Category: English

I died, and the killer turned my corpse into a wax figure, giving it to my brother as a birthday gift. That day, they celebrated wildly next to my body, even smearing cake on my face, laughing and saying “Happy Birthday.” It’s as if they remembered today was my birthday too, but how could they remember? After all, they didn’t even know I was dead, and even if they did, they probably wouldn’t care. The day I died, it was raining heavily, probably heavier than any storm you’ve ever seen. I felt like even my floating soul was soaked through. I hurried back home, hesitating at the doorstep, afraid that water droplets from my body would stain the doormat and Mom would yell at me again. Oh right, I’m a ghost now. Even if I had water on me, it wouldn’t drip onto the mat. I don’t have to fear Mom scolding me anymore. I happily stomped on the doormat, and when I was done, I entered the house. The living room was warm with the heater on. It felt so cozy. My brother suddenly looked in my direction, tilted his head in confusion, then went back to playing his game. The aroma of braised pork and cola chicken wings wafted from the kitchen, along with Mom’s voice. “Leo, call Lily. Why isn’t she back yet?” Mom still cares about me. “If she doesn’t come back soon, tell her to never come back. Just asking her to buy a gift for Ryan, and she’s making such a fuss. It would’ve been better to raise a pig than to raise her.” I had earned $1,200 for tuition from part-time jobs and summer work, and Mom wanted me to give $1,000 to buy a phone for my brother. She even asked me to pay $200 for household expenses, not leaving me a single penny, indirectly forcing me to drop out of school. “If it weren’t for her, Ryan wouldn’t be… like this…” Mom started mumbling complaints about how I caused my brother to become mentally challenged. I could recite it by heart now. It was always about how I stole my brother’s nutrients in the womb, and how I rushed to be born first, causing my brother to be born later and suffer oxygen deprivation. I weighed five pounds at birth, while my brother was just over three pounds. But I was just a fetus then, what did I know? I sat on the sofa, looking up at the Ultraman-themed birthday backdrop. It read “Happy 20th Birthday Ryan” and had his photo printed on it. My brother and I were born on the same day. It was raining that day, so I was named Lily Rain. Because my brother was born a minute later than me, he suffered oxygen deprivation and almost didn’t make it. Mom and Dad named him Ryan Long, hoping he would live a long life. Dad was unpacking a very tall and large package: “We can’t have raised her for over a decade for nothing. She still needs to come back to take care of Ryan. Otherwise, what will happen to Ryan after we’re gone?” My brother was playing Snake on his phone. He was really good at it, the snake’s body quickly filling up the phone screen, reaching first place. “Ah!” Dad’s scream startled Mom who was cooking in the kitchen and my brother, who was so shocked that his snake hit another snake, ending the game. He stomped his feet, shouting and throwing a tantrum, “I’m dead, I’m dead.” Dad quickly tried to calm him down: “Don’t say such unlucky things. Even if your sister dies, you won’t.” Mom came out and was also startled, because Dad had finished unpacking that big package. It was a wax figure, a lifelike wax figure that looked exactly like me, as if crafted by a master wax artist. I looked at the smiling wax figure and trembled in fear. This wasn’t a wax figure, it was my corpse!

Looking at my corpse wax figure, smiling but unable to hide the fear, still holding a phone in its right hand. I remembered. I remembered how I died. I was working as a housekeeper to earn money, and the killer was the client I worked for yesterday. He wore glasses and looked gentle and refined, seeming very kind. He said he had been looking forward to meeting me for a long time. He said tomorrow was my birthday, so he wanted to make me a birthday gift. I asked him strangely if we knew each other. The killer said he knew me from a post titled “What does it feel like when your parents don’t love you?”. My answer was “Probably that if I died somewhere, they wouldn’t know for a month, and even if they did, they wouldn’t care.” Because of a casual answer, I was targeted by the killer. Really, it’s so helpless and scary to be alone on the internet. The killer looked gentle, and even when he killed me, he was gentle. He was afraid I would be in pain, so he fed me sleeping pills, gave me anesthesia, and then drained my blood. He was even gentler than when my parents beat me. He really made me cry to death. Before I died, he let me call my parents. He said if they called me “precious daughter” just once, he would let me go. But Dad didn’t answer. I called ten times, and he never picked up. Mom answered quickly, but she started scolding me as soon as she picked up, yelling at me for not coming home to cook and for not taking good care of my brother. She cried and scolded, “How did I give birth to such a jinx like you? I should have drowned you in the toilet when you were born.” With the anesthesia, I couldn’t feel the pain in my wrists, but waves of pain kept hitting my heart. “Mom, I’m dying. Can you call me your precious daughter just once?” Mom cursed again, mixed with the sound of her cooking. “If you want to die, buy your brother’s phone first, then go die. Even if you die, I’ll arrange a ghost marriage for you and use the bride price to find a wife for your brother.” “Precious daughter? What a joke. You’re nothing but a jinx.” The call ended, and with it, my chance to live. As my blood drained away, my corpse still held the phone. Dad received a timed text message sent from my phone by the killer and read it out loud. “Mom, Dad, this is the last gift I’ll ever give to my brother, an unforgettable gift. Do you like it?” Mom, holding a spatula, stared at my corpse wax figure, very angry. “Yesterday she said she was going to die, and today she sends a wax figure back. Why didn’t she send her corpse back? I could have at least burned some money for her.” I stood next to the corpse wax figure, mimicking its pose of holding up a phone. Mom, this is my corpse. Mom, please burn more money for me. I was already so poor when I was alive, having to work as a child laborer since middle school. I don’t want to have to work after death too. Mom, you need to burn some clothes for me too. My clothes are all wet, and it’s very cold. I’ve tried to wring out my clothes several times, but they’re still soaking wet. Good thing I’m a ghost, the water droplets on my clothes stay on me forever. Otherwise, if they dripped on the floor, Mom would scold me again. Like when I was little, it was raining outside, and I waited until dark, but Mom never came to pick me up. I walked home in the rain by myself, and the water dripping from my body dirtied the doormat and wet the floor. When my brother came out, he slipped and fell, and Mom scolded me, beating me hard with a clothes hanger. Dad just stood by, smoking, and advised Mom. “Don’t hit the kid’s face. If you leave scars, we won’t be able to sell her for a good price when she grows up.” He talked about me like I was a pig being raised for slaughter. Oh, in their eyes, I was even less than a pig. After all, a pig doesn’t come out of Mom’s belly, doesn’t steal nutrients from a brother in Mom’s womb. Dad looked at my corpse wax figure and cursed it as unlucky, wanting to throw it away. But my brother liked it very much, hugging the corpse wax figure and not letting go. “This is my sister, my sister. We can’t throw her away. I want to play with my sister.” Because my brother was mentally challenged, as innocent as a child, our sibling relationship was still okay. In fact, it was my brother’s innocence that repeatedly healed the wounds I suffered in this family. When Mom hit me, my brother would clumsily protect me, saying, “No hit… sister… hurt.” When Mom wouldn’t give me food, my brother would secretly hide chicken legs for me to eat, always getting his clothes greasy. When Dad forced me to drop out of school to work, and I cried all night, it was still my brother who clumsily comforted me, making me laugh, threatening to run away from home to force Dad to let me go to school. My suffering wasn’t because of my brother, but because of my parents who didn’t love me. My brother wanted to keep my corpse wax figure, and our parents, who indulged him in everything, certainly had no objection. My brother happily brought out his paints and started coloring the wax figure. He tilted his head and looked at me, as if he could see me, and asked, “What color does sister like?” “Green.” I answered, and my brother picked out green paint. I like green because it symbolizes endless life. Mom stared at the wax figure for a long time, until she smelled something burning in the kitchen and cursed as she walked away. Dad took out his phone and called me. “Ring… Ring…” The sound of the call connecting was like my heartbeat. I became hopeful. The phone in the hand of the corpse wax figure wasn’t a model, it was my phone! Would Mom and Dad discover that I was dead, that this was my corpse? Would they regret it? Would they kneel in front of my corpse, crying bitterly, regretting how they never treated me well in these twenty years?

Unfortunately, the phone didn’t ring, and the screen didn’t light up. Dad tried calling twice and then gave up, only cursing that I didn’t even come back for my brother’s birthday, not caring about my safety or whether I was alive or dead. They wouldn’t wait for me to come back for dinner, let alone wait for me to cut the cake together. They ate the tender braised pork knuckles and delicious cola chicken wings. My brother even had a bowl of longevity noodles and two red eggs. I sat next to my brother, pretending I was part of this family, my hand passing through the chopsticks, pretending to pick up a piece of braised pork to eat. I closed my eyes, imagining how delicious it must be. It should taste similar to restaurant food. I had never eaten Mom’s cooking, and I wasn’t allowed at the table. Mom would only put the gnawed bones and leftover food in a copper basin, like feeding a dog, and leave it for me to eat. Indeed, all these years they had treated me like a dog. To them, giving birth to me and raising me was the greatest kindness, and I should be grateful and not ask for more. I wondered if they discovered I was dead, would they make me a birthday feast too, order a cake for me? Before they finished eating, my brother started clamoring for cake. Mom and Dad put a birthday crown on my brother, lit the birthday candles, and sang the birthday song. “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…” “Happy 20th birthday, Ryan. Make a wish quickly, be sure to wish that you’ll become smart, exchange your sister’s life for your intelligence.” I stood by, smiling bitterly. My brother and I were twins, and every year on our birthday, Mom and Dad would mention me, but not to wish me well. Instead, they would have my brother make a birthday wish every year to exchange my life for his intelligence. In the past, I was always hurt by such words, but this time I sincerely hoped my brother’s wish would come true. I was already dead, it shouldn’t be for nothing, right? “Mom, this time brother’s wish will come true.” But my brother shook his head, “Don’t want sister to die, want sister to have happy birthday.” In this family, only my brother remembered that today was my birthday too. Mom and Dad remembered too, but they didn’t care, which hurt me even more. Mom angrily said with a stern face: “You can’t. You can only wish to exchange your sister’s life for your intelligence.” My brother didn’t understand what “life” meant, but he was very stubborn. This year, he just wouldn’t make that wish. It’s strange, when I was alive, my naive brother happily made this wish every year. Now that I’m dead, my brother refuses to make this wish. My brother insisted on not making the wish, and Mom got so angry she hit the back of his hand. My brother cried pitifully and suddenly lay on the ground, rolling around. My six-foot-tall, handsome brother was lying on the ground, throwing a tantrum and crying like a three-year-old. It really didn’t look good, and it wasn’t right. It was painful to watch. I crouched next to my brother, comforting him like I used to. “Brother, make the wish quickly. Sister is already dead, this time the wish will surely come true.” My kind and innocent brother should get better, should become smart. I don’t know if my brother heard what I said, he just kept throwing a tantrum. “I don’t want to be smart, I just want sister, I want sister.” Mom was so distressed she wiped away tears, then started cursing me again with all sorts of nasty words. Dad looked at my brother rolling on the ground, very annoyed. “It’s just a wish. We’ve been making this wish for twenty years, and we haven’t seen Lily die or Ryan become smart.” “If wishes really came true, I would have killed Lily long ago.” Dad angrily grabbed a handful of cake and smeared it on the neck of the corpse wax figure, the action really looked like killing someone. It’s not surprising. If they could choose, they would have preferred that I was the one who came out late, that I was the one who suffered oxygen deprivation and became mentally challenged. If I had been born later that year, if I had been the one with brain damage, would they have treated me the way they treated my brother, never giving up, spending all their money to give me rehabilitation training? Look at them, they know today is my birthday too, but they don’t bless me at all. Instead, they wish they could kill me. Seeing Dad’s action, my brother stopped crying, got up and grabbed some cake to smear on the wax figure’s mouth. “It’s sister’s birthday, eat cake, sister, eat cake quickly.” My brother was happy, and so were Mom and Dad. They all grabbed cake and smeared it on the wax figure. They were very happy, they were celebrating wildly. Perhaps they felt relieved that I was dead, and were celebrating. I didn’t care. I just pretended they were celebrating my birthday. This was the first time Dad, Mom, and my brother celebrated my birthday together. I happily sang the birthday song to myself: “Happy 20th birthday, Lily Rain.” “My wish is…” I seemed to have no wishes. I guess a dead person’s wish would probably be to have a better life in the next reincarnation. But I don’t want to be human anymore. So I’ll wish that in my next life, I won’t be human. I’ll be a cat or a dog, even a pig or a duck, anything but human. Being human is too tiring. After making my wish, I closed my eyes to blow out the candles. The candles went out, and the room suddenly went dark. When candles go out, wishes are supposed to come true. Ding dong. The sudden sharp doorbell sound startled my parents again. Dad pushed Mom out, telling her to answer the door. I followed behind Mom to open the door. Mom only opened half the door, saw it was a strange man, and asked warily, “Who are you looking for?” Seeing who it was, I fearfully stepped in front of Mom. Because this was the killer who murdered me!

