Category: English

They called Kate an angel. When I, the long-lost heir, was dying, she saved me. No one knew she’d signed the organ donation papers. The surgery worked; I lived. But Kate was destroyed. Complications and depression consumed her, and she withered away. The house grew cold. Mother wept constantly; Father’s sighs deepened. I became the unwelcome ghost in the Harrington estate, my survival a glaring accusation. Then I heard Father’s choked confession: “We saved Sierra, but it cost Kate everything. What is the point of Sierra even being alive?” Paul’s icy glare cut deeper. “Don’t touch her. How dare you stand in the same room as Kate?” I opened my desk drawer. There lay the proof: Kate’s donation agreement, and the blank form I had prepared for myself. I once thought giving it back would be enough. Now I understood. A soul saved by an angel doesn’t deserve the sun. Every breath I took stole the light from her. This family needed Kate. They never needed me. I shut the drawer—and with it, the door to my heart they never truly opened. 1 I never realized the hallways of a hospital could feel this freezing. The corridor stretched out long and empty. The harsh, sterile lights illuminated every corner, leaving nowhere to hide. I gripped the organ donation form, my knuckles turning a pale, translucent white. “Sierra Harrington?” the nurse’s voice crackled through the intercom, utterly devoid of emotion. I stood up. The few steps to the consultation room felt like walking barefoot on shattered glass. The doctor was a middle-aged man with kind, tired eyes. He took the paperwork, scanned it, and looked up at me. “Your condition has progressed this far? It is a tragedy. You young people never take care of yourselves. A few more routine checkups and we could have caught this early.” “Doctor, I need to ask about the donation process.” My voice was terrifyingly calm. “I want to donate after I pass. Everything that is viable. I want it all to go to her.” His gaze sharpened instantly. “To who?” “Kate Harrington.” The name left a bitter taste on my tongue. He flipped through the forms, his frown deepening. “A relative? Then why aren’t your family members here to co-sign? We need informed consent from next of kin.” “I don’t have any family.” The words scraped against my throat like razor blades. “I am an orphan.” I quickly added another lie. “I am not biologically related to her. I just heard she was very sick.” The doctor stared at me for a long time. The silence stretched so thin I thought he was going to flat-out refuse. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, pulled a pen from his pocket, and tapped a line on the consent form. “You will need to sign here. And initial these risk disclosure pages.” I took the pen. When the ink met the paper, my hand did not shake at all. “Given your current vitals, if you opted for the surgical intervention, there might still be a glimmer of hope,” he offered softly, seemingly unable to watch a young life extinguish itself without a fight. “A glimmer of hope?” I whispered. I wondered if this was a test from God. If a surgery succeeded, I could forget the past, take my father’s money, leave the Harrington family behind, and start over in some quiet town. But if it failed, I would give every piece of myself to Kate. They all said I owed her my life. It was time to pay my debts. 2 “Okay. I will do the surgery. If there is a chance, who wouldn’t want to live?” I offered a self-deprecating smile. After scheduling the admission and the operation, I walked out of the clinic. My phone began to vibrate in my pocket. The screen lit up with the word Mom. My thumb hovered over the green accept button, but I couldn’t bring myself to press it. Eventually, the buzzing stopped. A text message popped up. Sierra, are you coming home for dinner this weekend? I stared at that single line of text until the screen went black. Then, slowly, I deleted the message letter by letter. The phone rang again. This time it was Paul. I answered. Before I could even breathe, his voice cut through the line, sharp and cold. “Where are you?” “Out,” I replied. “Kate is having a terrible mental health day. Her psychiatrist says it is a severe depressive episode triggered by the donation complications.” Paul’s voice was tight with suppressed anxiety. “Mom has been crying all afternoon. If you don’t have any actual business here, stay away this weekend.” I leaned my back against the freezing tiled wall of the hospital and closed my eyes. “Understood.” “What exactly do you understand?” Paul’s tone spiked with sudden venom. “Do you have any idea how much she sacrificed for you? She has to take seven different pills a day now. Two of them are heavy antidepressants. She used to be the brightest, happiest girl in the world. Now she is terrified of the sunlight hitting her window.” I murmured a quiet agreement. Paul practically yelled into the receiver. “You get to walk around perfectly healthy while she rots away! Sometimes I really just want to…” He cut himself off. But I knew exactly how that sentence ended. Sometimes he really wished Kate had let me die. “I am sorry,” I said. I had said those words so many times they had lost all meaning. The silence on the other end lasted so long I thought the call had dropped. When Paul finally spoke again, he just sounded utterly exhausted. “Forget it. Mom told me to ask you about the Kensington charity gala next week. Are you going? Kate might make an appearance. If you are there…” “I am not going,” I answered immediately. I heard a faint exhale of relief from his end, though his tone remained rigid. “I will have my assistant send a dress to your apartment anyway. You know how it is. Mom had Kate’s gown custom-made in Paris, so yours will be a bit simpler off the rack. Do not take it personally. This is what you owe her.” I didn’t reply. I ended the call and slowly slid down the wall until I was sitting on the floor. The hospital tiles were like ice. The cold seeped through my clothes and buried itself deep in my bones. My phone buzzed one more time. A banking alert. Fifty thousand dollars. The memo line contained exactly three words. Take care, Dad. This was the third wire transfer this month. Richard always did this. He used wealth to spackle over the massive, unspeakable cracks in our family. It was as if the chime of a bank notification fulfilled his entire duty as a father. I forced myself to stand. My legs were numb. By the time I walked out through the sliding glass doors, it was dusk. The setting sun stained the sky a sickly, vibrant crimson. It looked like an open wound bleeding across the horizon. 3 I ate cheap takeout for three days straight. My phone lit up on the coffee table. A message in the Harrington family group chat from Eleanor. Kate agreed to go for a walk today! We only made it ten minutes, but it is a massive step forward! [Heart] [Heart] A cascade of celebratory emojis followed. Richard replied with a proud “Fantastic news.” Paul sent a row of digital fireworks. I stared at the glowing screen. My fingers hovered over the digital keyboard, but I typed nothing. I exited the chat and opened my files app. It was a scanned copy of the organ donation consent form I had finalized three days ago. My eyes locked onto the beneficiary line. Kate Harrington. Below it was a clinical checklist of harvested parts. Heart. Liver. Kidneys. Lungs. Corneas. It read like a menu for my own death. I locked my phone and shoved the paperwork into the deepest corner of my desk drawer, right next to the agreement Kate had signed a year ago. Two contracts. Two sacrifices. Two destinies swapping places. Outside, the sky turned pitch black. I stood up and began to clean the apartment. In truth, there wasn’t much to clean. I had been renting this place for barely six months, and my possessions were pitifully scarce. A few articles of clothing, a handful of books, some basic toiletries. When they brought me home from the foster system, I only had one small suitcase. I suppose I would be leaving the same way. On the desk sat a single framed photograph. It was the only picture I had of the entire family. We took it during my first month back at the estate. Eleanor had insisted on a portrait. In the picture, Richard and Paul stood in the back, their postures rigid and uncomfortable. Eleanor was in the center, her arms wrapped protectively around Kate, smiling with genuine warmth. And then there was me, standing on the far edge, looking like a stranger who had accidentally wandered into the frame. The Kate in the photo hadn’t gotten sick yet. Her eyes were bright, her lips curved into a beautiful, effortless smile. She wore a pristine white cashmere sweater that made her skin look like porcelain. I was wearing a cheap, ill-fitting red coat. Eleanor had pulled it out from the back of a closet at the last minute, mentioning it was something Kate bought years ago but never wore. “Red suits you,” Eleanor had told me before the photographer snapped the picture. But her eyes had never left Kate. I took the photograph out of its frame and placed it in the drawer with the medical documents. It was late. I lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. The walls of the apartment were paper-thin. I could hear the couple next door arguing, a baby crying on the floor below, the distant hum of traffic on the wet asphalt. These sounds used to make me feel overwhelmingly lonely. Tonight, they brought me comfort. They were proof of life. They were the heartbeat of the world. And my own heartbeat was a rhythmic reminder that I was draining the life out of someone else. The thought wrapped around my throat like ivy, pulling tighter and tighter. I sat up, switched on the desk lamp, and began to write a letter. I wrote incredibly slowly. Every stroke of the pen carried an impossible weight. I didn’t have a formal will to draft. Just a few words I never had the courage to say out loud. When I finished, I folded the paper, slipped it into an envelope, and left the recipient blank. 4 On the evening of the Kensington gala, Paul called me again. “Are you absolutely sure you aren’t coming?” He sounded drained. “Mom still thinks you should make a brief appearance.” “Isn’t Kate going?” I asked softly. “If I am there, she will just feel anxious.” A heavy pause settled on the line. “Good that you know. Just order yourself something nice for dinner. Don’t eat garbage.” The concern felt abrupt, like a forced pleasantry he remembered at the last second. I offered a quiet agreement and ended the call. The evening shadows crept across the living room as the city skyline ignited with thousands of golden lights. I stood by the window, gazing at the metropolis I had lived in for twenty-three years but had never truly belonged to. At seven o’clock, my phone buzzed. It was Eleanor. I hesitated, but my thumb ultimately swiped right. Her voice came through slightly muffled. The background was alive with the clinking of champagne glasses and polite laughter. She was already at the venue. “Did you eat dinner yet?” “I made your favorite lemon ricotta ravioli and froze a batch in the top drawer of the freezer.” There was an artificial lightness to her tone, a desperate attempt to keep things casual. “You should swing by the house and grab them. We are all out for the night anyway. Boil them up for dinner. Stop eating takeout, it is terrible for your health.” My heart felt as though an invisible hand had gently squeezed it. She actually remembered that I loved lemon ricotta ravioli. I had casually mentioned it once during the holidays last year. I never expected her to commit it to memory. “Okay,” I whispered, my voice thick. “Take care of yourself,” Eleanor said briskly. “Once Kate stabilizes a bit more, you can move back to the estate. I have kept your bedroom exactly how you left it.” “Thank you, Mom,” I breathed. Someone called her name in the background. She muttered a rushed goodbye and the line went dead. I stood frozen in the middle of the room for a very long time. I was never going to retrieve that food. By nine o’clock, the gala would be in full swing. I slipped into a simple black slip dress and stood before the mirror. The dress was off-the-rack and poorly tailored. The shoulder straps hung loose, and the waist swallowed my figure. The girl staring back at me was deathly pale, with bruised purple shadows under her eyes. I unzipped my makeup bag and carefully applied a layer of foundation. It couldn’t mask the exhaustion, but it brought a deceptive flush of life to my skin. I chose a deep, vivid crimson lipstick. It was a bold, aggressive color. It felt like a final declaration. Then, I sat on the edge of the bed and waited. Waiting for the end was a strange sensation. There was no terror. Just a bottomless, profound tranquility. I felt like a drowning victim who had finally stopped thrashing against the current, allowing the dark water to pull me down into the quiet deep. At ten o’clock, I stood up and took one final look around the room. Spotless. Empty. Barely any proof that I had existed here at all. I walked to the desk, pulled open the drawer, and retrieved the medical documents. I looked at the letter, hesitated, and left it inside the drawer. I only took the clinical forms. When I walked out the door, I did not look back. The hospital was eerily silent at night. The fluorescent lights in the emergency wing hummed overhead, occasionally broken by the squeak of a nurse’s rubber shoes. I approached the triage desk. The night nurse glanced up. “How can I help you?” “I am here to be admitted.” My voice was so steady it frightened me. She typed away at her keyboard and gave a brief nod. “Sierra Harrington? Please follow me.” She guided me through a maze of corridors into a private prep room. The next morning, a different doctor entered the room. She was young, female, and wore an expression of intense gravity. “Ms. Harrington, are you absolutely certain you want to proceed with this surgical intervention?” she asked. “Even though you have signed the waivers, we must verbally confirm one last time.” “I am certain.” “And you truly have no family members to notify?” “No,” I replied softly. “I am an orphan.” The doctor hesitated, a flicker of sorrow in her eyes, before she nodded. “Please sign here. The nurses will begin your prep.” I signed the final paper. My hand remained perfectly still. When they moved me onto the operating table, the surgical lamps glared down at me, burning my eyes. The anesthesiologist, a gentle older man, leaned over and whispered, “Do not be afraid. Just close your eyes and take a deep sleep.” I was not afraid. I closed my eyes, and my life shattered into a kaleidoscope of fleeting memories. I remembered the rainy evening before I was kidnapped. Eleanor was holding my tiny hand, walking me home from kindergarten. She had tilted the umbrella so far over my head that her own shoulder was soaked. I remembered the years in the foster system. The cold houses, the screaming, the backbreaking chores. I learned later that they treated me like garbage because they knew I was a stolen child. I remembered the day the DNA results came back. Richard looked at me, and there was no joy in his eyes. Only confusion, and a microscopic trace of disappointment. I remembered the first time I met Kate. She was wearing a flowing white sundress, looking like a jasmine flower in the morning dew. She smiled and said, “Welcome home, big sister.” I remembered when she signed the organ donation papers. No one warned her the aftermath would destroy her mind and body. She had just smiled and said, “If one of my kidneys can save my sister, take it.” The anesthesia was flooding my veins. The world was dissolving into static. The final sound I heard was the sharp, panicked voice of the surgeon. “Vitals are crashing! The surgical intervention is failing. She is letting go. Prepare to pivot to the organ procurement protocol based on her advance directives.” Hearing those words, a single, crystal-clear thought bloomed in my fading mind. Now, I am giving it all back to you. Her blood, her love, her health, her future. My debts were finally paid in full.

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My daughter was born prematurely and immediately sent to the incubator. Finally, the day came to bring her home from the hospital. I practically threw myself forward, clutching my daughter tightly in my arms. But the next second, I froze completely. The Blood Guanyin pendant around my neck—it hadn’t turned red? This was a gift from the Miao teacher at the orphanage, given to each of us orphans. She said the jade was sealed with our blood and a type of Miao blood parasite. Once blood relatives came near, the parasite would come alive and the pendant would turn blood red. But now, with my daughter in my arms, it didn’t move at all. My head spun and I nearly dropped the baby. If this child in my arms wasn’t my daughter, then where was the baby I’d carried for ten months and labored for fourteen hours to deliver? My face went deathly pale, my whole body trembling uncontrollably. My husband Ethan thought I was just overcome with emotion and came over with a smile: “Our daughter is finally discharged. You don’t have to worry anymore.” I grabbed his arm desperately, my voice shaking: “Ethan, this isn’t our daughter. Look at her face—she doesn’t look like either of us at all!” He wrapped his arm around my shoulders with a laugh: “Rain, you’re just too anxious! All newborns look pretty much the same. How can you tell who they look like?” “I took this baby directly from the nurse’s hands. There’s no way it’s wrong.” “But…” Cold sweat trickled down my forehead. I suddenly pulled open the baby’s swaddling, turned her body over, and with trembling fingers examined every inch of her skin. No birthmark. Her bottom was completely clean. Nothing there. My mind exploded with a buzz. “Our daughter has a red plum blossom birthmark on her bottom. After delivery, the nurse specifically showed it to me!” I was practically screaming: “This baby doesn’t have it. She’s not our daughter!” Ethan’s smile instantly froze. He looked at the baby again, his face turning white as paper. Two people with double eyelids—how could we possibly have a baby with single eyelids? Without another question, he immediately grabbed the baby and rushed out, driving straight to the hospital. I wanted to chase after them, but the C-section incision on my belly suddenly tore open. The pain made it impossible to move. I collapsed on the floor, imagining what might have happened to my daughter. Switched at birth, kidnapped by traffickers, sold to a place I’d never find… The tears wouldn’t stop. I desperately called my husband, but couldn’t get through. Time crawled by, second by second. Just as I finally managed to drag myself to the door, it suddenly opened. My husband was holding another baby, his face full of smiles: “Honey, I brought our daughter back!” “The hospital made a mistake. There were two babies in the NICU, and another baby’s father has the same name as me. The nurse grabbed the wrong one. Thank God you noticed!” I broke into tears of relief and immediately took the baby. The tiny face was about fifty percent similar to mine. Half of my anxiety finally settled. The birthmark was there too. Tears fell again. What a blessing! My daughter was finally back. But then, my hand suddenly froze. The pendant on my chest still hadn’t turned red. This baby wasn’t my daughter either?! My heart churned uneasily. I forced myself to calm down, my gaze slowly moving to Ethan’s face. “Are you sure,” I asked, word by word, “this is our daughter?” He gently took my hand and pulled a document from his bag, his tone certain: “Of course. This time I did a paternity test with our daughter. Look—confirmed father-daughter relationship.” Those words were printed clearly on the white paper. But my heart felt like it was being squeezed by a hand, tightening more and more. If the baby was my husband’s, why hadn’t the pendant turned red? Unless this DNA paternity test was fake. Or this baby wasn’t the one I gave birth to.

