Category: English

The day Aurora Croft won the Global Philanthropist of the Year award was the day my doctors told me my time was up. I couldn’t afford another artificial heart. On television, the host asked Aurora to call the person she had the most regrets about. Without a moment’s hesitation, she dialed my number. I answered, and her voice, cool and distant, came through the speaker. “Do you ever regret leaving me for money all those years ago?” I glanced at the mountain of bills for the heart transplant I couldn’t afford and let out a soft, hollow laugh. “Aurora, you’re so rich now. How about you lend me, say, thirty thousand dollars?” The line went dead. On the screen, I watched Aurora turn back to the host, her expression like ice. “I have no regrets.” She had no idea. When her heart was failing, I was the one who secretly gave her mine. 1 After the live broadcast ended, a transfer for thirty thousand dollars hit my account. I stared at my phone for a long moment, a complicated knot tightening in my chest. I paid the medical bills. As I settled back into my hospital bed, I heard a familiar voice drift in from the hallway. I peeked through the crack in the door and saw her. Aurora. Seven years, and it was as if time hadn’t touched her. She was still as radiant and captivating as ever. The only thing that had changed was the person by her side. It wasn’t me anymore. The awards gala had just ended, and she hadn’t even had time to change, rushing straight to the hospital. All because her new boy toy had a minor stomachache. I watched as she cradled Chase’s head in her arms, her touch so tender. I lowered my gaze, about to quietly shut the door and pretend I hadn’t seen anything. Suddenly, the door was yanked open. I flinched, my head snapping up to meet her gaze. Her eyes, sharp and cold as shards of ice, swept over me. “It’s been a while,” she said, her voice dripping with frost. “Aren’t you going to say hello?” I looked at her, my lips parting. A thousand words crowded my throat, but they all boiled down to one thing. “Aurora… can you lend me another fifty thousand?” She froze for a second, a flicker of raw anger igniting in her cold eyes. She grabbed my hand, her grip surprisingly strong. “Seven years, Silas. This is all you have to say to me?” The dense cluster of needle marks on my wrist throbbed with a dull, persistent pain. I took a deep breath. “Ms. Croft, you’re a very wealthy woman. If I didn’t ask for money, I was afraid your boyfriend might get the wrong idea.” A look of confusion, something complex and unreadable, flickered across her face. Before she could speak, Chase tightened his grip on her arm. “Darling, is this your ex-husband?” he asked, his tone dripping with pity as he looked me over. “What can you even do with fifty thousand? Aurora bought me a suit that cost more than that.” He sighed dramatically. “It’s a shame, Silas. You didn’t know how to appreciate her. If you hadn’t heartlessly abandoned her, I never would have had the chance to meet her.” I said nothing, my mind drifting back. I met Aurora in college. We fell in love, and for five years, we were inseparable. Back then, she wasn’t a billionaire CEO, and my body wasn’t this fragile wreck. We were just two orphans, two broke students who had finally found the one person who mattered most in the world. We worked ourselves to the bone, dreaming of building a small home of our own. Just as our small business was starting to take off, Aurora was diagnosed with severe heart failure. The treatment and transplant would cost a fortune. We drained every penny of our savings, everything we’d poured into our dream. To raise the money, I worked multiple jobs, ate one meal a day, and stretched every dollar until it screamed. I pushed myself to the breaking point, just to scrape together enough for her medicine, switching to the cheapest, lowest-quality generics we could find. But a compatible heart never came. I watched her waste away, growing thinner and more fragile with each passing day. Just as I was about to lose all hope, my doctor pulled me aside. They had found a perfect match. The person who was a perfect match for Aurora… was me. 2 My thoughts snapped back to the present. Aurora stood on her tiptoes to kiss Chase’s forehead, her eyes filled with an endless well of affection. “If it wasn’t for his heartless betrayal, how would I have ever met my little angel?” she cooed. “That thirty-thousand-dollar wallet you were looking at? I’ll buy it for you when we get home. Next time, pick something more expensive. Your woman can afford it.” Watching them, the stinging on my wrist seemed to shoot straight into my chest, the pain so sharp it stole my breath. I wrenched my hand free from Aurora’s unyielding grip, having no desire to be the broken measuring stick against which they proved their perfect love. As I turned to leave, Chase casually stuck out his foot, tripping me. “Whoa, watch your step, Silas!” he exclaimed with false concern. I fell to my knees, the medical reports in my hand scattering at Aurora’s feet. Seeing me fall, her face tightened, and she instinctively reached out to help me up. But Chase grabbed her arm. “What’s this?” he asked, his eyes wide. His question drew Aurora’s attention to the papers on the floor. She picked one up, her eyes scanning it quickly. “Artificial Heart Replacement…” A flash of fury crossed her face. She flung the report at me, the paper striking my cheek. “Silas! I can’t believe you’d stoop this low, faking an illness for money! You’re the same as you were seven years ago. All you’ve ever cared about is money!” I pushed myself to my feet, my gaze fixed on Aurora’s healthy, vibrant form. A faint smile touched my lips as I silently gathered the scattered reports. “Ms. Croft, you know how much I love money. Why not lend me a little more?” Chase, ever the actor, looked like he was about to cry. He shook Aurora’s arm, but the look he shot me over her shoulder was pure mockery. “Darling, what if it’s real? And… it was only after Silas left you that you received that heart from that kind donor! Maybe we should help him, please?” His words seemed to remind her of my “betrayal,” of how I had abandoned her for money. The flicker of doubt in her eyes was instantly extinguished, replaced by a glacial coldness. “The heart of a kind person can’t save someone so heartless. He doesn’t deserve it.” She turned, pulling Chase with her. He continued to plead my case, but as he glanced back at me, the corner of his mouth curved into a vicious, triumphant smirk. I bent down and picked up the medical report, now covered in Chase’s dusty footprints. Suddenly, my artificial heart gave a shudder, a mechanical tremor that didn’t belong in a human body. My vision swam, and the figures of Aurora and Chase blurred into indistinct shapes. After a long moment, I wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of my mouth, my eyes tracing the words “Artificial Heart Replacement.” My fingers drifted to my chest, brushing over the scar that had been etched there for seven long years. Even now, Aurora had no idea. The heart beating in her chest… was mine. 3 Seven years ago, with no suitable donor heart in sight, Aurora’s body was giving out. The technology for artificial hearts was still experimental. In theory, it could sustain life, but the risks were enormous. When I was confirmed as a match, I gave her my heart. I took the artificial one—a model with a theoretical lifespan of seven years. To save money, I chose the cheapest one they had. Ever since, a sharp, stabbing pain would periodically flare up in my chest. Coughing up blood and sudden bouts of weakness became my new normal. And because I never had the money, the surgery to replace the failing device was delayed again and again. Now, seven years had passed. The artificial heart in my chest pulsed with its seventh wave of agony. I knew it was well past its breaking point. … I left the hospital and went back to my rented room. It was small, damp, and freezing in the winter, sweltering in the summer. But it was cheap. This was the same place Aurora and I had lived, the place where we had mapped out our entire future together. After learning my heart was a match for hers, I had pretended to be a greedy, social-climbing parasite. I drew up divorce papers and told her I was leaving. We had been together for five years. Through all the hardship, I had never once complained, never once thought of leaving her side. She knew how much I loved her, and she couldn’t believe I would abandon her. And I knew she loved me to her very core. If she knew the truth, she would never, ever allow me to trade my life for hers. To save her, I had to be cruel. I had to pretend I’d had enough. Enough of the endless struggle. Enough of a life with no hope in sight. Enough of cheap medicine, one meal a day, drinking cold water to stave off hunger, and splitting every dollar in two. I told her I was done with all of it. I’ll never forget that day. The girl who was always so strong, who faced pain and hardship without flinching, cried for the first time. She signed the divorce papers with trembling hands, her tears staining the cheap paper. And on a different form, an organ donation agreement, I signed my name. After the surgery, I vanished from her life, branded a traitor. I returned to the small room we had shared for five years, and I waited for the death I had willingly embraced. I never thought I would see her again. Now, she had soared to heights we had only dreamed of. And I… I could never go back. Watching her on the news, so confident and full of life, a pang of sorrow twisted inside me, quickly followed by a quiet sense of relief. My phone rang, pulling me from my thoughts. It was the bank. They informed me that the thirty-thousand-dollar transfer had been a “mistake” on the sender’s part. I was required to return the funds immediately or face legal action. I hung up, a bitter smile on my face. What was there to say? After a moment of silence, I called my buddy, Ben, and asked him to help me find a job. I had to pay her back. Aurora hated me so much. The idea of me, the man who only cared about money, having to work off a debt in installments… she would relish it. She would watch me slave away until I dropped. Because of my heart, my body was weak. Most jobs were out of the question. I scraped by on whatever odd jobs I could find. Ben knew my situation and found me a gig as a server at a banquet. It was relatively easy work, and it paid five hundred dollars a night. As I put on the uniform, adjusted my mask, and began serving drinks, I saw her again. 4 She was breathtaking in a designer gown, a vision of elegance and grace. Chase stood beside her in an expensive suit, looking sharp and poised. They held onto each other’s arms, a perfect couple, surrounded by a crowd of admirers. I glanced once, then immediately looked down. Aurora took a glass from my tray without recognizing me. I was about to turn away when Chase spoke, his voice sharp. “Hey, watch what you’re doing! You spilled wine all over my suit!” I froze, noticing for the first time a dark, wet patch on his jacket. I didn’t say a word, just lowered my head and tried to dab at the stain with a napkin. Aurora watched me, her brow furrowed, her lips pressed into a thin line. A malicious glint appeared in Chase’s eyes. He suddenly kicked me, his foot connecting squarely with my chest. A bolt of agony shot through me. I collapsed, a pained gasp escaping my lips. “Don’t touch me with your filthy hands!” he spat. “Security! Get this trash out of here!” His face was a mask of fury, but he couldn’t hide the triumphant smirk playing on his lips. Though only my eyes were visible, in that split second of eye contact, Aurora knew. Her lips trembled, and a flicker of… something, maybe pain, crossed her eyes before it was consumed by a wave of pure scorn. She held up a hand to stop the approaching guards and then ripped the mask from my face. “Silas. Don’t you even say hello to your ex-wife?” Chase feigned shock. “Silas? Is that you? But… you’re Aurora’s ex-husband. What are you doing working as a waiter?” The entire hall seemed to fall silent. Every eye in the room was on me. Then, the murmurs started, growing into a chorus of ridicule. “I heard he abandoned her for money when she was sick…” “Ugh. What goes around comes around.” “Serves him right, ditching a woman like Aurora Croft only to end up a waiter!” Someone threw their red wine at me. The liquid splashed over my head. Then another glass followed, and another. Wine rained down on me from all directions, the glasses shattering as they hit my body. Crimson wine and scarlet blood mingled on the floor. It was clear these people were eager to curry favor with Aurora by putting her heartless ex-husband in his place. Blood trickled down my forehead, but I felt nothing. I remained silent. Aurora stared at me, her eyes filled with an unconcealed coldness. “What’s wrong, Silas? Cat got your tongue? Or do I have to pay you to speak now?” A wave of derisive laughter rippled through the crowd. “You took this job to get my attention, didn’t you?” she continued, her voice like steel. “To beg me for more money? Fine. I’ll give you what you want.” She had someone bring over a dozen bottles of expensive red wine and open them all. “Drink every last one of these, and I’ll give you fifty thousand dollars.” She threw a stack of cash on the ground. The bills landed in the puddle of wine and blood at my feet. Her face was a frozen mask of contempt. The entire room watched, their faces full of mockery, enjoying the spectacle. … Ever since the surgery, my body had been frail. I couldn’t lift anything heavy, couldn’t run or jump. Even walking a short distance left me gasping for breath. For me, alcohol wasn’t a recreational substance; it was a poison. A single drop could cause my artificial heart to fail. I lifted my head and looked at her. A weak smile touched my lips, and I finally spoke. “And the thirty thousand… I don’t have to pay that back, right?” Aurora’s expression faltered, a surge of fresh fury rising in her icy eyes. I could hear the sound of her grinding her teeth. “Fine.” Her answer was all I needed. I smiled, grabbed a bottle, and started chugging. My body, already on the brink, rebelled. The harsh liquid burned my throat, and I gagged, nearly throwing it all up. I forced it down and reached for the next bottle, and the next. Everyone watched me, their faces alight with cruel amusement. Only Aurora’s expression began to change, her face growing darker, more clouded with every bottle I emptied. As I reached for another, she finally snapped, her hand clamping down on my wrist. “Silas, would you actually die without money?!” I looked into her blazing, bloodshot eyes and nodded. “You’re right. Without money, I will die.” She shoved me away in a fury. “Good! Then drink it all! Drink until you’re satisfied!” My body felt like it was weighted down with lead. The artificial heart in my chest seemed to have stopped beating altogether. I smiled, took a shallow breath, and lifted another bottle. Aurora couldn’t take it anymore. She snatched the bottle from my hand, letting out a raw, animalistic scream. “ENOUGH!” My body finally gave out. I crumpled to the floor, landing in a pile of shattered glass. The sharp edges bit into my skin, staining the ground a deeper shade of red. The commotion brought Ben running. He saw me, his face contorting in horror, and rushed to my side. He helped me up, then turned and screamed at Aurora, his voice cracking with anguish. “He gave you his heart! He’s been living with an artificial one all this time! He can’t drink, don’t you get it? It’ll kill him! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

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My best friend Luna was riding with me for the holidays. Before leaving, my husband Alex warned me quietly, “She’s pregnant. We can’t let anything happen to her. Whatever you do, don’t let her drive.” On the highway, exhaustion set in. Luna offered to take over, but remembering Alex’s warning, I refused. I pulled into a rest stop to rest briefly. I woke to find the car wrecked on the highway. Luna was pale, blood filled the air. Clutching her stomach, she screamed, “My baby’s gone!” Both our husbands rushed over. Through tears, Luna blamed me, saying I drove while exhausted. Alex then showed a video of me driving with my eyes closed, accusing, “I never thought you’d try to kill her. You’re a murderer.” Before I could defend myself, Luna’s husband Mark dragged me out and beat me to death on the roadside. After dying, I learned the truth: Alex had taken out a large life insurance policy on me. He and Luna had been having an affair. When I opened my eyes, I was back—one day before the trip. … “Jasmine, you can’t let Luna drive, you hear me?” Alex said, his face a mask of concern after learning I was giving her a ride home tomorrow. “A pregnant woman behind the wheel… if anything happened, we could never live with ourselves.” “You be careful too,” he added. I nearly choked. To think I had actually been reborn. Looking at Alex’s face, a wave of nausea washed over me. In my last life, he and Luna had set a trap that led to my brutal end. I mumbled a few noncommittal replies, got dressed, and headed out. Leaving the house, I drove straight to a local car rental agency. In my previous life, Alex must have tampered with my car. I didn’t have enough time to find proof, so swapping it out was the next best thing. Luckily, I found a rental that was the exact same make and model as mine. As I left the agency, a message from Luna popped up on my phone, telling me to pick her up at eight tomorrow morning. I replied with a simple “Okay.” The next morning, at eight o’clock sharp, I was parked outside Luna’s building. She kept me waiting for a full half hour before finally sauntering downstairs. As she got closer, I caught a whiff of her heavy perfume. “Jasmine! I’m so excited we get to drive home together,” she gushed, handing me a thermos. “You must be freezing. I brought you some hot water to warm you up.” I stared at the thermos, not taking it. In my last life, I’d been so worried about drowsy driving that I went to bed early. There was no reason I should have been that tired. Thinking back, the crushing fatigue had set in right after I drank the water Luna gave me. Seeing my hesitation, Luna’s smile tightened. “Jasmine, don’t tell me you’re turning your nose up at my water.” I thought for a second, then took it and sipped. “Of course not,” I said with a forced smile. “Get in.” She seemed pleased that I’d drunk it. As she moved to put her bags in the trunk, I turned my head and spat the water I’d been holding in my mouth onto the pavement. But when Luna opened the passenger door, she froze. “Jasmine, who is this?” A man I didn’t know was sitting in the passenger seat. He gave her a little nod. “Oh, this is Phillip,” I said quickly. “He’s catching a ride with us.” I’d posted in a local rideshare group yesterday, and he was the only one who’d responded. I wasn’t bringing him along out of the goodness of my heart; I wanted a witness. Luna pulled me aside, her voice a harsh whisper. “Jasmine, are you crazy? Letting a total stranger in your car? What if something happens on the road?” “Don’t worry,” I said, patting my chest reassuringly. “Phillip’s a decent guy. I’ve already seen his ID. Besides, it’s just a few hours. What could happen? And a little extra gas money never hurts.” Luna was still not having it. “I’ll cover the gas. Just tell him to leave. I’m not comfortable sharing a car with a strange man.” I feigned annoyance. “Luna, what is this, the