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My husband’s mistress died, murdered after being raped. That afternoon, my husband and I were taken to the police station. I actually had no idea my husband was having an affair. If it weren’t for this murder case, I might have been kept in the dark forever. To investigate the killer, the police took our fingerprints and asked about our whereabouts during the time of the victim’s death. The victim, Mandy Brooks, was 28 years old and an employee at a certain company. She died around 11 PM on July 30, 2019. The cause of death was a severed carotid artery, resulting in death from excessive blood loss. It had been three days since Mandy’s death. With only three days having passed, I naturally remembered the time frame clearly. I distinctly recalled that my husband was with me that night, sleeping very deeply, so I told the truth without hesitation. My husband and I were questioned separately by the police. I was questioned by a man and a woman. The man, Mike Lee, was around thirty years old and the deputy leader of the major crimes unit. The woman, Sharon West, looked to be about twenty-seven or twenty-eight and was quite beautiful. Perhaps because they saw I was pregnant and had just learned about my husband’s infidelity, seeing my red-rimmed eyes, they were afraid I couldn’t handle it psychologically. They were very gentle when questioning me. Sharon, in particular, looked at me with gentle eyes and asked, “Mrs. Thompson, please think carefully. Are you absolutely sure your husband didn’t leave the house that night? Or is it possible that he snuck out while you were sound asleep?” I was taken aback by her question. After considering for a moment, I said, “Officer West, since becoming pregnant, I’ve been sleeping more heavily. So I go to bed early every night. All I can say is that my husband was there when I fell asleep and when I woke up.” Sharon and Mike exchanged glances, and I curiously asked, “Officer West, isn’t it possible to extract DNA left in the victim’s body? If you suspect my husband, you can test for that.” As I said this, I was thinking to myself, they were already having an affair, why would he need to rape her? The killer definitely wasn’t my husband. Seeing my question, Sharon shook her head and said, “The killer was clever and didn’t leave any useful evidence, so this case is a bit complicated to investigate.” I let out an “oh,” and Sharon asked how far along I was in my pregnancy. I told her four and a half months. She smiled and looked at my belly, saying it looked quite large and might be twins. After saying this, she comforted me, saying pregnant women are prone to emotional outbursts and that I should try to stay positive about some things and take good care of myself at home. I was very touched by Sharon’s words and chatted with her for a few more minutes before leaving the police station. I thought my husband would be returning home with me, but Officer Lee told me that my husband still needed to assist with their investigation and couldn’t leave yet. With no other choice, I had to return home alone. Back in our neighborhood, I learned from neighbors that several police officers had come and retrieved surveillance footage from the complex. They had also questioned our neighbors, asking if they had heard our door open between 9 PM and early morning on July 30th. I asked the neighbor how she responded, and she said she hadn’t heard anything, so she answered truthfully. Hearing this, I felt very reassured. I thought my husband would be spending the night at the police station, and when I called him, he didn’t answer. Unexpectedly, just as I had finished dinner and was about to go to bed, he returned. He still had his usual cold demeanor. When I got up to heat some food for him, he stopped me. I asked, “Honey, why didn’t you answer my call earlier?” He said the police had taken his phone to copy his chat history and call records. Thinking about all the lovey-dovey messages between him and that woman on his phone, I felt some disgust. But considering the baby in my belly, I swallowed my feelings. After all, that woman was already dead, what more did I have to fret about? But I was wrong. My lack of concern didn’t mean others wouldn’t care. Just as I was falling asleep, I suddenly felt a violent choking sensation in my throat. Opening my eyes, I realized my husband was frantically squeezing my neck, trying to kill me.

I struggled desperately, pushing against him while gasping out, “Honey… I’m carrying your child… Do you… Do you really want both of us to die?” At the critical moment, my words had an effect. He slowly released my neck, forcefully gripping my shoulders instead. With bloodshot eyes glaring at me, he shouted, “Lyric, tell me, did you hire someone to kill Mandy Brooks?” His enraged appearance terrified me, and I hurriedly explained, “Honey, you’re… you’re wrong about me. I don’t have the guts to do something like that.” “Hmph! Is that so? You’d better hope I don’t find out it was you. Otherwise, I’ll strangle you with my own hands.” After saying this, my husband glared at me viciously one last time before getting off the bed and leaving. That night, he didn’t return to our bedroom, and I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. My mind was filled with images of his furious face. It wasn’t until nearly dawn that I finally dozed off fitfully. The next time I woke up was to the sound of the doorbell ringing. After listening for a while and realizing no one was answering the door, I lazily got out of bed, intending to go downstairs and open it myself. But when I walked down the stairs and saw the state of the living room, I let out a scream of terror. Because I saw my husband, Ethan. He was now motionless, slumped against the sofa, and at his feet was a large pool of blood. My husband had slit his wrists in an apparent suicide, and a bloody scalpel lay discarded on the coffee table. Seeing this horrifying scene, I let out another scream. I didn’t dare look a second time because the image was too terrible. I only felt my whole body go weak and limp, collapsing to the floor, shaking uncontrollably. The doorbell outside kept ringing. Hearing my screams, the ringing became even more urgent. I wanted to go open the door, but I found I had no strength at all. I could only sit on the floor, sobbing. After who knows how long, the door was pried open from the outside. Sharon and Mike entered, followed by two uniformed police officers. When they saw my husband, they were all startled. Mike immediately called for the medical examiner, while Sharon, seeing me sitting on the floor crying, helped me up. The medical examiner arrived quickly and made a preliminary determination that my husband had committed suicide. The estimated time of death was around 2 AM. He didn’t die peacefully; his face was somewhat contorted as if he had experienced something terrifying just before death. Mike told me that my husband was indeed the killer of Mandy Brooks. I found it hard to believe, but he said the evidence was conclusive. He explained that the police had retrieved surveillance footage from both our complex and Mandy’s neighborhood. Although he had managed to avoid the cameras in our complex by using blind spots, because he wasn’t as familiar with the area where Mandy lived, they had captured footage of him at around 10 PM on the night of the incident on one of the cameras. I listened in disbelief as Mike continued, saying that they had found SnapChat messages between my husband and Mandy on his phone, confirming they had planned to meet during those days. So they initially concluded that my husband had committed suicide out of guilt. Hearing this, I felt overwhelmed with grief. I crouched down on the floor, my body shaking uncontrollably like a sieve. My husband’s body was taken away by the police, who said they needed to conduct further examinations. Our home had become a crime scene, with the entire living room cordoned off by police tape. Especially that pool of blood on the floor – it made me feel terrified just looking at it. After I finished giving my statement, Sharon seemed very sympathetic towards me. She put her hand on my shoulder to comfort me, then asked in a low voice, “Lyric, I see bruises on your neck. Did Ethan abuse you?” Her question reminded me of last night’s events. I wiped away my tears and cautiously said, “Last night I confronted him about the affair. He was in a bad mood, so he got physical with me.” Sharon listened thoughtfully, then after a moment of silence said, “The neck is a vital area. He was trying to kill you. Why didn’t you call the police?”

Sharon’s words startled me. I took a deep breath and said, covering my neck, “Officer West, he was my husband, the father of my unborn child.” Seeing me respond this way, Sharon didn’t say anything more. As they prepared to leave, Sharon advised me that if I felt scared staying at home, I could temporarily move to a nearby hotel. She also told me to call her if anything came up. I nodded in agreement and saw them off. I’m a girl from the countryside. My parents still live in our rural hometown, quite far from here. Ethan’s parents are from Concord. After university, both Ethan and I found jobs here, so we bought our marital home in this city. I just never imagined that this spacious 2000 square foot house would now be occupied by me alone. Thinking about this made me feel incredibly sad. I could only go upstairs to pack a few changes of clothes and check into a nearby hotel. After eating a little something, I took out several of my husband’s bank cards and called the online banking customer service. When I checked the balances, I was shocked to discover that my husband had over $5 million in savings across his accounts. Actually, I didn’t know the PINs for my husband’s bank cards. But recently, I had deliberately asked him to take me shopping for baby items at the supermarket. During those repeated payment transactions, I secretly memorized his mobile payment PIN. I guessed that most people, like me, use the same PIN across their mobile payment apps and bank cards to avoid forgetting. Sure enough, my guess was correct – it worked on the first try. Ever since I became pregnant, I had suffered from severe morning sickness, forcing me to quit my job as a makeup artist at a photo studio. My husband was very guarded about money and only gave me $300 a month for living expenses. This was something that really bothered me. After securing the bank cards, feeling exhausted and tired, I unconsciously dozed off on the bed. I ended up having a nightmare. In my dream, I was lying on the bed unable to move, while Mandy Brooks and my husband Ethan were both grinning at me eerily, reaching out their hands to choke me. I suddenly woke up, realizing it was just a dream. Feeling parched, I was about to get up for some water when my phone on the bedside table rang. I picked it up and saw it was Sharon calling, which made my heart skip a beat. I took a deep breath before answering the call. Sharon asked which hotel I was staying at, saying there were some more things they needed to understand. I could only tell her the hotel name. About half an hour later, Sharon arrived, this time by herself without Mike. I let her into the room, and Sharon smiled, asking, “Mrs. Thompson, although your husband’s cause of death appears to be suicide, the autopsy found traces of alprazolam in his system, and quite a high dose at that. Did he usually suffer from any related conditions?” “Alprazolam?” I pondered the drug name for a moment before realizing, “Oh, you mean the sleeping medication? My husband had insomnia. He would only take two pills when he couldn’t sleep.” “Is that so? But the amount detected in your husband’s body wasn’t just two pills. It was at least a dose of five pills. How do you explain that?” Hearing Sharon’s words, I smiled.

I smiled in a way that was more painful than crying. Sighing, I said, “Officer West, if you put yourself in his shoes – if you were my husband and your lover had suddenly died in such a manner, could you sleep peacefully? If he didn’t want to suffer, given his pre-existing insomnia, wouldn’t it make sense to increase the dosage?” My words left Sharon speechless. After a while, she gave me a meaningful look and said, “Mrs. Thompson, I thought that with your husband just deceased, you would be at a loss and deeply saddened. I didn’t expect you to immediately check your husband’s account balances.” Sharon’s words startled me. She continued, “According to our investigation, your husband’s parents are still alive. Now that their only son has died, shouldn’t you notify them?” “My in-laws are elderly. I haven’t figured out how to break the news to them yet. I’m pregnant now, and there will be many expenses in the future. I have to plan ahead. Officer West, the police seem to be quite involved in many aspects.” My tone was not at all polite. Sharon probably didn’t expect someone who looked as gentle and weak as me to speak so firmly. She smiled awkwardly and apologized. Before leaving, she revealed one piece of information to me. She said that a security camera had been installed on the building opposite ours. Due to a recent circuit malfunction in that household, the camera had somehow ended up pointing towards our living room window, capturing partial footage of our living room. She gave me a meaningful smile before departing. Her words left me tossing and turning all night, unable to sleep well. Sure enough, the next day I received another call from Sharon, asking me to come to the police station. She said there were new developments regarding my husband’s cause of death. With an anxious heart, I arrived at the police station and was taken directly to the interrogation room. The interrogators were still Sharon and Mike. I sat silently, waiting for them to speak first. Mike played a video clip on the large screen behind him. It showed a woman wearing a cheongsam. The image was a bit blurry, but the woman’s entire face was captured. She had long, messy hair and looked quite terrifying, like a female ghost. In the footage, she slowly came down the stairs, walked to the window, and drew the curtains. Then nothing more could be seen. I watched in confusion, but even though the living room image wasn’t very clear, I could tell at a glance that it was my home. After watching the video, I asked perplexedly, “Officer West, Officer Lee, who is this woman? How did she get into my house?” Hearing my words, Sharon and Mike exchanged smiles. Sharon said, “Mrs. Thompson, on the night before last, which was when your husband died, only you and he were at home. Are you saying this person isn’t you?” “But that’s not me,” I said angrily. “It doesn’t look like you, but if someone whitened their face and deliberately applied ghost-like makeup, it’s not impossible,” Mike said. “But I’m pregnant. The person in the photo couldn’t be me.” My words left Sharon and Mike looking at each other, unable to refute. Seeing my reaction, Sharon said firmly, “The person in the photo does look very much like the deceased Mandy Brooks, but we absolutely don’t believe in ghosts or spirits. Lyric, can you let me see your belly?” Hearing this, I laughed bitterly, “So you suspect I’m faking my pregnancy?”

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When I was 16, my father saved Mr. Malcolm Monroe’s life. In return, I became engaged to the Monroe family as their daughter-in-law. By 21, I had transformed into a lady, admired in high society. At 22, I married Elijah Monroe. At 26, I gave birth to our first child. He, like Elijah, never liked me. I worked hard to play the perfect daughter-in-law in the Monroe family. One day, Elijah asked what I wanted for my birthday. I handed him the divorce papers. “Elijah, I want a divorce.” Elijah gave me a cold look. “Serena, stop being ridiculous.” Even Gavin, our son, chimed in, “Mom, stop wasting everyone’s time.” I signed my name and looked at Elijah again. “Elijah, I want a divorce.” “Why?” Elijah’s voice was as cold and distant as ever. I sat down, took a deep breath, and said, “There’s nothing to explain. It’s just pointless.” The diamond bracelet on my wrist, a gift from Elijah for my 30th birthday, sparkled faintly under the light. To everyone else, Elijah was a perfect husband, always attentive in public, but only I knew how cold his heart truly was. “Mom, it’s almost midnight. Stop wasting everyone’s time,” Gavin called down impatiently from the stairs. I looked at the child I had nearly died giving birth to, still wearing the same patient expression I always wore around him. “You’ll stay with the Monroe family. You won’t need my support. I have nothing to give you; I’m an orphan. Consider my absence from your life my final gift to you.” Gavin, mature for his age, understood what I meant. Turning back to Elijah, I said, “I’m not greedy. I don’t understand much about property or wealth. I only want the house you transferred to my name recently. I like it. Everything else belongs to the Monroes. I won’t take a thing.” I removed the diamond bracelet from my wrist. “This was meant for your wife, but I don’t think I ever truly was your wife. And I’ve never liked the title Mrs. Monroe. You should have it back.” I took off each piece of jewelry and placed them on the table, one by one. Elijah remained silent, watching me quietly from across the table. Finally, he spoke, “Serena, are you just trying to get my attention?” “Isn’t being Mrs. Monroe enough for you? No matter what you do, in my heart, you’ll never matter.” “Let’s go to court and finalize the divorce. The sooner, the better. We don’t have to wait a month. Sign the papers quickly—I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

I headed upstairs. Gavin had already gone to bed. Like his father, Gavin had a strict schedule and never wasted a second for anyone. Especially not for me, the mother he didn’t like. From the day my father died in a car accident after saving Mr. Monroe, I became trapped in the Monroe family. On that very day, Mr. Monroe held my hand and declared that I was to be their future daughter-in-law, and I lost my identity completely. At that time, I was grieving my father’s death, trapped in a fog of despair. I had stopped speaking, incapable of uttering a word. Mrs. Monroe stormed into my house, dragged me out, and forced me into a series of etiquette lessons. She looked down at me and said, “You have one month to start speaking again. The Monroe family doesn’t need a mute woman as its mistress.” I tried to resist, but Mr. Monroe’s public announcement made my fate clear. I was trapped. I was brainwashed. By the time I was released, Mrs. Monroe asked me what my duty was. I responded automatically, “To be the perfect daughter-in-law of the Monroe family.” From the age of 16 to 21, I transformed from a helpless girl into a poised woman, admired by high society in Manhattan. At 22, I married Elijah under the watchful eyes of everyone. Four years later, I gave birth to Gavin. My life became focused on managing the household and raising Gavin. Attending galas with Elijah was my full-time role. The most frequent sight I saw was the small garden at the Monroe Family Estate, where I planted many flowers. Elijah ripped them out with his own hands because the person in his heart was allergic to pollen.

