Category: English

It was Children’s Day, and for the first time, my wife, Camille, had actually agreed to help me pick up our daughter from school. Lucy had been begging for weeks, and Camille had finally relented, though she looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. As the teacher led Lucy out, she caught Camille’s eye and paused, a flicker of confusion crossing her face. “Oh, Lucy’s mom! You’re finally here for her,” the teacher said, her tone carrying a hint of casual judgment. “It’s funny—whenever you’re picking up your son, you’re here thirty minutes early, rain or shine. I was starting to wonder if Lucy was the middle child or something. You can’t let the boy have all the attention, you know?” The umbrella slipped from Camille’s hand. It hit the pavement with a dull thud, splashing muddy water all over my shins. I stood there, holding Lucy—who was shivering in my arms, her faded, second-hand school hoodie two sizes too small—and looked at my wife. My skin went cold. We only had one child. We only had Lucy. Who the hell was this son? Camille’s body went rigid. Her voice came out thin and trembling. “What are you talking about? I don’t have a son!” The teacher frowned, pointing toward the Pre-K classroom next door. “How could I be mistaken? Just this morning, you brought in a whole crate of luxury organic cherries for Parker’s class to share. You were wearing that same trench coat.” Camille’s face went a sickly shade of porcelain white. She grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin as she tried to shove me toward the car. “She’s confused, Dan. She’s got the wrong person. Let’s just go. Lucy needs to get home.” I reached out, my fingers steady as I tucked a stray, wet lock of hair behind her ear. My voice was a whisper. “What’s the rush?” I turned back to the bewildered teacher and forced a polite, jagged smile. “Actually, would you mind showing me the way?” I asked. “I’d love to see my wife’s other life. I want to see what a ‘perfect mother’ she is when I’m not around.” … The teacher led the way, her heels clicking rhythmically against the polished linoleum floors. Camille stood frozen at the entrance. I didn’t wait for her. I adjusted Lucy in my arms; she felt so light, so fragile. Her sleeves were frayed at the cuffs, exposing her thin, pale wrists. She buried her face into the crook of my neck, her small frame still vibrating from the chill of the rain. “Come on, Camille,” I called back, my voice devoid of emotion. “Let’s go.” Camille wiped the rain from her face, her lips quivering. “Dan, please. This is a mistake. These teachers are overworked; they see hundreds of parents. She’s got me mixed up with some client’s wife or something.” She reached for my sleeve again, but I pivoted, stepping out of her reach. “Then let’s go clarify it,” I said. “Maybe your client’s kid is named Parker, too.” The teacher looked back at us, her brow furrowed. “Parker’s mom? He’s right in here. They’re just finishing their afternoon snack.” Camille swallowed hard. I could see the panic vibrating in her throat. She followed me, silent now, like a ghost haunting her own life. The hallway felt endless, lined with bright finger paintings and construction-paper suns. The teacher stopped at a glass-paned door and pointed. “There. That’s Parker.” I looked through the glass. The room was warm and brightly lit. A group of children sat around a circular table, dressed in clothes that looked like they belonged in a catalog. In the center sat a little boy in a sharp, navy blue blazer, his hair perfectly coiffed with styling gel. He was holding a cherry—the size of a golf ball, a deep, expensive crimson—and popping it into his mouth. Lucy shifted in my arms. “Daddy,” she whispered, her voice small and envious. “I want one too.” A sharp ache twisted in my chest. I rubbed her back gently. “Camille, those cherries… didn’t you say you bought those for a high-end client?” Camille stayed in the shadows of the hallway, refusing to step into the light of the classroom. “I did… maybe the client’s son goes here. It’s a common name.” Right then, the boy looked up. His eyes locked onto Camille through the glass. They lit up instantly. He scrambled off his chair, his little legs moving fast as he bolted toward the door. “Mommy!” The word was high, clear, and unmistakable. It sliced through the air like a razor. Camille froze. Inside the room, a young teacher looked over and smiled. “Oh, Parker’s mom is here to pick him up! Good timing.” The boy threw himself at Camille’s legs, wrapping his arms around her knees. “Mommy, you’re late! Uncle Jackson said you were taking us for pizza!” Camille instinctively tried to block the boy from my sight, her eyes darting around like a trapped animal. “It’s not… Dan, I can explain.” She tried to peel the boy off her, her movements frantic and clumsy. She pushed a little too hard, and the boy lost his balance, landing hard on his bottom. The silence of the hallway was shattered by his sudden, piercing wail. Camille reached down to help him, then yanked her hand back as if he were made of hot coals. From the far end of the hall, I heard the heavy thud of footsteps. A man in a tailored black blazer came charging toward us. He scooped the boy up, dusting off his expensive trousers with practiced, fatherly care. “What happened, buddy? You okay?” The man looked up. His face was groomed, handsome, and hauntingly familiar. It was Jackson. Camille’s “distant cousin.” The one who had moved to the city three years ago looking for work. The one we had helped out with “loans” that were never repaid. Jackson’s eyes landed on Camille, and his expression softened into something intimate. “Camille, why did you let him fall?” Then, his gaze shifted to me. His face went ashen. He clutched the boy tighter, a forced, tight smile appearing on his lips. “Dan… hey. I didn’t know you were coming today.” Lucy coughed—a wet, rattling sound. I held her closer, staring at the three of them. My wife in her designer coat, the man in his sharp suit, the boy in his miniature luxury wardrobe. And then there was me and my daughter, soaked to the bone, dressed in rags, looking like intruders in someone else’s perfect life. Camille started to babble, her voice rising in pitch. I didn’t let her finish. I turned on my heel and walked away. “We’re going home. Now.” The car heater was blasting, but the air felt like ice. Camille gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles were white. The windshield wipers beat a rhythmic, agonizing tempo against the glass. Lucy was buckled into her seat in the back, wrapped in my damp jacket, her small body still shaking. Camille glanced in the rearview mirror, her brow knitting together in annoyance. “Can you tell her to keep her feet off the leather? This car is a nightmare to detail.” I ignored her, using a napkin to pat the moisture from Lucy’s hair. “She has a fever.” I touched Lucy’s forehead; it was burning. Camille sighed, an ugly, impatient sound. “Kids get wet, Dan. It’s a cold, not a tragedy. She’ll sleep it off.” “Parker didn’t look like he had to ‘sleep anything off,’” I said quietly. “Where’d he get that blazer, Camille? It looked custom.” Camille slammed on the brakes. The car jerked, and my head snapped forward, grazing the headrest. A chorus of horns erupted behind us. She hit the gas again, her words coming out in a frantic blur. “I told you, Jackson is a mess! He had a kid out of wedlock, the mother ran off, and I’ve been helping him. The kid is starved for affection. He calls every woman ‘Mommy.’ It’s a psychological thing. You’re going to get mad at a toddler?” “And the cherries?” “The client didn’t want them. I didn’t want them to go to waste, so I gave them to Jackson. You know we have a mortgage, Dan. We can’t afford to be eating fifty-dollar crates of fruit ourselves.” I looked out the window at the blurred streetlights. Lucy’s hoodie was so thin the fabric was almost translucent. Last month, I’d told Camille that Lucy had outgrown everything and needed a new wardrobe. Camille had told me: “She’s growing too fast, Dan. It’s a waste of money. My friend has a daughter a few years older; she’s giving us a bag of hand-me-downs. It’s fine.” So Lucy wore the hand-me-downs. While Parker wore tailored blazers and ate organic cherries. We pulled into the parking garage. Camille killed the engine and unbuckled her seatbelt. “Look, stop the silent treatment. Jackson’s had it rough, and I’m just being a good person. I’ll make dinner tonight, okay? Your favorite. Let’s just move past this.” She reached into the back to touch Lucy. Lucy shrank away, pressing herself into the corner of the car seat. Camille’s hand hovered in the air, awkward and cold, before she pulled it back. “Fine. Be that way. She’s always been more yours than mine anyway.” Inside the house, Camille disappeared into the kitchen. I took Lucy to the living room and checked her temperature. 101.3. We were out of children’s Tylenol. I went into the home office, hoping to find the first-aid kit. Camille usually kept the office locked—”company secrets,” she said. But in her haste today, the door was slightly ajar. I started rummaging through the desk drawers. No medicine. But my fingers brushed against something hard and plastic. I pulled it out. It was a Disney World VIP Gold Pass. The photo on the back showed three people: Jackson, Parker, and a beaming Camille. They were leaning into each other, the Cinderella Castle sparkling behind them. Tucked behind the card was a receipt from the same trip. The date was last Saturday. Lucy’s birthday. Camille had told me she had an emergency project at the firm. Lucy had waited until midnight for her mother to come home, eventually falling asleep at the kitchen table next to a cold piece of toast. I looked at the itemized list on the receipt. Prince Charming Costume: $450. Custom Leather Shoes: $210. Luxury Seafood Buffet for 3: $380. Total: $2,140. My hands began to shake. That night, Camille had come home after 1:00 AM. She had brought a tiny, smashed cupcake she said she’d bought at a 7-Eleven. She had hugged me, looking exhausted, and whispered, “The firm is struggling, honey. Bonuses are frozen. We have to pinch every penny for Lucy’s future. We’ll celebrate her birthday properly when things get better.” And I had believed her. I had taken the extra coding freelance work I did at night and funneled every cent into her account, while I wore the same three t-shirts for four years. The office door swung open. Camille stood there, still wearing her apron, a spatula in her hand. Her face transformed when she saw what I was holding. “Who gave you permission to go through my things?” She lunged for the card and the receipt, nearly poking me in the eye with the spatula. She crumpled the paper into a ball and shoved the card into her pocket. “It was for work! The client’s kid wanted to go to Disney, and I had to host. It’s networking, Dan! It’s how the world works!” I looked at her, and for the first time, I didn’t see my wife. I saw a stranger. “Was Lucy’s birthday ‘networking,’ Camille?” “What was I supposed to do? If I don’t work, we don’t have a house! We don’t have anything!” she shrieked. “I wouldn’t have to work so hard if you weren’t such a failure!” From the living room, Lucy let out a violent, hacking cough. I didn’t argue. I didn’t yell. I just walked past her. Lucy’s face was flushed a deep, angry red. She was curled on the sofa, gasping for air. “Daddy… it hurts…” I scooped her up. “We’re going to the ER.” Camille followed me to the door. “The ER? Are you insane? Do you know what the co-pay is for an after-hours visit? Just give her some herbal tea and put her to bed. Hospitals are scams; they’ll charge us five hundred bucks for a bandage.” I ignored her, wrapping Lucy in a thick blanket. Camille blocked the door. “Dan, stop being so dramatic. A fever isn’t going to kill her. When I was a kid, I had a 104 fever and I just slept it off. Stop wasting our money.” “Get out of my way.” My voice was so cold it seemed to startle her. She stepped aside, muttering under her breath about how “soft” I was. She didn’t put on her shoes. She didn’t grab her keys. She wasn’t coming. I didn’t expect her to. I carried my forty-pound daughter down the stairs, out into the rain, and waited twenty minutes for an Uber. By the time we reached the hospital, I was soaked through. Lucy was delirious, whispering for her mother. My tears mixed with the rain. They tasted like salt and regret. At the hospital, the diagnosis was quick: acute pneumonia. She needed an IV and overnight observation. I ran back and forth—registration, pharmacy, blood work. When the nurse went to start the IV, Lucy sobbed, reaching out into the empty air. “Mommy… I want Mommy…” The nurse looked at me, her eyes filled with pity. “Where is the mother, dear?” I looked at the floor. “She’s dead.” By 3:00 AM, the fever had finally started to break. Lucy was asleep in the pediatric ward. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a bank alert. [Transaction Alert: $5,200.00 spent at Riverside Private Pediatric Hospital.] The account was in my name, but Camille had the secondary card. That was Lucy’s college fund. I called her immediately. It rang for a long time before she picked up. Her voice was a hushed whisper, the background quiet—the sound of a private hallway. “What? It’s the middle of the night.” “Where are you?” “At home, sleeping. Obviously.” “Then explain the five-thousand-dollar charge at the private hospital across town.” There was a pause. A long, heavy silence. “Oh… that. I… I bought a premium insurance rider for Lucy. You know, since she’s so ‘sick.’ It’s a smart investment.” “At a private hospital? At 3:00 in the morning?” Camille’s voice turned sharp and defensive. “Ugh, fine! Jackson’s kid got sick too. He didn’t have the deposit for the private wing, so I lent it to him. He’ll pay me back tomorrow. God, why are you so small-minded?” Click. The line went dead. Lent it to him? Jackson didn’t have a job. He hadn’t had a job in three years. I opened a burner Instagram account I’d made months ago to keep tabs on her “work” trips. I checked her “Close Friends” story. Posted five minutes ago: A photo of a small hand with an IV, but the room was a luxury suite with a view of the city skyline. The caption: [My brave little soldier. Mommy will never leave your side.]