dark ages? I already promised him a ride. I can’t just kick him out now.” Seeing I wouldn’t budge, she gave up and tried to switch seats with Phillip. “Excuse me, could we trade? I get carsick in the back.” “Sorry, I get carsick too,” Phillip replied without missing a beat. Luna paused, then turned back to me. “Oh, I forgot something,” she said, and ran back upstairs. A few minutes later, she returned, got in the car, and handed Phillip two small pills and a bottle of water. “I have some motion sickness medicine. Here, take this.” Phillip took them, studied her for a moment, and said, “Thanks.” He then tipped his head back and swallowed the pills. Luna visibly relaxed as she watched him take the medicine. I, on the other hand, noticed her perfume seemed even stronger now, almost cloying. Once we were on the road, Phillip quickly drifted off to sleep. And just as we hit the main highway, my own eyelids felt like they were lined with lead. A few minutes later, Luna tapped my shoulder. “Jasmine, did you not sleep well last night? This is so dangerous.” I rubbed my eyes. “I’m fine,” I said, my voice thick. “Let me drive,” she insisted, her voice laced with worry. “You’re scaring me.” “It’s okay, you’re pregnant,” I waved her off. “I can push through.” Beside me, Phillip stirred. “Just let her drive,” he mumbled. “Fatigue kills.” This time, I agreed immediately. I pulled the car onto the shoulder, and Luna and I switched places. Sitting in the back, I pinched my thigh, trying to force myself to stay awake, but the drowsiness was like a tidal wave, pulling me under. I don’t know when I finally fell asleep. The next thing I knew, a voice was screaming in my ear. “Jasmine! Jasmine, help me! My baby! My baby is gone!” The thick, metallic scent of blood clogged the air. I forced my eyes open. I was in the driver’s seat. The car was smashed against the guardrail. In the back seat, Luna was howling, clutching her stomach. It was happening all over again. Luna’s screams startled Phillip awake. He looked at me, his face a mask of confusion. “Didn’t you two switch? When did you get back in the driver’s seat?” I wanted to ask the same question. Luna had been driving when I passed out. How did I end up back here? But there was no time to figure it out. Phillip was already on the phone, dialing 911. The police and an ambulance arrived quickly. All three of us were taken to the hospital. On the way, I called Luna’s husband. After Luna was wheeled into surgery, Phillip tried to leave. “You can’t go,” I said, blocking his path. He looked me up and down. “I have places to be. I was just a passenger. Her accident has nothing to do with me, right?” “It has nothing to do with you, and it has nothing to do with me,” I said, pulling two water bottles from my bag—the ones Luna had given us. “I need you to do me a favor. Take these to a lab and have them tested for any sedatives. I’ll pay you a thousand dollars.” Phillip’s eyes widened, but he still shook his head. “It’s not about the money. I don’t have time. Find someone else.” Facing another refusal, I played my last card. My eyes filled with tears. “The truth is… that woman is having an affair with my husband. I think they’re trying to set me up.” Phillip’s expression hardened instantly. He took the water bottles. “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice firm. “I’ll get to the bottom of this for you.” Not long after Phillip left, Luna was wheeled out of the operating room. I walked over. “How are you?” She shot me a look of pure hatred and started sobbing, a performance that continued until her husband, Mark, and my husband, Alex, arrived. The moment she saw Mark, her sobs intensified. “Honey, our baby… our baby is gone! It’s all my fault! I couldn’t protect our child!” Alex rounded on me. “Jasmine, what the hell happened? I told you to be careful!” I looked at him calmly. “What are you doing here?” “Luna was in your car when this happened!” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Of course I had to come!” I gave a small, humorless laugh. “Is that so? Funny, I don’t remember telling you about it. How did you know?” Alex flinched, suddenly flustered, stammering as he tried to come up with an excuse. Before he could, Mark grabbed a handful of my hair. “You killed my son,” he snarled, “and you have the nerve to smile?” He shoved me hard, sending me sprawling out of the hospital room door. Mark was a man with a notoriously short fuse. I landed hard on the floor, a sharp pain shooting through my tailbone. Inside the room, Luna’s wails grew louder. “Jasmine Taylor! I warned you not to drive tired! Why didn’t you listen? Did you want to kill my baby? You give me back my child!” I watched the scene unfold with cold detachment, waiting. It was Alex’s turn to play his part. In my last life, his video had been the “proof” that sealed my fate. It showed me driving with my eyes closed, ignoring Luna’s pleas to pull over, before I supposedly snarled, “Shut up! You think being pregnant makes you special? Go to hell with your damn baby!” and swerved the car. Sure enough, just as Mark’s face darkened with rage, Alex stepped forward, just like before. “Jasmine, how can you be so twisted? You were always going on about how you were jealous of Luna’s pregnancy, how you wanted to get rid of her baby. I thought you were joking. I can’t believe you actually did it.” His words were gasoline on a fire. I could see the rage building in Mark’s eyes, his face flushing a deep red. A primal fear gripped me as I remembered how he had beaten me to death. Forcing myself to stay calm, I scrambled to my feet. “That’s a lie, Alex. Luna losing her baby has nothing to do with me. I wasn’t even the one driving at the end! She crashed the car herself! She wanted to get rid of her own child!” My words sent a shockwave through the room. Luna shrieked, “Jasmine, are you insane? You’d say anything to save your own skin, wouldn’t you? Why would I crash the car on purpose? Do you have any idea how hard I worked to have this baby?” It was true. Luna and Mark had tried for five years before she finally got pregnant. She’d subjected herself to endless herbal remedies and countless injections. Once pregnant, she became a recluse, avoiding anything that could possibly harm the baby, even giving away the dog she’d had for years. The idea that she would intentionally cause a miscarriage was something Mark would never believe. He didn’t speak, just stared at me, his eyes promising violence. Luna pressed her advantage. “Jasmine, I know you’re scared because of what happened, but you can’t pin this on me! You were in the driver’s seat, I was in the back! The police and the paramedics saw us! They can back me up! My blood is all over the back seat!” The commotion had drawn a crowd, including a couple of nurses. After confirming one of them had been on the emergency call, Mark asked her coldly what she had seen. “The patient was indeed in the back seat when we arrived,” the nurse confirmed. Luna clung to this like a lifeline. “You hear that, Jasmine? I was in the back. So please, explain how I crashed the car from the driver’s seat and then somehow swapped places with you while you were sleeping like the dead.” She turned to Mark, her face a mask of wounded innocence. “Honey, losing the baby is hard enough. But for her to slander me like this… I don’t want to live anymore. I just want to die.” With that, she tried to lurch off the bed and run headfirst into the wall. Mark caught her, holding her tight, his eyes dark with a brewing storm. After he had calmed her down and settled her back on the bed, he turned to me, his voice dangerously low. “You said she did this on purpose. Why? Why would she kill our child?” I knew if I didn’t tell the truth now, my previous life was about to repeat itself. I pointed a shaking finger at Alex. “Because those two have been sleeping together for a long time. Because Alex took out a massive life insurance policy on me. They wanted to get rid of you and me so they could be together, and they sure as hell didn’t want your baby getting in the way.” The room fell silent for a beat. Both Alex and Luna’s faces went pale. Alex recovered first. “Jasmine, you’re acting like a rabid dog, just biting at everyone. There is nothing going on between me and Luna. We’re just friends.” He pulled out his phone. “Jasmine, we were married. I didn’t want to show this to anyone. But since you’re making these wild accusations, I have to show Mark the truth. This is from the dashcam in your car. You know damn well what you did.” The video was identical to the one from my last life, with one exception: Phillip was in it. My eyes widened. “You’re saying this is from the dashcam in my car? Are you sure?” “Of course I’m sure,” Alex said with absolute certainty. “Don’t you remember? Your dashcam is linked to my phone. I can access the recordings anytime.” I saw Mark’s fist clench, ready to swing. I decided to drop the bomb. “There’s just one problem. This time, I wasn’t driving my own car. The car Luna and I were in was a rental. How could my dashcam possibly have this footage?”

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He became a billionaire mogul, but I still acted like a spoiled brat. I treated him like a male model and a servant. Tonight, As Alan, his face dark, pushed hard, I suddenly saw comments scrolling: [Great, the antagonist is finally getting pregnant this time!] [The protagonist is an OB-GYN, and the antagonist, along with her brain-damaged son, are just tools to facilitate the protagonist couple’s romance.] [The male lead is finally divorcing to have a sweet romance with the protagonist!] I shuddered. I quickly pushed him away: “Stop!” “Stop it now!” 01 I pushed too hard. Alan, half-propped up, lost his balance and fell onto the bed. His custom-tailored shirt slid off. Revealing his sculpted chest. Pale. Seductive. A million times better than any male model’s physique. But a brain-damaged son? Absolutely not! I quickly looked down. Thank goodness. Not yet. I breathed a long sigh of relief. Alan got up, a slight frown on his face. His amber eyes, set in his distinguished, calm, handsome face, looked at me curiously. “What’s wrong? Not feeling well this time?” “We can try again.” Terrified, I quickly shook my head. “No, no, it’s fine.” “It’s getting late. You’ve had a long day. Let’s just get some rest.” Alan’s expression darkened a bit. A flicker of displeasure crossed his face. But quickly. He recomposed himself. “Alright, I’ll go downstairs and make up my bed then.” Go downstairs to make his bed? Where? I was confused. Then it dawned on me. When we first got married, I despised Alan for being dirt poor, only able to afford a cramped basement apartment, and a bed that was only a twin size. Every night after we were done, I’d kick him off the bed to sleep on the floor. I’d hog the entire bed. Over time, it became a habit. Even now that he was a successful entrepreneur, had moved into a huge mansion, and our bed was a luxurious king-size. I still preferred to have the entire bed to myself. Yet I wouldn’t let him sleep in the guest room next door, because I’d get scared at night. So he still slept on the floor in my room every night. Thinking of this. I felt a little guilty. No wonder the later plot had him falling in love with someone else. Who could endure such constant exploitation? [Why did it stop at the crucial moment? Did the antagonist have a change of heart today? Didn’t she used to cling to the male lead every time, treating him like a male model, forcing him to try different positions over and over again?] [So how is she going to get pregnant today? If she doesn’t get pregnant, when will she meet the protagonist?] [It stopped, it stopped. The male lead can get some rest. It’ll be the same if she gets pregnant next time.] [But next time, will it still be a brain-damaged child?] [Who knows…] I watched the comments for a while. Only then did I confirm that the “antagonist” they were referring to was indeed me. It sent another chill down my spine. Next time? Absolutely no next time! 02 The next morning. When I woke up, Alan was already up. The bedding on the floor had been neatly folded and put away. I quickly got dressed and out of bed. I removed my bedding from the bed, then carefully spread out his bedding on the bed. Then meticulously tidied it for him. After that, I tiptoed with my own bedding to the smallest guest room, furthest from the master bedroom. I thought to myself, I can’t cling to Alan for intimacy every day anymore. Nor can I make him sleep on the floor. Giving birth to a brain-damaged son or being kicked out of the mansion after divorce. I wanted neither. [What trick is the antagonist trying to pull now? Is she tired of sleeping in the master bedroom, so she’s slumming it in the tiny 100 sq ft guest room?] [The antagonist even made the male lead’s bed in the master bedroom. Is she planning to make him sleep on the floor in that small guest room after they’re done? Is she not even willing to give him his bedding now? That’s so evil!] [This terrible plot is infuriating. Every time they’re intimate, we only see the male lead and antagonist’s faces. We’ve paid money, why can’t we see? If he’s sleeping on the floor in the small guest room without bedding, won’t we finally get to see the male lead’s perfect body?] I ignored the misunderstanding in the comments. I was just annoyed that they were trying to peek at Alan’s body. He was my man. Why should they get to see him? After tidying the guest room. I went downstairs. Just in time to see Alan, wearing a pink apron, meticulously preparing breakfast in the kitchen. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating his broad-shouldered, long-legged back. Casting a perfect, domestic glow around him. I’d stared blankly at that physique countless times. Such a perfect man, and he was mine. But now. He was about to not be mine. Thinking this, my chest suddenly felt tight. A little ache. Seeing me come downstairs, Alan looked a little surprised. “Up so early today?” “Breakfast will be ready soon. I’ll go to the bathroom and prepare your wash water and toothpaste in a bit. You can sit down and wait for now.” I quickly shook my head and waved my hands. “No, no, it’s fine.” “I’ll wash my face and brush my teeth myself. You don’t need to prepare it for me.” With that. I rushed to the bathroom without stopping. Afraid that Alan really couldn’t stand me anymore. And would ask for a divorce. Of course. I was also afraid that after a divorce, I’d lose my mansion, my luxury car. My quality of life would plummet. Alan stood in the kitchen with the spatula. Watching my hasty retreat into the bathroom, he paused for a few seconds. Soon. I came back in a hurry. Looking at the half-prepared breakfast, I swiftly took the spatula from Alan’s hand. “You don’t have to get up early to make breakfast anymore.” “I’ll do it from now on.” [Hahahaha, so funny, the antagonist wants to get up early to make breakfast. Can that lazy pig even get up?] [Exactly. It’d be a miracle if she got up three days a year. The male lead is just too sentimental, too soft-hearted. The antagonist, relying on the fact that she was with him when he was poorest, demands he serve her like a servant every day. The male lead actually endured it for five years. If it were me, I’d have slapped her a long time ago.] [It’ll be great when the male lead meets the protagonist! Our protagonist is excellent at everything, both in public and at home. While her career is soaring, she also takes very good care of the male lead’s daily life. This kind of marriage is what successful men crave.] Alan, puzzled, gently touched my head. “What’s wrong with you?” “Are you feeling unwell?” I quickly interrupted him. Shaking my head so hard it almost came off. “I’m fine.” “I just feel really bad. You work so hard every day to earn money and support the family, and you still have to make breakfast for me.” “I want to learn to be self-sufficient from now on.” I thought to myself, if I’m more attentive. And sincerely apologize for my past haughtiness and immaturity. Even if he’s annoyed with me, even if he doesn’t love me anymore, even if he meets the so-called protagonist, he surely wouldn’t have the nerve to abandon his faithful wife, right? After all. His first pot of gold in his startup. Came from me selling the only house my parents left me. So even if he were to abandon me. Perhaps because of my good attitude, he’d compensate me with more money. Ensuring my quality of life. Perhaps it was because I’d acted on too many impulses before. Alan’s puzzled expression only lasted a few seconds. After I finished talking about self-sufficiency. His handsome eyes darkened. His voice, tinged with what sounded like regret, softly said, “Alright then.” “Whatever makes you happy.” 03 Evening. Alan arrived home promptly, according to the schedule I had set for him. He dutifully stepped through the front door with his right foot first. This was also one of my old rules. I belatedly realized how recklessly I had behaved in the past. After entering, Alan, holding freshly bought groceries, prepared to go to the kitchen to cook. But as he reached the dining room, he was surprised to find that I had already prepared dinner. I feigned domesticity. “Alan, come eat.” “I made your favorite braised fish.” “Try it and tell me if it’s good.” Alan sat down tentatively. He asked me anxiously, “What’s wrong with you today?” “Did you… did you put aphrodisiacs in the food?” I was speechless. I didn’t know how to explain, and for a moment, I lost my temper, huffing, “Yes, I did. Are you going to eat or not?” After realizing what I’d said, I immediately felt guilty and regretted it. I wished I could slap myself. Terrified, I quickly shut up and focused on eating. Alan said nothing more. He ate his meal diligently. Half an hour later. The dishes on the table were completely cleaned by the two of us. But Alan didn’t feel the effects of any supposed drug. Instead, he noticed I was gone first. He assumed I had gone back to the bedroom, so he followed. But upon returning to the bedroom. Alan was surprised to find his bedding neatly laid out on the bed. I was still nowhere to be found. Alan was puzzled, his head full of questions. He searched every room, finally finding me in the smallest guest bedroom. By then, I had already showered and snuggled under the covers. Alan entered the room. He half-knelt by my bed, asking softly, “Why are you here?” “Am I supposed to sleep on the floor here tonight? My bedding is on the master bed. Can’t I bring it in here?” I quickly shook my head. “No, no need for that.” “From now on, the big bed in the master bedroom is for you. I’ll sleep in this small room. This way, we can both get good rest.” Alan froze, unable to believe his ears. His handsome eyes watched me deeply. The tear mole at the corner of his eye was utterly captivating. His face darkened. He asked me in a cold voice, “Are you saying I wasn’t… diligent enough last night?” “Didn’t satisfy you?” “If not, I’ll make up for the positions we missed last night, tonight.” His tone was cold. But I clearly saw. His eyes held a restrained anticipation. And his hand slowly, honestly, unbuttoned his shirt. If this were before, I would have succumbed to that tempting sight and pounced on him. But now, I was terrified. I instinctively shrank back into the corner of the wall. Make up for what? Make up for a brain-damaged son? No, no. “Alan, get away.” “Get away now.” 04 Alan froze. He looked at me in disbelief. His eyes held confusion, shock, anger. And a hint of something barely perceptible, Disappointment? I cowered in the corner. Clutching my small blanket tighter. “Um, it’s getting late, and I’m pretty sleepy.” “You’ve had a long day too, you must be tired. Go back to sleep. Get some good rest. Goodnight.” [Is the antagonist crazy? She’s refusing to be intimate with the male lead? Didn’t she used to demand he use at least 108 different positions every night?] [It’s just playing hard to get. She’s so insatiable, how could she not? I bet she won’t last a minute before grabbing him, clinging to him and refusing to let him go.] [Exactly. I remember one time the male lead came back from a business trip after midnight, and the antagonist exploded. The male lead transferred thirty million to her and coaxed her for an hour, just to barely appease her. Even then, she punished him by making him try non-repeating positions all night!] [The male lead hates being intimate with her the most. He always does it with a dark face, just to avoid being clung to all night again. That’s why he comes home on time every day.] Alan was still standing there. Motionless. His tall, upright figure stood rooted like a statue. After a long silence. He finally turned and left, his face cold. Several seconds later. Once I was sure he was far away, I tiptoed out of bed. And quickly locked the door. The moment the lock clicked, the worry that had been weighing on my heart finally eased. I touched my stomach and breathed a long sigh of relief. Perfect. Safe, safe. [Huh? The antagonist is crazy! Not only did she not call out to the male lead, but she also locked the door?] [Something’s wrong. Shouldn’t the male lead be happy right now? After all, he doesn’t have to disgustingly humor the antagonist anymore. Why does he seem a little disappointed?] [The male lead isn’t disappointed. He’s suppressing his inner joy, not wanting the antagonist to see that he dislikes her.] [Why isn’t the protagonist getting pregnant yet? When is the protagonist going to appear? I can’t wait.] [Good things come to those who wait. The protagonist will definitely appear soon. Even if the antagonist can hold off tonight, I don’t believe she can hold off tomorrow night.] Outside the bedroom door. Alan’s footsteps suddenly stopped. He instinctively looked back. He heard the click of the guest room door locking. The unease in his heart grew stronger. From being pushed away last night, to taking the initiative to wash up this morning, and eagerly preparing breakfast and dinner. It all felt wrong. Alan couldn’t help but let his mind race. What is Scarlett trying to do? She’s never been like this before. Is she bored? Does she want a divorce? Thinking this. His expression grew even more despondent. 