At the thought of these two possibilities, my back felt like someone had poured a bucket of ice water over it, chilling me from head to toe. I slowly raised my head to look at Ethan. His face still wore a smile. I tentatively asked: “Ethan, could this report be fake?” “What if someone deliberately stole our daughter and made a fake report to deceive you…” He interrupted me with a laugh, “Honey, you must be scared from that mix-up earlier. I promise, this time it’s definitely real.” He took our daughter and sat on the sofa, gently playing with her little face. “I already reported it to the police at the hospital. The DNA testing agency has a long-term partnership with the police. The results can’t be wrong.” “Plus, look how this baby resembles both you and me, and the birthmark is there too. It can’t be wrong.” He looked up and smiled at me: “Stop scaring yourself.” I stared intently into his eyes and said, word by word: “But my Blood Guanyin pendant hasn’t turned red!” “Don’t you remember? I told you before that if I encounter a blood relative, this pendant will turn red.” Ethan was clearly stunned for just a moment. Then he laughed, louder than before: “Honey, and you’re a college professor—you actually believe in this stuff! How could such mystical things exist in this world!” “Besides, I already did a paternity test with this baby. She’s definitely ours!” He stood up and pushed me toward the bedroom, “Stop overthinking. The doctor told me to hurry and get the baby vaccinated. Go get ready, we’re leaving soon.” I don’t know if it was just my imagination, but for a split second, I saw Ethan habitually pinch his fingers. And when he did that gesture, it meant he was nervous or lying. I said nothing more. With the mix-up that just happened, maybe he was nervous too. Perhaps he was right. I’d worn this pendant from age six until now—twenty years—and it had never turned red. Maybe it was just a hopeful story the orphanage teacher left us, a beautiful lie. I slowly pushed down the unease in my heart, held my daughter, and left with my husband. The community health center wasn’t crowded. I was filling out forms with my head down when a familiar voice suddenly came from behind me. “Rain!” I whipped my head around. It was someone I grew up with at the orphanage. Her name was Vivi, and she was smiling at me. “Rain! I can’t believe we live in the same community! Did you have a boy or a girl?” “A girl.” Her eyes lit up: “I’m so happy. We finally both have our own blood relatives.” My eyes welled up as I nodded emphatically. Just then, her husband walked over holding their baby and came up beside her. My gaze inadvertently fell on her neck. I suddenly noticed the Blood Guanyin pendant was turning red, bit by bit. I stood frozen like I’d been struck by lightning. So this pendant really does turn red when near blood relatives. So the Miao teacher from the orphanage hadn’t lied to us. My breathing became rapid. My chest felt like something was blocking it, getting tighter and tighter. Could it be that the baby my husband brought back really wasn’t my daughter? But if that wasn’t my daughter, then where was my daughter? Just as I stood there in a daze, my husband walked over holding our daughter and took my hand to leave. Looking at the pendant around my neck that still hadn’t changed color, I pushed his hand away and stared hard at my husband, demanding: “Whose bastard child is this?” “Where exactly is my daughter?”

Ethan froze on the spot. His face was full of hurt: “Honey, what’s wrong? Why are you saying this? The baby is obviously ours—mine and yours! This is our daughter!” I looked at him coldly and demanded loudly: “Stop pretending. This isn’t my daughter at all! Where did you hide my daughter?!” The crowd that heard the commotion all started pointing and whispering about us. My husband immediately panicked and lowered his voice to explain: “Rain, what’s gotten into you? The hospital did make a mistake before, but I already switched the baby back. You don’t need to be scared anymore.” He held our daughter up in front of me, showing the baby’s face. “Let everyone see how much this baby looks like you. How can you suddenly say she’s not yours? What happened?” His face was full of confusion. The onlookers’ eyes moved between me and my daughter, discussing among themselves: “Miss, this baby really does look a lot like you!” “Exactly, like she was carved from the same mold. Why are you saying she’s not your daughter?” I laughed coldly and pointed to the pendant on my chest: “Because this thing hasn’t turned red. The first time you brought a baby back, it didn’t turn red, and that really wasn’t my baby.” “This time it still hasn’t turned red, so this definitely isn’t my daughter!” Just now, Vivi told me that many of the orphanage kids had found their biological parents thanks to this red-turning pendant. This further confirmed my suspicion. Ethan looked utterly helpless, rubbing his forehead as he explained again: “Rain, I’ve told you so many times to believe in science and not those superstitions! Why won’t you listen?” “Besides, I already did a DNA paternity test with our daughter, confirming we’re father and daughter. What exactly are you doubting?” I said coldly: “Our daughter did a DNA test with you, but not with me.” Ethan looked shocked, his eyes full of hurt: “You’re… suspecting me of having an affair?” Ignoring Ethan’s wounded expression, I grabbed my friend from the orphanage: “Vivi, didn’t you just say you work at a paternity testing center?” “I’m asking you to do a DNA paternity test between me and this baby right now!” I grew up with Vivi at the orphanage. Her test report couldn’t possibly be wrong. “As long as I do a DNA paternity test with her, it will prove this isn’t my daughter! As for whether she’s your bastard child, that depends on whether you dare to test again!” Faced with my accusation, Ethan just smiled bitterly, his expression unchanged: “If this is what it takes to dispel your doubts and acknowledge our daughter, I’m willing to cooperate.” He turned to Vivi, his tone sincere: “Please arrange sample collection for all three of us immediately, and rush the results.” Seeing Ethan so open about it, doubt crept into my heart instead. Had I really made a mistake? After the blood was drawn, the wait was agonizing. A few hours later, Vivi walked in carrying a rush document envelope. With trembling hands, I tore open the envelope and pulled out the report. Black words on white paper, clear as day. “Based on available data and DNA analysis results, supports that Ethan is the biological father of the child, and supports that Rain Song is the biological mother of the child.” My mind went blank. The person doing the DNA paternity test was reliable, and DNA couldn’t be faked. Had I really made a mistake? Was this really my daughter?

My eyes turned red as I looked apologetically at my husband, my voice choked: “I’m sorry, Ethan. I misunderstood you.” Ethan pulled me into his arms, gently patting my back: “It’s okay, honey. I must not have done enough to make you this anxious.” “The doctor said you just gave birth and your hormones are unstable, making you prone to postpartum depression. I didn’t care for you enough. It’s my fault!” “I’ll hire a nanny right away to take care of you and the baby!” He looked at me tenderly, then turned to smile at Vivi: “You and Vivi haven’t seen each other in so long. Why don’t you chat and relax a bit before going home?” People crowded around, saying: “Yeah, I think this girl must have postpartum depression to be so paranoid.” “Where can you find such a good husband? You must cherish him!” “Trust is the most important thing between spouses!” I remembered the first time Ethan and I met, the dazed expression he wore looking at me. My heart warmed. Under his passionate pursuit, we got married. He’d always been incredibly attentive to me. I touched my nose sheepishly, “Okay, thank you everyone for your concern. I won’t be paranoid anymore.” After getting our daughter vaccinated, Vivi and I went shopping and had dinner. We chatted from afternoon until evening before I went home. As soon as I walked through the door, I discovered there was already someone new in the house. The nanny was happily playing with our daughter in the nursery. She wore a mask on her face, so I couldn’t see her features. My husband explained that the nanny, Grace, was a patient from his plastic surgery department. She had scars on her face and was afraid of scaring me and the baby, so she’d keep wearing a mask. I didn’t mind. My husband Ethan was a plastic surgeon. Knowing people like this wasn’t unusual. After changing clothes and washing my hands, I headed straight to the nursery to hold my daughter. The moment my daughter opened her eyes and smiled at me, I discovered that the Blood Guanyin pendant on my chest was turning red, bit by bit. Tears filled my eyes as I screamed for Ethan to come look: “Ethan! The pendant turned red! Natalie really is my daughter!” However, when Ethan saw the reddening pendant around my neck, he was clearly stunned. I jokingly teased him: “Shocked, aren’t you? Can’t believe your own eyes? I was wrong to doubt you earlier. Let me apologize again, okay?” Ethan opened his eyes wide, stroking the pendant and murmuring: “I never thought… this thing actually works.” I hugged him playfully: “I know, right? But why did it only change now? It made me worry for so long.” Ethan seemed to remember something and said with a smile: “I remember when our daughter was in the hospital, you left this pendant in the refrigerator. Could it be that the blood parasite was frozen and only slowly revived, which is why the pendant turned red?” I remembered now. When our daughter was in the incubator, I couldn’t eat or sleep all day, constantly forgetting things. Once I even stuffed the pendant and a towel into the refrigerator together, where it stayed frozen for several days. Maybe that really was the reason? That last bit of anxiety finally settled back into my stomach, safe and sound. I was overjoyed and specifically took a photo to send to Vivi, telling her the good news. The next morning when I woke up, the sun was shining brightly. The nanny made me sweet wine egg drop soup. I took a sip. It was sweet. “Where’s Natalie?” I asked casually. “Daddy took her downstairs for a walk.” At those words, my whole body shuddered violently. I stared hard into Grace’s eyes: “What did you say? Natalie went downstairs?” Behind the mask that only revealed Grace’s eyes, her face showed complete confusion: “Yes, the doctor said the baby should get more sun. What’s wrong?” I shot to my feet. The chair tipped backward with a loud crash. So that’s it! I finally knew where my daughter actually was.

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I took three days of sick leave for a minor surgery. When I returned, the whole school was spreading rumors—that I’d gone to get an abortion. Ava posted my photo from behind on the forum with a caption: “If you know, you know.” I tried to explain. No one listened. I pulled out my medical records. They said it could be forged. My homeroom teacher only said four words: “The innocent need no defense.” Later, thugs blocked me at the school gate, calling me “cheap.” After that, I swallowed half a bottle of sleeping pills. My mom held my ice-cold body and wailed all night. The next day, she hanged herself from the old oak tree. Then I opened my eyes again. My phone screen was lit. Ava’s post had been up for just nine minutes. This time, I didn’t type out an explanation. I pulled up a photo I’d casually taken at the hospital three days ago— Ava herself, standing in front of the OB-GYN registration window. I clicked reply, attached the photo, and typed a line: “What a coincidence. Are you here for an abortion too?” **Chapter One** A dull ache throbbed in my lower abdomen. I lay on my side in my rented room, staring at the peeling white paint on the wall, waiting for the pain to pass. Third day after my ovarian cyst removal surgery. The stitched incision pulled and twinged with every movement. My phone vibrated under my pillow. Once. Twice. Then it wouldn’t stop. I fished it out. The screen glared painfully bright. Notifications from the school forum flooded in. The message count stuck at “99+”. I clicked in. Pinned post. Bold red title— “Sophomore Class 6 girl takes sick leave? I ran into her at the OB-GYN, if you know what I mean.” The attached image showed someone from behind. Hospital gown, clutching a blue medical file folder, hair down, walking out of the OB-GYN corridor. It was me. Posted by—Ava. The comments had exploded. “Holy shit, that bookworm from Class 6? Her image just collapsed?” “Three days sick leave, OB-GYN, hahaha I get it.” “Getting an abortion and openly taking leave? That’s bold.” “Ava never misses when she calls someone out. Waiting for the original poster to explain.” “Poor thing, even teacher’s pets have their day.” I gripped my phone. My knuckles turned white. The swelling pain spread from my abdomen to my stomach, acid rising to my throat. Then the memories came crashing down. I remembered the stares in the hallway when I returned to school. I remembered the two red words spray-painted on my desk. I remembered showing them my medical records to explain, and someone rolling their eyes and saying “probably forged.” I remembered my homeroom teacher leaning back in his chair, fingers tapping the desk: “The innocent need no defense. Don’t make a big deal out of nothing.” I remembered the thugs blocking me at the school gate calling me “cheap.” I remembered the note slipped under my dorm door that said “go die.” I remembered my mom standing at the office door with a bag of farm eggs, smiling apologetically and saying “Teacher, please help,” then getting pushed out and her knee hitting the threshold. I remembered counting sleeping pills that night. When I got to the thirty-seventh pill, my hand shook. I remembered that my final conscious moment was filled only with blurred wailing. My mom collapsed over my already-cold body, crying until she couldn’t breathe. The next day. She joined me at the old oak tree by our house. I gasped sharply, my spine jerking away from the mattress. The surgical incision in my lower abdomen tore with a line of searing pain. Real pain. I looked down and saw the gauze bulging under my hospital gown. The stitches had been removed today. I’d returned to my rental this morning. The post on my phone— I glanced at the posting time. Nine minutes ago. I was alive again. My heartbeat hammered against my ribs. Heavy and dull. At this moment in my past life, I’d been crying under my covers. I’d cried all night, drafted over a dozen explanatory messages, deleting and retyping, typing and deleting. The next day I’d returned to school with swollen red eyes and medical records, beginning the final month countdown of my life. This time, I didn’t cry. I didn’t type. I opened my photo album and scrolled back. Three days ago in the hospital waiting area, I’d casually snapped a photo of the lobby to send my mom and let her know I was okay. In the bottom right corner of the photo, in front of the OB-GYN registration window, stood a person. High ponytail, white T-shirt, school jacket draped over her forearm. Her ID card sat on the counter. Ava. In my past life, I’d never opened that photo a second time. Back then I’d been too busy explaining, begging, being afraid. I couldn’t even hold onto my own life. Who had time to wonder why Ava was at the OB-GYN too? But this life was different. This life, I knew. I opened the forum and found Ava’s post. 1,200 comments already. I pressed “reply.” Uploaded the photo. Typed word by word— “What a coincidence. Are you here for an abortion too?” Send. I set down my phone and lay on my back, staring at the ceiling. The incision still hurt. But something in my chest had ignited, rising from my stomach, burning until my eyes stung. It wasn’t grief. It was hate. In my past life, I’d begged everyone on my knees. This life, no more kneeling. Half an hour later, I picked up my phone. Comment count: 1,487. The top comments had completely changed. “Wait wait wait, Ava was at the OB-GYN too??” “I zoomed in—that really is Ava!” “The timestamps match! Same day!” “So when Ava was photographing someone else, she was registering herself??” “The bookworm just counterattacked hahaha!” “Ava babe, who really got the abortion?” “Waiting for the school belle to respond.” My inbox had exploded too. First message from a classmate: “Sophia, are you crazy?! Do you know what Ava’s like when you provoke her?” Second, third messages from strangers, all “666” and spectator emojis. And one more. From Ava. Two words— “Delete it.” I stared at those two words. **Didn’t you say in my past life that the innocent need no defense? Panicking now?** I didn’t reply. I shoved my phone under my pillow. Closed my eyes. Tomorrow I’d return to school. The real show was just beginning. **Chapter Two** Ava’s messages kept coming. “Sophia, are you insane?” “Where did you get that photo?” “I’m warning you, delete it right now, or don’t blame me for what happens.” I didn’t reply. The forum had already gone wild. Ava’s fans and bystanders were fighting like mad. “Ava was at the OB-GYN? What’s going on?” “Reminder: OB-GYN doesn’t just treat pregnancy, they treat other gynecological issues too. Ava might have just been getting a regular checkup.” “Then Sophia might have been getting a regular checkup too! Why didn’t Ava say that about her?” “Shot herself in the foot lol.” “Don’t pick sides yet, wait for the school belle’s response.” Ava’s fourth message came through. Her tone had changed. “Sophie, is there some misunderstanding between us? That post was really just a joke. I’ll delete it tomorrow. Can you delete the photo too? Let’s both stop this, okay?” Sophie. She called me Sophie. She’d called me that in my past life too. On the third day after the whole school mocked me, she “ran into” me in the cafeteria, smiled and put her arm around my shoulder: “Sophie, don’t take it to heart. Everyone’s just joking.” Then she turned around and sent a voice message in her group chat: “This is too funny, she actually believed it.” I typed. “Ava, I’m not going to argue with you on the forum. Just answer me one thing.” “That day at the OB-GYN, were you seeing the doctor for your aunt or your uncle?” Send. The “typing” indicator in the chat box flashed once, then disappeared. One minute. Three minutes. Five minutes. I stared at that silent conversation. In my past life, after Ava’s situation was completely exposed—which happened after I died—many things came to light. I didn’t know what happened to her after. But I knew why she went to the OB-GYN. I knew who that “uncle” was who picked her up every Saturday. I knew what she feared most. At the six-minute mark, Ava’s messages exploded. “What do you mean?!” “Are you stalking me??” “Sophia, are you sick? Do you even know what you’re saying!” “My aunt is in that hospital! What’s wrong with visiting her??” “If you dare spread lies I’ll make sure you can’t stay at this school!!!” Five messages in less than a minute. Every word dripped with cracks. I replied with one word. “Oh.” Then closed the chat. Twenty minutes later, Ava’s original post on the forum was edited. A new paragraph appeared— “Let me clarify for everyone! That day I was visiting my aunt who was hospitalized~ I happened to pass by the OB-GYN corridor and saw a certain classmate. I just thought it was a coincidence so I mentioned it casually, no malicious intent! As for the photo that certain classmate posted—I was at the registration window helping my aunt register~ Hope everyone views this rationally and doesn’t over-interpret♡” Seconds later, supporting comments popped up in perfect formation. Uniform rhythm, similar wording, obviously pre-arranged. “Sis said she was visiting her aunt, stop stirring things up!” “Sophia’s photo only shows Ava standing at the window, doesn’t show what she was registering for. Taking things out of context.” “The bookworm got called out so she’s viciously biting back, classic.” Public opinion began to sway. Some people swung back to Ava’s side. Others were still watching. But it was so much better than my past life. In my past life at this point, the comments were completely one-sided. Because I’d done nothing. I’d only hidden under my covers refreshing the page over and over, watching those comments drown me alive. This life, at least half the people were asking—”So why exactly was Ava at the registration window?” That was enough. The first cut didn’t need to go too deep. Making her panic was enough. I rolled over and put my phone on silent. **You think you can get away with making up “visiting my aunt”? Ava, your aunt wasn’t at that hospital that day. I checked in my past life. This life, I’ll make sure everyone can check too.** Tomorrow back to school. The real show hadn’t even started yet. **Chapter Three** When I walked into the school building, people in the hallway parted to make way. Not out of respect. Out of spectacle. Whispered buzzing, elbows nudging elbows, some people holding up phones to film me. A laugh came from behind: “That’s her.” I pushed open the back door to Class 6. The buzzing chatter in the classroom cut off. Forty pairs of eyes turned toward me in unison. Too uniform to be natural. A few boys whistled. “Yo, the bookworm’s back—” “All recovered now?” I didn’t look at them. Because I saw my desk. Two words spray-painted on the surface. Red paint. Large. “SLUT.” The paint hadn’t fully dried. The edges bled into rough tendrils. The pungent chemical smell rushed in, stinging my eyes until they watered. My chair lay overturned on the floor. Books from my desk drawer scattered everywhere, textbook pages torn to shreds. The classroom went silent for a second, then erupted in laughter. Someone applauded. Someone filmed with their phone. I stood there, hands at my sides. The incision in my lower abdomen started aching from walking too much. I scanned the classroom. In the back row by the window, Rachel sat with her head down playing on her phone, fingers tucked in her sleeves. But I saw a bit of red at the edge of her sleeve. Third row, class president Ethan sat ramrod straight. His gaze met mine for a moment. Then he looked away. Lowered his head, staring at the open textbook in front of him. In my past life, I’d gone crying to him. He’d said: “Sophia, stop making trouble. The more you make a fuss, the worse it gets for you.” Then closed his pen cap and turned his head toward the window. I remembered that sentence for a whole lifetime. That lifetime was very short. **You saw. You always saw.** **But you chose to pretend you didn’t.** The laughter continued. Someone shouted: “Sophia, that paint cost a lot of money. Consider it a welcome gift.” I didn’t wipe the desk. Didn’t cry. Didn’t explain. I pulled out my phone from my pocket. Opened the camera, aimed it at my desk, pressed the shutter three times. Different angles, capturing the red words, the overturned chair, the shredded textbooks. Then switched to my contacts. The classroom laughter gradually faded. Because they saw the three digits on my phone screen. 9-1-