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My husband told me he was a fugitive. He claimed he didn’t want to drag me down with him, so he was going to turn himself in. He told me to find a better man and move on. In my past life, my heart broke for him. I spent decades pinching pennies, living on scraps just to provide for our son and support him while he was behind bars. I waited until my hair turned white, only to see him strolling down the street, hand-in-hand with the “one who got away,” buying her vintage Hermès and Chanel like money was water. That was when I realized his “prison sentence” was nothing but a vanishing act to scrub me and our home from his life. I opened my eyes, and I was back. Back to the very day he sat me down to confess his life as a wanted man. This time, I didn’t cry. I called the police and handed over every scrap of real evidence I found in his desk. You love playing the convict so much? Fine. Let’s make it official. Let’s see how you like prison food for the rest of your life. 1. “Babe, I’m so sorry. We’ve been married all these years, and there’s something I’ve been keeping from you. I can’t live with the guilt anymore. It’s eating me alive.” Across the dinner table, Mark looked at me, his face a mask of practiced agony. My heart gave a violent skip. I looked around the room—the chipped paint on the crown molding, the smell of burnt pot roast—and realized I was back. I had been reborn into the exact moment he began his elaborate lie. Looking at his treacherous, handsome face, I felt a surge of pure nausea. Mark buried his face in his hands, his voice muffled by fake sobs. “I’m a criminal, Natalie. When I was eighteen, I was stupid. Desperate. I robbed a place… a man died because of me. He left behind a wife and a kid who had to survive on nothing. I need to atone for that blood on my hands.” He reached across the table, his fingers trembling as he gripped mine. “You’ll stand by me, won’t you? Please tell me you understand.” At the table, our son, Ben, and my mother-in-law, Diane, sat perfectly still. Not a single person looked shocked. Not a single person looked scared. I almost wanted to laugh. They all knew. The whole family was in on the joke, and I was the punchline. In my previous life, to help him “atone,” I spent every holiday groveling at the “victim’s” door, offering what little money I had—money meant for my own children’s future—to buy gifts for that family while I lived on stale bread and pickles. I didn’t find out until the day I died that the “victim” I was subsidizing was actually his high school sweetheart, and the “poor orphan” was his secret illegitimate son. The memory of their private messages—laughing about how “clueless and pathetic” I was for working myself to the bone for them—burned in my throat like acid. Diane suddenly clutched her chest, letting out a dramatic wail. “Oh, the shame! The shame! The Miller family has always been respectable! How could you do this, you foolish boy? A life on your hands? That’s it. I’m taking you to the station myself. We’re ending this tonight.” She stood up, hauling Mark by the arm as if she were dragging him to his execution. 2. Mark squeezed my hand one last time, his eyes brimming with performative depth. “I’m sorry, Natalie. It’s all on you now. Take care of Ben.” He turned to leave. My pulse hammered. I put on my best “shattered wife” face and cried out, “Mom, wait! Even if he did something wrong, he’s still your son!” I wiped a fake tear. “Let me take him. I have a friend who’s a high-profile defense attorney. Maybe we can find a way to get the charges reduced, or at least negotiate a plea.” I was lying through my teeth. I didn’t know a single lawyer. I just wanted to see them squirm. “No!” The rejection was instantaneous and synchronized. Both Mark and Diane barked the word at the same time. Diane cleared her throat, her expression shifting into a strained smile. “Natalie, honey, your back has been bothering you all day. The drive is long and stressful. We’ll handle the paperwork. Stay here with Ben.” I tilted my head, narrowing my eyes. “Mom, you’re being so insistent. You’re making me think Mark is making this all up just to mess with me.” At the mention of “lying,” Ben looked down at his plate, refusing to meet my eyes. Diane’s face hardened into a scowl. “How can you say that? Your husband is trying to save his soul, and you’re accusing him of playing games? You’re just looking for an excuse to abandon him!” Mark looked wounded. “Natalie, I know raising Ben alone is a lot to ask, but why would I lie about something this horrific?” He took a deep breath, looking like a man ready to walk into a firing squad. “Natalie, after I’m gone… you should move on. Remarry. Leave Ben with my mother. I won’t have you shackled to a prisoner. I’ve already left the divorce papers on the desk.” “Daddy… don’t leave me!” Ben wailed, hugging Mark’s leg. It was a goddamn masterpiece. If I weren’t the one being fleeced, I would have given them a standing ovation. Oscar-worthy performances all around. I nodded slowly, pulling out my phone. “You’re right. It’s too much for Mom to handle. I’ll just call the police right now. They can come pick him up. It’ll save everyone a trip.” 3. Mark’s face went pale. He shot a frantic look at Diane. Diane jumped like she’d been prodded with a cattle prod. “Natalie’s right,” she stammered, pivoting wildly. “Wait—no. I mean, Natalie, you rest. I’ll take him to the victim’s house first to apologize. It’s the right thing to do before the sirens start.” They were desperate to keep me away. I nodded, pretending to be overcome with grief, and retreated into the bedroom. I needed time. The clock was ticking. I checked my bank app. My pre-marital savings—fifty thousand dollars—were still there. I immediately moved them to a private account he couldn’t touch. Then, I started tossing the room. One of our joint cards was missing. All our shared income, our “future” for Ben, was tied to that card. Gone. A cold dread settled in my stomach. I checked my jewelry box. My grandmother’s gold bracelet, my designer bags, my luxury watches—all replaced with high-quality fakes. The bastard. He hadn’t just planned to leave; he’d planned to strip-mine my life. He wanted me to pay “restitution” to his mistress, raise his kid, and take care of his mother while he lived it up with the loot from my own closet. I picked up the phone and dialed a private investigator I’d looked up online. “I need a full workup on a woman named Valerie Thorne,” I whispered. “And I need it fast.” I lay on the bed, my mind racing, until the bedroom door was slammed open. Diane was there, heaving, looking like she was about to faint. “She wouldn’t let him come back! That woman… she called the cops the moment we got there! They took my boy! They took Mark away!” Ben ran out of his room, sobbing. “Daddy! I want my Daddy!” I threw myself onto the floor, wailing with a theatricality that would have made Diane proud. “How can this be? Mark! How are we supposed to live without you?” Inside, I was beaming. The game was finally afoot. 4. The man had planned it all out: pretend to be “arrested” at the victim’s house so I wouldn’t go looking for him at the local precinct. “Mom,” I gasped, clutching her hand. “I have to see him. Take me to the station.” Diane backed away as if I were radioactive. “The officers said no visitors! He’s being processed. It’s high-security.” She wiped her eyes, her gaze darting toward Ben. “But Natalie, we have to think about his soul. We need to send money to that family. If they sign a waiver saying they forgive him, his sentence might be lighter.” She was laying it on thick, nodding at Ben to join in. “Mommy, please! Save Daddy!” the boy cried, clutching my skirt. I felt a chill. They were asking me to fund his honeymoon with Valerie. They thought I was the world’s biggest idiot. I nodded. “You’re right. Let me get my card.” I went back into the room. I saw the relief on Diane’s face through the crack in the door. I didn’t grab my card. I grabbed the folder of “evidence” Mark had been “keeping” in his desk—the fake documents he’d used to convince me of his crime. But tucked in the back, I found something real. I drove straight to the address of the “victim,” Valerie Thorne. When she opened the door, she looked the part of the grieving widow—sad eyes, messy hair—but she couldn’t hide the smug superiority in her gaze. “What are you doing here?” she snapped. “Haven’t you people done enough to us?” She was holding the hand of a thin, pale little girl. The performance was flawless. You’d think her world had actually ended. Diane, who had followed me, immediately dropped to her knees, sobbing at Valerie’s feet. “Valerie… please. We were wrong. I’ll do anything. Just please, find it in your heart to forgive my Mark.” She almost let the word “dear” slip out before “Mark.” It confirmed everything. Then Diane reached up and tried to pull me down to the floor with her. “Natalie, kneel! Beg her for your husband’s life!” 5. Are you kidding me? The wife apologizing to the mistress? Not in this lifetime. I wrenched my hand away. Diane lost her balance and hit the floor hard, letting out a sharp yelp of pain. I blinked, looking confused. “Mom, how did you know her name was Valerie?” Diane’s eyes went wide. She scrambled for an excuse. “I… I didn’t at first! Mark told me on the way over. He said we owed her everything. He told me to take care of Valerie.” Ben chimed in, “Yeah, Dad mentioned her before.” I looked at Ben, and my heart turned to stone. My son. He was lying to me for a new Lego set and a father who didn’t even want him. He was a little traitor in the making. I looked at the little girl standing behind Valerie. She was staring at me with wide, frightened eyes. She looked… hauntingly familiar. She looked exactly like I did in my childhood photos. A dark, terrifying suspicion began to take root in my gut. Valerie stepped forward, blocking my view of the girl. She sneered, “If you want me to drop the civil suit, I want half a million. Not a cent less. Or I’ll make sure he rots.” She slammed the door in our faces. Diane turned to me, her face contorted with desperation. “Natalie, please! Save him! I’ll be your slave for the rest of my life! He’s my only son!” She was wailing, but I knew the game. She was trying to guilt-trip me into emptying my savings. “Mom, stop it,” I said, lifting her up. “Mark is my husband. Of course I’m going to save him.” A flash of triumph crossed Diane’s face. Valerie, listening behind the door, must have felt the same. Then I pulled out the folder. “But you’re right, Mom. Mark wanted to be an honest man. I can’t let his sacrifice be in vain. These are the documents he mentioned—the evidence of his ‘crime.’ I’m going to take them to the police station right now so they have everything they need for the investigation. We shouldn’t make the detectives do extra work.” 6. I turned to walk away. Ben went white, trembling. Diane scrambled to block my path. Valerie threw the door back open, looking like a cornered animal. If I took that to the police, the “fake” robbery would become a very real investigation into their fraud. “Natalie, honey, go home and watch Ben,” Diane stammered. “I’ll take the papers. You’ve had such a long day. Here, have some water.” She handed me a plastic cup from the small table by the door. As I reached for it, I noticed a white, powdery residue at the bottom. Valerie chimed in, her voice shaking. “You know what? Maybe we don’t need the evidence. I… I’m sure it was an accident. I don’t want to be bitter.” An accident? A robbery-homicide was an “accident”? I set the water down, my voice ringing with righteous fury. “No, Valerie. I won’t let you be silenced. My husband has caused you so much pain. I know that if he were here, he’d want me to do the right thing.” I pulled out my phone and dialed 911 before they could stop me. “Hello? I’d like to report a confession. My husband, Mark Miller, just admitted to a 2003 cold case robbery and homicide. I have the evidence in my hand…” I ignored their screams. I hopped into a passing taxi. Diane and Valerie were pounding on the windows, screaming my name as the car pulled away. My phone started blowing up. “Natalie, if you go through with this, I will disown you!” Diane texted. “Natalie, let’s talk! We can figure this out! You don’t have to be so drastic! Come back!” Even Valerie was suddenly “forgiving,” pleading for me to stop. And then, a text from Mark’s “private” number: “Babe, don’t worry about the police. Just take care of Ben. I don’t want you stressed. Stay home.” The desperation was palpable. As the taxi sped toward the precinct, a single sheet of paper fell out of the folder. I picked it up. It was a DNA test. My hands shook as I read the results. The suspicion I’d felt earlier was confirmed. I looked up. We were at the station.

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I was the only man at the academy. When my predecessor finished handing over his responsibilities, he left me with a single sentence that hung in the humid air of the faculty lounge like a threat. “It’s paradise, Nick. But it’s also hell.” 1 Tyler Kent didn’t look back after he said it. He just shouldered his tattered duffel bag and walked out the gate. I stood there, rooted to the spot, my mind a complete blank. To be honest, I’d been in a daze ever since I signed the contract. I was a PE major, fresh out of state college with a resume that had been rejected by every suburban high school in the tri-state area. Verity Academy was the only place that called me back. It wasn’t until I arrived that I realized Verity was an all-girls boarding school. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Why would a private girls’ academy hire a male gym teacher? Even for athletics, wouldn’t they prefer a woman? But the salary was nearly double the market rate, and they provided a private studio apartment on campus. I told myself to stop looking a gift horse in the mouth. Take the win, Nick, I thought. Just do the job. When I first arrived, the Dean of Students, Vicky Russo, told me to shadow Tyler for the afternoon. The sight of him nearly made me jump. The man wasn’t just thin; he was haunting. His cheeks were hollowed out into deep craters, his eyes were ringed with bruised-looking shadows, and his lips were a ghostly, bloodless grey. He was over six feet tall, yet he looked like a skeleton draped in a thin, translucent layer of skin. My first thought was that he was terminal. Cancer, maybe. Or a serious addiction. Tyler was icy. He gave me the technical rundown—schedules, equipment keys, locker room protocols—but nothing else. Yet, I felt his eyes on me. Every time I turned my back or reached for a clipboard, I could feel his clouded, yellowing gaze tracing the lines of my shoulders. It made my skin crawl. As he finished the handover, Tyler gave me one last, lingering look. It was a jagged cocktail of envy, resentment, and a deep, vibrating fear I couldn’t yet name. “It’s paradise,” he repeated, his voice a raspy whisper. “But it’s also hell.” Then he limped away. I watched him go, thinking he’d clearly lost his mind. When you’re that sick, I figured, your brain starts playing tricks on you. I sat down at my new desk and stretched, trying to shake off the unease. I was excited, or at least I wanted to be. I started organizing my gear in the drawers. In the very bottom one, tucked under a stack of old rosters, I found a personnel file. It was Tyler’s. I opened it, expecting to see a man in his late forties. My heart skipped a beat. Tyler Kent was twenty-four. My age. I squinted at the paper, my blood turning to ice. His start date was only one month ago. Attached to the corner of the document was his headshot from the day he was hired. The man in the photo had a broad, dazzling smile and bright eyes. He was wearing a white tank top that showcased bronzed, powerful muscles—the kind of physique you only get from years of dedicated training. He looked like an Olympian. If I hadn’t seen the shell of the man who just left, I never would have believed they were the same person. A cold tremor started in my gut and worked its way up my spine. What could happen to a man in thirty days to turn him into a ghost? What kind of “paradise” did this to people? 2 I didn’t have time to dwell on it. The door creaked open, and Vicky Russo stepped in. “Come on, Nick. Your senior girls are waiting for their first session. Let’s not keep them standing around.” She reached out, her hand lingering on my forearm as she guided me toward the door. I felt a flush creep up my neck. Vicky was in her early thirties, possessing a lush, curated beauty. Her pencil skirt was tailored to perfection, hugging curves that felt almost distracting in a school setting. I wasn’t used to that kind of casual intimacy, especially not from a superior. Vicky noticed my hesitation and offered a small, knowing smirk. “We’re all adults here, Nick. No need to be so stiff.” She tilted her head, her eyes scanning my face. “If you’re blushing at me, you’re going to have a heart attack when you see the students.” I looked away, embarrassed. But she had a point. If I was going to survive in an environment surrounded by women, I needed to get my head in the game. As we walked toward the athletic complex, Vicky gave me the “Verity Pitch.” The school was a sanctuary, she said. Most of the girls were orphans or from foster systems—children of the state who had nowhere else to go. Verity was funded by the “Pure Virtue Foundation,” a massive charitable trust that covered every cent of their tuition, board, and healthcare. I felt a surge of genuine respect. In a world where everything has a price tag, a foundation dedicated to lifting girls out of poverty felt like a miracle. But then she mentioned the rules. Verity was a “closed campus.” No one left except for major holidays. If a student tried to sneak out, the punishment was “severe and non-negotiable.” The same applied to the staff. I looked up at the perimeter fence—twelve feet of chain link topped with coils of razor wire. Security cameras were tucked into every corner, and the female guards at the gate looked more like mercenaries than campus safety. “Vicky,” I asked, my voice low. “If someone actually breaks the rules… if they try to run… what kind of punishment are we talking about?” Vicky stopped walking. The air between us seemed to thicken. She looked at me, and for a split second, the polished mask slipped. Beneath the professional poise, I saw a flash of raw, jagged terror. “It’s better for everyone if you just don’t break them,” she said. The fear vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving me wondering if I’d imagined it. She pushed open the heavy double doors of the gymnasium. I stepped inside, and the world changed. 3 The gym was a cacophony of high-pitched chatter and the squeak of sneakers on hardwood. As the doors swung shut, the noise hit me like a physical wave. In the center of the court, about thirty girls were warming up. They were wearing fitted spandex shorts and tight athletic tops. Everywhere I looked, there was glowing, flawless skin and the fluid movement of young bodies. My breath hitched in my throat. Vicky clapped her hands sharply. “Line up!” The girls scrambled into a perfect formation, their eyes instantly locking onto me. “Ladies, meet your new Physical Education instructor, Mr. Nick Dawson.” Thirty voices chimed in a practiced, melodic unison that echoed off the high ceiling. “Good morning, Mr. Dawson! Welcome to Verity!” I felt the heat rise in my cheeks again. “Hi… uh, hello, everyone.” A few of the girls giggled, whispering to each other behind manicured hands. Vicky patted my shoulder, her smile unreadable. “Enjoy your first lesson, Nick.” The moment she left, the atmosphere shifted. The girls’ gazes became bolder, more predatory. I had changed into my own workout gear—a navy tank and shorts—and I could feel their eyes roaming over my arms and chest with an intensity that felt wrong. It wasn’t like being a teacher. It felt like being an exhibit. Or a piece of meat. I shook it off. Focus, Nick. First impressions are everything. I took a deep breath and stepped into the center of the circle. I led them through a series of deep stretches and rhythmic warm-ups. They were remarkably coordinated. But as I moved among them, I noticed something odd. Every single one of them had a “perfect” physique. Their skin was luminous, their muscle tone was impeccably balanced, and they moved with a strange, synchronized grace. It wasn’t just one or two girls; it was all of them. It felt statistically impossible to have a class of thirty girls who all looked like fitness models. I pushed the thought aside. We were doing a teamwork drill—the three-legged race. It was a classic for building core stability and communication. As I was handing out the Velcro straps, a girl stepped forward. “Mr. Dawson? I’m the class captain, Josie Hart.” Josie had a soft, round face and wide, innocent eyes that contrasted sharply with her athletic build. She was, by any standard, stunning. She walked right up to me and touched my arm, her voice a sugary pout. “We’ve never done this before. Would you mind showing us how it works? You know, as a demonstration?” I hesitated, then nodded. It was a good way to build rapport. “Sure, Josie. Let’s do it.” I knelt to strap my left leg to her right. As I did, Josie leaned in close—closer than she needed to. I caught a glimpse of the other girls’ faces. They weren’t cheering; they looked murderous. There was a palpable wave of jealousy and resentment directed at Josie just for being near me. I stood up, and Josie immediately clung to my arm for balance. She smelled… incredible. It wasn’t perfume. It was something deeper—a rich, intoxicating scent that made my head swim. “Ready?” I asked, my voice sounding strained. We took a few steps. I was trying to explain the mechanics of the stride, but Josie was heavy against my side. Suddenly, she tripped. She went down, pulling me with her. I landed hard, pinned directly on top of her. The scent—that strange, floral, musk-heavy aroma—exploded in my senses. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. My vision blurred. A voice in the back of my mind—dark and honey-thick—started whispering: Go ahead. Do it. Take what you want… I bit my tongue so hard I tasted copper. The sharp pain cleared the fog. I realized my hands were clamped around Josie’s waist, and my face was inches from hers. I scrambled back, my heart nearly leaping out of my chest. “I’m sorry! I—” I was terrified. This was it. First day, and I’d be fired for misconduct. If she complained, my career was over before it started. But Josie wasn’t angry. She looked… disappointed. Almost frustrated. The rest of the girls stood in eerie silence. They didn’t laugh or tease. They just watched us with those cold, hungry eyes. I somehow finished the class, moving like a robot. The moment the bell rang, I practically sprinted out of the gym. At the corridor corner, I ran into Vicky again. She leaned against the wall, watching me with a tilted head. “Class finished early, Nick?” I couldn’t meet her eyes. “Yeah. Just… getting the hang of things.” Vicky’s smile widened. It wasn’t a kind smile. “Don’t worry, Nick. You’ll have plenty of time to get close to the students. Go on, get some lunch. You’ll need your energy.” I made my way to the cafeteria, my nerves fried. As I walked through the doors, that smell hit me again. It was overpowering here, wafting from a large, steaming vat at the front of the serving line. Dozens of girls were lined up, holding out ceramic bowls for a ladle-full of a thick, amber-colored broth. I moved toward the vat, curious, but Vicky appeared out of nowhere and caught my elbow. “That’s the student menu, Nick. Staff dining is through those doors.” The faculty meal was decadent. Oysters, braised turtle, ginseng soup, and slow-roasted chicken. It was better than any five-star restaurant I’d ever been to. Vicky sat across from me, watching with eerie satisfaction as I ate every bite. “You’re done for the day, Nick,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “Explore the grounds. Head back to your room. Just stay away from the Shadow Wing at the back of the campus. It’s off-limits to everyone except authorized personnel. Clear?” Her eyes turned cold, a silent warning. I nodded. I spent the evening wandering the empty courtyards. By 6:00 PM, the campus felt like a ghost town. Not a single student was in sight. My feet eventually led me toward the Shadow Wing—a massive, windowless concrete block. The curtains were drawn tight over every glass pane. As I drew closer, I heard it. A faint, rhythmic sound. Moaning. It sounded like dozens of women, all crying out in unison. It was the sound of a fever dream. Were the girls in there? What was happening behind those thick walls? Curiosity overrode my fear. I crept toward a ground-floor window, looking for a gap in the curtains. Suddenly, a heavy hand slammed onto my shoulder. I nearly jumped out of my skin. Two female guards stood behind me, their faces grim, their hands resting on their holstered batons. “Mr. Dawson. You were told this area is restricted.” I stammered an apology, claiming I’d gotten lost in the dark. “Don’t let it happen again,” one of them barked. I retreated to my dorm, but the adrenaline wouldn’t subside. I lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, Josie’s scent still clinging to the back of my throat. Just as I was finally drifting off, a sharp, frantic knocking erupted at my door. “Mr. Dawson? Nick? Please… it’s Josie.”