Thinking about it now, I packed my bags faster. In Elijah’s heart, there was a dead girl he had loved—a girl like a delicate white flower, taken by acute leukemia. By the time Elijah realized, she was already gone. From then on, he hated me for occupying the position of the Monroe family’s daughter-in-law, and he hated the family for keeping it from him. Gavin, too, was the result of a drugged night. When Elijah woke up, he locked himself in the bathroom for an entire day. He thought I was dirty. I tossed a dress out of my suitcase—the one I wore to an event with Elijah. Bad luck. When I finished packing, all my belongings fit into one small suitcase. As I walked out, Elijah was still downstairs. He frowned as usual when he saw me. “There’s no need to rush. We aren’t divorced yet.” I smiled at him. “I can’t stay here a minute longer.” The moment I stepped outside, I felt free for the first time. The house I liked had been empty for a while, so I checked into a hotel nearby until I could get it cleaned. For the next month, I stayed in that house. The day of the divorce arrived quickly, and I waited outside the New York County Court. Elijah arrived with Gavin in tow. When they saw the smile on my face, their expressions turned cold. “Serena, are you happy about the divorce?” Elijah asked. “Let’s hurry. I have a plane to catch.” Without further words, I dragged Elijah to take the necessary photos. After receiving the divorce certificate, I rushed to the airport. Aside from not loving me, Elijah had no faults. He transferred $50 million to my account, along with the house. I was finally free to live my life. I decided to go on an expedition in the Arctic.

As the ship rocked under the massive waves, I watched the sea and laughed. My father and I were both thrill-seekers. We had plans to challenge the most exciting adventures around the world, not end up trapped in a box buried beneath a headstone. That’s why I brought his ashes with me on this trip. When the sea was calm, I scattered his ashes into the water. “Dad, this is the ocean you’ve always dreamed of,” I whispered to myself. That night, just as I was falling asleep, my phone rang. It was Elijah’s voice on the other end. “There’s a party tomorrow with Mr. Williams. He’s asking about the wine from last year. What was it again?” Mr. Williams was one of Elijah’s key business partners. Every year, I agonized over what gift to bring to his birthday party. The wine he was talking about was one I’d spent months searching for—a rare bottle from a renowned winemaker. Being woken up at night was frustrating enough, but the way Elijah ordered me around as if we were still married was infuriating. I snapped, “We’re divorced. Stop acting like a man-child.” “And maybe think before you call someone in the middle of the night. Don’t be a rude man-child.” With that, I hung up and turned off my phone. The next day, I planned to take pictures of the stunning glaciers. When I turned my phone on, I saw a dozen missed calls from Elijah. More than he’d called me in an entire year. Usually, I was the one asking when he’d be home or when Gavin’s school events were, since both parents needed to attend. Elijah’s responses were always the same: “Hmm,” followed by a date and time for the next social event I was expected to prepare for. I put on the perfect dress, held Elijah’s arm, and played the role of the perfect Mrs. Monroe. This time, I blocked his number and focused on the beauty of the glaciers. That night, just before falling asleep, a strange number called me. A woman’s voice asked, “Are you Gavin Monroe’s mother?” “No. I don’t have any children. I’m single now. If you need something, contact his father.” “You’re lying.” It was Gavin’s voice, filled with disbelief. “I don’t think I am. You don’t like me, and I don’t like you anymore either. You can pretend I’m not your mother, and I’ll do the same. Don’t call this number again. Consider me a stranger.”

After hanging up, I decided that once I got back to shore, I would change my number. The Arctic was breathtaking, the towering glaciers impossible to describe with words. On a calm day, the crew lowered a kayak into the water. A foreign tourist next to me asked if I wanted to join them in diving into the sea. I put on my life jacket and stood on the makeshift platform. With a leap, I plunged into the icy water. The cold was intense, but the exhilaration was worth it. In the distance, I could hear the excited chatter of other tourists. I ducked my head underwater, where the noise was muffled. Once back on shore, I dried off and went to check out the kayaks again. By the time I returned to shore, it had been half a month since I’d started this journey. When I landed at the airport, it was already midnight. I got home and fell into bed, sinking into a deep sleep. I woke up in the afternoon, still in a dreamlike state. In my dreams, Mrs. Monroe’s voice echoed, saying how fortunate I was. Then the scene shifted to whispers behind my back, mocking me—”A sparrow can’t become a swan.” Finally, the image settled on the first time Elijah saw me. He stood in the sunlight, wearing a crisp white shirt, each strand of his hair glistening in the light. The moment he looked at me, he held the hand of another girl and promised, “Don’t worry, I’ll never love her.” Elijah really did manage to never love me. When we first got married, Mrs. Monroe pressured me to quickly have a child with Elijah. Under her coercion, I wore embarrassing outfits to seduce him. But that day, in Elijah’s cold gaze, I felt like an ancient courtesan desperately seeking favor. I hurried to get dressed and fled to my room, and from that moment on, I stopped expecting any affection from him. Even on that night when he took traditional medicine, he didn’t call my name.

Waking up now, my head felt heavy. I remembered the two people I despised in my dreams and decided to head downstairs to shake off the bad vibes. I figured I might as well grab a bite to eat. As I stepped into the elevator, I found Elijah standing inside. Dressed in a suit and tie, he looked like he could go to a meeting in a moment. His expression didn’t change when he saw me. “I’m giving you one last chance, Serena. Come back and continue being Mrs. Monroe. Don’t venture too far next time; if something goes wrong, public relations could become messy.” A sarcastic smile spread across my face. To Elijah, my death would only complicate things for the Monroe family’s public relations team. To him, my life was merely a symbol of stability for the shareholders. “Mr. Monroe, we’re divorced. Please respect our agreement and don’t bother me,” I replied, my voice steady. Elijah’s face showed doubt as he opened his mouth to speak, but I turned and walked toward the other elevator. When I reached the ground floor, I spotted Gavin waiting by the car. As I stepped out, he opened the door and climbed in, saying, “Mom, I have an enrichment class later. Don’t waste everyone’s time.” I ignored Gavin and walked directly to the side of the car. Suddenly, I heard a faint mewing sound from under the tires. That sound was all too familiar; it reminded me of the first orange tabby cat I rescued as a child. When I saw the little orange kitten with its tail held high, I couldn’t help but gasp. It looked just like my childhood pet, Dreamer, down to the short, broken tail. Carefully, I picked up the kitten, thinking maybe this was Dreamer’s way of coming back to me. Ignoring Elijah and Gavin, who were both staring at me, I rushed out with the kitten in my arms. At the entrance of the community, I took the kitten to Riverside Animal Hospital, where the doctor took it off my hands, and I finally felt relieved. Sitting in the chair, I couldn’t believe I had found my long-lost companion. Though I knew this kitten wasn’t really Dreamer, it still felt like a part of my heart had returned. Gavin appeared behind me. “I’m allergic to cat hair! Why did you adopt a cat?”

During the early days of my marriage to Elijah, I often found myself alone in the estate, with no one to talk to. I wanted to get an orange cat, just like Dreamer, but Elijah thought cats were a nuisance. After much pleading, I finally convinced him to let me keep one. However, when Gavin was born, we discovered he was allergic to cat hair. The kitten was sent away less than a day after it arrived. My focus then shifted entirely to Gavin. Now, hearing Gavin’s words again, I didn’t hold back. “I’m not your mother anymore. Didn’t you understand what I said that day?” Gavin’s eyes showed a flicker of confusion, as if he couldn’t believe I truly didn’t love him anymore. In his mind, I should always be the one standing behind him, patient and caring, no matter how he treated me. “Even if I opened a cat café now, that’s my business.” “There’s nothing more to discuss. You and your father should stay out of my life. Seeing both of you is exhausting.” “Fine, walk away. You’ll regret being alone one day,” Gavin retorted angrily as he stormed off. I remained seated, waiting for the doctor to return with the results. An hour later, the doctor emerged holding a beautiful little orange tabby, its teeth bared in a cute little grin. As soon as it saw me, it let out a series of adorable meows. I took the kitten from the doctor and gently tapped its nose. “From now on, your name is Beauty, okay?” Initially, I had wanted to name it Dreamer, but it only responded to the name Dreamer. Now, I finally had my dream cat. I bought a bunch of supplies from the pet store and had them delivered. Holding Beauty, I said, “From now on, you’re a princess. Let’s see who dares to call you a little stray.” Once home, I set up Beauty’s new space before making a phone call. While on the Arctic ship, I met three children planning to travel from Xinjiang all the way to Iceland. They asked if I wanted to join them. Now, I needed to figure out what paperwork I’d need to take Beauty overseas. After sorting everything out, a month had passed, and I was waiting at the meeting point for them. Once everyone had gathered, we set off into the distance.

Beauty behaved perfectly on the road as another person and I took turns driving. The first thing he said when he got in the car was, “Hey, if the car breaks down, don’t blame me. This is my first time driving such an expensive car.” We drove through a deserted area for miles. We also landed in a hot air balloon, which was my first time lying down to get into one. Passing through a small town, a little girl tugged on my sleeve, pointing to her disabled father, asking if I could spare some change. We took a day to help her father get to the hospital. When we finally reached Alaska, we were a week behind schedule. Beauty had gone from being a timid little kitten to a bold, plump cat. Every time we arrived at a new accommodation, she was the first to jump down, patrol the area, and only then would she return to my side. The Northern Lights were breathtaking. I waited three hours in awe, marveling at the vibrant colors lighting up the sky. Beauty poked her head out of my jacket, the wind rustling her fur before she burrowed back inside. We had just agreed to go skiing next. Then, a strange number called my phone. “Serena, I’m your mother. Can we talk?” The unfamiliar voice took me back to the day of my father’s car accident. He had called me that day, excitedly telling me he had good news and wanted to introduce me to my mother. His voice had been filled with joy, stirring countless fantasies about meeting her. But soon after, I received the news of his passing, and the mother he spoke of never appeared. I handed the car keys over to them and boarded the plane with Beauty. At the airport, I stepped off the plane and saw Elijah. Standing next to him was a woman in a wheelchair. I recognized her immediately—she looked just like the woman in my father’s wallet. “Back already?” Elijah asked, but I pretended not to hear him.

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Emmanuel was an expert in giving me the silent treatment. Whenever he got even a little upset, he’d slam the door and disappear for ten days, sometimes two weeks. I had grown used to adjusting my emotions, smiling through the pain while taking care of Oliver. Until one day, I was helping him with his homework when I saw his wish. “Wish Mom would disappear. “The way she freaks out at Dad is terrifying.” That was the moment I woke up. Sunday nights were always the hardest. Oliver was dragging his feet, crying as he tried to finish the homework due the next day, while Emmanuel, drowning me out with his headphones, was fully immersed in his game. Nobody cared about me. Oliver cried harder after I scolded him, glaring at me with frustration, while Emmanuel pretended not to notice us, clearly annoyed. I stood at the dining table, gathering up the leftover scraps, silently convincing myself that everything was my fault. But inside, my heart ached. It was late. Emmanuel had retreated to his study to sleep, Oliver had cried himself to sleep with tear stains still on his face, and I stood in the bathroom, staring at my weary reflection. This marked the third month of Emmanuel’s silent treatment. Three long months. Long enough for me to forget why our cold war had even started. Living under the same roof, he hadn’t spoken a word to me, and I had stubbornly refused to back down. He was the one in the wrong. I wasn’t going to apologize. But I couldn’t sleep. I walked to Oliver’s room to tidy up his backpack. That’s when I saw it. In his notebook—his brand-new diary that I had bought him—his wish was written in small, childish handwriting. “I wish Mom would disappear.”

I rubbed my eyes, thinking I had made a mistake. I picked up the diary and walked into the living room. I read the words again. “I wish Mom would disappear. “She’s so scary when she freaks out at Dad. She made him leave.” I collapsed onto the couch, numb from the pain. For the first time, I understood what it felt like to be so hurt that you’re beyond feeling. The light in Emmanuel’s study clicked off as he strolled out, his face cheerful—until he saw me. Immediately, he reverted to his cold, distant self. Without saying a word, he grabbed the car keys off the coffee table. As he passed by me, I smelled the familiar scent of sandalwood. That was the cologne I had picked out for him back when we were dating in college. Back then, he was just a nerdy guy with black-framed glasses, a white T-shirt, and shorts—someone who had no idea how to dress. I’d gradually updated his style, choosing my favorite cologne for him. “Wear cologne when you’re meeting girls—it’ll make them like you more,” I’d teased him. He’d said he cherished anything I chose for him. And he’d worn it ever since. The familiar scent unlocked a flood of memories, and suddenly, all the beautiful moments from our past came rushing back. I thought about our ridiculous standoff, about our son, whom I loved more than anything. The pain my son had caused me was overwhelming, and I desperately needed something to hold onto. Once again, I caved in and swallowed my pride with Emmanuel. I couldn’t stop myself from standing up and grabbing his arm. “Emmanuel, let’s talk.” I cried silently behind him. He shook my hand off. That’s when I noticed the call still active on his phone. It was late. Who was he talking to? And why had he put on cologne before going to meet them? “Emmanuel, are you on your way? I’m waiting downstairs. I’ve been craving BBQ for ages!” A girl’s playful voice came through the phone. That soft, sweet voice reminded me why we were fighting in the first place. I spun around to leave, but Emmanuel grabbed me back. He raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Beg me, and I’ll stay with you and Oliver.” Emmanuel always loved seeing me bend, watching me beg for his forgiveness—especially now, with another woman vying for his attention. It felt like he was offering his presence as some sort of royal gift.

I let out a bitter laugh. “Beg you? Was I the only one responsible for having this child? Isn’t he your son too? “Is raising him my responsibility alone? Don’t you share it? “Do you even know how messed up Oliver’s mind is right now?” Emmanuel’s expression shifted. He pursed his lips, looking at me like I was some kind of crazy woman. Then he grabbed his coat and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Oliver’s diary—his wish for me to disappear—was still lying on the couch. Emmanuel hadn’t even bothered to turn off the light in the study as he left. This was his pattern. Whenever a problem needed to be addressed, he’d either throw a single careless comment to light my fuse, enjoying the sight of me going crazy, or he’d storm out without a second thought. The slamming door woke Oliver. He padded barefoot out of his room, staring at the direction his father had left. He walked over to me and picked up the diary I had thrown on the couch. Unbothered by the fact that I had seen its contents, he frowned and chastised me. “Mom, why’d you make Dad mad again?” I didn’t respond. I heard the engine start up downstairs. The car revved a few times, then drove off into the night. Guess I’ll be biking Oliver to school again tomorrow. I looked at the diary still clutched in Oliver’s hand. And at his eyes, which looked so much like his father’s. For the first time, I realized just how deeply I was trapped.