I pressed the call button and raised the phone to my ear. The entire classroom went dead silent. “Hello, High-Tech District Experimental High School, Grade 11 Class 6. My name is Sophia. My desk has been spray-painted with offensive language and my personal property has been deliberately destroyed. I have photos of the scene. Please dispatch officers.” My voice wasn’t loud, but every word drove into the silence. Rachel’s phone dropped to the floor in the back row. No one picked it up. Thirty seconds later, the classroom door flew open. Homeroom teacher Mr. Walker rushed in, his expression caught between panic and anger. “Sophia! What are you doing?” He grabbed my wrist holding the phone: “Hang up! Do you know what you’re doing!” I looked up at him. “Mr. Walker, please let go. I’m filing a police report. Interfering with a police call is illegal.” His fingers froze. The entire classroom—forty students plus students from the next class peeking in the doorway—everyone watched as— The homeroom teacher gripped the wrist of the most invisible scholarship student in class, while the scholarship student calmly continued her police report. He let go. Stepped back. The voice on the phone said something. I said: “Okay. I’ll wait in the classroom.” Hung up. Put the phone back in my pocket. Bent down to pick up my chair and sat down beside the spray-painted desk. Took out my notebook, turned to the first page, and started copying the formula on the blackboard. No one around me spoke. No one laughed anymore. Mr. Walker stood by the podium, his lips moving several times, but in the end said nothing and left. His phone call echoed from the hallway, voice kept low, but I caught one word—”dispatch.” I continued copying formulas. The scratching of pen on paper was the only sound in the entire classroom. **Ava, in my past life you killed with words. This life I’ll use the law. Let’s see who falls first.** **Chapter Four** The police arrived quickly. When two uniformed officers walked into the classroom, the substitute math teacher stopped mid-chalk stroke. The whole class’s attention shifted from the blackboard to the door, then to me. I stood up, took my phone and backpack, and followed them out. Many people in the hallway craned their necks to look. Passing the neighboring class’s door, a girl held up her phone filming me. Taking the statement took forty minutes. In the small room in the dean’s office, I showed the police the photos on my phone and explained everything step by step. The post. The photo from behind. The forum attacks. The spray-painted desk. The older officer finished recording and looked up: “Do you have any suspects?” “Rachel, my classmate. She has red paint residue under her fingernails.” After finishing the statement, I came out to an empty hallway. Lunch break. I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes for a moment. The incision in my lower abdomen throbbed dully. After being stuck to my clothes all day it was getting itchy. Time to change the gauze. No time for that. I rummaged through my backpack for painkillers and dry-swallowed one. The pill stuck in my throat, bitter and astringent. No classes in the afternoon. I sat in the library until five. Quiet. No one came looking for me. Not even Mr. Walker showed up. But the calm shattered at nine that evening. I’d just finished changing my gauze in my rental when my phone vibrated. Not the class group chat—I’d been kicked out long ago. The grade-level group, the kind where people rarely spoke. Today it exploded. Someone threw a video into it. The thumbnail was blurry, but you could make out a dim room, a girl and a man. The title: four words: “Sophia’s hookup.” My hand stopped. Then I clicked in. The face in the video was mine. Features, contours, hair length—all matched. But it wasn’t me. AI face-swap. In my past life, this video spread throughout the entire school two weeks before I died. After watching it, I locked myself in my rental for three days without eating or drinking. Three days later, I opened that bottle of sleeping pills. Now, it was back. Stomach acid surged up violently, my throat turning sour. My fingers gripped the phone’s edge, nails digging into the plastic case. Tinnitus buzzed, my heartbeat pounding against my temples. I closed my eyes. Counted to five. Opened them. The grade group had exploded. “Holy shit is this real??” “That face is so clear…” “Photoshopped right? Something feels off.” “What’s off? The face is right there!” “Isn’t she supposed to be a bookworm? Why’s she always doing this stuff…” Messages scrolled too fast. Before I could screenshot, the group admin deleted the video. But it was too late. It had already been saved, forwarded, sent to countless other groups. **In my past life, this video was the final straw that broke me.** **This life—it’s the first steel beam that will break Ava.** I swallowed my emotions. Didn’t cry. Didn’t type a defense. Opened the screen recording tool, scrolled up through the grade group chat history, and screenshot every forwarding, comment, and distribution path one by one. Captured thirty-seven images. Then opened the dialer. 911. Second time. “Hello, my name is Sophia, Grade 11 Class 6 student at High-Tech District Experimental High School. Someone has created an AI deepfake pornographic video using my facial features and is distributing it widely in the grade group and multiple social groups. I am a minor. I’m requesting to file a case.” The other end went silent for two seconds. “You’re certain it’s AI-generated?” “Certain. The body in the video is not me. I’m requesting a technical forensic analysis.” “Alright, we’ll forward this to the cybersecurity department. Preserve all relevant screenshots and links.” Hung up. My phone lit up again. Message from Ava. “Sophia, things have escalated to this point. You delete the photo from the forum, and I’ll have people take down the video. We both save face.” Save face. You destroyed my reputation with lies, nailed me to a pillar of shame with an AI face-swap. Now you want to talk about saving face. I replied with one line. “The police will find out who made the video. Ava, pray they don’t trace it back to you.” No reply from her. I closed my phone and pulled up the covers. The incision jumped beneath my waistband. I put a pillow under my lower abdomen and curled up. The bitter taste of that half-bottle of sleeping pills rose again. It still clung to the back of my throat, impossible to swallow no matter how I tried. Some things you can’t forget even after dying once. But that’s okay. This life, I won’t take them. **Chapter Five** The next day at 6:40 AM. My mom called. I looked at the word “Mom” on my screen. My heart clenched. The ringtone went four times before I answered. “Sophie honey, does your surgical incision still hurt?” Her voice was a bit hoarse, but she was trying to sound cheerful. “Not anymore, it’s almost healed.” “Is the school food good? Does the cafeteria have pork ribs?” “Yes.” “Sophie…” She stopped. A long breath on the other end. Inhale, hold it, then slowly exhale. “Sophie, is someone at school bullying you?” My fingers tightened. “Mom, no.” “Some people in town… showed me some things on their phones.” She paused, her voice starting to shake. “Sophie, none of that’s true, right? Mom knows it’s not true. Mom believes you.” I bit my lower lip. There was still a cut inside my lip from dry-swallowing painkillers yesterday. When I bit down, the metallic taste of blood spread along my tongue. Past life. In my past life she’d made this same call. I’d cried and said “Mom, I didn’t do those things.” She’d said “Mom knows. Mom will come to school tomorrow.” The next day she came. Wearing her most presentable piece—an old gray jacket, carrying a bag of farm eggs, standing at the homeroom teacher’s office door, bent over with a forced smile: “Teacher, please help. My Sophie isn’t that kind of child.” Mr. Walker didn’t even look up. “Parent, your daughter has caused quite a stir at school. I suggest she do some self-reflection. The innocent need no defense—if she hasn’t done anything, what’s there to fear?” My mom stood in the doorway holding the eggs, not knowing what to do with her hands. When she left, her knee hit the threshold. No one helped her up. Seven months later, she joined me at the old oak tree. “Mom, listen to me.” I kept my voice very steady, saying each word carefully. “Those things are all fake. Someone is trying to hurt me. But I’m handling it. I filed a police report. You don’t need to come to school.” “But—” “Mom, don’t come.” Silence on the other end. Then I heard an extremely soft sob. She was desperately holding it in. “Okay.” “Sophie, you… you have to be okay.” “Yeah. I’ll be okay. I’ll come home to see you this weekend.” Hung up. I crouched in the corner of the hallway, back against the cold wall. Hands covering my face. Didn’t cry. My eyes were dry and stinging. The incision twinged once. I stood up. **This life you don’t have to come. Don’t have to beg anyone with a bag of eggs. Don’t have to kneel. Don’t have to die.** At noon, the forum exploded again. Ava posted an audio recording. Post title: “Sophia admitted it herself—everyone listen for yourselves.” Thirty-six second audio clip. A female voice inside—my voice—crying and saying: “I know I was wrong. I shouldn’t have falsely accused Ava. I made it all up, the medical records are fake. I was just jealous of her…” I listened to it. Replayed it twice. The tone was very close. The intonation mimicked my speech patterns. But there was one problem—the breath intervals in the four words “I made it all up” were too uniform. Normal people don’t speak like that. AI-synthesized audio has mechanical breathing rhythms. In my past life, I didn’t know these things. This life, on the first day after my rebirth, I’d researched everything online about AI voice detection. The comments went crazy. “Confirmed! She admitted it herself!” “LMAO where’s her face? Fake-righteous bookworm.” “Ava is finally cleared!” “So what was that police report earlier about? What performance was that?” I took screenshots and saved the original audio file link. Then made my third police call. “Hello, this is Sophia from the previous report. Someone has published an AI-forged audio recording using my voice pattern and is spreading it on the forum. I’ve saved the original link and screenshots. Please submit it for technical forensic analysis as well.” Three police calls. Within three days. Hung up. Walked into the dean’s office. Mr. Walker was inside. When he saw me, irritation flashed across his face. “Sophia, what now.” “Mr. Walker, Ava has published a forged AI voice recording impersonating me. I’ve filed a police report. This will have legal consequences.” “Legal consequences?” He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Sophia, can you just settle down? The way you’re making a fuss affects your own future. Do you still want that recommendation spot?” I looked at him. Behind his lenses, his eyes shifted away. “Mr. Walker. I’m sitting in front of you right now with three police report receipts in hand.” My voice wasn’t loud. “I’m the victim. You’re asking the victim to shut up.” His fingers froze on the temple of his glasses. “I’ll remember your exact words. If the follow-up investigation involves the school’s handling responsibility, the Board of Education will see them.” I stood up and walked out. Didn’t look back. The hallway was empty. Lunch break sunlight poured through the windows, bleaching the floor tiles white. I leaned against the railing and took three deep breaths. My hands were shaking. Not from fear. From anger. In my past life, I knelt and begged him for help. He gave me four words. This life I spoke to him standing up, and his first reaction was still to tell me to shut up. That’s fine. If you won’t help, I don’t need your help. But don’t block my way.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “406605”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

Grandma was on her deathbed, barely able to speak, but she managed to whisper that her only wish was to see me get married. I sobbed uncontrollably, and my entire family’s eyes turned to Fudge standing behind me. Fudge sighed, gently wiped away my tears, and led me out to the hallway. But the moment the door closed behind us, his expression turned cold. “Yolanda, we’ve been together seven years. You know I hate being forced into things more than anything.” “Relationships should develop naturally. They shouldn’t be swayed by anyone else’s opinions.” His hand brushed through my hair, still somewhat soothing. “There’s no rush to get married. Let’s wait until my company goes public and things stabilize, okay?” “I have a meeting tonight. Just handle your family for now. I’ll bring you a gift when I get back.” Before I could respond, he turned and left, walking side by side with his female secretary. The moment their figures disappeared behind the elevator doors, I saw the secretary rise on her tiptoes and naturally adjust his tie. And he didn’t push her away. I dried my tears and returned to the hospital room, smiling as I took Grandma’s hand. “Grandma, don’t worry. I’m getting married in three days.” “Before I walk down the aisle, I’ll be waiting for you to brush my hair yourself.”

Hearing me say this, everyone in the room breathed a sigh of relief. Grandma’s eyes even reddened as she said “good” several times. After driving my parents home, Mom called me into the study alone. “Yolanda, there’s something I’ve been holding back for a long time, but I need to tell you.” She hesitated, looking at me with eyes full of reluctance. “Last month on your birthday, Fudge came to give you a gift but said he was busy and left after barely five minutes.” “But half an hour later, my friend saw him at a pet hospital in the south part of town, accompanying a woman in loungewear while her dog was being treated. It seemed to be that Secretary Shen of his…” Mom pushed a photo toward me. In the photo, Sharon was holding a bandaged puppy in her arms, looking up with a smile and saying something. Beside her, Fudge had his head lowered, listening intently. The indulgence and affection in his eyes were almost overflowing. Even without any intimate gestures, the two of them seemed connected by invisible threads, forming a clear boundary between themselves and everyone around them. Looking at Fudge like this, I felt disoriented for a moment. Once upon a time, he used to look at me with that same focused, passionate gaze every day, his emotions constantly swayed by my joys and sorrows. Not like today, when my tears hadn’t even dried before he demanded in a stern voice that I be considerate and mature, not to cause him more trouble. “Yolanda, you and Fudge have been together all these years. If he wanted to propose, he’s had plenty of opportunities.” “The way he’s being forced into this today—Mom’s just afraid you’ll suffer later. Maybe you should…” Before Mom could finish, I cut her off with a calm voice. “Mom, I am getting married. But who says I’m marrying Fudge?” By the time I got back from my parents’ house, it was late at night. I pushed open the door to find Fudge surprisingly still awake, sitting on the sofa in loungewear, watching the US stock market. Seeing me return, he closed his laptop, removed his glasses, and gave me a searching look. “Why so late today?” I forced a smile. I originally wanted to say that he had plenty of nights when he came home even later than this, but when the words reached my lips, I felt it was pointless. I gave a perfunctory response. “Nothing much. Just spent some extra time talking with Mom.” Fudge nodded, picked up a dazzling necklace from the jewelry box on the table, stood up, and walked toward me. “Yolanda, thank you for helping me deal with the marriage pressure.” “You know, marrying you has always been my plan for the future. It’s just that the timing isn’t right yet. I only want to give you the most grand wedding…” As he spoke, he tried to pull me into his embrace as usual and put the necklace on me. Ever since we started dating, whenever Fudge did something that hurt me, he would give me gifts to compensate. But in the past, no matter how expensive the gift was for him at the time, he would always feel guilty, carefully holding his sincere heart while apologizing, hoping to make me happy again. Not like now, with his face completely calm, his eyes containing nothing but the composure of someone in complete control, devoid of any tenderness. This version of him already felt sufficiently unfamiliar to me. I tilted my head away, dodging his hand and avoiding his embrace. “Fudge, there’s no need for this anymore.” “Let’s end this here.”