05 For the next while. I was looking for a job. Although Alan gave me a lot of money, and being a stay-at-home wife was comfortable and free. But before I saw those comments. I never realized my so-called freedom was built on Alan’s pain. I was reluctant to divorce. Reluctant to leave such a perfect man. But I had to find a fallback plan for myself. Before his disgust completely erupted. … According to the time I’d set on the job app, I arrived at a company in the east of the city for an interview. The interviewer was a chubby, middle-aged bald man. Everything was going well. He asked about my desired salary. I said five thousand. He suddenly sneered. “Do you think just because you’re somewhat attractive, you’re some high-society lady who doesn’t understand the struggles of the common people?” “You haven’t worked in five years, and you graduated from a mediocre university. You want five thousand a month? Are you dreaming?” I was shocked. Only five thousand. Is that a lot? It was precisely because I hadn’t worked in years that I didn’t dare ask for more. Before I met Alan, I earned eight thousand a month. Back then, Alan was just a poor graduate. He had nothing. I was a low-level worker bee who had already been working for a year. But I also had no money. The first time I saw Alan, the young man had clear eyes, a tall and lean figure, standing there, he was more dazzling than any movie star. I fell hopelessly in love. No one knew. The basement apartment we rented when we were dating, I actually paid for it. I dared to act the way I did because he truly treated me well. I could feel his intense and abundant love, and I was certain he wouldn’t leave me. That’s why I was so unrestrained. Three meals a day, cleaning, laundry, making the bed, organizing the wardrobe, bathing, even washing his feet and massaging his back. Alan took care of every single detail for me. Since my parents passed away when I was eight, It was the first time I dared to live so freely, like a giant baby. It wasn’t that I didn’t face criticism. I greedily indulged in such beauty. Like being intoxicated in a dream I didn’t want to wake from, I probed further, grew bolder. My demands became more excessive. But no matter how excessive I was, Alan never said no. Later. Alan started his own business. Seeing him struggling to raise money everywhere, I gritted my teeth and sold the only property my parents had left me in my hometown. Alan held me and cried for a long time that day. But he succeeded. In just one year, he multiplied the money I gave him tenfold. I remember very clearly. That day, he transferred all five million he had earned to my name. He reverently handed me the bank card. As if completing the signing of a contract. “Scarlett, marry me.” He bought flowers and a diamond ring, proposing grandly. And so. We moved out of the basement. And got married. 06 From then on. I quit my job and became a full-time wife. Alan’s company took off like a rocket. In just a few years, it grew from a small startup to an industry leader, successfully going public. Then it became a phenomenal and popular major company, a household name. Our little home also slowly changed from a three-bedroom apartment to a large condo. And now, to this grand mansion. Alan also became busier and busier. The smiles on his face grew fewer. I don’t know if I wanted to hold onto him, to prove that he still loved me as before. Or if I simply enjoyed being served and cared for by him. After he became a billionaire mogul, I didn’t rein myself in; instead, I escalated my demands. Thankfully. Although Alan was busy, he was willing to fulfill my unreasonable requests. I originally thought this was a sign that he still loved me. A sign that our love hadn’t soured. But I never imagined that Alan was already at his limit with me. I know it’s my fault, I was too much. But thinking about this. My heart still felt heavy. Like a large stone was pressing on my chest. It hurt so much.

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My son, Jim, was playful. He accidentally started a fire at home. I tied him in a sheet and lowered him from the balcony, then jumped from the third floor myself, breaking a leg. Jim vowed at my bedside never to let me be hurt again. When my drunk husband, Arthur, called me a cripple, Jim smashed a bottle over his head. Arthur fled, dropping divorce papers. At Jim’s coming-of-age party, three drunk men harassed me. Jim stabbed them with a dinner knife, killing one. He got three years in prison. After his release, I moved abroad, leaving him the company, to keep him from hurting others for my sake. Before Jim’s wedding, he flew me back. His fiancée mistook me for his mistress. On the wedding day, she and her friends cornered me in a jewelry store, shaved my head, broke my other leg, and stitched my mouth shut. They stuffed me in a sack and sent me to the wedding. “Honey, this wretch bullied me and insulted your mother!” Jim, enraged, smashed a chair over my head. As I lay dying, his fiancée opened the sack to show my face. “Haha, darling, actually, the wretch you just hit is the vixen who was seducing you. A surprise from me, do you like it?” … To keep Jim from getting into trouble again because of me, I had stayed abroad for a full five years. During those years, I suppressed my longing and avoided meeting him. But marriage is a lifelong event, and I didn’t want to miss my son’s most important moment. So, I agreed to return home. Reunited after so long, Jim was overjoyed. During dinner, he even took a photo with me and posted it on social media. The caption read: “Long time no see, the most important person in my life.” Throughout the meal, he talked non-stop, describing how he had grown the company over the years and become the wealthiest man in the city. He also told me he had found the perfect fiancée for me, someone he was sure I would adore. Seeing my son so mature and successful, I was immensely gratified. I was also filled with anticipation for the fiancée he spoke so highly of. I planned to pick out a thoughtful gift for her to mark our meeting. On the wedding day, I arrived at the jewelry store early. I had just purchased a necklace worth three hundred thousand dollars when a commotion suddenly erupted outside. “This is outrageous! I’m getting married today, and that hussy dares to try and seduce my fiancé at a time like this? Is she trying to ruin my wedding?!” “Everyone knows Mr. Malone is madly in love with you! That little harlot stepping in at such an important moment is clearly a deliberate provocation!” “Exactly! I think she’s coveting your position as the CEO’s wife. We absolutely have to make an example of her this time, so all those hussies out there know that the CEO’s wife’s authority is not to be trifled with!” Soon, onlookers gathered outside. I was a little perplexed and asked the sales assistant what was happening. The assistant said, “I heard that Mr. Malone has a mistress, and that mistress is openly provoking his fiancée on the day of his wedding. Now, the fiancée, Miss Rosalie Hayes, is leading a group of bridesmaids to confront the mistress!” Hearing this, I frowned slightly. I had seen photos of Rosalie Hayes; she certainly looked very sweet. Jim had also gushed about her virtues all last night. I had unconsciously grown quite fond of this future daughter-in-law. So, I immediately called Jim: “Jim, today is your wedding day. How could you be out finding a mistress? Is this fair to Rosalie?” Jim was utterly surprised: “Mistress? What mistress?” “Don’t play innocent with me! Rosalie is already going to confront her! I’m telling you, our family does not tolerate home-wrecking mistresses. And Rosalie is a good girl. If you dare do anything to betray her, I will disown you as my son.” Hanging up the phone, I saw Rosalie, accompanied by her bridesmaids, walking towards me. I was about to hand her the necklace and try to calm her down. But Rosalie immediately slapped me hard across the face. “You crippled hag, how dare you try to seduce my fiancé?” “Did you think I wouldn’t find you hiding here? Today, I’ll show you, you wretch, the authority of the CEO’s wife!” The sudden slap was forceful and brutal, leaving me dizzy and disoriented. All the onlookers turned their gaze to me. “So, this is the mistress who’s seducing Mr. Malone. She looks decent, but who knew she was so shameless.” “Some people look proper on the surface, but God knows what kind of wild behavior they get up to behind closed doors.” “Exactly! And spending money in a jewelry store, too. She’s clearly an experienced gold digger.” I ignored the onlookers’ comments, only explaining earnestly to Rosalie: “Your name is Rosalie Hayes, right? You’ve got it wrong; I’m not the mistress you’re looking for.” Rosalie scoffed, then pulled out her phone and showed me a photo. “Still trying to deny it? My fiancé never likes taking photos. If you weren’t his mistress, why would he take a photo with you?” “What, you have the nerve to be a mistress, but not the face to admit it?” With that, Rosalie glanced at the necklace in my hand, snatched it, slammed it to the ground, and crushed it under her heel: “You dare to use my fiancé’s money to buy jewelry? You despicable wretch, do you even deserve it?” It was then, seeing the screenshot of the photo of Jim and me together, that I understood. Rosalie had mistaken me, his own mother, for a mistress seducing her son? I immediately started to explain: “I’m not a mistress, I’m Jim’s…” Slap! Before I could finish, Rosalie slapped me again. “Jim? You dare to call him so intimately right in front of me? And still claim you’re not his mistress?” “A crippled hag like you, do you really think you can compete with me for a man?” Several bridesmaids chimed in: “I bet this cripple’s leg was broken by another wife when she was trying to seduce her husband.” “Such a depraved woman probably gets beaten a lot.” “She’s shameless anyway, so today we’ll strip her clothes off and give her a good public shaming!” The bridesmaids were all indignant, eager to tear me apart. Rosalie was very pleased with their suggestion, directly kicking me to the ground. She said coldly, “Strip her clean!” Several bridesmaids immediately surrounded me, forcibly tearing at my clothes. I struggled and shouted, “Stop! I am Jim Malone’s mother!” Hearing my words, the bridesmaids tearing at my clothes paused. Rosalie narrowed her eyes, staring at me intently: “You just said you’re Jim’s mother?” I stated emphatically, “That’s right!” I had thought that by revealing the truth, they would realize their mistake. But to my surprise, they burst into laughter, as if they had heard the funniest joke imaginable: “With your intelligence, no wonder you only earn money by selling your body. How can you even tell such a ridiculous lie?” “He’s the CEO! Do you know how dignified the CEO’s mother is? A low-class cripple like you dares to compare yourself to her?” “You vixen look barely in your thirties. How could you have a grown son like Mr. Malone? Do you think we’re as stupid as you?” Amidst the laughter, Rosalie grabbed my hair and sneered, “I thought you were smart and cunning, to make my fiancé take a photo with you, which he never does. But I didn’t expect you to be so utterly stupid. Don’t you know my fiancé cares most about his mother? You cheap little harlot, to avoid a beating, you actually claim to be my mother-in-law? You must really be tired of living!” With that, Rosalie’s eyes hardened, and she spoke to the bridesmaids: “Shave this harlot’s head clean for me. Let’s see how she tries to seduce men after this!” This group of people was clearly prepared. As soon as Rosalie finished speaking, several of them pulled out scissors from a black bag. Then they walked menacingly towards me. I looked younger for my age, and my appearance had always been good. But my leg injury was stubborn; years of treatment had failed to completely cure it. This had become a source of pain for my son, and he most resented anyone calling me a cripple. He would never voluntarily mention it to anyone. Yet, unexpectedly, these very facts became their reasons for disbelieving my identity. Seeing them about to cut my hair, I struggled and shouted again, “I am truly Jim Malone’s mother! If you don’t believe me, you can call him!” Hearing my words, they became even more unrestrained. Several of them surrounded me, haphazardly cutting my hair while slapping my face repeatedly: “You cheap harlot, your mouth is really tough. Even after being exposed, you still dare to lie? I’ll beat your mouth to a pulp!” Soon, my face swelled up, red and bruised. On my bald scalp, there were blood marks everywhere from the violent haircut. Seeing this, Rosalie laughed with satisfaction: “Hahahaha, look, doesn’t this harlot look like a turtle without its shell?” The bridesmaids also burst into laughter. A middle-aged woman among the onlookers couldn’t bear it any longer and stepped forward to offer kind advice: “Girls, I think you’ve taught her enough of a lesson. Perhaps you should find a piece of clothing to cover her up. If her family saw her like this, how heartbroken would they be?” Hearing this, Rosalie snorted, glaring at the woman. “My business, teaching a harlot a lesson, is none of yours. You’re so eager to defend a mistress, you must not be any good either. Are you also a mistress who’s lived to this age, so you can empathize with her? My fiancé is Jim Malone, the wealthiest man in this city. If you dare challenge me, do you believe I won’t teach you a lesson too?” My son was not only the local CEO but also notoriously ruthless. His past deeds of going to prison were widely known, and everyone knew he was a tough character. As soon as the middle-aged woman heard that Rosalie’s backing was my son, she immediately shut her mouth and quietly retreated into the crowd. Rosalie’s gaze returned to its icy coldness, and she looked down at me. “You crippled hag, usually limping around, it must be quite tiring, right? Today, I, the CEO’s wife, will do a good deed and relieve you.” With that, she shouted to the bridesmaids: “Bring the tools! I want this wretch to be able to crawl only from now on!” Hearing this, the bridesmaid carrying the black bag immediately pulled out a steel pipe and handed it to Rosalie. Rosalie took the steel pipe, her eyes fixed on me with vicious malevolence. Before I could react further, she raised the steel pipe and brought it down hard on my right leg. CRACK! The sound of bone breaking echoed. Intense pain quickly swept over me, making me break into a cold sweat and almost pass out. “A vile mistress like you deserves to crawl on the ground like a worm. A cripple, do you even deserve to compete with me for a man? I’m telling you, this position of CEO’s wife can only be mine!” Rosalie looked down at me from above, speaking arrogantly. Jim had always said Rosalie was gentle, considerate, kind, and generous. I believed him, and I was very pleased with Rosalie as a future daughter-in-law. But I never expected her to be such a brutal and cruel character. I gasped weakly, gritting my teeth. “You won’t be the CEO’s wife, I’m afraid.” Hearing my words, Rosalie’s face instantly turned icy. “You wretched woman, you dare to curse me? Since your dog mouth can’t say anything I want to hear, then don’t speak again.” With that, Rosalie directly took out a needle and thread from the black bag. Seeing this, a timid bridesmaid spoke with a hint of fear: “Rosalie, won’t this be going too far in public? Won’t it be against the law?” Rosalie, emboldened, said: “What’s there to be afraid of? My fiancé is the CEO. He always dotes on me. If anything happens, he’ll take care of it. It wouldn’t even matter if I took this wretch’s life!” With that, Rosalie, like a grim reaper, squatted in front of me. She had someone hold my mouth tightly. And then, she began to stitch my mouth shut, needle by needle. Each jab of the needle, each pull of the thread, caused me excruciating pain. Blood dripped in pools, flowing onto the ground. In just a few minutes, I felt like I was living for years. Unable to open my mouth, I could only utter desperate moans of pain. Rosalie finally stopped, satisfied, only when my lips were tightly sewn together. “Excellent. This wretch can finally shut her mouth.” She stood up, smiling, and wiped the blood from her hands. Several bridesmaids chimed in, “Rosalie truly lives up to being the CEO’s wife. She has a complete method for dealing with wretches like this.” “Without ruthless methods, your position isn’t stable. Our Rosalie is born for fortune.” “That’s right. That’s why God wants Rosalie to deal with this low-class mistress on her wedding day!” Under the relentless flattery of the bridesmaids, Rosalie’s lips curved upward. It was as if she could already see herself living a glorious life as a wealthy socialite. She raised her foot again and stomped hard on my face. “You wretch, didn’t you keep saying I wouldn’t be the CEO’s wife? Then I’ll take you to my wedding and let you witness firsthand how I grandly marry into a wealthy family!” “I’ll even make my fiancé tear you apart himself, you mistress, and make you feel what true despair is!” Rosalie shoved me into a sack and dragged me all the way to the wedding venue. The sack rolled and rubbed against the ground, creating many small holes. Through these holes, I saw the huge green lawn transformed into a perfect wedding site. The place was packed with people, and many reporters were live-streaming. The CEO’s wedding was drawing immense attention. In the very center of the venue, Jim stood by the main seat, gazing into the distance. That was the seat Jim had specially reserved for me. He was waiting for my arrival. Seeing Rosalie enter the wedding venue with the bloodstained large sack, everyone in the crowd was stunned. Jim, even more confused, asked, “What’s in there?” Rosalie looped her arm through Jim’s and complained tearfully, “Honey, inside is a wicked wretch. She not only bullied me and cursed that I couldn’t marry you, but she also insulted our mother and tainted her reputation!” Several bridesmaids also chimed in: “Yes, we’ve never seen such an arrogant wretch. Her disdainful face was infuriating.” “Luckily, Rosalie caught her immediately. Otherwise, Rosalie and Mrs. Malone’s reputations would have been completely destroyed by this wretch.” “Mr. Malone, you must not let her off easily, or else anyone will dare to step on Rosalie and your mother and bully them.” After hearing their words, Jim’s face darkened to the extreme. “Dare to taint my mom’s reputation?” Jim, filled with boundless fury, slowly walked towards me. Seeing this, the guests at the scene whispered amongst themselves: “Mr. Malone is not only the wealthiest man in our city, but he’s also notoriously ruthless. I once heard that someone bullied his mother, and he, with just a dinner knife, left one dead and two injured, and spent several years in prison for it.” “Yes, everyone knows Mr. Malone’s sensitive spot is his mother. To provoke him like this, she’s really asking for death.” Amidst the whispers of the crowd, Jim, like the grim reaper, walked up to me. “Anyone who bullies my mom will not come to a good end.” Through the tiny holes in the sack, I saw Jim’s furious face. I wanted to tell him that Rosalie was lying. I hoped he would quickly recognize me. But my mouth was tightly stitched shut. I could only watch helplessly as Jim grabbed a thick chair from nearby and slammed it onto my head. Accompanying a searing pain, my head slumped, and blood gushed out, staining the entire sack crimson. Seeing this, Rosalie’s lips curled into a slight smile, her eyes full of the triumphant joy of revenge. The next moment, she smiled and untied the sack, revealing my dying face: “Haha, darling, actually, the wretch you just hit is the vixen who was seducing you. A surprise from me, do you like it?”