I dragged myself to bed. As soon as I closed my eyes, the words “Mom disappear” flashed across my mind. To be honest, I had never truly lost control in front of Oliver. In fact, I had done everything possible to avoid conflict, going as far as humiliating myself to keep Emmanuel happy. I’d begged him to come home, begged him to hold his own son. But I couldn’t sleep. The phone on my nightstand lit up. It was a message from Serena Cortez, my neighbor. “I heard Emmanuel storm out again. Did you guys fight? Are you okay?” I had met Serena through selling DIY projects on Craigslist. At the time, Emmanuel had cut off my allowance to force me to apologize during one of his silent treatments. Desperate for money, I had taken up whatever odd jobs I could find. That’s how we discovered we were neighbors. She had even bought some of my crafts, supporting my little side business and checking in on me. I heard Oliver’s door close behind me, so I replied: “Thanks, Serena. I’m okay.” The next morning, I woke up feeling drained, my eyes puffy and swollen. Emmanuel came home, the scent of sandalwood now mixed with alcohol. He glanced at me, his eyes barely resting on my face before turning away. This time, he wasn’t silent. He frowned, heading to the bathroom, muttering under his breath. “Don’t know who you’re trying to scare, looking like that.” I knew he was waiting for me to react, to lose it and scream so he could leave again. But I was too tired. I stayed quiet. He looked at me, surprised. Something flickered in his eyes. Then he walked into Oliver’s room with a cheerful tone. “Come on, buddy. Daddy’s taking you to school today.” Two completely different attitudes, like two different people. They left the house hand in hand, laughing and talking. No one spared me a second glance. Like two knives piercing straight into my heart.

I was throwing out the trash when I ran into Serena. She didn’t give me a choice and pulled me into her apartment. With a tender touch, she rolled an egg over my swollen eyes, her gaze soft and filled with concern. “Does it hurt?” Her care reminded me of Emmanuel when we had first gotten married. Back then, we had nothing. In a place as expensive as Savannah, Georgia, we could only afford to live in a run-down basement apartment. We shared a tiny bed, and the bathroom and kitchen were communal. The distance from the kitchen to our room felt like miles. One day, I bumped into someone while rushing back with a hot dish. I instinctively turned the tray toward myself, burning a large patch of skin on my hand. When Emmanuel got home from work, I had put on gloves to hide the burn, not wanting him to worry. But he noticed right away, and I quickly tried to laugh it off, saying it didn’t hurt. Emmanuel fussed over me, tears falling from his eyes as he applied ointment. He cried so much, like the tears would never stop. I remember laughing at him. “How can such a big guy cry so much?” He wiped his tears and said, “Vivian, I swear I’ll give you the best life anyone’s ever had!” That night, he held me and made promises until the early hours. “Vivian, I’ll never let you get hurt again.” Even now, I believe he truly loved me back then. But when did he change? Now, we’re like two ticking time bombs, tied together, ready to explode at any moment. But Emmanuel is a dud. He never makes a sound. He’s just this creeping smoke, filling every corner of the air. Suffocating me. Making me scream until I’m hoarse. When I got home, they were already gone. The kitchen was cold, and Oliver’s wet clothes were left on the bathroom floor. Dirty footprints marked the living room carpet. I sat on the couch and opened my laptop. I started drafting the divorce papers. My education was just as good as Emmanuel’s. Before I became a stay-at-home mom, I graduated from a top university, passed the bar certification, and worked as a licensed attorney for two years. I had once earned over $7,000 a month, representing clients in court and shining in my career. But then, I got pregnant. Emmanuel convinced me to quit my job to take care of Oliver. At first, he said: “Once you’ve recovered and Oliver gets a little older, we’ll hire a full-time nanny. You can go back to work then.” Later, he changed his tune: “Oliver’s so used to you now, and my career’s taking off. If you go back to work, we’ll have to hire a nanny. Her salary will be more than you’d make—it wouldn’t be worth it for us. “Let’s wait until Oliver is older.” Oliver clung to me, babbling “Mommy” in his baby voice. I caved. I should’ve held my ground. Looking back, I realize that’s when Emmanuel’s silent treatment started, little by little.

By the time I finished drafting the divorce papers, it was late afternoon. Emmanuel still hadn’t brought Oliver home. I instinctively started worrying about Oliver’s homework, but I snapped myself out of it with a harsh slap to my own face. “As a mom, you’ve got to be tough. Like his dad.” Then, I got a call from Emmanuel. Except it wasn’t him on the line—it was that girl from the other night. “Vivian, hey, it’s Lena. Emmanuel’s had too much to drink, and he can’t get home on his own. Can you come pick him up?” “You take him,” I said, “Aren’t you two close?” I glanced at the divorce papers on the table and changed my mind. “Actually, never mind. I’ll come.” Hanging up, I rushed to The Rustic Oak as fast as I could. The private lounge was filled with a mix of men and women I didn’t recognize, except for Lena, the girl who had called me. The rest were strangers. But they all stared at me, their eyes full of judgment. It was like they were blaming me for not being a proper housewife. Emmanuel sat at the head of the table, his face flushed red, still raising an empty glass as if to drink. Oliver sat right next to him. Oliver’s backpack had been carelessly tossed on the ground. A scantily dressed woman held him in her lap, chatting with him like it was no big deal. So this is how he took care of our son. No wonder a few outings with him could undo all my years of effort. I hadn’t even stepped into the room when Oliver shrieked. “Dad, I’m not going home with Mom! She’ll make me do homework!” He ran around the room as if he’d seen a ghost. Emmanuel finally pretended to wake up. “Don’t worry, buddy. Dad’s here.” Then the others chimed in, trying to “reason” with me. “Vivian, don’t be mad at Emmanuel. He’s been hiding out at my place for two months because of you.” “Same here. He’s been at my place for nearly a month. My wife’s starting to get fed up.” Even the girl sitting next to him spoke up. “Vivian, he talks about you and Oliver all the time. He really cares about you guys.” It dawned on me that this call wasn’t about me picking up Emmanuel. They wanted me to break down, cry, and beg him to come home. I laughed bitterly. “He’s full of excuses. What, he can’t walk home on his own? His legs don’t work anymore? “I’ve been raising our son by myself—does that not count as suffering? But one argument, and he walks out the door like he’s the one in pain. “If being ‘free’ is so hard, why don’t we switch places? Emmanuel, stop pretending you’re drunk. “What you’ve done—you want me to talk about it privately, or should we air it out here?” The girl clinging to his side turned pale instantly. “It’s all a misunderstanding.” A misunderstanding? You almost crossed the line in a drunken fling, and when I confronted you, you couldn’t even answer me. So you started this cold war. Emmanuel’s face hardened. He didn’t say another word. His expression darkened as he looked at Oliver. Oliver, defeated, trudged toward me, still glancing back at his dad, hoping Emmanuel would call him back. So he could continue playing, avoiding his studies. This was Emmanuel’s way of telling me to leave—to take Oliver and go—so he could keep enjoying his night. Why should I always be the one to leave? I had had enough. I stood my ground, pulling the divorce papers from my bag.

“Emmanuel, I want a divorce.” The lounge went silent. Emmanuel finally looked up at me. His eyes were surprisingly clear. Seven years of marriage, and no matter how bad things got, I had never once mentioned divorce. Emmanuel knew my personality—once I made up my mind, there was no going back. He hurried off the leather sofa and rushed over to me. “You’re serious?” For the first time in a while, he looked me in the eye and spoke to me like a normal person. He glanced down at Oliver, then let out a bitter laugh. “Vivian, if we divorce, you won’t get custody of Oliver. He’ll stay with me. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He was certain I would fight for Oliver. He wasn’t blind—he knew exactly how much I had endured for our son, how much I had sacrificed. Oliver clung to his dad, glaring at me like he was terrified I might take him away. “I don’t want you, Mom. I want Dad.” The girl from the lounge sauntered over, giving me a smug smile. “Vivian, you’re at that age, with no job and no home. You won’t win custody of him. “Just take him home. No fight between a married couple lasts forever.” I clenched my teeth, gripping the divorce papers tightly. I had known this would happen. But seeing everyone’s disdain for me, their lack of support, made me falter for a moment. But I couldn’t afford to be weak. I pinched myself hard. Reminding myself that as a woman, I had to be strong. No more tears. Tears were only magic to someone who loved you. To someone who didn’t, they were just a joke. “Emmanuel, don’t worry. “I don’t want the house. I don’t even want Oliver. Let’s divorce.”

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As my husband lay dying, he grabbed our son’s hand and whispered, “It’s time to bring your real mother back. Take care of her.” But I was right there in the room. My son nodded tearfully. “She’s had a rough life hiding all these years, Dad. I should.” Then my husband looked at me and said, “Thirty years of being called ‘Mom’ by my kid should be more than enough to make you feel appreciated.” I stood frozen, realizing for the first time that my adopted son was actually the child of my husband and our neighbor, conceived before our marriage. Furious, I left the hospital. I was struck by a truck on the way home and died instantly. But when I opened my eyes again, I found myself on the day everyone first urged me to adopt that child. 01 At a family dinner with Jim Holden’s relatives, my mother-in-law, Mary Holden, again pressured us about adopting a child. “Grace has been married for three years, and with her miscarriage and health issues, having a baby now could be risky for both her and the child,” she said. “If it doesn’t work out, why not consider adoption?” I sat there stunned, my hand pinching Jim’s thigh under the table. He winced and yelled, “Mom’s talking to you, Grace! Why are you pinching me?” Seeing his face twisted in pain confirmed it: I’d come back to life, and here I was, facing this family all over again. Just like in my last life, everyone was hinting that I’d failed them by not having a baby. Back then, Jim had pretended to support me, but he’d put the blame squarely on me too. “Grace and I are meant to be together. I love her unconditionally, child or no child,” he’d said at the table then, adding, “I don’t want her to take any risks.” “Stop worrying, Mom.” But after that, he and his mother would work together, guilt-tripping me as the “bad one.” She would nag that a woman’s worth came from having kids, while Jim comforted me about our “love and quiet life together,” assuring me he preferred it this way. Eventually, I couldn’t take his pleas and gave in to the idea of adoption. The very next day, Mary brought Liam over herself. “This boy is already five, and I’ve met him at the foster home. He’s quiet and obedient, no trouble at all,” she’d said. “You two work a lot; if he were one of those rowdy kids, you’d never manage!” All the paperwork was in order, and I welcomed Liam home with a smile. Every evening when I came home from work, he’d hand me a glass of water, saying, “Here, Mommy, drink.” His voice was so gentle it melted my heart. Jim would smile proudly, saying we were blessed. While I cooked, Liam would help pick vegetables, already acting eager to please. I figured he’d endured a lot in foster care, so I poured my affection into him. Whenever I could, I’d buy him new clothes or hold him when he woke up scared. But my parents were furious. “You can have your own kids, Grace! Why adopt someone else’s?” my dad scolded. “What if his birth mom shows up and tears your whole life apart?” I was stubborn. I believed Jim and I were soulmates, and I believed love could replace blood ties. I refused my parents’ advice and even cut them off when they continued to argue. Once Liam came along, Jim became softer with me, giving in to every request. “For Liam’s sake, could you ask around and help me get a permanent position at the transit department? Then I could support the family better,” he said. So, I passed on a promotion so Jim could get a foot in the door. When he got the news, he picked me up and twirled me around. “I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me, honey. I’ll take care of you and Liam, always.” I even used my connections to move Liam’s foster records to the city so he could attend the best elementary school. With a steady job, Jim rose from an hourly laborer to a railway attendant, doubling his income. Now he was always traveling, and every time school was out, he’d take Liam on study trips around the country while I stayed home handling the rest. Over the years, I became worn out. I thought my life would calm down once Liam was grown, but instead, I got the news that Jim was on his deathbed. Surrounded by family and friends, he urged Liam with his dying breath: “It’s time to bring your mom back, Liam. Take care of her.” I was right there, but it was as if no one saw me. My son, the one I’d raised, nodded with tears in his eyes. “I know, Dad. She’s suffered enough.” Only then did I realize I’d been the only one in the dark all these years. Jim had a son before our marriage, and that boy was Liam. His birth mother had lived just a floor above us, and Jim had been taking them on family trips all this time. Blinded by rage, I slapped Jim hard. Then I stumbled out of the hospital, too numb to notice the truck that would kill me moments later. But I opened my eyes and found myself back on that day again, with everyone pressuring me to adopt a child. This time, I laughed bitterly. “If I can have kids of my own, why would I adopt?” 02 I’d done everything for Jim, even gone on a hunger strike to marry him, believing I couldn’t live without him. Seeing me cold and detached now rattled him. “Mom’s just looking out for us,” he said, his face red. “What kind of wife are you, acting like this?” “A kid would make our family happier.” “Wasn’t it you who said you didn’t want me overworked and wanted a quiet life?” I interrupted. “If you’re lonely, why don’t we just get a dog?” Mary’s face went white. She shot Jim a look. Jim snapped, “How can you compare a dog to a kid?” “Dogs at least show loyalty, Jim. But adopt a kid, and you’re as likely to end up with an ingrate,” I said, flinging my fork down. “You’re still a temp worker, barely making enough to cover your parents, let alone a child. Get real.” Jim lost his temper but finally reached an agreement with me: he would wait to adopt until his job paid more than mine. I didn’t want to see this family ever again, but I couldn’t leave just yet without losing half of what I owned. I clenched my teeth and waited. Mary gave us both a forced smile, saying, “No need to argue over a kid. We’ll revisit it later.” The two of them left the apartment, but I trailed after them quietly, only to see them head upstairs to 203. They took out a key and let themselves in. Back home, I realized Mary had known all along about Jim’s affair and had helped hide it from me, waiting to snatch as much as she could. I let go of my habit of cleaning up after them, remembering I wasn’t their maid anymore. Instead, I threw out my old clothes and cheap cosmetics, determined to cut the last remnants of my past. When Jim returned, he looked at me in shock. “Why toss perfectly good stuff? Wasteful. I could help you save, you know.” Without even looking up, I replied, “I’m letting go of all the useless junk.” 03 Jim couldn’t handle my cold responses anymore. He muttered curses under his breath, stomping around the apartment. “Wasteful woman, acting high and mighty just because she makes a bit of money! Now she won’t even clean up the house!” Listening to him complain, I wondered how I ever believed he cared about me. I ignored him, pretended to take out the trash, and made my way down to a street corner with old flyers taped on the poles. I examined them closely until I found one that read, “Green Meadows Apartments, Unit 204 for rent.” “Hi, is this Unit 204 available for rent?” I asked when someone picked up. “Yes, that’s me! I’m glad you called!” a cheerful voice replied. We arranged to meet at a nearby diner. There, a middle-aged woman named Aunt Lucy showed up, her arms slightly plump, her smile warm. “Just call me Aunt Lucy. You’re the one looking to rent, right? I ask for the first three months’ rent upfront. It’s thirty dollars a month.” After signing the lease with her, I pocketed the keys to Unit 204. Then I hired an electrician to come by and drill a small hole in the living room wall that adjoined Unit 203. Through this gap, I installed a tiny device that would let me hear everything going on next door. Now, I wouldn’t have to set foot inside to hear every word that passed between Jim and his lover. That eavesdropping soon revealed everything I needed to know. Jim’s mistress Rachel had been living just above us for years. She was so familiar to me, yet I couldn’t place her face at first. But my heart broke all over again, realizing she’d been so close the entire time. With my plan in place, I told Jim I’d have to stay at my work dorm for a while due to an urgent project. I packed a small suitcase and moved out, hiding in a spot under a big tree, where I had a direct view of Rachel’s apartment window. A short while later, I saw Rachel hurrying back with a little boy in tow—young Liam, barely five years old at the time. The light flickered on in their apartment above, and I crept up to my new unit to listen. “Daddy, I missed you so much!” Liam’s small voice was so clear it was as if they were speaking in my living room. Jim’s voice answered. “Come here, little guy. Let me see if you’ve grown taller. Look how your mom takes such good care of you! Remember what Daddy told you?” “I remember,” Liam replied, his voice brimming with pride. “I’ll always remember how good my mom is to me, and one day, I’ll bring her home with me. Daddy, where are we going next?” “We’re not going anywhere far, kiddo,” Jim replied, laughing. “One day, you’ll live with Daddy and your other mom, but you’ll be close to your mom, too.” Rachel’s voice broke in, sounding tense. “Jim, you think adopting Liam will work? What if she finds out?” Jim’s voice turned harsh. “As long as Mom covers for us and we keep Liam in line, there won’t be any problems. Grace is always busy. She’ll barely notice when Liam’s around. I get the best of both worlds—I don’t have to take care of my mother or our son, but we’ll still be together as a family.” Rachel giggled, her voice suddenly coquettish. “I knew you always had me in your heart, Jim. By the way, the skincare products you bought last time are all gone. Can you see if you can get more? My skin feels so rough.” “You still look better than her, no matter what.” The sound of their laughter filled the room, and I could hear Liam’s childish giggle at the end. “Daddy and Mommy, kissing! So embarrassing!” I thought of all the times I’d gone without to make sure Jim and his mom had what they needed. I remembered all the cheap skincare I’d bought for myself, the work clothes I’d worn until they were frayed. All that money I’d saved had gone to support their little secret life. Sitting there listening, I felt a strange calm as I pressed “record” on the tape player. Once, I’d returned home from a work trip to see a strange woman playing with Liam in the park near our house. Jim waved it off, saying it was just the neighbor who found our son adorable. But now, I understood. They were a family, laughing and playing together like I was the outsider. 04 I tried to avoid bringing Liam home, thinking Jim would let it go. But I underestimated his persistence. He started spreading rumors to pressure me into adopting, knowing it was my biggest vulnerability. One night after work, I went to the cafeteria to grab dinner. But when I sat down, a few people got up and moved away, looking at me like I had some contagious disease. They whispered behind their hands, but I caught a few words. I grabbed my friend Jenny’s arm as she passed by. “Jenny, what’s going on? Why is everyone looking at me like that?” Jenny avoided my gaze, looking horrified. “Grace, don’t touch me! Your mother-in-law said you have some…infection that’s the reason you can’t have kids.” She lowered her voice. “People are saying…maybe it’s because of…you know, things you might have done when you were younger.” I was shaking with fury, but I knew I had to stay calm. Any sign of weakness would just give them more ammunition. That was exactly what Jim and Mary were hoping for. Just then, Jim showed up and started shouting down the gossipers, then turned to comfort me. “Grace, don’t listen to their nonsense. You know Mom means well. She’s just worried we won’t have anyone to take care of us when we’re old.” In front of the gathering crowd, I patted Jim on the shoulder, my voice loud and clear. “Who says we don’t have kids? Our daughter’s been living with your mom, and she’s six now. She’ll be moving in with us soon!” I smiled sweetly, “Honey, aren’t you thrilled?” I’d always taken Jim at his word, but now I was ready to make my own moves. If he wanted me to adopt so badly, I’d do it—but I’d bring in a child with my own blood.