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Saturday at noon, the buzzer rang. A lawyer was standing on my porch, looking crisp and out of place in my neighborhood. “Susie Beck has passed away,” she said, her voice practiced and neutral. “Her will names you as her sole beneficiary. It’s an estate valued at five million dollars.” Susie Beck. My ex-girlfriend. We’d been over for two years. The lawyer handed me a brass key. “She said there was something you had to collect in person.” When I got to her place, the wake was still in full swing. Her current boyfriend was draped over her casket, wailing for the benefit of the room. The second he saw me, he started screaming that I was there to rob the dead. I didn’t have the energy for him. I went upstairs. I pushed open the door to the study, and there she was—a girl, maybe five or six, with dark, searching eyes. She stared at me, unblinking. “Are you Ben? My mom said if she died, I was supposed to go with you.” 01 Saturday morning, the vents in my cramped apartment were humming with the smell of searing meat. I was standing over the stove, dropping cloves and a cinnamon stick into my beef stew—the secret she’d taught me. Then the doorbell rang. The woman outside was in her thirties, dressed in a sharp charcoal suit with a briefcase that screamed billable hours. she looked me up and down, then forced a professional smile. “Mr. Ben Bennett?” I didn’t answer. I just stared at the card she held out. Halloway & Associates. Diana Halloway, Senior Partner. “What is it?” “I am the executor of Susie Beck’s estate.” She paused, letting the name hang in the air like a ghost. “Her will names you as the sole heir. This includes the property, her vehicle, and liquid assets totaling approximately five million dollars. If you have a moment, we should discuss the details.” Susie Beck. I handed the card back and started to close the door. She wedged her hand against the frame. “Mr. Bennett, I realize this is a shock—” “A shock?” I looked at her, my heart thumping a jagged rhythm against my ribs. “I haven’t spoken to that woman in two years. You show up and tell me she left me five million dollars? Either she lost her mind, or you’ve got the wrong house.” Ms. Halloway didn’t flinch. She pulled a notarized document from her bag. “This is the will. You can verify the signature yourself.” I didn’t take it. “Why isn’t she here telling me this herself?” The lawyer went quiet for two beats. She looked up, her expression softening just a fraction. “Ms. Beck was killed in a car accident three days ago. The body has already been cremated.” The hallway went silent. Downstairs, a neighbor’s kid was crying. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed. I took the papers then. I flipped through them. The seal was real. The stamps were real. And that signature—I knew it better than my own. I used to sign for her packages all the time because she hated her own handwriting. She used to call it “chicken scratch.” “Why me?” I asked, closing the folder. “What about the guy she was with? Justin?” Ms. Halloway shook her head. “Mr. Justin Shaw was not mentioned in the will.” Justin Shaw. I’d heard the name. Two years ago, when Susie called to end things, I’d heard a man’s voice in the background calling her name. That was him. I shoved the papers back at her. “I don’t want the money. Give it to charity. Give it to him. I don’t care.” “Ms. Beck expected you to say that.” The lawyer reached into her bag again and produced a small, cream-colored envelope. It looked like it had been crumpled up and smoothed out a dozen times. Inside was a single slip of paper. One sentence. You always forget the cinnamon in the stew; who’s going to buy it for you when I’m gone? I gripped the paper so hard my nails dug into my palm. “Is there anything else?” Ms. Halloway hesitated, then handed me a brass key with a small tag: 1802. I knew that number. Susie used to say she wanted to live on the eighteenth floor because it felt like being closer to the clouds. I told her it was a long way to fall. She told me she liked the view. “When did it happen?” “Last Wednesday night. 10:47 PM. On the I-95. A single-vehicle accident. She hit the guardrail.” Last Wednesday. I’d been working late. My phone had buzzed around nine, but I thought it was a spam alert. I never checked it. After the lawyer left, I shut the door and went back to the kitchen. The stew had cooled, a thin layer of fat congealing on the surface. I turned the burner back on. I watched the bubbles start to break the surface, the scent of cinnamon rising in the steam. She remembered how I liked it. She remembered I hated cilantro. She remembered everything, except how to stay alive. 02 The moment the key turned in the lock, the door was pulled open from the inside. A thick cloud of incense and lilies hit me. The living room had been stripped of its furniture to make room for a makeshift shrine. In the center hung a black-and-white photo of Susie, surrounded by white roses. A man in a tailored black suit stood in the foyer. His eyes were red and puffy, but his hair was perfectly styled. He glared at me like I was a stray dog that had wandered into his yard. “What are you doing here?” Justin Shaw. The voice from the phone two years ago. I didn’t answer. I brushed past him. The room was full—distant relatives in black, business associates in expensive watches, and in the corner, a middle-aged couple. The woman was sobbing into a tissue; the man was staring at nothing, a dead cigarette in his hand. Susie’s parents. I’d met them once, three years ago, at a Thanksgiving dinner that felt like a lifetime ago. “I asked you a question!” Justin followed me, his voice rising. “Susie’s gone. You don’t get to show up now and play the grieving ex. Isn’t the inheritance enough for you?” The room went dead silent. Every head turned. I set the key down on the entry table. “I’m here for something she left me.” “Left you?” Justin let out a sharp, jagged laugh. His eyes were wild. “Nothing here is yours. You broke up two years ago! Two years! Do you have any idea what her life was like? Do you know—” He choked up, glancing at the photo. “The night she died, she was on her way to see me.” A murmur went through the crowd. Susie’s mother stood up and grabbed Justin’s hand. “Justin, don’t waste your breath on him. Susie was too kind for her own good. She left him a little something out of pity. Just think of it as a parting gift to a beggar.” I looked at her. She wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Ma’am,” I said quietly. “Your daughter is barely cold, and you’re already trying to play the saint with her money?” Her face flushed a deep, angry red. “How dare you!” “I’m just here for the truth.” I walked toward the stairs. “The lawyer gave me the key. Susie left me something. I’m taking it and leaving.” “Stop right there!” Justin lunged for my arm. “You’re not welcome here! Get out!” He was close enough that I could smell his cologne. It was a brand Susie had bought for me once. I’d told her it was too heavy, and she promised to get me something lighter next time. She never did. She just got a different man. “Justin,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “Your hair is out of place.” He instinctively reached up to touch his head. I used the second of distraction to slip past him and head up the stairs. The master bedroom door was open—a big bed, a walk-in closet, a framed photo of Justin on the nightstand. I kept walking. The door at the end of the hall was shut. I turned the knob. The room was small. A twin bed, a desk, a bookshelf. A computer sat on the desk, a thin layer of dust on the monitor. This was Susie’s sanctuary. When she used to stay at my place, she’d talk about having her own “think tank”—a room where she could shut the world out. I went to the desk and pulled the top drawer. Right on top was a photograph. It was us. Three years ago, at the coast. She’d dragged a stranger over to take it, saying we needed “official evidence” for our future wedding. In the photo, she’s beaming, her eyes crinkled at the corners, and I’m leaning into her, looking resigned but happy. Under the photo was a thick, bulging envelope. Before I could touch it, a scream erupted from downstairs. “Junie! Junie, stop!” Heavy footsteps pounded on the stairs. I turned as a small figure appeared in the doorway. She was five, maybe six. Thin. Her bangs were too long, obscuring half her brow. She wore a navy blue sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, revealing pale, spindly wrists. She looked at me with an intensity no child should have. “Are you Ben?” she asked. I slowly put the envelope down. “Do I know you?” She didn’t answer. She walked into the room and stood right in front of me, forcing me to look up. “My mom said if she died, I was supposed to go with you.” 03 I knelt so I was eye-level with her. “What exactly did your mom tell you?” She watched me, her pupils dark and vast. “She said you have a sharp tongue but a soft heart.” She paused. “She said you make the best beef stew.” The shouting downstairs was getting louder. Justin’s voice cracked as he hit the landing. “Junie! Get out of there right now!” The girl didn’t move. She glanced at the envelope in my hand, then back at me. “You should take those,” she said. “She wrote them for you.” “How do you know they’re for me?” “She wrote every night.” The girl pointed to the drawer. “She’d finish one and put it in there. She’s been doing it for six months.” I pulled the drawer open further. It was packed with envelopes, all stacked neatly, each marked with a date. Justin burst into the room, Susie’s mother right behind him. “Junie!” Justin grabbed her arm, yanking her back. “What are you doing? Come to Daddy.” Daddy? The girl stumbled, but she didn’t make a sound. She just looked at me—not for help, but with a strange, analytical gaze. Like she was verifying a fact. “Justin,” I said, standing up. “Is she yours?” Justin pulled the girl behind him. “She’s my daughter. What’s it to you? You want to try and steal her, too?” “I’m not trying to steal anything,” I said. “I’m just wondering why Susie’s will didn’t mention her.” Justin’s face went stiff. Susie’s mother stepped in, her voice frantic. “The girl belongs with Justin. They just hadn’t finalized the paperwork yet. You don’t put things like that in a will.” “Is that right?” I looked at the girl peeking out from behind Justin’s leg. “What’s your name, kid?” She opened her mouth, but Justin clamped a hand over it. “Stop talking to him! This is none of your business!” “Did you and Susie ever get married?” I asked. Justin didn’t say a word. “No,” I answered for him. “And if you aren’t married, how is she on the birth certificate? Whose last name does she have?” Susie’s mother looked at Justin, her eyes darting nervously. Justin gritted his teeth. “This is a family matter. Take your money and get out before I call the police.” Junie twisted out of his grip and stepped back toward me. Justin’s face turned a sickly shade of gray. “Junie!” The girl looked up at me. “My name is Daisy. My mom picked it.” “Daisy,” I repeated. “Your mom picked it?” She nodded. “Was she married to him?” She shook her head. “Then who’s your father?” She looked at Justin, then went silent. Justin lunged for her again, this time with force. His fingers dug into her small arm. Daisy winced, but she didn’t cry out. “Let her go,” I said. “Why should I?” “Because you’re hurting her.” “She’s my daughter. I’ll do what I want.” I stared at him. He stared back, his eyes bloodshot, his composure crumbling. Susie’s mother started pulling on his sleeve. “Justin, honey, let’s go downstairs. Let’s just let him leave.” Justin dragged Daisy toward the door, but she suddenly looked back at me. “My mom said if she died, I was supposed to be with you.” Her voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the room like a blade. Justin froze. Susie’s mother froze. I stood there, paralyzed. “Shut up!” Justin hissed. “Your mother was drunk when she said that. She didn’t mean it.” Daisy ignored him. She just kept her eyes on mine. “Will you take me?”