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My father’s company was facing a cash flow crisis, so I went to my ex-husband for help. Seeing me approach, he put down his documents and looked at me intently. “We’ve been divorced for three years. What makes you think I’d help you?” I pointed to my slightly rounded abdomen: “This baby inside me.” He chuckled at that. “Scarlett Goldsberry, if you’re going to lie, at least come up with a better reason. Whose child takes three years to be born?” At his words, I scoffed, turning to leave before he could say another word. But who would have thought, that very night, my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. [Hey, you still there? I was actually drunk earlier today. I didn’t mean what I said.] [You wanted to borrow money, right? I’ll agree. And I’ll consider the child too.] [Why aren’t you saying anything? Don’t you want my money anymore?] “Please, I beg you. I’ll raise the child—just don’t go looking for anyone else, okay?” 1. The day my father told me our company was facing bankruptcy, I happened to run into Chris Davies. He was impeccably dressed in a sharp suit, exuding an air of powerful confidence. A swarm of hopeful investors circled him, showering him with praises. He was a stark contrast to the skinny, blue-and-white uniform-clad boy I’d known years ago. To gain his favor, some sycophants chugged their drinks; others subtly slipped him photos and hotel key cards, their faces alight with suggestive smiles. Chris, however, politely but firmly declined each overture. Those rebuffed didn’t dare show anger, merely resuming their obsequious grins. “Mr. Davies has impeccable taste; common gold-diggers certainly won’t catch his eye. And speaking of poor judgment, those who once overlooked true talent are definitely getting their comeuppance now.” Before Chris could even open his mouth, someone nearby chimed in. “Who are we talking about? The Goldsberrys, perhaps, on the brink of ruin?” “Who else would have such terrible foresight, casting aside a talent like Mr. Davies?” As the other party in their little conversation, I stood not far off, taking it all in. Chris Davies and I were high school classmates. Back then, I was Scarlett Goldsberry, the Goldsberry family heiress, while he was a struggling student whose family barely scraped by on recycling to pay his tuition. But there was no heartwarming tale of me coming to his rescue. In fact, I often teased and bossed Chris around. Even with the demanding high school curriculum, I’d order him to write my notes and do my homework. I found him attractive, so I didn’t let up in college either, constantly making him run errands for me, and practically coerced him into marrying me before graduation. A few years into our marriage, the novelty wore off, and I filed for divorce. Who would’ve thought that three years later, Chris’s company would skyrocket, while our family business spiraled, teetering on the edge of collapse? Chris’s expression remained unperturbed by their taunts, leaving his admirers unsure of his mood. I secretly breathed a sigh of relief. At least he wasn’t openly mocking me after hearing about my misfortunes. Chris was still a decent man. That meant there might still be a glimmer of hope. I’d tried to schedule a meeting with him to secure an investment, but his secretary always claimed he was too busy. My only shot was to corner him at tonight’s gala. Finally, I caught Chris alone as he headed to the restroom. I simply waited by the door, and the moment he emerged, I rushed forward. “Chris Davies, I need to talk to you!” The man, who had been washing his hands, met my gaze in the mirror before quickly averting his eyes. He didn’t speak until he’d finished, meticulously drying his hands with a paper towel. “What is it?” “Can we find somewhere private to talk?” “No, I’m busy.” His dismissive tone made me even more anxious, but given the urgency of my situation, I didn’t care that we were standing outside a restroom. I blurted out, “Our company has a promising project. I was wondering if you’d be interested in investing.” “Why on earth would I invest in your project?” 2. I expected him to at least ask about the project, but instead, he uttered that cold, almost petulant remark. “For old times’ sake.” “What old times?” My lips trembled, and after a long silence, I finally spoke. “Chris… hey, hey, don’t walk away!” Seeing him turn to leave, I quickly blocked his path. Chris’s assistant appeared just then, handing him a document. He signed it with swift efficiency, finally sparing me a glance. “We’ve been divorced for three years, Scarlett. What makes you think I’d help you?” Considering how ugly our divorce had been, it was a testament to his character that he wasn’t mocking me now, but actually speaking to me. But I was out of options. After much thought, I pointed to my slightly swollen abdomen. “This child.” His assistant’s eyes widened, darting between Chris and me. Chris’s face grew darker and darker. Just as I thought he was about to explode and walk away, he forced a smile. “Scarlett Goldsberry, if you’re going to lie, at least come up with a better reason. Whose child takes three years to be born? Do you think he’s some kind of mythical hero?” I was about to explain, but he cut me off. “You haven’t forgotten how you treated me back then, have you? You pressured me into marriage, then forced a divorce when my feelings were strongest, playing me like a fool. Are you still trying to make a fool of me?” Chris’s voice grew louder, and people around us started to stare. My face burned, and I wished I could vanish into thin air. “Can you believe Scarlett Goldsberry still has the nerve to approach Chris Davies?” “Seriously, she forced him to marry her back then, almost drove his mother to her grave, and now she’s shamelessly begging for a partnership.” “If I were Chris, I’d kick her out.” I stood frozen as the whispers around me intensified. Meeting Chris’s gaze, I finally conceded defeat, turning to leave before he could say anything more. That evening, back home, my father eagerly asked about the situation. I could only sigh in defeat. “Maybe you should send Chris another message?” “No, it’s no use. He made himself perfectly clear.” Besides, even though I’d unblocked him, there was no guarantee he hadn’t blocked me. Why torment myself further? Before bed, I scrolled through my social media. Under a picture I’d posted yesterday of scattered documents, captioned, “Life’s a tough climb,” my childhood friend, Leo Green, had just commented. “I heard about your family’s situation. Don’t panic, I’ll help you.” Knowing his family couldn’t solve my current predicament, I joked, asking if he’d won the lottery. Leo immediately replied, “What’s to be afraid of? Worst case, I’ll just tell my parents I’m getting married and make them foot the bill. You can help me spin the story.” I chuckled at his cheeky remark, finally feeling a little lighter. Just as I was about to turn off my phone, a flurry of messages popped up. [Hey, you still there? I was actually drunk earlier today. I didn’t mean what I said.] [You wanted to borrow money, right? I’ll agree. And I’ll consider the child too.] [Why aren’t you saying anything? Don’t you want my money anymore?] [Please, I beg you. I’ll raise the child—I don’t care if he’s a hero or a demon—I’ll raise him. Just don’t go looking for anyone else, okay?] 3. I stared at the messages, rubbing my eyes, seriously wondering if Chris’s account had been hacked. Before I could react, Chris’s call came through. “Are you asleep? Did you see my messages? I’ve thought about it. I’ll raise the child.” “And the investment…” “No problem, I’ll invest thirty million tomorrow. But I have one condition.” I took a deep breath, telling myself that no matter how harsh the condition, I had to agree. This was our family’s only chance. “What condition?” “Tomorrow morning at nine, meet me at City Hall. We’re getting married.” I froze, repeating it incredulously. “Married? Us?” “That’s right. Technically, we’re remarrying. Bring all your documents. See you at City Hall.” Chris’s call kept me awake almost all night. The next morning, I asked my dad for our family record book. He immediately clutched my arm, wailing. “Oh, Scarlett, please don’t! I know I failed you, running the company into the ground, but you can’t disown your own father because of this!” “I’m not disowning you.” “Then why do you need the family record book? You’re not trying to sever our father-daughter ties, are you?” I lowered my head, silent for a moment, then spoke softly, “I’m going to remarry Chris Davies.” My dad gasped, taking a step back. “Scarlett, you really don’t have to go this far for me. You broke up with him back then; Chris probably hates your guts. He might even torment you.” “It’s fine. I accept it.” With low marriage rates, City Hall had no queues. Chris and I arrived at nine, and within half an hour, the paperwork was done. As I held the marriage certificate, I felt a moment of unreality. How did I end up back with him? I opened the certificate, feeling the official seal was slightly crooked, and turned to ask the clerk. “Excuse me, this…” “Once you’re married, there’s no going back.” Before I could even ask, Chris grabbed my wrist, pulling me out of City Hall. I hadn’t had a chance to speak when his phone rang in his pocket. “Chris, where are you right now? I brought you breakfast, but everyone at the office said they haven’t seen you.” It was Penny Miller’s voice. I couldn’t believe she was still clinging to Chris. They were childhood friends, I remembered Chris introducing me to his friends years ago, and Penny’s face had fallen. Then, when we got married, Penny had gotten so drunk at the wedding she almost crashed her car on the way home that night. I looked up. The person on the phone was still whining, asking for Chris’s location. He remained unfazed, speaking softly into the phone. “City Hall.” “Scarlett and I remarried.” 4. Penny Miller was fast. Chris and I had barely sat down for breakfast at a nearby diner when she burst in, rushing over to our table. “Chris, did you really remarry?” Penny was panting, her eyes wide with disbelief. Her gaze darted between us, finally zeroing in on me. “It’s all because of you! Everyone knows your family’s about to go bankrupt, and you still want Chris to clean up your mess! You’re so heartless!” I said nothing, merely looking at Chris. His teacup was set down on the table with a soft clink. Penny instantly shut up, nervously watching Chris. “This is my business, Penny. It has nothing to do with you.” “But…” She started to protest, but Chris cut her off with a look. After getting our marriage certificate, we each headed back to our respective companies. Before leaving, Chris gave me a gate code, telling me to move into his house today. “Today? Already?” “Can you call a couple who doesn’t live together a couple?” I was speechless. Penny, beside me, was fuming but dared not speak. So, that day, I packed my things and moved to Chris’s address. But Chris didn’t come home that night. The social circle was small. A few inquiries quickly told me Chris was at a bar. Someone sent me a video: Chris was in a booth, drinking, with Penny chattering incessantly beside him. “Chris, why did you suddenly get married? What’s so great about Scarlett Goldsberry anyway?” “You’re not leaving tonight.” Chris tilted his head, avoiding the drink she offered, but didn’t argue with her words. Oh, so that’s how it is. All men are the same, aren’t they? Get a wife, then leave her hanging. Without a word, I marched straight to the bar, kicked open the door, and the music in the private room screeched to a halt. “Chris Davies, home!” I glared at the startled man on the couch, ignoring everyone’s strange looks, and practically dragged him to his feet. “I’m telling you, a married man needs to act like one. From now on, if you’re not home by eleven, don’t bother coming back.” As I tugged his tie, preparing to leave, someone nearby rushed to stop us. “Wait, wait, let’s just sit down and talk this over nicely.” The person blocking us had a cigarette clutched in their hand, its smell, mixed with alcohol, made me want to gag. “Snuff that out.” Without a second thought, the person flicked the cigarette into an ashtray. Penny, seeing this, shot up from her seat. “Scarlett Goldsberry, what’s your deal? Why does everyone have to listen to you?” “Because I’m pregnant, and any decent person wouldn’t smoke in front of a pregnant woman, right?” Everyone’s faces changed, and they immediately looked at Chris. Chris calmly said, “My apologies, everyone. My wife is here to pick me up, so I need to head home. Also, any gatherings that won’t finish by eleven, please don’t invite me.” I was extremely pleased with Chris’s prompt understanding. I dragged him out of the bar. But we had barely walked a few steps when Penny came running after us from behind. “Wait, Chris, how could you? Don’t you remember? Today’s my birthday!” So it was Penny’s birthday. No wonder it was such a lively gathering. “Stop! Scarlett Goldsberry, have you no shame?” Penny rushed forward, blocking our way, her gaze fixed on my stomach. “You’re pregnant and you still married Chris? Don’t you think that’s incredibly unfair?” “Oh really? I don’t think so.” I even glanced at Chris. “He knows I’m pregnant too.” 5. Penny froze, her face a mask of disbelief. “What? Chris, you know she’s pregnant?” “Yes, I know.” Penny fell completely silent. I was putting Chris into the car, about to leave, when she, still not giving up, ran to block us. “Scarlett Goldsberry, everyone knows you’re only with Chris for his money. Beggars can’t be choosers, so why are you acting so arrogant and bossy?” I leaned against the car door, smiling at her. “Well, Chris hasn’t said anything, has he? He hasn’t demanded that I grovel. And he was the one who initiated the marriage, you know.” As Penny’s face grew paler, I made sure to deliver the crucial blow. “Oh, and by the way, he chose to remarry me, not be with you.” Penny swayed, her eyes red-rimmed as she looked at Chris. “Why? Chris, don’t you understand how I feel about you? She’s carrying someone else’s child; don’t you care?” Chris remained silent, but I saw his clenched fists. He turned, his gaze sweeping over my face, then my stomach, before quickly looking away. “I don’t care.” A simple sentence, carried away by the wind, yet it struck a heavy blow to Penny’s heart. She stumbled back a few steps, collapsing to the ground, and finally burst into tears. Unfortunately, my only response was to ruthlessly close the car door and drive away. To be honest, I was just as perplexed about Chris wanting to marry me again, so I couldn’t help but ask him. “Why did you marry me?” There was no reply. The man beside me seemed to be asleep. I turned my head to look at him, meeting his gaze, so I asked again. “Why did you marry me?” “To make you regret it.” I raised an eyebrow, puzzled, waiting for him to elaborate. “Scarlett Goldsberry, you’ll see the difference between our two marriages. I’ll make you regret divorcing me.” “What kind of differences exactly? Tell me, so I can prepare myself.” Chris scoffed. “Before, I’d buy groceries and cook right after work. I’m telling you, that’s not happening anymore. I’ll hire a housekeeper, and you’ll never eat my cooking again.” “And I’ll go out once a week and won’t be home until ten-thirty. I won’t sit with you every night at eight to watch those cheesy soap operas.” “Also, I won’t cut your peeled apples into slices anymore. And those strawberries you love, where you eat the tip and I eat the bottom? From now on, you’ll eat the whole thing.” What… “vicious” punishments. I was too stunned to speak. Chris glanced at me triumphantly. “Hmph, scared now, aren’t you? This is the price for insisting on divorcing me.” It did sound quite terrifying. But compared to Chris wanting us to sleep in separate rooms, it was nothing. After we got home, Chris glanced at my belongings in the master bedroom, then, without a word, grabbed a pillow and blanket and went to another room. In the dead of winter, as a married woman, my bed was ice cold. The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I barely slept that night, waking up with dark circles under my eyes. Chris had already left for work. I was sitting at the dining table, eating breakfast, when the housekeeper suddenly answered a call. “Hello? Did Mr. Davies leave a document in the study? Oh, okay, I’ll bring it over?” Hearing her, I put down my breakfast and offered, “Why don’t I take it?” It would be a good opportunity to check on the investment process at his company. On the other end of the line, Chris scoffed. “No need, I’ll send someone to pick it up.” But I didn’t expect that ‘someone’ to be Penny. As I opened the door, our eyes met. “How are you here?”