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I got into my husband’s Rolls-Royce and overheard my future daughter-in-law calling me a homewrecker behind my back. I tugged on my husband’s ear and said, “While I was abroad these past few years, how did you manage to raise our son into such a love-struck fool?” My husband shrugged. “I’m only good at making money. When it comes to dealing with gold diggers, that’s your department, my dear.” I’m a writer who just returned home after living abroad for five years. I had barely sat down when my son Jason came rushing over. “Mom, Emily is such a wonderful girl. She’s definitely not after our money.” “She’s incredibly hardworking. She came from a small town and worked really hard to get into a top university despite all the difficulties.” “Her parents are elderly, and she has a younger brother.” “But her brother won’t be a burden to her, I promise.” My first thought was that he was protesting too much. The more someone emphasizes they don’t care about something, the more they actually do care. I smiled and said, “As long as she’s a good person, it doesn’t matter. We have plenty of money. Even if she had seven brothers, it wouldn’t be an issue.” Jason threw himself at me, beaming from ear to ear. “Mom, I love you so much!” I smirked and suddenly asked my starry-eyed son: “If she’s not after the money, what does she see in you?” Jason stammered for a while, suddenly filled with self-doubt. “Maybe she thinks I’m handsome?” Oh dear, I knew it. While I was abroad these past few years, his father was busy making money and ended up spoiling him rotten. My son has always been pure-hearted and kind. When he was little, he would cry and refuse to leave until I gave money to beggars we passed on the street. I’m really worried this angel of mine will fall prey to a gold digger’s schemes. After that, I quickly investigated Emily’s company and pulled some strings to get hired there. My desk was right behind Emily’s. The first time I saw her in person, I had to admit she was quite beautiful – fair skin, rosy lips, delicate eyebrows, and large eyes. She had a soft and innocent look about her. I glanced at her desk, which was covered in expensive cosmetics. There were several jars of La Mer creams and three or four luxury handbags. After completing the onboarding process, I had just returned to my desk when I saw a group of young women gathered around Emily, listening to her brag about how wealthy her boyfriend was. “Jason treats me so well. He’s incredibly generous. He lets me use Chanel perfume to freshen up the bathroom, wash the toilet with bird’s nest soup, use Louis Vuitton bags as trash bags, moisturize my feet with Estée Lauder, and use La Mer to moisturize my body.” I listened in shock, thinking “Oh boy…” No wonder my son’s spending had skyrocketed over the past year. His credit card bills suddenly jumped to over a million dollars per quarter. My son’s excuse was that it was for his studies. My fool of a husband actually believed him and gave our son whatever he asked for. My heart ached. The money my husband and I earned didn’t just fall from the sky! I was furious inside, cursing my son, but outwardly I sarcastically said to Emily: “Bird’s nest soup isn’t meant for flushing toilets. It depends on whether the toilet is worthy. What kind of toilet are you flushing? A rental apartment toilet?” The group of young women finally noticed me, the newcomer. They were all surprised by my sharp tongue and stood there stunned. Emily was clearly no pushover. She immediately fired back. “What’s wrong with a rental apartment? I rented it with my own hard-earned money. Are you jealous? You look like you’re in your late 30s. Is it because no man will pay for your expenses?” Seeing her roll her eyes, I suddenly felt like the son I had raised for over 20 years had been defiled by a pig. I could finally understand those fathers who cry their eyes out at their daughters’ weddings. A plainly dressed girl spoke up in my defense. I later learned her name was Sarah. “Emily, don’t say that. This lady clearly comes from a good background.” The other young women sided with Emily though. It seems they often benefited from her generosity. “Emily, why are you bothering with her? She’s clearly just a bitter old maid who’s jealous of you!” “Yeah, why else would someone her age be competing for jobs with us young people?” I smiled and said, “Auntie here is 50 years old. My son is older than your boyfriends. I have a loving marriage and a harmonious family.” The young women who had just been mocking me were shocked. I only looked to be in my early 30s, which immediately piqued their interest. They crowded around me. “Auntie, how do you take such good care of yourself? You look so young!” “You don’t have a single wrinkle. You must come from a wealthy family.” “Auntie, is your son single?” “Auntie, do you want to adopt a goddaughter?” “Auntie, you’re so beautiful. Your son must be very handsome!” Emily was left standing there, her eyes wide with disbelief. I glanced at Emily disdainfully and said, “Of course. My son is 6’1″, with sharp features and bright eyes. He’s just not very smart.” Just then, Emily’s phone rang. She answered in a soft voice: “Yes, I’m free tonight. Where should we eat?” “Oh no, that place is too fancy.” “Being frugal is a virtue. Let’s go to a food truck instead.” After hanging up, Emily waved her phone at the other girls. Her expression was full of smugness as she pouted and said: “My boyfriend is so considerate. He insists on taking me to an expensive restaurant where the average bill is over $100 per person. I want to eat at a food truck, but he’s upset about it.” Then, she triumphantly showed me her phone wallpaper, which was a photo of my son. “Auntie, is your husband as handsome as my boyfriend?” I smiled and said, “No, your boyfriend is more handsome.” “After all, I gave birth to him.” I almost couldn’t hold back from saying that last part out loud. Emily smiled knowingly and said, “Of course. My boyfriend is half American and half Japanese.” I was stunned. Which one of us – me or my husband – was the secret Japanese person? After work, Emily was in a rush to leave. As she was leaving, she commanded me in an imperious tone: “Please hand in the report on my desk to the manager.” I coldly replied, “Don’t you have hands?” She smirked and touched up her lipstick in the mirror: “You’re new to the workplace. This is how things are done. Don’t be difficult!” “Fine,” I agreed reluctantly. I glanced at the manager’s office. No one was there. After she left, I tore out a page from the middle of the report and tossed it onto the manager’s desk. After doing that, I looked out the window and saw my son waiting downstairs in his Maserati. Jason opened the car door for Emily and carefully shielded her head with his hand to prevent her from bumping it on the doorframe. He had learned those gentlemanly gestures from his father, and he wasn’t bad at it. It’s just that with Emily as the female lead, my son seemed a bit… like a lovesick puppy. Just as I was feeling dejected, the group of young women invited me to dinner with them. I happily agreed. Being around young people made me feel younger at heart, which I enjoyed. I asked Sarah if she wanted to join us, since she had spoken up for me earlier. She declined, saying, “I can’t, I have a part-time job as a designated driver. Shh, don’t tell anyone.” I winked at her, silently agreeing to keep her secret. The young women took me to the food street near our office building. These young people’s tastes were certainly different from an old fogey like me. Along the way, they chatted about things like: “I’d sleep with Tom Holland on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, Chris Evans on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, and both of them together on Sunday.” I didn’t even know who they were talking about. Time really does fly. Unable to join the conversation, I focused my attention on the food instead. Sizzling grilled meat skewers, fragrant egg pancakes. The air was filled with the aroma of street food. I ordered an egg pancake and was about to enjoy it. Looking down, I suddenly spotted my son and Emily in a nearby alley, Crouched on the ground, eating something that looked dark and unappetizing. Next to him was a sticky black plastic bucket that looked like it was filled with gutter oil. Flies were buzzing around my son’s glossy short hair. In that moment, I truly felt I had failed as a mother. When he was young, I often took him to shabby restaurants to experience hardship and build character. Who knew it would turn him into someone with no standards, willing to eat anything! But honestly, how could I bear to see my son eating such dirty food! At home, when his father washed fruit for him, even tap water wasn’t clean enough. We had to soak it in baking soda and then rinse it with mineral water. In that moment, I really wanted to rush over, grab his ear, and tell him: “Your girlfriend eats street food in front of you, but behind your back she’s using Chanel to freshen up the bathroom. Don’t you know that, you fool!” My hands were shaking with anger, but I had to control myself. It wasn’t time for me to reveal myself yet. I hid in a secluded corner and finished my egg pancake without really tasting it, then went home fuming. Sitting on the couch, I pouted with my lips turned down. When my husband Henry saw me, he immediately sat down beside me to comfort me. “Honey, how was your first day at work?” I described everything I had seen and heard, then asked sheepishly, “Who do you think our son inherited his intelligence from?” Henry laughed. “It must be your chromosome 16 acting up.” His reminder brought back painful memories. We lost our first child unexpectedly. Later tests showed that a duplicated segment on my chromosome 16 was the cause. Chromosome 16 is responsible for intelligence. Children born with this issue would either be extremely smart or severely intellectually disabled. Back then, my husband and I couldn’t accept the possibility of having a child with severe disabilities, so we considered not having children at all. But Jason didn’t give up on me. We anxiously went through the ten months of pregnancy, and after he was born, the doctors said there were no issues with his intelligence. Only then did we breathe a sigh of relief. Now it seems his emotional intelligence might be a bit lacking, especially when it comes to choosing a girlfriend. With mixed feelings, I waited up for my son until the early hours of the morning. When he turned on the lights, he was startled to see me sitting on the couch. After composing himself, he suddenly pulled out a bouquet of carnations from behind his back and said with a smile: “Mom, these are for you. I haven’t had a chance to spend time with you since you got back.” I immediately burst into tears. This bouquet of carnations moved this old mother to tears. But then, he asked in the next breath: “Mom, can I have the keys to the villa in the small town?” My mood immediately plummeted again. I quickly wiped away my tears and asked warily, “What do you want it for?” “Mom, I can’t bear to see Emily living in a rental apartment anymore. I want to let her live in the villa. It’s just sitting empty anyway.” This Emily was quite clever. After I mocked her for living in a rental apartment during the day, she immediately whispered in my son’s ear that night about wanting to live in a big villa. I didn’t know how to refuse, but just then my husband leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed and spoke up: “That house is being used as employee housing now. Some employees will be moving in in a few days. The beachfront villa is empty though, does she want to live there?” The beachfront villa was a two-hour commute each way from Emily’s office. A lazy person definitely wouldn’t want to wake up early and get home late every day for work. My husband was quite shrewd. Hearing this, my son’s eyes immediately dimmed. He didn’t even bother to take off his shoes at the door before lowering his head to send a text message. He was probably asking for Emily’s opinion. Sure enough, a moment later, he declined decisively: “Never mind then.” Leaving those cold words behind, he returned to his room. I was not in a good mood. My husband took the opportunity to score some points, trying to win my favor: “Our son brings you flowers but has ulterior motives. I’m better, aren’t I?” I asked in confusion, “How so?” He looked at me tenderly and said, “You’re not going to work tomorrow. I’ve booked a table at the revolving restaurant to welcome you home.” Hearing him say that, my anger immediately dissipated. “Wow, Auntie’s husband is so classy? What a coincidence to run into you here.” At the restaurant, just as my husband and I were having our private moment, a coquettish female voice rang out. I looked up and saw it was Emily, accompanied by two young women around her age. Before Henry could even turn his head to look at her, she had already plopped herself down next to him, then said to her companions: “You two go ahead and look around. I’ve run into a colleague.” The two young women walked away, chatting and laughing. Emily sat on the corner of Henry’s black coat. His face darkened. Emily smoothed out her long dress, crossed her legs to reveal her snow-white thighs, and said to my husband, “Uncle, I’m a colleague of Auntie’s. You don’t mind, do you?” Henry looked puzzled. He had never seen Emily’s photo before, so I quickly explained, “This is Emily.” Hearing this, a meaningful look flashed in my husband’s eyes. He quickly pulled the corner of his coat out from under her bottom, but smiled and said: “Of course I don’t mind.” “Where’s your young boyfriend?” I asked her curiously. She lowered her eyes to look at the menu, answering absent-mindedly, “He’s picking out a house for me.”