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I was moving to France for a prestigious faculty exchange, and Madeline was my biggest cheerleader. Everyone in our circle envied me. They told me I had the perfect partner, a woman who was even secretly planning a surprise wedding to celebrate my return. But then I found the files on her laptop—hundreds of petitions sent to the board, demanding the return of a specific male student from the same overseas program. The name on the wedding venue bookings wasn’t mine, either. I didn’t get angry. I didn’t even confront her. I simply offered them my silent blessing because, honestly, I had stopped caring. It was only when I vanished from her life that Madeline finally lost her mind at the altar. 1 “Oliver, are you absolutely sure about switching to the permanent tenure track in Lyon? And… have you talked to Madeline about the wedding date? It literally clashes with your flight.” I stared at Madeline’s computer screen, dazed by the sheer volume of wedding drafts. The other professors had whispered to me that she was planning a surprise, telling me to act surprised. Madeline herself had kept her lips sealed, and for a fleeting moment, I’d been touched. I thought she was finally making an effort for us. But every single draft featured the names Madeline and Daniel. My name was nowhere to be found. No wonder she had been so supportive of me taking the position in France. She wasn’t cheering for my career; she was trading me for Daniel’s return. I clenched my fists and took several deep, jagged breaths. Finally, I spoke with a hollowed-out certainty. “This wedding… it was never for me anyway. Keep the departure time as it is.” Eight years of devotion had led to this. If this was what her love looked like, I didn’t want it anymore. Just as I confirmed the ticket, my phone buzzed. It was Madeline. “How long do you expect everyone to wait for you, Oliver? I know it’s your send-off, but do you really have to pull the ‘Prince Charming’ act and show up late?” I looked at the clock. The party wasn’t scheduled to start for another thirty minutes. Her impatience had arrived well before the guests. I gave her a non-committal response and hung up. My eyes fell on our matching phone cases. A wave of nausea hit me. I had picked them out with such care, but Madeline had called them “tacky” and “unprofessional” for the department. She’d only agreed to use hers at home. Seeing it now just felt like a weight around my neck. I peeled it off, tossed it into the trash, and walked out the door. When I arrived, a colleague thrust a massive bouquet of roses into my arms, winking toward Madeline. “You really picked a winner, Oliver. She went all out for you!” Whenever she upset me, Madeline usually apologized with flowers. But this was different. Roses? She never gave me roses. Before I could say a word, my colleague excitedly pulled the card from the stems and read it aloud to the room. “Dearest Daniel, thank you for coming back to me. You make my life bloom like these roses. Love, Madeline.” The silence that followed was deafening. I felt my fingernails dig into my palms, the sharp sting of pain the only thing keeping me upright. “Oh, I think those were meant for me!” A set of footsteps approached. Daniel stopped right beside me, plucked the flowers from my hands, and took a deep, theatrical breath. “Madeline always did know I have a thing for red roses,” he said, beaming. Then he turned to me with a smug, knowing tilt of his head. “You must be the ‘best friend’ she mentioned. Thanks for the assist on the transfer, man. I owe you one for getting me back from France.” 2 I looked at those roses and felt a ghost of a laugh catch in my throat. I remembered a day when Madeline had accidentally smashed all our dinnerware. She hadn’t bothered to replace it, and when I came home late, exhausted and hungry, she realized she’d forgotten about me entirely. Guilt-ridden, she had run out in a torrential downpour and returned with a massive bunch of chrysanthemums. I had laughed then, telling her those were for funerals, teasing her about her lack of romantic intuition. But looking at the roses in Daniel’s hand, I realized it wasn’t a lack of intuition. It was a lack of intent. She hadn’t been “bad at romance” for eight years; she just hadn’t wanted to waste the good stuff on me. “Yeah,” I said, my voice eerily steady. “I’m her ‘best friend.’ Let me show you in.” The moment Madeline saw Daniel enter, she stood up, her eyes locked on him as if the rest of the room had dissolved. Her friend, Cassidy, sidled up to me, offering a pitying pat on the shoulder. “Oliver, don’t read too much into it. She just hasn’t seen Daniel in forever. Don’t be weird about it.” I waved her off with a casual shrug. “Why would I be weird? They look great together, don’t they?” Cassidy blinked, stunned. She was the one who had watched me crawl out of bed with a 103-degree fever to go buy Madeline hangover meds. She was the one who had taken my frantic midnight calls asking if she knew where Madeline was. As Madeline’s best friend, she had likely viewed me as little more than a placeholder for the last decade. Seeing she had nothing left to say, she drifted away awkwardly. A few minutes later, I noticed Madeline’s phone on the table. She had a plain white case on it now. On a whim, I nudged it. It wasn’t a case—it was a skin. And tucked underneath the translucent plastic was a small, red-backed passport photo of the two of them. My hands shook as I looked at it. In all our years together, there wasn’t a single photo of me in her phone. She’d always cooed that “we see each other every day, why do we need digital memories?” I had been stupid enough to believe her. But her laptop was a shrine to Daniel—thousands of photos from every conceivable angle. The realization didn’t break my heart; it simply extinguished it. The send-off party for me had officially morphed into a homecoming for Daniel. Madeline was a shadow at his side, laughing at his jokes, hovering over him, even intercepting his drinks. When I tried to maintain a polite smile, she pulled me aside, her voice sharp with unprovoked irritation. “Stop looking at him like that! Can’t you just be a gracious host? Is it so hard to be happy for someone else’s arrival?” The words hit like a physical blow. The sheer audacity of it—trading my life for his and then accusing me of being the small-minded one. Even though I was already halfway out the door, the sting of her blatant favoritism still tasted like ash. I didn’t want her to see me cry. I grabbed a margarita from a passing tray to hand to a colleague, but Madeline swiped it out of my hand, splashing it across the floor. With her other hand, she firmly covered Daniel’s eyes. “Daniel, don’t look! You know you can’t stand the sight of blood-red colors!” Daniel let out a charming chuckle and pulled her hand down, pinching her cheek playfully. “Maddie, that was a lie I told during a game of Truth or Dare in high school. I can’t believe you still remember that! You’re such a dork.” The tears came then, silent and hot. She remembered a high school lie from a decade ago, but she couldn’t remember a single thing about me. I hated the color blue, yet when we renovated the apartment, she painted the bedroom navy. She’d looked at me with genuine confusion when I pointed it out. “I thought you liked blue…” I had spent years telling myself she was just forgetful. I was too afraid to admit that she simply didn’t care to remember. Eight years is a long time to live with someone and leave absolutely no footprint in their world. Daniel walked over, patting Madeline on the back. “Oliver, don’t be mad. She gets like this when she drinks. I used to make her warm honey water back in the day—one cup and she’s a total kitten.” 3 I didn’t say a word. I just watched her lean into him, her head resting on his shoulder with a comfort she never showed me. “Oliver, do you have honey at your place?” Daniel asked. “I’ll text you the recipe. Make sure she drinks it.” How could I ever compete with the person she’d loved since she was fifteen? It was a losing game. It was time to forfeit. “Why don’t you come over and make it yourself?” I suggested. Madeline looked up, her expression flickering with a brief, panicked uncertainty. But when the Uber arrived, she didn’t hesitate. she held the door open for Daniel, ushered him into the back seat, and only then realized there was no room for me. She started to step out, looking conflicted, but I was already closing the door. “Don’t worry about it,” I said through the window. “I can’t compete with a friendship that goes back to middle school.” Madeline looked down, unable to meet my eyes. As the car pulled away, I saw them through the rear window. She was curled into him, but whenever she felt like she might get sick, she’d sit up and steady herself. I started laughing to myself on the sidewalk. She’s holding it in. Whenever I picked her up drunk, she’d vomit all over my car without a second thought. I was the one who had to apologize to the drivers and spend my Sundays scrubbing the upholstery. She didn’t hold it in for me because she didn’t care if she disgusted me. She cared what Daniel thought. When I eventually got home, Daniel was in the kitchen, and Madeline was surprisingly sober after her honey water. “Maddie, I just got back and… I don’t really have a place to stay yet. Do you have a spare room?” Madeline didn’t even glance at me for permission. “Of course. Actually, take the master suite. It’s more comfortable.” “Madeline,” I said, my voice flat. “Are you planning on sleeping in there with him too?” She froze, then turned to me with a cold, warning stare. “That’s none of your business, Oliver.” I laughed again. My mistake. Why ask a question when the answer is already written on the wall? I retreated to the guest room, but a few minutes later, Madeline pushed the door open. “Oliver, it’s not what you think.” I almost wanted to applaud her. The sheer nerve it took to offer an explanation at this point. “I get it. I really do.” “Good. Because—” “But Madeline… we’re done. It’s over.” She looked at me with genuine confusion, as if the idea of me leaving her was a linguistic impossibility. Before she could respond, Daniel burst in, looking pale. “Maddie, someone’s watching me through the window!” We were on the 28th floor. The nearest building was blocks away. It was a ridiculous, transparent plea for attention. But Madeline didn’t hesitate. She grabbed his arm. “Don’t be scared. I’ll stay with you.” As she went to set up a sleeping bag on the floor of the master bedroom, I didn’t care. Let them have the bed I’d slept in. They deserved each other’s ghosts. In my exhaustion, I knocked over a glass lamp. A jagged shard sliced deep into my palm. I had to go to the ER. Madeline saw the blood and frowned, offering a half-hearted suggestion to come with me. A year ago, I would have been pathetically grateful for the gesture. Now? I turned her down. Her face darkened instantly. As she ushered me out the door, she whispered one last thing. “Oliver, don’t do anything desperate just for attention.” I realized then: when someone doesn’t love you, even your pain is just an inconvenience to them. My last spark of affection for her finally went out. 4 I returned from the hospital, exhausted, to find Madeline in the kitchen making breakfast. In eight years, she had never cooked for me. Not once. She used to call me during my lectures just to demand I come home and make her dinner. Seeing her at the stove now was a final, bitter lesson: I wasn’t unworthy of a home-cooked meal; I was just unworthy of her effort. I ignored the bowl of oatmeal she’d set out and grabbed a box of cereal instead. Madeline’s brow furrowed. After a few seconds, she snatched the cereal from my hand. “You just got back from the hospital—” “Maddie!” Daniel’s voice drifted from the bedroom. “You haven’t read to me yet. Come help me fall back asleep.” Daniel appeared in the doorway, giving me a mock-apologetic look. “Sorry, Oliver. Maddie used to tuck me in back in the day. You don’t mind, do you?” Madeline dropped my cereal box on the counter without a backward glance. “Ignore him,” she said to Daniel, and followed him out. I sat there, staring at the cereal, when her phone—left on the counter—started buzzing. It was a notification from a wedding planner. “Hi Madeline, are there any other specific details for the ceremony tonight?” Tonight. She was doing it tonight. I decided then to give them exactly what they wanted. I finished my breakfast, and a few minutes later, Madeline emerged, leading Daniel by the hand. She dropped his hand the second she saw me. “He’s just… lightheaded. I was making sure he didn’t hit the wall.” I smiled. “You should keep holding it. Wouldn’t want him to ruin that pretty face.” Madeline stared at me, floored by my easy tone. Usually, I was the jealous type—I’d hated it when she hung out with other guys, and our biggest fights were over her secretive phone habits. Now that I didn’t care, she didn’t know how to act. “Oliver,” Daniel said, “Maddie booked a tailor for me this afternoon to get a suit fitted. Why don’t you come along? She surprised me with this homecoming, but now she wants me in formal wear!” I declined. I had a flight to catch, and my bags weren’t packed. Madeline slammed a bowl onto the counter. “What could you possibly have to do? He just got back, he doesn’t know the city. Would it kill you to be supportive for once?” I set my own bowl down calmly and looked her in the eye. “I haven’t packed for France yet. Is that a good enough reason for you?” She went quiet. She looked down, a rare flicker of guilt crossing her face. “Isn’t your flight next week?” She had pushed for me to go, yet she didn’t even know the date. I didn’t bother answering. When I didn’t move to clean up the kitchen, her temper flared again. “Oliver, do you really think I’m going to take that ‘breakup’ talk seriously from last night?” She was so deluded. She actually thought I was just throwing a tantrum to get my way. When she saw I remained expressionless, she let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Fine! Fine! We’re done! Happy?” She grabbed Daniel’s hand and stormed out. She missed three or four calls from me over the next few hours, but I wasn’t calling to beg. I was calling to say goodbye to the apartment. As I packed, I realized I owned almost nothing in this place. I checked her social media. Her pinned post was a “Save the Date” for a private ceremony that evening. As my plane climbed into the sky, I hit ‘send’ on a pre-recorded video message. My phone began to blow up with her calls as I crossed into international airspace. “Where are you? Why would you post a video like that?” “It’s not what you think, Oliver!” “Get back here right now!” I turned the phone off. The cabin pressure popped my ears, and for the first time in eight years, I could finally breathe.

