, Dad, Oliver, take Samantha to the doctor! Don’t worry about me, I’m having so much fun at the park by myself.” Mom sent a voice memo back: “You’ve really grown up, Diana. Once Samantha is all bandaged up, we’ll come right back to celebrate with you.” Dad sent a thumbs-up emoji: “That’s my girl.” I stared at the screen, the corner of my mouth twitching in a hollow imitation of a smile. Muscle memory made me open Instagram. The newest post on my feed. From Samantha. It was a picture of her sitting in the ER, surrounded by people. Dad, Mom, Oliver. The caption read: “It feels so good to be loved.” Oliver was the first to comment: “Be more careful next time.” A sickening sweetness rose in my throat, and I violently turned my head. The blood splattered across the pink princess dress. The cake was ruined, the candles had burned down to stubs, but the speakers were still playing that cheerful music. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. The sky began to bruise purple and black. The park lights flickered on, one by one. In the distance, the Ferris wheel turned slow and steady. It was beautiful. I had never been on one. My phone buzzed again. The AI had sent another message to the group chat: “I’m on the Ferris wheel! It’s so high up! Mom, I’m so happy!” One teardrop after another fell onto the screen. Blurring out the heart emoji Mom replied with. They never came back. At eleven that night, I took a cab home alone. The living room lights were on. On the dining table, a note was scribbled in Mom’s handwriting: “Samantha fractured her leg. She’s admitted to the hospital, so your dad and I are staying with her. There’s food in the fridge, heat it up yourself.” I pulled open the fridge. It was leftovers from the night before. The massive feast they had cooked to celebrate Samantha’s gold medal, barely touched. My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. In the family chat, Dad was spamming photos of Samantha’s hospital room. A private VIP suite, the windowsill overflowing with extravagant bouquets. Mom was peeling an apple for her. Oliver stood by the bed, his arms full of unopened gifts. Samantha’s cheeks were flushed pink as she tore into them, one by one. I locked my screen, leaning heavily against the wall as I dragged myself up the stairs to the second floor. The blood on the princess dress had dried into stiff, dark flakes. I folded it neatly and shoved it under my pillow. Then I lay down, squeezed my eyes shut. And pretended I had a wonderful birthday. At 2 AM, the pain ripped me awake. It felt like a million ants were burrowing into the cracks of my bones, gnawing the marrow into dust, bite by agonizing bite. I didn’t scream. In the orphanage, crying was useless. Screaming was useless. No one ever came. I rolled off the bed. Using my arms, I dragged my useless legs across the floor toward the desk. Three yards. It took me four minutes. I yanked the drawer open. Empty. The heavy-duty painkillers I had spent all my savings on were gone. There had only been ten pills left. I had been rationing them, only swallowing one when the pain pushed me to the absolute edge of sanity. Now, there were none. My phone lit up. A message from Mom, sent three hours ago. “Diana, Samantha’s fracture hurts so much she’s crying nonstop. I saw you had a bottle of painkillers in your drawer, so I gave them to her for now.” “Just go buy yourself another bottle tomorrow.” She ended it with a hug emoji. The AI had already replied. “Okay, Mom. Samantha is frail, let her have them. I’m perfectly healthy, don’t worry about me.”

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1 Freshman year, I earned the lead role hosting the university orientation gala. After three sleepless nights perfecting my script, Tommy launched a last-minute poll in our cohort chat. Natalie won. She took the stage in my steamed dress, reading my script. Tommy spent hours consoling me, then later warned her, “Don’t let her script go to waste.” Sophomore year, I secured the Oxford fellowship. Another poll. Natalie went. Junior year, I was named department research rep. Another poll. Natalie replaced me. I spiraled into anxiety, convinced I lacked talent or charm. By senior year, group notifications triggered panic attacks. One day, descending the stairs, I overheard Natalie pleading below. “Tommy, you promised revenge for what her mother did to mine. Why won’t you help me now?” After a pause, Tommy sighed, “This is the last time, Natalie.” Tears blurred my vision. I opened our chat and launched my own poll: Should Audrey and Tommy stay together? I tapped “No.” Tommy replied almost instantly. Audrey, take the poll down. Class chats are for academic matters, not your childish tantrums. I stared at the screen, my fingertips icy. It was funny how he suddenly remembered that class chats were meant for serious business. The “No” votes kept climbing, eventually freezing at thirty one. Only one person had voted for us to stay together, and that was just the system’s default hold before I cast my own vote. No one had ever rooted for us. Tommy was the golden boy of our department, blessed with an old money family, striking looks, and perfect grades. Natalie had chased him for years, but he had never spared her a glance. Instead, he chose me, the quiet girl from a small town. Everyone whispered that I had hit the jackpot. When the poll ended, I took a screenshot and sent it directly to him. Tommy, we are done. I turned off my phone and went back to organizing my competition files. I had spent two grueling months preparing for this event, staying up until dawn writing briefs, compiling case studies, and running data sheets. This time, I was not backing down. A heavy knock rattled my dorm door just as I sealed my documents into a folder. Becca, my roommate, opened it. Tommy stood in the doorway, his expression dark, with Natalie hovering right behind him, her eyes rimmed with red. Tommy locked eyes with me. “What was that poll supposed to mean?” I kept quiet. “Are you still throwing a fit over those past votes?” he asked, trying to keep his temper in check. “Audrey, those were group decisions. I did not force anyone. Instead of acting out, maybe you should focus on improving yourself and learning how to get along with your peers.” I looked up at him, a sudden wave of absurdity washing over me. Natalie took a step forward, her voice soft and trembling. “Audrey, I am sorry about the previous times. I did not realize that living in the countryside with your grandmother made you so sensitive. I will make sure everyone votes for you this time.” Before I could speak, my phone lit up with a new text in the group chat. Are we voting on the competition slot too? Put me down for Natalie. Another classmate quickly agreed. Me too. Honestly, who would vote for a charity case? I looked at the screen, let out a soft laugh, and left the group chat entirely. Tommy’s brow furrowed. “Audrey, what are you doing now?” I slammed my phone face down on the desk. “I do not care about any polls. This slot is mine, and I am not giving it up.” Natalie’s face went pale, her hand reaching out to clutch Tommy’s sleeve. “Audrey, must you be so incredibly petty?” Tommy sneered. I looked at them and let out a cold laugh. “I was in the stairwell earlier. I heard everything. You do not have to play innocent anymore.” The room went dead silent. Tommy stiffened, but quickly recovered his composure. “Audrey, you are misunderstanding things.” I cut him off, my voice remarkably steady. “I do not care what Natalie told you. When her mother ruined my parents’ marriage and made Natalie a child born out of wedlock, that was not my fault. You do not get to use me as a punching bag for her twisted sense of justice.” Natalie’s tears spilled over. “Audrey, you have it all wrong. I value you so much as my sister. How could I ever want to hurt you?” I picked up my folder, passing them without a single glance. “Save the tears. It is pathetic.” When the competition team assembled, I handed my files to our advisor. He looked at me, his expression laced with awkward hesitation. “Audrey, your slot has been reassigned to Natalie.” I froze. “I did not back out this time.” The advisor sighed, looking away. “The request came directly from the board, backed by the Tommy family’s foundation. Our hands are tied. Aren’t you dating Tommy? Go talk to him, soothe his temper, and maybe things will go back to normal.” I inhaled slowly, my resolve hardening. “I want to file a formal academic grievance.” The advisor blinked in shock. “Are you sure?” Before he could finish, Natalie walked in. Her eyes were still red, and Tommy’s designer jacket was draped over her shoulders. She eyed the thick folder on my desk, stepping closer. “Audrey, since the slot belongs to me now, I should probably take these preparation files.” I pressed my hand firmly against the folder. “These are mine.” Natalie bit her lip. “But I do not know the first thing about this case study, and the initial draft is due this afternoon. You worked so hard on this, surely you do not want our school’s team to fail?” She gave the folder a sudden, violent yank. The paper folder tore open with a sharp rip, and my printed sheets scattered across the floor. As I bent down to gather them, Natalie deliberately stepped on one of the pages. It was my opening statement, a piece I had rewritten over a dozen times. I grabbed her ankle to pull her foot away, but she gasped, flinching back dramatically as if I had struck her. Her wrist clipped the sharp edge of the desk, leaving a bright red scratch. Tommy walked through the door at that exact moment. Seeing her cradling her wrist, he lunged forward and grabbed my arm in a crushing grip. “Audrey!” His grip was brutal, sending a numb ache down my fingers. Natalie wept openly, clutching her hand. “Tommy, it is fine. Audrey spent so much time on this, it is only natural she does not want me to have it.” Tommy glared at me, his eyes cold. “Audrey, when will you stop this nonsense? Apologize to her!” I kept reaching for my papers. “Apologize? In your dreams.” The page Natalie had stepped on was smudged with dirt. My knuckles white, I clutched the ruined paper. “She steals my place, ruins my work, and you want me to apologize?” Tommy did not yell. Instead, he knelt down and helped me pick up the stray sheets, carefully smoothing out the creases. For a split second, I almost fell for the illusion that he still cared. Then he spoke. “Audrey, don’t make a scene here. There are people watching. How is she supposed to save face if you keep acting like this?” I looked up at him. “And what about my face?” He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then handed some of the papers back to me, keeping the thickest stack of data sheets in his hand. “Keep the main script. Give her the data sheets.” I clutched my remaining papers tightly. “Audrey, be reasonable,” he murmured, his fingers gently brushing against the outer corner of my eye. “Your eyes are completely red. You’ve always been so proud, do you really want to break down in front of the faculty?” I stood frozen. Taking advantage of my momentary shock, he slipped the data sheets from my hand and handed them to Natalie. “Take these for now.” Natalie took them greedily. My heart felt hollow, completely numb. Tommy turned back to me. “Let this go. Don’t file the grievance. The department has already finalized the decision. Making a fuss will only make things difficult for the professors.” He settled the matter with a few casual words, turning my months of labor into a complete joke. Back in my dorm room, my hands shook as I sorted through my remaining notes. Before I could finish, Tommy walked in, carrying a hot bowl of soup, some throat lozenges, and a delicate silver bracelet I had admired in a boutique window the week before. He set the items on my desk. “Your throat has been sore. Eat something first.” I did not move. He sat opposite me, his voice softening. “I lost my temper today, but I do care about you, Audrey. Natalie’s situation is complicated. You know what her mother did, and how people look at her. She’s had a hard time holding her head up in that family. She just wanted to win against you, just this once.” I stared at him. “Once? She has taken hundreds of my things since we were kids.” Tommy frowned slightly. “I know, and I promise you it won’t happen again.” He reached out, gently tapping the tip of my nose. “The regional forum is opening registration next month. I’ve already secured a spot for you. It’s far more prestigious than this competition, and no one will dare steal it from you.” I pushed his gifts back across the desk. “Tommy, we are over.” His eyes turned cold. “Are you really going to turn a petty argument into a breakup?” He let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Fine. If you want to throw a tantrum, I’ll wait until you calm down.” He walked to the door, then paused. “Natalie is hosting a dinner tonight to apologize to you. You should come.” Seeing no reaction from me, he sneered. “You still want to submit that grievance report, don’t you? I won’t stop you. But if you don’t show up tonight, Natalie will cry all night, and the professors will only see you as the unreasonable one.” After he left, I sat in silence for a long time before finally heading to the restaurant. When I pushed the private dining room door open, every eye in the room turned toward me. Natalie stood up immediately, her eyes watery. “Audrey, you came.” There was only one empty chair left, placed right next to the kitchen service door where the waiters passed by. The moment I sat down, someone laughed. “Audrey, Natalie already