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While organizing my daughter’s backpack, I found a photograph tucked away in a hidden compartment. In it, Eric held a two or three-year-old girl, smiling gently. That child wasn’t my daughter. I flipped it over and saw a line of handwriting: “To Daddy’s Dearest Little One, Happy First Birthday.” Eric’s handwriting was all too familiar. In five years of marriage, every note, every love letter he’d written, I’d kept in a small metal box. I stared at that line for a long time. Dearest Little One. So he used that phrase, too. Just never for my daughter. I pulled out my phone and messaged Eric: “When did you learn to be a dad?” He replied quickly. “?” I didn’t answer. Putting the photo back in my daughter’s backpack, I went to my study. I opened my laptop and found the divorce papers. You can continue to be someone else’s father. My daughter, I will raise myself. 1 When Eric called, I was at the hospital with Lily, our daughter, getting an IV drip. Lily, three and a half, was burning up with a fever of 103 degrees Fahrenheit, her little face flushed, whimpering in my arms. I held her with one arm and my phone with the other, listening to the person on the other end. “Tonight’s dinner engagement is unavoidable. Put Lily to bed early, don’t wait up for me.” “She has a fever,” I said. “One hundred and three degrees.” There was a second of silence on the other end. “Then take her to the hospital, what good am I? I’m not a doctor.” “I’m already at the hospital.” “Well, there you go.” His tone was tinged with impatience. “I really can’t get away here. The deal with Mr. Jenkins is signing tomorrow, I have to be at this dinner tonight. You can handle it alone, right?” I looked at Lily in my arms. She was feverish and hazy, still calling out “Daddy.” “She’s calling for you,” I said. “…” “Eric, she’s calling for you.” “Alright, alright, I get it. I’ll come see her after I’m done. I have to go.” The call ended. I stared at the screen for a few seconds. It went dark, then lit up again with a new message: “Remember to give her medicine, don’t forget again.” I didn’t reply. Lily had a fever all night, and I held her all night. By morning, her temperature finally dropped, and she slept soundly in my arms. I leaned against the hospital bed, just closing my eyes in a daze when my phone rang again. It was Eric. “Which hospital are you at? I’ll come by.” I gave him the address. Half an hour later, he appeared at the ward door, carrying a fruit basket, dressed in a perfectly ironed suit, as if he’d just stepped away from an important event. He walked to the bedside and looked down at Lily. “Fever’s gone?” “Yes.” “Good.” He placed the fruit basket on the nightstand. “What did the doctor say?” “Viral infection, two days of observation.” He nodded, glanced at his watch. “Then I’ll be going. There are things to do at the firm. If I can’t make it back tonight, order takeout for yourself.” I watched his back disappear through the doorway. From the moment he entered until he left, it was less than five minutes. He didn’t touch Lily’s hand. Didn’t ask if she’d been uncomfortable last night. He didn’t even spare her a second glance. I lowered my head, looking at my daughter’s small face. She was still asleep, her brow furrowed, as if having a bad dream. I suddenly remembered that photo. “To Daddy’s Dearest Little One, Happy First Birthday.” It turned out he wasn’t unable to be a dad. He just couldn’t be Lily’s dad. 2 Eric’s distance from Lily seemed to have been set the day she was born. He was away on a business trip that day. When my contractions started, I called him. He was having dinner with a client. “I’ll be back as soon as I’m done,” he said. I waited for thirty-six hours. By the time he returned, I had already signed the consent forms for surgery, gone into the delivery room, and given birth to Lily, all by myself. He stood in the hospital room, looking at the swaddled baby, with an unfamiliar expression on his face. Like he was looking at someone else’s child. “You worked hard,” he said. Then he went to the law firm. During my postpartum recovery, he came home a handful of times, staying less than half an hour each visit. My mother couldn’t bear it, grumbling behind his back. “Who does a father like that?” I defended him. “He’s busy. He just became a partner; he has a lot of cases.” My mother sighed. “No matter how busy, a husband and father should still care for his wife and child, shouldn’t he?” I didn’t speak. I didn’t know how to defend him either. When Lily was three months old, she cried inconsolably at night, and I couldn’t soothe her. Eric was woken up, sat up with a frown. “Can you make her stop crying?” “She’s fighting sleep, what can I do?” “Then take her out and soothe her. I have court tomorrow.” I took Lily to the living room. That night, I sat on the sofa until dawn. When Lily turned one, I held a small birthday party at home. Eric promised to come, but then a client called last minute. “You guys start without me, I’ll try to make it.” I waited until the cake was cut, and he still hadn’t returned. Lily grabbed a pen, smiling to show her two tiny teeth. I took a photo and sent it to him. He replied. “Good. She can be a lawyer someday.” I asked. “Where are you?” He replied. “With a client, can’t leave.” He came home very late that night. I had already put Lily to sleep. He tiptoed in, glanced at her, then lay down, turning his back to me. “Sleep,” he said. I looked at his back and suddenly felt that this man was very far away from me. Very far. 3 I found that photo on Lily’s third birthday. She had just learned to pack her own backpack, and every day before preschool, she insisted on organizing her things herself. That morning, as she rummaged through her backpack, she pulled out a photo, held it up, and asked me: “Mommy, who’s this?” I took it. In the photo, Eric was holding a little girl, with a children’s amusement park in the background. The girl wore a pink dress, with two small braids, looking about two or three years old. Eric’s smile was incredibly gentle. A tenderness I rarely saw on his face. I flipped it over and saw the handwriting. “To Daddy’s Dearest Little One, Happy First Birthday.” The date was last year. Last year, Lily was two. Eric had said he was busy with a big case, barely coming home for three months. I had taken Lily to her check-ups, for her vaccinations, and celebrated her birthday all by myself. So, this was what he was busy with. I squatted down, looking into Lily’s eyes. “This is Daddy’s friend,” I said. “The photo might have been put in by mistake.” Lily nodded, half-understanding, and ran off. I put the photo back in her backpack and went to the balcony. I stood there for a long time. The wind was strong, making my eyes sting. I remembered the first time Eric held my hand, at the university library entrance during our sophomore year. It was raining heavily that day, and I didn’t have an umbrella, so I stood under the eaves, waiting for the rain to stop. He walked over, holding an umbrella, and said. “Let me walk you back to your dorm.” The umbrella was small; half of his body got soaked. When we reached the dorm building, he handed me the umbrella. “Keep it. Just give it back tomorrow.” I asked him. “How will you get back?” He smiled. “I’ll just run fast.” And then he really ran into the rain. I watched his back, my heart skipped a beat. Three years of dating, five years of marriage. Eight years. I thought I knew him. But that photo made me realize I had never truly seen who he was. 4 From that day on, I started paying attention. I noted the time he came home, the expression on his face when he looked at his phone, the occasional “overtime” absences. I discovered many things I hadn’t noticed before. He had one weekend trip every month, but the destination was always a nearby city, a same-day round trip. He never let go of his phone, even taking it into the bathroom when he showered. He would occasionally buy children’s toys, but never said who they were for, just leaving them casually in the entryway. Once, I couldn’t help but ask. “Is this for Lily?” He paused, then said. “Oh, right, for her.” But he had bought a doll. Lily liked toy cars. I didn’t expose him. I just put that doll into the deepest part of the cabinet. Three months later, I found a shopping receipt in the pocket of his discarded suit jacket. Children’s amusement park, weekend, two adults and one child. The date was precisely the day he had gone on his “business trip” last month. That night, Lily had a fever again. I held her, sleepless through the night. In the early hours, I suddenly remembered something. From the day Lily was born until now, how many times had Eric taken her to a children’s amusement park? Not once. He said he was busy, no time. He said, later, when he had fewer cases. He said, there’s always tomorrow. It turned out his there’s always tomorrow was all for someone else. 5 The truth came from Lily’s preschool teacher. That day, I went to pick up Lily after school, and the teacher called me over. “Mrs. Peterson, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you.” “What is it?” The teacher seemed a little hesitant. “It’s just… recently, a lady has been regularly coming to the preschool gate at dismissal time, saying she’s Mr. Peterson’s friend, and wants to see Lily.” My heart tightened. “What lady?” “In her twenties, long hair, quite pretty,” the teacher recalled. “She said her name was Amelia Vance, and she’s very close with Mr. Peterson. She also said…” “Said what else?” “She also said she has a daughter about Lily’s age, and she wanted Lily to meet her so they could play together sometime.” I stood there, my hands and feet growing cold. “I didn’t let her see Lily,” the teacher quickly added. “Preschool policy states that only immediate family members can pick up children. I just felt it was a little strange, so I wanted to tell you.” I thanked the teacher and walked out with Lily. By the gate, I saw a white car parked by the roadside. The window was half-open, revealing a young woman’s face. Long hair, big eyes, exquisite makeup. She saw me, paused, then rolled up the window and drove away. I stood there, watching the car disappear around the corner. Lily tugged at my hand. “Mommy, why aren’t we going?” I looked down at her. “Lily, do you know that lady?” Lily shook her head. I crouched down and hugged her. “It’s good that you don’t know her,” I said. “It’s good that you don’t know her.” That night, Eric came home early. When he walked in, I was in the kitchen cooking. He came over and hugged me from behind. “Why are you being so sweet today, cooking yourself?” I didn’t move, continuing to chop vegetables. “Someone came to see Lily at preschool today,” I said. His hands paused. “She said she was your friend, last name Vance.” He let go of me, walked around to face me. I couldn’t read the expression on his face. “You saw her?” “Yes, I did.” He was silent for a few seconds. “She… she’s my client’s sister. I’ve met her a few times before. Maybe she was just passing by and wanted to see Lily.” “A client’s sister, why would she want to see my daughter?” His brows furrowed. “Eleanor, what is that supposed to mean?” I put down the knife and looked up at him. “Eric, is there anything you’re hiding from me?” His eyes flickered. Just for an instant, but I saw it. “No,” he said. “What could I possibly hide from you?” I looked at him and suddenly felt very tired. Eight years. I thought I understood him, but I never did. “Good then,” I said. “Let’s eat.” He stood there, as if wanting to say something more. But I had already turned and carried the dishes out of the kitchen. 6 Dinner was quiet. Lily sat in her high chair, eating with her spoon. Eric occasionally glanced at her, his gaze complex. After dinner, as I cleared the dishes, he went into his study to take a call. The door wasn’t fully closed, and I could hear his voice. “…I know, don’t rush… I’ll handle it… Wait for my call.” His voice was very low, but every word was clear. I stood in the kitchen, my hand on the sink, unmoving. The faucet was running, the sound of rushing water. My mind was also a blank. After hanging up, he came out. “I’m going out for a bit. Something came up.” I didn’t turn around. “Okay.” He walked to the door, then stopped again. “Eleanor.” “Hmm?” “…Let’s talk when I get back.” The door closed. I continued washing dishes. I washed for a long time, until my fingers were wrinkled. He didn’t come back that night. At two in the morning, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. My phone lit up. A text message from an unknown number: “Eleanor, it’s Amelia. There are some things I’d like to discuss with you. Can we meet?” I stared at the words for a long time. Then I replied: “Time and place.”