Fudge’s expression darkened abruptly. “Yolanda, you were never someone who acted on impulse like this.” “Just because I didn’t agree to get married right now? Did you coordinate this with your family on purpose, using this to force my hand?” I looked up, meeting the anger in his eyes with complete calm. “I’m not forcing you, Fudge. I’m the one who doesn’t want to be with you anymore.” His expression grew even darker. “We’ve been together seven years. No one knows your feelings for me better than I do.” “Don’t play hard-to-get with me. I’m not falling for that trick.” He was convinced I was throwing a tantrum, convinced I was using Grandma’s situation to pressure him into compromising, to force him to propose immediately. Looking at him, I suddenly found it all laughable. Laughable that I’d persisted all these years. Laughable that it took me until now to see clearly what a cold, selfish person he was. “I’m not playing hard-to-get, Fudge. You’re too self-centered.” “You only ever think about yourself, about your company, about your reputation.” “But you’ve never considered me or my family’s wishes.” As if I’d struck a nerve, his expression grew even uglier, and his voice rose considerably. “I work myself to the bone trying to get my company to go public—isn’t that all for giving you a better life in the future?” “I’m postponing the wedding to give you a grand ceremony, aren’t I?” “Yolanda, why can’t you just be more understanding and stop trying to force me to do things I don’t want to do?” Understanding? My nose stung with tears. Haven’t I been understanding enough? Shortly after we got together, because he repeatedly told me I was too sharp-edged, I learned to restrain myself, to retreat further and further. All these years, even though I desperately wanted to get married, I kept considering his various excuses and repeatedly convinced myself and my family to postpone. Even now, because I loved him, I tolerated his intimacy with Sharon over and over, hypnotizing myself into believing he still loved me. This version of myself disgusted even me, let alone anyone else. “Fudge, whether you believe it or not, I’ve had enough.” “I don’t want to wait for you anymore. I don’t want to revolve around your schedule anymore. And I definitely don’t want to watch you and Sharon carry on ambiguously.” At the mention of Sharon, something flickered in his eyes before being covered by anger again. “I’ve told you countless times, she and I are just colleagues. Stop being unreasonable.” “The wedding is non-negotiable. We have to wait until my company goes public and stabilizes.” “No matter how much you make a scene, it won’t change anything!” With that, he threw the necklace onto the sofa, turned around, and left. The door slammed shut with a bang. The framed photo hanging in the entryway fell and shattered on impact. This apartment was one we bought together in our third year. I handled all the decorating myself. Every corner held my expectations from back then. But now, all that remained was overwhelming disappointment. The warmth from those early days was completely gone. I opened the closet, took out my clothes, folded them one by one, and placed them in the suitcase I’d prepared in advance. From the study, I only took necessary documents. I left everything else untouched. After packing everything, I contacted a courier service and had my suitcase sent to the apartment I’d rented in advance. Once I’d finished all this, I sat on the sofa in a daze. My phone suddenly vibrated twice. A notification that Sharon, whom I’d marked as a special contact, had posted a new update. “Period cramps are killing me, but someone made me brown sugar water. I’m so blessed.” The accompanying photo was taken in a kitchen. A broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted man in a crisp suit was wearing a teddy bear apron, standing with his back to the camera in front of the stove. Even without seeing his face, you could tell from his body language how relaxed and at ease Fudge was in this moment—completely different from the coldness he showed me. In the past, facing Sharon’s overt and covert provocations, I would always lose control and demand an explanation from Fudge. Now, I simply raised my hand, calmly liked the post, then blocked both Fudge and Sharon.

Soon after, there was a knock at the door, and I received an email. Opening it, I found a wedding invitation with a deep red background and gold embossed patterns. At the same time, my phone showed a message from Lucas Ashford. He was an investor I’d met through an elder’s introduction. He was steady and reliable in his dealings. Three days ago, when I set the wedding date, I reached an agreement with him to get married that same evening. “Yolanda, did you receive the invitation? This is the design you selected. Does the sample meet your expectations?” I was slightly taken aback, not expecting him to be so efficient and thorough. This sense of reliability was something I had never received from Fudge. I came back to my senses and sent Lucas a positive confirmation. Looking down again at the date on the invitation, there were still three days. That was enough time. The next morning, I went to the company. I wanted to wrap up my project. As soon as I walked into the office area, scattered discussions drifted from nearby. “Did you see Secretary Shen’s post yesterday? Mr. Harrington personally made her brown sugar water.” “The whole company’s been talking about it, and Mr. Harrington hasn’t clarified anything. Obviously, he’s acknowledging it.” “I think Secretary Shen and Mr. Harrington make a great couple. They look perfect together.” I paused slightly. Back when Fudge said office romances weren’t appropriate, we concealed our relationship. Now he didn’t care anymore? Several colleagues saw me, and the discussions stopped abruptly. Their expressions turned panicked and awkward. Before Sharon appeared, when they knew the company was co-founded by Fudge and me after college graduation, they used to ship us together. I understood and said reassuringly: “Don’t be nervous. They really are well-matched.” Just as I finished speaking, a furious voice came from behind me. “Yolanda!” Fudge approached with an icy aura, striding up to me with a dark expression, his gaze sweeping over the surrounding colleagues. Everyone immediately lowered their heads, not daring to make another sound. “Come with me.” He turned and walked into the office first. I followed him in. After closing the door, Fudge turned around and looked at me silently for a moment. “What did you mean by liking Sharon’s post yesterday? And what did you mean by blocking me?” I leaned against the door, my expression indifferent. “The like was genuine well-wishes. I blocked you because we’ve already broken up. There’s no need to keep private contact information.” Fudge’s anger intensified. “Well-wishes? Do you know your like made Sharon feel guilty all night? She kept apologizing to me, saying she caused you to misunderstand.” I found it absurd and couldn’t help laughing. “Fudge, if she really felt guilty, she should apologize to me.” “But you and I are already over. Whatever happens between you and Sharon has nothing to do with me.” “Whether she feels guilty or not isn’t something I need to consider.” Fudge stared at me, practically grinding his teeth. “Fine. Yolanda, you’ve got guts. I’d like to see how long you can keep this up.” With that, he raised his hand and told me to get out. Less than ten minutes after returning to my workstation, the company’s internal group chat posted the latest personnel change announcement. My position as project director had been revoked. Sharon was directly taking over the core project I’d worked on for half a year that was about to launch. And I had been transferred to the logistics department, responsible for trivial administrative tasks. Looking at the words on screen, my heart still uncontrollably ached for a moment. Actually, I’d already planned to resign. I just wanted to see my final project through before leaving, since it carried all the heart and soul of my career so far. I thought that even if our relationship had fallen apart, the bond from building the company together would remain. But now it seemed that was just my wishful thinking. Still, this was fine. At least it would allow me to cut ties sooner. I opened my computer and had just finished writing my resignation letter when I received a message from Lucas’s assistant. “Miss Yolanda, Mr. Ashford says the wedding dress has been custom-made to your measurements. You can go to the shop after work to try it on. Contact me anytime if there are any issues.” After work, I left the company and found the wedding dress shop according to the address. A clerk greeted me warmly: “Are you Miss Yolanda? Mr. Ashford has already informed us. Your wedding dress is in the fitting room.” The satin material was simple and clean, making my figure look elegant and poised. Standing before the full-length mirror, looking at myself in the wedding dress, my thoughts churned uncontrollably. Fudge once said that when the company stabilized, he would order the most premium wedding dress in the city and give me a wedding everyone would envy. I believed him. So I waited year after year, from hopeful anticipation to complete disillusionment. My nose suddenly stung, and tears still fell. I wasn’t sad for Fudge. I was sad for the version of myself who foolishly gave seven years of genuine devotion. Just then, the respectful voice of a clerk came from outside the shop door. “Mr. Harrington, you’re here.”

My entire body stiffened. I slowly turned around. Fudge stood at the shop entrance, his gaze falling on me, his face full of shock. He quickly noticed my reddened eyes. Something shifted in his expression, producing a hint of softness as he walked up to me. “The wedding dress suits you very well. If you like it, I’ll buy it for you.” He paused, then continued, “I have been neglecting you lately, but it’s also because you’ve been too disobedient, always forcing me to do things I don’t want to do. Be good and listen to me. Once the company goes public and stabilizes, I’ll definitely marry you.” He seemed to think I came here alone to try on wedding dresses because I wanted to marry him. I was about to explain when Sharon’s soft, delicate voice came from behind me. “Fudge, I’ve chosen my wedding dress. Have you picked out your suit?” Sharon, wearing a white dress, walked over to Fudge and intimately hooked her arm through his. Fudge’s body instantly tensed. He hastily tried to push her away, but afraid of being too obvious, he could only offer a flustered explanation. “Yolanda, don’t misunderstand. Sharon just wanted to experience what it’s like to wear a wedding dress, but she doesn’t have any other male friends.” “You know how girls are—they see videos and want to try the trend.” In the past, I begged and pleaded for him to accompany me to try on a wedding dress just once, but he said I was brainwashed by the internet, that a wedding dress was just a piece of clothing and there was no need to make a big deal of it. But now, he was willing to take time out to help Sharon choose a wedding dress. I didn’t want to say anything more to him. I turned to leave. But Sharon quickly stepped forward and grabbed my wrist. “Miss, Mr. Harrington is telling the truth. If you’re still angry, just hit me!” Before I could react, her body swayed and she fell toward the ground, letting out a soft cry. “Ah!” She weakly pressed her ankle, her face pale, looking extremely pained. “Fudge, I think I twisted my ankle. It hurts so much.” Seeing this, Fudge immediately pushed me aside and rushed to support Sharon, his eyes full of fury as he looked at me. “Yolanda, you’ve gone too far!” Without any hesitation, he scooped Sharon up and headed outside. Watching his hurried departing figure, I only felt it was laughable. This wasn’t the first time Sharon had used such tactics to frame me. In the past, I thought Fudge was being deceived. Now I finally understood—he wasn’t blind in the eyes, he was blind in the heart. His heart never had room for me, which is why he sided with Sharon time and time again without asking for the truth. I returned to my temporary apartment. My phone kept buzzing with messages, all from Fudge’s work number. “Yolanda, come to the hospital immediately and apologize to Sharon, or I’ll postpone our wedding indefinitely.” “Even if your grandma really is dying this time, I won’t soften!” Message after message, every word dripping with selfishness and tyranny. He even cursed my grandmother. I was so angry I felt nauseous. I directly deleted and blocked his work number too. After doing all this, I opened the company’s HR system and formally submitted my resignation letter. The moment the email sent successfully, all the darkness in my heart completely dissipated. Meanwhile, Fudge had just finished sending his text messages with a dark expression. Sharon spoke softly. “Fudge, is Yolanda really angry at me? It’s all my fault. If it weren’t for me, none of this would have happened.” “It’s not your fault. Yolanda is being unreasonable. Don’t worry, I’ll definitely give you an explanation!” Fudge consoled her, his tone full of conviction. In the past, whenever he threatened to postpone the wedding, Yolanda would take the initiative to back down. He was confident this time would be the same. But early the next morning, he received a call from HR. “Mr. Harrington, Miss Yolanda has submitted a formal resignation letter. She’s very determined. We can’t talk her out of it.” Hearing this, Fudge immediately flew into a rage and drove to our apartment. But when he opened the door, everything belonging to me had already disappeared. He took out his phone to message me through his work number, only to find he’d been blocked there too. An inexplicable panic rose in Fudge’s heart. And all his unease reached its peak when he saw the bright red invitation on the table. In the bride’s position was my name. But in the groom’s position was not his name. In an instant, Fudge’s face turned as white as paper. The invitation slipped from his hand and fell to the floor.

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To catch the last design project before Christmas, I’d been on business trips for three straight days. On the high-speed train back, I absentmindedly scrolled into a livestream titled “Daily Life of a Kept College Girl.” “My sugar daddy’s wife is on a business trip, so to save money on hotels, he let me stay at his place. Today’s the last day!” On screen, the girl wore a silk nightgown, pouting as she complained. A comment asked: “If he’s this cheap, why are you even with him?” She smiled smugly. “My sugar daddy’s a freeloader himself, but his wife is a famous designer!” “He supports me entirely with his wife’s money.” The camera panned, revealing a familiar curved balcony, custom bookshelves, a planet lamp… Frame by frame, it was all the home I’d designed myself. She winked playfully at the camera: “My sugar daddy says after New Year’s, he’ll use his wife’s year-end bonus to pay for my down payment.” “And he’ll even have his wife personally design my wedding suite. Just thinking about it is so thrilling.” The moment the livestream ended, a message from my husband Lucas popped up: “Honey, I transferred twenty thousand from your card. Needed it urgently.” 0

The scenery outside the train window blurred into a gray-white haze. I stared at my phone screen, my fingertips ice-cold. Lucas’s message still glowed there. Seeing I hadn’t responded for ages, he sent another. “Honey, are you still busy? Why aren’t you replying?” I took a deep breath and tapped on the screen: “Bad signal on the train. I’ll be home in two hours.” Lucas replied almost instantly. “Why are you coming back early? I’ll wait for you at home. Take your time on the way back.” I stared at those words, suddenly feeling disoriented. I ignored him and switched back to the short video app, finding the profile of that livestreamer. On her profile page, she’d posted a new video just one minute ago. I clicked on it. On screen was the same girl in the silk robe. She blinked at the camera, her voice syrupy sweet. “Oh no! My sugar daddy’s wife is coming home from her trip early. I’ve got to go!” She waved a sparkly earring at the camera, her lips curled in a smug smile. “This? I’m going to hide it under the pillow as a little gift for his wife. Do you think she’ll find it?” At the end of the video, she leaned close to the camera and lowered her voice: “Want to keep watching me and my sugar daddy’s daily life? Join the fan group and I’ll share more~” My finger moved faster than my brain—I clicked to request entry to the group. The system approved me instantly. The group announcement hung there, glaring: “Welcome to Jane’s Sweet Little Nest~ My sugar daddy totally spoils me!” I exited the app and closed my eyes. Lucas and I had been married for five years. We’d been together since college. When he was pursuing me, he ate instant noodles for a month just to save up money to buy me a necklace. After we married, he started a business and lost everything, even racking up a mountain of debt. My career had just started then, but I took on the burden of our household without a second thought. He cried and said, “Honey, when I turn things around, I’ll make sure you have a good life.” I held him tight. “Okay. I’ll wait for that day.” I drew designs until dawn every day, thinking that if I took on more projects, we could pay off his debts sooner. When I opened my eyes again, the view outside the window showed the familiar lights of my city. We’d arrived. I dragged my suitcase, practically rushing home. I pushed open the door. Lucas emerged from the kitchen wearing an apron, his face full of smiles. “You’re back? Are you tired? I made you noodles.” I said nothing. I changed my shoes and headed straight to the bedroom. Walking to the bed, I reached under the pillow. Nothing. “What’s wrong? Looking for something?” Lucas’s voice came from the doorway. I turned around, unable to force any expression onto my face. “Nothing. Just a bit tired.” He walked closer, trying to take my suitcase. Just then, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen, his expression clearly stiffening for a moment. Then he turned and headed to the bathroom. “Let me take this call.” The door was ajar. I stood where I was, hearing a girl’s soft voice drift through the gap into my ears. “When are you coming over… I miss you…” It sounded like the voice from the livestream. My nails dug into my palms. A few minutes later, he rushed out to grab his coat. “My friend… suddenly got sick. I’m going to check on him.” “Also, I’m a bit short on cash. Honey, can you transfer me some more?” I grabbed his hand. “Which friend? Is it serious? Let me come with you.” 0