swallowed her pride. Don’t be so stubborn. It was a fair vote, there’s no need to hold a grudge.” Another classmate slid a shot glass toward me. “Drink up, and let us put this behind us.” I did not touch it. Natalie held her glass, her voice tiny. “Audrey, I’m so sorry. I truly did not know this would hurt you so deeply.” Tommy sat at the head of the table, looking incredibly handsome and utterly detached under the soft lighting. “Audrey, don’t make this awkward for everyone,” he said quietly. I felt suffocated. Every word from the people around this table was a silent threat, forcing me to accept their narrative. If I was robbed, I was petty. If I was hurt, I was dramatic. If I did not forgive, I was the villain. Finally, Tommy picked up the glass himself and placed it in my hand. “Come on,” he murmured softly. “Drink it, and I’ll take you home.” I stared at him for a long, agonizing moment, then threw my head back and swallowed the burning liquid. The alcohol hit me fast, making the laughter in the room sound distant and warped. “That’s more like it,” someone cheered. Natalie sat close to Tommy, whispering, “Audrey, don’t blame Tommy. He just did not want you to make a scene.” I pushed myself up from the table, my stomach churning violently. Tommy immediately caught my arm. “Audrey?” I grabbed his cuff, my voice raw. “Tommy, the competition slot. Can you give it back to me?” He paused. I expected him to lecture me again, but looking at my tear-stained face, he finally softened. “Okay. I’ll talk to the department tomorrow. Just don’t cry.” The next morning, I woke up in my dorm bed with a splitting headache. My phone was blowing up. The university gossip pages, cohort group chats, and student forums were covered in pictures of me. There was a photo of me passed out in the dining room, my face flushed and my collar wet with alcohol. Another photo showed me leaning heavily against Tommy’s chest as he carried me out, taken from an angle that made the intimacy look incredibly dirty. The captions were even viler. No wonder her mother got divorced years ago. Like mother, like daughter. I heard her mom was kicked out of the family for sleeping around. Looking at those words, my entire body went numb. My mother was never like that. She was forced into a divorce by my father and Natalie’s mother. I scrambled to find my old phone, pulling up an audio file I had recorded during my high school years. It was an argument between my father and stepmother, where she clearly stated, If you hadn’t dragged your feet on the divorce back then, I wouldn’t have had to carry the mistress label for so long! My daughter shouldn’t have to live in shame just because your ex-wife is gone! I backed up the audio and traced the source of the leaked photos. The account that first shared them was anonymous, but it was linked to an old email address. The profile picture of that email was a cartoon rabbit Natalie used for her secondary accounts. Armed with the evidence, I went to find our academic advisor. But before I could reach the office, another set of photos leaked. This time, they were of Natalie. It was a shot of her in the locker room, her shoulder strap slipping down, her face half turned away. She had posted it with a caption: I don’t know what I did wrong. Why must my sister treat me this way? The narrative flipped instantly. Audrey is pure evil. Her own photos got leaked, so she leaks her sister’s private photos to deflect attention? How is she still on a scholarship? Standing in the hallway reading the comments, I realized how calculated she was. She knew I would trace the leak to her, so she turned herself into a victim first. Tommy arrived shortly after, dragging me into the empty stairwell, his face pale with fury. “Did you leak Natalie’s photos?” I looked at him. “No.” “Where’s your proof?” I handed him the audio file and the email records. He barely glanced at them. “Audrey, you’re letting your anger blind you. Even if she made a mistake, she would never ruin her own reputation just to hurt you.” I let out a hollow laugh. “So she wouldn’t do it, but I would?” He remained silent. That evening, my academic scholarship was revoked due to negative online publicity pending further investigation. The notification popped up while I was in the library, working on my grievance report. I stared at the screen, sighed, and kept typing. I contacted the forum moderators to report the posts, but it was useless. As graduation approached, I began looking for other options, sending out resumes and attending recruitment fairs. But the moment recruiters saw my name, their expressions changed. “Miss Audrey, we value our corporate image. Your portfolio is outstanding, but the recent online rumors… We are sorry.” I was rejected seven times in a single afternoon. Walking out of the hall, I saw Natalie standing across the courtyard in a chic white blazer, holding three job offers in her hand. Tommy was beside her, taking her folders. “Don’t go to this one, it’s too demanding,” he said softly. “This one is too far from the apartment I bought for you.” Natalie looked up at him, her eyes full of adoration. I walked right past them. Tommy noticed me, his brow furrowing. “Audrey.” I did not stop. He caught up to me, blocking my path. “Is your job hunt not going well?” I kept my expression blank. “Thanks to you two.” His face stiffened, but his tone softened. “Come work at my family’s firm. I’ll arrange a position for you. You’re too talented to be held back by these stupid rumors. I’ve already picked out our apartment too, decorated exactly the way you like.” I ignored him and stepped around him. But Tommy grabbed my wrist. “Come look at the place with me.” I yanked my arm back. “Are you deaf? Leave me alone.” Tommy’s expression darkened. “Audrey, do you have to be so difficult? I’m offering you a job and a place to live. What more do you want?” I stared at him. “I want you to stay the hell away from me.” He froze. Natalie ran up to us, clutching his sleeve. “Tommy, come with me.” Tommy frowned. “Natalie, don’t start.” “I’m not starting!” her voice shook. “I just want to know one thing. How do you actually feel about me?” Tommy remained silent for a few seconds. “In the beginning, I just felt sorry for you. Your mother’s scandal made everyone whisper about you, and I wanted to help you stand up to it.” Natalie’s tears fell. “And now?” Tommy glanced at me, but before he could speak, Natalie stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. Tommy pushed her away instantly. I watched the entire display from a few steps away, my heart completely still. Tommy stared at me, his face pale. “Audrey, do you really have no reaction at all?” My phone vibrated in my hand. It was the only company that had offered me an interview. Miss Audrey, your application for our international management program has been approved. London, three years. We will handle your visa and flight tickets. “I accept,” I said without a single second of hesitation. After hanging up, a confirmation email popped up in my inbox. My flight was scheduled for tonight.

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1 On our second anniversary of getting back together, my husband brought home a three-year-old boy and expected me to raise him. “Vivienne nearly bled to death giving birth to him,” Michael said, his eyes rimmed with red. “I made a mistake, Evelyn, but the child is innocent. I swear I am done playing around. From now on, I will only fulfill my duty as his father.” The boy blinked up at me with large, pathetic eyes. Swallowing the bile in my throat, I agreed. A year later, I went to pick him up from preschool on a whim. “Mommy, when are you moving into our house?” the boy asked, pouting his lips. “Daddy said once I count to five hundred days, you can come home,” he continued. “I hate that miserable woman at home. She is always stealing Daddy away.” A fair, delicate hand gently stroked his cheek. “Hang in there, my sweet boy. Mommy will be back with you soon.” Vivienne, the woman Michael claimed had died from postpartum hemorrhaging, was standing right there. Her face was flushed with health as she coddled her son. I clutched the massive asset distribution agreement I had just received from my mother-in-law, letting out a cold laugh. Since Michael can’t keep his pants zipped, the three of them can go straight to hell together. … I never expected a sudden change of plans would lead me to this truth. I stood frozen, staring at the picture-perfect scene of mother and child, my hands clenched into tight fists. For the past year, Michael had insisted on dropping off and picking up Toby every single day. Now I knew why. It was his daily excuse to rendezvous with his mistress. My phone suddenly vibrated in my hand. I instinctively stepped back, hiding myself behind a thick oak tree before answering. “Honey, where are you?” Michael’s voice sounded slightly strained, a hint of urgency bleeding through the line. “The nanny said you drove out. Did you go to pick up Toby?” “No,” I replied, keeping my voice flat. “I had some errands to run.” “Oh, good.” He let out a breath, a faint, relieved chuckle escaping him. “Don’t stress yourself out over the kid. It’s not worth ruining your health. I can handle the school runs.” He paused, then added, “I’m taking him swimming tonight, so we’ll be home late. Don’t wait up for us.” After the line went dead, I stared at my lock screen, which showed a photo of the two of us. “Vivienne passed away from hemorrhaging. I just couldn’t bring myself to throw the boy into an orphanage.” That was what Michael had told me a year ago, on the night of our second wedding anniversary, right after we had remarried. He had ruined the dinner I spent hours preparing by bringing home his love child. “He’s three now, Evelyn. He’s starting to ask where his mother is. I already made one terrible mistake, but I don’t want to ruin the next generation.” He had taken my hands in his, his grip desperate. “Let’s raise Toby together. Didn’t you always want a child? I’ll make him call you Mom.” At that time, I had just received the report of my tenth failed IVF cycle, alongside the doctor’s stern warning that my body was too weak to continue. The three-year-old boy had looked up at me with watery, innocent eyes. “Auntie… I mean, Mommy Evelyn, I’ll be really good.” I knew exactly what kind of ridicule I would face among the city’s high-society elite if I accepted this child. “Fine,” I had said, forcing the word past my lips. “But remember this, Michael. I am not forgiving your affair. I am only doing this because he reminds me of myself back in the orphanage. Consider it my way of earning some good karma.” “Of course! Thank you, honey. I’ll love you forever,” Michael had cried, wrapping his arms around me. Even Toby had reached out, timidly tugging at the edge of my coat. “Mommy, I like you.” But now, the four-year-old boy spoke with a sharp, articulate venom, his face twisted in disgust. “That miserable woman at home is so annoying. She won’t let me play with my toys and only gives me fifteen minutes of screen time! I have to call her Mommy. It’s disgusting!” For over a year, I had done my absolute best to raise him. I wouldn’t call myself selfless, but I had been diligent. A three-year-old boy is a whirlwind of chaos. Toby was afraid of the dark, terrified of thunder, prone to wetting the bed, and incredibly hyperactive. He had turned our house upside down. I was the one who put my career on hold to teach him. I was the one who woke up multiple times a night to comfort him when he cried, neglecting my own recovery in the process. My doctor had been utterly baffled during my last check-up. “Why is your physical health worse now than it was a year ago?” At the preschool gates, Vivienne spoke in a sweet, soft murmur. “Don’t talk about Auntie Evelyn like that, sweetie. She looked after you, after all. Even if she didn’t do a perfect job, she still worked hard. When I become the next Mrs. Montgomery, we can always hire her as our live-in nanny.” 2 I stared at the scheming mother and son, a dry, mocking laugh escaping my throat. The papers in my hand crumpled under the pressure of my grip. Thankfully, my mother-in-law had handed me the family asset division agreement this morning. Since this happy little family wanted to play games, they could pack their bags and get out of my life together. I didn’t confront them immediately. Instead, I waited in the shadow of the trees near the preschool gates. A few minutes later, a sleek black Rolls-Royce pulled up quietly at the curb. “Hey, buddy! Did you miss Daddy?” Michael stepped out of the car, his face lighting up with a genuine warmth I hadn’t seen in years. “Yes! Mommy and I have been waiting for you forever!” Toby squealed, throwing himself into his father’s arms. Michael hoisted the boy up, then turned his gaze to Vivienne. He stepped closer and pulled her into a deep, familiar kiss. “I’m so sorry for making you wait all this time, sweetheart,” Michael murmured against her lips. “I booked a table at that bistro downtown. We’ll grab dinner, and then I’ll take Toby swimming.