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After my reincarnation, when McVeigh’s student deliberately locked me in the MRI machine again, I neither cried nor made a scene. I simply closed my eyes calmly and slept. After all, in my previous life, because I was trapped in the MRI for six hours, I, in my anger, went to the hospital to complain about McVeigh’s student, Chloe. After Chloe lost her medical license, McVeigh hated me. He retaliated against me cruelly, as if I were an enemy, not only forcing a divorce where I left with nothing, but even when I was diagnosed with brain cancer and desperately needed him, a nationally renowned brain cancer expert, to save my life, he showed no mercy. He even warned all his former students not to treat me. Finally, penniless and nearly despairing from brain cancer, I crashed my car at the entrance of the house that had once been our marital home, ending my life. So, in this new life, sleeping for six hours in an MRI machine is nothing. It’s okay, as long as I can receive McVeigh’s treatment and survive. 1 When I opened my eyes again, it was McVeigh who woke me. He looked at me in horror. “Elle, how… how are you stuck in the MRI?” In my previous life, McVeigh also entered the examination room at this moment. However, he had been drawn by my screams. So, in that life, the moment McVeigh released me, I, having lost all reason, charged hysterically at McVeigh’s assistant, Chloe, the instant my feet touched the ground. I slapped her across the face. Chloe’s lip bled from the impact. Yet, she didn’t defend herself, only wept and repeatedly apologized. But how could I have listened then? After all, when Chloe had locked me in the MRI, she had provocatively told me: “Mrs. Thorne, you’re so annoying, always stopping the professor from teaching me how to write my papers.” “You can just reflect on yourself in the MRI machine.” With that, she left the examination room. No matter how loudly I screamed, no matter how hysterically I struggled and cried, Chloe never re-entered the examination room. So, how could I have listened to her apologies? After slapping her, I angrily accused her. “Apologize? You dare apologize to me? You deliberately locked me in the MRI for six whole hours.” “Do you think crying and saying sorry twice can make up for it?” “Chloe, you don’t deserve to be a doctor. I’m going to complain about you to the hospital. I’ll make sure you can never practice medicine again.” After roaring in anger, I rushed out of the examination room. Even when McVeigh followed behind me, trying to calm me, begging me, even threatening me with divorce if I reported her, I didn’t listen. I just angrily kicked open the door to their complaints office. Even when the head of their administration department smoothly tried to persuade me not to pursue it, I simply threatened them, saying if they didn’t fire Chloe, I would go to the reporters. Finally, I got what I wanted: Chloe was fired from the hospital. But what happened in the end…? A painful ache spread through my chest. As I lost myself in memories, McVeigh had already unfastened the restraints on me. This time, I chose not to make a scene as I had in the previous life. As I was released from the MRI, McVeigh, just like before, nervously tried to explain to me. “Please, let me explain, Elle. Chloe was just inexperienced. I happened to call her away, and she forgot you were in the examination room. She didn’t do it on purpose.” “She’s young; give her a chance to make mistakes.” I merely glanced calmly at Chloe, who had been crying since the examination room. I picked up my coat from a nearby chair, put it on, and then smiled gently and empathetically. “Don’t worry, I understand. Interns make mistakes; it’s perfectly normal.” “I only spent six hours in the MRI. I don’t feel bad; I was just tired, so I fell asleep in there.” “Oh, and I have something to do. I’m going home now.” With that, I didn’t look at McVeigh, but turned and walked out of the examination room. After all, what was there to say? In my previous life, after Chloe was fired from the hospital, McVeigh divorced me because of my “malice.” After the divorce, he went to work at another hospital, on the condition that Chloe could practice medicine there. And I? I not only received no divorce settlement, but my initial headache, which had led me to the hospital for an examination and consequently got me trapped in the MRI by Chloe, soon turned out to be brain cancer. The moment I was diagnosed with brain cancer, I immediately went to McVeigh’s hospital and booked an appointment with him. He was a national authority on brain cancer, and we had once been deeply in love. Even if he hated me, he wouldn’t truly watch me die. But to my surprise, the instant he saw me, McVeigh tore up my medical records. “You still dare to come to me? You almost ruined Chloe’s career as a doctor.” “Do you know how hard it is to study medicine? Eight years, how many medical texts do you need to memorize, how many bitter nights does that entail?” “But you? You were only locked in the MRI for six hours, and you wouldn’t let it go, almost making Chloe lose her chance to be a doctor.” At that time, my headache was severe. I could only cry and tell McVeigh that he misunderstood me. I wasn’t there to cause trouble; I was truly sick. But hearing my words, McVeigh sneered at me. “Oh, brain cancer, huh? Good. That’s what you get for your wickedness.” Afterward, to get back at me, he even called all his former students right in front of me, one by one, forbidding any of them from treating me. At the end of my life, penniless and unable to get a specialist appointment, I could only stab myself repeatedly with a fruit knife into my emaciated body. Desperate for a full night’s sleep, I swallowed dozens of ibuprofen pills. In those final moments, the pain became unbearable. I sought McVeigh out again. But by then, he was already embracing Chloe, sweetly dating and intimately kissing her in the home I had once meticulously nurtured, using the bowls I bought and the wine glasses I carefully selected. The last scene of my life was McVeigh kneeling and proposing to Chloe. And I, my head throbbing as if being torn apart by a drill, unable to bear the pain, crashed my car into the entrance of the home I had once poured all my efforts into. So in this life, what’s six hours in an MRI? Those six hours are nothing compared to life itself. 2 After leaving the examination room, I immediately went to the garage and drove straight home. Once home, I called the hospital and rebooked a full body check-up for myself. But just as I hung up the hospital phone, McVeigh, for some reason, suddenly returned. He held a bouquet of flowers and a cake. “You must have been scared today. I bought your favorite strawberry cake.” With that, he took off his suit and unwrapped the cake box. Watching the tenderness that enveloped his eyes, my chest ached again. In my previous life, McVeigh had also bought these flowers and cake, but it was to beg me to drop the complaint against Chloe. Yet, it was worth noting that McVeigh had never sent me flowers or cake since he met Chloe. He often even forgot our wedding anniversary and my birthday. That’s why in my previous life, realizing his unusual behavior towards Chloe, I had been so relentless with her. My heart ached almost to suffocation, but in an instant, I calmly smiled. “I’m sorry, my stomach feels a bit off, so I won’t eat your strawberry cake.” “And the flowers too, I don’t like red roses, so you can give them to Chloe.” I was really telling the truth. After all, I had a big medical check-up tomorrow, and keeping a 24-hour fast was essential. Flowers? They sickened me. In my previous life, when I died, when he proposed to Chloe, he had filled the villa we lived in with these very red roses. But McVeigh, frowning slightly, walked towards me. “You’re just deliberately trying to pick a fight, aren’t you?” “I have so many surgeries all day long; I’m half-dead from exhaustion, and I still have to come home to coax you. Can you please stop overreacting and dwelling on one small thing?” “I already explained to you at the hospital, Chloe is an intern; it’s normal for her to make mistakes.” “But you, you just walked out of the hospital with a sour face.” “Fine, I tolerated that, specifically bought flowers and a cake to come home and coax you, and you’re still giving me the cold shoulder.” My heart felt so weary. But I calmly met McVeigh’s gaze. “Believe it or not, I’m really not angry, nor am I being unreasonable, and I’m not giving you the cold shoulder either.” “I was in the MRI for six hours, and I’m genuinely exhausted, so all I want to do now is sleep.” With that, I didn’t look at McVeigh again, turned and went back to my room, locking the door securely. When I came out again, McVeigh was gone. Instead, my WeChat was constantly being bombarded with messages. This was Chloe’s habit. Whenever she was with McVeigh, she would continuously send me photos of her life with him. She treated me like a file transfer assistant. In my previous life, this was why I had thrown such a huge tantrum out of jealousy when Chloe trapped me in the MRI. But now, looking at the photos Chloe sent, I didn’t curse her as I usually would. Instead, I very sincerely commented: “Your phone angle is wrong. McVeigh’s side profile looks better. Remember to hold your phone higher next time when you take pictures.” “Also, look at the negative space in your photos. It should be less, so you and McVeigh can look more intimate.” As soon as I sent the WeChat message, Chloe replied. “You’ve been hacked.” I sent her a smiling emoji. “No, just wanted to let you know, McVeigh is yours.” With that, I blocked Chloe’s WeChat. This current triangular ownership situation is perfectly fine. I want the status of Mrs. Thorne, so McVeigh will treat my illness. McVeigh’s body and presence? If Chloe wants them, I’ll give them to her. Not like my foolish self in the last life, who only wanted McVeigh’s love. 3 After dealing with Chloe, I lay on the bed, calmly closing my eyes. But that night, even though I had been reincarnated, I still didn’t sleep well. Just like when I had cancer in my previous life, I kept dreaming of my past with McVeigh. When he was a child, McVeigh was often beaten by his special education teacher mother because he was introverted and didn’t like to talk. Often at midnight, when I had already slept, he would still be wearing thick glasses, doing test papers, while his mother stood by with a stick. Every time he made a mistake, his mother would raise the stick and hit him hard on the back. Living across from him, every time I saw him being beaten by his mother in the middle of the night, I felt so sorry for him. So whenever I got candy, I would secretly slip it into his backpack on the way to school, then smile and say to him, “McVeigh, when your back hurts, eat one.” The first time I gave McVeigh candy, his face flushed red. It wasn’t until I had run a hundred meters away that he stammered in a low voice, “I… I don’t eat candy.” And I just waved back with a smile. “McVeigh, you should talk more, your voice is really nice.” After that, it seemed to become a habit. McVeigh, who had always been a loner, got used to waiting for me, and used to me slipping candy into his backpack. And so, in that small alley outside our neighborhood, McVeigh and I walked through countless springs, countless summers, countless winters together. Until he was 18, McVeigh, who got into a top university as the county’s top scholar, nervously handed me a school number, pushing up his glasses. “I looked up this school. It’s very close to mine, only a ten-minute walk. Your scores aren’t enough for a bachelor’s degree, but you could do an associate’s degree.” I looked at his awkwardness. I didn’t tell him that my parents had an emergency meeting the night before, after getting my college entrance exam scores, saying that even if I had to go to a third-tier university, I had to get a bachelor’s degree; our family could afford it. After that, I secretly changed my college application without telling my parents. Even though the ultimate price was a beating from both my mother and father, I never regretted it. Later, McVeigh and I went to university in the same city. His life, after leaving his mother, seemed to take a miraculous turn. He removed his thick glasses and put on contacts, changed his buzz cut to curly hair, and even his fashion began to change. He shed his plaid shirts for white ones. His perpetually black sneakers became white athletic shoes. I didn’t know why McVeigh had undergone such a transformation until I once again shrieked with excitement because my favorite celebrity was coming to my university city for a concert. McVeigh, with reddened eyes, grabbed me. “I’ve become the person you like for you, but you still can’t like me?” The word “like” hammered into my chest like a heavy blow. Even though we attended different schools, I had heard of McVeigh’s legend: a medical genius, who at only freshman year had apprenticed under a nationally renowned neurosurgeon. By his sophomore year, he was interning at a hospital through his mentor’s recommendation. And because of his sudden change in appearance, a group of women even created a forum dedicated to documenting McVeigh’s transformation. I had always thought there was an ocean between us, and we would forever remain just friends, but then McVeigh told me he liked me. Being the thick-skinned person I was, I didn’t think twice before rising on my tiptoes and impulsively kissing McVeigh. After that, we started dating. My main focus became feeding McVeigh all sorts of bubble tea, sweets, and desserts that I liked. I had no life plan; every day was either about figuring out what McVeigh would eat, drink, or what we would do for fun. McVeigh’s life, meanwhile, continued its miraculous trajectory, publishing multiple papers during his graduate studies. Immediately after earning his doctorate, he was recruited by a prestigious top-tier hospital. In stark contrast to McVeigh’s life, my own seemed to be cursed afterward. I failed to transfer from my associate’s to a bachelor’s degree. After graduating from college, I lived solely on McVeigh’s allowance. Even my parents, who had adored me since childhood, tragically died in a car accident on their way to visit me in the hospital for pneumonia two years after I graduated. As an orphan, I cried until my tears soaked their bodies. McVeigh, kneeling beside my parents’ corpses, swore to me in his mother’s gloomy, hateful gaze that he would take care of me for the rest of his life. McVeigh and I got married. I had multiple miscarriages; each pregnancy ended in loss. Until later, Chloe became McVeigh’s assistant. He started to disdain me, calling me shallow. All I did all day was ask him what to eat and drink. Unlike Chloe, who could talk about medicine and surgeries with him. My eyes welled up with tears. When I opened them, I realized the day had already broken. And just like in my previous life, my pillow was soaked with tears. Just then, McVeigh’s WeChat message came through. “Going to the nursing home to see my mom this afternoon.” 4 Seeing McVeigh’s message, I calmly replied, “I’m busy today, no time.” McVeigh immediately called. “What are you doing today?” “Elle, how many times do I have to tell you, Chloe and I have nothing going on. Why do you insist on clinging to a small issue and not letting it go?” Hearing McVeigh mention Chloe again, a sneer touched my lips. McVeigh, ever since becoming a doctor, had grown accustomed to speaking concisely. This was the first time he clung to an issue so stubbornly. So, was he trying to convince himself that he hadn’t developed feelings for Chloe, or was he trying to lessen his guilt towards me? My chest ached with a tremor, but I calmly explained to McVeigh again, “McVeigh, I’m not feeling well. I need to go to the hospital for a check-up. I truly can’t accompany you to see your mom today.” “Also, your mom has a heart condition, and she’s always disliked me. Isn’t it better if I don’t go to the nursing home and upset her? And doesn’t your mom really like Chloe? She says only someone of Chloe’s status is worthy of you. Just let her go with you.” I truly meant well in advising McVeigh, but to my surprise, McVeigh lost his temper again. “Elle, just keep acting out.” With that, he hung up. Listening to his abrupt hang-up, a sneer once again crossed my lips. See? This is the difference between love and not love. After all, the McVeigh who once loved me would frantically ask if he’d done something wrong to upset me whenever I showed even a hint of a wronged expression. But now, the McVeigh who no longer loves me still thinks I’m being unreasonable, even when I genuinely offer advice.