“Really, you don’t need to. You just got back from a trip—rest up.” Lucas pressed down on my hand reaching for my coat, his tone urgent. I looked up and saw several red marks on his neck. “What happened to your neck?” I stared at him. He frantically covered them with his hand, his eyes darting away. “Ah… probably mosquito bites. They’re really itchy.” With that, he rushed out the door, even forgetting to take his scarf. Maybe I was too exhausted. I’d been working nonstop on projects lately, and then this happened. I lay on the bed, my head buzzing. Before I knew it, I’d fallen asleep. When I opened my eyes again, the room was pitch black. I fumbled for my phone—it was midnight. The screen was still on the fan group interface for that girl named Jane. The latest messages were all from her, just posted: [Tonight my sugar daddy is still with me~ I just acted cute and he came running] Below was a photo. The lighting was ambiguous. A girl leaned against a man’s shoulder. The man’s face was covered with a sticker, but that familiar black mole on the side of his neck—I recognized it instantly. It was Lucas. The gray hoodie he wore was the birthday gift I’d given him last year. And Jane was wearing his shirt, loose and oversized. [My sugar daddy says I can’t leave hickeys anymore! Because his wife asked him about them!] [As compensation… he gave me his wife’s Bulgari necklace~] She posted another picture. My breath caught. That was part of my dowry from my mother, a limited edition piece she’d brought back from Italy. It went missing last year. Lucas had even helped me search for it for ages, saying we must have accidentally thrown it out while cleaning. So it wasn’t thrown out. It was stolen to give away. I tossed my phone aside, wanting to close my eyes and keep sleeping. But every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was that photo. Jane leaning against his shoulder, smiling. Him looking down at her, his gaze painfully tender. That was an expression I hadn’t seen in a long time. Half-asleep, I struggled through until dawn, hearing the sound of keys at the door. Lucas tiptoed in, carrying the cold from outside. He walked to the bedside and tucked the blanket around me. I opened my eyes. He jumped. “Did I wake you?” “Lucas,” I called out to him, my voice hoarse. “This New Year, come back with me to see my parents.” He froze, obvious hesitation flashing across his face. He mumbled an “mm” and looked away. I continued, “Which friend was sick yesterday? I’m free today. Let’s go visit.” His shoulders visibly stiffened, and his speech quickened. “You don’t know them, and… and they were already discharged today. No need to go.” More lies. I watched him nervously swallow, and suddenly felt a wave of nausea. “Honey…” He suddenly moved closer, lifting the blanket and lying down. His arm came around to hold me, his face buried in my neck. “Don’t ask anymore. Just let me hold you for a while.” He carried a faint scent of perfume—sweet, fruity floral notes. I lay stiffly in his embrace, motionless. His hand patted my back gently, just like he used to do when coaxing me to sleep. 0

There was one day left before we’d go back to my parents’ place. At breakfast, I asked Lucas, “Can you come to the mall with me today? Let’s buy some New Year goods for Mom and Dad.” His hand pausing while peeling an egg, he didn’t look at me. “Vivian, I… I found a day-labor job. Today’s my first day. I want to earn money myself to buy gifts for your parents. That shows more sincerity.” As he said this, his gaze drifted toward the window, his ears slightly red. But I still nodded, even managing a smile. “That’s great. It’s the thought that counts.” He looked relieved, hurriedly finished eating, grabbed his coat, and headed out. The moment the door closed, the smile collapsed from my face. My phone vibrated. It was Jane’s fan group. She’d posted a voice message: [Sisters, my sugar daddy has to go back to his hometown with his wife for Christmas~ Today he’s treating me to an early “New Year’s dinner” to console my wounded little heart~] Below was a restaurant location. I stared at that address, then suddenly grabbed my car keys and followed. The restaurant’s lighting was dim and intimate, the air filled with expensive perfume and the scent of fresh bread. I sat in the most secluded booth with an untouched glass of water in front of me. Then I saw them walk in. Lucas wore the cashmere coat I’d bought him just last month, with Jane on his arm. The server led them to the best window seat. “Lucas, isn’t this place really expensive?” Jane rested her chin on her hand, her eyes bright as she looked at him. “For you, it’s worth it.” Lucas pushed the menu toward her. “See what you want to eat. Today, you’re the priority.” Jane’s slender fingers pointed at items on the menu as she leaned softly toward Lucas. Lucas naturally put his arm around her shoulder, his chin nearly touching the top of her head. “I can’t spend New Year with you, so today I’ll make it all up to you.” “Hmph, you just know how to sweet-talk me. When are you going to leave her?” Jane pouted, her tone coquettish. Lucas lowered his head, leaning close to her ear. “Just wait a bit longer. That old hag—if it weren’t for her money… I’d have stopped bothering with her ages ago.” Jane immediately beamed, quickly kissing his cheek. “What about my New Year gift you promised me?” “Don’t worry. I already paid the twenty thousand down payment on the house.” Lucas tapped her nose, his eyes full of affection. They said much more after that. Every sentence was like a poisoned needle piercing my ears. I gripped my water glass tightly, nails digging into my palm, yet I felt no pain. My stomach churned violently. The few bites of bread I’d forced down earlier felt like stones lodged inside. They ate for a long time, their behavior growing increasingly intimate. When they finally got up to leave, Lucas actually bent down and kissed Jane’s forehead—so tenderly. After they left, I immediately drove home. I burst through the door, not even bothering to change my shoes, and rushed straight to the bathroom. Kneeling by the toilet, I vomited up all the nausea I’d held back at the restaurant. Why? When your business failed and you were drowning in debt, I stayed up late with you figuring out solutions, desperately taking on projects to pay back the money. Have you forgotten those days? Now that life has finally stabilized and the debt is almost paid off… The sound of keys turning. Lucas was home. Hearing the commotion, he ran to the bathroom door and saw my state. He froze for a moment. Then his face filled with familiar concern. “Vivian? Why are you throwing up? Did you eat something bad?” He crouched down, his warm palm patting my back with gentle motions, his tone anxious. Completely different from the man who’d just been in that restaurant with his arm around another woman, speaking such heartless words. I lifted my head and looked at this face I’d loved for nearly ten years. “Lucas, that twenty thousand—where did you spend it?”

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The day I moved out, I sent Robertson a voice message. “Let’s break up.” A second later, he replied with one word: “Okay.” My best friend Catherine sat across from me, her jaw practically hitting the floor. “You two were about to get married. Breaking up is that simple?” I took a sip of coffee, bitterness spreading through my mouth. “Because he didn’t even listen to my voice message.” No matter what message I sent him, he only ever replied with “okay.” It actually didn’t bother me at first. I’d gotten used to it. Until I discovered that when other women sent him voice messages, he’d smile and patiently listen to every word. When I saw that 60-second voice message marked as “read” on Robertson’s phone, he was still asleep. The light from the phone screen hit my face, and tears just streamed down. I knew Robertson found it troublesome. He didn’t like chatting. He didn’t like listening to voice messages. Over the years, I’d learned to accept it. But that fully-listened-to 60-second voice message carved a wound straight through my heart. Thiago. His high school classmate. His gaming partner. They chatted about games every day, mixed with everyday conversation. Their chat history took up twice as much storage as mine. Love becomes heavy through difference. Robertson’s character seemed to have crumbled too. “Baby… come here.” Perhaps my crying was too loud. Robertson stirred awake, half-conscious. His arm reached out and pulled me tightly into his embrace. His warm arms carried Robertson’s unique scent, and my tears broke through the dam. He loved me too, didn’t he? He still wanted to hold me while sleeping… In that moment, I wanted so badly to wake him up and confront him. To have a huge fight. But I was truly exhausted. Robertson and I were pressed close together, yet I felt he was so far away. This bed was too wide. I lay on my side like that all night, letting the tears fall silently. I thought Robertson and I had reached the end. The next day I started looking at apartments. After half a month of searching, I settled on a two-bedroom. During all this time, Robertson didn’t notice a thing. Even today when he left, I answered a call from the moving company and he didn’t pay attention. After eating with Catherine and saying goodbye, I returned to the apartment Robertson and I shared. This apartment was bought by Robertson’s parents as our wedding home. Although we weren’t married yet, to save money, Robertson and I had moved in early. I didn’t actually need to come back. After all, this home barely had anything of mine left in it. But I wanted to see how long it would take a forensic scientist—someone who survived by detecting the smallest clues—to notice his future wife had moved out. I’d just sat down when the door behind me opened. “Home early today?” Robertson bent down to change his shoes, greeting me naturally, no different from any other day. As expected, he hadn’t listened to that voice message. Like an auto-reply bot, he’d just responded with “okay.” I opened my mouth, bitterness filling it, hard to swallow. “Why didn’t you make dinner?” Robertson glanced at the empty dining table and asked with surprise. Unless there was something unusual or special plans, I basically cooked for him every day. I didn’t answer. Robertson put down his bag and went into the bathroom.

Through the door, I could hear Robertson typing on his phone. And some audio leaking out. No need to guess—he was chatting with Thiago. I’d actually made a scene about this once before. Robertson didn’t take it seriously. He thought I was making a big deal out of nothing. “I’m with you every day. Why would I need to chat online? If it’s urgent, you can call. If it’s not urgent, you can tell me when I get home.” “Thiago is different. We don’t see each other every day, so of course we chat!” I rubbed my temples and walked into the bedroom. When I came back out, Robertson had already ordered takeout and was eating. Only one portion. Nothing for me. I couldn’t help but laugh, my voice trembling as I asked him, “Why did you only order one?” “Huh? Did you want some?” “I thought you were dieting to fit into your wedding dress!” When he said this, Robertson didn’t even look up at me. If he’d just looked up, he would have seen my tears. But he didn’t. “Robertson, let’s talk.” I took a deep breath. The instant I pulled out a chair to sit down, he stood up. “No time. Thiago and I are scheduled to play games.” The takeout container left on the table for me to clean up. The pulled-out chair. The man walking away. In that moment, I felt all the pressure in the house rushing toward me. My chest felt like it was covered with a plastic bag. Even breathing became difficult. In the study, they’d already connected their mics. “Robertson, interested in the new movie? I’ve been looking forward to that film for so long.” “I knew you’d say that. I already bought tickets. I’ll take you tomorrow.” “You’re so thoughtful!” “I just heard a coworker mention it today and immediately ordered them to surprise you.” Robertson’s thoughtless replies echoed in my ears, word by word. For Thiago, he always had time, always had heart. For me, he only had one line: “She’s a friend, you’re my wife. Can they be the same?” Robertson, if being your wife is this exhausting, I’d rather be your friend. With a bang, I kicked open the study door. Robertson spun around sharply, instinctively covering the microphone. He frowned, looking at me in confusion. “Tomorrow we’re scheduled to try on wedding dresses. Did you forget?” Sharp edges leaked through my tone. Robertson seemed to sense my mood and looked troubled. “I made plans with Thiago to see a movie tomorrow. I already bought the tickets.” “How about you go try on the dress yourself? I wouldn’t be much help anyway. Or maybe ask Catherine to go with you?” In one second, he’d figured out a compensation plan and an excuse. Accompanying his wife to try on wedding dresses wasn’t important. Accompanying his female classmate to the movies was. “No.” I refused flatly. Robertson glanced at the game on his computer screen. Thiago’s urging voice came through the headset. He was getting anxious. “Dixon, can’t I have my own things, my own plans?” “Do I have to revolve around you once we’re married?” These words almost made me laugh. When had he ever revolved around me? No messages during work hours. After work, diving straight into games. He hadn’t participated in a single wedding preparation. We still hadn’t picked out rings together… His world was full. As for who he revolved around—who knew. I looked at him with disappointment. “Robertson, is marriage just my responsibility?” Exhaustion colored my words.

“You’re being unreasonable.” After saying this, Robertson put on his headset and started the game without looking back. “Women are such a hassle.” “Thiago, when you get married, definitely don’t be this much trouble.” A casual complaint that drew bell-like laughter from the other end of the headset. Robertson and I started dating freshman year of college. At first, Robertson was attentive to me. He’d walk with me, take me to movies. He just really didn’t like chatting. But when we met in person, he was always considerate. “I don’t like chatting. Typing is a hassle. Listening to voice messages is a hassle too.” “I’m like that with everyone.” I accepted Robertson’s personality. Back then I told myself, that’s just how he is. Later, when we were together, he introduced me to Thiago and often brought me to play games with them. But I didn’t have the talent for it. After playing for a while, I dropped out. I shouldn’t have seen the dense chat history between Robertson and Thiago. Or Robertson’s comments on every single one of Thiago’s Twitter posts. He’d even message Thiago when he couldn’t sleep late at night, but he never reached out to me. That feeling was like swallowing a needle. That night, Robertson didn’t come back to the bedroom. He pulled an all-nighter gaming. The next morning I left Robertson a note: “Meet me at the bridal shop.” “I have something to discuss with you.” He could ignore WhatsApp. He could leave voice messages unread. But a note—surely he wouldn’t miss that. But I’d forgotten that some people aren’t blind in their eyes, but in their hearts. I sat on the sofa watching couple after couple come and go while my cup of hot water was refilled again and again. Until the staff came over apologetically. “Miss Dixon, we’re getting ready to close…” Their hesitant discomfort was a kind of sympathy for me. I walked home in stops and starts. On the way, I checked Thiago’s Twitter countless times. “Yay, mission accomplished!” The photo showed a movie theater screen. The hand making a peace sign in the lower left corner was Robertson’s. If moving out was my test for Robertson, then this time I truly needed to give up. At the corner downstairs, I saw familiar figures at the BBQ restaurant Robertson and I frequented. His back was to me. Thiago sat across from him, gesticulating animatedly. Until Thiago saw me. Robertson turned around. In the noisy restaurant, an indescribable atmosphere spread among the three of us. “Dixon,” Thiago pulled out a chair, letting me sit beside her. “How did the dress fitting go today?” Thiago was making conversation, trying to ease the awkwardness. Robertson’s hand holding the fork trembled slightly. Before I could speak, Robertson did. “Waiter, a mango ice cream.” I knew Robertson felt guilty. He was trying to apologize to me this way. It was hot. The ice cream was starting to melt when it arrived. “Eat it quick before it melts.” I glanced at it but didn’t move. Robertson frowned. “Don’t you love mango ice cream?” Thiago laughed. “Silly, I’m the one who loves mango ice cream!” Robertson scratched the back of his head sheepishly, looking at me apologetically. “Sorry, I got confused…” I knew he hadn’t gotten confused. He’d never remembered my preferences in the first place. Because when we were together, I always ordered. He never had to think about it. Robertson not only didn’t remember my preferences—he’d forgotten. I’m allergic to mangoes. I lowered my head and scooped up a spoonful of the ice cream.

Spoonful after spoonful, I ate the entire bowl of mango ice cream right in front of Robertson. That night, my whole body burned up and broke out in a rash. When I got up to find allergy medicine, the living room light turned on. I thought Robertson had remembered. Instead, he just walked past me into the bathroom. “Middle of the night. What are you looking for?” A bland question, spoken nasally. He didn’t even glance at me before returning to the bedroom. As for an answer, he didn’t care. Looking at the allergy medicine in my hand, I collapsed on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. In that moment, my love died completely. That night, I sent WhatsApp messages canceling all wedding-related arrangements. The next day, I was woken by Robertson’s voice. “Why did you sleep on the sofa?” “What happened to you? All these red spots?” Robertson crouched by the sofa, his eyes full of concern. After all these days, it felt like the first time we’d made eye contact. That feeling was strange yet familiar. “Damn it! I forgot—you’re allergic to mangoes!” Robertson’s guilt came out of nowhere. He called in sick and took me to the hospital. The entire time, he played the part of an extremely attentive fiancé. “Your husband treats you so well.” The nurse setting up my IV sneaked a glance at Robertson getting medicine and teased me. But watching Robertson bustle around, my heart was as calm as stagnant water. Well? If he treated me well, I wouldn’t be having an allergic reaction. I forced a smile. Three hours of IV drip. Robertson stayed with me, didn’t even touch his phone once. It rang a few times, but he didn’t look. Actually, I knew it was probably because of his work. Robertson really wouldn’t chat during work hours. He and Thiago only started messaging on weekends after work. On the drive home after the IV, Robertson seemed to remember something. “Yesterday you said you had something to discuss with me. What was it?” My hand pulling the seatbelt paused. So he knew all along. He remembered. I shook my head and fastened my seatbelt. “Nothing.” Nothing left to discuss. Robertson kept talking on the way, trying to cheer me up, but I couldn’t seem to hear a single word. “Want me to make you hot milk when we get back?” Robertson talked as he walked out of the elevator. A few steps later, he stopped. Through him, I saw Thiago crouched at our front door. “I’m so sorry, Thiago. I forgot we planned to play games today.” Thiago stood up looking wronged, rubbing her numb legs. “You didn’t even reply to my WhatsApp. So annoying.” “Are we still playing or not?” Robertson looked troubled and turned to look at me. I ignored him and walked straight past them to open the door. Robertson followed hesitantly, negotiating with me in a low voice. “Let me make you hot milk first. After you drink it, rest well. Thiago and I will play games in the study. We definitely won’t disturb you.” Thiago had followed inside too. I looked up. “Do whatever you want.” Robertson could probably tell my mood was off, and ultimately chose not to play games. He knocked lightly on the bedroom door. “I’ll take Thiago home first.” Hearing the front door close, I walked out of the room. The glass of milk on the dining table was still steaming. I sat at the table watching the time pass—one hour, two hours. Robertson never came back. Until dusk fell, the door remained still. I knew Robertson wouldn’t come back.