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a suggestive whisper. “Tonight, my time is entirely yours.” Vivienne’s cheeks flushed pink, and she gave his shoulder a playful, affectionate shove. Michael took her hand with one of his, holding his son with the other, and led them toward the luxury SUV. The very car I had emptied my personal savings to buy him as a wedding gift. I watched them drive off, waited a moment, and then started my own car to follow. As the evening streetlights flickered to life, blurring past my window, fragments of the past flashed before my eyes. In the beginning, Michael had looked at me the exact same way. He had been passionate, attentive, and completely consumed by his love for me. Even though I was just an orphan with absolutely no family background to back me up, he had held my hand with unshakeable resolve. “I will only marry Evelyn in this lifetime. If I ever betray her, may I lose everything.” He had sworn that oath in front of his family’s ancestral altar, enduring ninety-nine lashes from his mother’s heavy cane as punishment. The very first thing he did after dragging his bloody body out of that room was take me to the courthouse to register our marriage. “I don’t want to wait another second,” he had gasped, pale but smiling. “I want to marry you right now, have kids, and build our own little family.” I parked two spaces away from them at the restaurant. I watched Michael smile happily as he guided Vivienne and Toby inside. “Yes, we have a reservation. Table for three.” I scoffed silently, entering the restaurant through a separate entrance and checking into a private room right next to theirs. A spread of exquisite dishes was laid out before me, but I didn’t have the slightest appetite. “Happy anniversary!” The muffled clinking of glasses and joyous laughter drifted through the thin wall. Today was their anniversary. No wonder Michael had slowly started forgetting my birthday after we remarried. A much more important date had taken over his heart. “I wish I could bring you home right now,” Michael’s voice carried over, thick with emotion. “But the timing isn’t right. For now, come to the company as my secretary. Once I get everything sorted out, I’ll marry you in a grand ceremony.” I poured myself a glass of dry gin and swallowed it in one gulp. Michael and I had dated for three years and been married for three. Over those six years, I had poured my blood, sweat, and tears into helping him build the family business, turning it from a failing enterprise into one of the top ten firms in the country. I had literally worked myself to the bone. Because of my efforts, he had transformed from a ridiculed, useless heir into a recognized business prodigy. On the night of our company’s annual gala, I had suffered a sudden, agonizing stomach spasm. I had asked a secretary to fetch Michael to take me to the hospital. But no one returned. Both of their phones were switched off. Fearing that something terrible had happened to him, I dragged my pain-racked body down to the parking garage on my own. When I opened the door of his car, I froze. The two of them were completely naked, locked in a passionate embrace on the back seat. Even after they realized I was standing there, they took their sweet time untangling themselves. “I’m so sorry, Evelyn… I was just so panicked, I forgot to tell you…” Vivienne had whimpered. “It’s my fault,” Michael had snapped, shielding her. “Don’t take it out on Vivienne. You’re scaring her.” I had looked at Vivienne’s swollen lips, and then at Michael, whose eyes were still dark with desire. “Fine. Let’s make this simple,” I had said. “Michael, we are divorcing.” The moment the words left my mouth, a metallic taste filled my throat, and I collapsed onto the cold concrete, unconscious. Back in the present, Vivienne’s sweet voice pulled me out of the memory. “Michael, is Evelyn still pretending to be sick to get your attention?” 3 “She’s still the same. Honestly, I’m getting sick of playing along,” Michael groaned, his voice dripping with annoyance. “Her stomach is a mess, her joints are bad, and now after all those failed IVF cycles, her entire body is practically useless. She’s nothing like you, sweetheart. You’re so soft, and you gave me such a smart, beautiful boy with barely any effort.” “Ssh! The baby is right here, don’t talk like that!” Vivienne giggled. I let out a cold, silent laugh. My stomach was ruined because I had spent years drinking with clients to secure contracts for Michael. My joints were damaged because I had personally run from warehouse to warehouse in the freezing winter to oversee our logistics. And my fertility? My body was ravaged by hormone injections because he had a low sperm count, yet I was the one who endured the physical agony of ten IVF procedures. And in the end, it was all dismissed as me being “useless.” “You’ve had a hard time, honey,” Vivienne cooed. “If it weren’t for getting me into the house, you wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of remarrying her.” “It’s fine, babe. I’d do anything for you. Just stay at the company as my secretary for now. Once I get her to sign over the assets she took in the first divorce, I’ll marry you.” “You don’t have to wait, Michael.” I pushed open the door of their private dining room, tossing the divorce papers my assistant had just rushed over onto their table. “Let’s divorce. And this time, there won’t be a second remarriage.” The room fell into a dead, suffocating silence. Three pairs of eyes stared at me in absolute shock. “Mommy Evelyn… did you come to join my swimming class?” Toby squeaked, his voice instantly switching back to his innocent act. “Evelyn, I… I can explain…” Vivienne stammered, turning pale. “Evelyn, you’ve got it wrong. Today was just a coincidence—” Michael started, scrambling to his feet. I cut him off with a weary smile. “Drop the act. You guys aren’t tired of it, but I am. Just sign it. I have nothing left to say to you.” Michael stared at me, his expression hardening. After a long three minutes, he finally spoke. “Are you sure about this?” He tilted his head, a mocking glint in his eyes. “Evelyn, you worked for years to secure your place in high society. Are you really willing to throw all of this luxury away?” “Absolutely.” Hearing my response, he picked up the pen and began flipping through the agreement. Vivienne’s eyes darted from the papers to Michael, her anxiety turning into a breathless anticipation. Her hand trembled so hard she could barely hold her glass. Then, with a slow, deliberate sneer, Michael ripped the entire document in half, tearing it into shreds before throwing the pieces into the air. “Michael! Don’t be reckless!” Vivienne gasped, her face falling. “It’s not that I don’t want to sign,” Michael said, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, taking a slow drag. “But the terms you wrote here are completely ridiculous. Evelyn, what makes you think I’m going to let you walk away with half of my assets?” I used to admire the sharp, calculating look in his eyes when we were negotiating business deals. Now, seeing that same look directed at me, I realized how incredibly ugly it was. “What makes me think that?” I asked, my voice calm and steady. “How about the fact that I saved your family business from bankruptcy and built it into a multi-million-dollar empire? Or the fact that I drank myself to near-poisoning at five hundred client dinners, took a bullet for you, and dragged you out of two separate kidnapping attempts?” I looked him dead in the eye. “Or maybe the fact that I actually believed your lies about wanting to make things right, remarried you, and raised your bastard child while the entire city laughed behind my back? Is that enough for you?” He let out a sharp, angry bark of laughter. “Enough? Sure, it’s enough. But since you’re so fond of playing the martyr, let’s get one thing straight.” He leaned forward, his eyes cold and venomous. “I don’t have a single penny to my name. Every asset I own has already been legally transferred to Vivienne. The company is registered entirely under my name, and you have no legal claim to it. Everything you did for me, you did voluntarily. So, if you want a divorce, you’re leaving with absolutely nothing.” Voluntarily. The passionate, devoted boy who would have given up his life for me had truly died, buried deep within my memories. I let out a soft laugh. “Fine. I’ll leave with nothing.” Michael’s face instantly darkened. To hide his sudden loss of composure, he snarled, “You were nothing but an orphan, Evelyn! I was the one who dragged you out of the gutter and gave you a taste of the high life. I gave you a platform, opportunities, and a status that other women would kill for! Without me, you are nothing. How do you have the face to demand anything from me?” The more he spoke, the more righteous he sounded, as if I was the one who had been caught red-handed. “You want a divorce? Fine! I’ll have my secretary draft the papers tomorrow. You will leave this marriage with nothing but the clothes on your back.” 4 “Now, if you’ll excuse us, I’m trying to have a nice dinner with my fiancée. Get out.” With a smug, provocative glare, he reached over and pulled Vivienne into his side, ostentatiously kissing her temple. A wave of intense nausea washed over me. I turned around and walked out of the restaurant, my assistant rushing to keep up with me. “Boss, he is out of his mind!” my assistant hissed, her face flushed with anger. “The company belongs to you! He’s just a spoiled heir who sat back and reaped the benefits of your hard work. How could you just agree to walk away with nothing?” “No one can predict the future,” I murmured, trying to offer a reassuring smile. “He wasn’t always like this.” But the moment I opened my mouth, a violent fit of dry heaving seized me. Terrified by my sudden pale complexion, my assistant immediately steered me toward the nearest hospital. The next morning, I was summoned to Michael’s office. “You’re fired,” Michael said, spinning around in his leather executive chair. He smirked up at me. “If you’re no longer my wife, you don’t get to share in my wealth. Your shares, your trust funds, and your bonuses are all being revoked. Your position and your entire team are being transferred.” He tapped a finger on the document resting on his desk. “The moment you sign this, it becomes legally binding. My secretary stayed up all night to draft this. She’s incredibly efficient.” Vivienne walked into the office carrying a tray. “Evelyn, here’s your coffee,” she said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. Michael reached out, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her onto his lap, giving her hip a firm, intimate squeeze. “So, what do you think? Didn’t she do a wonderful job with the agreement?” I ignored his childish display, my eyes locked onto Vivienne. “Vivienne,” I said quietly. “Do you remember what you told me the day I helped you land your very first major account?” She froze, her smile faltering, but she didn’t speak. “You said you would be grateful to me for the rest of your life,” I continued, my voice steady. “You said that I didn’t just fund your college education for seven years, I also put your abusive stepfather behind bars, and personally taught you how to close a million-dollar deal. You said that without me, you would have died in some dark corner, and that you’d never forget what I did for you.” I took a step closer. “And now, you sleep with my husband and help him strip me of everything I own. Is this how you show your gratitude?” Vivienne’s lips trembled, her eyes instantly welling with tears. “That’s enough! Do you ever do anything besides guilt-tripping people?” Michael snapped, pulling her protectively into his chest. “I was the one who went after Vivienne. She’s too innocent to know how to say no to me. There’s no need to threaten her. From now on, I am the one protecting her. No one is going to hurt her again.” The very same promises he had whispered into my ear a thousand times were now being used to comfort another woman. I spared Michael a cold, passing glance, then read through the termination agreement line by line. “I knew you wouldn’t want to sign it,” Michael chuckled, confident. “Evelyn, you can’t survive without me. If you just behave yourself and stop meddling in my personal life, we can stay married. You can keep your title as my wife.” Without a word, I picked up the pen from his desk and signed my name with a swift, fluid stroke. As I walked out of the office, the sound of a heavy ceramic vase shattering against the wall echoed behind me. “Honey, are you still mad?” Vivienne slid onto his lap, her soft body pressing against his, the sweet scent of her perfume filling his senses. Three days had passed, and there had been absolutely no word from Evelyn. Michael knew he should be thrilled. He had finally gotten rid of her. Yet, an irritating, persistent anxiety clawed at his chest. In a desperate bid to drown out the noise in his head, he roughly tore at Vivienne’s blouse, losing himself in her touch. Just as they reached the height of their passion, the office door was violently flung open. “Mr. Montgomery! We have a massive problem!” his assistant gasped, pale and sweating. “The IRS is here! They’re raiding the offices!” The color drained from Michael’s face, his passion evaporating instantly. “Our operations are entirely legal. We have never engaged in any illicit financial practices,” Michael stammered, scrambling to adjust his rumpled suit. In his haste, he missed a button, and his shirt remained disheveled. “Vivienne, go pour some tea.” The lead investigator stepped into the room, his face carved of granite. “Mr. Montgomery, please cooperate with our investigation. You will receive a detailed explanation once we arrive at the bureau.” Michael frowned, trying to regain his footing. “We were audited at the beginning of the year and cleared. Coming in here like this without warning—what is the meaning of this?” “We received a formal report detailing corporate embezzlement, tax evasion, and malicious market competition.” Michael stared at him, dumbfounded. “Who reported us?!” “I did.”