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Olivia, once the untouchable prom queen, now kneels at my feet. Her tears flow freely as she begs for my forgiveness, pleading with me to let her off the hook. I pick up an old, yellowed fountain pen from my desk and fling it at her face. “Put this inside yourself, and I’ll let you go,” I say coldly. I open the door to find a pitiful face staring back at me. Even without makeup, Olivia’s skin glows, her delicate features framed by doe-like eyes that radiate innocence. A decade has passed, yet time has been kind to her enviable beauty. She looks exactly as I remember her, minus the arrogant expression she once wore. I recognized her instantly when she first started working here. Olivia had removed all traces of her carefully applied makeup before coming to see me. Before I can react, she squeezes through the door gap and falls to her knees at my feet with a soft thud. Her hands clutch desperately at my pant leg. Disgusted, I frown and step back. The girl who was once worshipped like a goddess at our school now crawls on the ground like a dog, clinging to my leg. “Rachel, please forgive me,” she whimpers. “I really need this job.” I stare down at her, my face devoid of emotion. “You don’t need to do this,” I say flatly. “This is strictly business. Whether you stay or not depends on your performance.” She doesn’t believe me. Biting her lip, she suddenly starts banging her head against the floor with such force it seems she might crack the tiles. When she looks up again, I see a faint bruise forming on her forehead. Seeing no reaction from me, she takes it further, slapping herself hard across the face twice. The sound echoes through my office, making my scalp tingle. Olivia’s eyes fill with tears. “I’m punishing myself. Is that enough?” She had hit herself with surprising force. In moments, her delicate cheeks begin to swell and redden noticeably. Now Olivia’s face is a mess of purple bruises. Tears pool in her eyes, making her look beautifully pitiful. “I was wrong in the past. I’ve already suffered for it,” Olivia chokes out between sobs. “Rachel, without this job, my daughter and I won’t survive—” Olivia tries to grab me again, but I’ve already retreated behind my desk. Her voice breaks as she continues. “You’re the HR manager now. I’m a married woman, I can’t possibly get ahead of you.” “Rachel, please take pity on me, won’t you?” Pity? The word sounds like mockery coming from Olivia’s mouth. I narrow my eyes and let out a derisive laugh. “I never imagined this day would come, even though I’ve dreamed of killing you for the past ten years.” I pick up the old Hero fountain pen from my desk, twirling it between my fingers. It’s not enough. How could it ever be enough? “I never intended to abuse my position for personal revenge. You’re the one who came begging me.” In the next moment, I hurl the pen at Olivia’s face. Ink splatters across her features. She freezes in shock as black liquid drips down her elegant nose onto the floor, staining her fair skin. I’m reminded of how she once crouched before me, wielding a pen with a demonic grin. My lips curl into a cold smile. “Put this inside yourself, and I’ll let you go,” I echo her words from long ago. “After all, that’s what you did to me back then.” “Minor tearing.” The young female doctor’s eyes held a questioning look. “Do you want me to take photos… as evidence?” I stared at her blankly, my legs trembling uncontrollably. I couldn’t make a sound. The next day, I stood outside the teacher’s office clutching the medical report, feeling lost and dazed. Olivia walked out, saying goodbye to the teacher in a sickeningly sweet voice before striding away in her pretty leather shoes without a backward glance. Catching the teacher’s cold stare, I felt a surge of fear and almost fled. But the doctor had told me teachers were the most noble profession under the sun. Surely the teacher would help me. “You’re just in time. Olivia said she saw you at the hospital yesterday. Did you go?” “Yes, but it was because she—” Before I could finish, she impatiently grabbed a notebook from her desk and struck me across the face, cutting off my words. “I’m tired of dealing with troublemakers like you. Don’t bother coming to me with your problems anymore!” She didn’t even want to hear my explanation. Back in the classroom, everyone laughed when they saw my torn books and reddened face. I heard boys loudly claiming I earned money through prostitution and had just had an abortion. They grabbed my bloodstained uniform jacket, dragging me to the front to show everyone the “evidence” of my “abortion.” Under the stares of the entire class, I could barely breathe. When the bell rang and the math teacher entered, shoving me so I fell to the ground, I finally snapped back to reality. Sitting at my desk, I was still gasping for air when my deskmate unscrewed my water bottle and patted my back. I glanced at her gratefully and took a sip. The taste was strange. When she asked if something was wrong, I nodded. She excitedly told the others, “Rachel noticed!” Everyone turned to look at me, including Olivia. She was toying with a Hero fountain pen, her doe-like eyes sparkling with a bright smile. My deskmate burst out laughing. “This is water from the boys’ toilet! They all say you’re always eating that stuff from boys, so you must be able to tell. I can’t believe it’s true!” I ran to the bathroom and threw up in the sink. Then I was punished for disrupting class, forced to stand for the entire morning. The medical report hidden in my clothes could never be shown now. It would only become evidence of my sleeping with men. I could already imagine the boys using the photos to humiliate me, just to make Olivia smile. They trampled me on ordinary days, turning each mundane day into hellish torment for me. I never imagined our positions would be reversed after ten years. I smile coldly. “Olivia, I remember you gave me this pen because you hated me using the same things as you.” Olivia drops the pen in horror. She looks disheveled, but it’s not even a fraction of what I endured. “Rachel, if you’re willing to forgive me, I can pay you. Just let me work here in peace.” I tilt my head, not quite understanding what she means by “work in peace.” “I told you, this is strictly business,” I say. “As long as you perform well and your team leader and coworkers give you good reviews, I’ll evaluate you fairly.” She pauses, then covers her face as she walks out, returning to her desk where she sobs quietly. I stand in the doorway, silently watching as everyone gathers around to comfort the new fragile flower, not understanding why. Even some of the usually aloof male colleagues offer her tissues. Olivia uncovers her face, revealing her ink-stained features. They look at me in shock. “It’s nothing, I just accidentally got ink on myself. It has nothing to do with the manager. Please don’t worry about me.” Her pitiful act is enough to shake the good reputation I’ve built over years of kindness. “Ms. Chen is a good person, she wouldn’t do this on purpose…” one of my closer subordinates says softly in my defense. As soon as the words leave her mouth, Olivia’s eyes redden even more. Her expression silences everyone present. I smile and shake my head, closing the door. Olivia truly wants to stay at the company. The internship lasts three months, with weekly peer reviews and monthly evaluations from team leaders. Olivia is well-liked, just like in high school. The subordinate who defended me earlier sits across from me. Through the glass conference room door, we can see Olivia typing furiously at her desk. She seems busier than those around her, appearing diligent and hardworking. “Olivia is pretty nice. She helps out with a lot of little things at work, like printing documents or getting invoices.” “Does she complete team leader assignments together with everyone too?” “…Well, she has been out of the workforce for a few years. But she’s eager to learn. She might not be great at new tasks at first, but we manage.” I check a box on her file and glance up. “Is that her daughter?” I ask, pointing to the little girl beside Olivia’s desk. Anyone could tell at a glance – the girl is Olivia’s spitting image. Delicate and pretty, she sits quietly in a chair playing with an old model phone. With her head bowed, she looks like a porcelain doll. “Yeah, she often brings her daughter to work. But the little girl is well-behaved, just doesn’t talk much.” My subordinate’s expression turns gossipy. “I heard Olivia’s husband is abusive. She desperately needs this job to support herself and her child. That’s why she fought so hard to get into the interview. Now she even does some livestreaming to earn extra money. It’s so sad.” I smile slightly. “Olivia and I were high school classmates.” “She married well. Her husband is actually one of our company’s big clients. Everyone’s met him before.” My subordinate’s eyes widen in surprise, her brow furrowing. I nod and smile, then wave her back to work. During lunch, my colleague and I run into the little girl alone. I’ve heard her name is Lily. I crouch down in front of her. “Lily, why are you here by yourself?” She clutches her skirt tightly, her eyes wary. I notice a small bruise on her wrist. I take out a box of freshly baked egg tarts from my bag, offering her one. Lily’s eyes light up, but she doesn’t dare accept. After a moment’s hesitation, she shakes her head weakly. “What child doesn’t like sweets?” I wonder aloud. “Lily!” A voice calls from behind me. I turn to see Olivia with her supposedly wealthy husband. I’ve met Mr. Thompson once before. He nods at me in greeting before turning his gaze to his daughter. His face shows little affection, but it’s not entirely cold either. At the sound of Olivia’s voice, the little girl startles. Her pupils constrict as she quickly hops off the chair and scurries over to them, softly calling out “Daddy.” Olivia holds a container of plain noodles. She glances at me discreetly. “Don’t eat things strangers give you!” Then she pulls her daughter away without looking back. I’m curious about the subtle dynamics between the couple. Mr. Thompson just smiles politely before leaving as well. My colleague looks surprised. “The Thompsons are old money. Their daughter probably wants for nothing materially, but likely isn’t the center of attention. Still, I never imagined he would hit his wife and child…” “I heard from the boss that it was a shotgun wedding. He probably doesn’t have much feeling for Olivia. They might even have a prenup that leaves her with nothing if they divorce.” “No wonder Olivia needed this job… But it’s strange her husband would come with her.” I watch thoughtfully as Olivia leads the little girl towards the break room. As they walk away, the child turns back and our eyes meet for a few seconds. She had clearly wanted the treat, but pretended not to care under her mother’s watchful eye. My colleague tries to reassure me. “You have to be careful with kids that age, especially in her situation. What mother doesn’t love her child?” At the end of the day, Olivia is the last to leave, joining me in the elevator. “Rachel, my child is innocent. If you want revenge, come after me. Leave my daughter out of this.” I smile at the girl. “The things you’ve done – if they don’t come back on you, they’ll come back on your daughter.” “I’ll destroy what you care about most.” We stand shoulder to shoulder. Olivia exits on the first floor. As the doors close, she waves a voice recorder at me, flashing that familiar sly, cunning smile I know so well. “Do whatever you want,” she says carelessly. “It won’t be me who suffers in the end anyway.” Soon after, a recording circulates through the company’s internal email. In it, a woman’s sinister voice says: “It will come back on the child.” Many recognize it as mine. During the morning meeting, I feel probing, suspicious gazes, but I don’t care. Looks can’t kill, after all.

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One day, a notice popped up in the Building Residents’ Group Chat: “Since I have a lot of relatives who often need a place to stay, I plan to buy up all the apartments on the third floor. Please prepare for your property transfer.” “However, I don’t have the funds to pay you all up front, so you can stay in my units by deducting your rent as payment towards the purchase, at $5,000 a month.” “Feel free to stay in my apartments, but you’ll need to clear out whenever my relatives visit! Leave everything in place — bedding, towels, cookware, the works. My guests will need to use those too.” This message came from Dale Winters, the tenant in 302. He saw I wouldn’t agree to his absurd demands, so he decided he’d just take over my apartment. Well, I wasn’t having it. I called in my 13-year-old little brother, Billy Langston, and my 80-year-old, spirited grandmother, Hattie Langston, for backup. Oh, and I brought out my official diagnosis report of Bipolar Disorder. The doorbell began ringing furiously. Peeking through the peephole, I saw a man and a woman standing on my doorstep with documents in hand, looking ready to barge right in. “Open up!” the woman demanded, “We’ve got the property transfer contract ready for you. Just sign and pay the $5 printing fee.” I had to laugh — they wanted my apartment for free and expected me to cover their printing costs? Bold didn’t even cover it! “Oh sure,” I said with thick sarcasm, “How about I toss in my smart TV and the air conditioner while I’m at it?” “Well, aren’t you a sensible girl,” said Dale, belly jiggling as he chuckled, like he was handing down a blessing. “I’ll let you stay a few more months if you sign.” Somehow, my apartment was already his, even though I hadn’t signed a thing. The woman’s patience was shorter. She kicked the door hard and shouted, “What’s with your attitude? Sign, or pay for my relatives to stay in a five-star hotel!” I’d never seen such shameless people in my life. I wasn’t about to take this lying down, so I called the Hollow Creek Police Department. While waiting, I shouted back through the door, “You want my apartment? Sure thing! Just name me in your will and wait ‘til I’m dead. Then it’ll be all yours.” “You piece of crap! Are you asking for it?” Dale snapped, and the two of them started pounding on my door. This was an old building, and the doorframe wasn’t sturdy. Watching the door shake, panic began clawing up my chest, making it hard to breathe. To avoid a direct confrontation, I quickly shoved some heavy furniture against the door. “What’s the plan here? You’re going to break into my place in broad daylight? I’ve already called the cops!” “Break in? This is my place, you little thief!” Dale yelled back, “You’re the one who should be arrested!” My breathing quickened, and my hands started trembling. It felt like there was a beast inside me, one I couldn’t hold back much longer. I stumbled to my room, my vision blurring, and found my pills. I swallowed one dry, the rough pill scraping down my throat. My diagnosis report slipped from the drawer, the words “Diagnosed Bipolar Disorder” in stark letters across the top.