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My son, Oliver, got an allowance of five hundred dollars a month. He thought it was peanuts and racked his brain to get more out of me. He’d charge five bucks for clearing the dishes, ten for making his bed. Even when I had a fever and asked him to run downstairs for some medicine, he’d deadpan: “Ten dollars for the errand, or you can just burn up.” By the end of the month, he presented me with a bill. “Mom, I did a thousand dollars worth of work this month. You owe me.” My husband, Arthur, chuckled, “I should learn from Oliver. I lifted the toilet seat when I went to the bathroom, you owe me ten bucks.” Seeing them genuinely planning to charge me, a stay-at-home mom, for household chores, I spoke calmly. “Alright, from today on, we’ll operate on a ‘pay-for-work’ system in this house.” 1 Oliver was only in middle school, but he spent money like water. All his birthday money went straight to toys. I capped his allowance at five hundred a month, and he threw a huge fit. When he saw I wouldn’t budge, Oliver tried a different approach. “Mom, I took out the trash for you today! You owe me five dollars!” Seeing him willing to help with chores, I was happy and even transferred him an extra five. But two days later, I was laid up with a fever, utterly drained and couldn’t find any medicine. “Oliver, could you please go downstairs and get some fever medicine for Mom? Cough, cough…” Oliver stood still, holding out his hand. “Mom, ten dollars for the errand.” I was stunned. I couldn’t believe my son was demanding money when I was sick. Oliver pressed on, “Pay first, or I’m afraid you’ll back out later!” Seeing that look on his face – the one that screamed “no money, no medicine” – I felt a chill spread through me. Hadn’t I always rushed him to the emergency room the moment he got sick? Every time, I’d be in tears, urging the driver to go faster. My head was spinning so much, I worried I wouldn’t even be able to take the medicine later. I forced myself to reach for my phone, and after several fumbling attempts to unlock it, I scanned his code and paid the ten dollars. Five minutes later, the medicine arrived. Oliver handed it to me. “Mom, need water? Pouring water is cheap, five dollars should cover it.” I looked up at Oliver in disbelief. Who takes medicine without water?! I tried to reason with him, mustering what little strength I had left. “Mom’s really unwell right now. If I don’t take this, I could get seriously sick.” “We can talk about money later…” But Oliver pouted, clearly annoyed. “Why later? Hurry up! Money first, then the goods!” His tone lacked any hint of concern for my illness. My head was heavy, and I didn’t have the strength to transfer money anymore. Just before I blacked out, I used every ounce of my energy to put the fever medicine in my mouth before closing my eyes. After swallowing the medicine, I slept straight through to the next day. When I woke up, Oliver saw my fever was gone and looked utterly disappointed. “Mom is so stingy! She wouldn’t even give me five dollars for the water!” I opened my mouth, only to find it terribly bitter. The fever medicine had dissolved in my mouth, and I still hadn’t had any water. A dull ache throbbed in my head and chest. I slowly sat up and noticed a box of fever medicine in the trash bin. “Did you throw this away?” A flicker of guilt crossed Oliver’s eyes, but he quickly put his hands on his hips. “If I hadn’t thrown it away, you wouldn’t have asked me to buy medicine!” “If you hadn’t asked me to buy medicine, how would I have earned ten dollars for the errand!” “You should just blame yourself for cutting my allowance!” I tried to explain. “Five hundred dollars is enough for your allowance. If there’s anything you want to buy, just tell Mom…” But Oliver shouted, cutting me off. “Five hundred is enough for what?! I told you I wanted to buy a toy, did you buy it for me?” Last month, he wanted to buy a hundred-dollar toy, and I’d refused. Seeing my silence, Oliver sneered, then pulled out a ledger. “I’ve helped you with a lot this month, Mom. You can’t deny it!” I stared blankly at the open bill. [Helped Mom hang laundry: $10.] [Helped Mom clear dishes: $5.] [Helped Mom close the door: $3.] … These were all small tasks, just simple favors, most of them even his own responsibilities. But he’d tallied them all under “helping Mom,” and the total for the month came to a staggering one hundred dollars! Seeing I hadn’t moved, he pressed 911 on his kids’ smartwatch, just short of dialing. “Mom, pay up! Or I’ll call the police! I’ll tell them you’re employing child labor and abusing children!” 2 Click! Arthur opened the door, frowning at the scene. “What’s going on?” Oliver ran over and handed Arthur the ledger. “Dad, I helped Mom with so much this month, and she’s trying to welch on the payment!” Arthur glanced at it, his expression hardening. “Eleanor, that’s out of line. The boy put in the effort, why shouldn’t he get a reward?” His critical tone sent a wave of hurt through me. I told Arthur about the fever medicine, expecting him to scold Oliver. But to my surprise, his voice grew even more impatient. “Is that even worth mentioning? Why are you being so petty as a mother?” He tapped the table, urging me. “Don’t discourage the boy from helping with chores. Besides, you’re a stay-at-home mom. If Oliver does some of your chores, isn’t it only fair you pay him?” I stood frozen, clutching my phone, looking at Arthur helplessly. When it came to raising Oliver, Arthur always loved to contradict me. But I never imagined he’d support me in transferring a hundred dollars to our son. Oliver, hearing his dad side with him, proudly flashed his payment QR code. “Hurry up!” Both of them closed in on me. I tried to protest, “I don’t have that much money…” Arthur stared fixedly at me. “Didn’t I transfer you twelve hundred for groceries yesterday?” My jaw dropped. “Then what about this month’s groceries?!” “Figure it out yourself!” Arthur snatched my phone and, without another word, transferred a hundred dollars to Oliver. Every month, I relied on that twelve hundred to feed the entire family, and it was often barely enough. Now, with only two hundred left, my head spun, and I had no idea what to do. Oliver immediately bought a new toy, gloating at me. “Mom, what good was your refusal? I still bought it!” “Oh, right, Mom, I just put my shoes in the shoe rack. A dollar for my trouble!” My heart clenched. Was I going to have to transfer another hundred dollars to him next month?! Arthur, meanwhile, was lounging with one leg crossed, laughing. “I should learn from my son. I lifted the toilet seat today. You should pay me ten dollars too. If I do that once a day, that’s three hundred a month.” He tipped his chin at Oliver. “Son, write that down. Your mom owes me.” I clenched my fists, barely able to breathe. By their calculations, I’d owe them an extra hundred dollars next month! But I’d been a stay-at-home mom for over a decade. My savings and what little dowry I had were long gone. Where would I get the money? Seeing Oliver diligently jot down another line, I couldn’t take it anymore. I snatched the small notebook. Oliver’s eyes glinted with disdain. He challenged me, “Mom, you’re not going to try to tear it up, are you? I’ve got backups!” I took a deep breath, crumpled the notebook into a ball, then released it. “I won’t tear it.” “You can write this down for me too.” 3 Arthur thought I was joking, but the next morning at breakfast, as he ate, I declared: “Cooking breakfast for Oliver, twenty dollars.” “Getting a bowl for my husband, ten dollars.” “Oliver, remember to write that down.” Oliver stared, bewildered. “Mom, are you serious?” Arthur frowned. “What nonsense are you playing at?” I smiled. “You can’t expect to get paid for chores while I’m free labor, can you?” “You are free labor!” Oliver immediately shouted. “They say a mother’s love is selfless! Charging your son for cooking? Have you no shame?!” Arthur was just as displeased. “How can you, a mother, even say such a thing? Your son came from you; it’s only right you care for him. And I paid twenty thousand dollars for your dowry. You were bought.” Oliver grew even more agitated. “You eat Dad’s food, use Dad’s things, and still dare to demand money?!” My heart sank, utterly. This was the love I’d sacrificed a high-paying job for. This was the marriage I’d painstakingly built for over a decade, and this was my beloved son. The two of them continued to sneer, but I ignored them, pulling out a new notebook and diligently writing down each item. By this calculation, I could earn thirty dollars just in one morning, far more than twelve hundred a month. But Arthur’s face turned completely black. He slammed his bowl to the floor. “This is ridiculous! Charging me for a bowl? I’m not eating!” As he walked out the door, he threw a cold remark over his shoulder. “Keep up this act! I’d be surprised if I give you even a dollar for groceries next month!” After he left, Oliver also headed out for school, but he couldn’t find his shoes in the shoe rack. “Mom! Help me find my shoes!” he cried anxiously. I slowly replied, “Finding shoes, ten dollars.” Oliver’s eyes widened in shock. He huffed indignantly. “Fine! I won’t wear any! I’ll wear my slippers to school!” He stomped on the ledger twice in frustration, not forgetting to yell, “Just idling around the house all day, living off Dad, and still shamelessly demanding money!” He kicked the table, sending food crashing to the floor. “How could I have a mom like you?!” My heart shattered into as many pieces as the broken dishes on the floor. In all these years, there hadn’t been a single day when I was “idling around the house.” On the contrary, to cook meals, I woke up earlier than anyone else. After I finished the housework, they would both be snoring away. Yet, my son thought I was doing nothing. I chuckled self-deprecatingly, wiping away tears from the corners of my eyes. All this, it wasn’t something I had to do! I stepped around the leftover food and followed them out. Since no one valued my labor, thinking it was all just expected, I decided I would find a job to prove my worth. But to my surprise, I searched all morning, and no company would hire me. I’d been a stay-at-home mom for too long; my life had revolved around my son and husband, and I’d been out of touch with society for too long. In the afternoon, Arthur called me, gritting his teeth. “Are you out of your mind? Not even coming home to cook lunch!” I replied calmly, “Order takeout yourself. Or I can come back and make a meal for eighty dollars.” At the mention of money, Arthur immediately swore. “Fine, then never come back!” With that, he slammed down the phone. Before I could even stand up, Arthur sent a text: [If you’re going to be like that, how much rent do you think you owe for living in my house?] My heart plummeted. It felt like a slap across the face. I realized this farce had escalated to an unmanageable point. Thankfully, I had no intention of managing it. I thought for a moment, then a suitable job came to mind. I didn’t return home until evening. Oliver, watching TV, rolled his eyes. “What took you so long? I’m starving!” I said calmly, “What do you want to eat?” Oliver immediately reeled off, “Sweet and sour ribs, braised pork, grilled wings!” “That’ll be eighty-nine dollars.” Oliver froze, his face contorted in anger. “You’re my mom! Why are you charging me to cook my favorite food?!” I found it amusing. “Then why do you charge me for making your own bed?” Oliver’s face flushed. “Because you’re my mom!” He then pinched his nose, looking disgusted at the overturned breakfast table. “It stinks! Can you please clean up that mess before talking to me?!” The morning’s disaster was still untouched, and the oil from the food had seeped into the floor. The house reeked of greasy, sour odors. “Sure, cleaning up will be fifty dollars.” Oliver’s face went white. “Are you doing this on purpose?! Are you trying to get back at me for that hundred dollars?!” He screamed, “This is your duty as a mother!” Just then, Arthur came home from work and frowned at Oliver. “What’s all the shouting about?!” Oliver pointed at me. “She’s being completely unreasonable! Dad! She’s on strike! Cut her allowance, that’ll teach her a lesson!” Arthur loosened his tie, looking annoyed. “Eleanor, are you done with this? If you keep acting up, I’m going to start charging you rent!” Seeing me stand my ground, Arthur sneered. “Two thousand dollars a month for a two-bedroom apartment isn’t unreasonable, is it? For fifteen years, you owe me three hundred and sixty thousand.” He pulled out his payment QR code and shoved it in front of me. “Transfer the money now! Or you can apologize to me and Oliver. After you apologize, cook dinner and clean the house, and no more talk about money!” I looked at his face, veins throbbing with anger, and suddenly I laughed. “Hold on, let’s calculate from the beginning. Let’s also put a price on all the housework I’ve done every day.” Arthur’s face turned completely black.

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After working late to print the quarterly report, the printer spat out an extra page. I casually flipped it over and froze. It was an “Employee Reassignment Notice,” stamped with the red seal of the HR department. Luna Vance, transferred from the Strategic Products Department to the Customer Service Department. Salary adjusted from 11,000 to 6000. Effective next Monday. I read it three times. My name was on it, my employee ID was on it. In the “Department Head Signature” field, Eleanor Hayes’s name was signed, perfectly round and full. The conference room at the end of the hallway was lit. I heard Eleanor’s voice, laced with laughter: “That eight-million-dollar contract with Knight Industries, I’ll personally sign it next week.” Adrian Grenier said, “Don’t worry, Eleanor, I’ve memorized the proposal.” Every page of that proposal was written by me. I turned off the printer and took both sheets of paper with me. 1 I didn’t go back to my desk; I went straight to the stairwell. The signal was terrible on the twelfth floor, but it was enough for me to clearly photograph the reassignment notice. One picture of the front, one of the back. A smudge of ink marked the edge of the red seal, a tiny tail where Eleanor’s pen had paused during her signature. I saved them to my personal cloud, then locked my phone. The next morning, I went to see Ms. Stark in HR. She sat behind her desk, her expression fleetingly awkward when she saw me. “Luna, dear, come in, have a seat.” “When was this reassignment decided?” She sipped her water, avoiding my gaze. “It was brought up at last Friday’s department meeting. Ms. Hayes said the customer service pace would suit you better.” “Last Friday evening at nine, I was still working overtime, writing the closing report for Knight Industries.” “Well… personnel changes are all arranged by the company uniformly.” I glanced at the documents on her desk. The top one was Adrian Grenier’s promotion approval form. Position: Senior Product Manager. My former position. “Ms. Stark, I’ve been in the product department for five years, and all the core client relationships were managed by me. Was this reassignment ever discussed with me personally?” She finally looked up, lowering her voice. “Luna, I’ll be honest with you. This was Ms. Hayes’s direct decision, and Mr. Vance, the VP, signed off on it. I just stamped it.” “But you know it’s not compliant.” She didn’t respond. “The stamp was still placed.” I stood up, not waiting any longer. Back at my desk, Adrian was already sitting there. No. It was my desk. He had moved my belongings into a cardboard box in the corner. The pothos plant I’d nurtured for two years sat on the floor, its leaves drooping. “Luna,” he said, swiveling his chair with a smile, “I hear you’re moving to customer service? It’s pretty laid-back over there, and closer to home.” I bent down to pick up the pothos, ignoring him. Several colleagues nearby pretended to focus on their computers, their keyboards clattering loudly. I pulled open my drawer. My folders were still there, but all the documents for the Knight Industries project had been removed. “Where are the Knight Industries files?” Adrian waved a USB drive in his hand. “Ms. Hayes said the project was handed over, so I’m holding onto the documents for now.” I stared at that USB drive. Inside were one hundred and seventeen pages of PPTs, forty-three client communication logs, and nine versions of requirements iteration documents. Every single word was typed by me. He wouldn’t even understand the file naming conventions. Five years. Squatting on the floor, packing my box, I counted: one employee badge, three notebooks, a white mug with a chipped rim. The mug was emblazoned with the words “Employee of the Month.” It was an award given at the annual meeting the year before last. Eleanor had gone on stage to accept it, giving a speech thanking the team. My name hadn’t been mentioned once. I placed the mug at the bottom of the box, covering it with a jacket. Moving was quick; one cardboard box held everything. The elevator ride from the twelfth floor to the third took less than a minute. When the doors opened, an A4 paper was taped to the opposite wall, with “Customer Service Department” printed on it. The paper was slightly crooked, the bottom right corner peeled up. Two of the hallway lights were out, and the tiles were two shades darker than upstairs. I stood at the doorway, hugging the box. Pushing the door open, the office area was smaller than I imagined. Six desks squeezed together, with only three people sitting. A white-haired man stood up from the innermost desk—it was Old Man Jenkins from customer service. “Luna Vance, right? Welcome, welcome, come sit here.” He led me to a desk by the window. The surface was clean, but the corner had a dusty tape residue, as if something had been taped there long ago. “Not many people here, you’ll adapt slowly,” Old Man Jenkins smiled. “It’s a small department here, but we don’t work overtime.” A girl next to me raised a hand. “I’m Sarah Lin. Just call me Sarah.” Her computer screen was filled with customer complaint tickets, dense with red labels. I set down the box and opened my computer. My system account hadn’t been migrated yet. I entered my password three times, each time met with “Insufficient Permissions.” I submitted a ticket to IT. They replied that my product department system access had been revoked, and my customer service access needed supervisor approval. Old Man Jenkins went to get it approved for me. He came back shaking his head: “The process is stuck with HR. Might take two or three days.” I sat at the empty desk, unable to open any system. My phone vibrated. Eleanor had sent a message: “Luna, which folder did you put the Knight Industries client preference analysis report in before? Adrian can’t find it, and he needs it urgently.” I stared at the screen for five seconds. I didn’t reply. 