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1 I had just been diagnosed with late stage stomach cancer. Three months left to live. A mysterious merchant found me in the quiet hospital corridor, offering to grant three of my deepest wishes. The price was simple: ten years of memories shared with Tanat, the man I had loved for a decade. I agreed without a single moment of hesitation. My first wish was for Tanat’s first love, Emily, to return from abroad immediately. My second wish was for him to see her true colors. My third wish was for him to spend the rest of his life entirely alone, forever mourning the love he threw away. “The deal is struck,” the merchant whispered. “Just a gentle warning, Kate. The extraction of your memories takes seventy two hours to complete. During this transition, you will still feel every ounce of the pain.” With those words, the enigmatic dealer of emotions vanished, melting into the sterile, blindingly white corridor of the hospital. I clutched the terminal diagnosis in my hand. The edges of the paper frayed under my trembling grip, my fingertips so cold they felt completely lifeless. Right then, my phone began to vibrate violently in my palm. The name Tanat flashed across the screen. My chest tightened, a pathetic shred of hope still lingering in my chest. Was he calling to ask about my doctor’s appointment? Had he actually remembered? Taking a deep breath, I forced my voice to sound steady and swiped to answer. “Hello?” I whispered. “Kate! You won’t believe the incredible news! Emily is coming back! Her flight lands the day after tomorrow!” Tanat’s voice burst through the receiver with an ecstatic energy I had never heard in our ten years together. He sounded like a child who had finally recovered his long lost, favorite toy. My mouth opened, but the words I got my test results back died in my throat, swallowed by his shouting. A wave of nausea hit me, leaving a bitter, metallic taste on my tongue. He did not notice the tremor in my voice or the heavy silence on my end. In his world, there was only room for Emily. “We need to cancel our anniversary dinner,” he rushed on. “I have to throw her a welcome party, and it has to be absolutely perfect. You should come too. Oh, and can you book the restaurant for us? Use our usual spot. Emily used to love the menu there.” He kept planning every detail, each word piercing my ears like hot needles. Our tenth anniversary. Our favorite restaurant. It turned out that the places I had grown to love over a decade of compromise were just settings we had prepared for her. I was merely keeping her seat warm. Holding my death warrant in one hand and listening to his absolute devotion to another woman in the other, a quiet laugh escaped my lips. Tears welled up in my eyes. Perhaps this was for the best. These final seventy two hours would serve as a proper funeral for the last ten years of my life. “Okay,” I said quietly, my voice cracking slightly. After hanging up, I bypassed our apartment and walked straight into a premium boutique downtown. There was a crimson silk dress in the window that I had admired for months but could never bring myself to buy. Today, I bought it without looking at the price tag. Tanat had always told me that red was too flashy, that he preferred me in soft, muted tones. He never understood that my soul was meant to burn a brilliant, fierce red. He was the one who had spent a decade slowly washing the color out of me. The next morning, Tanat practically dragged me out of bed. He rummaged through my closet, eventually pulling out a faded, oversized t shirt and a pair of worn jeans, tossing them onto the bed. “Wear this.” I stared at him, confused. He frowned, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Emily just got back. Don’t dress up too much. I don’t want her to feel self conscious or out of place around you.” I stared at him, and the very last ember of warmth in my heart died out. He wasn’t worried about Emily’s comfort. He was terrified that I would take the spotlight away from her. He insisted on driving to the airport himself. He spent the entire ride adjusting his tie and checking his hair in the rearview mirror, restless and eager like a teenager on his very first date. Sitting in the passenger seat, I watched the city blur past the window, completely numb. The countdown for my memories to fade was down to twenty four hours. Every minute, every second was an excruciating wait. When the intercom announced the arrival of her flight, Tanat bolted upright, his eyes locked onto the terminal exit. When Emily finally emerged, wearing a flowing white dress that made her look like an ethereal, pure angel, Tanat reacted like a bird escaping a cage. He shoved me out of his way, pushing past the crowd as he dashed toward her. “Emily!” He threw his arms around her in a desperate, breathless embrace, holding her so tightly it seemed as if he wanted to fuse her into his very bones. The force of his shove had sent me stumbling backward, my lower back slamming hard against the cold metal railing. A familiar, sharp agony flared in my abdomen, and the world momentarily spun into darkness. I stood there like an invisible prop, forced to watch their tearful reunion. Resting her head on Tanat’s shoulder, Emily’s eyes shifted over his back and locked onto mine. She flashed me a subtle, triumphant smirk. Then, slipping her arm through his, she walked over to me. Feigning surprise as if she had only just noticed my existence, she murmured, “Oh, Tanat, who is this?” Tanat blinked, only just remembering I was there, and offered a dismissive shrug. “This is Kate. She’s my… assistant. She helps out with things around the house.” An assistant. Ten years of building a life together, reduced to a casual title of household help. Emily immediately flashed a bright smile and extended her hand. “Hi Kate, I’m Emily. It’s so wonderful to meet you.” Before I could reach out, she tripped on her own feet with a soft gasp, stumbling directly into me. The cup of piping hot black coffee in her hand splashed entirely over my chest. The faded t shirt I was wearing was the very first gift Tanat had ever bought me, a decade ago. I gasped as the heat seared through the fabric, my skin instantly flushing a painful crimson. Tanat’s reflexes were incredibly fast. He caught Emily before she could fall, frantically checking her over. “Are you alright? Did it burn you?” He didn’t even spare me a glance. Emily shook her head, her eyes welling with tears. “I’m fine. I just lost my footing and got Kate’s clothes dirty. I’m so sorry…” Tanat finally looked at me, his brows furrowed in annoyance. “Kate, watch where you’re going! You’re so clumsy, you nearly hurt her!” He slipped off his expensive designer blazer and gently draped it over Emily’s shoulders, shielding her in his arms while completely ignoring the raw, blistering skin on my chest. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just a cheap shirt. Let’s go get you something new to make up for the scare.” He guided her away, never once looking back. I was left standing in the middle of the crowded terminal, a pathetic joke of a woman. The pitying, mocking stares of the bystanders cut into me like knives. Suddenly, seventy two hours felt far too long to wait. That evening marked our tenth anniversary. I had texted him hours ago: It’s our tenth anniversary tonight. The table is booked. His only reply was a cold, single word confirmation. I spent an hour on my makeup, slipped into my new red dress, and sat at the restaurant waiting from seven until nine. He never showed up. When I finally called his phone, it rang for a long time before he answered. The background was filled with deafening bass and rowdy laughter. “What is it?” he snapped, sounding thoroughly annoyed. “Tanat, where are you?” “Oh, right, I forgot to tell you. I’m out with Zack and the guys. We’re throwing Emily a welcome party. You should come over too. I’ll text you the address.” He hung up before I could say a word. Looking down at the cold steak and the vintage wine I had ordered, I smiled bitterly at myself. What was I still hoping for? Why expect mercy from the man holding the blade? I drove over to the lounge he mentioned. The moment I pushed the heavy doors open, the room fell dead silent. Dozens of eyes turned to me, filled with curiosity and cruel amusement. Tanat sat at the center table. In the seat that should have been mine, Emily was laughing softly at something he said. He looked up, giving me a lazy nod. “You made it. Grab a seat. The more the merrier, right?” Merry. My eyes locked onto the dress Emily was wearing. It was the exact same crimson silk dress I had on. The sight of it felt like a dull blade sawing through my chest. It wasn’t just the humiliation of wearing the same outfit; it was the realization that the muse and the substitute were wearing the exact same skin. Zack, Tanat’s closest friend, laughed loudly. “Hey Tanat, now that the real deal, I mean, now that Emily is back, when are you going to dump the shadow? We’re all waiting to toast to the real wedding!” The joke pinned me to the wall like a specimen. I stared at Tanat, waiting for him to defend me, to say something. He didn’t. He just laughed, swirled his glass, and said, “Cut it out, guys. Tonight is about Emily.” His silence was a betrayal far louder than any confession. Emily, completely ignoring my humiliation, picked up Tanat’s phone from the table. She unlocked it with ease and opened his photos. “Tanat, your password is still my birthday? You haven’t changed it once in all these years,” she cooed. Then, scrolling through his gallery, she paused on a photo of Tanat and me. She gasped softly, covering her mouth. “Oh, Kate, this is a beautiful photo of you two, but wait. Those earrings you’re wearing, aren’t they the silver cufflinks I gave Tanat for his graduation? Why do you have them?” Those cufflinks. They had been his graduation gift from her. He had treasured them for a decade, never letting them out of his sight. I used to think he was just sentimental. It turned out he was just waiting for the owner to return. Before I could speak, Tanat reached out. His fingers gripped my earlobe, and with a sudden, rough tug, he ripped the modified cufflink from my ear. A sharp pain flared, and a thin trickle of blood began to seep down my neck. He didn’t even look at me. He simply handed the piece to Emily, his voice softer than I had ever heard it. “If you want them back, take them. They were always yours anyway.” A violent spasm tore through my abdomen, far worse than any attack before. Cold sweat broke out across my back, my face turning ashen. Every breath felt like inhaling glass. I weakly reached out, tugging at Tanat’s sleeve. My voice was barely a whisper. “Tanat, I don’t feel well. I need to go home.” He was staring at Emily with adoration, and at my touch, he shook my hand off with irritation. “Kate, stop throwing tantrums. Everyone is having a good time. Don’t ruin the night.” In that moment, my heart turned to ash. I walked out of the lounge alone, the cold night wind hitting my face. Unable to hold it in any longer, I collapsed against the brick wall of the alleyway and threw up until my ribs ached. My stomach was completely empty, leaving nothing but bitter bile. I looked back at the warm glow of the windows, wiped my mouth, and called a cab. I didn’t go home. I went straight to the ER. I had twelve hours left, and I was done enduring. By the time I returned from the clinic after receiving a heavy dose of painkillers, it