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Callum traded his mind to save my life. At least, that’s what I believed. To repay that debt, I forfeited my ticket home, choosing to stay in this simulated reality just to nurse him back to health. But three years into my self-imposed exile, the man who supposedly couldn’t tie his own shoes drove a black SUV straight into me. As I lay broken on the asphalt, he stepped out of the car, his hand entwined with his “eternal flame,” the girl he’d never been able to forget. “I’ve waited so long for this day,” he said, looking down at me with eyes that were chillingly sharp. “Once you’re gone, Becca and I can take your place. We’ll have the Program. We’ll have forever.” It was a masterclass in deception. He’d never been brain-damaged. He’d been a predator in a coma, waiting for the perfect moment to steal the very System that kept me tethered to this world. What he didn’t realize was that I wasn’t staying for the perks. I was staying for the punishment. I closed my eyes and whispered to the void, “There are new candidates ready to take my place. Two of them, actually. Can you let me go now?” 1. “So, it was all an act? Every single second of it?” I was lying in a pool of my own blood, my vision blurring as I stared up at Callum. He was holding Becca close, his dark eyes devoid of the warmth I had spent three years trying to coax back into them. “Every second,” he confirmed. The tenderness was gone, replaced by a cold, efficient cruelty. “If I didn’t play the fool, how else was I supposed to keep you here? You needed to feel sorry for me. You needed to feel responsible.” “I should thank you, though,” he added, his voice dropping an octave. “If you hadn’t let slip how the Program works, I never would have found a way to save Becca.” Becca shivered in his arms, her face a pale, sickly ivory. She was his high school sweetheart, the one who’d been fighting a losing battle with leukemia for years. Callum used to tell me, “Her being sick has nothing to do with us, Rose. That part of my life ended a long time ago.” I realized now that he’d spent those three years orchestrating this. Every “stupid” smile, every “accidental” touch—it was all a blueprint for my murder. Suddenly, a white-hot agony tore through my chest. This wasn’t from the car crash. It was the System. In this reality, my “Assignment” was to make Callum love me. If his heart turned cold, the Program punished the host. It was a failsafe designed to ensure the Traveler never gave up. “It hurts…” I gasped. The sensation was like being pulled apart by horses. I’d felt it many times before, but you never truly get used to your soul being shredded from the inside out. “Is it really that bad?” Callum asked, watching me with clinical curiosity. “You’re a Traveler. Can’t you just tell your little computer to turn off the pain receptors?” His indifference was the sharpest blade of all. I remembered the nights he’d spent tucked into my side, whispering that I was his whole world. I’d fallen for it. I’d loved him so much I told him about the System—the secret of the universe—because I thought we were a team. I just never told him about the punishments. I didn’t want him to carry that guilt. The agony spiked. I bit my lip until I tasted copper. “Stop… please, just stop talking,” I wheezed. Every word of his rejection was a new physical blow. Becca stepped forward, looking down at me with wide, faux-innocent eyes. “Does it really hurt that much, Rose?” She turned to Callum, her voice a fragile trill. “Maybe we should forget about the immortality. I don’t want to cause her pain.” “No,” Callum snapped, his gaze softening instantly when it landed on her. “You’re not like her, Becca. She’s a Traveler. Even if she ‘dies’ here, she just goes back to her original world. But if you die, you’re gone forever. Don’t waste your pity on her.” When Callum wasn’t looking, Becca leaned in, a triumphant glint in her eyes. She whispered, “Did you know? I told Callum that if he said he hated you, it would make you suffer. He’s been practicing those lines for weeks.” She smirked. “He doesn’t love you. He never did. I’m the lead in this story, Rose. You’re just the understudy.” Callum pulled her back into his embrace, his touch reverent. “I finally closed on the estate at Laurel Ridge,” he told her. “It’s going to be our home. Forever.” I’d told Callum once that in my real world, I was an orphan with nothing. My only dream was to have a house with a porch and a garden. He’d bought that estate for me—or so I thought. I’d spent months picking out the tiles, the curtains, the life I thought we’d lead. And now, he wanted me dead so he could move her into my dream. I let my hand fall limp against the cold pavement. “I’ve found them,” I said to the System in the silence of my mind. “The new hosts. Take them. Just let me go.” Callum, if you don’t want me, then I’m done wanting you. 2. [System: Understood. Detecting new host candidates for transfer.] [System: Host, are you certain you wish to split the tether between these two individuals?] I looked at them. They were wrapped in each other’s arms, silhouetted by the distant glow of city lights, looking like a postcard for a love that would never end. For a flickering second, I saw the “stupid” Callum. The one who used to say, “Rose, thank you for staying. I love you.” The one who warmed my milk every night and held my hair back when I was sick. I had thought he was my anchor. I was wrong. He was the storm. “I’m certain,” I whispered. [System: Initiating transfer sequence.] “Why hasn’t the System appeared yet?” Becca asked, sounding impatient. Callum smoothed her hair. “Rose’s probably negotiating with it. Just wait. Whenever she communicates with the Program, she gets that faraway look in her eyes.” [System: Greetings, New Hosts.] The voice didn’t just vibrate in my head anymore. It echoed in the air, cold and synthesized, audible to all of us. [System: From this moment forward, you are the primary nodes. Please designate your focal point for the Bond.] “I choose Becca,” Callum said immediately. “I choose Callum,” Becca chirped. They looked so devoted. So unshakable. It reminded me of the man who once promised, “No matter what happens, I will always choose you, Rose.” Well, he was choosing someone else now. [System: Selection confirmed. However, the synchronization requires a seventy-two-hour stabilization period. You must wait.] The voice faded from their ears, returning to the private channel in my mind. [System: You have three days before extraction. I will repair the damage from the collision so you may settle your affairs in this world.] As the words faded, the agonizing heat in my limbs vanished. My shattered bones knit together with a sickening series of pops. I stood up, brushing the dirt from my clothes, and looked at Callum with a hollowed-out soul. He was beaming. “See, Becca? I told you. She can make the System heal anything. It’s perfect. We’ll never be hurt again. We’ll never have to fear death.” I looked at him, feeling a strange, cold pity. He had no idea what he had just invited in. 3. I went to the hospital to see my grandfather. In this simulated world, Grandpa Henry was the only person who had ever felt real. He was the one who gave me his life savings to help Callum buy a car. He was the one who saved his favorite candies in a jar just for me. In the hallway, I ran into Callum and Becca. They were holding hands, and Callum was clutching a printed sonogram. “It’s a miracle, Becca,” he was saying, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m going to be a father.” The words were a jagged blade through my ribs. I’d asked Callum about having a family once. Back when he was “stupid.” He’d told me, “I don’t want kids, Rose. They’re too much work. I just want it to be us.” I thought it was just the brain damage talking. Now I realized it was just that he didn’t want a life with me. He was already making plans for her while I was still dreaming of us. [System: Removing emotional feedback loop. You will no longer suffer physical pain based on the focal point’s emotional state.] As the System spoke, a literal weight lifted from my shoulders. The suffocating tether was gone. I could breathe. I was free. 4. Grandpa Henry smiled when I walked in, handing me a small plastic container. “The nurse gave me extra dumplings, Rose. Eat up, kiddo.” The tears came then, hot and fast. If I left this world, what happened to him? I couldn’t just leave him with nothing. I needed to get my money. Everything I owned—every cent I’d earned working three jobs while Callum “recovered”—was in his house. Our house. When I arrived at the driveway, I saw the housekeeper hauling black garbage bags to the curb. “Oh, Mrs. Vance,” she said, looking terrified. “Mr. Vance told me to clear everything out. He said… he said you wouldn’t be living here anymore.” I looked into one of the bags. My things were shattered. Even the plaster hand-molds Callum and I had made together on our first anniversary were smashed into white dust. I reached for the front door, but the electronic lock beeped red. “He changed the codes,” the housekeeper whispered. I felt a sharp sting in my chest, but I forced myself to take a slow, steady breath. “What’s the new code?” She hesitated, but I stared her down. “My life is in there. I’m not leaving without it.” “2018-08-12,” she mumbled. August 12th, 2018. The day Callum and Becca started dating. I took two steps back, a hysterical laugh bubbling up in my throat. Yesterday, he was sleeping in my bed, whispering that he loved me. This morning, he led me to a deserted road for a “surprise,” blindfolded me, and tried to end my life. Callum, you wanted my life so badly. You wanted the Program. But you have no idea how heavy the crown is until it starts crushing your skull. 5. I pushed the door open. Callum was there, leaning over the kitchen island, his hands on Becca’s waist. He was looking at her with a hunger I’d never seen. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life making you happy, Becca,” he murmured. My bag hit the floor with a dull thud. Even though I was done with him, seeing the intimacy we once shared being gifted to someone else felt like a physical sickness. “What are you doing here?” Callum’s voice was like ice. “You’re not welcome in this house.” His coldness made me flash back to three years ago. I had defied the System to save him, enduring “The Bone-Breaking Penalty” for weeks. I had been willing to die for him. I had planned to spend forever with him. “I’m here for my money,” I said, my voice steady. “The savings from the last five years are in your account. My grandfather’s treatment isn’t free.” Callum didn’t even stop what he was doing. He kept his hands on Becca, ignoring me as if I were a ghost. The sight was revolting, but I stood my ground. “I’ll just take what’s mine and go.” I started toward the stairs, but Becca’s voice stopped me. “Rose, wait. I thought your grandpa was doing better. Why do you need so much cash?” She looked at Callum. “She’s probably trying to smuggle assets back to her real world.” Callum’s eyes snapped to mine. “Is that it? You’re that greedy?” “I worked for that money, Callum. Every cent. It’s for Grandpa Henry.” “I’m not giving you a dime,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “That money belongs to this world. You’re leaving? Fine. Leave with nothing.” I clenched my fists. “Callum, I am telling you, it’s for his surgery. I’m not taking it with me.” “Get out,” he said. “Before I have you removed.” 6. I turned to leave, but Becca hurried over, grabbing my arm. “Rose, don’t go like this. If you’re really that desperate, I can talk to him. I can lend you—” Suddenly, she threw herself backward, her head catching the edge of the marble coffee table with a sickening thwack. “Ow! Callum, it hurts!” Before I could even blink, Callum was there. He slammed into me, his shoulder catching my chest and throwing me backward. I crashed into the bar cart; a pitcher of boiling tea shattered, drenching my arm. I screamed as the heat seared my skin. “What the hell is wrong with you, Rose!” Callum roared, hovering over Becca. “If you’re pissed at me, take it out on me! Don’t you dare touch her!” The name Becca sounded like a slur coming from his mouth. He didn’t even look at the red, blistering skin on my arm. He didn’t care. “Callum, just give me fifty thousand,” I wheezed, clutching my arm. “Give me the money and I’ll disappear. If you don’t, I’ll make sure Becca never has a moment of peace while I’m still here.” “Rose!” He lunged, his hand snapping around my throat. He pinned me against the wall, his grip tightening until the air in my lungs turned to lead. “Why are you so toxic? Can’t we just end this with some dignity?” “I… just… want… the money,” I managed to choke out. He threw me to the floor like a piece of trash. “Fine. You want it? There’s a price.” “What?” I coughed, gasping for air. “Get on your knees and apologize to Becca. Properly.” I froze. I looked at the man I had loved for years. There wasn’t a trace of him left. “Fine,” I said. I dragged myself up and knelt before Becca. “I’m sorry.” I bowed my head. Suddenly, Callum’s hand was in my hair, slamming my forehead into the hardwood floor. Pain exploded behind my eyes; I bit my tongue, the taste of blood filling my mouth. “She hit her head because of you,” Callum snarled. “Now you’re even.” “Is that it?” I asked, my voice trembling. “Can I have the money now?” He pulled a debit card from his pocket and dropped it onto his shoe. “Crawl over and take it.” I didn’t hesitate. I was already at my lowest; what was a few more inches? But as my hand reached for the card, his foot came down, pinning my fingers. “God, Rose,” he spat, his voice thick with disgust. “You really are pathetic. Was it always about the money?” The tears fell then, silent and bitter. I remembered the car hitting me. I remembered his laughter. He didn’t know me at all. Suddenly, my phone vibrated in my pocket. A text from the hospital. Grandpa Henry was in critical condition. He was being rushed to the OR. I lunged for the door, but Callum grabbed my wrist, twisting it. “You’re not going anywhere. You got the money, now you’re going to earn it. Consider yourself our maid for the next forty-eight hours.” “Let go of me! My grandfather is dying!” “How convenient,” he sneered. “The second you get the cash, there’s an emergency. You’d use a dying old man as a prop? You’re sick.” “I’m not lying!” I screamed. In that moment, the System’s cold voice cut through the room. [System: Transfer protocols finalized ahead of schedule. Stabilization complete. Do you wish to execute the handoff now?]