2 The next day, Adrian posted a message in the main product department group chat: “Everyone, I will be fully responsible for the Knight Industries project moving forward. Please contact me directly with any issues, no need to contact Luna anymore. Thank you, Luna, for your foundational work in the early stages; you worked hard.” Foundational work. One hundred and seventeen pages of proposals, forty-three communication logs. Foundational work. The group chat was flooded with “You worked hard,” “Keep it up,” “We trust you, Adrian.” Not a single person tagged me. I left the group. The customer service system access finally came through on the third day. When I logged in, the homepage was filled with a screen of pending tickets. Four hundred and seventy-two entries. The earliest was from three months ago. “No one handled these?” Sarah gave a wry smile. “There are only three of us in the department, four with you. Old Man Jenkins handles administrative tasks, Mark transferred last month, so it’s just me answering calls.” She pointed to the corner, where seven or eight unopened boxes of documents were stacked. “Those are last year’s paper complaint forms. There wasn’t even anyone to log them into the system.” I opened the top box. The complaint forms were handwritten, the penmanship messy, but the complaint content was highly repetitive: “System page loading timeout,” “Data synchronization delay,” “Export function error.” All pointed to the same product module—the data analysis system newly added after the Knight Industries project went live. I pulled out twelve of them, arranging them by date. The earliest one was from five months ago. The Knight Industries data analysis system had gone live exactly six months ago. This meant problems started appearing just one month after launch. “Do management know about these complaints?” Sarah shrugged. “I mentioned it. Wrote two reports, sent them to the product department—no reply. Sent them to Eleanor—she said clients don’t understand technology, just need teaching.” She pulled out her phone to show me the email reply. Eleanor’s exact words: “Don’t overreact to minor issues. Clients need guidance, not indulgence.” Date: three months ago. I took photos of those twelve complaint forms and saved them to my cloud. At lunch, looking for a seat with my tray, I ran into Leo, a former colleague from the product department. He saw me and paused. “Luna, you…” “Yes, third floor.” He opened his mouth, then took his tray and sat at another table. At 1 PM, my phone rang again. Eleanor’s message: “Luna, Mr. Stark from Knight Industries asked about the details of the previous communication regarding requirement changes. Adrian hasn’t been in charge long and isn’t quite clear. Please help organize a summary and send it over; I need it by the end of the day.” Adrian hasn’t been in charge long. So he’s not clear. So they’re asking me, the ‘transferred’ person, to organize it. I replied with two words: “Too busy.” Three seconds later, Eleanor called. I hung up. She called again, and I hung up again. The third call was from Adrian. I simply turned off my phone. Sarah watched me turn off my phone, saying nothing. After a moment of silence, she pulled two chocolates from her drawer. “Want one? Not a fancy brand, just from the convenience store.” Crispy rice. Three dollars and fifty cents a bar. I unwrapped it and took a bite. Very sweet. It was the only sweet thing I’d eaten all week. 3 A week later, I cleared all four hundred and seventy-two backlog tickets. Not out of dedication, but because I needed to see all the data. I’d created a spreadsheet for every single complaint, categorizing them by product module, fault type, and frequency of occurrence. The night I finished, I spread the spreadsheet across my computer screen. Three hundred and nine entries pointed to the same module: the data analysis system’s underlying interface had severe concurrency handling flaws; it crashed as soon as the user load increased. This wasn’t a minor issue. It was a fundamental architectural flaw. And this module was the core deliverable of the Knight Industries project. Of the eight-million-dollar contract, three and a half million was paid for this module. I remembered it clearly, because that price was one I had negotiated line by line with Mr. Stark. I closed the spreadsheet, leaning back in my chair. The third-floor windows faced north, so I couldn’t see the sunset, but I could see the lights of the opposite office building flicker on, floor by floor. The second week, Eleanor came to the third floor. She wore a grey MaxMara coat and eight-centimeter stilettos. The moment she walked into the customer service department, her brows furrowed. “Why is it so dark? Why aren’t the broken lights reported for repair?” Old Man Jenkins quickly stood up. “Good afternoon, Ms. Hayes. Please, have a seat.” Eleanor didn’t sit. She walked over to me. “Luna, you wrote the Knight Industries system training manual before, where is it?” “I gave it all to Adrian during the handover.” “He said he couldn’t find it.” “I handed over thirty-eight documents and signed a handover form. If he can’t find it, he can check the form.” Eleanor’s face wasn’t pleasant. She lowered her voice, softening her tone slightly. “Luna, I know you’re upset, but Knight Industries is due for renewal soon. At this critical juncture, everyone needs to cooperate. Please help Adrian complete the training manual. Consider it a favor to the department.” “Which department?” She paused. “I’m with customer service now, Ms. Hayes.” Her lips twitched. As she turned to leave, her high heels clacked crisply on the threshold. Ten minutes after Eleanor left, Adrian’s message came in. “Luna, Eleanor said you have a draft of the training manual? Could you send me a copy if it’s convenient? Mr. Stark is pressing for it.” I didn’t reply. He sent another message: “If it’s really inconvenient, I’ll treat you to dinner. Please, just consider it a favor from an old colleague?” I sent his chat to the bottom of my list. That night, on my way home after overtime, I turned onto a street I’d never taken before. There was a twenty-four-hour print shop at the corner. I went in and printed something. Sarah had brought me dinner today: a box of pan-fried dumplings and a cup of soy milk. Eight dollars. As I ate, I saw a new email on her screen. The sender was Mr. Stark’s assistant from Knight Industries. The subject line read: “Formal Notification Regarding Product Stability Issues.” I paused, chewing my dumpling. Formal notification. Not a complaint ticket, not a phone complaint—a formal letter with a company seal. This meant Knight Industries no longer intended to resolve this issue internally. Sarah forwarded the email to Old Man Jenkins. Old Man Jenkins read it for a long time, then sighed. “I’ll forward it to the product department.” He cc’d Eleanor. Three days passed. No reply. 4 Mr. Stark from Knight Industries called the customer service department directly. Sarah answered, and I, sitting nearby, heard everything clearly. “I want to speak with Luna Vance.” Sarah covered the mouthpiece and looked at me. I hesitated for two seconds, then took the call. “Mr. Stark, this is Luna Vance.” Silence on the other end for three seconds. “I called your old extension, and they said you’d been transferred.” “Yes, I’ve been transferred to the customer service department.” More silence. “Luna, I’ll be frank with you. That new guy, Adrian, who came to present the proposal last time, stumbled over his PPT and couldn’t answer a single one of my three technical questions.” “I’m not in a position to comment on that.” “I’m not asking for your comment. I’m telling you, a big part of why we signed off on this project was your expertise. With you gone, it’s very difficult for me to explain this to the board.” “Mr. Stark, discussing the renewal with Ms. Hayes would be more appropriate.” He let out a cold laugh. “Ms. Hayes? At the last meeting, she couldn’t even grasp our industry jargon, just kept repeating ‘strategic empowerment’ and ‘ecological closed loop.’ Luna, to put it bluntly, if your company maintains this attitude, I cannot sign an eight-million-dollar renewal.” He hung up. I put down the phone. Sarah looked at me, her eyes wide. I shook my head at her. That afternoon at 2 PM, Eleanor called an online meeting. The product department, technology department, and customer service department were all required to attend. The topic was “Knight Industries Project Renewal Advancement Plan.” Old Man Jenkins pulled me to a corner of the third-floor conference room, with his laptop speaker on. Eleanor’s voice came through the speaker, full of vigor: “Knight Industries is the most important renewal client this year. Everyone must cooperate fully.” Adrian reported on the renewal plan. Eleanor asked a few details, and he answered vaguely. Eleanor smoothed things over, “Adrian just took over, and some historical details are still being sorted out. Please bear with him.” Then she said, “Customer service, have you received any feedback from Knight Industries recently?” Old Man Jenkins turned on his mic. “Yes, they sent a formal notification last week regarding the stability issues of the data analysis system. I forwarded it to the product department, but have not yet received a reply.” Silence in the meeting for two seconds. Eleanor’s voice changed tone. “What notification? I didn’t see it.” “Ms. Hayes, the email was sent last Wednesday. I cc’d you.” Eleanor didn’t address this. She said, “For technical issues reported by clients, customer service should first pacify them. Specific technical details will be followed up by the product department. Luna, you were previously responsible for this client and are familiar with their habits. Please cooperate with Adrian to handle client pacification.” Cooperate. Pacify. Credit to the product department, dirty work to customer service. I pressed the microphone button. “Ms. Hayes, the client’s feedback isn’t about usage habits; it’s a concurrency handling flaw at the system’s core. I’ve compiled the past six months of complaint data, and three hundred and nine tickets point to the same module. This isn’t something pacification can solve.” Eleanor’s voice grew cold. “Luna, technical judgments are for the product and technology departments to make. Customer service should stick to your responsibilities.” “Understood.” I turned off my mic. Old Man Jenkins glanced at me, saying nothing. After work, I didn’t leave. I reorganized all the complaint data, creating a comprehensive analysis report. Charts, timelines, fault frequency curves, number of affected clients. Twelve pages. I saved two copies. One in the customer service shared folder on the company server. One in my own cloud drive.

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1 Ben and I were notorious in our social circle as the “Eight-Time Divorcees.” After our ninth remarriage, I reined in my temper, and he settled down. For a time, we became the model couple of our set. At my birthday dinner, he received a call, his face etched with urgency. “Hannah, something urgent needs my attention. I have to go deal with it.” I didn’t mind, continuing to enjoy myself with friends. That is, until my arch-rival, James Forrester, sent me a photo of Ben embracing a woman at the airport. I stared intently at the couple on the screen. I dialed Ben’s number: “Darling, will you be home tonight?” He was silent for a moment before replying, “The situation is a bit complicated. Don’t wait up for me.” After hanging up, I immediately had someone investigate the woman’s identity. … At three in the morning, I stood by the window, looking at Penelope Hayes’ file. All the women he’d kept as mistresses before looked just like her. I smoked one cigarette after another. Our first divorce was because he’d given a deal to a competitor, and I slapped him. The second was when he called out the wrong name while drunk, and I burned down our marital home. The ninth remarriage, at the doors of the registry office. He said, “Hannah Lieberstein, are we insane?” I laughed, tears choking me. Just before dawn, Ben returned, carrying the scent of jasmine. He frowned, snatching the cigarette from my hand: “Smoking again? Who said they were trying to conceive six months ago?” I looked up at him. A year ago, after my parents’ plane crash, he found me, holding me and saying, “I’m here, don’t be afraid.” So I curbed my temper, and he settled down. Now, for his long-lost love, his heart had wandered again. But the word “divorce” caught in my throat. “Ben Morgan, will you cheat again?” He paused, then embraced me from behind: “Talking nonsense again. Who’s been filling your head with stories?” His failure to answer was the best answer. I pulled away from his embrace: “I’m going to the office.” After my parents’ passing, Lieberstein Industries was left in my hands. All morning, I kept a stern face, scolding two ineffective directors. By five in the afternoon, I had finished processing documents. I called Ben: “Dinner at the family estate tonight. Don’t forget.” “Alright.” I arrived at the Morgan family estate on time. But Ben was late. As Mr. Morgan’s face darkened, I calmly dialed Ben’s number. A woman’s voice answered: “Hello, Mr. Morgan is busy. I’m his assistant. If there’s anything, you can tell me.” I paused, stunned. He actually let Penelope answer his phone. He never allowed me to touch his phone, claiming it contained company secrets. Apparently, it wasn’t that no one could touch it; it was just that I wasn’t the exception. I pretended to accidentally press the speakerphone button. Ben’s voice came through the speaker, with the sound of running water in the background. “Penelope, the showerhead’s been replaced, throw the old one away.” Penelope’s tone was so natural. The living room was deathly silent. Mr. Morgan violently smashed his teacup. I lowered my head, my shoulders trembling slightly. When I looked up again, my eyes were appropriately red-rimmed. “Dad, Mom, since Ben’s true love has returned, I’m willing to step aside. I’ll have my lawyer prepare the divorce agreement.” “Nonsense!” Mrs. Morgan interrupted me, coming over to grasp my hand. “The only daughter-in-law of the Morgan family will always be you. As for that… person, and that scoundrel son, the Morgan family will give you an explanation.” That evening, Ben was mercilessly given ten lashes by Mr. Morgan and forced to kneel all night. The next day, Mrs. Morgan personally came to my office, placing two hundred-million-dollar contracts on my desk. She sighed: “Hannah, you’ve been wronged. This is the Morgan family’s compensation.” I took the contracts, smiling meekly: “Mom, let’s not talk business among family.” Mrs. Morgan left, satisfied. But I gripped the contracts tightly. 2 All day, Ben didn’t send a single message. I pushed down the disappointment in my heart. I resumed processing documents. Assistant Miller stood beside me, holding a stack of files, hesitant to speak. “Go on, what’s the bad news now?” “Ms. Lieberstein, Morgan Group has refused to pay the two hundred million dollars for the cooperation, citing a breach of protocol.” I slowly looked up: “Give me the documents.” I drove to the Morgan Group building. I walked to Ben’s private elevator, swiped my card, no response. Tried again, still nothing. Just then, the receptionist, Daisy, hurried over. Her face was flushed with embarrassment and tension: “M-Ma’am, Ms. Hayes said that for the CEO’s security and efficiency, the access permissions were reset last week. Now, only Mr. Morgan and her cards can use this elevator.” “Ms. Hayes?” I raised an eyebrow, my voice calm, “Penelope Hayes?” Daisy lowered her head, not daring to look at me: “Y-yes.” I smiled, gently placing the elevator card back into my bag: “Alright, got it.” I walked to the employee elevator. Upon reaching the top floor, I headed straight for Ben’s office. “Ms. Lieberstein, please stop.” Penelope stood up, blocking my path. “Do you have an appointment? Mr. Morgan is currently…” I directly slapped her across the face. “What are you, get out of my way.” Before she could react, I reached out and pushed open the door. Ben was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, on the phone. Hearing the commotion, he turned around. Seeing it was me, he frowned, hurriedly giving a few instructions into the phone before hanging up. “Hannah, why are you here?” I threw the documents in my hand onto his desk. “Explain.” He picked up the documents and flipped through them. At this moment, Penelope looked at him, her face full of grievance. He frowned slightly, looking at her swollen red cheek. I thought he was going to scold me, but he just gently took my hand. “Hannah, your hand isn’t hurt, is it?” “Ben Morgan, you know me. I’m someone who holds grudges and can’t tolerate any slight.” “Especially on my territory. I don’t want to see her at Morgan Group again.” He was silent for a few seconds, eventually sighing, his tone indulgent: “Alright, I understand. I’ll arrange for her to leave.” As his words fell, Penelope ran out, crying. Ben’s body unconsciously took two steps towards her, then stopped. Watching her retreating figure, he suddenly remembered that rainy night years ago. Penelope had unhesitatingly shielded him from an opponent’s bottle. But later, Mrs. Morgan forcibly sent her away. From then on, she became the untouchable love of his heart. So now, whatever she wanted, he gave. “Come on, let’s go home together.” All the way home, he was distracted. He answered several questions incorrectly. His heart really had wandered again. During dinner, his phone rang repeatedly. Eventually, he answered it. “Alright, I’ll be right there.” He hung up, grabbed his jacket, and left. “Hannah, I’m going back to the office.” After he left, I followed him to the restaurant indicated by his phone’s GPS. My eyes immediately fell upon the intimately entwined pair. Watching their intimate scene, I fiercely dug my nails into my palms. This was the first time I had seen him so passionately, so desirous of another person. Penelope shot me a defiant smile. I took pictures of the two of them wrapped in each other’s arms. Then, I sent the video to Mrs. Morgan and to Ben. [Ben Morgan, let’s get a divorce.] 3 After sending the message, I returned home. I looked at the wedding photos hanging on the wall. I took them down, cut them into pieces, and scattered them on the floor. He returned as I was clearing things away. I handed him the divorce agreement. “Ben Morgan, sign it.” Having said that, I no longer looked at him. I rose to leave, but my vision suddenly went black, and I collapsed to the floor. When I next woke, I was in a hospital. The entire Morgan family was in the room. Mrs. Morgan grabbed my hand: “Hannah, such a big thing as pregnancy, why didn’t you tell us?” My mind instantly went blank—pregnant. The careful counting of days for the past few months, filled with anticipation, now only left a bitter irony. Because of the pregnancy, Ben and I couldn’t finalize the divorce. I heard Penelope had been sent away. He seemed to have returned to the time when we were deeply in love. The night before leaving for Port City, I felt an inexplicable unease and pushed open the door to Ben’s study. He was staring blankly out the window, a long ash accumulating on his cigarette, a habit he adopted when he was troubled. Neither of us spoke. The next day, my arch-rival James Forrester invited me to Port City for a collaboration discussion. I didn’t want to go, but then I remembered Ben was also in Port City. So I agreed. This collaboration with James went unusually smoothly. After signing, he leaned back lazily on the sofa, his phone screen lighting up. He glanced at it, a wicked smile playing on his lips. “Ms. Lieberstein, would you be interested in seeing something interesting? It’s right next door.” “I guarantee you won’t be disappointed.” In the adjoining private room, Ben and Penelope sat in the center. Compliments abounded: “Mr. Morgan and his wife are truly devoted; even in Port City, he doesn’t forget to bring his wife.” I composed myself, then pushed open the door. The laughter and conversation abruptly ceased. Everyone looked at me. My gaze fell on Ben. “What a coincidence. I just finished talking with Mr. Forrester next door. Hearing Mr. Morgan was here, I came to say hello.” I raised my wine glass towards him: “Mr. Morgan, long time no see.” Then I smiled at the others: “Hello everyone, I’m Hannah Lieberstein of Lieberstein Industries. Nice to meet you. Welcome to collaborate with Lieberstein Industries in the future.” I took a small sip of wine, put down my glass: “I won’t disturb you all. I’ll take my leave now.” Penelope stared at my retreating back, fiercely digging her nails into her palms. A slight smirk, however, played on her lips. James laughed softly: “Hannah Lieberstein, you truly haven’t changed. You never concede an inch.” I turned my head and smiled faintly: “Mr. Forrester, you flatter me. It was a pleasure working with you.” After getting into the car, I directly instructed the driver to take me home. On the way, I called my lawyer, Mr. Wright. “Mr. Wright, please draft a divorce agreement for me.” After hanging up, I rubbed my temples. Suddenly, an intense light shone directly at us. The car began to swerve erratically. I gripped the handle tightly. Bang—! My vision blurred in waves. I struggled to open the car door and crawled out. I dialed Ben’s number. “Ben Morgan, I’ve been in…” Before I could finish, Penelope’s voice came through the receiver. Then the call was disconnected. I refused to give up and dialed his number again. It was hung up repeatedly. Rain fell on my face, and I suddenly remembered him saying on our wedding day, “I’ll never hang up on you in this lifetime.” Apparently, vows can expire. Just then, my phone lit up. It was a text message from Penelope. A photo of them passionately kissing. Below it was a single sentence. [Hannah Lieberstein, you lost. He chose to abandon you again.] I gasped for air. The pain in my chest made me ignore the physical pain. I curled up on the ground, my vision beginning to blur, able to see only a figure rushing towards me against the light. “Hannah—!”

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