was nearly midnight. The countdown on my memories had hit its final minutes. Leaving the lights off, I used the pale moonlight to pack my things. For ten years, I had been like a swallow building a nest, slowly filling this empty house with my warmth. Yet, as I packed, I realized everything that actually belonged to me could fit inside a single, small suitcase. The sudden blare of my ringtone shattered the silence. It was Tanat. I pressed answer, met instantly by his furious shouting. “Kate, how dare you just walk out like that?” he roared. “Leaving her welcome party in the middle of the night? You have zero respect for anyone! You are unbelievably selfish!” My stomach flared with a dull ache, forcing me to curl up on the hardwood floor. “Tanat… I’m dying…” My voice was so faint, a desperate plea for him to listen. But he wasn’t listening. On the other end, he let out a venomous laugh. “This act again? Even if you actually died, you wouldn’t get a shred of sympathy from me. You aren’t worth a single hair on Emily’s head! I’m telling you, Kate, don’t expect me to look at you ever again. A manipulative, dramatic woman like you deserves to end up completely alone.” His words were rusty nails, driven straight into my battered chest. I stared at the digital clock on my phone screen, watching the seconds tick away. 57… 58… 59… A soft chime echoed in my mind, followed by the emotion merchant’s detached voice: Time is up. The transaction is complete. Tanat was still barking through the speaker, “Are you deaf? Get over here right now and apologize to Emily!” Suddenly, the crushing weight in my chest vanished. The pain was gone, replaced by a strange, light emptiness. The world seemed to reset, a sudden clarity washing over me. I listened to the man screaming hysterically on the line, feeling nothing but mild confusion. I stood up, walked to the window, and looked out at the glittering city lights. My mind was perfectly clear. “Who is this?” I asked, my voice entirely flat. The line went silent for a second before his voice returned, louder and more rabid. “Kate, what kind of game are you playing now?” “You’re insane,” I said calmly. I hung up, blocked his number, and deleted the contact. A fluid, seamless sequence of actions. Looking in the mirror at my pale face and strangely bright eyes, I let out a soft, relaxed laugh. For the first time in my life, the world was wonderfully quiet.

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1 Right after my kidney transplant. My supposedly perfect father stood by my bed with bloodshot eyes, claiming he had three earth-shattering secrets to tell me. I figured it was just some bad investments he wanted me to bail him out of. Instead, he delivered a crushing blow. “Fiona, you aren’t our biological daughter. Sabrina is.” Seeing my lack of a reaction, he pushed harder. “You’ve been living in luxury on borrowed time. It’s time to give the Lockhart Group inheritance back to her.” He didn’t care at all that I had just come out of major surgery and couldn’t handle any stress. He even had the audacity to play the saint. “You’ve always been a good, dutiful daughter. You wouldn’t want to watch your mother die on the operating table, would you?” Looking at his smug, confident face, I just wanted to laugh. “Is that it?” The kidney transplant was over. My mother was still unconscious, but I had just woken up. “Fiona, there are three secrets I need to tell you.” I stared at my father, Marcus, a man with a spotless reputation as the perfect dad. I figured he had just botched an investment and needed me to clean up his mess. “Go ahead,” I said. His eyes welled with tears, his voice cracking with emotion. “You aren’t our biological child.” I frowned slightly. “During the transplant compatibility tests, I noticed your blood type didn’t match ours. Your mother and I are both type O, but you’re type A.” “I was completely blindsided. I quietly ran a DNA test, and the results confirmed it. You aren’t ours.” I kept quiet, watching his tears fall. “The truth is, Sabrina is our real daughter. Helena and I… we are her biological parents.” Sabrina? The girl our family had been sponsoring for twenty years? “Sabrina grew up in a run-down foster home, suffering so much. She’s dreamed of having a real family her whole life, of having parents who cherish her.” “Now that we’ve finally found her, I can’t let her suffer any longer.” “Fiona, I know this is a massive shock, but blood ties can’t be denied.” He buried his face in his hands, weeping as if he were the victim of some tragic twist of fate. “Marcus,” I said, my voice flat, “I gave Mom a kidney. I didn’t lose my brain.” He froze, looking up at my calm expression. “DNA results don’t come back that fast. You knew Sabrina was your daughter long before today.” “No matter when you told me this, I still would have given Mom my kidney.” “So why did you have to wait until the exact moment my surgery was finished?” Lying on the hospital bed, I looked at his tear-stained face. “You really are cold-blooded.” He scrambled to explain. “No! That’s not it! I love you, of course I do. It’s just that your mother’s health has always been fragile, and the doctors said we couldn’t stress her before the surgery…” Just then, the door burst open, and Sabrina stepped in. “Fiona, don’t talk to Dad like that!” With teary, pathetic eyes, she stood close to my bed. “He was only doing what was best for you and Mom…” When I looked at her, she lowered her head and sobbed. “I’m so sorry, Fiona. I didn’t mean to steal your parents.” “I honestly had no idea I had real parents out there.” She spoke in a trembling voice, tears spilling over her cheeks. “Back in the foster home, I had to fight just to get a warm meal. I didn’t even have a winter coat. My hands were covered in chilblains.” “I dreamed of having a home. Of having parents who loved me.” “Now, heaven has finally shown mercy and brought me back to them.” She wiped her tears, looking at me like a wounded puppy. “Fiona, I finally have a mom and dad… You won’t throw me out, will you?” “We can still be a family, right?” Her voice grew softer, desperate and fragile. Marcus wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders, looking at me with disapproval. “Fiona, Sabrina has had a hard life. Just let her have this.” “You’ve had everything since you were a child. She had nothing.” “She just wants her real parents back. You wouldn’t deny her that, would you?” I looked at his hand resting on Sabrina’s shoulder. “So, what is it you actually want me to do?” 2 Marcus clearly hadn’t expected me to cut straight to the point. Sabrina lowered her head, biting her lip in silence. Marcus wiped away his meager tears, and his tone suddenly went cold. “Since you’ve already guessed, I won’t beat around the bush.” He stood up straight, looking down at me. “There is something you must do.” “You aren’t our biological child, which means the inheritance rights to the Lockhart Group belong to Sabrina. You need to sign them over.” Lying on the hospital bed, the surgical incision in my side throbbed with a dull ache. But I didn’t let my anger show. I just stared at him. “Marcus, have you forgotten?” “My grandfather was the one who designated me as the sole heir to the Lockhart Group.” “If there is to be any change, we should wait until Mom wakes up, go to the family estate, and let Grandfather handle it.” Marcus snapped, “Absolutely not!” “Your grandfather is old and in poor health. We shouldn’t trouble him with such minor family matters.” “We can settle this quietly among ourselves.” Handing over a multi-billion dollar conglomerate is a minor family matter? Sabrina finally looked up, her face pale. “Fiona…” “I know this is a lot to take in. I understand if you can’t accept it right away.” “But blood is blood. You can’t change facts.” “I am their biological daughter. That is the truth.” The tears began to flow again. “I’m not trying to fight you for anything. I just think fate is finally being fair.” “You’ve enjoyed twenty-four years of being a pampered heiress. Luxury cars, mansions, private schools, bodyguards following your every step. Your biggest worry was probably which diamonds to wear.” She wiped her eyes, her voice cracking. “But me? I grew up in a foster home, wearing rags, sleeping in a cramped, drafty bed, with chilblains all over my hands in the winter.” “Why did you get to live in luxury from the moment you were born, while I had to beg for a scrap of affection?” Her voice grew louder, venting years of repressed bitterness. “Now I just want what was always meant to be mine. Are you really going to deny me that?” “Fiona, you are incredibly selfish!” Marcus, overwhelmed with pity, pulled her into a tight hug. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. Dad’s here.” He glared at me. “Fiona, look at what you’ve done!” “Do you have any idea how much Sabrina has suffered? You can’t even begin to imagine!” “You’ve stolen her life for twenty-four years. Returning her inheritance is only right! What is there to hesitate about?” I watched their touching display of fatherly love. A slow smile crept onto my lips. “Marcus, you are nothing but a son-in-law who married into the Lockhart family.” “You have absolutely no right to interfere with the company’s succession.” 3 His face instantly flushed a deep, angry crimson. “I am your father! How dare you speak to me like that!” “Am I wrong?” I cut him off. “When you married into this family, you signed a strict prenuptial agreement. You were allowed to manage daily operations, but you have zero decision-making power.” “The succession has always been entirely up to Grandfather and Mom.” “You don’t get a say.” Marcus shook with rage, pointing a finger at me, unable to squeeze out a single word. Seeing this, Sabrina quickly grabbed his arm to placate him. “Dad, please don’t be angry. Fiona is just in shock. She’ll come around.” She turned back to me, her eyes glistening. “Fiona, I know you’re the designated heir and you’re used to everyone catering to your every whim.” “But this isn’t something you can just control.” “I am their real daughter, and nothing changes that. You can’t keep holding onto things that don’t belong to you.” She turned her head away, looking like a delicate, tragic heroine. “Of course, if you really refuse, I won’t force you.” “I’ll just accept that I wasn’t meant to be happy.” “I’ve survived twenty-four years in a foster home. I can handle whatever comes next.” She wept as if her heart were breaking. Marcus’s eyes burned with indignation. “Fiona!” he barked. “Look at how graceful and understanding Sabrina is! Now look at you!” “You stole her life, and you can’t even offer her a single word of blessing!” “Do you even deserve to carry the Lockhart name?” He was practically spitting in my face. I lay there, the surgical wound in my side throbbing from the sudden spike of tension. But I didn’t flinch. I kept my eyes locked on Marcus. “I said, we wait until Mom wakes up. She will make the decision.” Marcus’s face darkened. He stared at me for a long moment, then slowly, a sinister smile spread across his face. “Do you honestly think… your mother is going to wake up?” My fingers tightened around the bedsheets. “What do you mean?” Just then, the door was thrown open. A nurse rushed in, her face entirely pale. “Miss Lockhart, your mother is experiencing severe transplant rejection! She’s in critical condition!” “We need a family member to sign the consent form immediately for emergency resuscitation!” I scrambled to sit up, my vision blurring. “I’ll sign! Hand it to me!” “Wait.” Marcus stepped forward, physically blocking the nurse. He looked back at me, his smile widening. “I forgot to tell you.” “As her legal husband, only my signature can authorize the hospital to proceed.” “If I choose not to sign… your mother dies.” 4 My blood ran cold. “Are you insane? She’s been your wife for twenty-five years!” “Twenty-five years of playing the obedient husband, putting up with her spoiled tantrums, and kissing up to her and that old man!” “I am sick of it!” Marcus whipped out a document and threw it onto my bed. “Sign this.” I looked down. It was a Voluntary Relinquishment of Inheritance Rights. Black ink on white paper. Clear and absolute. “Sign it and leave your thumbprint, and I’ll authorize her surgery. Otherwise, you can watch her die.” I glared at him. “You bought off the board of directors, didn’t you?” He let out a smug chuckle. “Why do you think I’ve been playing the loyal servant all these years?” “Those greedy old fools on the board have been in my pocket for a long time.” “If you don’t sign, your mother dies. When she’s gone, the board will pressure your grandfather. That old traditionalist will never let a massive conglomerate fall to an outsider like you.” He leaned down, his voice dripping with malice. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll sign.” “You love your mother so much, don’t you?” Marcus shoved a pen into my hand. “She spent millions on you. She sent you to the best schools, gave you the finest life.” “Now it’s time to pay her back. Surely you aren’t so heartless as to let her die?” I stared at the document, the pain in my side flaring up. My voice was iron. “You planned this all along.” “You knew Sabrina was your daughter. You knew I was adopted. But you waited for the exact moment my mother was unconscious after surgery.” “You wanted to trap me, force me to give up the inheritance, and install Sabrina as the heir. Once Grandfather passes away, you can finally put your own name on the family legacy and take over everything.” Marcus looked down at me with mock pity. “And what are you going to do about it?” “In the end, I’m the one who wins.” The nurse stood by the door, sweating profusely. “Miss Lockhart, your mother is slipping away! We can’t wait…” “What’s the rush?” Marcus cut her off coldly. “We’re waiting for my daughter to sign.” He turned back to me. “Fiona, you wouldn’t want the world to know you let your mother die, would you?” Sabrina looked at me with a glint of smug satisfaction beneath her mask of pity. To her, I was a fallen princess. My stepfather had betrayed me, my mother was on her deathbed, and my gilded life was finally over. She was about to become the new queen of the Lockhart empire, and out of sheer generosity, she might spare me a little pity once she had the money. I let out a slow sigh. “Marcus, twenty-four years, and you haven’t changed a bit.” “With such cheap tricks, it’s no wonder you never made anything of yourself.”

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1 I was born with a tragic, inescapable flaw: I desperately craved a mother’s love. But in my old life, every time I offered my foster mother my beating heart, she rewarded me with a slap across the face. Just as I was agonizing over how to finally win her approval, a piece of paper changed my entire universe. I had been groveling to the wrong woman my whole life. I was actually the lost biological daughter of the wealthiest family in the state. Without a second of hesitation, I climbed into the back of the Crawford family’s Rolls-Royce. The moment I stepped through the grand mahogany doors of the estate, the girl who had stolen my life grabbed my hands. Anna, the fake heiress, looked at me with perfectly welling tears. “Sister, if the rest of the family doesn’t warm up to you right away, please don’t be sad.” I didn’t even hear her. I was staring blankly at the woman standing beside her, my heart hammering so violently against my ribs I could barely breathe. Are you telling me this woman—this elegant, commanding, breathtakingly powerful woman—is my new mother? Anna was still putting on her tearful performance. “You finally have a home now, but my parents’ love is all I have left in this world. Please don’t take that away from me.” Hearing the word parents, I finally pulled my eyes away from Victoria Crawford and gave Anna a slow, chilling smile. Keep dreaming, sweetheart. Anna instinctively took a half-step back. That sudden, eerie smile sent a shiver straight down her spine. But she quickly straightened her posture. She was convinced a backwoods nobody like me could never threaten her reign. My eldest brother, Preston, immediately caught Anna’s arm to steady her. “What are you talking about, Anna? Even if we don’t share blood, you are still a Crawford. We are family.” My second brother, Declan, stepped squarely in front of her, shielding her from me. “The hospital mix-up wasn’t your fault. You’re a victim in this too. We promise we won’t let anyone walk all over you.” Those words were aimed directly at me. Anna peeked at me from behind Declan’s broad shoulders. She subtly lifted the hem of her designer silk dress, showing off a blinding diamond tennis bracelet. “Sister, it must have taken you a whole day and night to drive here from the trailer park. You must be exhausted.” I didn’t even register her pathetic flex. I didn’t care about the crystal chandeliers, the bespoke suits, or the uniformed staff lining the foyer. I had been in this house for ten minutes, and for nine of those minutes, my eyes had been superglued to the matriarch of the family. My gaze was so intense that Victoria finally had to look back at me. She cleared her throat, clearly unsure of how to navigate this reunion with a daughter she hadn’t seen in eighteen years. “Your name is Serena, right?” The moment she said my name, my eyes burned with absolute adoration. Victoria actually looked a bit flustered under the weight of my worship. Declan raised his voice, his tone sharp. “Serena, Anna is talking to you. Are you deaf?” I mentally muted every single person in the room except for her. I walked straight up to Victoria and gently, carefully, tugged at the edge of her tailored blazer. “Mom?” My voice trembled. I was practically vibrating with excitement. Anna’s expression cracked. She quickly jogged over and linked her arm affectionately through Victoria’s other side. “Mom, let’s go show my sister her new room!” Her voice was a little too desperate, a little too rushed. My gaze finally shifted. I looked away from my mother and slowly dragged my eyes over to Anna. Anna’s hand twitched. She forced a painfully stiff smile. “Everything happened so fast, we didn’t have time to redecorate. You’ll have to make do with one of the guest rooms for now.” I shook my head. Anna immediately adopted a look of tragic resignation. “I knew it. If you insist on taking my bedroom, I’ll pack my things…” Declan scoffed, glaring at me. “Anna, why are you always so nice? She just walked through the door and she’s already trying to steal your room?” They were a remarkably annoying background noise. I kept my eyes locked on Victoria and spoke my very first full sentence since arriving. “Mom, which room is yours?” Victoria blinked in surprise and pointed up the grand sweeping staircase toward the third-floor master suite. I didn’t miss a beat. “Then I want to live in the room right next to yours.” “Serena, that room is just a storage closet for old furniture,” Victoria said softly. “I don’t care. I just want to be as close to you as possible.” Victoria’s gaze melted instantly. The awkwardness vanished, replaced by an overwhelming, protective warmth. “I’ll have the contractors here first thing tomorrow morning. We’ll knock down the walls and merge two rooms together to make you a proper suite.” Anna looked like she had been struck by lightning. She stared at me, grinding her teeth so hard her jaw trembled. What the hell kind of game was this girl playing?! Declan was equally stunned. “Mom, we haven’t done construction on the estate in years. You’re going to tear up the third floor just because she…” Victoria raised a hand, silencing him immediately. “The decision is final. Now, everyone sit down. It’s time for dinner.” I practically glued myself to the chair right next to my mother. Every time I looked up, I caught Anna shooting daggers at me from across the table. I casually scooted my chair an inch closer to Victoria. Anna’s grip on her silverware tightened. Jealous that I get to sit next to my own mother? I hid a smirk behind my water glass. Human nature is so predictable. A small porcelain bowl of rich lobster bisque was placed in front of everyone at the table. Except for me. Anna forced a sweet, highly artificial smile. “Oh no. The kitchen staff must have forgotten you were moving in today. They didn’t prepare a portion for you.” “These are all my absolute favorite dishes. I hope your stomach can handle such rich food. If you don’t mind, you can have my soup.” She made a grand show of pushing her porcelain bowl across the table toward me. Before it even made it halfway, Preston stopped it with his hand. “It’s just soup. If the kitchen forgot, they can make it up to her next time. You don’t need to give up your food for her.” Declan nodded in agreement, though his eyes were locked on me. “Look at this feast. She won’t starve. There’s no need for her to steal what’s yours.” Anna tilted her head, her smile turning triumphant. I simply lowered my gaze, adopting the picture of absolute, meek obedience. “It’s okay. I have a small appetite anyway. A few bites of bread will be plenty.” Anna froze. That was not the reaction she wanted. “Find the head chef and ask him how a mistake this massive happened. Everyone knew Serena was coming home today.” Victoria slammed her fork down. She looked at Anna. “Keep your food, Anna. We don’t need to perform charity at our own dining table.” Victoria then took her own untouched bowl of lobster bisque and placed it gently in front of me. “Here, sweetheart. Have mine.” Seeing my wide, slightly anxious eyes, her voice softened entirely. “Don’t overthink it. In this house, my love isn’t a pie to be sliced unequally. I don’t play favorites.” I nodded obediently, wrapping my hands around the warm bowl and taking tiny, delicate sips. Anna’s smile completely collapsed. She stared at me, her eyes practically burning holes through my skull. But I was bulletproof. I couldn’t care less if these people hated my guts. Back in my old life, my foster mother used to pile all the best meat onto her biological son’s plate and leave me with scraps. One day, I got so fed up I dumped a lethal dose of ghost pepper hot sauce into my foster brother’s macaroni. My foster mother was in such a panic, running around getting him milk and ice water, that she didn’t even bother to yell at me. It used to break my heart. Thank God I finally have a beautiful, fiercely protective mother of my own. The next morning, three delivery vans from high-end boutiques pulled up to the estate. One mountain of luxury boxes for me. One mountain for Anna. Declan patted Anna on the shoulder. “See? I told you there was nothing to worry about. Mom still loves you. She made sure you got a share of everything.” Anna blinked her doe eyes, looking pitiful. “But all of sister’s things are from the new season’s exclusive collection. She got the exact Birkin I’ve been on the waitlist for.” I lazily sifted through the sea of designer dresses and leather bags. I didn’t really care about any of it. But seeing Anna’s eyes turn