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My mother lay in the hospital bed, her voice a mere paper-thin rasp. I froze. From the time I could talk, she had commanded me to call her “Sister.” I had done it for thirty years. It was a habit, a reflex, as natural as breathing. But this time, the look in my mother’s eyes was different. She was searching my face, waiting for something, her gaze heavy with a weight I couldn’t quite name. “Mallory,” I whispered. My mother smiled, her eyes fluttering shut for the last time. Three days later, the lawyer informed me that her entire estate—three million dollars—had been left to me. Mallory got nothing. 1. My name is June Miller. I’m thirty-two. I have an older sister named Mallory. For as long as I can remember, my mother’s mantra was the same: “Mallory’s health is delicate, June. You have to let her have her way.” Let her have her way. Those six words were the soundtrack of my life for three decades. When we were kids, if Mallory wanted my toys, I gave them up. In school, if Mallory wanted to join a certain club or take extra classes, I stepped aside. As adults, if Mallory wanted an opportunity, a connection, or even the spotlight, I retreated into the shadows. I thought this was just what sisters did. I thought it was love. Until I turned eighteen and was getting ready for college. “June, we need to talk,” my mother said, calling me into her room. She looked uncomfortable, shifting her weight. “Mallory is starting her freshman year, too, and money is tight. I was wondering if you could…” She paused, unable to look me in the eye. “Take out student loans? For the whole thing?” I felt the blood drain from my face. “Mom, what about Mallory?” “Mallory is different,” she said quickly. “With her health issues, she can’t handle the stress of a part-time job while studying. You’re different. You’ve always been the sensible one.” Sensible. There it was. The golden cage of being the “good” daughter. “Mom, loans have to be paid back. With interest.” “You’ll pay them off once you’re working,” she said, her voice breezy now that the request was out. “You’re so smart, June. You’ll land a high-paying job in no time.” I didn’t say anything. “Mallory’s tuition is twenty-three thousand a year,” my mother continued. “Plus two thousand a month for her living expenses. I simply can’t afford to pay that twice.” Twenty-three thousand a year. Two thousand a month. Over four years, that was nearly a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. “And my tuition?” I asked. “The loans will cover that, honey.” “What about my living expenses?” My mother thought for a second. “I can send you five hundred a month. Is that enough?” Five hundred. Mallory got two thousand. I got five hundred. I looked at her, and her expression was perfectly serene. No guilt, no hesitation. “It’s enough,” I said, nodding slowly. From that day on, I understood the hierarchy. In this house, Mallory and I carried very different price tags. During those four years of college, I lived on the edge of exhaustion. I took out the max in loans and worked three jobs just to eat. Mallory? My mother’s two-thousand-dollar check arrived like clockwork on the first of every month. During breaks, when Mallory came home, my mother bought her new clothes and cooked her favorite meals. When I came home, my mother would say, “June, I’m so glad you’re back. I need help with the deep cleaning and the yard work.” I didn’t complain. Truly. I just wondered why. Why was the gap so wide between two daughters? Was Mallory’s health really that bad? I watched her eat more than me, run faster than me, and party late into the night. “Mom, what exactly is wrong with Mallory?” I asked once. My mother blinked, startled. “She was very sickly as a child. It’s better now, but we have to be careful.” “Then why do I still have to give in to her?” “She’s older,” my mother said, as if that explained everything. “The older sister deserves to be taken care of.” The logic was nonsensical, but I didn’t fight it. In my senior year, I landed an internship. It didn’t pay much, but I saved every penny. After six months, I managed to pay off the interest on my first freshman loan. I called my mother, excited to share the news. “Mom, I cleared the interest!” “Oh. That’s nice.” Her tone was flat. Then, she pivoted. “June, Mallory has a big interview coming up and needs a few professional suits. Do you think you could—” I hung up before she could finish. It was the first time I had ever hung up on her. A minute later, she called back, her voice sharp. “What was that? Your sister needs a small loan, what’s the big deal?” “Mom, how much money did you give me over the last four years?” The line went silent. “I took the loans. I worked the jobs. I’m paying it all back myself. What did you give her?” “That’s different.” “How?” “She isn’t as strong as you.” There it was again. The same tired script. “Mom, what is her diagnosis? I’ve never even seen her go to a specialist.” Silence. Then, finally: “You wouldn’t understand.” She was right. I didn’t. But in that moment, I decided to stop asking. Not because I understood, but because I was tired of caring. After graduation, I stayed in the city. I found a small apartment, a steady job, and a life of my own. I didn’t ask for a dime. My mother called occasionally, but she never asked if I was okay. “June, Mallory is dating someone. His family owns a huge construction firm. Very wealthy.” “June, Mallory wants a new car. I chipped in twenty thousand for the down payment.” “June, Mallory…” Every call was a progress report on Mallory’s life. I became a ghost in my own family. A transparent observer. By the time I’d been working for three years, I had saved eighty thousand dollars. I used it to kill the rest of my student debt. That night, I sat alone in my rented apartment, eating takeout and staring at the “Loan Paid in Full” notification on my phone. No one knew. No one cared. I texted my mother: Mom, my student loans are finally gone. Thirty minutes later, she replied: Ok. By the way, Mallory wants to go to Tokyo for a vacation, but I’m a little short this month. Could you… I didn’t reply. I set the phone face down and kept eating. It finally clicked. Why was I looking for her validation? She didn’t have any to give me. Mallory was her project. Mallory was her priority. What was I? An ATM? A backup plan? A tool to be used and discarded? I didn’t know. But I knew one thing: I was done expecting anything from them. No more hoping for a “good job,” no more wishing for a “thank you.” I was on my own, and honestly, it felt safer that way. 2. When I was twenty-six, I met Nate. He was a colleague, two years older than me. Steady, hardworking, and incredibly kind. After a year of dating, he proposed. There was no diamond the size of a grape, no flash mob. Just Nate, in my tiny apartment, holding a simple gold band. “June, I don’t have much,” he said, “but I want to build a life with you. Will you marry me?” I said yes. I called my mother to tell her. “Mom, I’m getting married.” There was a long pause. “You’re dating someone? Since when?” “I told you about him, Mom. Three times.” “Did you? I must have forgotten.” She forgot. Every time I had mentioned Nate, she’d just said “Oh, okay” and moved the conversation back to Mallory’s latest drama. “When’s the wedding?” “Next month.” “So soon?” She frowned. “That won’t work. Mallory is getting some cosmetic work done next month and I need to be there for her recovery.” I checked the phone to make sure I was hearing her correctly. I was getting married, and she was choosing Mallory’s botox and fillers. “Mom, it’s my wedding.” “I’ll come after she’s settled.” “And when would that be?” “Probably the end of the month.” My wedding was on the 15th. “Mom, are you saying you aren’t coming?” “Mallory really needs me right now,” she said. “You’re just doing a local thing, right? Keep it simple. You don’t need a big production.” Keep it simple. When Mallory got married a year prior, it had been a different story. My mother took a month off work. She hand-picked the lace for the gown, tasted every cake, and obsessed over the seating chart. She gave Mallory eighty thousand dollars for a house down payment and twenty thousand for the reception. And me? “Keep it simple.” I actually laughed. “Fine. Simple it is.” I hung up. The wedding was small. A few friends, some colleagues. Nate’s parents drove in from out of state, their faces beaming with pride. My side of the aisle was empty. My mother didn’t show. My father had passed years ago. And Mallory? She sent a text: Congrats, June! Have fun. Come visit me in Chicago sometime! Come visit me in Chicago. She didn’t even know what city I lived in. The ceremony was halfway over when my mother-in-law leaned in and whispered, “June, where is your mother?” I forced a smile. “Something came up. She couldn’t make it.” She didn’t press the issue, but I saw the pity in her eyes. It stung worse than the absence. After the reception, Nate asked, “Did your mom send a gift?” I pulled a small red envelope from my purse. Inside were twenty hundred-dollar bills. “Two thousand dollars,” I said. Nate stared at it. “That’s… it?” “That’s it.” He looked like he wanted to say something, but he just pulled me into his arms instead. “I’m your family now,” he whispered. I didn’t cry. But for the first time, the tether to my mother snapped. Two thousand dollars. That was the price of my entire existence to her. Fine. I’d take my two grand and my new husband and build a life she wouldn’t be invited to. Life went on. Nate and I saved, we bought a modest townhouse, we worked. My mother’s calls followed a pattern. “Mallory got a promotion. She’s a manager now.” “Mallory’s pregnant. It’s a boy.” “Mallory bought a new SUV. Thirty thousand dollars.” I’d say “Oh” and hang up. One day, my mother actually sounded annoyed. “June, why don’t you ever ask about your sister?” “She never asks about me,” I replied. There was a silence. “She’s busy, June.” “Right. Busy being promoted, busy being a mom, busy buying cars. Busy enjoying everything you give her.” “June—” “I have to go, Mom.” I was busy, too. I was busy living a life that didn’t require her permission or her pittance. I didn’t have a million-dollar head start, but I had Nate. And I had myself. 3. Two years into my marriage, Mallory called me. It was our first real conversation in years. “June, I need a favor,” she said, her voice dripping with that practiced, upper-class condescension. “What is it?” “Mom wants to help me buy a vacation property. She’s a little short on the cash and she thought maybe you could lend us some?” I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “How much?” “Not much. Just a hundred thousand.” A hundred thousand. My mother gave me two thousand dollars for my wedding. Now she wanted me to bankroll Mallory’s second home. “I don’t have it, Mallory.” “How can you not have it? You’ve been working for years.” “I’ve been living for years. Paying a mortgage. Saving for my own future.” “Don’t be like that,” Mallory snapped. “It’s a loan. We’ll pay you back.” “Mallory, how much do you have in your savings account?” “What? That’s none of your business.” “If you have more than me, why are you asking me for money?” The line went dead quiet. Then: “Mom told me to ask you.” “Then tell Mom the answer is no.” I hung up. Less than a minute later, my mother was on the line. “June, what is wrong with you? Your sister is just asking for a little help.” “Mom, how much did you give me for my wedding?” “That’s completely different.” “How? Why is it always different?” “Mallory is buying property. She needs the capital. You already have a house. You don’t need it.” “Mom, I bought this house. I saved the down payment. I pay the mortgage. You haven’t contributed a single cent to my life since I was eighteen. Not one.” “Because you didn’t need it!” “When did I ever say that?” “Then why didn’t you ask?” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “I asked for tuition when I was eighteen, and you told me to go into debt. I got married at twenty-six, and you gave me two thousand dollars. Why would I ask you for anything now? I know what the answer is.” “You’re just so… sensible. So independent.” “Independent?” I shouted. “I’m independent because I had to be! I’ve spent thirty years letting Mallory come first. I played the part of the good, ‘sensible’ daughter while she took everything. When is it her turn to be sensible?” My mother didn’t answer. “You wouldn’t understand,” she finally whispered. “I’m done trying to understand, Mom. I don’t have the money. Don’t ask again.” I sat on my balcony that night, watching the sun set. Nate came out and sat beside me. “You okay?” “I just realized,” I said, “that I’ve never actually been a part of that family. I was just the support staff.” He wrapped his arm around me. “You’re the heart of this family.” I didn’t cry. But a part of me—the part that still hoped for a mother’s love—finally died. I stopped answering her calls. If I did, it was “yes,” “no,” or “I’m busy.” The distance was a relief. Until I ran into my Aunt Martha. She was my father’s sister, the only one who had ever been kind to me. She was in town for a conference and we met for coffee. “June, do you know?” she asked, looking at me with a strange, hesitant pity. “Know what?” “About Mallory.” “What about her? Did she buy a private jet?” Martha sighed. “I shouldn’t say. Your mother made us promise… but it’s not right. It was never right.” “Aunt Martha, please. Just tell me.” “Mallory was adopted, June.” The world seemed to tilt on its axis. “What?” “Thirty years ago, your mother had a late-term miscarriage. A boy. She was devastated. Your father, bless him, thought a child would heal her. They went to an agency and found Mallory. She was two.” I couldn’t breathe. “And then?” “And then your mother got healthy. Two years later, she had you.” “So… Mallory isn’t hers. But I am?” Martha nodded. “Your mother always felt guilty about it. She thought Mallory’s ‘true’ family had abandoned her, so she overcompensated. She wanted Mallory to feel more loved than anyone else. As for you… well, you were hers. She thought you weren’t going anywhere. You were the one who wouldn’t leave.” The one who wouldn’t leave. The words felt like a serrated blade in my chest. “So she neglected me because she was sure of me? And she spoiled her because she was afraid she’d lose her?” “Pretty much,” Martha said. “She thought being a ‘good person’ meant loving the adopted child more.” A good person? She had abandoned her own child to prove she hadn’t abandoned someone else’s. “Why are you telling me this now?” “Because it’s gone too far,” Martha said. “She was afraid that if you knew, you’d hate Mallory.” Hate Mallory? I didn’t hate Mallory. She was just a spoiled byproduct of a broken woman’s guilt. I hated my mother. I hated that my existence was sacrificed to pay for a debt I didn’t owe. That night, I didn’t sleep. I remembered every “sensible” moment. Every hand-me-down. Every missed birthday. I wasn’t “less than.” I was just “guaranteed.” And because I was guaranteed, I was worthless.

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On the day of my mother’s heart transplant surgery, my husband Ethan snatched away the heart meant to save her. He gave it to his childhood sweetheart, Autumn. She wasn’t even sick. My mother died on the operating table, while he held Autumn in his arms, watching the sunset by the sea. Autumn framed me for hurting her child, so Ethan threw me to the wolves. I was torn apart, and I lost the baby because of it. Later I learned he’d been hypnotized, with all his memories of loving me sealed away. But so what? Who will pay for my child’s life? For my mother’s life? Until he knelt before me, begging pathetically for mercy. I only smiled faintly. “Ethan, I’m already married to someone else.” Maya’s POV I waited anxiously outside the operating room. My mother was inside receiving a heart transplant. An hour ago, the doctor had already sent someone to retrieve the transplant organ. But that precious heart still hadn’t arrived. Suddenly, Ethan walked toward me, his presence ice cold. “That heart was a successful match for Autumn. Her body is weak and can’t wait any longer. Your mother’s surgery will have to be postponed.” I froze instantly. My mother’s chest cavity was already open, all the medical staff were waiting for the heart to arrive. How could Ethan suddenly change his mind and give the only heart to his childhood sweetheart?! My face turned deathly pale as I gripped Ethan’s sleeve tightly. “My mom is lying on the operating table right now. If you take that heart away, you’re condemning her to death! Ethan, that’s my mother. You can’t do this!” Ethan’s face showed no emotion, his tone indifferent. “Autumn is from a wealthy family, a rising star in academia. She’s made many contributions to society. The heart will create more value in her body.” I stood there stunned, as if I hadn’t understood, then let out bitter laughter as tears streamed down my face. “You think Autumn’s life is worth more than my mother’s? Does that mean my mother deserves to die? You promised that as long as I didn’t press charges against Autumn, you’d help me find a heart donor. How can you go back on your word!” Half a month ago, Autumn had injured me. I wanted to report it to the police, but Ethan stopped me. I knew he was biased toward Autumn, but to save my mother, I had no choice but to agree to Ethan’s conditions. Now, with my mother on the brink of life and death inside the operating room, Ethan was going back on his word. My whole body trembled with anxiety. I dropped to my knees at Ethan’s feet. “Ethan, I’m begging you. My dad died early, and my mom worked four jobs to raise me alone. I haven’t even given her a good life yet. She can’t die… Please…” Ethan looked down at me kneeling and begging, frowning slightly. “I did promise you, but now Autumn needs that heart too. I had to make a choice.” “Autumn and I have known each other for over twenty years. She’s more important to me. I hope you’ll be reasonable about this.” Those two short sentences left me both confused and heartbroken. The Ethan of the past loved me more than anything, wanting to give me the whole world. We first met by the roadside when some thugs were harassing me and Ethan came to my rescue. After that, Ethan would occasionally appear at my food cart, patronizing my business. Later, Ethan confessed his feelings for me, saying he didn’t mind my poor background and would take care of me forever. But all of that changed after Ethan returned from his business trip abroad. He seemed like a completely different person, extremely cold toward me. I glared at Ethan with grief and anger. “When we got married, you clearly said you would cherish me and love me. Now you want to sacrifice my mother for someone else. Have you lost your memory and forgotten what you said?!” Ethan frowned. “That’s nonsense. How could I have lost my memory?” With that, he stopped looking at me, turned coldly, and walked toward the exit. I froze for a moment, then chased after him. Outside the hospital, medical personnel were placing the cooler containing the heart into a vehicle. “Mr. Foster, the heart has been arranged. We’ll head to Sacred Heart Hospital immediately,” the driver said respectfully. Ethan nodded slightly. Seeing this, I frantically rushed over to try to grab it. I no longer cared about any dignity. I only knew that without this heart, my mother would die! But how could I possibly overcome the group of medical staff and drivers around? Before I could even touch the cooler, I was forcefully pushed to the ground, my arms and thighs badly scraped and bleeding. Ethan glanced at me and stepped into the vehicle. The car started and slowly drove onto the road. My eyes turned bloodshot as I struggled up from the ground and chased the car. I grabbed onto the rear of the vehicle with both arms and was dragged for a distance before falling hard to the ground. On the asphalt, a gruesome trail of blood was left behind. But the pain in my body couldn’t compare to even half the despair in my heart. I cried out helplessly, painful tears soaking my collar. My mother was still on the operating table, and I had no idea what to do. Just then, a nurse came running over anxiously. “Ms. Carter, we sutured your mother’s chest cavity as Mr. Foster requested, but something went wrong… You should go see her one last time.” I felt my entire world come crashing down.