The police arrived not long after. Seeing the officers, the woman put on a new face. Instead of showing an ounce of fear, she started to wail, “Officer, you have to help us! This woman’s trying to take over our property!” The officers looked stunned; they’d arrived while she and her husband were cursing and kicking my door. I stepped out and, with a bit of dramatic flair, told the officers exactly what had happened. They looked at Dale and Linda with clear irritation. “The owner hasn’t agreed to sell, so how do you figure it’s your property?” one officer asked, “And does it even sound reasonable that you’d get to ‘buy’ a place just by reducing rent?” Despite the officer’s pointed questions, Linda didn’t miss a beat. “Look, we’re negotiating! Neighbors should help each other out. I’m letting them stay here out of the goodness of my heart. What more do they want?” The officer’s eyebrow shot up — she was the epitome of “shameless.” He was nearly speechless. Since they hadn’t actually broken in yet, the officer just gave them a warning. “Listen, buying property requires mutual consent. This isn’t up to you. If you keep causing trouble, you’ll be joining us down at the station.” Glaring at me, Dale and Linda reluctantly stomped back to their apartment, defeated for now. I went back inside, collapsing on the bed and gulping down air. It’d been over five years since my last episode. I thought I’d finally gotten it under control. But after dealing with these two psychos, I really felt like picking up a carving knife and ending this nonsense. I hoped the police would scare them off for a few days. But the next morning, I was jolted awake by screaming and sobbing outside my door.

“I told you, if you want to buy my apartment, then pay me! But asking me to pay rent while you slowly ‘buy’ it? That’s just ridiculous!” It was Kate Dawson, my neighbor from across the hall. Kate had a rough life, forced into marriage early so her family could afford a dowry for her brother. She saved up for years to buy this little place and still had a ton of loans to pay off. How could she possibly agree to their absurd demands? “Ridiculous? Let me tell you what’s ridiculous!” Linda yelled. “Sign the papers! My family’s arriving tonight, so get your room cleared out. You can crash on the floor in the living room and cook and clean for my relatives while you’re at it!” Linda eyed Kate up and down, muttering, “What, twenty-five, twenty-six? Still single, huh? Well, my brother’s only forty. You marry him, pop out a son, and you’ll have a place to live forever!” “You!” Kate stammered, unable to stand up to the woman’s relentless bullying, tears welling up in her eyes. Seeing how easily Kate was rattled, the couple pressed forward, practically trying to push their way inside. “So you two want a trip to the station?” I barked, stepping between them and Kate. They stumbled back, and I put a protective arm around her. “You again, you little brat! Need a beating, do you?” Dale sneered, rolling up his sleeves as if to take a swing. Luckily, I’d come prepared. I reached behind me, pulling out a gleaming meat cleaver. The blade’s shine made them both step back in horror. “What’s your plan? Cut someone in broad daylight?” Linda stammered, her bravado melting away. “What’s your plan?” I replied. “Harassing a woman in broad daylight? Breaking into people’s homes?” They didn’t respond, only backed away, muttering threats before hurrying back to their apartment. I caught a glimpse of Charlie, their son, leering at me from their doorway, eyes full of resentment.

“Thank you… Without you, I don’t know what I would’ve done!” Kate Dawson sobbed, clearly shaken. I reassured her as I messaged Mr. Ron Collins. That’s when I learned the full story: the Winters had just barely bought the place, but they were behind on payments to the previous owner, who’d had trouble collecting the last bit of money. No wonder Mr. Collins had his hands tied. All he could do was try to keep an eye on them and hope things didn’t escalate. This couldn’t keep going on like this. I lay in bed, running through options. Moving? I’d invested too much money into this place, and with neighbors like them, selling would be tough. The police? So far, they hadn’t done anything major, so all the cops would give them was a warning. By the time they crossed the line, calling for help might be too late. I could feel my anger heating up. Not a good sign. I swallowed another pill and lay down. Drifting between sleep and waking, I was jarred awake by loud banging outside my door. Furious, I checked the peephole. Sure enough, there was Linda Winters, ushering in five or six relatives. Our one-bedroom apartments were tiny — nowhere near big enough for so many people. Just as I was wondering how they were all going to fit, I saw Dale Winters jamming a crowbar into the lock of the vacant unit across the hall, shoving the rest of his relatives inside. The owner was hardly ever home, which was probably why the Winters thought they could get away with it. I immediately notified Mr. Collins, who sighed in response. He couldn’t reach the owner, so without consent, he couldn’t report the break-in. I knew he just wanted to avoid a confrontation. Fine, I told myself. Just stay out of it unless they mess with me. I slipped on my headphones and tried to sleep. I woke up in the middle of the night, hungry, so I took my headphones off. As I headed for the kitchen, I heard some rustling sounds outside my door. I figured it was a mouse or something small, but then the sound grew louder. It was mixed with heavy, weird breathing. I tiptoed to the peephole and took a look. My eyes felt violated. Charlie Winters — the chunky, foul-smelling teenager I’d seen earlier — was standing outside, peeing on my wall.

My fury hit a new high. Without a second thought, I threw open the door and gave him a brutal kick to his lower half. “AHHH!” He shrieked, rolling on the ground, and my rage turned to satisfaction. “Think you can mark your territory at my door? Next time, I’ll make sure you never try again!” Grabbing a pair of scissors from the kitchen, I dangled them just close enough to terrify him. Still clutching himself, Charlie scrambled back into his apartment, leaving a trail behind him. Holding my breath against the stench, I used a dustpan to scrape the mess back to their doorway. Just as I was about to close my door, Linda stormed up, yelling furiously. Luckily, I managed to close the door just as she lunged, hearing a loud thud followed by her yelping in pain. “You heartless monster! How dare you hurt my son! He’s my precious boy! If he’s injured, you couldn’t pay enough to cover it!” “Oh, please. ‘Precious’ seems like a stretch. Looks more like trash to me,” I muttered, listening through the door. “You lowlife! I’ll kill you!” “Look, keep pushing, and I’ll call the cops. And don’t forget, you just broke into someone else’s place today. One more thing, and it’s off to the station for you.” My warning must’ve hit home because she muttered some curses and slammed her door. I sprayed some perfume around my doorway to get rid of the smell. Even then, I couldn’t sleep, so I watched TV until I finally dozed off. At around six in the morning, the banging started again. They just wouldn’t stop.

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After another failed breeding task, the test subject pinned me against the operating table. His palms were burning hot, firmly holding my shoulders. In the hazy night, his breath was warm, sending shivers down my spine. [Only with you… breed…] I met his direct and passionate gaze, unable to suppress a slight smile. The Alpha I had raised… Finally understood… After the breeding task failed again, Logan pinned me against the operating table. His palm was scorching hot as he firmly gripped my shoulders. In the hazy darkness, his warm breath sent shivers down my spine. “Only… breed… with you…” I met his direct and passionate gaze, unable to hold back a smirk. The Alpha I had raised from birth… Finally understood… “You should take a look… Subject 1109’s breeding attempt failed again…” I frowned, casually slipping the pen into my pocket. “He still refuses?” The intern’s face showed a hint of fear as he hesitated before speaking. “Well… you should see for yourself…” For some reason, I felt a morbid excitement stirring in my heart. I suddenly recalled the day the breeding task was assigned. Logan was pressed tightly against the glass wall. Under the effects of the aphrodisiac, his muscles were involuntarily tensed, his porcelain skin flushed a pale red. He lay there naked on his side in the vast glass enclosure, letting out heavy pants. His pupils had lost their usual indifference, now clouded with intense desire. The moment our eyes met, I surprisingly saw a faint longing and grievance in his gaze… The Alpha I had raised from birth was showing such vulnerable emotions for the first time… It made me want to hide him away… to keep him all to myself… My thoughts gradually returned to the present. I curled my fingers, suppressing the excitement in my eyes as I replied coolly: “I see. I’ll go record the results.” The intern seemed to want to say more but hesitated, his lips moving slightly before remaining silent. I walked past him and entered the elevator, pressing the button for the laboratory floor. As the elevator descended, the air around me suddenly turned cold. In the laboratory, the first thing I saw was the giant experimental tank containing Logan. However, there were now several splashes of blood on the tank that weren’t there before, a stark and disturbing sight. “Logan, you’ve been naughty again…” I smiled helplessly as I slowly approached the tank, looking at Subject 1109 huddled and shaking in the corner. His skin was stained with large patches of blood, like wild red roses blooming across a snowy field. Sacred yet demonic. He was my Alpha… A living work of art I had created with my own hands… Hearing my voice, Logan suddenly raised his head and stared intently into my eyes. His pupils were bright, a pale silver-gray, now glistening with a faint wetness. “Let me check if you’re hurt…” My gaze greedily swept over every inch of his body. Only after confirming he was unharmed did I spare a glance at the other experimental subject beside him. It was an Omega subject modified with jellyfish genes. Her pupils were a pure cyan, her long hair as lush as seaweed cascading down, beautiful like a fragile porcelain doll. But now, her body was covered in horrific wounds. Her neck had been torn open, blood staining the pure white carpet at the bottom of the tank. Her skin had turned an almost transparent white from the massive blood loss, appearing lifeless. I sighed, finally understanding the source of the intern’s terror. I raised my hand and tapped on the glass tank, trying to put on a stern tone. “Logan, cultivating an experimental subject is not easy…” Logan lifted his hand, touching the spot where my fingertips had landed on the thin glass, looking at me with a dazed smile. “Alright…” I opened the top of the experimental tank and slowly reached my fingers inside, gently hooking them around his. “Don’t let it happen again…” Logan suddenly sat up and hugged me. I froze, enveloped by his scorching body heat as my heart pounded wildly. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his voice still hoarse. “Not here… it’s dirty… please?” In this state, he was both obedient and sensual, stirring up indecent desires. I wanted to bully him… to see him cry… I nodded, suppressing the surging desire in my heart as I raised my hand to gently stroke the bloodstains on his waist. His whole body trembled, hugging me even tighter. “It hurts…” I took a step back, raising my hand to grip his chin and forcing him to lift his head. “How many injections did they give you this time?” He obediently tilted his head up following my grip, his face still flushed and looking somewhat dazed. After a moment of silence, he listlessly raised his hand to show me the needle marks. “Three shots…” “Those bastards… we agreed on only one aphrodisiac injection…” I cursed under my breath, turning to walk towards the control panel to shut off the laboratory’s surveillance cameras. “Come out, Logan…” There was a rustling sound behind me. I turned around to find Logan already pressed against my back, tightly embracing me. I smiled, standing on tiptoe to wrap my arms around his neck, caressing his warm lips. His Adam’s apple bobbed as his large hands passionately pressed against my waist. Before he could do anything further, I slowly pushed him away. “Wait a moment, Logan…” He looked somewhat dejected, mumbling an acknowledgment as he obediently stood to the side. I lowered my gaze to look at the spots of blood staining my pure white lab coat, sighing helplessly. “Sit over there and wait for me…” I took off my coat, found a towel, and patiently soaked it in warm water before wringing it out. Instead of sitting still and waiting as I’d told him, Logan followed closely behind me like a little puppy. He was still completely naked, having somehow taken my discarded coat and loosely tied it around his waist. I turned around and beckoned to him with my finger. “Come here…” He obediently sat on the table in front of me, sitting up straight. As I wiped the dried blood from his skin, he lowered his gaze to watch for a moment before suddenly leaning down and biting my collarbone. “Ouch… be gentle…” Logan mumbled a response, his teeth grazing my delicate skin. I patted his head. But he suddenly flipped me over, pinning me against the operating table. His palms were scorching hot as he firmly gripped my shoulders. In the hazy moonlight, his warm breath sent tingles down my spine. “Only… breed… with you…” I met his direct and passionate gaze, unable to hold back a smirk. The little wolf I had raised from birth… Finally understood… When I left the laboratory, my legs were still a bit wobbly. My carefully applied makeup was slightly smudged, and my curled hair was messily clinging to my chest. I frowned, wanting nothing more than to quickly go wash off the wet sensation between my legs, when I suddenly bumped into a man. I paused in my steps, hiding the disgust in my eyes as I discreetly moved to the side. “Just came from Subject 1109?” He didn’t seem to notice my attempt to avoid him, smilingly standing in front of me. “Yes, the breeding task failed. I went to check on him…” The man’s lips curled into a smile as he slowly walked to my side. His gaze was direct and sticky as it landed on my exposed shoulder. The bite mark… probably hadn’t faded yet… I instinctively pulled my collar up higher, tilting my head back with a bold smile. “Dr. Harrison, you seem quite free today, keeping track of which labs I visit?” He was momentarily dazed by my smile before adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses. The eyes behind the lenses stared at me coldly, like a slippery snake. “Your lipstick…” He reached out, his fingertip lightly brushing my lips. The cold touch made me shudder involuntarily. He was still smiling, but the pressure of his finger gradually increased. “Why is your lipstick smudged?” I turned my face away, avoiding his finger. Thinking about how those hands that had dissected and stitched together countless creatures had just caressed my lips made me feel nauseous enough to almost vomit. “If you have nothing else, I’ll be going now…” I hurriedly turned to leave. His cold voice drifted from afar. “Don’t get too close to that little beast… and don’t let me discover anything else… otherwise…” His laughter echoed eerily down the empty hallway. “I’ll kill him with my own hands…”

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Lucas, Gabriel and I have been childhood friends since we were little. Lucas was warm and cheerful, while Gabriel was cold and reserved. We grew up together until an uninvited guest entered our world of three. When Lucas came to find me in class, I was explaining a problem to Gabriel. Gabriel always had a calm expression, and his face rarely showed any emotion, like a block of ice. English was his weakness, and as his classmate and childhood friend, I had no reason not to help him since I was good at English. However, Gabriel didn’t seem to care much, and I wasn’t sure if he was really listening. He would only give a slight response when I reached key points. Lucas knocked on the classroom window and poked his head in with a grin, “Gabriel! Sophia! Wait for me after school, let’s go home together!” Gabriel looked up indifferently, “You came all the way here just to say that?” “Hehe, I just wanted to come see you guys. It’s not my fault I’m the only one not in your class!” Seeing our posture, with me leaning towards Gabriel, Lucas pouted, “My English isn’t great either. Sophia, when are you going to tutor me too?” I lowered my head and smiled without saying anything.