red with envy made the whole thing wildly entertaining. Declan crossed his arms, stepping up as her knight in shining armor. “Mom is being completely unfair. Why does she get the absolute best picks?” “How is Anna supposed to feel? What are the maids going to think?” Preston stayed quiet for a moment before walking over to me. “You don’t even know the value of these brands anyway. Let Anna pick the ones she wants first.” I tilted my head, looking up at him. “But Mom specifically told the stylists to let me choose whatever I liked.” Preston stood in front of me like a brick wall. “If Mom can’t keep things fair, then I’ll level the playing field for her.” Anna hid behind his broad back, peering at me with a victorious glint in her eye. Preston’s gaze grew darker. “Anna is sensitive. Since she calls you her older sister, you need to act like one and yield to her.” Before I could even respond, he ordered the boutique staff to move the most exclusive, limited-edition pieces over to Anna’s pile. She casually flipped through the silk garments, pretending to be nonchalant. “Sister, I know I’m taking a lot of the good ones. You’re not mad, are you?” She said it just to twist the knife. She wanted to see me lose my temper. I yawned softly. “I’m not mad at all.” “You can have every single piece if you want.” “But you’re going to have to trade something else for it.” I unlocked my phone and tapped into the pinned chat contact labeled “Mom.” There are millions of designer bags in the world. But there is only one Victoria Crawford. If Anna wanted the bags, fine. I was playing a completely different game. My fingers danced across the screen. [I got all the presents! I love them so much. When are you coming back from your business trip, Mom? I miss you already.] A morning and evening text check-in had become my daily routine. Victoria was a titan of industry. She rarely replied. But even if she just sent back a single “Okay,” I would stare at the screen and read it a hundred times. Seeing me completely absorbed in my phone, Anna casually leaned closer, trying to spy on my screen. “Sister, you don’t really have any friends here. Who are you texting so obsessively all day?” She rolled her eyes, her tone dripping with venom. “When we brought you back, that foster mother of yours demanded a massive payout. You need to remember your place in this family. Don’t tell me you’re secretly funneling our money back to that trashy woman.” I finally looked up at her. The corners of my mouth curled into a slow, mocking smirk. Anna thought she had me figured out. “I get it. You figured out that Mom holds the purse strings, so you’re kissing up to her. It’s embarrassing.” My phone buzzed in my hand. I looked down. It was Victoria. This time, it wasn’t a short, formal reply. She had actually learned how to save and send a little cartoon cat sticker blowing a kiss. Anna was still running her mouth, her chin raised in absolute arrogance. “You can stop daydreaming. Mom is so busy running the empire she barely has time to sleep. She doesn’t have a second to waste on someone like you.” “Is that so?” I locked my phone and placed it face down on the table. I just looked at her, completely amused by her stupidity. A month flew by. Living in the Crawford estate was a dream. The only downside was that my mother was constantly traveling for board meetings and acquisitions. I rarely got to see her in person. But my daily text updates never stopped. At night, when I knew she was back in her hotel room, I would shamelessly beg her for a quick phone call. Sometimes she picked up. Sometimes it went to voicemail. I was always patient. Today, as I was walking out of my room, I was ambushed again. It was Anna. She dragged out her syllables, sounding like a detective who had just cracked a massive case. “Sister, are you going to make another secret phone call?” I tried to step around her. She was a waste of oxygen. Anna’s eyes darted to the phone in my hand, dropping the sweet facade entirely. “Serena, you are an outsider in this house. Everyone is just tolerating you out of pity.” “Everything in this family belongs to me. It always has.” I stared at her with a blank, deadpan expression. I had my mother’s love. I was basically sitting on a throne of gold. What kind of delusional nonsense was she spewing? I rolled my eyes so hard it physically hurt. “I am the biological daughter. You are a counterfeit.” “The only person in this house who has absolutely nothing is you.” Anna choked on her own breath. She desperately searched my face for a hint of insecurity or fear. She found absolutely nothing. Swallowing her rage, she leaned in close. “Let me tell you a little secret.” “My eighteenth birthday is in two days. Mom is officially gifting me ten percent of the company shares as my coming-of-age present.” I laughed out loud. “That’s crazy. It’s your birthday, so why are you begging my mother for a present?” That single, calm sentence completely shattered the last remnants of Anna’s sanity. “Stop acting like she actually gives a damn about you—” Before she could finish, the heavy thud of the front doors opening echoed from the first floor. Anna’s eyes flashed with calculation. She backed up against the heavy oak railing of the third-floor balcony, leaning her upper body dangerously far over the edge. “Sister, even if the family doesn’t like you, there’s no need to take your anger out on me!” she screamed. “Anna!” Two panicked voices shouted in unison from the stairs. Preston and Declan sprinted up the marble steps like their lives depended on it. Without a single question, Preston shoved me violently out of the way. “What the hell are you doing to her?!” He shoved me with a terrifying amount of force. I lost my footing and crashed hard into the sharp edge of a mahogany console table. “It’s all my fault! I lost my balance, please don’t blame my sister…” Anna sobbed beautifully, making absolutely sure to frame me while playing the saint. Declan glared at me with pure disgust. “I cannot believe how vicious you are!” “Anna already feels guilty for taking your place, and you try to push her over a balcony? If we knew you were this deranged, we never would have brought you back from the gutter!” I pressed a hand against my ribs. A dull, throbbing pain radiated through my side. Preston stepped toward me, casting a massive shadow, his voice cold and authoritative. “Apologize to her right now.” My vision blurred slightly from the pain. Preston rubbed his temples, his tone dropping even lower. “I know you resent Anna.” “But you crossed a line today. You made a mistake, and you are going to own up to it. Apologize.” My two older brothers stood like heavily armed guards in front of Anna. Biologically, we shared the same blood. But in their eyes, Anna was the only sister they had. The physical pain in my side was quickly swallowed by a freezing, numbing realization. It didn’t matter. None of these people mattered. Combined, they weren’t worth a single strand of my mother’s hair. I didn’t need to waste my emotional energy on them. Declan scoffed, looking down his nose at me. “Look at her. Zero class. Zero manners.” “Just like uneducated trash. Raised by a rat, acts like a rat.” That crossed a line. The temperature in my eyes plummeted to absolute zero. “I think you need to go to a clinic and get a DNA test.” Declan looked at me in shock. I pointed directly at the weeping girl trembling behind him. “You better run a full panel. Because the way you’re acting, I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re a delusional counterfeit just like her.” “Watch your damn mouth!” Declan roared, stepping forward. I took a step back, walked into my bedroom, and slammed the heavy door right in their faces. Instantly, fists began pounding fiercely against the wood. The muffled screaming leaked through the walls. “You only have the guts to act like a psychopath because Mom is out of town!” “Anna has been nothing but kind to you! Are you trying to drive her to suicide?!” “When Mom gets back, I am telling her exactly what kind of monster you really are! Let’s see how long you last here!” I leaned against the door, slowly sliding down until I was sitting on the floor. I pulled my phone out of my pocket. If someone was going to tell my mother about this, it was going to be me. I hit speed dial. The line connected on the second ring. When we first met, my mother’s tone on the phone was always polite, a little distant, full of careful guilt. Now, she was entirely used to my clingy, constant need for attention. Before Victoria could even say hello, the violent pounding and the muffled curses from the hallway echoed through the speaker. Her breath hitched. The authority returned to her voice instantly. “Serena, what is going on over there?” “They said… they said I’m uneducated trash. They said nobody in this family will ever actually love me.” “If you hate me too, Mom, then I can just pack my bags and leave…” My voice shook perfectly. Three parts genuine sadness, seven parts pure manipulation. I had just watched Anna deliver an Oscar-worthy performance. I was a fast learner. Victoria didn’t erupt into anger. Instead, her voice turned dangerously quiet and serious. “I hear you, sweetheart. Stay in your room. I will deal with this the second I get home.” A rush of pure, sugary adrenaline hit my bloodstream. But my celebration was cut short. I heard Victoria let out a heavy, conflicted sigh. “Anna is a good girl at heart. We raised her for eighteen years. We’ve always viewed her as our own flesh and blood.” “I really just want all of my children to get along.” I lowered my eyes. I responded with a soft, incredibly gentle voice. “Of course, Mom.” “Whatever you want.” If they stop acting like rabid dogs, I can play nice. Click. The lock on my bedroom door was suddenly picked from the outside. The handle turned, and the door was thrown open. Anna saw the phone pressed to my ear, and her eyes lit up like fireworks. She practically lunged at me, grabbing my wrist, staring at the screen that clearly read “Mom.” “I knew it! Look! I told you!” she screamed over her shoulder to Preston and Declan. “Every time Mom leaves for a business trip, she calls that trashy foster mother to beg for comfort!” The grip on my wrist was so tight it left red crescent moon indentations in my skin. Anna stared down at me, overflowing with vindictive glee. “Sister, if you miss your precious foster mommy so much, why don’t you just go back to the trailer park? Why are you still leeching off us?” Preston stood in the doorway, his arms crossed, looking at me with pure disgust. A flicker of dark amusement flashed across my eyes. I spoke calmly. “Who said I was talking to my foster mother?” Declan clicked his tongue. “Look at her, caught red-handed and still lying through her teeth.” Anna’s smile widened into something truly ugly. “You really don’t know anything about this family, do you? When Mom is on a business trip, she turns off her personal phone. She only answers the corporate line.” “Besides that gold-digging woman who raised you, who else are you pathetically calling ‘Mom’?” “Serena, you are an ungrateful, bloodsucking parasite.” I just sat on the floor, staring up at her, my expression completely serene. Anna looked at my face, and a sudden, violent spike of panic hit her chest. A second later, from the speaker of the phone tightly clutched in my hand, a voice she knew better than her own echoed into the silent room. “Anna. Who exactly are you calling a parasite?” All the blood instantly drained from Anna’s face.