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After finding condoms in my husband Jacob’s passenger seat yet again, I wasn’t angry anymore. I just silently helped him put them away. Jacob gave me a complicated look and volunteered an explanation. “Check for yourself. This box hasn’t even been opened.” I said nothing, closing my eyes and pretending to sleep. Half an hour later, he pulled up in front of a store and said to me: “Let’s go buy a gift for your mom. We’ll go back to your place together for Christmas to see her.” My tears finally fell. My mom was dead. He still didn’t know. “Iman? Are you listening to me?” Jacob’s voice dropped several notes, full of oppressive force. My voice came out hoarse. “No need.” No need to go back. Never need to go back again. But he misunderstood what I meant and leaned over to look at me. “Are you mad? “Just trust me, okay? Otherwise count them yourself.” He opened the box as he spoke, dumping out all the condoms. His eyes were helpless yet indulgent, as if looking at an unreasonable child. I wiped my tears and looked over. “I’m really not mad.” Jacob leaned over and hugged me, sighing. “And you say you’re not mad. “Didn’t you always want me to go back with you? “This Christmas I finally don’t have any work obligations. “If we miss this chance, who knows when the next one will be.” His palm gently soothed my back, just like before. But I numbly pushed him away and nodded. “Okay, then let’s go.” Before my mom died, she kept talking about how Jacob was too busy with work and hadn’t been able to visit. If Jacob had time this Christmas, it would be good for him to pay his respects. After all, once we got divorced, there’d be no reason to ask him to go. But on Christmas day, Jacob didn’t come home. As if I’d expected it all along, I calmly accepted the possibility that he might miss the flight. So I took a cab to the airport by myself. It wasn’t until the plane started moving that he called me. “Sorry, something came up here that delayed me. “Can you change your ticket? How about we leave tonight instead?” I looked at the scenery retreating outside the window and swallowed my tears. “No need. I’ve already left.” I didn’t even bother asking him the reason. But Jacob volunteered an explanation. “It’s really not because of Leah this time. “A project we’d already agreed on suddenly had some problems. I thought I could make it. “Iman, don’t make a scene.” I don’t know where he heard that I was making a scene. I spoke calmly. “I know you’re busy. You can come tomorrow.” Waiting one more day didn’t matter. That’s all there was to it. Jacob breathed a sigh of relief. “Wait for me like a good girl. I’ll cook for Mom when I get there. “She always said my cooking was good. It’s probably been years since she’s had it. “This time I absolutely—” “I’m tired. I want to sleep.” I interrupted his fantasy, tears streaming down my face. I really wanted to scream it out loud. My mom can’t eat it anymore! Where were you all this time! But I was tired. I didn’t want to argue. Too many arguments. I’d argued myself into exhaustion. It was like I was a person without self-respect, shamelessly begging for his attention. As long as he came, as long as my mom could see him. It wouldn’t be for nothing that my mom had raised him all those years. It wouldn’t be for nothing that I’d brought him home back then, and for over a decade after, he’d eaten at my house every day. But I’d overestimated him after all.

Uncle Coleman saw that I’d come back alone again. His expression wasn’t good. That evening, Aunt May tentatively asked: “Did you and Jacob have a fight? “Actually, when your mom was in the hospital, she noticed something too, but didn’t bring it up because she was afraid you’d be hurt. “You should rein in your temper. With both parents gone, you only have your husband to rely on. “Having a child as soon as possible is what’s most important right now.” I listened quietly and told her Jacob would come tomorrow. I explained: “His company hasn’t been doing well these past few years. He always has work obligations. “When my mom was in the hospital, he wanted to come too. Don’t worry, we’re fine.” I didn’t want the family to know I was planning to divorce. I was too lazy to deal with their attempts at reconciliation. But I didn’t expect Jacob to break his promise again. In the morning, he told me he was on his way to the airport. May had prepared abundant ingredients early in the morning. “It’s good he’s coming. He didn’t even show up at your mom’s funeral. The whole village thought you’d been abandoned. “Now he can shut them up. “You should come back more often too. Come sit with us at home.” May bustled about in the kitchen, chattering as she worked. But after making a whole table full of dishes, Jacob didn’t answer any of my calls. “Let’s eat first.” I forced down my emotions and spoke, looking at them apologetically. May and Coleman exchanged glances and both nodded. “Okay, okay, let’s eat first then.” “I’ll have your cousins come over too. We can’t finish all this food ourselves anyway.” “They can go up the mountain with you afterward.” May spoke while busily preparing the tableware. Food left on the table for half an hour in winter had long since lost its warmth. I forced back my tears, smiling with difficulty. Coleman suddenly sat down next to me and ruffled my hair. “You’ve always had your own mind since you were little. Do whatever you want to do. “If your dad were here, he wouldn’t bear to see you suffer like this. “This is always your home. You still have family here. Don’t listen to May. People need to live freely.” I smiled at Coleman and got up to go to the bathroom. I only came out after crying. Coleman and May were in the kitchen reheating the food when my phone rang. It was Jacob calling. “Leah’s in the hospital, in surgery. “It’s a matter of life and death. I can’t just ignore her. “Iman, tomorrow. I’ll come get you tomorrow. “And I’ll bring Mom back to stay for a few days too.” I numbly listened to his words, emotions churning in my chest. I didn’t want to get angry. My mom always said: “Iman, don’t always lose your temper. It’s not worth it. “Let’s just live our lives peacefully. “Turn a blind eye, and decades will pass. “Look at me—I had so many complaints about your dad before, but after he died, I only remember the good things.” But Jacob was really bullying me too much! “You don’t need to come anymore. When I get back, I need to talk to you about something.” I said coldly and hung up. When Jacob called again, I declined it. His messages came through to my phone instead. [Don’t be unreasonable. Just wait for me.] [If there was anyone else who could help, she wouldn’t have called me.] [About last time, she wanted to apologize to you, but I didn’t let her.] [Iman, you know your own temper. I was afraid you’d hit her again.] [Can’t we just live our own lives well? Why throw a tantrum over small things?] […] He sent many messages. I skimmed through a few. By then my cousins had returned. I turned off my phone and ignored Jacob. The meal was eaten with everyone lost in their own thoughts. When we went to my mom’s grave, my cousins waited for me at a distance. I sat on the ground, looking at the person in the photo. Tears fell as I looked. I had so much to say, but couldn’t speak. Only when leaving did I tell her: “I’m sorry. I lost the son-in-law you liked so much. You won’t blame me, will you?” Just then the wind rose, as if fingers gently brushing across my face. I held back my tears and left down the mountain without looking back.

The next day I boarded a plane back to Los Angeles. On the plane, the divorce agreement the lawyer I’d hired had drafted also arrived on my phone. I looked it over carefully and had them revise a few small details. I didn’t want his company. I had other plans. But I wanted all the cash and properties in our names. The value was also in the eight figures. What I didn’t expect was running into Jacob at the airport. We stared at each other. Standing beside him was Leah, who’d supposedly been in surgery just yesterday. Apparently it wasn’t a life-or-death surgery after all. After all, she could get out of bed the next day, even wearing beautiful makeup. Leah’s eyes were red with anxiety as she rushed to speak. “Don’t blame him. I’m the one who rushed him to come find you, aren’t I? “Of course I know wives are more important than friends. “When I called him, I thought he didn’t have plans for the holiday and could help out. “I didn’t expect him to hide the fact that he was going to your place because he was worried about me. I’m really sorry. “You won’t blame him, will you?” Jacob snapped out of it and instinctively moved Leah behind him. I’d hit Leah before. Since then, he’d never let me have direct contact with her. At this moment, Jacob spoke in a heavy voice. “This is my fault. Don’t take it out on her.” The scene before me made me think of the phrase “mutual devotion.” I nodded and looked at Leah. “Since you’re here too, why don’t you come sit at our place?” She looked completely shocked. Jacob’s brow furrowed. I looked at Jacob teasingly. “Didn’t you say there’s nothing between you two? “If you’re just friends, you don’t even dare bring her home?” I walked ahead. Jacob followed behind with Leah. “Don’t talk with so much hostility. It sounds terrible. “She’s just a young, innocent woman. After you scared her last time, how would she dare come to our house?” I stopped and looked past him at Leah. Our eyes met. Leah suddenly smiled, a hint of provocation in her eyes. “Since Iman invited me, of course I’ll go.” I looked at Jacob again. “Be a man. That bitch is braver than you.” As soon as we got home, I went to the study. I printed out the divorce agreement, bound it, and went to the living room to hand it to Jacob. “Take a look. If there are no problems, sign it. “You can take your things and leave with her today. “The company had my mom’s initial investment of two hundred thousand. I don’t want it. “But all marital assets and properties are mine. Except for the company, give me everything else.” I finished in one breath. Jacob’s expression went from shock to anger. “What the hell is wrong with you? “Does your mom know about this? “You went through all this trouble just to say this? Even tantrums have limits.” I lowered my eyes and spoke flatly. “I’ve already informed her. “What mother doesn’t want her child to be happy? “She was good to you because she wanted you to be good to me. No matter how much she liked you, how could she value you over her own child? “So you don’t need to worry about what she thinks.” At this point, I glanced at Leah. Her smile couldn’t be suppressed. She looked at Jacob with determined confidence. I smiled and continued speaking to Jacob. “Now that things between us have come to this, you don’t think my mom would still be nice to you, do you?” Jacob grew angrier. “What did you tell her? “How many times do I have to say it? Nothing happened between Leah and me!” I threw the divorce agreement in his face and spoke flatly. “Does something only count as happening if you’ve slept together? “Who did you adjust the passenger seat for? “Our wedding anniversary, my birthday, my mom’s birthday… “Which special occasion this year didn’t you spend with her? “Did all her relatives and friends die? “Does she need you, an irrelevant married man, to accompany her for a minor surgery? “Jacob, we’re all smart people. Don’t treat people like fools, okay?” My tone started out calm, but by the end my voice was trembling. But Jacob said coldly, repeating, “I will not divorce you!” He added, “If we divorce, your mom will be heartbroken!” I instinctively shouted: “My mom is dead! How could she be heartbroken?”

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At the school tennis tournament, when my girlfriend Victoria found out my racket cost a hundred thousand dollars, she went ballistic. “A hundred thousand? Just for this piece of junk racket? Are you insane! You’re a complete spendthrift.” She pulled over Killian, a student on financial aid: “His monthly living expenses are less than five hundred dollars. Wouldn’t it be better to help him out instead?” I frowned. “It’s my money. I can spend it however I want. Why should I subsidize him? Just because he’s poor? There are tons of poor people in the world.” Seeing I showed no remorse, Victoria flew into a rage and demanded I hand over all my bank cards. “I’m going to marry you eventually anyway. From now on, I’ll manage all your family’s money. Starting today, you need to submit a request and get my approval before spending anything.” I fell silent, looking at her like she was a stranger, then turned to call my grandfather Johnson to cancel our engagement. Since she sympathized so much with Killian, I’d help them both out!

“Are you serious?” Johnson asked me. “Yeah.” “Why?” “No particular reason. I just don’t like her anymore.” Johnson was silent for a moment on the other end, then said: “Alright, let’s find a time for both families to have dinner together and discuss calling off the engagement.” I agreed and picked up my racket to take the court. After the match ended, I won the men’s singles championship, and thanks to my stellar performance, our class also won the team competition. I became the hero. Many classmates started clamoring to celebrate at a bar. “You guys go ahead. Killian isn’t feeling well today, so I’ll stay with him.” Victoria’s words plunged the atmosphere to freezing point. Everyone looked at me, including the teacher. Because they all knew Victoria and I had grown up together and were engaged. I looked at Victoria, my eyes stinging. Twenty years. She’d left an indelible mark on my heart, but in hers, I apparently didn’t even measure up to Killian, whom she’d only known for a few months. “Victoria, the mood’s so good, don’t be a buzzkill,” a classmate urged her. “Besides, tonight is to celebrate Leopold, so it wouldn’t be right if you didn’t go.” Killian also said: “Victoria, you should go. I’ll be fine on my own.” After speaking, he covered his mouth and coughed twice. Victoria immediately looked anxious, reaching out to pat Killian’s back, her tone reproachful: “You say you’re fine, but how can I feel at ease when you’re like this?” Seeing my expression darken, the surrounding classmates quickly laughed: “Victoria is too kind-hearted, worried about leaving sick Killian alone.” “Yeah, yeah, having such a kind classmate is our blessing.” Kind-hearted? In that moment, my heart ached! Just because of kindness, she could give away my clothes, shoes, watch, even my money to Killian without my permission? Did she even know I was her fiancé with whom she had an engagement? Or did she know but just not care? “Why aren’t you guys leaving yet? Whatever, I can’t be bothered with you. I’m taking Killian to the hospital.” Victoria helped Killian leave, then turned back after two steps and said to me: “Oh right, I almost forgot to mention—you only won the championship because that hundred-thousand-dollar racket gave you an unfair advantage. Your actual skill level is just so-so.” Hearing this, I laughed and nodded: “You’re absolutely right!” Childhood sweethearts for twenty years, but we’d never reach a happy ending. “That’s too much. How could she say that?” My roommate felt indignant on my behalf. “Yeah, Leopold prepared for months for this tournament, leaving at four in the morning every day and not coming back until ten at night.”

“I’m going to make her apologize to you.” I stopped my roommate who was about to chase after them, smiling: “Forget it.” There’s a saying: people who don’t love you can’t see your efforts. Since that was the case, why should I care? “Let’s go. Today’s on me!” The atmosphere at the bar was lively. Because Killian wasn’t there. During previous class group activities, no one had looked down on him for being on financial aid. They’d take him everywhere, but he always said inappropriate things. “Fifty dollars for one drink? That’s so expensive. You guys are really rich.” “I’m not rich like you guys to buy gifts, so I can only give verbal blessings. Happy birthday.” “My family is poor. I really envy how you guys just throw away torn clothes.” He always disguised himself as the victim, as if we were flaunting our wealth in front of him. Whenever this happened, Victoria would always step forward to defend him. “What are you thinking about? You’re today’s star. Why don’t you sing a song for everyone?” My roommate nudged me with his elbow, then stood up and pulled me along, asking the bar’s band to play “At Last” for us. This used to be my favorite song, but not anymore. “Change it to ‘She’s Gone,’” I said, starting to walk toward the stage. My roommate paused, then silently changed the song. As soon as the intro started, Victoria walked in with Killian. Victoria acted like she didn’t notice anything, saying on her own: “Killian persuaded me. I thought about it and he was right—I should come. Plus, I think it’s necessary to let you all see him completely transformed.” Victoria smiled broadly: “So? Isn’t he handsome?” The room fell silent. I looked at Killian wearing my clothes, pants, and shoes, and was the first to applaud: “He really is handsome!” “At least you have good taste!” Victoria was satisfied with my response. “Actually, Killian is very handsome. He just didn’t have money to dress up before. Now you can see he’s just as good as any of you.” I smiled. Handsome? Wearing my clothes, pants, and shoes that clearly didn’t even fit him properly. Victoria looked Killian up and down, tapping her chin: “Seems like something’s still missing.” She turned to look at me: “Leopold, take off your watch and give it to Killian.” I froze, looking down at the watch on my wrist. It was the first birthday gift Victoria had ever given me. It held special meaning for me. Though it was already many years old, I’d always carefully maintained it. I’d even treated it as a token of love between Victoria and me. Now, she was asking me to give it away with my own hands. I was silent for a long time before speaking in a hoarse voice: “Are you sure?” “What’s there to be unsure about? It’s just a watch. It’s not like you can’t afford a new one.” Victoria said indifferently, then personally came over to remove the watch and put it on Killian’s wrist herself. In that moment, I saw Killian smile at me, his eyes full of smugness and provocation. “Leopold, you’ve finally become sensible.” Victoria was pleased that I didn’t make a fuss after giving away the watch. She happily pulled Killian along to sing. I watched the two of them singing a love duet, sitting expressionlessly on the sofa. I hadn’t become sensible—I was learning not to care. When the party ended, Victoria was drunk, leaning drunkenly against Killian and insisting he take her back to her dorm. Killian looked at me with feigned helplessness on his face, but his eyes were clearly triumphant.