Maya’s POV My background was rough. My father died in an accident when I was one year old. For the next dozen years, my mother worked four jobs day and night to support me. I matured early and always felt sorry for my mother’s exhaustion, saying that when I grew up I would definitely give her a good life. But my mother just smiled and hugged me, saying that as long as I was healthy and safe, that was enough. And now, standing in the morgue, the pale lights made me sway unsteadily. My mother, who just yesterday was talking about going on a trip together after the surgery, now lay silently on the mortuary bed, covered with a white sheet. I could no longer hold myself up and fell to my knees beside the bed. “Mom… please open your eyes and look at me…” I pressed myself tightly against the cold body, tears bursting forth. “You promised we’d go on a trip together. How can you leave me…” I cried my heart out, as if trying to expel my entire heart. Suddenly, my phone vibrated. It was a text from Ethan. “Autumn’s surgery was very successful. I’ll find another suitable heart for your mother. Just stay out of trouble.” As I read it, my vision suddenly blurred. I knew Ethan was afraid I would hold a grudge and cause trouble for Autumn, so he was trying to placate me. But Ethan didn’t know yet that my mother was no longer in this world… I looked at my mother’s body, then at the message on my phone. The grief and fury in my chest suddenly blazed up. If it weren’t for Ethan and Autumn, my mother would never have died on that operating table! I had to get an explanation! I shakily stood up and, in complete disarray, took a cab to Sacred Heart Hospital. I didn’t even need to ask to know which private room Autumn was in. Whatever Ethan had prepared for her would certainly be the best room on the top floor. When I rushed to the top floor, Autumn had just finished surgery and was still unconscious in the ICU. Ethan stood outside the ward, his gaze toward the room focused and affectionate. That kind of look once belonged only to me, but now it completely belonged to another woman. I felt a sharp pain in my chest. My mother’s death and my husband’s betrayal made me feel torn in half. Ethan heard footsteps and looked at me. Seeing me like a madwoman with disheveled hair and messy clothes, disgust flashed in his eyes. He said coldly, “Why aren’t you at the hospital with your mother? What are you doing here?” I didn’t answer. I tried to rush forward and force my way into the ward, but Ethan violently pushed me to the ground. His strength was too great. I had no chance to react before I crashed heavily to the floor, the intense pain making my vision go black. But no physical pain could compare to my torn and shredded heart at this moment. Ethan looked down at me from above, without a trace of pity in his eyes. “I warned you, as long as you behave, I’ll help you find another heart. If you insist on making trouble, don’t blame me for being heartless.” That cold look in his eyes was like looking at trash. I suddenly laughed, tears seeping from the corners of my eyes. “Ethan, you’re treating me like this for a woman who’s a homewrecker… You’re breaking your word. You’ll definitely get what’s coming to you!” Ethan’s expression darkened. He said coldly, “The worst thing that ever happened to me was marrying you.” That single sentence made my already agonizing heart spasm with pain again. After speaking, he called security to drag me to the stairwell like garbage, then stationed people outside the ward as if afraid I’d come back to cause trouble. In the dim stairwell, my suppressed sobs echoed. Suddenly, someone came down the stairs. It was Autumn’s female assistant, just as unreasonable and arrogant as Autumn herself. The assistant twirled her hair and mocked coldly, “You’re really shameless, actually following them here. Ethan doesn’t even care if you live or die to save Autumn. Can’t you see who he really loves?” I clenched my teeth and snapped back, “Autumn wrecked someone else’s marriage, and you as her assistant not only enable her, you help her cover it up. If I post what she’s done online, let’s see how you survive in academia.” The assistant’s expression changed, but she quickly shifted the topic. She pulled out her phone and shoved a photo in my face. Under romantic, dim lighting, the floor was covered with rose petals. Ethan knelt on one knee before Autumn, reverently holding her hand. “A month ago when Ethan went abroad on business, he actually took Autumn with him. He even proposed to her there.” “He said he’d get rid of you soon and be with Autumn.” “Autumn has better education and background than you. A woman like you who wants to climb the social ladder through marriage should stop dreaming.” I laughed. So Ethan had already planned to divorce me. No wonder he was so heartless. I had foolishly thought Ethan would help me, but in the end I’d sacrificed my mother’s life. I finally understood everything. I knew I wouldn’t get any justice, and no one would care about my deceased mother. I’d seen enough of the world’s cruelty since childhood. I should have known that’s just how things are. But I wasn’t willing to let my mother die in vain. I decided to do two things. The first was divorce.

Maya’s POV I hired a lawyer to handle the divorce proceedings. Then I went home and started packing. My bedroom was full of gifts Ethan had given me, each one expensive and rare. Once I jokingly asked Ethan to give me the stars from the sky. The next day, Ethan bought me a diamond necklace worth tens of millions of dollars. He said that although he couldn’t pluck stars from the sky, he could give me the world’s most expensive jewelry. Now looking at that diamond necklace, my eyes stung. I opened my phone and pulled up a photo. It was a picture I’d taken with Ethan at our front door when he left for his trip abroad a month ago. In that photo, Ethan still looked at me with tender eyes. I couldn’t understand why going abroad once had turned him into a completely different person. But at this point, I didn’t care anymore. The harm Ethan had caused me was real. No reason could whitewash it. I stayed home alone for three days. During those three days, Ethan never came home once. I knew he’d been at the hospital watching over Autumn the whole time. After Autumn woke up, she’d been active on social media. From her account, I could clearly see how carefully Ethan had been caring for Autumn these past days. Every day he personally made nutritious meals for Autumn, told her bedtime stories, even childishly wrote prayer cards for her. I saw all of this, but my riddled heart no longer felt pain. Besides divorce, I had a second thing to do: revenge. I saved all the photos Autumn had posted as evidence for future retaliation. On the day of my mother’s burial, I wore all black. I had no family or friends left, so I handled her funeral arrangements alone. After returning from the cemetery, I found the handmade doll my mother had sewn for me. When I was little, our family was poor. I always envied other children who had toys. My mother felt bad for me but couldn’t spare the money, so she made me a little doll herself. Over a dozen years had passed, and this doll had always been with me. “Mom, treat this as me, keeping you company down there.” With tears streaming down, I walked to the fireplace, lit the flames, and gently placed the handmade doll into the roaring fire. But I didn’t expect Ethan to suddenly come home. As soon as Ethan entered, he saw me dressed in black with the doll burning in the fireplace. Ethan’s expression changed immediately. “What the hell are you doing? Autumn’s health suddenly worsened. Are you making evil dolls to curse her?!” I hadn’t expected Ethan to think this way. Before I could explain, Ethan had already strode over and knocked the doll out of the fire, stomping hard on it. “No!” Seeing my mother’s keepsake being trampled, I frantically threw myself forward, using my hands to shield it. But my desperation only seemed to confirm Ethan’s suspicion in his eyes. Ethan’s face darkened, apparently convinced I was doing something malicious. He pressed his shoe down on my fingers and ground them hard. I cried out in pain but didn’t dare move my hand, afraid my mother’s memento would be destroyed. Seeing me trembling all over from pain, Ethan finally slowly withdrew his foot. He went upstairs, grabbed a few changes of clothes, and was about to leave again. But just as he reached the door, I called out to him. “Ethan, I’m not like you people. I never do such despicable things. Don’t throw dirty water on me.” My eyes were empty but revealed a stubborn strength. Ethan stared at me for a few seconds without speaking, then turned and left. I laughed self-deprecatingly. No matter how much I explained, it was useless because Ethan simply didn’t believe me. I clutched the burned and trampled doll tightly to my chest, tears slowly falling. Suddenly, a wave of nausea hit me. I covered my mouth tightly, forcing down the urge to retch. I suddenly remembered that my period hadn’t come this month.

Maya’s POV I stood outside the gynecology office with the test results, completely stunned. I was pregnant. One month along. Counting back, it must have been the night before Ethan left for abroad. Ethan used to be very clingy with me, especially when it came to sex. That night he said he’d be away on business for at least half a month, so he kept taking me again and again. Several condoms broke and I didn’t even notice. I leaned against the wall to steady myself. I didn’t know why fate kept playing such cruel jokes on me. I had already decided to divorce Ethan. What was I supposed to do about this child? I walked out of the hospital in a daze. Later I learned that Autumn’s assistant had come to visit Autumn and happened to overhear the doctor talking to me. That assistant rushed to tip off Autumn. The next day, Ethan brought Autumn home to move in. Ethan supported Autumn with one hand and carried her luggage with the other. As soon as they entered, he spoke coldly to me. “The master bedroom is bigger. Move out and give it to Autumn.” I felt nothing inside hearing this. I didn’t respond, just went upstairs, simply packed my things, and moved into the guest room. I’d already given up on Ethan. I wanted to stay as far from him as possible, so moving to the guest room suited me fine. Seeing me so cooperative, not making a fuss, he seemed to expect me to cry and argue like before. Watching my silence, a flash of surprise crossed his eyes. I didn’t come down for dinner that night either. Being pregnant had actually made my appetite smaller, so I only came down late at night planning to grab something light. But as soon as I reached the stairs, I ran into Autumn who was just heading up. Autumn glanced at my stomach, jealousy and hatred flashing in her eyes. She slowly approached me, saying in a low voice, “Ethan letting you stay in the house is his mercy, but you’d better know your place and get lost. Otherwise I’ll make sure Ethan doesn’t help you find a heart, and let her die in the hospital!” The mention of my mother made me grit my teeth, nausea rising in my stomach. Looking at that arrogant face before me reminded me of my mother lying helpless on the operating table. I couldn’t take it anymore and slapped Autumn across the face. The crisp slap stunned Autumn. “You dare hit me!” “I hit you alright. If you dare disrespect my mother again, next time it won’t just be a slap.” I threw out those words and stepped down the stairs. Autumn couldn’t take it and suddenly rushed forward to push me. Fortunately I grabbed the railing and didn’t fall. Autumn tried to attack again but lost her balance and tumbled down the stairs herself. Her wails echoed through the living room. I frowned. Just then Ethan came out of his room and immediately changed expression at the scene. He rushed downstairs to help Autumn up. Her ankle was twisted, and she curled up against him crying pitifully. ” Maya pushed me… It hurts so much!” Ethan’s face darkened. He strode upstairs and gripped my arm tightly, demanding, “How can you be so vicious? First you curse Autumn with a doll, now you dare push her!” “I’ve lived my life with integrity. I don’t do such things. But what goes around comes around.” The hatred in my words flowed out without reservation. Ethan narrowed his eyes and looked at me coldly, seeming very displeased with my hateful attitude. Ethan gripped my arm forcefully and said coldly, “Autumn has no quarrel with you. She wouldn’t falsely accuse you. Since you hurt her, you should experience the same.” With that, Ethan pushed me down the stairs. The world spun as excruciating pain crushed every inch of my body. Finally my head slammed hard into the floor, blood streaming down my face. Ethan looked down at me collapsed like garbage on the ground, without a trace of pity in his eyes. He went downstairs, picked up Autumn, and returned to the room, completely ignoring me. After a while, I managed to drag myself up through sheer willpower. But as soon as I stood up, I discovered with horror that blood was flowing down the inside of my leg.

Maya’s POV I froze, panic rising inside me. I had just lost my mother. I couldn’t bear to lose my child too. I staggered toward the door, wanting to hail a cab to the hospital, but it had started raining outside without me noticing. Torrential rain. Taxis were few and far between. I endured the severe pain in my lower abdomen and walked forward in the rain, hoping to find a taxi on the road. The rain was heavy, the wind was cold. I could feel blood continuously flowing between my legs, but I didn’t dare stop. I don’t know how long I walked before my vision kept going black and I collapsed on the ground, losing consciousness. … I dreamed of my wedding day with Ethan. Ethan wore a suit and tie, carefully placing the wedding ring on my finger. At that moment his eyes held tears as he said deeply that I was the love of his life. The next second, the scene changed to Ethan returning from his business trip abroad. That was the first time I’d seen Ethan so cold, looking at me as if I were a complete stranger. I jolted awake to find myself in a hospital room. “You’re awake? I’ll go get the doctor for you.” The nurse was about to leave when I quickly stopped her. “Why am I in the hospital? My… my child…” I instinctively touched my abdomen. The nurse sighed and said, “You collapsed on the roadside last night. Someone brought you to the hospital. The doctor performed emergency treatment, but the child couldn’t be saved.” A part of my heart collapsed completely. I sat there dazed, unable to react. Only after several seconds did I break down into hysterical crying. Why did all my loved ones leave me one by one? Why was fate treating me this way?! My heart-wrenching wails filled the hospital room. Even passersby who didn’t know what was happening inside couldn’t help but feel heartbroken. I stayed in the hospital for three days. During those three days, no one came looking for me. Following Autumn’s social media account, I discovered Ethan had taken Autumn to a private island resort. I looked at the photos Autumn posted, each one showing their extravagant, loving state. Ethan feeding Autumn fruit, kneeling by the bed to apply body lotion for her, climbing trees to pick flowers for her… Every single image declared how much Ethan cherished Autumn. My eyes burned red with hatred. Thinking that my mother and child had both died because of these two, yet they were living so happily, the fury in my heart blazed even hotter. I had originally planned to carefully plot my revenge, but now, I really couldn’t hold back anymore. All the anger I’d been holding in finally exploded. I was discharged from the hospital and went home, standing before the mansion. Cold wind blew across my face, stinging sharply, but my expression remained blank. My eyes were ice cold. “Ethan, this is what you owe me.” I took out the gasoline I’d prepared and poured bucket after bucket into the house. Then I struck a lighter and threw it in without a moment’s hesitation. BOOM. Roaring flames instantly surged up, consuming the mansion. Expressionless, I dragged my luggage and turned to leave.

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On the third day after my C-section, the baby and I checked into the premium postpartum care center I’d reserved in advance. Worried about the cost, I gently suggested to my husband Santiago that we could just hire a nanny to take care of the baby at home instead. Santiago laughed and said: “Don’t bother.” “I withdrew this cash without going through the finance department. If Everett finds out, I won’t be able to deal with her stubborn temper.” I froze. My heart felt like it had been pierced by a thorn—I couldn’t pull it out, couldn’t swallow it down. It just throbbed with a dull ache. Every time Santiago spent money on me, he had to get approval from Everett, the new CFO at his company. He called her his Minister of Finance. But I never imagined that on the very night I checked into the postpartum center, Santiago’s reservation would be hit with a full refund request. Clinton, the center’s manager, threatened and cornered, threw the refund receipt in my face and kicked the baby and me out into the rainy night. That night, my incision became infected. I developed sepsis and a fever that wouldn’t break. I called Santiago crying for help, only to discover I’d been blocked. As I lay in the emergency room with no one caring whether I lived or died, Everett posted a photo on Twitter from an auction. In the picture, she nestled in Santiago’s arms, smiling coyly: “Without my approval, what does it matter that Mr. Santiago is worth hundreds of millions? He still doesn’t dare spend half a cent without my say-so.” “I’d advise certain people not to be so possessive of other people’s money. You just had a baby—where do you get the nerve to stay at a luxury postpartum center?” Only then did I see clearly that Santiago hadn’t just handed financial control to Everett—he’d also given her the power to hurt me.

When Everett arrived at the postpartum center with the legal team, it was already late at night. Learning that the baby and I were staying in the most expensive top-floor suite, jealousy flashed in her eyes and her delicate features twisted for a moment. Seeing me, she let out a contemptuous laugh and said coldly: “How does a useless freeloader have the nerve to enjoy such luxury with a clear conscience?” “Russell, surely you’re aware that I never approved the expense for this postpartum center stay?” The incision from my C-section hadn’t fully healed yet. The fine, persistent pain left my face pale and my forehead covered in cold sweat. Our eyes met. Everett stared at me arrogantly, her gaze full of smug confidence. I took a deep breath, forcing myself through the pain to respond hoarsely: “I’m spending Santiago’s money—my husband’s money. I don’t need approval from some company CFO.” “Now, you’re disturbing my rest. Please leave!” Everett’s face darkened. She snatched the contract from the lawyer’s hand and threw it heavily at me: “Is that so? Too bad the money Santiago spends on you goes through the company accounts. And guess what? I have the authority to recover that money.” I jerked my head up to look at the lawyer standing nearby. Meeting my questioning gaze, the lawyer pressed his lips together and said with some reluctance: “Russell, Mr. Santiago did give Ms. Everett this authority.” “I’m sorry. I can only follow company regulations.” I froze, suddenly gripped by a terrible premonition. My heart pounded so hard it hurt. Sure enough, the next second, Everett turned and presented a stack of legal contracts signed by Santiago to Clinton, the postpartum center’s owner.