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1 Three years of marriage, and I finally figured it out. Every single way my husband showed his love for me was something Suzie taught him. The flowers I liked? Suzie told him. The foods I couldn’t eat? Suzie reminded him. Even the restaurant for our very first date was booked by Suzie. He knew me only because Suzie knew me. He loved me only because Suzie didn’t love him. Last month, Suzie got a divorce. Suddenly, Gary couldn’t sleep. He spent his nights taking endless, hushed phone calls, constantly murmuring, “Suzie’s having a really hard time lately.” Then his mother stopped by, carrying two bags. One was for me, and the other was “just to drop off at Suzie’s on the way.” The package for Suzie was a fresh, homemade peach cobbler, still warm from the oven. Mine was a box of cheap, store-brand sandwich cookies from the grocery store. That night, as I sat in front of the vanity mirror staring at my reflection, a bitter truth echoed in my mind: “You are the one he married. She is the one he keeps in his heart.” I unlocked my phone, opened the real estate app, and looked at the listing page of our house, which I had bookmarked weeks ago. Before going to bed, I clicked submit to put it up for sale. It was time to cut the ties. Our first spring as husband and wife, Gary brought home a bouquet of white magnolias. Holding the delicate blossoms, a rare warmth bloomed in my chest. Then he took a photo of the flowers and posted it online. Suzie commented almost immediately: “White magnolias. Perfect choice. I knew she’d love them.” I stared at that comment for what felt like hours. So that was it. I quietly arranged the flowers in a vase and said nothing. Later that night, while Gary was in the shower, I picked up his phone. I wasn’t looking for a smoking gun of an affair. I just needed to confirm a nagging suspicion. I scrolled up through his chat history with Suzie, all the way back to when we first started dating. Suzie: “She loves white magnolias. Skip the roses, she thinks they’re too cliché. Got it?” Gary: “Yeah.” Further up, another one: “She’s allergic to seafood, especially shrimp. Do not take her to sushi bars.” “She’s afraid of the dark. Make sure there’s a nightlight.” “Don’t hug her unexpectedly from behind. It startles her.” One by one, they went on. A curated instruction manual written entirely by Suzie. Exactly twenty-three rules on how to love me. I slipped the phone back onto the nightstand, lay down, and stared blankly at the ceiling. Gary stepped out of the bathroom, bringing the damp, warm scent of his shower with him as he slid under the covers. “Tired?” he murmured. “Yeah.” He turned on his side, gently stroking my hair in a slow, rhythmic way he thought I loved. I closed my eyes, silent. Even this gesture, I suspected, was something she had taught him. Our three years of marriage weren’t terrible. Gary didn’t have a bad temper, he didn’t drink, he transferred his paycheck to our shared account on time every month, and he always accompanied me to the grocery store on weekends. My friends constantly told me how lucky I was. But day by day, a cold truth crystallized in my mind. Every ounce of his thoughtfulness had a blueprint. And Suzie was the architect. Once, at a company dinner, a dish with shrimp was placed on the table. The colleague sitting next to me asked, “Can you eat shrimp, Nora?” Before I could even open my mouth, Gary interjected, “No, she can’t. She’s highly allergic.” The colleague beamed at him. “Wow, what a sweet husband.” Gary offered a modest smile and said nothing. I forced a smile of my own and kept sipping my soup. He remembered. But how he came to remember was a secret only the two of us truly held. Suzie was our mutual friend, the matchmaker who had brought us together. She was beautiful, bright, the kind of woman who effortlessly commanded any room she walked into. I had known her for seven years and genuinely believed we were close friends. Until one afternoon, when I accidentally overheard her on the phone with Gary. “You need to treat her right,” she was saying. “Nora’s the type who needs real devotion to feel safe, or she’ll walk away.” Her tone was careful, clinical, like a manager handing off a delicate assignment. I stood frozen in the hallway. A sudden breeze swept through the open window, chilling me to the bone. Last month, Suzie and Brandon finalized their divorce. Gary was the one who broke the news to me. He sat on the couch that evening, his face an unreadable mask of worry and restlessness. After a long silence, he finally spoke. “Suzie and Brandon are done. It’s official.” I was at the kitchen sink, rinsing the dinner dishes. “Oh. Okay.” The clinking of ceramic and silverware echoed loudly in the small kitchen. Gary fell silent, but he tossed and turned all night. I knew, because I lay wide awake beside him. After that, Gary’s phone began to light up constantly. Eleven at night, midnight, sometimes past one in the morning. Whenever I rolled over, I would see her name flashing across the screen. Sometimes he answered. He would slip out of bed, quiet as a ghost, and step out onto the balcony, sliding the glass door shut behind him. I lay there in the dark, listening to the muffled murmur of his voice through the glass. I couldn’t make out the words, but his tone was incredibly soft, incredibly patient. A tone he rarely used with me anymore. His mother visited last week. She walked in carrying two shopping bags. One she tossed onto the coffee table; the other she kept tightly in her grip, explaining she was dropping it off at Suzie’s. “Suzie’s all alone now, poor thing,” she said with a heavy sigh. “I baked her some peach cobbler to cheer her up.” She nodded toward the bag on the table. “Yours is in there. Just some cookies from the supermarket. You young people love that stuff, right?” I peered inside the bag. It was a box of generic, store-brand cream sandwich cookies. The clearance sticker read $1.99. His mother was already heading out the door, cobbler in hand. She turned to Gary before leaving. “Gary, make sure you check in on Suzie. She has no one else right now.” “I will,” Gary replied softly. When the front door clicked shut, I was still sitting on the sofa, clutching that cheap box of cookies. A tiny label on the back caught my eye: Best before: Six months. For some reason, I felt a hysterical urge to laugh. That night, I sat alone in front of the mirror, wiping off my makeup. My eyes looked tired, the corners of my mouth pulling downward. Suddenly, a memory from before our wedding surfaced. Suzie had taken my hands in hers, smiling warmly. “I’m so glad you’re marrying Gary, Nora. He’s a good man. He’ll take such good care of you.” I had been so touched back then, believing she was genuinely happy for us. Now, looking back, the words felt dripping with a different meaning. He will take good care of you… As long as I keep telling him how. The day I officially listed our house, Gary wasn’t home. He had told me he was helping Suzie finalize her divorce paperwork and pack up a few boxes of books. I had simply smiled, said okay, and watched him leave. Then I unlocked my phone, opened the real estate app, and filled out the listing form. My hand didn’t tremble when I pressed submit. The truth was, this wasn’t a snap decision. I hadn’t decided to leave on the day Suzie got divorced, or even the day his mother handed me those cheap cookies. It happened much earlier, on a cold, ordinary Tuesday afternoon. I had a high fever, shivering alone under the blankets with my temperature spiking to 101.3. I texted Gary, asking if he could come home early. His reply was brief: Suzie has a bit of an emergency today. I’m going to be late. Just walk down to the drugstore and grab some ibuprofen. I stared at the screen and never wrote back. Instead, I dragged myself out of bed, threw on a heavy coat, and walked to the pharmacy myself. On the walk back, the freezing wind made my eyes sting. Waiting at the crosswalk among a sea of rushing commuters, surrounded by strangers who didn’t care if I lived or died, the realization washed over me. In this marriage, I had always been entirely on my own. The real estate agent called back quickly, asking a few routine questions and promising to schedule some viewings soon. I hung up and began mentally cataloging my belongings. There wasn’t much to pack. A few changes of clothes, some favorite books, the jade bracelet my mother had given me, and my bank documents. Everything else was noise. Gary returned around nine that night, holding a takeout container of homemade lasagna. He said Suzie had made extra and insisted he bring some back for me. “She knows it’s your favorite,” he said, setting the container on the dining table. I stared at the plastic box, making no move to touch a fork. “I’m not hungry.” Gary frowned, sitting across from me and examining my face. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing. I’m just tired.” He didn’t probe further. He scrolled through his phone for a few minutes before heading to his study. I remained at the table, staring at the lasagna. He didn’t even see the problem with bringing me food cooked by Suzie. Or maybe he just couldn’t comprehend how deeply insulting it was. The potential buyers came on Saturday morning. It was a young couple with a toddler around three or four years old. Gary had left early that morning, claiming he needed to help Suzie move her furniture. I showed the couple around, leading them through the master bedroom, the study, and the kitchen, acting as a polite, detached guide. They loved the place, noting the abundant natural light and the practical layout. They asked why I was selling. “Just looking for a change of scenery,” I said simply. They nodded, satisfied with the answer. As they left, the little boy turned back to wave and smile at me before his mother guided him into the elevator. The metal doors slid shut, plunging the hallway into silence. I stood in the doorway and checked my phone. Gary had texted: Suzie’s place is taking longer than expected. Just grab something for lunch yourself. A second message followed: Oh, by the way, Suzie says there’s a great little bistro near her new apartment. I’ll take you there tonight. I set the phone screen-down on the coffee table. I went back to the bedroom, opened the closet, and began folding my clothes into a suitcase. I only took what was in season, just enough to get by. My mother’s jade bracelet was wrapped carefully in an old sweater and tucked securely at the bottom of the case. Leaving the rest behind didn’t feel like a loss. Gripping the handle of my suitcase, I stood at the threshold and took one last look at the apartment we had shared for three years. The beige walls, the dark mahogany furniture he loved, the dim bedside lamp he had refused to replace despite my complaints. Everything reflected his taste, curated in a style Suzie had picked out for him. There was not a single trace of me in this home. I turned the handle and walked out. Just as I reached the lobby, a notification popped up on my phone. Suzie had posted in our group chat. It was a photo of her new living room, sunlight streaming through sheer white curtains. A fresh start. So grateful to have you both in my life. A string of heart emojis followed. Gary replied instantly: Looks beautiful. Feels like a real home already. Then, he sent me a private message. Nora, can you send Suzie a quick text? If you’re the only one who doesn’t reply, she’s going to feel down. I stared at the screen, a dry, humorless laugh escaping my throat. Within seconds, I left the group chat and blocked both of them. I was done being an afterthought.

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