I didn’t care: “Since she wants you to take her, then take her.” With that, I walked out of the private room, my eyes already red. The next day, Victoria’s roommate found me: “Leopold, Victoria didn’t come back to the dorm last night. Did she call you?” I immediately fell silent. Victoria’s roommate seemed to realize she’d said something wrong and hurriedly made an excuse to leave. I walked alone to the field, wandering aimlessly on the track, thinking about all the moments with Victoria. Childhood sweethearts, growing up together—my world was full of her. From kindergarten through college, I’d always protected her, never letting her get hurt. In elementary school, when an older student made her cry, I’d pulled her along with red eyes to find the person and demand an apology, not hesitating to get physical. In the end, she got her apology, and though I ended up bruised and swollen, I smiled happily. On her eighteenth birthday, I bought all the fireworks in the city and the front page of every newspaper that day to celebrate for her. That night, both families confirmed our engagement. I was so happy I didn’t sleep all night. I thought we could continue like this together, companions for life, growing old together. But everything changed after meeting Killian. She no longer acted cute with me—instead, there were mostly rebukes and yelling. I endured and endured, for no other reason than because I loved her. But did she love me? Before yesterday, I’d been certain of the answer—she loved me too. But today, I realized I was wrong. She didn’t love me that much. But I didn’t understand—could twenty years of feelings really be less than a few months? I couldn’t find an answer to this question. I don’t know how long passed before I heard someone calling me. It was Victoria, and unsurprisingly, Killian stood beside her. I walked over and looked at Victoria’s beautiful face, my heart aching sharply. The facts were right in front of me. No need to guess anymore. Victoria looked at me guiltily and explained: “Last night, Killian fell and hurt his back on the way taking me home. I stayed with him at the hospital all night.” “Yeah, it hurt so much,” Killian said, rubbing his back. “Even now my back is still sore and aching.” I watched him quietly perform. Hurt his back? What a coincidence. Did he really fall? Or was it because he exerted himself too much? But the answer didn’t matter anymore. I nodded: “Mm.” I turned to leave, but Victoria grabbed me: “Don’t you believe me?” “No, I’m just tired.” I calmly pried Victoria’s hand away. She threw herself at me, hugging me. “Alright, stop being angry. I just forgot last night and didn’t let you know I was safe. I promise you, there absolutely won’t be a next time.” Indeed, there wouldn’t be a next time. I pushed Victoria away and said flatly: “Was there something else?” Killian smiled: “Actually, I have something. Thank you for giving me the watch last night. I really like it.” “But my family is poor, so I can’t give you an expensive gift in return. I saw the mangoes at the supermarket looked good, so I specially picked some to give you. Please don’t look down on them.” Looking at the bag of mangoes Killian held out to me, I saw them like a terrible flood, and kicked the bag over. “Leopold, what are you doing? Killian specially bought these mangoes for you, you…” Victoria angrily berated me, but when she saw my cold eyes, she couldn’t help stepping back twice, swallowing the words at her lips. “Did you forget I’m allergic to mangoes?” Hearing this, Victoria’s expression changed, but seeing Killian standing helplessly to the side looking like he’d done something wrong, her eyes flashed with sympathy and she frowned at me. “Even if you’re allergic to mangoes, just don’t eat them. Why kick them over and disappoint Killian’s thoughtfulness?”

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My son George practiced magic for two months just to perform on stage with his dad for Children’s Day. I stayed up three nights sewing matching capes for the father-son duo. In the pocket of the larger cape, my son secretly tucked a lollipop, saying it was a reward for Dad. Two hours before the performance, Mason said his first love’s daughter also had a show at her kindergarten, and no one was going. I told him his son had been waiting for two months. He was already grabbing his car keys. “I’ll just take a quick look and come right back. Tell him I went to the bathroom.” I asked what if he didn’t come back. He paused for a moment. “You’ll be there, won’t you?” When the curtain rose, the large cape was neatly draped over an empty chair, the lollipop still in the pocket. My son stood alone under the spotlight and said, “My magic trick is called—The Disappearing Dad.” Not a single person in the audience could laugh. On the way home, my son finished that lollipop himself and asked me, “Mom, if I disappear too, then Dad won’t have to choose anymore, right?” I held his hand and said with a smile, “Mom will perform a big magic trick with you.”

On the way home from kindergarten, George was very quiet. He didn’t shed a single tear the entire time, didn’t even complain once. He just clutched the plastic stick from the half-eaten lollipop. As soon as we got through the door, the doorbell rang urgently. Mason’s driver, Alan, stood outside panting, holding a huge cardboard box. “Miss Annie, Mr. Mason asked me to deliver this.” Alan wiped the sweat from his forehead and carefully set the box down. “Mr. Mason called me several times on the road urging me to buy this Ultraman Lego set. He said he left in a hurry and was afraid George would be upset, so he wanted me to hand it to George personally.” “Mr. Mason also said on the phone to stop by that dessert shop you always go to, Miss Annie, and buy a taro roll, but the shop was closed today.” I looked down at George. George didn’t even lift his eyelids. He simply walked around the box blocking his way, carrying his little backpack, and went straight to his room. Click—the door closed. Alan awkwardly rubbed his hands. “Miss Annie, this…” “Just leave it. Thanks for your trouble.” I calmly closed the door. My phone buzzed. It was a message from Mason on SnapChat. “Daisy was crying so hard backstage she could barely breathe. The situation isn’t good. I need to stay and comfort her. Explain to George for me. Did he get the Lego?” I didn’t reply. Right then, a new notification popped up—a post from Mia. The photo showed a man’s upright figure from behind, bending down to hold a little girl in a princess dress. The caption read: Thank you for saving a lonely little girl’s Children’s Day. That silhouette—I’d been looking at it for ten years. Staring at the glaring image and text on my phone screen, all I felt was deep exhaustion. I calmly walked to my desk, pulled open the bottom drawer, and took out a divorce agreement I’d drafted long ago. Turning to the last page, I picked up a pen and steadily signed my name in the wife’s section—Annie Brown. Then I walked to the calendar on the wall. In the box two days away, marked with a smiley face and the words “Family Photo,” I picked up a black marker and drew a pitch-black circle over it. Late at night, the living room lights were off. I sat on the sofa with scissors, the red cape I’d spent countless sleepless nights sewing draped across my lap. Blood from needle pricks had stained the lining—all to create the perfect father-son performance. The scissors mercilessly tore through the fabric. Golden tassels fell in two pieces onto the carpet. I cut and cut, mechanically, until the cape that held months of my son’s anticipation became a pile of scraps. I swept them all into the trash. At two in the morning, the sound of the password lock came from the door. Mason pushed open the door, smelling faintly of alcohol, exhaustion written all over his face. He casually loosened his tie and was about to change shoes when his movements suddenly stopped. In the moonlight, he stared down at the trash bin by his feet. Inside, the shredded red cape lay quietly. “Annie, what are you throwing a fit about now?” Mason frowned deeply, strode over to me, and looked down at me sitting on the sofa, irritation in his voice. “Didn’t I have Alan deliver the Lego? You spent so long sewing that cape…” He suddenly paused, his gaze sweeping over the red scraps in the trash, his tone turning cold and hard. “But did you really have to do this?”

I sat in the darkness, staring coldly at him. “Mason, two years ago when George was four, you canceled a pre-meeting for a merger contract just to teach him a card trick.” “You said then that childhood only happens once, and if you miss it, you can never get it back.” “Now he’s practiced for two months just so you’d sit in the audience for half an hour, and you think it doesn’t matter?” Mason’s breath caught. He tugged at his tie again. “That was because of an emergency! Daisy doesn’t have a father. She was hiding in a corner crying alone, and Mia was beside herself with worry. What was I supposed to do, ignore them?” As he spoke, he walked over and reached out to put his arm around my waist, trying to pull me into his embrace. “Come on, be good.” He lowered his voice coaxingly. “I came back, didn’t I?” The moment he touched me, nausea rose in my stomach. I turned my head away in disgust and forcefully pushed his hand away. Mason’s hand froze in midair. He snorted in displeasure and muttered something about me being unreasonable. He turned to grab his suit jacket from the sofa, preparing to take a shower. Just then—thud. A small box fell from his jacket pocket and rolled to my feet. It was a bottle of men’s cologne with sweet notes. Mason stopped. He immediately came over and picked up the cologne. “Mia insisted on giving this to me to thank me for helping today. I wasn’t planning to keep it.” “Does it feel good playing the man of someone else’s house?” I looked at him with a mocking, cold laugh. That sentence hit Mason’s sore spot precisely. His expression changed. He stepped forward and grabbed my wrist. His five fingers gripped tightly. I could feel the slightly hot temperature of his palm. “Annie, can’t you understand me? That child doesn’t even have a father. I just helped out once. George has you—what do I have to worry about?” He paused, sighing with a trace of exhaustion. “You’re my wife. You’re the one I trust. As long as you’re there, I can rest easy.” I looked at his face. Pain shot through my wrist, but my heart had gone numb. I didn’t struggle. I just looked at him with the dead, desolate eyes one gives a stranger. Mason met my gaze and suddenly froze. He immediately released my hand and, right in front of me, threw the cologne bottle into the trash. “I don’t want her stuff!” He said in a panic, “I only use the woody cologne you buy me. Is that okay now?!” With that, he turned and fled into the bathroom. The next morning, I took George to the photography studio in the city center. “Hello, I’d like to cancel this weekend’s sixth birthday family photo package.” I handed the receipt to the receptionist. George pressed against the studio’s display window, staring at the Ultraman-themed family portrait poster. He’d saved half a year’s allowance and stubbornly insisted the whole family take this photo together. He looked at it for a long time but said nothing. Just as we left the studio, my phone rang. It was Mason. His tone was unusually hesitant. “Annie, this weekend the company has an urgent acquisition. I… I have to go on a business trip.” I held the phone, listening to Mason’s guilty voice through the receiver, feeling utterly absurd. Rewind half an hour. I’d just come out of the bathroom. Passing by the study, I heard voices inside. Mason’s phone was on speaker. Mia’s crying voice was especially clear in the quiet room.

“Mason, Daisy’s private elementary school interview is this weekend. The school requires both parents to attend, or she’ll be disqualified…” “I’m begging you, please pretend to be my husband for half a day, okay? Just half a day! I’m getting on my knees! If you’re not there, Daisy’s whole life will be ruined!” Mason was silent for a long time, then said in a low voice, “Send me the address.” This was his so-called unavoidable business trip excuse. “Annie, are you listening?” On the other end of the line, Mason asked again when I didn’t respond. “I heard you.” My tone was strangely calm. Mason seemed relieved. Then my phone dinged—a transfer of two hundred thousand dollars. “Honey, take George to buy the most expensive birthday present. Consider it my way of making it up to him. Wait for me to come back.” He hung up. Looking at the string of numbers on my screen, I pulled at the corner of my mouth. That weekend, on George’s sixth birthday. I took him to the mall, wanting to buy him a children’s watch he’d been eyeing for a while. Coming out of the mall, right across the street was the city’s private elementary school. George had been looking down, fiddling with the toy in his hands, when suddenly his movements stopped. He looked up, staring blankly across the street. A black Bentley was parked at the school gate. Mason stepped out of the car in a suit and tie. He took the hand of a little girl in a pink dress. On the other side of the girl stood Mia, beaming. A happy family of three. Just then, Mia tried to loop her arm through Mason’s. Mason coldly avoided her. I could even see his lips move slightly, as if warning her about something. But this self-righteous claim of innocence looked utterly ridiculous in this moment. Shortly after, my phone buzzed. Mia had posted on Ins, tagged at this very private school. —Thank you for being here. You’re our eternal support, mother and daughter. I turned to look at George. Through the traffic, George watched with his own eyes as his father, who was supposed to be on a business trip, played father to someone else. He had no dramatic reaction. He simply walked over and silently threw the toy he’d just bought into a nearby trash can. After we got home, George took out his calendar with the countdown from his backpack and picked up a black crayon, flipping to the birthday page. Originally, that square had a smiley face and stick figures of a family of three. George gripped the pen and forcefully colored that square pitch black. The black ink bled through to the back of the page. “George…” My eyes stung. I crouched down, wanting to hug him. George looked up. Those clear eyes were now filled with darkness. “Mom, I’m never celebrating my birthday again.” I silently picked up my phone and called an overseas immigration agency I’d contacted before. That evening at eight, Mason came home early. He pushed open the door to find the house dark, the table completely bare. His gaze swept over where the birthday cake should have been, his expression faltering. He flipped on the living room light with a click, looking at me sitting on the sofa. “Annie, it’s George’s birthday today and you didn’t even buy him a cake?” He said in a low voice, “If you want to get mad, take it out on me. Is it appropriate to use a child’s birthday to make a point?” Mason pulled at his tie and strode up to me. His gaze swept over the empty dining table, his eyes unconsciously evasive. “I know I shouldn’t have missed today, but the sudden business trip was out of my hands.”

“Things are what they are. Annie, can’t you put in a good word for me with George?” I didn’t get up. I simply picked up the blacked-out calendar from the table and threw it at his feet. “It’s your son who doesn’t want to celebrate anymore.” Mason looked down at the black scribbles, his brow twitching. “Next month… next month when the company isn’t busy, I’ll cancel everything and personally take him to the amusement park.” His gaze avoided mine, fixed on the tightly closed bedroom door, his voice unconsciously dropping. “I owe him this time.” Just then, George’s voice came through the crack of the closed bedroom door. “Uncle Mason, I don’t want to go.” “Uncle Mason?” He repeated those two words quietly, his voice suddenly soft. The living room was so quiet you could hear the clock ticking on the wall. Then he slowly lifted his eyes to look at me, fury churning in their depths. “Annie, who taught him to say that?” He strode toward the bedroom and grabbed the doorknob, about to barge in. “Stop!” I lunged over to block him, pressing myself firmly against the door. Through the door, I suddenly heard George’s heavy, rapid breathing. I pushed the door open and rushed in, reaching for George’s forehead—his skin was abnormally hot. I grabbed the thermometer—103.6 degrees! “George has a high fever!” I turned frantically toward Mason. “Quick, get the fever medicine!” Mason paused, about to get it when his phone suddenly rang, Mia’s name flashing on the screen. He answered. Immediately, Mia’s crying came through. “Mason! Come quick! Daisy got so upset from not doing well at today’s interview that she’s burning up, and she’s locked herself in her room with scissors and won’t let anyone in!” Mia sobbed breathlessly. “I don’t dare upset her. She’s allergic to regular fever medicine! I remember you said the imported fever reducer George takes works really well. Please bring a box and save her! If we wait, she could die!” Mason’s face changed. He listened to the crying on the phone, then glanced at me with my back to him. “Mason, the medicine is at the bottom of the medicine cabinet. Hurry!” My voice trembled with urgency. Mason pushed past my hand and strode to the bedside, pressing the back of his hand to George’s forehead and frowning. He looked at the child’s flushed face, then turned toward the medicine cabinet. “Annie, listen to me—George just has a regular fever. Some fever medicine and a night’s sleep and he’ll be fine. Over there, Daisy has scissors in her hand—someone could actually die. I’ll handle it and come right back. You watch him.” He strode to the medicine cabinet and pulled open the drawer. What he did next made my blood run cold—he actually took out the only remaining box of George’s usual fever medicine and stuffed it into his pocket. “What are you doing?!” I rushed over to grab it. “That’s George’s medicine!” “Daisy’s allergic to regular fever reducers, and she’s holding scissors. Annie, let me finish.” His voice was low and rushed. “I’ll take this box. You go downstairs to the pharmacy right now and buy regular medicine for George. He’s strong, he can handle it.” He turned sideways to avoid my reaching hand and hurried toward the door. “Annie, the pharmacy downstairs is a ten-minute walk. Go buy some now. I’ll come right back after I handle this.” I lunged forward and grabbed his arm, refusing to let go. He yanked hard. I stumbled and crashed into the hard edge of the table. Bang—I fell to the floor, my elbow scraped open, blood welling up. Mason turned back. His steps paused for two seconds. His lips moved. “Take care of that wound first.” “Half an hour. I’ll be back in half an hour.” With that, he turned and walked out, slamming the door shut. The moment the door closed, my phone showed a message—Mason had sent a pharmacy location with a note: This one’s open 24 hours, close to home. From the bedroom came a sudden gasp. Then George’s eyes rolled back, his body convulsing, guttural sounds coming from his throat. Febrile seizure! “George—!” I screamed, crawled over and scooped up my convulsing son, and ran out into the rainy night. Rain poured down. Lightning lit up the darkness. Harsh white light hit my face. I was soaked through. George’s vomit mixed with the blood flowing from my elbow, soaking through my clothes. “Family member! The patient has acute febrile seizure leading to respiratory failure. Critical condition. Sign the critical illness notice immediately!” A doctor rushed out with a form, speaking rapidly. “We need both parents’ signatures. Where’s the father?!” I took the pen with trembling hands. Rainwater mixed with blood blurred the paper. “He’s dead.” I said through gritted teeth, word by word, and signed only my name on the form. During the long wait outside the emergency room, I used the nurses’ station landline to call Mason thirty times. The first three were instantly rejected. From the fourth on, I heard the automated message: The number you have dialed is powered off. At four in the morning, the emergency room door finally opened. “We brought him back, but he needs to stay in ICU for observation.” The doctor said wearily. Through the glass, I watched George’s small body covered in tubes. He weakly opened his eyes and lifted the hand with the IV catheter, laboriously tapping the screen of his children’s watch in small movements. When the screen lit up, he found the number labeled Superman Dad and pressed delete. I knew clearly that George no longer needed the role of father. In the morning, George’s condition stabilized and he was moved to a regular ward. I sat by the hospital bed, took out my phone, and called my lawyer, then contacted the overseas agency. “Yes, liquidate all funds and stocks under my name. Give full authority to sell the two properties at bottom price. Transfer the proceeds directly to my overseas account.” After handling this, I pulled out the inner compartment of my bag. The European visa I’d gotten to celebrate George’s sixth birthday would come in handy after all. I booked tickets to Venice for this weekend, looked at the sky outside the window, and let out a deep breath. The next evening, I brought George home for one last visit. The house was still in the same disarray as the night Mason left. I didn’t touch anything that belonged to him. I packed my clothes into a suitcase, then added George’s documents. Before leaving, I walked to the table. I placed the signed divorce agreement neatly in the center. Next to the agreement, I set down the candy wrapper left from the Children’s Day magic show. “Mom, where are we going?” George held my hand and looked up to ask. “Mom’s going to perform a big magic trick with you.”