Lucas and Gabriel are childhood friends who grew up with me. We’re neighbors. When I was little, my parents were always busy with work and often couldn’t take care of me. The kind neighbor aunties would invite me over for meals. That’s how I met Lucas and Gabriel through our neighbors. Gabriel was often sick as a child and stayed at home a lot, without many playmates his age. When I went to his house for meals, his parents would always ask me to play with him for a while. Gabriel was cold even as a child, but he accepted all my friendly gestures. Eventually, I figured out his interests and would bring geography magazines every time I came to play with him. When it came to geography, he would talk a little more than usual. Of course, it was still just a little bit more. Getting to know a chatterbox like Lucas was even more natural. Later, I often went to Gabriel’s house with Lucas to play with him. That’s how the three of us grew up together and went to the same middle and high school. On the way home, it was often the three of us together. Lucas would talk non-stop about the interesting things that happened that day, while Gabriel walked quietly beside us, occasionally retorting. I often wished that these days could go on forever.

On the way home from school, when Lucas was waiting for me at the school gate, I saw the silhouette of another girl beside him. Emma, Lucas’s deskmate. When we entered high school, Lucas was assigned to a different class from us. Lucas met his new deskmate Emma, who seemed to be a very quiet girl. Emma came from a single-parent family, living with her mom, but was occasionally harassed and abused by her divorced father. Her tragic background immediately aroused Lucas’s sympathy. His sense of justice exploded, and he decided to help Emma. He even brought Emma along when hanging out with us, saying he wanted to help her make friends. From that day on, everything started to change. Emma was petite and quiet, with timid eyes like a little cat, easily arousing people’s protective instincts. She spoke softly and weakly, forming a stark contrast with my outgoing personality. When I got excited about something, my voice would naturally get louder. At these times, Lucas would pretend to be angry and glance at me, then protect Emma. “Can’t you lower your voice a bit! You’re scaring our Emma!” Emma’s unfortunate family background always made Lucas indignant. Even Gabriel would comfort her a few words and tell me to speak more softly. I frowned as I watched the two of them revolving around Emma, but couldn’t say anything. I had no reason to reject Emma’s joining. She was already miserable enough and didn’t have many friends at school. If I resisted her, wouldn’t I be a terrible person? I could only endure. Even when speaking, I had to lower my volume for Emma, who was easily frightened. I couldn’t talk about topics Emma wasn’t familiar with, otherwise, she would become sensitive and overthink. I could no longer laugh and joke around freely with Lucas, and Gabriel wouldn’t stand aside laughing and calling us crazy anymore. Now they would speak softly to Emma, having long forgotten how we used to interact so freely.

The four of us walked home side by side, and I remained silent. I don’t know when it started, but I stopped talking much when Emma was around. I didn’t know which of my words might touch Emma’s sensitive nerves, causing her to cry, followed by Lucas and Gabriel scrambling to comfort her. Lucas seemed to notice my unusual behavior and tried to ease the atmosphere by speaking first. “Hey Sophia, why don’t you tutor Emma and me in English sometime?” I glanced briefly at Lucas and Emma standing together. “We’ll see.” Lucas’s face froze slightly, not expecting me to refuse him. Emma timidly tugged at Lucas’s sleeve. Gabriel frowned and looked at me, “Are you in a bad mood lately?” “Mm, that time of the month.” I vaguely brushed them off while kicking small stones on the road. No matter what, I felt very uncomfortable about how our friendship had become. Especially when I saw Emma, I felt even more uneasy.

I don’t dislike Emma. If I disliked her, I wouldn’t have been so considerate of her family background and sensitive personality, carefully thinking before speaking. When the four of us eat together, I can’t even mention the restaurants we three used to go to, because Emma’s family couldn’t afford such restaurants, and mentioning it would make Emma feel inferior. That’s what Gabriel and Lucas said, so I didn’t want to argue. At first, it was just restaurants, but later there were more and more things we couldn’t talk about; our graduation trip to Japan, going to Disneyland together, surfing at the beach together… Lucas said that Emma had always stayed in a small town, her family wasn’t well-off, she had never been abroad, and didn’t have many entertainment options, so we shouldn’t mention these things to widen the gap between friends. Gabriel nodded in agreement beside him. Those beautiful memories were sealed in our hearts, never to be mentioned again. Lucas and Emma talked about interesting things in their class, while Gabriel listened quietly, occasionally making sarcastic comments like before. I listlessly finished the cola in my cup and chewed on the ice cubes. Noticing the sound, the other three all turned their gazes towards me. “Sophia, what’s wrong? You seem to be in a bad mood lately.” Surprisingly, Emma was the first to speak up, looking at me with concern in her pitiful eyes. Lucas and Gabriel both looked at me nervously. I suddenly felt very annoyed. I didn’t want to pay for someone else’s sensitivity anymore, nor did I want to become someone who couldn’t say anything. “It’s nothing, I just can’t join the conversation. It’s a bit frustrating.”

I saw Emma’s eyes instantly turn red. “I’m, I’m sorry, is it because I’m here, interrupting your chat? Then I’ll leave first…” Lucas frowned and stopped her, “What are you leaving for? Sophia wasn’t talking about you.” Emma’s eyes reddened even more, and a few tears fell. Lucas seemed to realize his tone was a bit harsh and softened his voice, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you.” He turned to look at me, “Sophia, you—” “I do find it quite boring, and I’ve had enough,” I interrupted him. “If we can’t say what we want to say when we’re with friends, what’s the point of being friends?” Lucas looked somewhat shocked. Emma was still looking at me with teary eyes. The atmosphere became very tense for a moment. Even Gabriel, the ice mountain, tried to save this awkward situation, “Um…” I stood up first, picking up my tray, “I’m leaving first.” There was no point in staying any longer, and Lucas and Gabriel wouldn’t necessarily take my side. There was no intense argument, but we began to fall into a cold war. Gabriel, who was in the same class as me, always seemed like he wanted to say something but was stopped by me every time. I’m not an unreasonable person, I just want them to see clearly that our friendship is now distorted and unhealthy. If we have to keep our mouths shut when chatting with friends, then what’s the point of being friends? I can only endure. Even when speaking, I have to lower my volume for Emma, who is easily frightened, and I can’t talk about topics Emma isn’t familiar with, otherwise, she’ll become sensitive and overthink. I can no longer laugh and joke around freely with Lucas, and Gabriel won’t stand aside laughing and calling us crazy anymore. Now they speak softly to Emma, having long forgotten how we used to interact so freely.

A new student transferred to our class, with beautiful eyes that were brown in the sunlight. His name was also nice, Noah, but he seemed a bit cold. Just like Gabriel, like a big ice cube. It happened to be time for seat changes in our class, and Gabriel and I were no longer desk mates. The new student became my desk mate. As soon as he moved in, I eagerly asked him, “Are you wearing colored contacts? Your eyes are so beautiful!” Noah obviously didn’t react, he was stunned for a moment, “Thanks?” I gave him a big smile, “Hi, I’m Sophia.” Noah nodded, his expression still unchanged, but unlike Gabriel, he didn’t seem to have such a strong sense of distance. Or to put it another way, his aloofness wasn’t due to coldness, but rather revealed a hint of scholarly air. I noticed Gabriel, who was arranged not far behind me to my left, was looking at me, but I didn’t turn back to look at him. “Sophia.” Noah tentatively called my name, and I turned back to look at him. He actually showed a faint smile, “Your name is really nice.” I stared at him blankly. This must be what it’s like when an iceberg melts. Although they were both cold-faced handsome guys, Noah and Gabriel gave very different impressions.

Lucas brought Emma to find me in class. As usual, he opened the window next to my seat, but he didn’t expect that the person sitting beside me was no longer Gabriel. Noah looked up at him with a puzzled expression, “Who are you?” … Lucas was quite embarrassed until he saw me sitting nearby, and his eyes brightened. “Sophia! I… we have something to tell you.” I looked up and saw Emma standing behind Lucas, looking very dependent on him, and I couldn’t help but feel annoyed again. “Class is about to start.” Lucas’s face instantly fell, “Sophia, are you, are you still angry?” I didn’t want to answer at all. The moment I saw Lucas and Emma appear together, when I heard Lucas say “we”. I clearly understood that the problem between us couldn’t be solved by a simple apology. “Classmate, there are two minutes left before the bell rings.” Noah seemed to sense my resistance and spoke up to reject Lucas for me, even closing the window. Lucas glanced at Noah with some annoyance before leaving with Emma. I thanked Noah, feeling very confused inside.

gradually became more familiar with Noah. We were desk mates, and since he was new and had many questions, I patiently answered them all and even took him on a tour of the campus. His science grades were very good, but his liberal arts subjects were terrible. So I started explaining English to Noah, and in exchange, Noah promised to help improve my math scores. I found it quite surprising. Before, when I was tutoring Gabriel, I just considered it as help between friends. Gabriel, who was equally excellent in science, never offered to help improve my math. At the time, I didn’t think much of it, just feeling that I could help if I could. Now, getting feedback from Noah, I couldn’t help but make comparisons. As we interacted more, we became friends. Although Noah was as taciturn as Gabriel, he would seriously respond to every word I said. “Why is the answer A for this question?” “The question asks to choose the incorrect option.” “What class do we have next?” “Music class, we can catch up on homework.” “Noah, do you find me annoying?” I remembered that when the four of us used to hang out together, Lucas and Gabriel complained that I was loud and talked too much, saying I was too noisy and not as quiet as Emma, who spoke softly. Noah looked at me, “I don’t find you annoying. I quite like listening to you talk.” “Also, next time you can just call me Noah instead of classmate.”

I still walked home with Lucas and the others. After I gave them the cold shoulder last time, they solemnly apologized to me and said they wouldn’t ignore my feelings anymore. After all, we had been friends for so many years, and it wasn’t something that could just be ended. However, Emma was still following behind Lucas, always looking at Lucas and talking cheerfully. Gabriel became even more silent than before. After seeing my relationship with Noah progress rapidly in class, he finally couldn’t help but speak up, “Sophia, you’re tutoring Noah in English?” “Yeah, what’s wrong?” His expression darkened for a moment. “Noah? You mean that guy who sits next to you?” Lucas chimed in, sounding a bit displeased. “When did you get so close to him?” “It’s just classmates helping each other with homework, what’s the big deal? Besides, he said he would help me improve my math too.” To be honest, I found Lucas’s sudden anger a bit baffling. Lucas retorted, “If you want help with math, can’t you ask Gabriel?” Gabriel’s body seemed to stiffen for a moment. I lowered my head and replied, “I sit closer to Noah, it’s more convenient.”

Lucas continued to be dissatisfied on the way home, until we reached the entrance of our neighborhood and he went into his house first. I was about to take out my keys when Gabriel called out to me. “Sophia.” I stopped. He hesitated for a moment before slowly speaking. “When you were tutoring me in English before, I didn’t think about teaching you math in return. I took your kindness for granted. I’m sorry I didn’t consider it.” “Next time if you have questions about math, come find me.” I waved my hands repeatedly, “Don’t listen to Lucas’s nonsense. I really didn’t mind at all. Besides, I helped you with English voluntarily.” Gabriel looked at me steadily, “But I don’t want you to get too close to Noah, closer than our relationship.” “I think Lucas probably feels the same way, that’s why he was so unhappy.” I remained silent for a long time before looking up to answer him. “What’s the use of saying all this? Didn’t you guys let Emma join our group too?” Gabriel’s expression changed. “So, there’s nothing wrong with me being close to other people, right? If possible, I also plan to bring Noah into our circle. After all, he’s my friend too, just like Emma is your friend.” “But Sophia, Emma is different. Her family situation is like that, so Lucas and I just wanted to take care of her more, so…” “So, there’s a problem between us. You’re so smart, you must see it. An apology is just a step, the problem in our friendship hasn’t been thoroughly resolved.” I interrupted him. “Alright, let’s stop here for today. I’m tired, see you tomorrow.” “Sophia…” I blocked the words he was about to say and turned to go back to my own home.

I don’t have any opinion against Emma, nor do I deliberately exclude her. I still remember when Emma first joined us, how Lucas gently introduced me and Gabriel to her. Just like that, naturally, she joined our friendship of over ten years. I wanted to show her friendliness, so the next day I brought her some pastries from my favorite bakery. Unexpectedly, when she saw the price, she almost burst into tears. “Wuwuwu, my mom and I have never eaten such expensive pastries. Thank you, Sophia. Can I save this pastry for my mom?” We frantically tried to comfort her for a long time, but she still couldn’t stop crying. Lucas pretended to blame me, saying it was my fault for being too insensitive and making Emma cry. I knew he was joking to lighten the mood, but I still felt a tightness in my heart. Later, no matter what I did, they would protect Emma, telling me not to touch on Emma’s sad experiences. After all, her family situation was so unfortunate, she should be happier at school. I told myself it was okay, they had the right to make new friends. But when I found out that even Gabriel, who was usually so cold, was intentionally or unintentionally favoring Emma and trying to make her happy. I couldn’t help but feel sour inside. I seriously tried to avoid Emma and talked to Lucas and Gabriel about this matter. But Lucas didn’t care at all and said I was overthinking. “Can’t you be more understanding of Emma? Her family condition is so poor, unlike us who have everything we need.”

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