A shallow smile played on her face, but her words carried heavy threat: “Refund this order in full, and I won’t make things difficult for anyone. But if I don’t get this money back, Clinton, you should know how easy it would be for Santiago’s company to destroy a small postpartum center, right?” “Government departments could shut you down for inspection with any random reason I give them.” “Or would you prefer to be charged with conspiring with Russell to launder money?” Clinton didn’t dare confront the aggressive Everett. He clutched the stack of legal documents tightly and shot me a sinister glance. Through gritted teeth, he said: “Ms. Everett, Russell is still Mr. Santiago’s wife. Aren’t you afraid Mr. Santiago will be angry if you do this?” “Why don’t I call Mr. Santiago right now and get his opinion?” This fifty-thousand-dollar contract was too tempting. Clinton couldn’t bear to give it up, so he tried invoking Santiago’s name, hoping to make Everett back down. But the moment Clinton finished speaking, Everett burst into laughter as if she’d heard the funniest joke. In the vast room, only her clear laughter could be heard for a moment. Piercing, sharp, dripping with mockery. She said: “Sure, let’s get Santiago’s opinion. I’ll make the call myself!” As she spoke, Everett pulled out her phone and directly dialed Santiago’s number. The moment the call connected, his lazy, infinitely indulgent voice came through: “Everett, who’s bothering you in the middle of the night?” “What, we’ve only been apart for a little while and you already miss me?” My face went deathly pale. Hearing Santiago’s achingly familiar voice, I felt like my breath caught in my throat. The discomfort made my heart race with panic. Everett glanced at me dismissively, then let out a coquettish hum and said in a wronged tone: “Santiago, there was a fifty-thousand-dollar order a while back that you paid without my approval again, wasn’t there?” “I’m really going to get angry. You don’t take me seriously as your CFO at all.”

Santiago let out a muffled laugh and said helplessly: “My mistake, my mistake. Just go recover the money, okay?” “I give you full authorization. Take the legal team with you. Don’t be angry anymore, alright?” My mind went completely blank, replaying Santiago’s words over and over in an endless loop. Every word, every sentence was like a blade glinting with cold light, stabbing into my heart again and again. Only then did Everett break into a smile. After hanging up with a proud flourish, she looked at me with a mocking expression. “Surely no one actually thinks they can throw their weight around just because they’re the CEO’s wife?” All the blood in my body instantly turned cold. I bit my lip hard, unable to make a sound. Malice flashed in Everett’s eyes. She leaned close and whispered: “You dare pull rank on me as the CEO’s wife?” “Russell, just wait and see how I destroy you!” As soon as she got close, the heavy scent of her perfume hit me in waves, making my temples throb painfully. I suddenly snapped back to reality and frantically reached for my phone on the nightstand, my voice shaking: “That can’t be right. Santiago wouldn’t treat the baby and me that way.” “I don’t believe you, Everett. I need to make this call myself!”

But the moment I grabbed my phone, Everett slapped it out of my hand. She looked down at me from above. Her high heel came down hard. The lit screen quickly went dark, and Santiago’s name on the display went black along with it. Everett smiled: “One excuse after another, Russell. You’re not deliberately stalling for time, are you?” “I’m very busy. I don’t have time to play games with you.” She stood up and walked leisurely toward the door: “This postpartum center has no reason to stay in business anyway…” Clinton shot me a venomous glare, then hurried after her: “Ms. Everett, I’ll process the refund right now. I’ll return the money immediately.” “Please, you and Mr. Santiago, show some mercy. Don’t make things hard for my small business.” Soon, the fifty thousand was refunded to Everett’s account. She lifted her chin and flashed me a triumphant smile: “Oh no, Russell, this is Santiago’s money after all. He trusts me, and I can’t let him down, right?” “Please don’t blame me. If just anyone could spend Santiago’s money, how exhausted would he be?” The last thread of rationality in my mind snapped. Ignoring the pain, I lunged desperately at Everett. My voice came out hoarse: “Everett, you did this on purpose, didn’t you!” “I don’t believe it…” In the scuffle, I pushed hard. Everett stumbled backward. Just then, a familiar voice rang out urgently: “Everett!” That shout made me freeze. Everett froze too. But she quickly recovered, deliberately falling heavily to the ground, saying with tears in her voice: “Russell, I only came out of kindness to check on you and the baby. Why did you push me?” Santiago suddenly appeared, taking the fallen Everett into his arms. The look he gave me was ice-cold: “Russell, apologize to Everett!”

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I was filling up at a gas station when I scrolled past a trending local post: “I want my mistress to come over for an affair, but my wife’s schedule is unpredictable. How can I avoid getting caught?” Someone replied: “I’ve got experience with this. I have two parking spots at home. Whenever I’m having an affair, I park my car horizontally across both spots. When my wife comes home and can’t park, she calls me to move the car. While I’m going down to move it, my mistress slips away. I’ve been doing this for six months without getting caught.” The comments praised his clever scheme, and the original poster even liked the reply. I rarely post online, but I couldn’t help responding: “A bunch of scumbags!” But when I drove home, I found my parking spot blocked by my husband’s car parked horizontally across both spaces. Seeing my husband, who always parked carefully and never crossed the lines, suddenly park horizontally across two spots, I slammed on the brakes. The post I’d just read flashed through my mind. It had to be a coincidence, right? Alexander was famous for being devoted to his wife. We’d been dating for five years and married for two—seven years total. He was attentive and considerate, treating me like a treasure. He never let me enter the kitchen or do any housework. Knowing I loved to drive, he’d even given me a Porsche as a birthday gift and bought the parking spot right next to his. Every time we parked, he’d always position his car closer to his side, leaving an extra eight inches of space for me to park more comfortably. How could a man who loved and protected me so wholeheartedly possibly betray me? But that post kept replaying in my mind. I stared at Alexander’s car for a long time before making a decision. I didn’t call him to move his car. Instead, I drove to a temporary parking spot nearby, turned off the engine, got out, and went home. I wanted to see if there really was an unfaithful husband inside, waiting for me to call about moving the car. When I reached the front door, I quietly pulled out my key and opened it as silently as possible. Once inside, I headed straight for the bedroom. The door was half-open. Through the gap, I saw the room was empty. I turned to the guest room. Pushed open the door—still empty. The study, bathroom, balcony, even the storage room—I checked every single one. Every room was quiet and empty. No one was there. Where was Alexander? Just as I was puzzling over this, the kitchen door opened. Alexander came out wearing an apron, carrying a dish. Seeing me, he froze for a moment, surprised: “Why are you home so early today?” He quickly set the dish on the dining table and gave me a simple smile: “I was planning to make a few more dishes before you got off work. You came home early—I haven’t finished cooking yet.” I glanced at the kitchen. Cut vegetables were arranged on the cutting board, and in the pot, my favorite soup was simmering. Clearly, he’d been busy in the kitchen for quite a while. I breathed a sigh of relief and smiled slightly: “There wasn’t much going on at the office today, so I came home early.” Alexander nodded. “Then rest for a bit. I’ll finish the last two dishes and you can eat.” He went back into the kitchen to continue cooking. Watching his busy figure, I couldn’t help asking: “Why did you suddenly park horizontally across my spot today?” Alexander looked back at me, somewhat embarrassed: “I was worried you’d be hungry when you got home, so I rushed upstairs to cook. I didn’t pay attention to parking properly—just left it there and ran up.”

Alexander’s behavior seemed completely natural, and his explanation was flawless. After all, every day when I came home from work, there was always hot food waiting for me. Alexander was a surgical doctor with an incredibly demanding workload, yet he always managed to find time to come home and cook for me. Sometimes I’d tell him to rest and not work so hard, but he’d always say: “You have a weak constitution. When you’re hungry, you get heart palpitations and trembling hands. We can’t be careless about that.” “I need to make sure you have hot, fresh food the moment you get home. Nothing can interfere with that.” After speaking, Alexander continued bustling about. Soon, the food was ready—all my favorites. After serving me rice, Alexander was about to sit down and eat with me when suddenly his phone rang. He answered, immediately frowning with concern: “Alright, I’ll be right there.” He quickly took off his apron and said to me urgently: “There’s an emergency patient at the hospital that only I can operate on. I need to go.” He grabbed his car keys, planted a gentle kiss on my forehead, then hurried out the door. The moment the door closed, the house fell silent. I sat at the dining table, looking at the spread of dishes, but had no appetite. That post stuck in my mind like a thorn I couldn’t pull out. Alexander’s behavior and explanation had no flaws, yet I still felt something was off. I set down my chopsticks, stood up, and found myself walking into the bedroom as if possessed. The bedroom was tidy. Alexander had made the bed with military precision. At first glance, nothing seemed wrong. But the neater everything looked, the more uneasy I felt. I began searching the bedroom thoroughly. The bed had no strange odors or out-of-place items. Even the trash can was spotlessly clean. Everything was exactly as it should be. Was I really overthinking this? I shook my head and was about to leave when, as I turned to close the door, I spotted something under the bed. My heart skipped a beat. I immediately walked over, crouched down, and pulled it out. It was an earring. And I didn’t have pierced ears. It belonged to another woman. Realizing this, my head started buzzing. I stood there, staring at the earring in my hand, frozen for a long time. Then I pulled out my phone and found the post I’d read earlier. Sure enough, the original poster had replied to the comment he’d liked just one minute ago: “I parked across my wife’s spot like you said, but she didn’t call me to move the car and came straight inside.” “If I hadn’t heard her opening the door and hidden my mistress in time, I would’ve been caught.” The commenter replied instantly: “Looks like your wife’s pretty sharp.” The poster responded: “Yeah. I made up an excuse and slipped out. I’m driving my mistress home right now.”

Alexander really had cheated on me, and he’d brought his mistress into our home. My hands trembled as I put away my phone and walked out of the bedroom. Looking at the food spread before me, my heart ached. Alexander remembered all my preferences. He remembered that I got heart palpitations and trembling hands when hungry. He remembered I loved his goodbye kisses. But he forgot that I despised betrayal above all else. How ironic. A person could express such deep love for me while bringing another woman into our home. At that moment, I found myself curious. How much of the love I’d once been so proud of was real, and how much was fake? And when did things start between him and that woman? I sat at the dining table, trying to compose myself for a long time. Then suddenly remembered something. The thought made me immediately call my parents and ask them to come over. Sensing my urgency, my parents arrived as quickly as possible. “What’s wrong, Grace? What’s so urgent that you called us over?” I didn’t hide anything. I told them everything about Alexander’s affair in one breath. After hearing it, my dad couldn’t believe it: “Grace, could there be some misunderstanding? Everyone can see how good Alexander is to you.” “Plus, you know his job—he’s a surgeon, on call 24/7. Maybe he really does have an emergency surgery?” “That post—could it just be a coincidence?” But my mom slammed her hand on the table: “Impossible! There’s no such thing as this big a coincidence!” “The post says park horizontally, and he parks horizontally.” “Grace doesn’t call and walks straight in, and the post describes the exact same situation.” “The post says he slipped out to take his mistress home, and Alexander made up an excuse to leave.” “Plus there’s a strange earring in the house. How could this possibly be a coincidence?” My dad frowned. “But Alexander has always valued Grace more than his own life all these years!” My mom scoffed. “So what?” “Just because he’s been good to Grace means he couldn’t be cheating now?” “Every man who keeps a mistress acts perfectly fine at home.” “The better they act, the more convincing their performance.” My dad had no response. My mom grew angrier: “That Alexander!” “When he was pursuing Grace, he knelt at our door for three days and nights, swearing he’d treat her well. That’s when I agreed to let Grace marry him.” “And what happened?” “It’s only been two years of marriage and he’s already bringing his mistress home? This is outrageous!” My mom was furious. But I felt more confused than anything. As my dad said, Alexander had been very good to me all these years. He was young, accomplished, handsome—never short of young women throwing themselves at him. Even the hospital director’s daughter had openly pursued him. She’d even publicly stated that if Alexander would be with her, she could give him the entire hospital. But Alexander remained unmoved. He even offended her over it and nearly got blacklisted from the medical field. Despite all that, he stayed firmly devoted, telling me: “I can lose the whole world, but I can’t be without you.” Precisely because I’d genuinely felt how good he was to me, I couldn’t understand. What kind of woman could make someone like Alexander, who treated loyalty as his faith, change his heart?

“Grace, what do you want to do?” My dad looked at me, his expression serious. I paused, then said firmly: “I want to catch them in the act.” My mom immediately perked up: “How?” I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I looked down at my phone and opened an app I’d never used before. It was a location tracking app. Alexander had insisted on installing a tracker on his phone to put my mind at ease, saying it would let me check his location anytime. I’d refused at first—I trusted him, and I believed couples didn’t need such things. But he’d insisted, saying it was just insurance. If something ever happened to him, I could find him immediately. All these years, I’d been proud that I’d never once opened this app. I never thought I’d be using it to catch him cheating. I took a deep breath and opened the app. The screen loaded for a few seconds, then a map appeared. A green dot was slowly moving across it. My dad looked at the map, somewhat surprised: “That’s Alexander’s real-time location?” I nodded without speaking. My mom said impatiently: “Let’s go. We’re going there now.” “I want to see what kind of woman could bewitch someone like Alexander.” My dad said nothing, just grabbed his car keys and headed for the door. My mom and I followed close behind and got into my dad’s car. In the car, my mom kept muttering: “I thought Alexander truly loved you. I never imagined he could cook for you while bringing women home.” “In all my fifty-plus years, I’ve never seen anything so disgusting!” “If he really didn’t love you anymore, if he’d asked for a divorce, I’d be angry but I’d respect it.” “But instead, he treats you like a fool! Plays you for a monkey!” “If I catch him keeping a woman today, I’m going to tear them both apart!” My mom’s eyes were red with anger. When Alexander was pursuing me, she’d been against it. She felt Alexander’s family background was ordinary and he wasn’t good enough for me. It was only after Alexander knelt at our door for three days and nights that my mom relented. My dad drove in silence, not joining the conversation. I saw his furrowed brow in the rearview mirror. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. After about twenty minutes, I suddenly saw Alexander’s location stop moving. I immediately told my dad to speed up. We stopped near Alexander’s position. When we arrived, I spotted Alexander’s car parked in front of a villa. I quickly got out of the car and headed straight for the villa. But I didn’t notice that in the car, my parents’ faces both changed dramatically when they saw the villa. Seeing me walking toward it, my dad immediately got out and blocked my path: “Grace, are you sure Alexander brought that woman here?” Seeing my dad’s strange expression, I sensed something was wrong: “What’s going on, Dad? Do you know this place?” My dad opened his mouth but made no sound. Then my mom caught up. She glanced at the villa, swallowed nervously with a panicked expression, then said gravely: “Grace, let’s go back. Stop investigating.” I looked at my mom in disbelief: “Why?” “Mom, you were the one who wanted to come investigate. You were the most insistent about catching them red-handed.” “Now they’re right inside that villa, so why are you telling me to stop?” My mom didn’t answer. Instead, she grabbed my arm, her voice breaking: “Grace, I’m begging you. Let’s go back.” “Let this end here, okay?” My dad also stepped forward, his face serious: “Grace, listen to your mother. Let’s go back first.” “We’re doing this for your own good.” I was completely baffled. I couldn’t understand why my parents, who’d been so eager to defend me just moments ago, suddenly changed after seeing this villa. Was there something wrong with the villa? Or was it the person inside? Consumed by intense curiosity, I ignored my parents’ objections, rushed to the villa entrance, and knocked on the door. The door opened quickly. The moment it did, I saw Alexander standing inside, and the woman behind him. The instant I saw that woman’s face, my eyes widened and I suddenly understood everything…

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