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To take over the family aviation company. Grandpa made me rotate into the flight attendant position for a week. On my first day of work, I encountered a man waving a super VIP card and throwing his weight around with the flight attendants. “Do you know what a super VIP card means? It could buy all your lives!” “Such a shallow bow—do you have a lumbar strain or are you looking down on me? Ninety degrees! Hold it for 100 minutes!” “What kind of pig slop is this economy class food? Let me treat you all to some premium additions!” I was about to intervene when a flight attendant beside me stopped me. “He’s the older brother of our general manager’s little assistant. In our airline…” The flight attendant mysteriously pointed upward. “Offending General Manager Carter still leaves you a way out, but offending his little assistant… you’ll die a miserable death.” I was dumbfounded, almost wanting to laugh. I picked up the satellite phone and called Grandpa. “Grandpa, notify the captain to land at the nearest airport. When we land, I want to see my divorce papers from Carter.”

Today was the first day of my secret rotation. I stood at the aircraft door, maintaining a standard smile to welcome passengers boarding. Most passengers nodded at us kindly. Until a man wearing a pink tweed Chanel suit appeared at the jetway entrance. He was holding a shiny VIP card, his critical gaze sweeping me from head to toe. “New here? No wonder you have no manners!” “Do you know what a super VIP card means? It could buy all your lives!” “Such a shallow bow—do you have a lumbar strain or are you looking down on me? Ninety degrees! Hold it for 100 minutes!” Following standard procedure, I bowed slightly and showed a professional smile: “Sir, good morning, welcome aboard.” Just that one word “sir” stirred up a hornet’s nest. He stopped abruptly, his voice affected and theatrical: “How should I put this? In this flight attendant business, just selling smiles won’t cut it—you need more discernment!” He pointed at his entire outfit, “Look at me from head to toe, which part looks like a ‘sir’? Call me Miss Jason!!” Rachel, a senior flight attendant welcoming passengers beside me, turned pale and quickly tugged at me, stepping forward with a ninety-degree bow: “I’m so sorry! Hello, Miss Jason! She’s new and doesn’t know the rules. Please don’t take offense!” The man snorted coldly through his nose, rolled his eyes at us, and walked into the cabin. Rachel quickly whispered in my ear: “This person is Jason Brown, a super VIP member of our airline. We must serve him well, otherwise if he complains, our entire crew will be in big trouble.” I was stunned. Our airline had only issued 3 super VIP cards total. Two went to Grandpa’s old friends, and the other one… I had clearly given it to my husband—the airline’s current general manager Carter, for him to use for the most important business receptions. But why would Carter give the super VIP card representing the airline’s highest courtesy and absolute trust to this flamboyant Jason? I suppressed the shock and churning emotions in my heart. Right now, ensuring the flight operated smoothly and taking care of all passengers was my primary duty. This was also a good opportunity to see how, under Carter’s brilliant leadership, this VIP with his platinum card threw his weight around. And what exactly the frontline staff were enduring. Right after takeoff, Jason immediately pressed the call button. I walked over. He crossed his legs, not even lifting his eyelids: “Get me a glass of warm water, 45 degrees, not one degree more or less. I need to take my medicine now.” I immediately went to prepare it, but because I needed to mix cold water to adjust the temperature, it took an extra minute. Just that one minute made him explode. When I hurried over with the water, he slammed the table: “What kind of service attitude does your airline have? Look at the time! It’s been a full minute past when I should take my medicine! I’m taking birth control pills. Do you know what happens if I miss the time?” “If I get pregnant, can you take responsibility?” All eyes in first class instantly focused on him. Although Jason wore heavy makeup and a dress, his prominent Adam’s apple and angular facial features made it obvious to everyone that he was a man. I struggled to maintain my expression: “Miss Jason, I’m very sorry, but adjusting the water temperature does take time.” He snatched the cup from my hand and ruthlessly splashed the water directly on my chest. “With your stupid pig brain, I really don’t know how you serviced your way into this position? I bet you’ve provided plenty of special services to the captain, haven’t you?” “Disgusting creature! Just wait for my complaint!”

My clenched fist dug nails almost into my palm, rage surging to the top of my head. Just as I was about to lose control, Rachel rushed forward and blocked me. “I’m sorry! Miss Jason! She really is new. I apologize on her behalf! Please don’t get angry—it’s not worth damaging your precious health!” While speaking, she secretly gripped my wrist, pleading in a voice only we could hear: “Hold it in! Don’t be impulsive! Think about his complaint—our entire crew will have bonuses deducted or even be grounded! It’s not worth it for this scum! Leave it to me!” Seeing Rachel’s submissive manner, Jason finally seemed to enjoy the pleasure of being above others, leisurely pulling out a tissue to wipe his hands. “Hmph, at least you veteran employees know some manners.” He said in a condescending tone, “Fine, I’ll accompany you to the galley!” The galley? Aircraft catering had strict safety and hygiene regulations. How could we let him enter casually? “Miss Jason, passengers cannot enter the catering area at will. That’s the regulation…” I tried to dissuade him. Before I finished speaking, Rachel tugged at me again. “Don’t you understand yet? His sister is Eve, our general manager’s favorite little assistant.” “In our airline, offending General Manager Carter still leaves you a way out, but offending his little assistant Eve, you’ll die a miserable death.” “Carter listens to her every word! Everyone in the company is saying… saying she’ll be the new Mrs. General Manager sooner or later! Whether we stay or go is just a matter of one word from her! You’re still in your probation period—don’t be stubborn!” The new Mrs. General Manager? My husband Carter’s… new wife? Seeing me pause, Jason thought I was scared and immediately sneered sarcastically: “Oh~ scared as soon as you hear Carter’s name?” “Let me tell you, someone like Carter isn’t someone bottom-feeders like you can provoke! One word from him decides your life or death, understand?” In the few seconds I was stunned, Jason had already barged into the galley. “Tsk tsk, what kind of pig slop is this economy class food?” He disdainfully picked up a piece of vegetable with his fingertips, looked at it, then flung it away. Then he pulled out an exquisite metal canister from his bag, tapping the canister with his nails: “Looking at how poor they are, they’ve probably never seen anything good—forget it, I’m in a good mood today. I’ll treat them to some premium black truffle powder, let them broaden their horizons!” Saying this, he unscrewed the canister and was about to sprinkle it on the meals. “Miss Jason! Absolutely not!” The purser finally couldn’t hold back. She stepped forward, her tone anxious but extremely firm as she blocked the meal cart, “Aviation food safety regulations strictly prohibit adding any outside food or seasonings to crew meals. This is for the safety of all passengers! Please understand!” “Regulations? Safety?” Jason acted as if he’d heard the biggest joke. “My stuff would be less safe than your garbage food? Do you know this canister costs more than your annual salary?” “Get out of my way!” The purser held her ground. “Miss Jason, this is a matter of principle! If anything goes wrong, we can’t bear the responsibility! Please don’t put us in a difficult position!” Seeing the purser dare to obstruct him repeatedly, Jason’s face instantly darkened. He pulled out his phone and directly made a video call. “Eve, look! These flight attendants have rebelled. I just want to add some seasoning to the food and they won’t let me! They even dare to talk back to me!” Through the speaker, a sweet voice came through, “Jason, don’t get so upset. Give the phone to the purser.” Jason smugly shoved the phone in front of the purser. Eve’s voice instantly turned ice cold: “All flight attendants kneel down and apologize to my brother immediately! Otherwise, every single one of you today will be fired for serious misconduct and permanently blacklisted from the aviation industry! I mean what I say!”

The air in the galley seemed to freeze. The purser’s lips trembled, tears of humiliation welling in her eyes. Rachel and several other flight attendants turned pale, exchanging glances, their eyes full of struggle. Seeing their hesitation, Eve laughed coldly: “Fine, you won’t kneel? You’re that stubborn? Just wait!” Immediately after, the video screen began shaking violently. Eve actually picked up her phone and directly barged into the airline general manager’s exclusive conference room! When the video stabilized, the conference room came into full view— Around the long conference table sat company executives with serious expressions, with the second half of the year’s strategic planning PPT displayed on the projection screen. Carter was sitting at the head position listening to reports. Seeing Eve suddenly burst in, he first showed slight surprise, but his eyes held no displeasure at being interrupted. Instead, they instantly filled with deep concern. “Carter~” Eve ignored the shocked gazes of all the executives in the room and walked straight to Carter’s side, practically collapsing against his chair’s armrest. “Look at these flight attendants on the plane. They’re ganging up to bully my brother. My brother just made a small request, and they were mean to him and even scolded him. My brother has a bad heart—they’ve made him cry! Carter, you must stand up for us!” As she spoke, she leaned into Carter like a boneless creature. Tears fell like broken pearls, as if she’d suffered the greatest injustice. She was completely different from the sharp-tongued person she’d been moments ago. Carter’s face immediately darkened. He didn’t even ask about right or wrong—all his attention was on Eve trembling and crying in his arms. “There, there, don’t cry. Your eyes will swell up and won’t look pretty. Such a small matter—is it worth crying over? Hmm? With me here, no one can bully you or your family.” He gently wiped away her tears, then raised his head to look at the phone screen, his tone dropping to freezing: “Are you all deaf? Didn’t you hear what Eve said?” “I’m ordering you now—immediately do as Mr. Jason requests! Kneel and apologize!” “If within three seconds I don’t see your attitude…” Before he could finish, I walked directly into the center of the phone camera. My figure, along with my calm expression, appeared clearly in the video. “Carter, are you sure you want me to kneel?” “Helen Jones?” Carter almost blurted it out. Like a thunderclap, it seemed to give the desperate flight attendants a glimmer of hope. But it was fleeting. The surprise on Carter’s face was quickly replaced by deeper displeasure and irritation. He didn’t even let go of his arm around Eve, just impatiently rubbed his brow with his other hand: “Helen, what are you doing here?” “The new job you told me about last night—was it to be a probationary flight attendant at my airline?” I nodded calmly. Carter’s gaze swept over my wet uniform, his voice dropping: “Stop fooling around. Just do what Mr. Jason says and apologize. We’ll talk about whatever it is after the plane lands.” As soon as he said this. Not just me—even the flight attendants in the galley were stunned. Their eyes went from shock back to despair, finally left with only numbness. Seeing this, Eve immediately shrank further into Carter’s arms, adding fuel to the fire: “Carter, so this is Helen~ She was so fierce just now. Jason must have been scared by her!” Carter immediately patted her back comfortingly. “Eve and Jason are both very innocent and simple-minded. They just want an apology.” “Be good. Kneel down and apologize to Mr. Jason first. Don’t make this difficult for me.”

I looked at him and suddenly laughed, though the smile never reached my eyes—ice cold and piercing. “Carter, do you remember what you promised me on your knees before we got married?” “Now! It’s time for you to fulfill your promise!” Without waiting for his response, I hung up the phone. I didn’t linger for a second, turned decisively and walked to the crew storage locker. I took out a heavier satellite phone from the locker. “Grandpa.” “Someone is interfering with normal cabin service procedures and disrupting aircraft order.” “Notify the captain to make an emergency landing at the nearest airport immediately.” “Also, when we land, I want to see my divorce papers from Carter.” Jason stared at my hand holding the satellite phone, stunned for two seconds, then covered his mouth and laughed mockingly. “Oh my, newbie, what are you pretending to be? Holding a broken satellite phone and playing rich? Calling Grandpa?” His eyes were full of contempt: “Do you know who Carter is? In this aviation circle, when he stomps his foot, the ground shakes!” I sneered coldly, not even glancing at him: “Carter? He’s something?” Years ago, Carter’s grandfather had once helped my grandfather. The Jones family valued old friendships and remembered this favor for a lifetime. So when Carter’s family fell on hard times and Grandpa came to me, hoping I would fulfill this arranged childhood engagement. Seeing that his abilities were passable and he seemed honest enough, I nodded in agreement. Before the wedding, I called him to the study and made things crystal clear: “Carter, loyalty is my bottom line. If you ever have second thoughts or do anything to betray me, I will divorce you immediately.” How did he respond then? He knelt before my grandfather, swearing to heaven that he would never fail me. If he violated this oath, may heaven strike him down—he would leave with nothing and never rise again. My grandfather and I also kept one card up our sleeves. We didn’t tell him about the Jones family’s true wealth. So Carter always thought I was just an “ordinary rich girl.” He believed even more that his position as airline general manager after marriage was entirely due to his exceptional ability and hard work. Stupid as a pig. Today I would let him see clearly—without me, what exactly was Carter! Grandpa’s voice came through the receiver, steady but with a trace of barely perceptible gravity: “Have you thought this through?” “Yes.” I didn’t hesitate for a moment. Grandpa was silent for three seconds, then instructed someone beside him: “Do as Miss Helen says. Execute immediately.” Almost the instant the words fell, another calm and efficient male voice cut in— It was Simon, Grandpa’s most capable assistant. “Understood, Mr. Jones.” In the background, keyboard typing and clear commands immediately followed: “Tower, flight G-1024 initiating highest priority emergency landing. Clear the airspace, priority routing.” “Legal department, Carter leaves with nothing. Divorce papers to be delivered to the landing airport VIP passage within half an hour.” “The security department and I will immediately proceed to Elvis Airport to await Miss Helen’s landing.” The orders were clean and efficient, without a trace of hesitation. Simon’s voice came through last: “Miss Helen, everything is ready. Landing at Elvis Airport in thirty minutes.” “Information on the platinum card troublemaker and the associated person Eve will be synchronized to you within ten minutes.” Hearing the clear instructions from the phone, Jason laughed mockingly again: “Hahaha! Clearing airspace? Keep acting! Keep it up!” “Let me tell you, when we get off this plane, my sister will say one word to Carter and you won’t even know how you died!” However, before his laughter died down— The aircraft announcement sounded again. This time, the captain’s voice carried unprecedented seriousness. “Attention all passengers, attention all passengers. Due to force majeure factors, this flight will make an emergency landing at Elvis Airport. Please return to your seats immediately and fasten your seatbelts…” The mocking smile on Jason’s face instantly froze! He frantically pulled out his phone to call Eve. Before the call connected, two security officers quickly walked in and directly confiscated his phone. “Mr. Jason, you are suspected of endangering flight safety. Please cooperate with the investigation.” Just as Jason was being escorted out, I received a message from Carter. [Helen, enough is enough. Eve is very innocent. She would never make unreasonable demands like you! I’m telling you clearly—I love you! But I need to be with her for at least three years. During this time, you’d better behave yourself, do your duty, and don’t cause me trouble. After three years, if I’m tired of her, I might consider returning to the family.] [Don’t forget—without me, Carter, you Helen are nothing now.] I picked up my phone and replied calmly: [Carter, get to Elvis Airport within thirty minutes.] [I have a big gift to give you.] [Of course, you can choose not to come. Then I’ll hand Jason over to the police.] After sending it, I blocked Carter.

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